When A Snail Falls In Love

Feng Ye Short Story Part 1.1

From a young age, I knew that I was different from other people.

I was not afraid of pain, I never cried, and I was seldom sad. From my perspective, this world was so beautiful.

My parents were deaf and mute, and they treated me pretty well. They spent all the money they had on me, so that I became tall and as strong as a horse, while they were all skin and bones. They were really a pair of pitiful wretches.

Therefore, I did not kill them, and hid a lot of things from them. I did this as a kind of filial piety, in order that they could continue living happily in their poverty-stricken, confined little world, muddle-headed and ignorant.

When I was ten, I was in fourth grade. When I went to school one afternoon, I discovered a lot of students crying. Upon asking, I found out that an elderly math teacher had been struck down by a sudden illness in the morning, and had died. The entire classroom was full of weeping and wailing, and the young, female form teacher, with her red-rimmed eyes, told everyone, "Let's observe a moment of silence."

At that time, I wanted to laugh. Someone else had died, so why did we have to observe silence? That old math teacher had been very long-winded, and always complained that my workbook was not clean enough, even though my answers and logic were excellent. Looking at it from this perspective, it was so much better for him to die.

Who knew, when the form teacher looked at me, she seemed especially surprised as she asked, "Feng Ye, why are you . . . laughing?"

All the children looked over at me. With their tear-stained faces, they looked really foolish.

I immediately straightened out my mouth, and threw myself on the table with a loud 'waaah'. After all, as a good student, I naturally knew how a good student should behave. It was just that I had momentarily forgotten.

After a while, I felt the form teacher walk over to me and pat my hair. She commented to another teacher, "It looks like he's in shock. He was always the math teacher's favourite."

I buried my face in my hands and laughed.

Although I could not conjure up this mysterious thing called sympathy, I still had an ardent love for life.

I loved the praises my teacher gave me, I loved the admiration of my schoolmates, I loved this hypocritical and beautiful world. I lived each day very happily – so happily that I became a little bored.

The first time I hurt someone was when I was twelve. That occasion was enlightening, as it enabled me to realize why I felt bored.

It happened when I was leaving school in the afternoon. I was merrily going on my way when a big boy rushed out, seized me by the collar, and hit me. When I felt the sting of pain in my cheeks, I became acutely aware of the shock to my spirits, which was quickly followed by a surprising frisson of excitement.

I was very quickly beaten until I lay on the ground. My stomach hurt, my head also hurt, and the dirty ground was stained with the blood from my nose.

With a 'humph', the boy said, "From now on, don't be with Zhao Tingting. She is my girlfriend."

Ah, I understood. She was a fifth grade student who had written me a love letter. Her skin was fair, and she had big eyes.

I nodded.

The boy turned and walked away, seemingly very satisfied, and his footsteps were so light- almost as if he was floating. Like a cat, I soundlessly got up, picked up a brick from the ground, and ruthlessly aimed for the back of his head . . .