Chapter Forty-Three: The Art of Speaking Lies in the Method

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(A little author's note: something came up for Black Car this afternoon, so I just managed to write one chapter. The update is coming soon. I still hope for your support—please recommend and bookmark. Thank you.)

When someone is troubled, their mind tends to wander, and they’re more likely to slip up.

The next day, when Wu Xiang came to the rehearsal hall of the Acting Class in search of Huang Yi, he found her crouched outside, crying alone. In a way, that made things easier for him—he’d been spared a lot of trouble.

“Heh, whimper, sob…” Judging by the sounds, she’d been crying for a while. Wu Xiang could see clearly: tears and snot everywhere, her eyes nearly swollen shut.

Wu Xiang, wearing a faint smile, walked over and looked down at her. “Got scolded by Teacher Huang?”

“You, you…” Huang Yi didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. She wanted to curse at him, but held it in—she was a reasonable person, after all, especially after what this jerk had just said. “How did you know?”

“Oh, please.” Wu Xiang’s smile grew wider, utterly unconcerned with her wounded little heart. “Everyone else is inside rehearsing, but you’re out here crying. If it wasn’t because the teacher gave you a dressing-down, what else could it be? Your homework?”

In the Acting Class, “homework” meant the scenes they rehearsed.

“You damn beanpole!” Huang Yi wanted to scold him more fiercely—after all, she’d been chewed out by the teacher entirely because of this jerk. She couldn’t stop thinking about how to explain what happened yesterday, and so…

“Here.” Wu Xiang ignored her venomous curses and instead held out his arm. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. “Borrow this for now. You’ve washed my clothes for long enough—consider this a little interest paid back.”

His meaning was clear: he was offering his sleeve for her to wipe her face.

Huang Yi understood perfectly, but—

“Hey! Are you kidding me? You really don’t see me as a stranger, do you?” Wu Xiang cried out in alarm.

No wonder—Huang Yi had yanked the hem of his shirt out of his pants, wiped her face thoroughly, and even gave her nose a loud blow.

“The fabric here is great!” she explained matter-of-factly, and added, “You should behave yourself in front of me. Don’t forget I’m a woman.”

Wu Xiang was speechless. He wanted to retort, “Are you sure you’re a woman?” but thought better of it. If he said that, this would never end. So he shifted the subject.

“Not only do I know you got scolded by Teacher Huang, I also know why.”

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“What?” Huang Yi was naturally skeptical. “Don’t make things up. Tell me, why was I scolded?”

Wu Xiang smiled. “What else could it be? Lines. You must have flubbed your lines again, right?”

Huang Yi froze, her eyes round as saucers. “How did you know?” Was this beanpole a mind reader?

It really was her lines. That had always been her weakness.

Wu Xiang knew as much—he’d spotted it early on. “You’re still speaking to me in a Nanjing accent. Technically, it’s called Nanjing Mandarin, although it’s not really a standardized dialect anymore, and it’s not very systematic. But Nanjing people’s Mandarin is influenced by it regardless—some tones get confused, and you mix up zh, ch, and sh. If I were Teacher Huang, I’d call you out on it too.”

Huang Yi’s mouth hung open, revealing two rows of teeth and a shiny set of braces. She hadn’t expected this beanpole to know so much. “How do you know all this?” But as soon as she asked, she remembered—right, this guy was the top scholar in the Literature Class. It was his specialty.

“You scored 420 on your college entrance exam. Do you know why you weren’t the top scorer in your school?” Wu Xiang’s smile was full of mischief.

“You, you…” This was a sore spot that Huang Yi didn’t want to hear about.

For an arts student in 1997, a score of 400 was already rare.

But Wu Xiang’s next words were enough to leave her stunned, no matter how much she tried to avoid the topic.

“Because I scored 560. That’s why I know a lot of things you don’t.”

As soon as Wu Xiang finished, Huang Yi exploded. “Argh! Go to hell! You bastard! Were you just here to show off?!”

A flurry of punches rained down—Huang Yi’s strength and size were a match for Wu Xiang’s.

“Hey! Hey! Are you crazy? At least let me finish!” Wu Xiang was exasperated. He only wanted to tease her—he’d found it quite entertaining lately. But sometimes, amusing oneself came at a price, and now he was paying for it in bruises.

“Speak!” Huang Yi glared daggers, ready for another round.

Rubbing his battered arm—this woman’s fists were no joke—Wu Xiang got to his point. “Let me tell you a story. During World War II, in Britain, George VI was called to the throne after Edward VIII abdicated for love. But George was a stutterer—a serious one. He was introverted by nature, not at all the kingly type. But since he was king, he had to represent Britain and declare war on the Nazis!”

“And then?” Huang Yi prompted, eager.

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“Well, there was this Australian doctor who treated him with some very unusual methods—downright strange, in fact. But they worked. That’s how the famous ‘King’s Speech’ came about, inspiring the British military and public. Isn’t that uplifting?” Wu Xiang finished, smiling at Huang Yi.

“So you’re saying I need to find a doctor? A weird one at that?” Huang Yi seized on the key point.

“Heh, there’s another story.” Wu Xiang wasn’t done. “In ancient Greece, there was a boy with a miserable life—he was a stutterer, his tongue was much larger than average, and he lost his parents young. His relatives seized what should have been his inheritance. But he wouldn’t accept it. To win back what was his, he trained himself in oratory. Every day, he’d put pebbles in his mouth and speak facing the sea, until his voice could drown out the waves. In the end, his eloquence won back everything he’d lost. What do you think of that story?”

“Incredible. That’s amazing…” Huang Yi was transfixed.

“That boy was Demosthenes, the famous Greek orator and statesman,” Wu Xiang added.

“So you want me to learn from Demosthenes?” Huang Yi, clearly clever, caught on.

“Bingo!” Wu Xiang gave her a thumbs-up.

“Then why not just tell that story? Why the King of England? Are you showing off again?” Huang Yi was annoyed.

“That’s not it. If I hadn’t told the story of the English king, you might not have believed me. Speaking with pebbles in your mouth isn’t comfortable. It’s like eating buns—if you need eight to feel full, and I only give you the eighth one, skipping the first seven, would you be full?” Wu Xiang thought it was a good analogy.

“Oh, I see.” Huang Yi seemed to have an epiphany, but then realized she couldn’t eat eight buns. “You really are showing off. Let me teach you a lesson!”

As her hand was about to strike, Wu Xiang quickly said with a smile, “I’m really not here to show off. Honestly. I came to tell you something.”

Huang Yi paused, sensing he might finally be serious. “What is it?”

“I’m going to be away from school for a few days. Don’t miss me,” Wu Xiang declared, then walked out laughing.

“He’s leaving again? Where’s he going?” The question immediately sprang to Huang Yi’s mind. But by the time she realized she’d been teased once more by that beanpole, he was long gone.