137 Witty Remarks on Women

Seeing Lin Xia looking sluggish, Xie Xitong asked with curiosity, "Did you go out stealing every night? You look so exhausted."

Indeed, she was practically a thief. Although she possessed a spatial dimension where time outside stood still, she had truly spent an immense amount of effort and mental energy writing within it. She would grow hungry by seven o'clock every evening and run to the kitchen for a snack. Fortunately, she was at an age where she was still growing, so no one found it strange that she ate a lot; her father even affectionately teased her, calling her a little hamster.

Lin Xia waved her hand listlessly. "Don't even mention it. The schoolwork is so heavy, I'm half-dead from exhaustion every day. I'm amazed at how all three of you have so much energy."

Xie Xitong had asked Lin Xia to join her for sketching and had recruited Zhao Qian and Sun Xiaoxiao for traditional Chinese painting. She was remarkably clever, leaving no one out.

"It's really not that bad," Xie Xitong complained, unsatisfied. "At such a young age, you act like a withered old lady of sixty or seventy every day. That’s not a good thing; you need to get out and move around more. Look at Pan Tingting who sits behind us—school has only just begun, and she’s already finished more than half of that thick study guide, claiming she wants to get into Qing University. Look at you; apart from the homework the teachers assign, have you even touched the extra-curricular materials you bought?"

"Spare me, please! I can't even finish the workbooks the school hands out, not to mention those ink-smudged handouts. Just smell my hands—they’re covered in that scent. I’ve been dreaming about homework for the past two days; I’m completely dazed!" Lin Xia sniffed her hands with disdain.

The school art studio was located in a corner to the southeast, housed in a row of single-story buildings. Due to their age, the trees planted outside had grown into towering giants, making it nearly impossible to see the entire facade of the buildings from the outside. Patches of moss grew at the base of the walls, and the white lime was peeling off in chunks, revealing the gray mud beneath. Creepers, appearing from nowhere, had covered most of the walls and were snaking straight up onto the dark tiled roof.

"My brother told me these were the school's earliest classrooms. Students back then studied here. While they look dilapidated now, they were considered the best facilities at the time. Later, when the government provided funding and the school had money, some proposed tearing them all down. It was the old principal who stood firm against all opposition, which is the only reason this row of bungalows remains."

"Were the others all demolished?" Lin Xia plucked a leaf from a creeper and toyed with it in her hand.

Xie Xitong nodded. "Yes, they were all torn down. It’s said that the old principal and his wife met while they were studying here. Later, during the Cultural Revolution, the principal's wife and child didn't make it through, leaving him all alone. These buildings are his only remaining connection to them."

"Alas, there are countless tales of love in the world, and so many helpless souls." After a sigh, Lin Xia said, "Let's go inside."

The two of them, well-practiced, carried their drawing boards and toolboxes through the door. There were already a dozen people in the classroom; the sound of pencils scratching against rice paper filled Lin Xia’s ears. She scanned the room and noticed that most of the attendees were art students. Their work was clearly superior to that of beginners.

As usual, the two sat in a corner of the room, near a window where they could smell the fresh scent of the creepers. They set up their boards, took out their pencils, and began to review the lesson from the previous session. As the pencil tips moved across the paper, outlines and shadows slowly began to emerge.

*Sigh.* Another sheet ruined. Lin Xia felt a bit discouraged as she removed the paper, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the trash bin nearby. She looked at Xie Xitong beside her—how was she able to draw such a three-dimensional and beautiful plaster bust? Lin Xia knew for a fact that this was Xie Xitong’s first time holding a pencil, too.

They had made a complete fool of themselves during their first class; neither of them had known how to hold their pencils properly, and the teacher had to guide their hands. Seeing Xie Xitong’s now well-defined drawing and comparing it to her own barely passable effort, a sense of frustration welled up inside her. Being around a genius was truly stressful. Had she been a different kind of girl, she might have harbored dark thoughts toward Xie Xitong.

*Forget it,* she thought. *I never intended to become a famous artist anyway. Just knowing a little bit and having a skill is enough.* With that thought, her mood improved.

She clipped a fresh sheet of paper and had just begun to sketch when the teacher entered. She didn't know if all artists were required to grow long beards, but the sight of this teacher—who looked quite young but wore a long beard and had his long hair tied up—struck Lin Xia as very bizarre.

Since this was an extra-curricular hobby, everyone progressed at their own pace, so the teacher provided individual guidance. The number of people in the studio had dwindled from over a hundred on the first day to a steady twenty or thirty. It made sense; having worked so hard to get into such a prestigious high school, who dared to be distracted by what others might consider "unproductive" pursuits?

Only because Lin Xia’s mother knew she could support herself by writing did she leave her alone. If it weren't for the fact that she could earn money, her mother would probably have beaten her for wasting time on painting and playing instruments. Now that Lin Xia was self-sufficient and didn't need much supervision, her mother’s focus had shifted entirely to Lin Hui, whom she managed with an iron fist, giving him instructions every day. Lin Hui was miserable, constantly crying out that he couldn't go on and wanted to run away from home.

Today was the fourth lesson. Without a foundation, Lin Xia’s work naturally couldn't compare to the professionals. The teacher didn't say much, merely offering a few brief pointers. However, he clearly favored Xie Xitong; after they submitted their work, he stood by her side for a long time offering guidance. By Xie Xitong’s account, the teacher had called her talented and said it would be a shame for her not to pursue art.

Lin Xia didn't dwell on it; she just wanted to make sure she didn't waste her time and actually learned something. Besides, it was good that the teacher spent more time with Xie Xitong—if she didn't understand something, she could always ask her. It saved two beginners from fumbling in the dark together.

After two hours in the studio, Lin and Xie packed their things and headed home. First-year day students were exempt from evening study sessions.

"Hey, the teacher just mentioned that our school is holding a culture festival after the debate tournament and asked me to participate," Xie Xitong revealed. "Are you going?"

Lin Xia shook her head. "You know how my drawing is. It’s terrible; I can’t even bear to look at it myself. Better not go out and embarrass myself."

"The culture festival isn't just about drawing; you can play music or sing. Your guzheng playing is great. How about we do a duet with the guzheng and flute?"

"Oh? You can play the flute? I didn't know that," Lin Xia said, surprised. "Doesn't playing the flute require a lot of lung capacity? Don't instruments like the saxophone and flute usually require someone with a bit more... substance? With your small frame, won't you run out of breath halfway through?"

"Hehe," Xie Xitong gave a sheepish laugh. "Actually, I was planning to sign up for traditional Chinese painting. My ink wash painting is better than my sketching. The teacher said I have a real knack for it."

"Alright, alright, Miss High-and-Mighty, stop showing off, okay?" Lin Xia was speechless at the talent she displayed. "You siblings were born just to make others feel inferior. After being around you for so long, my resilience to such blows has gone up several notches."

Night had begun to fall. The campus streetlights flickered on, casting a hazy, warm yellow glow that carried a cozy atmosphere. Lin Xia yawned and rubbed her eyes. "I’m so tired!"

"You’re always complaining about being tired," Xie Xitong said, turning her head to look at the students buried in their books inside the classrooms, offering a sympathetic "tsk." This earned her a few eye-rolls from Lin Xia.

"So, what do you think about the culture festival?"

"We'll see. Xiaoxiao is the cultural committee member, so this will definitely fall under her responsibility. If the students in our class are enthusiastic about participating, we don't need to step forward. If no one wants to, then we can volunteer later." Her past life experience told her that such class activities usually ended up with the whole class performing an unoriginal chorus, or a few talented individuals hogging the spotlight.

Thinking of her classmates, Lin Xia shook her head. *Alas, they are all study machines—talking about Newton and Einstein one moment, and how sodium hydroxide reacting with two hydrogen and one oxygen produces a massive amount of heat the next.* Whenever this happened, Lin Xia would boredly imagine why the chemical structure of water looked so yellow. Why was that? Why, oh why!

She stretched and twisted her neck, her joints popping. It seemed that long hours of writing were taking a toll on her neck. Lin Xia thought to herself that she would soak in the water from her spatial dimension when she got home. While the water from her space and Zhao Xin’s spiritual spring could remove physical fatigue, no elixir could cure the weariness and aging of the soul.

Stepping out of the school gate felt like entering another world. Inside was a quiet, dreamlike realm; outside was a bustling, mundane world. The street vendors’ cries mingled with the aroma of roasted lamb skewers, making Lin Xia rub her temples.

"It’s too noisy. It makes my head throb."

"Young lady, take a look at these fruits. They’re fresh," an old woman said, promoting her wares.

Xie Xitong stopped and asked, "How much are these grapes?"

Being called "young lady" by this strange yet familiar old woman left Lin Xia in a daze. In her previous life, even though she was a homebody, she knew how to take care of herself and bought plenty of fruit. There had been a fruit stall near her apartment run by an old woman. The first time Lin Xia stood before her stall, the woman had said, "Young lady, what would you like to buy? My fruit is fresh, just arrived."

Hearing the words "young lady" had energized Lin Xia like a shot of adrenaline, and she had happily carried a pile of fruit home, never thinking of going anywhere else afterward. Later, she happened upon Gu Long’s witty remarks about women and felt he had truly unraveled the female psyche. No wonder they said men understood women best; that was why the world's top fashion designers for women were always men.

Gu Long had written: "Old women like to be told they are young, while young girls are particularly eager to be called mature; a prostitute who acts like a respectable woman will be welcomed by her clients, while a respectable woman who acts like a prostitute is most favored by men... In short, the less one has of something, the more one craves it."

At thirty, Lin Xia was completely defeated by the simple, airy phrase "young lady." No wonder Gu Long said the greatest tragedy for a woman was the fading of her beauty and the passing of youth.

Wasn't it true?