CH 17

Whenever my gaze passes over Shang Muxiao, regardless of whether I intend to look at him or not, he always returns it with a smile.

He seems to be in a very bright mood. He is sitting by the window in the lecture hall with his chin propped up and his eyes following me wherever I go. His laid-back appearance is in stark contrast to the other students, who are listening carefully and are deeply engaged in taking notes.

What is he even here for if he is not paying attention to the lecture?

“Henri Bergson is also a very important figure in the history of Western Philosophy, who, like Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, does not deem instinct to be inferior to rationality. This is the thought that gives rise to his ‘theory of intuition’, on which his metaphysical reasoning is based. For if humans do away with reason and adhere to their instincts, they may discover the essence of life…”

On the podium, my phone screen suddenly lights up and I glance at it to see a message from Shang Muxiao.

[Are you free tomorrow night?]

I take my eyes away from the phone, ignoring him, and continue with my lecture.

A few minutes later, the screen lights up again. The first message is still up on the screen, and a new one pops up.

[Please watch the competition.]

“…‘If we are able to ask questions to instinct, and instinct is able to answer them, then instinct is able to reveal to us the deepest secrets of life’. His ‘Creative Evolution’, through intuitive methodology, completely subverts the previously established philosophical system of ‘evolution’ and marks a further maturation of the Lebensphilosophie.”

I immediately place the phone face down, and opt for an out-of-sight, out-of-mind attitude.

Shang Muxiao is sitting upright and beyond reproach when I look over, but as soon as I look away, he lowers his head, seeming to send another message.

“Stop doing things that are not relevant to the class.” I stop my lecture and say in the same volume and in the same tone of voice as I always do in class.

In my peripheral vision, Shang Muxiao quickly looks up and with full awareness, stops the movement of his hands.

The other people in the hall also look up upon hearing what I said and look in the direction I am looking, wondering which unlucky student has been subjected to my admonition. But I simply pick a random direction to look at and not at anyone in particular. To avoid getting things sidetracked, I turn back to face the big screen, pull up the next PowerPoint and continue with the lecture.

As the class ends, the students get up one after another, including Shang Muxiao, who is now making his way over to me. I am trying to figure out how I am going to escape when several philosophy students rush to surround me and start asking me questions one after another.

This is the Heavens doing me a good turn. Really let me breathe a huge sigh of relief.

Since the car accident, my life has been like a curve chart, slowly dropping from a high point, though it has later become stable. My life has been at peace, and things are improving. Others may find it humdrum, but I relish it, and feel secure and at comfort.

But this ‘comfort’ suddenly gets intruded upon by Shang Muxiao, a factor that causes me to lose control of my life. It’s exhausting to see my life stumbling all over again.

It is not that I am afraid of facing Shang Muxiao, I just have an ostrich mentality. I think that by not facing him directly and ignoring him, I can continue to stay in my comfort zone and not dwell on those complicated psychological changes.

After all, it is the nature of human beings to draw on what is fruitful than what is harmful.

–

After half an hour of being pestered with questions, and all the students have cleared out, I finally get to leave the lecture hall.

Yu Xixi has already gone out first, taking my things with her back to the office.

During the day, the school is always teeming with people, bustling with life, and at the same time, a place of relaxation. The Plane trees have started to lose their leaves now that it is late autumn, and at the strong request of the students, the school leaves the pathway uncleared during this season, thus scattering all over the road. As such, it has become a good photo spot and is the most popular part of the school in autumn.

But this gives me a huge headache.

The fallen leaves make the road uneven and it is hard to see what is underneath. Especially after rain, it is easy to skid in place if the wheels get stuck in some slippery mud pit.

Like now.

The rear wheels get stuck in a puddle under the fallen leaves and I cannot get out at all. The wheels are in lost motion, crushing the surrounding leaves, but instead of getting out, the road becomes muddier.

Just as I survey the area, ready to call for help from anyone around, a voice laced with laughter suddenly rings out from behind me.

“Laoshi, need some help?”

I stiffen and look back to see Shang Muxiao standing two metres behind me, I have no idea how long he has been there already.

My eyes softly sweep over his face and I purse my lips as I turn back to look ahead.

“Come over.” I say in a voice he can hear.

His laugh intensifies, and with the sound of the cautious trampling of leaves, he soon comes up to me.

“Come and see my race competition, okay?” He puts his hand on the push handle of the wheelchair, but does not push it. His words convey a request, but also seem that it will take no for an answer.

“Your race competition?” He kept mentioning this competition in his messages earlier. I first assumed he was inviting me to a basketball or football competition or something, but it turns out to be his race competition?

“Qingwan International Circuit, tomorrow night, 9 pm, VIP Box No. 16.” He taps his index finger on the handle, and waits for my answer. “Will you come?”

In that case, can I still say ‘no’?

“Okay.” I am left with no choice but to agree.

No sooner have I said this than the wheelchair is pushed out of the mud pit. Shang Muxiao does not stop there, but pushes me all the way to the end of the Plane trees pathway.

He waves his phone at me. “I have sent you the e-ticket. Remember to be there on time.” He glances at the time on his phone and appears somewhat surprised. “Ah, I’m going to be late for my next class.” He says this, but still moves at a leisurely pace.

“I’ll be off then. See you tomorrow.”

Yet he is still standing there, not walking away, but looking at me silently. It is only when I respond by saying ‘see you tomorrow’ that he waves goodbye to me with his invisible tail wagging, like a dog given a verbal command.

–

The e-ticket that Shang Muxiao sent me has a large QR code in the middle and at the top reads ‘Qingwan 3rd Frost Cup Motorcycle Grand Prix’.

I do not really associate myself with sports, I do not have any knowledge of any sporting event, and I do not exactly know what kind of thing this Frost Cup is. Initially, I was a bit worried that it was some kind of underground illegal racing. But then I figure that since it has gone on three times, it should be… more or less legit.

The following evening, I head out two hours early. However, the International Circuit is located far out in the countryside, and due to my first time there, it has taken me quite a while to find the location, and it is already 8:50 by the time I queue up for entry.

Shang Muxiao messaged me at 8:00 asking where I was, but I was driving at the time and did not reply. He then called at 8:30, but it so happened that I was in the middle of a desperate search for a parking spot and I accidentally rejected it. By 8:40, having no messages from me and having not picked up his call, he messaged with a few words, in which I could perceive his somberness with just a glance.

[You lied to me.]

I resist the urge to sigh as I take the elevator up to the VIP box and reply to his message telling him I have arrived.

He has not replied, so I wonder if he is now busy.

The entire venue is brightly lit, and there is a huge audience sitting in the main grandstand, and some even have banners up. The higher you are, the greater the view over the entire track you get, and with the VIP box at the top, facing the starting line, it provides the best view.

“Welcome to Qingwan’s 3rd Frost Cup Motorcycle Grand Prix race. Now, please allow me to give you all a passionate commentary on this event.”

As soon as I enter box 16, I hear the commentary coming from the big screen perched overhead.

Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window is Yin Nuo, who turns around at the sound of my arrival, and looks at me somewhat surprised. “Professor Bei?”

He appears not to have known that I was coming.

I frown, and explain to him, “Shang Muxiao asked me to come.”

He stares speechless for a moment. He looks a little bemused, but also looks like he accepts what I’ve said.

“The race is about to start.” He steps aside a little, allowing me to come forward and watch.

The box is spacious, featuring a bar, sofas, and a TV, with a bottle of sparkling wine soaking in an ice bucket on the bar. Looking down from the floor-to-ceiling window, one can clearly see the sport bikes lined up neatly in the starting grid, ready to roll.

“A-Xiao is over there…” Yin Nuo points to the rider in a blue racing suit at the front of the queue, then moves his finger back and points to the rider in a red racing suit at the back, “and Yanyi is over there.”

“There are fifty racers competing this year. In terms of the venue and the fixture arrangements for a non-professional motorbike race, this is as big as it can get.” The commentator is doing the pre-race warm-up commentary alone, and thanks to him, it saves me from watching in confusion.

“As you all know, GP racing is an event in the motorcycling field that highlights each team’s financial capability and strength. These teams go to great lengths to get their bikes set up, costing millions of dollars in the process. As for our privateer race, although we do not have such luxurious custom bikes, and each bike has a different displacement, each competitor’s bike is still very spectacular. Let me present them to you all.”

“First up, rider Shang Muxiao, with bike number 28, in his third time competing, on a BMW hp4 in classic lupine blue, which is optimised on the basis of the S1000RR. This bike is set for a production run of only 750 models worldwide, and it costs over a ¥1,000,000.”

“Bike number 96’s lime green bike is the very classic Kawasaki Ninja ZX-14R. Dubbed the ‘Six-Eyed Demon’ because of the six headlights on the front of the bike, and it costs around ¥220,000…”

“Zhou Yanyi, bike number 71, has been a long-time competitor since the first competition. He rides a Ducati 1299, a very eye-catching red colour, and it costs around ¥350,000…”

Halfway through, a staff member holding a countdown board walks slowly down in front of the starting line.

“The race is about to start.” The commentator ends the introduction of the riders and their vehicles and turns to explain the race format, “This race runs for 22 laps and lasts for about forty-five minutes. There is no points race, a single race will determine the winner. First place will be awarded a special prize of ¥300,000 in addition to our beautiful Frost Cup Grand Trophy.”

At the countdown of thirty seconds, the riders get ready, and not even the thick floor-to-ceiling glass can block out the sound of the rugged engines.

Yin Nuo’s gaze is firmly fixed below. He looks nervous, and does not speak again. The only sound remaining in the box is the sound of the commentator.

The atmosphere around me is so contagious that I too cannot help but hold my breath as I watch below.

Down to ten seconds and in the nick of time, the blue-clad rider at the front suddenly looks up to where I am.

He is wearing a helmet and is far enough away that normally I should not be able to see through his gaze. But I have this indescribable feeling that he is looking for me.

Down to seven seconds…

He seems to have seen me, flicking his helmet with two fingers and flying a kiss my way, as arrogantly as if victory is already guaranteed.

Yin Nuo, who is beside me, looks at me. Fortunately it does not take long as his attention returns to the race.

Down to three seconds, Shang Muxiao finally lowers his gaze from here and crouches his body down.

Three, two, one—

Broom!

Like a night owl looming in the night, swooping down from the trees, Shang Muxiao dashes out from the starting line ahead of the others.