Chapter 128 - 93: Two Cartons of Milk (2)
"This is for you."
Chen Zhuo’s voice was steady.
"I bought it in Shanghai."
Zhang Qiang’s gaze fell on the transparent box.
The moment he saw what was inside, his eyes shot wide. His mouth fell slightly agape, and he even stopped breathing for a second.
"This... Is this..."
Zhang Qiang shoved the Coke he was holding into Chen Zhuo’s hands. He vigorously wiped his sweaty palms on his pants before carefully taking the box.
He cradled the box in his palms, his face practically pressed against the plastic casing.
"An authentic Tamiya Purple Motor! And this set of tuning gears!"
Zhang Qiang’s voice trembled.
To a twelve-year-old boy obsessed with mini 4WDs, this was nothing short of a divine artifact.
In a small, remote place like Zeyang City, the corner stores only sold cheap, shoddy motors for a few yuan that would overheat and start smoking after just a couple of laps. As for the good ones, you couldn’t find them anywhere in town. The one Zhang Qiang had before was something his dad had only agreed to get for him after days of begging.
He’d only ever seen an authentic import like this, with its purple copper coils, in magazines.
"Holy shit..."
Staring at the motor in the box, Zhang Qiang gulped.
He looked up at Chen Zhuo, his eyes filled with gratitude.
"Brother Zhuo... you went all the way to Shanghai for your exam, and even with all that stress, you were still thinking about my car."
Zhang Qiang sniffled, a lump forming in his throat.
He clutched the box tightly.
"I’m gonna install this motor on my Giant as soon as I get home! With this, once school starts, I’ll definitely be the fastest at City No. 1 Middle School! When I win everyone’s allowance, we’ll split it and buy spicy gluten and soda!"
Zhang Qiang was already picturing them dominating the racetrack by the school gates after the new semester began.
The surrounding cicadas were still buzzing incessantly.
A breeze rustled the leaves in the trees.
Chen Zhuo watched the deliriously happy Zhang Qiang.
Chen Zhuo stood with his hands in his pockets.
He met Zhang Qiang’s eyes and, in the most casual, ordinary tone he could manage, he spoke.
"Zhang Qiang."
"Yeah? What’s up, Brother Zhuo?"
Zhang Qiang, who had been admiring the coiled wires in the box under the sunlight, immediately looked up at the sound of his name.
"Do well at City No. 1 Middle School."
Chen Zhuo gazed at the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves.
"But... I won’t be there with you when school starts."
Zhang Qiang froze.
The smile on his face stiffened instantly.
His hand, holding the box, froze in midair.
"What do you mean?"
Zhang Qiang stared blankly at Chen Zhuo, his mind unable to process what he’d just heard.
Chen Zhuo looked at Zhang Qiang.
"Next month, I’m going to Huizhou."
Chen Zhuo paused.
"To Huake University. For the Gifted Youth Program."
He said the words softly.
But to Zhang Qiang’s ears, it was like a sudden, muffled thunderclap.
In that instant, it was as if the buzzing of the cicadas had vanished completely.
Mouth agape, Zhang Qiang stared dumbfounded at Chen Zhuo.
He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed—he’d only scored an eighty-two in math—
But he wasn’t an idiot.
Huake University. The Gifted Youth Program.
That was the stuff of newspaper headlines, the myth of a genius that teachers only spoke of with envy.
The light in Zhang Qiang’s eyes dimmed, bit by bit, at a speed visible to the naked eye.
He looked down at the Tamiya Purple Motor he was cradling like a precious treasure.
Then, through the fabric of his pants, he felt for the crumpled report card in his pocket—the eighty-two he had considered his ticket to success.
The pride he’d felt just moments before, that desperate desire to keep pace with his friend...
The bold promise that *he* would be the one to look out for Chen Zhuo in the future...
In this moment, it all seemed so ridiculous, so laughable.
He suddenly realized.
For the past six months, he had studied day and night, worked himself to the bone just to scrape over the low threshold of City No. 1 Middle School.
Meanwhile, the person standing before him had already boarded a bullet train, its taillights long vanished from sight, bound for a distant future so foreign he couldn’t even spell its name.
This physical distance meant their life paths were diverging completely.
Zhang Qiang’s grip on the plastic box slowly loosened.
He took an awkward half-step back, creating a small distance between them.
"Oh."
Zhang Qiang mumbled.
His voice was dry and raspy.
"That’s... that’s great."
He looked down at his slightly dirty sneakers.
"Then... you go build rockets, I guess."
Zhang Qiang’s voice trailed off, laced with unconcealable hurt and a profound sense of inferiority.
"Someone like me, who’s still playing in the mud... I really can’t keep up."
Once the words were out, Zhang Qiang felt like a deflated balloon.
He couldn’t even find the courage to look up at Chen Zhuo.
In the worldview of this twelve-year-old boy, he had just been abandoned.
Left in the dust by his best friend, the brother he admired most.
A brief silence fell beneath the shade of the tree.
Chen Zhuo looked at Zhang Qiang’s bowed head.
He didn’t walk over, pat Zhang Qiang on the shoulder, and spout clichés like, "We’ll always be best friends," or, "I’ll write to you from Huizhou."
He knew Zhang Qiang all too well.
Empty platitudes would only make Zhang Qiang feel more distant and insecure.
Thankfully, in his past life, Chen Zhuo had been something of a responsible adult.
He approached emotional problems the same way he solved math equations: not by indulging in emotional outbursts, but by dissecting the problem at its core.
"Build rockets?"
Chen Zhuo’s voice cut in, his tone laced with a clear sense of exasperation and nonchalance.
"You’ve been reading too many of those trashy newspapers and watching too much TV news."
Zhang Qiang looked up, a bewildered expression on his face.