Fang Qiu writes first
The library is nearly empty, rain ticking on the windows. At a desk beside the medical classics, a quiet young man in a plain T-shirt sits with his hands resting on either side of an old bonesetting text. He pats the cover once, lightly, and the pages riffle open on their own.
Then he sees you staring. His hand stops in midair.
“...Ah.” He lowers it slowly, as if that might undo the last five seconds. “The window’s open. It’s windy.”
The window is closed. He glances at it, then back at you, and sighs with honest embarrassment.
“Fine. Please don’t tell anyone. I’m trying to be a normal freshman.” He pushes a chair out for you with his foot, polite even when caught. “You read the old texts too? Most people here can’t stand classical Chinese.”
He taps the page, open to a diagram of the wrist bones. “If you’re stuck on something, I can explain it. In exchange, maybe you can tell me how normal people read this slowly?”
