RHITICSG 05

Chapter 5

Jiang Jian nearly murdered Shao Xing.

He limped furiously into the grove and, from a distance, hurled his crutch straight at his childhood friend.

The grove — also known as “Lovers’ Hill” — sat between a man-made lake on one side and a stretch of grassy slopes and stone paths on the other. The path ended at a cluster of trees.

The place was spacious, full of blind spots from the security cameras, and worst of all, had this faintly romantic vibe. Plenty of high school couples came here to sit on the grass by the lake or stroll through the trees, leaves crunching underfoot.

When Jiang Jian arrived, everyone was already there — the Peacekeepers of Earth, as their little group jokingly called themselves.

Yin Ying was holding Xia Yiming’s hand, painting her nails while chewing gum and blowing bubbles.

The rest of the guys were doing their own things — a few from Class 2 were reviewing English grammar, while the ones at the bottom of the class were squatting around a rock, playing cards.

Before Jiang Jian arrived, Shao Xing had been about to join the poker crowd.

A crutch came smashing down aggressively, startling Shao Xing, who hurriedly dodged.

Jiang Jian hadn’t actually intended to hit him—he had deliberately aimed slightly off. It looked scary, but he’d kept it perfectly controlled.

Shao Xing blinked in confusion. “What’s wrong, Jian Jian?”

“Say that again?” Jiang Jian’s face darkened; he looked ready to peel Shao Xing’s skin. “You’ve gotten bold lately, huh? Sending a love letter to the transfer student under my name?!”

At once, everyone around them looked up, their faces full of curiosity and delight at the impending drama.

Yin Ying was the first to realize something was off. “Wait, isn’t the transfer student in your class a guy? That super handsome one?”

Xia Yiming’s eyes lit up. He clapped enthusiastically. “Xing-ge, you’re amazing! A true warrior! A role model for us all! I love you!!!”

(Kangkang’s “Goose goose goose” from class was referring to her.)

Shao Xing shook his head like a rattle drum. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it! There has to be some misunderstanding!”

Jiang Jian clenched his fists. “The person in question rejected me personally! The evidence is solid! And you’re still saying it’s a misunderstanding?”

Xia Yiming looked regretful. “He rejected you, huh?”

Jiang Jian: “?”

That’s the part you focus on??

Shao Xing said, “Of course you should believe me! What did he even say to you?! —Whatever it was, it’s nonsense!”

If Jiang Jian hadn’t had to keep his leg injury under wraps, he probably would’ve chased Shao Xing through the whole grove by now.

After about ten minutes of back-and-forth yelling, they finally calmed down and began analyzing the situation—only to fall silent when they saw the “battle letter” still tucked in Jiang Jian’s pocket.

The paper and handwriting from the letter to Luo Shuxin had come from Xia Yiming.

Xia Yiming was a girl—the Chinese class rep—and her handwriting was neat and elegant. And since she’d been writing to a handsome guy, she’d suddenly gotten the idea to use a prettier piece of paper instead of notebook paper: a pink one with delicate embossed patterns. She’d used the same type of paper for both letters.

So Luo Shuxin’s misunderstanding—that it was a love letter—was honestly pretty understandable.

Pink paper for love letters, red ink for breakup notes.

Baseless “truths” that many students firmly believed.

Even though Jiang Jian was a boy, Luo Shuxin hadn’t been grossed out. He’d just chosen what he thought was a more “tactful” way to decline.

But Jiang Jian, unaware of all these nuances, had been indirectly yet clearly rejected—and once it dawned on him, every hair on his body stood up. He didn’t care anymore about whether hobbling on his injured leg looked ridiculous; he grabbed his crutch and went storming off, ready to “eliminate” whoever had set him up.

Shao Xing protested, “How do you know it was me? The letter was written by Sister Xia!”

Jiang Jian retorted, “But you gave it to me! And you’re totally the type to pull a stunt like this.”

Shao Xing: “…”

Shao Xing raised a thumb in defeat—no words left.

Someone asked, “So what do we do now? Are we still warning the transfer student?”

“Warn him about what? He hasn’t even done anything!”

“Come on, Sister Xia, this is all on you. How could you not know you can’t just use pink paper? What are we even supposed to say?”

“I’ve never confessed to anyone before,” Xia Yiming said sheepishly. “I really didn’t know. My bad—this one’s on me.”

Another chimed in, “Bro Jian, when he handed you that hundred yuan, didn’t you realize it was your own money?”

“…”

Jiang Jian thought back to how the guy had insisted on forcing the bill on him. “I thought he was trying to insult me with money.”

“…”

There was supposed to be an optional self-study session that evening, but Jiang Jian just couldn’t bring himself to go back.

He could still feel the heat burning in his face.

Even though none of it had actually been Luo Shuxin’s fault, Jiang Jian still firmly decided to hold him responsible.

Someday, this debt would be repaid… But for now, he needed to go home and nurse his wounded pride—and maybe his stomach or his teeth, whichever hurt more.

Just thinking about how coldly Luo Shuxin had worded that carefully—but clumsily—phrased rejection made Jiang Jian’s teeth ache, his stomach churn, and every nerve in his body scream in protest.

He called Uncle Wang, the family driver.

From the school gate to home, Jiang Jian said nothing. He sat with his head resting against the car window, looking like a wilted eggplant, questioning the meaning of life.

Uncle Wang glanced at him twice through the rearview mirror, then finally asked where to drop him off.

Jiang Jian gave him a weary look, eyes full of silent grief and heartbreak—still clearly traumatized.

Old Wang: “…”

Old Wang sighed. “Got it.”

On the way home, Jiang Jian stopped to buy a new phone and replace his SIM card.

Finally, the car pulled up at an old neighborhood in Jiangshui City.

When he got out, familiar faces were everywhere—neighbors greeting one another, street vendors selling steaming snacks by the roadside.

Jiang Jian had barely hobbled two steps when a friendly uncle spotted him and offered to help. Jiang Jian refused, but the man ignored him and hoisted him up like a sack of rice, carrying him all the way to his front door.

Along the way, aunties and grannies called out cheerfully:

“Xiao Jian, you’re back! Is your leg feeling better?”

“Hey, we made chicken soup tonight—come over for dinner later!”

“You’re home so early! Your dad—oh, ow, why’d you poke me? I was just asking!”

“…”

By the time he was set down at his front gate, Jiang Jian was covering his face, completely mortified. “Uncle Pei, you know about my leg…”

Uncle Pei just ruffled his curly hair. “Alright, alright, get inside. The older you get, the sulkier you are!”

Jiang Jian had lived on this street for many years.

Back when his dad’s career hadn’t taken off yet, the family of three had lived here. Later, when his father became successful and started flying all over the country for business, they moved to a better neighborhood—but Jiang Jian and his mother couldn’t get used to it, so they returned here.

After his mother passed away, he’d lived with his father for a while again, but eventually came back—this place simply felt right.

Their house was a two-story home with a small courtyard. When you opened the gate, a stone path led inward. The courtyard was spacious; his mother had designed it herself. On the right side was a small sitting area with a table and chairs, shaded by a low grapevine trellis. The rest was arranged as a garden and sunroom.

All the flowers had been carefully planned and arranged — the expensive ones were kept inside the sunroom under attentive care, while the more common varieties were planted outdoors. The mix of heights and colors was perfectly balanced, creating harmony in every season. No matter the time of year, the air was always rich with the fragrance of blossoms.

The moment Jiang Jian pushed open the gate, that familiar, refreshing scent filled his lungs.

He used to find it annoying — more flowers meant more mosquitoes, and every summer he’d suffer endlessly.

But later, he got used to it. Especially after his mother passed away, those messy flowers started to feel completely different to him. He was afraid something she’d left behind would wilt or die, so he didn’t dare dislike them anymore.

Once Jiang Jian closed the door, his limp disappeared — there was no need to keep pretending at home. He casually set down his crutch and flexed his legs a few times.

He had barely taken two steps when he noticed a half-empty milk tea cup sitting on the stone table, only the tapioca pearls remaining at the bottom.

He had just picked it up when a sharp female voice cut through the air:

“So your leg wasn’t broken after all!!”

Jiang Jian turned around and spotted a woman crouched in a hidden corner of the flowerbed.

She was young, dressed fashionably, holding up her phone to record. The pink, diamond-studded manicure on her fingers sparkled against the white phone case.

When she realized he had seen her, she stopped pretending and stepped out from among the flowers, still holding her phone high.

“I knew you were faking it!”

Jiang Jian frowned. “Why do you still have a key to my house?”

The woman snapped, “I’m going to tell Zhiyuan right now that you’ve been faking your injury! You lied to him!”

Jiang Jian: “…”

He adjusted his posture slightly, leaning casually against the stone table as he faced her.

“Go ahead,” he said lazily. “Want me to call him for you?”

Jiang Zhiyuan always had plenty of women around — a whole flock of pretty little songbirds — which was one of the reasons Jiang Jian had never liked staying at his father’s place.

The woman huffed, “No need, I can reach him myself!”

She immediately sent the video she’d just recorded to Jiang Zhiyuan, then started a WeChat call.

Jiang Jian’s brow twitched slightly.

He hadn’t expected her to still be able to contact Jiang Zhiyuan. He’d thought after that incident, his father would’ve completely cut her out of his circle of flirty companions.

That incident had happened around the start of summer make-up classes.

That day, Jiang Jian had caught a cold and taken the day off to sleep at home. Somehow, this woman had gotten hold of his house key. While he was asleep, she snuck in to “help” — cleaning the place, cooking porridge, and even cutting flowers from the garden to arrange them in vases for the living room and bathroom.

Apparently, she thought the only reason she hadn’t been able to officially become “Mrs. Jiang” was because Jiang Zhiyuan’s son didn’t approve of her. She believed that if she could just “win him over,” everything else would fall into place.

Jiang Jian had a high fever that day. When someone knocked on his bedroom door, he opened it to find a woman only a few years older than him forcing a friendly smile.

Then he saw the flowers in the vases, and the chaotic mess in the kitchen — the utensils and cookware his mother had carefully chosen herself.

He’d instantly lost all patience and told her to get out.

But she had counted on the fact that he wouldn’t hit a woman. She clung to him shamelessly, insisting that her porridge was delicious, that he needed someone to take care of him, that she was only there out of concern — and that in the future she’d treat him like her own son.

Jiang Jian just wanted her gone. Feverish and dizzy, they ended up scuffling. He wasn’t sure whether it was because he was weak or she used too much force, but the next thing he knew, he’d tumbled down the stairs.

The woman didn’t dare run. She carried the bleeding Jiang Jian out the door, planning to take a taxi to the emergency room — only to be stopped by a group of helpful neighbors who instead rushed him to Uncle Pei’s nearby clinic.

By the time Jiang Zhiyuan arrived, Jiang Jian’s head was bandaged, and he was firmly insisting that the woman had pushed him.

The neighbors, already disapproving of Jiang Zhiyuan’s playboy lifestyle so soon after his wife’s death, eagerly backed Jiang Jian’s version of the story.

And the most dramatic of all was Uncle Pei — normally a cheerful man, but that day, he’d kept a straight face, solemnly claiming that Jiang Jian had a fracture while he helped him apply a plaster cast.

The woman had no way to defend herself. Crying, she begged to take Jiang Jian to a proper hospital for X-rays, but at that point, no one was going to listen to her.

Jiang Zhiyuan had kept his tone polite for the sake of appearances, but his words were ice-cold. He kicked her out of their lives, telling her never to show her face in front of him or his son again.

Jiang Jian still remembered most of those harsh words.
And now, the fact that the woman could call Jiang Zhiyuan and actually get through — that was… interesting.