INS Chapter 15

“I’m home.”

Tao Ling entered the room, casually sitting on the sofa and unbuttoning his shirt.

In the center of the coffee table in front of him was a basin containing the bouquet of Chinese roses he bought two days ago.

He wanted to get a new one after breaking the vase last time, but for some reason, he dragged it on and hadn’t bought a new one even now. Sometimes when he visited Wen Qingying’s flower shop, he couldn’t help but want to buy flowers, but when he returned home, there’d be no place to put them, so he had to sacrifice an unused basin.

The branches were submerged in water, not even properly arranged, more like they were “dumped” in.

However, the flowers in the basin were blooming just right. Wen Qingying had introduced them, saying this variety was called “Lady of the Camellias.” They really did look beautiful, with their double petals resembling the charm of camellias.

Why not just call them Margaritas? Tao Ling thought absentmindedly.

After staring at the flowers for a moment, thoughts of the post he saw after work came to Tao Ling’s mind again.

After a while, inexplicably, he went to the forum and found the post. He scrolled through it and realized that his own comment didn’t garner much attention, just a few comments accusing him of dampening the mood. Then everyone’s attention shifted back to Wen Qingying.

There were a lot of comments now, with all sorts of speculations, and some people have even started making up stories. However, there were still only those few familiar IDs that remained.

Fortunately, the scope of impact shouldn’t be too wide.

Tao Ling browsed through the post, bored, until his attention was suddenly caught by one of the comments. It was a reply to his own words: “This ‘left_hand_side’ person, if you think we’re overly interested in other people’s lives, then why did you click into this thread? Are you saying you have some abnormal possessiveness towards the flower shop owner? Are you trying to hide what you can’t get yourself?”

This comment was drowned out amidst the chaotic chatter, without any further response or follow-up.

After reading those few lines a couple times, Tao Ling dismissively tossed his phone aside.

Did he… pay excessive attention to that person’s life?

Not really. He’s only passing by every day, and maybe he held a bit longer conversation than other customers.

He slid the cursor back and forth across the Microsoft Word interface, not a single word of the paper he wanted to edit had been touched, then suddenly it was already eleven o’clock.

Fuck excessive attention, that person already has a girlfriend, fuck being possessive!

All those people only knew how to blabber fucking nonsense online!

Tao Ling glanced at the time, shut down his computer in frustration, and headed to the bathroom.

Insomnia struck again, lasting for almost the entire night.

The class the next day was held in the grand lecture hall of the graduate school. It was a mandatory course for all first-year graduate students at the college, with nearly two hundred students listed on the course roster. Taking attendance became a challenge, so each class representative simply reported attendance instead.

The first half of the semester was taught by another professor, focusing on anthropology.

Tao Ling was aware of the limited effectiveness of such platform courses¹I’ve been referring to it as “online courses” up until now, but it seems like that’s not accurate. Platform courses are more like open classes that every student at a certain college can take. Sorry about the confusion. Each session felt more like a lecture, with many students ditching. And looking at the prior professor’s experience, he was mentally prepared for an almost empty classroom. But to his surprise, although not everyone attended, the classroom seemed almost full.

He mocked himself, thinking that it’s enough that the seats weren’t half empty.

The bell rang.

Tao Ling didn’t like self introductions, so he only wrote his name on the blackboard, simply saying: “Hello everyone, I’m Tao Ling from the department of religion. I’ll be the instructor for the second half of the semester. Let’s begin.”

The classroom buzzed incessantly, with whispers lingering even after the PowerPoint slides were opened.

There were too many people, and even though they were all highly educated individuals, it inevitably created a clamor akin to a flock of sparrows.

“Let me make it clear upfront: during my class, those who want to read can read, and those who want to go on their phones can go on their phones. But talking and eating are not allowed. We’re all adults here, so let’s show each other some respect. If you want to pay attention, then pay attention. If you don’t, then leave. It’s just a couple credits, don’t force yourselves.” With the fixed microphone just overhead, Tao Ling’s voice spread out emotionlessly, his expression remaining stern.

As soon as he spoke, the room fell noticeably silent.

Tao Ling lightly pushed up his glasses with the back of his hand, scanning the entire lecture hall. His gaze paused for half a second at a certain spot in the middle, before smoothly moving away without a trace.

At the very back of the classroom, Wen Qingying sat in a seat against the wall, with pens and paper spread out in front of him.

He sat there peacefully among the crowd, earnestly looking at Tao Ling.

It was a quiet posture unique to Wen Qingying alone, and for some reason, in that moment, just that fleeting moment, Tao Ling suddenly felt that this tranquility also belonged to him.

The first lecture didn’t cover much, just a brief overview of early Taoism, something that could be found in any introductory book. But Tao Ling also inserted a discussion about a method of forming Taoist scriptures based on his own research.

It was actually all information that he himself considered valuable, but he noticed that the students below weren’t very interested, so he quickly moved on.

“From here, we can see that the practice of fuji²According to Wikipedia: a method of spirit writing that uses a suspended sieve or tray to guide a stick which writes Chinese characters in sand or incense ashes., derived from shamanism, found continuity in Taoism… let’s take a look at this stone inscription…”

Tao Ling summarized while transitioning to the next slide. To “cater” to the audience, most of the slides contained images, but as he glanced at them, he suddenly felt that this approach wasn’t very suitable. While the slides did include some key words, it was too little.

Wen Qingying wouldn’t hear, so relying solely on visual aids might make him tired and lost.

The thought flashed through his mind, just as the bell for the end of class rang right on time.

In the blink of an eye, everyone who had been slouching suddenly straightened up. Tao Ling glanced around, feeling resigned, but his expression remained unchanged. “Class dismissed.”

Amidst the chaotic noise, someone said offhandedly: “Even the stone carvings on the slides don’t look as cold as his face.”

That person was relatively close to the platform, and didn’t remember to think of the microphone. Their voice was suddenly amplified several times, and laughter ran out from the crowd.

Tao Ling: “…”

The classroom quickly emptied out, leaving only a few people lagging behind. Tao Ling finished cleaning the whiteboard and turned around, noticing that Wen Qingying was still in his original spot.

After a bit longer, the classroom finally emptied completely, and the cleaning lady entered with her bucket.

Wen Qingying stood up and walked to the backdoor, while Tao Ling descended from the platform and walked across the entire classroom towards him.

They left the graduate school together, and Tao Ling actually really wanted to ask Wen Qingying about his thoughts, but typing while walking wasn’t convenient, so he could only refrain.

The two of them walked side by side, and Tao Ling suddenly realized a fact— as someone accustomed to being alone, he had surprisingly grown used to walking with Wen Qingying.

Yet, they had only known each other for a little over a month.

They exited from the west gate, and approached the flower store’s entrance when Wen Qingying paused.

Thinking he had something else to do, Tao Ling waved his hand and continued walking. Just as he lifted his foot, Wen Qingying suddenly grabbed his wrist.

Wen Qingying’s fingers weren’t only long, but also surprisingly strong, gripping Tao Ling’s wrist in a way that he couldn’t break free. The warmth of his palm against the slightly cool skin of Tao Ling’s wrist sent a subtle sensation crawling up his spine.

This wasn’t the first time Wen Qingying had pulled him like this, but Tao Ling was suddenly startled.

Turning around, Wen Qingying’s previous strength vanished, like it was never there. He released his hand, and in the blink of an eye, he returned to his polite and courteous appearance, smiling as he raised the piece of paper he held.

After a brief pause, Tao Ling smiled back.

The rolling shutter was only half open. As they entered the shop, Wen Qingying closed the glass door behind them.

The flowers in the shop were arranged like usual, forming shallow waves with a narrow path in between.

Sitting down, Wen Qingying pushed his notes toward Tao Ling.

Casually flipping through them, Tao Ling was surprised. He glanced at Wen Qingying before straightening up and reading, starting from the first page.

The earlier pages were all Wen Qingying’s reading notes, and the lecture notes only appeared on the last two pages.

Maybe because he couldn’t speak or listen in class, Wen Qingying wrote very quickly. The key points from Tao Ling’s slides were all in his notes, along with his own thoughts.

After observing for a while, and seeing Tao Ling’s obvious shock, Wen Qingying revealed a happy expression, with a hint of smugness between his eyebrows.

Tao Ling was looking at the last page, where he pointed to a question mark.

Under that question mark was a sentence commenting on Tao Ling’s summary from today’s class: “The relationship between witchcraft, fuji, and revealing the truth is complex. Is it really supposed to be summarized like this?”

• 1
  I’ve been referring to it as “online courses” up until now, but it seems like that’s not accurate. Platform courses are more like open classes that every student at a certain college can take. Sorry about the confusion
• 2
  According to Wikipedia: a method of spirit writing that uses a suspended sieve or tray to guide a stick which writes Chinese characters in sand or incense ashes.