Winter Time Rendering

Chapter 172: Chapter 73: Cyan Snake Temple (2)

Zhang Shutong rolled his eyes. "First, I don’t like Gu Qiuyan. Second, I don’t like Lu Qinglian either. And finally, the scratch paper was really an accident." As he spoke, he realized he was holding up three fingers. He recalled what Qingyi had said—that he didn’t even notice he had this little habit.

Zhang Shutong pulled his hand back and changed the question:

"I’ve noticed her family doesn’t seem to be very well-off. Do she and her grandmother just get by on Incense Money?"

But Song said, "Don’t change the subject."

Zhang Shutong was exasperated. He swore on the Fox that if he was lying, the car would stall right there.

"Get outta here," Song said. "What are you doing, swearing on my precious car?" But after studying Zhang Shutong’s expression for a moment and seeing he wasn’t faking it, he grew serious.

"I suppose so. They probably get a small government subsidy too. Why are you asking about this?"

"I’m a little curious about the temple her family runs."

"It’s nothing special, just a small local temple. There’s a courtyard with a stone-paved path, and when you walk in, there’s a main hall with two side halls. To me, all these temples look the same—red walls, cyan tiles... And there’s a big Fringetree in the courtyard, plus a rack where you can hang wishing plaques. I even made a wish there once."

Zhang Shutong said, "I wasn’t asking what’s fun about it. I mean, since it’s called the Cyan Snake Temple, where’s the Cyan Snake?"

"It’s just a big cyan snake. I’m not religious, so I’m not superstitious about it. Since I was there, I figured I’d pay my respects. Sincerity is what counts, I guess."

Zhang Shutong asked again:

"So how did the Cyan Snake Temple come to be? Why not some other kind of temple?"

He had just Googled it and found a legend, the same one Lu Qinglian told him when they were fishing:

Once upon a time, there was a mountain. On the mountain, there was a temple. In the temple, there was a girl... no, wait, a cyan snake. Legend has it that long, long ago, this place wasn’t an island but a giant pit. The Cyan Snake God coiled up here, and Its body formed the island.

Zhang Shutong even suspected that Lu Qinglian had just memorized it from a Google search.

He relayed this story to Song, who chuckled.

"It’s just a story. To put it bluntly, it’s all just superstition. I hear there’s even more of that down south along the coast. A single village can whip up its own temple."

"I remember two or three years ago, back when you were in the eighth grade, there was a national policy to relocate mountain residents to the cities. Although her family’s situation was a bit different, she would have qualified if she’d wanted to. Government officials went to ask, and they even called me in to help mediate, but her grandmother refused. Besides, the whole thing is pretty complicated. Their temple is actually a minor tourist spot; a lot of people make a special trip to visit. And you know that popular slogan these past few years? ’Create cultural symbols to build a city of tourism.’ I guess the Cyan Snake Temple counts as one of those ’symbols.’ With so many factors involved, the matter was just dropped."

At this, Song’s expression grew worried.

"What I’m worried about is something else. It’s not right for Qinglian to just stay in that temple all the time. As a teacher, I should respect her beliefs, but she needs to go to high school, go to college, and find a job someday. She can’t spend her whole life as a... as a Temple Priestess, right?"

’Don’t worry,’ Zhang Shutong thought. ’Now that I’m not in her way, she shouldn’t have any trouble getting into high school.’

Zhang Shutong then asked, "Is there anything else? Could you tell me more?"

"Anything else... I doubt I know more than you students do amongst yourselves. Does the fact that she walks to school every day count? I once asked her if she wanted me to buy her a bicycle—they’re not expensive—but she said no. Oh, and there’s a vegetable patch next to the temple, and she raises a few chickens. Qinglian once brought me a bag of eggs..."

This was all just trivial, day-to-day gossip.

Zhang Shutong didn’t want to hear about this. What he really wanted to ask Song was if there was anything unusual about Lu Qinglian.

After hearing all this, he realized that everything about her was unusual, but only when compared to a typical student.

He was only just now realizing how little he had known about Lu Qinglian. They had been classmates for over three years, yet he knew next to nothing about her.

Zhang Shutong thought for a moment and suddenly recalled the parent-teacher conferences. They would write their names on slips of paper and place them on their desks. Soon after, the parents would find their children’s seats while the students crammed into the back of the classroom, giggling and whispering... It was always as chaotic as a pot of boiling dumplings. When Song shot them a glare, the parents of mischievous students would instinctively turn to look for their own sons and daughters.

Lu Qinglian’s seat was always empty.

So it was always awkward when the report cards were read aloud.

Lu Qinglian was always first in the class. Song would offer his words of praise, but the parents below the podium would just look at each other, with no one to claim the honor. Then he would read the name of the second-place student, who was usually Zhang Shutong, and his mother would stand up with a smile, accepting the surrounding applause with complete peace of mind.

Back in their student days, a high rank on the report card was a tremendous honor. It was the dream of countless parents, the very reason they’d scold their own kids with a frustrated, "Why can’t you be more like other people’s children?" But the top student in their class had been absent for over three years. Right up until their middle school graduation, no one had ever seen what the parents of the grade’s number one student even looked like.

Eventually, the parents got used to it. They automatically skipped over the first-place ranking, treating the class list for Grade 9, Class 1 as if it started from second place.

But Zhang Shutong couldn’t imagine where Lu Qinglian went during those times. Did she stand with them at the back of the classroom? Did she go to the rooftop by herself? Or had she already returned to the mountain?

So he asked:

"What about her parents?"

Song scratched his head.

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