Xiang Qing took the note and looked at it for a long time.
Only after something else had drawn Zhang Zhaomu's attention did she pass it back.
"I'm not really used to talking to boys."
What kind of weird answer was that?
Completely baffled, Zhang Zhaomu quickly wrote, "What do you mean, not really used to it?"
Xiang Qing replied very quickly this time. "Because I've barely had any contact with boys growing up."
Zhang Zhaomu drew several huge question marks on the paper, then wrote, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am male, one hundred percent, and you are currently talking to me."
After some thought, he added another line. "And you started it!"
Xiang Qing replied, "We aren't talking. Technically, we're only communicating through text."
Zhang Zhaomu was instantly speechless. Wasn't that just fooling herself?
His deskmate probably had something seriously wrong with her head... but remembering that he wasn't exactly normal himself, Zhang Zhaomu immediately made peace with it.
He asked the question on his mind. "Do you hate boys?"
Xiang Qing: "I wouldn't say hate."
"Then why are you so careful to avoid contact with boys?"
"My mom won't let me."
"Does your mom hate boys?"
Xiang Qing took a little longer to reply this time. Zhang Zhaomu froze briefly when he saw the note.
The first line read, "Hates them very much," but it had been crossed out, with new words added underneath:
"It's not hate. It's loathing."
He hesitated. Though it felt a little intrusive, his intense curiosity still drove him to ask, "Why?"
Xiang Qing hesitated for a while before replying, "It has to do with my biological father, but this sheet of paper definitely won't be enough. Let me switch to a composition notebook and write it out for you. It's a bit of a long story, so it might take a few classes. Can I give it to you during evening self-study?"
Zhang Zhaomu was starting to lose his composure.
Even an essay would take a little over half an hour at most, but you're seriously saying you need several classes... are you planning to write me an autobiography about your family background?
Zhang Zhaomu hurriedly wrote, "No need, then. I was just asking."
Anyway, judging by her use of the term "biological father," it probably wasn't going to be a happy story.
"I can make it shorter, too," Xiang Qing replied.
"...Really, no need!"
Wasn't this girl a little too eager to share?
This kind of thing clearly counted as an unhappy past, right? Most people probably wouldn't let anyone else know even if you beat them to death. Why was this girl so eager to share it?
"All right." She drew a somewhat cute disappointed face after the text, then added, "Then shall I tell you about my mom?"
I have absolutely no interest in your esteemed mother, either!
Zhang Zhaomu turned to glance at Xiang Qing. The girl still looked perfectly serious, every inch the good student listening attentively in class.
Her lovely hair swayed slightly, her profile as beautiful as a painting.
"An academic beauty skilled in giving people the cold shoulder."
That had been Zhang Zhaomu's impression of his deskmate over the past week.
But that impression had clearly come crashing down. Zhang Zhaomu felt as though a line of text was slowly forming above her head, shining brilliantly.
"A sharing maniac whose brain is wired wrong."
So exhausting.
He had been running into this sort of thing far too often lately. First Duan Chan'er, now Xiang Qing... why couldn't people just be the same inside and out?
Did they have to spring some startling contrast on everyone?
Sure enough, I'm still the sincere one, a salted fish inside and out... wait, there might have been a bit of [Cat] in the mix this week, but that was only temporary. Zhang Zhaomu very naturally glossed over it.
He no longer wanted to keep talking about family. Zhang Zhaomu was terrified she would come out with a classic line like "a sick mother, a gambling-addicted father, a little brother in school, and her shattered self."
Whose family didn't have a tragic story or two these days? Ultimately, those were just the background settings you got upon arriving in this world, just as some people were born in Rome while others were born as beasts of burden. Since those settings couldn't be changed, what was the point of wallowing in self-pity? Wasn't it enough to do your best to live your own life well?
So Zhang Zhaomu decisively wrote, "Let's change the subject."
"Sure." Xiang Qing's text brimmed with eagerness to chat. "What should we talk about?"
"Let's talk about your impression of your new deskmate," Zhang Zhaomu wrote. "You can approach it from angles like handsome, nice personality, and highly capable."
Then Zhang Zhaomu saw Xiang Qing tilt her head in confusion.
Next, she very earnestly wrote, "My new deskmate is handsome, has a nice personality, and is highly capable."
She passed it over.
Zhang Zhaomu: "..."
I was just giving you an example. You actually copied it word for word?
Still, it felt pretty good.
Zhang Zhaomu felt a little tempted to take out his phone and photograph those words as a keepsake, so he could show them off to other people later.
"I was joking just now," Zhang Zhaomu wrote. "Just tell me your own impression."
Then he watched Xiang Qing bite the end of her pen and think for a moment before writing:
"Doesn't pay attention in class, always plays on his phone, but isn't as scary as Mom said. Doesn't harass me every day or do weird things to me."
Her pen paused. "Does suddenly grabbing my hair count as doing something weird?"
"Absolutely not!"
Feeling a little guilty, Zhang Zhaomu changed the subject. "Besides, it's just sharing a desk with a boy. What does that have to do with being scary... did one of your previous deskmates do something out of line to you?"
"No. This is my first time sharing a desk with a boy," Xiang Qing replied.
Zhang Zhaomu: "...Did you go to a girls' school before? No, wait, we don't have any dedicated girls' schools in Xinxi County."
"Before, Mom would always make a point of speaking to the homeroom teacher so I wouldn't share a desk with a boy."
"Then why didn't she this time? Old Chen should be pretty easy to talk to, right? Just say the word, and he definitely wouldn't mind moving you."
"I didn't tell my mom my deskmate was a boy this time."
Zhang Zhaomu raised his eyebrows. "Why?"
"My mom always makes me sit in the front row. I can't sit up straight during class because I'm afraid of blocking the classmates behind me. It's really uncomfortable," Xiang Qing wrote.
"Sitting in the front row at your height really would be pretty miserable."
Zhang Zhaomu had experienced that feeling. For a while in middle school, he had been assigned one of the special seats on either side of the teacher's platform. Whenever the teacher wrote on the blackboard, the girls behind him would poke him in the back, telling him to lie down on his desk and stop blocking the board.
"Besides, I don't find you annoying, and you're very good about respecting boundaries, so I wanted to try sharing a desk with a boy," Xiang Qing volunteered. "It really is different. It feels very new."
Zhang Zhaomu: "What's new about it?"
He didn't feel there was anything new about it at all. When it came down to it, apart from today, the two of them hadn't interacted at all, had they?
"It just feels new. Like secretly passing notes in class!"
Xiang Qing's pen danced merrily across the note:
"I've wanted to try it for ages, but I never dared. This is my first time."