HTCYH Ch 42

Chapter 42: Attending School

It was unclear whether Wuming intended to take revenge, thought Tu Si was too idle and needed something to do, or perhaps simply wanted to fulfill Tu Si’s fabricated dream of attending school, but Wuming truly went and arranged a student identity for him. He tossed Tu Si into a university, where he was set to study history and archaeology.

Sitting in the classroom, listening to the professor lecture on the history of historiography, Tu Si opened the slides. After flipping a few pages, he could spot one or two familiar faces. Seeing later generations analyze the so-called great words and literary masterpieces that those people had drunkenly cried out in brothels and taverns left him curling his toes in embarrassment.

It was like the feeling of your high school deskmate suddenly becoming famous, and then having their words included in a university textbook, forcing you to analyze the meaning of that “famous quote.” Knowing them too well, you clearly remembered that those words had been contrived to show off and flirt, cobbled together from mismatched phrases, fragments of pseudo-profound nonsense that resembled the angsty “mourn-love literature” once popular on QQ. Yet here you were, required to write in exams that so-and-so was filled with patriotic zeal, unafraid of power, supporting reform, or suffering bitter frustration at the world’s injustice. That powerless feeling of wanting to expose the truth yet knowing no one would believe you left Tu Si with an indescribable grievance.

University courses didn’t last from morning until night, but evening self-study was still required. So every evening at 8 p.m., Wuming had a new task: picking Tu Si up from school and bringing him home.

In the car, after holding it in for several days, Tu Si finally couldn’t resist asking:

“Captain, do you dislike making me three meals a day so much that you had to torture me like this?”

Wuming kept his eyes on the road, driving seriously, though the corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he gently asked:

“Going to university is torture to you?”

Tu Si looked at Wuming for a long while before saying:

“In the X dynasty, there was a prime minister surnamed Bai. He monopolized power, blocked the voices of others, rejected virtuous talents, causing disorder in governance. The only protector-general who could contend with him was framed and killed, after which he successfully usurped the throne and became the founding emperor of the Z dynasty. This prime minister was named Bai Mu, courtesy name Wuming. Do you know him?”

Just then the traffic light turned red. Wuming turned his head toward Tu Si, smiling at him, but said nothing. Tu Si, not to be outdone, stared back into Wuming’s eyes.

Tu Si felt the surging waves of emotion hidden in Wuming’s gaze, though like a deep current buried in the sea, the surface appeared calm and undisturbed. Their silent confrontation lasted until the light flashed green, when Wuming quietly turned his head back and resumed driving.

Without shifting his gaze or changing his expression, Wuming asked with a smile:

“Have you gotten used to campus life these days? Made any new friends?”

Tu Si saw through the blunt attempt to change the subject but didn’t pursue it further. Instead, he followed Wuming’s lead and said:

“Mm. Aside from constantly running into familiar faces in the history textbooks, everything else is fine. My classmates are friendly, and the professors approachable. University feels like a relatively pure ivory tower, filled mostly with students untainted by the world. Having not yet been polluted by society, they tend to be kinder and more innocent, to the point that many of the club activities are overly childish. And I’ve checked—there aren’t any gamers in my class.”

Wuming chuckled softly:

“I sent you to university to prepare for later work with the game, but it wasn’t to make you go undercover searching for players. You’re somewhat disconnected from modern society. Don’t think just because you surf the web with 5G that you can quickly make up for all those years of seclusion and become a trendy modern man. At best, that makes you a human database of memes.

If you don’t want to socialize too much, don’t want to join clubs or group activities, I won’t force you. For compulsory events that you truly dislike, you can come to me—I’ll excuse you. I just want you to understand what a university student’s life is like, to quickly adapt to this diverse modern society. University is already relatively free. If I really wanted to torture you, I’d send you back to high school to prepare for the college entrance exam alongside Ke Xian.”

Tu Si broke into a smile at once, then asked:

“Then can I ask—this identity’s original owner, the person named Jiang Tukui—did he truly exist?”

Wuming nodded:

“Yes. He was an intern of Squad Five. He died in one of the games. You’ll be using his identity to enter the game he failed to clear, to complete the mission. This is the condition for your return to the game. It’s also a little personal wish of Squad Five’s captain—he hopes you can find Jiang Tukui’s soul. Whether you bring him back, release him, or erase him, at least it would give closure to this boy’s short life, rather than leaving him eternally sealed within the game.”

Tu Si asked:

“Will I be using his identity for the rest of my life?”

Wuming shook his head:

“That depends on you, and on him. The research into returning retired players to the game still needs more time. Roughly about one university semester. Spend the semester experiencing campus life, clear the game, and once you’re out, I’ll ask for both of your wishes.”

Though Tu Si had already anticipated as much, hearing the final confirmation—that the identity’s owner had indeed perished—still left a heaviness in his heart, tinged with sorrow. Such a young life had already been lost. The classes he now attended, the activities he joined, the classmates he befriended—these should have been part of that boy’s life. But now he was trapped within the game, and even if rescued, he would be nothing more than a handful of yellow earth, kept alive only by the lingering longing of the living.

Sensing Tu Si’s gloom, Wuming gave a soft sigh and shifted the topic:

“I made malatang today. Want to try it?”

Tu Si’s eyes lit up. Ever since tasting spiciness for the first time, he had begged Wuming to make him hotpot. Unfortunately, Wuming had always coldly refused, claiming that he ate lightly, disliked spicy food, and didn’t know how to cook it.

After all, taking Wuming’s three meals a day and then demanding more was already excessive. Being able to taste flavor at all was already like a dream come true. To nitpick further would be unreasonable, so Tu Si hadn’t pressed the issue again.

But not mentioning it didn’t mean he didn’t want it. Every time he carried the “lovingly prepared” lunchbox from Wuming to eat in the cafeteria with his classmates, he would look at the first-floor stalls, where Sichuan dishes were stir-fried in fiery red chili oil, or at the second floor’s hotpot and malatang, drooling uncontrollably. Dissatisfied, he had even begun to secretly resent how bland Wuming’s lunchboxes were.