Krrt, krrt, krrt.
“This rainstorm is expected to last five to seven days. Residents are advised to take appropriate precautions. Please avoid going out over the coming week if possible—”
Krrt—click.
Song Ge sliced through the waterproof tape with a small knife, then checked each seal. Once she was sure she’d completely sealed the gaps around the door and the windows, she folded her tactical knife and tucked it back into her waistband. Then she set down the tape.
She went to the table and switched off the little electric pot of boiling water. Fishing out the noodles with chopsticks, she added a spoonful of chili sauce.
The windows were completely covered, leaving the half-basement room lit only by the faint glow of a yellow bulb.
Song Ge was used to it. She carried the steaming bowl into her cramped, hundred-square-foot room and ate alone, her face expressionless.
The weather service had predicted that the storm would last about a week.
But once again, its forecast had missed the mark. The rain stopped after only three days.
On the morning of the fourth day, the sun blazed in a cloudless sky.
In the dim half-basement, the phone on the table kept lighting up and going dark.
Song Ge came out of the bathroom after a shower, padding along in plastic slippers. Her short hair was still wet. Beneath her faded white T-shirt, she had broad shoulders and a lean waist.
From behind, she looked more like a tall, slender boy.
She picked up her phone. The class group chat had already filled with more than ninety-nine messages.
At the top was a notice from the homeroom teacher: the rain had stopped, afternoon classes would resume as usual, and everyone had to be at school by one.
The other students had posted all kinds of things.
Pictures of lavish meals and enormous houses. Photos of the clear skies outside. Complaints about being cooped up, followed by plans for where to go after school.
Only a handful of messages even mentioned the rainstorm that had come and gone so quickly.
Song Ge changed clothes and peeled the waterproof tape from around the window.
Something swept in by the floodwaters blocked the light completely.
She locked the door and left.
As she climbed the stairs, bright, glaring sunlight poured over her.
Song Ge raised a hand to shield her eyes. The scorching heat on the back of her hand told her that another sweltering stretch of summer weather was on its way.
I’m used to it.
She pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt and slung her bag over one shoulder. As she passed the small window of her half-basement room, she picked up the soggy cardboard box stuck to the outside and tossed it into a trash can that had been swept more than thirty feet down the street.
Clean-up crews were everywhere.
The sun blazed overhead in a cloudless sky. You’d never guess that the night before, the rain had come down as if the sky had split open.
Ten minutes later, Song Ge reached school.
Private cars crowded the gates of Kecheng High School. Many were luxury cars worth millions. They were parked wherever their owners pleased, blocking the lanes and causing a traffic jam several intersections away.
Song Ge had seen it all before. She kept her hood up and ignored the mess as she walked through the school gates.
Across Kecheng High School’s sprawling campus, everyone wore the same neat red-and-white uniforms, with their British-style trousers or skirts.
Song Ge was the only one in a sweatshirt and long pants.
People kept shooting her odd looks, whispering and pointing. Song Ge glanced their way.
The whispers died at once. One by one, the students looked away.
She turned and headed for the classroom building. On the third floor, she went into Class Six and walked straight to the last seat by the window. The sun was strong, so she swish!—pulled the curtains shut. Then she hooked a foot around the chair, dragged it out, and tossed her bag onto the desk.
She sat alone. Behind her was the classroom corner where the trash cans, brooms, and mops were kept.
As soon as she arrived, Song Ge put her head down and went to sleep.
The first class was the homeroom teacher’s. Before the teacher had even opened the lesson plan, they called Song Ge out.
“Song Ge, why aren’t you wearing your uniform again?!”
Song Ge stood up, sounding sleepy and languid. “It’s in the wash. It hasn’t dried.”
The teacher sighed in exasperation. “If you show up without your uniform again, you’ll stand in the hallway with your textbook and listen to class!”
“Okay,” Song Ge said.
“I’ve never met a girl with such thick skin,” a shrill, disgusted voice said from diagonally across the room. “Yuyu, how does Kecheng High School let trash like that in?”
A moment later, a soft, gentle voice replied, “Don’t say that. The teacher’s looking this way.”
Forty minutes passed in a flash, and class was over.
Song Ge liked class. She didn’t like the breaks.
During class, only the teacher talked. During breaks, everyone talked at once, buzzing like a swarm of flies. Sure enough, the shrill voice to her right started up again.
“Yuyu, look at the bracelet I just bought! It’s a limited-edition new tulip design!”
“It’s lovely.”
“Right? I’ll get you one sometime.”
“Give it a rest, Chu Qiao. Little Yu doesn’t need your bracelet. All her jewelry is custom-made by famous Italian designers who come to her house themselves. Every set is one of a kind. Why would she want something mass-produced like yours?”
Chu Qiao had no answer. Her face turned red.
But the girl everyone called Little Yu said, “Qin Mo, don’t be like that. It takes Davis ages to design a set, and the styles are so dramatic. I only wear them to important events. The rest of the time, I wear things I bought in a shop. Qiaoqiao, thank you. I really like it.”
“Hmph. You only ever take Chu Qiao’s side!”
“I’m on your side too. Tell me what perfume or bag you like, and I’ll get it for you, okay?”
“Then I want that new tiger-striped bag you had last week.”
“Okay. I’ll bring it for you tomorrow.”
Boring.
Song Ge pulled her hood over her head. She couldn’t be bothered to listen.
The day passed quietly enough.
By the time school let out, it was five in the afternoon. It was late spring, edging into summer, and the days were growing longer.
Even at that hour, the sunlight was still just as fierce.
Song Ge stopped at the supermarket and bought a case of instant noodles, a case of water, two lighters, and a box of candles. She’d used up some of her food supplies over the past three days and always restocked as soon as she could. Her electricity bill had gone over budget last month, so from now on she’d avoid using electricity unless she had to.
Still, if it didn’t rain, she wouldn’t really need candles.
Sunlight came through the window during the day, and at night the streets were full of bright signs and passing cars. Her half-basement room never lacked light.
When Song Ge got home, she saw an old beggar sitting at the entrance to her building. He wore filthy, ragged clothes, his hands covered in cuts from rummaging through something or other. She could smell him from a distance.
Song Ge had a case of noodles in one arm and a case of water in the other. She didn’t have a third hand to fish out a couple of coins.
Besides, she figured the supermarket wouldn’t let a beggar in to buy bread even if she gave him money.
Song Ge went inside to put her things away. When she came back out, the hunched beggar had made his way to the roadside. A short distance away sat a black car that looked expensive just from its color and sleek lines.
The back window of the Bentley was halfway down, revealing the pretty, delicate face of a girl. Her long, soft black hair was pulled into a high ponytail, pinned with a sparkling clip fit for a princess. The slightly curled ends brushed her slender, pale neck. She was gently instructing the driver, who had just gotten out of the car.
“Uncle Chen, could you get the old gentleman a pair of shoes too?”
“Of course, miss.”
As Tong Xiangyu spoke, she felt someone looking at her. She lifted her head and glanced toward the narrow, crowded entrance to the building.
