Lu Yun, charge for Mom!
Shan Jiqiu held the thermos cup, Lu Yun’s reflection shimmering in her eyes. In her ears, Old Xie’s booming “Lion’s Roar” rang out: “This Hess’s Law…” But she heard none of it. All she saw was his mouth opening and closing, the memory fading like an old film reel, frames bleaching away.
Suddenly, it stopped at one scene—and began to play forward.
She was seven. Back then, she and Lu Yun were classmates, not yet neighbors. On her birthday, Ji Mengwei hit her again. She ran out, nowhere to go, hiding on her grandmother’s rooftop terrace, afraid to let Grandma know. She crouched in the shadow behind the wall, trembling, not knowing what to do.
Lu Yun appeared like a beam of light in the dark.
The little boy squatted before her like a grown-up, rubbing the bruise on her arm: “Does it hurt?”
Shan Jiqiu nodded, silent.
Lu Yun said: “Qiu-baby, call me Brother Ah Yun. I’ll protect you. Wherever it hurts, I’ll take care of it.”
Her eyes shimmered with tears, wronged and helpless, “Really?”
“Of course.” He held out his hand, pinky crooked. “Pinky swear.”
And for the first time in her life, she called him: “Brother Ah Yun.”
After Ji Mengwei passed away, on the first day Shan Jiqiu moved in with Grandma, Lu Yun comforted her: “Don’t be sad. From now on, Brother Ah Yun will protect you.”
And he did. Though he teased her often, he never stopped shielding her from harm.
The reel of memory kept turning.
By Grade 8, the day of her first period arrived. It was between classes, ten minutes before the last lesson of the afternoon. Shan Jiqiu felt a dull ache in her belly. She knew, in theory, what it meant—many girls had already experienced it in Grade 7 or even earlier. But knowing was different from being prepared.
“What’s wrong?” Lu Yun asked first.
Theory was theory. When it happened to her, shame and fear rose instinctively. Even with Lu Yun—so familiar—he was still a boy. She couldn’t say it.
“My stomach hurts a little.” She pressed her abdomen, feeling the sudden flow. It was almost certain. She stood and grabbed a pack of tissues from her desk. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
In the stall, she pulled down her pants—and saw the shocking red, staining even her clothes. Panic seized her. The pain grew sharper.
The bell rang for class. She stuffed thick layers of tissue, hesitated, then stepped out. And there he was, waiting at the door.
Shan Jiqiu wanted to cry from the pain, but forced a smile, weakly saying:
“What are you standing here for? Class is starting.” After saying that, she clasped her hands behind her back and started toward the classroom. But suddenly, Lu Yun caught her wrist, pulling her into the side corridor.
She still remembered how he frowned slightly that day, looking at her without asking anything. Instead, he took off his thin jacket and tied it around her waist, knotting it firmly.
His voice was rough with adolescence, grainy with change. After checking the knot, he pulled a hall pass from his pocket and handed it to her: “I asked the teacher for leave. Go home first. I’ll bring your bag and homework back.”
Later that day, he returned with her bulging schoolbag—and a small plastic bag.
“Drink this in hot water,” he said.
“Oh.” Shan Jiqiu accepted it, not knowing what it was, just nodding. Back home, she opened her bag to find several packs of sanitary pads in different colors.
And in the plastic bag—fresh blocks of brown sugar.
Days later, when they went to a convenience store together, the shopkeeper’s wife recognized Lu Yun and praised him to another auntie: “This is the filial little handsome boy I told you about. He came to buy sanitary pads for his mom, head down, embarrassed, and even asked me what helps with stomach pain. Such a thoughtful child. Hey, little handsome, not buying today?”
That day, the sunlight was dazzling, golden on the earth.
Lu Yun dropped the snacks he was about to pay for and strode quickly into the blaze of light, not looking back.
It was the first time Shan Jiqiu saw his face flushed red—like a ripe apple, or a freshly boiled crayfish.
For a while, whenever he annoyed her, she teased him with this story. She said it so often that at the sports meet, cheering for his 100-meter sprint, she blurted out: “Lu Yun, charge for Mom!”
He stumbled, nearly crashing on the track. And when he came back, she nearly “died” in his hands.
…
Lu Yun noticed Shan Jiqiu dazed and murmured, “What are you thinking? Want me to let you hurt to death and then collect your corpse?”
Shan Jiqiu: “…” *What kind of nonsense is that.*
He nudged her with his elbow: “Drink it. I’ll keep Old Xie distracted.”
The classroom fell silent, only the ceiling fan creaking overhead.
Old Xie slammed his hands on the desk, glaring: “Lu Yun, now you’re distracting your deskmate too?”
“No,” Lu Yun replied with a smile.
“Then explain Le Chatelier’s principle.”
Lu Yun stood: “Le Chatelier’s principle, also called the equilibrium shift principle, says that if one condition affecting equilibrium changes—like concentration, pressure, or temperature—the equilibrium shifts to counteract that change. For example, in a reversible reaction…”
His lips curved, boyish confidence in his grin: “Teacher Xie, we haven’t learned this yet. You’re making things hard for me, aren’t you?”
Old Xie cleared his throat, shot him a glare, and waved: “Sit down. One more word and you’ll be standing outside.”
Lu Yun nodded, sat down, and pulled out a scrap of paper. His long fingers twirled the pen, then bit off the cap. He scribbled a few strokes, then slid the paper to Shan Jiqiu. She looked down. On the messy draft paper, his handwriting flowed free and bold.
He had practiced calligraphy with his grandfather since childhood, developing his own style. Neat at first glance, but each horizontal stroke hid sharpness, each vertical stretched long—lazy yet distinctive. Impossible to imitate, but unmistakably his. On it were just two words: Drink up.
She smiled secretly, warmth rising inside. Even knowing his care wasn’t about romance, she couldn’t help but feel a quiet joy. Her peripheral vision filled with him, the air itself sweet with brown sugar.
What to do? It seems I’ve found yet another reason I can’t help but like you.
By Friday, the week had flown.
The only real novelty was that Grade 11, Class 1 had turned into a zoo.
The reason was simple: Lu Yun’s dazzling appearance at the opening ceremony had bewitched a whole flock of Grade 10 girls. They came in droves to peek at their classroom door, blushing as they scurried back to lessons—new faces every day, never repeating.
Lu Yun, however, remained utterly detached, as if none of it concerned him. He kept on with his routine—class, naps, basketball—like a bystander.
Shan Jiqiu, watching the pile of pink love letters stuffed into his desk, couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. She had thought about it before: if she could choose again, she wished she had only met Lu Yun now—not as his childhood friend, not under his protection since they were small. Without those years of shared history, without being his closest companion, at least she could like him openly, like those girls. Even if she failed, it wouldn’t matter.
Instead, she was stuck guarding this bittersweet secret, too timid to risk him finding out—afraid even their friendship would shatter.
Outside, sparrows perched on the overgrown branches, chirping noisily, competing with the cicadas’ last frenzy of September.
On the basketball court, boys played hard, sweat flying, while girls shrieked louder than the sparrows and cicadas combined.
Shan Jiqiu leaned on the windowsill, her gaze fixed, following only one figure—the carefree, handsome boy in motion.
Even the cicadas knew, buzzing, “I know, I know.” But you didn’t. If possible, let the cicadas carry my feelings to you.
The autumn wind stirred, and shadows danced, brushing her eyes and pulling her thoughts back.
There was never really a choice. Without their childhood bond, perhaps she wouldn’t have felt this unexpected heartbeat at all. She laughed at herself. Some things were destined—gain always comes with loss.
That afternoon, before the last class break, Lu Yun was summoned to the principal’s office.
The reason was simple: someone had anonymously sent the principal a photo of Lu Yun climbing the wall.
From the corridor, students could clearly hear Principal Xie’s voice: “One moment you’re the model student representative giving a speech, the next you’re sneaking off to climb walls. What was so important? Do you think school rules are just decoration? A good student should set an example—tell me, what kind of example are you setting…”
As the class bell rang, the eavesdropping students hurried back to their rooms.
This period was Xu Zhi’s class. Lu Yun strolled back halfway through, unhurried.
Xu Zhi didn’t scold him, just told him to sit down and join the lesson.
Shan Jiqiu, seeing his nonchalant expression, slipped him a note: *You okay?*
Lu Yun scribbled back in bold strokes: *Fine. Just writing a self-criticism.*
She exhaled in relief, set the note aside, and focused on the lesson.
There was no evening self-study that day. As he packed his bag, Lu Yun said to her: “I’m off to write my reflection.”
Shan Jiqiu didn’t move, opening her homework instead: “I’ll stay here and finish my assignments. Come find me when you’re done.”
Lu Yun smirked: “What, penance?”
“You shouldn’t have climbed the wall. But if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have done it—or gotten photographed and reported.”
She looked at him seriously: “Did you offend someone? Climbing a wall isn’t such a big deal. You even avoided the cameras. How did someone just happen to catch you and send it to the principal?”
Lu Yun only shrugged, ruffling her hair, “Who knows? Anyway, I don’t know how long this will take. If you feel guilty, do as I say—go home, alright?”
She met his gaze for two seconds. His eyes were bright and clean, like black glass marbles, yet carried a weight that brooked no refusal. In the end, she gave in: “Fine, I’ll head home. Want me to buy you something on the way?”
Lu Yun tapped his chin, actually considering. After a moment: “Chips, fried chicken, cola.”
Shan Jiqiu nodded: “Okay.”
Lu Yun chuckled: “Really making amends, huh? Never seen you this obedient.”
“Then I won’t buy it.”
“That won’t do. I need to see it. Otherwise, I’ll tell the principal I climbed the wall because of you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Always trying to wriggle out of it. Pack up and go home.”
She gathered her things, and together they left through the back door. Yu Kexia and the others were already waiting outside.
Zhou An slapped Lu Yun’s arm with a grin: “So, hero—was climbing the wall fun?”
Lu Yun slung an arm over Zhou An’s shoulder, laughing brightly: “Next time I’ll drag you along.”
Zhou An shook his head: “Thanks, but no thanks—I’m afraid of heights.”
Lu Yun teased: “Coward.”
Yu Kexia cut straight to the point: “So why’d you climb the wall anyway?”
Lu Yun: “State secret.”
Yu Kexia pouted, turning to Tan Junhao: “You’re in his class, you must know. Spill.”
Tan Junhao, seated in the front row of Group 3 while Lu Yun and Shan Jiqiu sat in the back of Group 4, shrugged: “I really don’t know.”
Yu Kexia turned to Shan Jiqiu: “You’re his deskmate. You must know.”
Lu Yun glanced at Shan Jiqiu, then said casually, “Off to serve my sentence,” and walked away with his bag.
Shan Jiqiu linked arms with Yu Kexia, heading off too, while Yu Kexia kept pressing for gossip.
“So why was it? Do you know?” She tugged Shan Jiqiu’s arm, eyes hungry for answers.
Seeing her eagerness, Shan Jiqiu told her the truth.
Yu Kexia’s eyes widened: “No way—he climbed the wall because of your cramps?”
“Mm.” Shan Jiqiu nodded.
Yu Kexia clicked her tongue, grinning slyly: “He wouldn’t…?”
Shan Jiqiu’s heart tightened: “Wouldn’t what?”
“Wouldn’t be…” Yu Kexia’s smile turned teasing.
“What… what?”
“…a pervert!”
Shan Jiqiu’s chest hollowed, her smile fading. Inside, she mocked herself—why had she been hoping Yu Kexia would say the impossible answer she longed for?
Yu Kexia went on: “No normal guy pays attention to stuff like that. They avoid it if they can.”
Shan Jiqiu: “He’s always been like this. Treats me like a little sister.”
Ever since her first period in Grade 8, she’d suffered cramps every time. Lu Yun was used to it, never flustered. He even urged her to see a doctor, though she always put it off. So whenever the pain was bad, he’d scold her for being careless—while making her brown sugar water.
Yu Kexia feigned shock: “So he’s been a pervert since childhood?”
Shan Jiqiu: “…”
Yu Kexia burst out laughing: “Alright, alright. Father-daughter bond, huh?”
Shan Jiqiu: “What nonsense.”
Yu Kexia laughed so hard she bent over: “Fine, brother-sister bond. Friendship forever. I’m jealous. Maybe I should ask Lu Yun to adopt me as his little sister too.”
Jealous? Shan Jiqiu sighed inwardly with a smile. If she could choose, she wouldn’t want this kind of envy.
…
Meanwhile, Lu Yun sat at the desk in the discipline office, bent over his reflection essay. Outside, the sky was heavy with damp clouds. A swallow skimmed low past the window—a sign of rain. He looked up at the dark horizon. The wind couldn’t scatter the clouds. Good thing he’d sent that girl home first.
After-school campus was quiet; the director was nowhere to be seen. Alone, Lu Yun felt oddly at ease.
Before long, voices rose beneath the window. At first, Lu Yun didn’t pay attention—until he heard the name *Shan Jiqiu*. His pen tore through the paper with a sharp scratch.
When the discipline director returned, the office was empty. On the desk, the wind lifted the corner of a half-written reflection essay. The student who had been writing it had vanished.
Lu Yun burst out of the school gates, phone pressed to his ear, calling Shan Jiqiu again and again. No answer.
He cursed under his breath, remembering the snatches of conversation he’d overheard: “Word is, it was Yan Xu and his gang who reported Lu Yun—just to leave Shan Jiqiu alone. They’ve got people waiting after school to block her. Heard they even brought in some street thugs…”
“What for?”
“Yan Xu, the campus tyrant—rich family, does whatever he wants. Shan Jiqiu’s the only one who never gave him face. He’s been chasing her since Grade 10, but she ignored him. Now he’s finally got his chance…”
Lu Yun hadn’t listened further. He’d bolted from the office, but her phone still wouldn’t connect. He kept scanning the streets, phone to his ear.
Finally, the call went through.
“Where are you?”
Relief surged—then vanished at the voice on the other end.
“She’s with me.” The tone was smug, amused.
“Yan Xu.” Lu Yun’s voice dropped to ice. “Where’s Shan Jiqiu?”
“Relax. Just having a nice chat. If it goes well, I’ll even call you brother.”
Lu Yun pressed his tongue against his cheek, his words colder than the Arctic, heavy with warning: “If you’re not afraid of dying, go ahead—lay a finger on her.”