The vast storage room had only me left in it. The old ceiling fan spun lazily, the windows were open, and it was nearly seven o'clock, yet the sky was still bright.
Sunlight filtered through the windows and fell across the room, making the books glow with a golden sheen.
I turned to the next page. My fingertips brushed against the paper, the sound of turning pages echoing through the storage room.
"September 4, 2018—Sunny—Tuesday"
I've given up on finding the girl who took my quilt.
Yesterday afternoon during military training, I didn't see her.
I uneasily slept under the Ultraman quilt.
That was the first time I used a girl's quilt.
Though I couldn't figure out why a girl would have an Ultraman quilt.
Her quilt also had a faint, pleasant scent, so at odds with a big guy like me.
When I sniffed it, it smelled like a very clean fragrance. Theo insisted on coming over to take a whiff and claimed it was the smell of dust mites burning under the sun.
I gave him two more punches, chased him away, and then stiffly felt the quilt on my body.
It didn't seem right to return it now.
I couldn't let her use a quilt that a boy had slept under.
At noon, I went with Theo and Ryan to evaluate the school cafeteria food.
Well... Ryan and I agreed it wasn't good.
Theo said it tasted better than the "pig slop" his mom made at home. He said his mom's cooking was like a kitchen hazard.
I almost forgot to write—this morning, I saw her.
She was in Squad 22. Squad 22? Then she must be in Class 22.
I think looking for the owner of the Ultraman quilt has left some lingering aftereffects.
This strange encounter made me unable to stop secretly watching her. My eyes kept instinctively searching for her in the crowd.
The military training uniform looked on her like enemy soldiers invading a village.
How can someone not even know how to dress properly? Sigh!
"Enemy soldiers invading a village"—what kind of metaphor is that for a science student?
Is that really an adjective that belongs to a girl in her prime?
I stared silently at this page, unable to stop myself from clenching my fist.
My memories drifted back to our military training in high school. Our school was always under closed management—we couldn't leave campus at will.
The military training pants were way too big, and I happened to not have a belt. Fortunately, my roommate Tang Jia had just celebrated her birthday and still had the red ribbon used to tie the cake box. With a scrunched-up face, I begrudgingly used the ribbon as a makeshift belt.
Because the ribbon had no elasticity and was very thin, I had to wrap it around multiple times and tie it tight to keep my pants up.
The price of this arrangement was that every time I needed to use the bathroom, I'd be scratching my head trying to undo those impossible knots.
Once during a sudden midnight assembly, I rushed out in the dark without securing the ribbon properly. As I was about to step out of the dorm, Tang Jia collapsed laughing behind me. I looked down and found the red ribbon tangled all over my crotch, effectively turning my military pants into saggy harem pants.
I remember during military training, every day was a sunny thirty-plus degrees. They'd stick us under the blazing sun to practice marching, and if we didn't march well, they wouldn't dismiss us for meals. I felt like I was on the verge of death. Every day I'd just haphazardly button up my shirt.
My dad came to the school gate to bring me something and even mocked me, saying I looked like a puppet soldier.
He said if he pinned two toy guns to my red belt, I'd look even more like a bowing, scraping little traitor next to the enemy.
I was so embarrassed I threatened to tell my mom, only to find her already beside me, laughing so hard she couldn't breathe.
Thinking back now, maybe "puppet soldier" wasn't so bad.
It was still better than being called a Japanese invader. Seeing him describe me that way didn't even make me all that angry—instead, it made me a bit nostalgic for those days.
2
I leaned gently against the storage room table, picked up the diary, and continued reading. My heart was tangled with a thousand sorrows, and the fan overhead still creaked as it turned lazily.
"September 7, 2018—Cloudy—Friday"
Military training was too exhausting the past few days, so I was too lazy to write.
I hope the homeroom teacher doesn't check diary dates. Not much has happened recently, nothing much to write about. So I'll continue writing about the quilt saga.
It's strange—ever since then, I keep running into the girl who took my quilt.
I still don't know her name.
Let me just call her "Blanket Girl" for now!
Blanket Girl seems quite lively.
This morning I saw her getting pulled out by their drill instructor to practice marching again.
It seemed she was caught slouching during practice.
But even when she was singled out to march properly, she still slacked off. The instructor was so annoyed he rounded up a whole squad of equally lazy people and formed a "special training team," claiming it was for their own good.
The more I look, the more I find this female lead quite amusing.
Dressed like an invader, acting like one too, and running fast to boot.
Today was the last day of military training. In the evening, the whole grade had a talent show.
Many people volunteered to perform.
Theo was eager to go, and with the instructor's encouragement, he bounded up onto the stage like a monkey.
The whole audience roared with laughter. It seemed like he was doing street dance.
Someone in the back said it looked like a "monkey catching the moon" dance.
I observed carefully.
Hmm... that actually seemed pretty fitting.
After he came down, the instructor said I was handsome and told me to go up too.
I was too embarrassed and didn't go.
What I didn't expect was that Blanket Girl performed.
She just stood there obediently, not nervous at all.
She picked up the microphone with composure, without changing her expression.
Smiling at the crowd, she seemed to glow.
I was used to seeing her sprint around like a track star.
Her quiet, gentle appearance today was quite special.
She sang a song—"Though Brief, the Love is Deep."
I think that was the name.
It was actually pretty good. I'll go listen to it when I get home this week.
"Though Brief, the Love is Deep"?
I narrowed my eyes, carefully recalling the summer of 2018.
The melody of that song spun through my mind.
That summer, the song inexplicably blew up on Douyin. Nearly every store you walked into was playing it. I liked following trends, so I listened to it over and over and memorized both the lyrics and the melody early on.
I was waiting for a chance during military training to show off, but I couldn't remember if I'd actually sung it during military training.
I raised an eyebrow. I never expected someone would actually write about me singing in their diary.
"September 8, 2018—Light Rain—Saturday"
This afternoon after school, military training officially came to an end. We could finally go home.
I can stay up late watching football again.
I have no idea if the away game will go well.
I also don't know if the teacher will check our diaries. But I really can't squeeze out enough word count. I can only write what's on my mind. If the teacher checks, I'll just black out these few lines. Oh right, I can also write about Blanket Girl. Blanket Girl's classroom is on the fourth floor, mine is on the first floor—it's a bit far. I want to get to know her, but how do I even start a conversation?
"Hey classmate, we got our quilts mixed up. I'm currently using your Ultraman one." That doesn't seem right. Well, let's just leave it then!
Damn it. I haven't really interacted with girls before. Still not used to it.
Maybe I should ask those two.
Yeah, I'll ask first. Though it's better than nothing, first impressions matter.
During military training, I'd grown so accustomed to the Ultraman quilt that it now looked perfectly fine to me.
It was soft and comfortable to sleep under—quite nice actually. Our school arranged classes by entrance exam scores, with twenty-four classes total. From Class 1 to Class 24, scores went from highest to lowest.
My entrance exam score barely met the cutoff for this key high school—I was at most three points above the minimum.
So I ended up in Class 22, with our classroom on the fourth floor. Every mealtime, I couldn't outrun anyone.
Speaking of which, this really depressed me. Once during a fire drill, I practically broke my legs running down from the fourth floor, and by the time I made it out, Class 1 had already finished assembling.
The dormitory building was the same. Floors one through five were assigned by class. Girls in Class 1 lived on the first floor, while those of us in Class 22 tearfully lived on the fifth floor.
Every time I wanted to wash my hair, I had to write a little note in advance and pass it to Tang Jia next door, give up on eating, and beg her to bring me back a flatbread.
The moment the lunch bell rang, I'd sprint from the fourth floor of the classroom building, then huff and puff up to the fifth floor of the dorm.
For all three years of high school, choosing between washing my hair and eating lunch was a painful daily dilemma.
And because my entrance exam score was three points lower than others, I spent those three years running back and forth, making up for the time I'd slacked off in middle school.
The person writing this diary was on the first floor, meaning this boy was probably quite smart. My curiosity grew heavier and heavier.
Who could this person be?
3
I flipped a page with my finger.
"September 11, 2018—Light Rain—Tuesday"
Saw Blanket Girl again. I've completely given up on returning the Ultraman quilt. The more I use it, the more I like it. I've reached the point where I can't sleep without it. And she doesn't seem interested in swapping it back either.
Oh right, I ran into her at the cafeteria again today. Whatever she was eating looked good.
From the last window on the second floor. I should try it next time.
The last window on the second floor—I frowned, trying hard to recall what dish that could be.
Ah, I remembered.
I'd long forgotten what the cafeteria named that dish.
It was rice mixed with corn kernels, shredded lettuce, and roast meat. You could also add bacon or ham.
I even gave it a name back then—I called it "Fortune Treasure."
Because I thought the bowl looked like a gold ingot.
I don't know if he ever went to try it. It really was delicious.
Speaking of cafeteria food, there were plenty of other good options too. The Longjiang braised pork rice at window four on the second floor, the roast meat mixed rice at window seven on the first floor. And the Shanghai wontons. When I was still at school, I'd complain every day about how bad the cafeteria food was. But after graduating, it was hard to find meals as cheap and generous as what the cafeteria offered.
"September 12, 2018—Cloudy—Wednesday"
The quilt incident has quietly blown over, but I still need to keep writing this diary.
I'm always writing about Blanket Girl. I don't know what else to write about.
I haven't seen Blanket Girl around lately either.
High school coursework is way more than middle school.
The school is also organizing some kind of welcome gala.
It sounds complicated and boring—doesn't seem very interesting.
The teacher said every class must put on a performance.
Theo volunteered, wanting to bring glory to the class.
Unfortunately, the homeroom teacher had the "privilege" of witnessing his graceful monkey-catching-the-moon dance.
With a smile, she rejected his request.
I thought to myself—if Blanket Girl came to perform a song.
The teacher would surely agree in no time!
If I were the teacher, I'd definitely agree.