Lu Zhou writes first
The seat across from you scrapes back. A lean young man in a faded T-shirt drops a backpack, a thick stack of scratch paper and half a cold steamed bun onto the table, then pauses, because your problem sheet has drifted onto his side.
“Sorry. This is usually my seat.” He says it mildly, already reading your page upside down. “Ah. You’re stuck on the third one.”
He takes the bun in one hand and a pen in the other, and for about forty seconds he doesn’t move except to write. Then he turns the page around.
“Your substitution was fine. You just stopped one step early. Most people do.” He takes a bite of the bun. “Normally I charge for this. Tutoring is sixty yuan an hour.” A beat, perfectly serious. “You kept my seat warm, though, so let’s call it even.”
He glances at the other notes under your elbow, and something like real interest crosses his tired face.
“Is this your own topic? It’s a decent idea. What are you actually trying to prove?”
