The Devil's Temperature

Score

The confusion etched on Bei Yao’s face was so stark that Teacher Yu Qian froze in her tracks. She had intended to ask Bei Yao’s preference that morning, yet two reasons had thwarted her plan: firstly, Bei Yao lived far away and always arrived right at the cusp of class; secondly, it seemed an instinctive assumption for anyone that sharing a desk with Fang Minjun would be infinitely better than with Pei Chuan.

Pei Chuan had drawn the “38th Parallel” and refused to utter a word to Bei Yao. Driven by the desire to protect Bei Yao, relocating her to sit with Fang Minjun felt like the only sensible choice—and with that thought, Teacher Yu had simply announced the decision after class.

Bei Yao glanced at the cold, unresponsive Pei Chuan. Her mind, still immature, clung to reluctance, yet young Bei Yao had always been an obedient child who heeded her teacher’s words.

She rubbed her eyes with her small hand, then began tucking her textbooks and water cup into her schoolbag, gathering up all her belongings. Pei Chuan did not so much as spare her a glance, his gaze fixed solely on the illustrations in his Chinese textbook.

Fearing he would be left lonely, Bei Yao hesitated for a long time before unfastening the small panda charm from her schoolbag.

She pressed her soft cheek against it in a reluctant caress, then set it down on Pei Chuan’s desk.

Pei Chuan’s eyes drifted from his book to the charm—a plump, round little panda sitting quietly on his desk.

He knew how dearly she cherished this toy: during class, she would unconsciously tug at its ears, and every morning before arriving at school, she would first make sure the panda was safely settled in her bag.

At last, he lifted his eyes to look at her. Her expression was brimming with reluctance, her gaze so pitiful that he could not tell if she was grieving the loss of him or the panda.

Wordlessly, he pushed the beloved panda back toward her.

Chances were, it was not him she was unwilling to part with.

Bei Yao hugged the panda to her chest, heartbroken. He disliked her—and her toy too.

Slinging her schoolbag over her shoulder, Bei Yao walked toward Fang Minjun. Fang Minjun cast her a haughty glance, then turned to chat with the classmate behind her.

Five-year-old Pei Chuan summoned every ounce of his willpower to resist turning around and watching her retreating figure.

Bei Yao sat bathed in brilliant sunlight, golden rays gilding the top of her small head. From his spot opposite her, in the shadow where sunlight could not reach, Pei Chuan tucked the bamboo dragonfly into his schoolbag.

The children who had gathered to watch the commotion soon forgot all about the seat change.

Bei Yao and Fang Minjun became deskmates.

If Bei Yao had retained memories of her high school years, she would have found this arrangement awkward and strange. Fortunately, with the innocent mindset of a young child, she thought the lovely Minjun was quite adorable.

Throughout the entire autumn, the first thing Bei Yao learned was to curb her water intake—for Fang Minjun would never share her water with her the way Pei Chuan had.

Fang Minjun was unusually competitive: if Bei Yao’s hair was styled nicely, Fang Minjun would wear a sour expression all day, unconsciously fidgeting with her princess dress to straighten it. After all, she was still a child; though her mother’s instilled ideals were deeply rooted in her, she harbored no intense malice toward Bei Yao.

After all, little Bei Yao was not as slender and delicate-looking as she was, and she was easy to push around.

Bei Yao could be sent to throw away the trash; Bei Yao could be asked to hand in both their homework to the group leader. Little Bei Yao was obedient and compliant.

Pei Chuan watched all this, his face darkening with displeasure.

Yet this was the path he had chosen—Bei Yao was no longer his deskmate.

When autumn gave way to colder weather, Zhao Zhilan dressed Bei Yao up like a little lucky doll: in a thick, vibrant red cotton jacket that exuded warmth and festivity.

The jacket was not new; Zhao Zhilan had refashioned it from old clothes. Though somewhat gaudy, it was wonderfully warm. Beneath the red jacket, Bei Yao wore a thermal undershirt and two sweaters, and her short legs were swaddled in thick layers too.

It so happened that Zhao Xiu was carrying Fang Minjun downstairs for a visit. Bei Yao called out in her soft, babyish voice, “Aunt Xiu, Minmin!”

Zhao Xiu nearly laughed herself breathless. “Zhilan, from a distance, I thought Yao Yao was a little fireball!”

At her words, Zhao Zhilan instinctively glanced at Fang Minjun. The little girl was dressed beautifully and delicately, in a brand-new pink cotton jacket paired with a pink scarf—trendy and not at all bulky. Fang Minjun clung to Zhao Xiu, who indulged her.

Zhao Zhilan rolled her eyes inwardly. In such freezing weather, who cared about looking nice? Staying warm was what mattered. Outwardly, she put on a polite smile. “Oh, that outfit on Minmin must have cost a pretty penny, huh?”

“The jacket was over thirty yuan, and the scarf was a gift from her aunt,” Zhao Xiu replied.

The mention of over thirty yuan left Zhao Zhilan—who had little money to spare—lost for words. Zhao Xiu’s eyes sparkled with delight.

As Zhao Xiu carried Fang Minjun home, Fang Minjun said, “Daddy said the jacket was twenty-six yuan.”

Zhao Xiu shot her daughter a sharp look. “If Mommy says it’s thirty, then it’s thirty. Your final exams are coming up soon, aren’t they? You must get good grades, do you hear me? If you do, Mommy will give you a reward.” The thirty-yuan jacket had made her wince, but the thought of outshining Zhao Zhilan when they compared their daughters’ grades after the finals filled her with pleasure.

Eager for the “reward,” Fang Minjun nodded vigorously, like a chick pecking at rice.

When winter arrived and the children took their first final exams, even Zhao Zhilan felt a flicker of nervousness. She feared sending Bei Yao to preschool so early had been a mistake. Gazing at little Bei Yao’s innocent, unclouded face, Zhao Zhilan sighed. Never mind—grades weren’t important. The greatest blessing was for her child to grow up healthy and safe.

On the day of the final exams, Zhao Zhilan sent Bei Yao to school bright and early.

Unlike elementary school exams, where seats were rearranged, the preschoolers took their tests in their usual seats.

Bei Yao felt no nervousness at all—her knowledge extended to what a third-grader would know.

The concept of “rebirth” was far beyond a child’s comprehension, and at times, Bei Yao herself felt confused: why did she know how to do all this? How could she foresee things that would happen in the future? Yet a sense of urgency warned her that this was a precious secret—one she could not even share with her mother.

Teacher Yu Qian handed out the exam papers, then stayed to supervise the children as they worked. Teacher Zheng also came to help. That year, the preschool exam did not separate Chinese and math; all the basic knowledge was covered in a single paper.

For their first ever exam, the children encountered all sorts of mishaps: some asked to be excused to use the restroom, others struggled to sharpen broken pencils. The teachers had to step in and help them.

Fang Minjun curved her hand into an arc, covering her paper as she wrote. Zhao Xiu had told her—never let Bei Yao copy her answers.

Bei Yao stared at the exam questions: counting the number of little flowers, counting how many children were in a picture.

Bei Yao: “…”

Before starting to write, Pei Chuan tilted his head slightly. His dark pupils fixed on the sunlit spot where the little girl was carefully writing her name.

He could not tell if she knew how to answer the questions. With a turn of his head, Pei Chuan dismissed the thought—whether she could or not was none of his business.

Bei Yao finished the exam quickly. It felt so easy to her!

Children’s exam papers were graded swiftly; results were ready to be collected just two days later. For the children’s first exam, the parents held high expectations.

In 1996, preschools in City C used a single hundred-point exam paper.

The children sat in their seats as the teacher called their names one by one, and each child went up to the podium to collect their paper. Teacher Yu Qian did not rank the children by their scores—for her, nurturing students mattered more than grades, and preschool was merely a transitional stage anyway. What surprised her, however, were the scores of two children: Bei Yao and Pei Chuan.

Fang Minjun was among the first to receive her paper. A bright red “90” was scrawled across it. Fang Minjun could not help but curve her lips into a smile, yet remembering the “elegant image” of Chang Xue she was supposed to emulate, she pressed her lips flat again—though the joy in her eyes was impossible to hide.

Next came Pei Chuan. He glanced at his paper, then tucked it into his schoolbag without a word.

Bei Yao was the second-to-last in the class to get her paper. When she saw the cheerful number on it, her almond-shaped eyes crinkled into a smile.

Fang Minjun thought to herself: Even if she scored 70, this deskmate of mine would still be grinning.

She covered her own score to keep Bei Yao from seeing it, then asked, “Yao Yao, what did you get?”

Bei Yao spread her paper open for Fang Minjun to see. At the top, a bright red “99” was printed in ink—Bei Yao had lost one point because her lines in the drawing section were not straight; she would have scored a perfect 100 otherwise.

Staring at that vivid red 99, Fang Minjun felt as if a thunderbolt had struck her. Even in the middle of winter, her joy vanished completely, as if someone had doused her with a bucket of ice water.

It’s over!

What if Zhao Xiu finds out when I get home…

After collecting their exam papers, the children were dismissed for winter break to go home and prepare for the New Year. Pei Haobin came to pick up Pei Chuan, driving past the school gate as he usually did.

Pei Chuan turned around. There, standing in the first row, was that little “red fireball,” waving at him vigorously, her eyes curved like crescent moons.

She held no grudges, as obedient as could be.

Pei Chuan tightened his grip on the cold metal bar of the motorcycle. “Dad, let’s take Bei Yao with us.”

Pei Haobin looked surprised. “What if her mom comes to pick her up?”

“We can tell her if we run into her on the way, or leave a message with the teacher,” Pei Chuan replied.

Pei Haobin could not help but glance at his son. Since Pei Chuan had lost his legs, he had become quiet and taciturn, rarely speaking so much. He agreed with Pei Chuan’s suggestion, though—for a four-year-old girl to walk nearly two kilometers to and from school every day, even he, a stranger, felt sorry for her.

Pei Haobin turned the motorcycle around and asked little Bei Yao, “Would you like Uncle to give you a ride home?”

Bei Yao wanted to ride the motorcycle. In her memories, it was not until third grade that Bei Licai bought one. Sitting on it felt like flying on the wind, and they could get home in just five minutes. Yet young Bei Yao was somewhat shy of strangers. She cast a timid glance at Pei Chuan, who looked down at her with no hint of reluctance in his eyes.

She nodded shyly, her soft, babyish voice saying, “Thank you, Uncle Pei.”

“Yu Qian, I’ll drop Bei Yao off on my way. If her mom comes, could you let her know?” Pei Haobin called out.

Yu Qian, of course, trusted her old classmate. She smiled and nodded.

Pei Haobin asked Yu Qian to help lift little Bei Yao onto the back seat, then used a leather strap to secure her in place, fearing the small child might fall off with her limited strength.

The children waiting in line behind watched, some of them envying Bei Yao. Fang Minjun could not help but pout. Her dad had a big bicycle and took her home every day, but she had never ridden a motorcycle before. She felt wronged—they all lived in the same neighborhood, so why would Pei Chuan’s dad take Bei Yao and not her?

It was the first time Pei Chuan had been this close to Bei Yao since they had changed seats.

Even the air seemed to carry the milky scent of her.

As Pei Haobin started the motorcycle, he softened his voice and asked Bei Yao, “Yao Yao, what score did you get on your exam?”

Pei Chuan also pricked up his ears, intent on hearing her answer.

Her voice rang out like a little bell: “Ninety-nine.”

Pei Haobin knew she was young—probably the youngest in the class. He had asked mostly to tease her, never expecting such a small child to score so well.

He praised her sincerely, “Yao Yao is so amazing—you’re so smart!”

Bei Yao knew to be polite. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Pei Chuan sat at the front, the winter wind brushing through his short hair. He said nothing the entire time, unaware that the corners of his lips had curled into a faint smile.

Fang Minjun rode home on the crossbar of her father Fang Xin’s bicycle. Her little face was pale, and she felt terrified of going home.

What would she do if Mom asked about her exam score?

Before the exam, she had never imagined she would score lower than Bei Yao. Yet the exam paper in her bag made it a harsh reality. Sitting on the crossbar of her father’s bicycle, she felt tears welling up in her eyes.

Even at her young age, Fang Minjun could sense her parents’ moods.

Zhao Xiu cared about two things above all else: first, Fang Minjun’s delicate, elegant looks—said to resemble the “jade maiden” actress Chang Xue; second, outdoing Zhao Zhilan in every way.

In the second regard, Zhao Xiu had been far ahead for over twenty years. Zhao Zhilan had never been able to compare to her in anything—yet now, she had been outdone by Zhao Zhilan’s daughter in terms of exam scores.

Fang Minjun fought back her tears. Mom must not find out.

She felt both scared and ashamed.

Bei Yao was so silly—why couldn’t she have scored higher than her? Next time, she would definitely do better. This time was just a mistake.

In her dazed state, father and daughter arrived home.

Zhao Xiu had been waiting anxiously. She hurried over, asking, “Minmin, how did you do? Let Mommy see your paper!”

Fang Minjun had no choice but to pull the exam paper out of her schoolbag. When Zhao Xiu saw the 90, her face lit up with a broad smile. “My Minmin is so amazing!” She planted a big kiss on Fang Minjun’s cheek.

Zhao Xiu then asked, “What about that girl Bei Yao? What score did she get?” Like her daughter, Zhao Xiu was certain that with Minjun’s talent, she could never be outperformed by Bei Yao.

Fang Minjun’s face turned white in an instant. She clenched her small hands tightly and looked down at the ground. “Sixty-six,” she mumbled.

Lying made her heart race with anxiety.

Zhao Xiu nearly laughed out loud. “I knew it! How good could Zhao Zhilan’s daughter be?” She kissed Fang Minjun again. “Mommy’s good little girl!”