Chapter 8: The Art Classroom

The art classroom was on the fourth floor, a spacious room unlike the others. There were no fixed desks, only scattered chairs and easels placed here and there. Being situated in the attic, the ceiling sloped at various angles, giving the space an artistic flair. The windows were wide open, allowing soft sunlight to pour in, bathing the entire room in warmth.

Inside, plaster sculptures were arranged around the room, and in the center stood a wooden table adorned with a basket of flowers and some fruit. As Wen Xiao was about to enter, a classmate hurried past and nearly bumped into him. It was only his second day, and he hadn’t yet become familiar with everyone’s faces. Behind the rushing student, Song Jingbai followed sluggishly and even smiled at Wen Xiao when he noticed him.

Recalling the frightened look of the classmate, Wen Xiao fixed his gaze on Song Jingbai. “Did you bully him?” Song Jingbai walked into the classroom and naturally sat beside Wen Xiao. “Why would I bully him for no reason?”

Suddenly, someone moved their folding stool next to Wen Xiao and began dragging an easel. The easel was heavy and difficult to move. Some students noticed but hesitated, showing no intention to help. Wen Xiao’s eyelid twitched—how did Wei Nanxing come over? Lately, Wei Nanxing seemed unusually eager to stick close to him, just like now in class.

Opposite Wen Xiao, Song Jingbai’s face was half obscured by the wooden easel, leaving only a pair of eyes fixed intently on him—like a little fox lurking in the shadows, observing quietly. The little fox seemed amused: “Aren’t you going to help?”

“Nope. If you want to, go ahead.” Wen Xiao glared at him and buried his head in organizing his art supplies. If he ignored Wei Nanxing, Wei Nanxing would realize he wasn’t interested and stop pestering him. So he had to hold back and avoid meddling. Let Wei Nanxing busy himself.

At that moment, Huo Zhanyan appeared in the doorway, scowling with a candy stick dangling from his mouth. Wei Nanxing had just placed the easel right in the middle of the walkway. The bruises on Huo Zhanyan’s face hadn’t fully healed but had noticeably swollen down.

“Oh, isn’t this our class’s little mute?” Huo Zhanyan sneered, biting the candy. Ignored by Wei Nanxing and just now slighted by Wen Xiao, his mood soured further. The entire art classroom was watching him, and being repeatedly disregarded left him nowhere to hide his embarrassment.

Remembering Wen Xiao had even stood up and spoken for Wei Nanxing, his anger flared.

“Just now you were holding that dead cat tight; did you wash your hands?” Huo Zhanyan sneered as Wei Nanxing finally reacted a little, feeling smug until he noticed Wen Xiao watching him with a dark expression. Huo Zhanyan didn’t care and even nodded mockingly at Wen Xiao.

Wen Xiao was friends with Song Jingbai and defended Wei Nanxing but never showed a friendly face to him. What made Huo Zhanyan think he was any less than those two?

Huo Zhanyan stared at Wei Nanxing, whose long hair covered most of his eyes, giving off a gloomy and disheveled appearance. With a look of disdain on his face, he reached out and grabbed the easel.

“All the materials in the art room are shared. If you don’t wash your hands and get things dirty, what if I end up with them next class?” The room fell silent, and some students glanced hesitantly at Wei Nanxing’s hands.

Huo Zhanyan grinned with the candy in his mouth. “If you’re mute, you should just transfer. Our school is for normal kids, not a school for the disabled...”

Suddenly, someone stood up, lowered their head, and strode over to Huo Zhanyan. They pressed down on Huo’s hand resting on the easel and forcefully shook it off. Huo Zhanyan froze, mouth agape, nearly dropping the candy.

He glared at Wen Xiao with anger but also found his flushed face oddly attractive—better than the usual silent stare.

“Yes, this is a school for normal kids,” Wen Xiao said firmly, nodding. Before Huo could react, he added, “So could you transfer to another school?”

“Why?” Huo asked instinctively.

“Because you have an intellectual disability,” Wen Xiao replied coldly and then ignored him, taking hold of the easel.

When Wen Xiao tried to lift it, he found it quite heavy—heavier than typical easels due to its material. Suddenly, his grip lightened as Song Jingbai, standing beside him, supported the other side.

“You said you wouldn’t help,” Song Jingbai remarked.

“Only because there’s an idiot,” Wen Xiao muttered, scowling as they moved the easel together. Having help made it much easier, though Song Jingbai seemed to bear most of the weight.

Song Jingbai chuckled softly at the insult, which surprised Wen Xiao; it was almost like a hallucination. Song’s laughter was never loud, always polite and quiet, carrying a maturity uncommon in children. He behaved so well and politely that teachers favored him. His laughter, light and clear, sounded like a little fox hiding away, giggling.

Huo Zhanyan finally grasped the situation. “You’re calling me mentally retarded?”

“You admitted you’re crazy just now. What difference does another label make?” Wen Xiao fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Everyone heard that! You insulted me. I’m going to tell...”

“Still breastfeeding? Cry to your mom and dad whenever something happens?” Wen Xiao interrupted.

Huo Zhanyan lost the words on his tongue, abruptly changing the subject and snarling, “I’m not done with you! Just wait!”

“Huo Zhanyan, it’s class time. Why are you still standing at the door? Who aren’t you done with? Who are you waiting for?” The art teacher entered, wearing a white chiffon dress that gave her a serene elegance.

Seeing her, Huo Zhanyan fell silent, found a seat, and sat obediently. “Aunt Jiang…”

“I’ve told you many times to call me Teacher Jiang at school.” Jiang Xuan tapped his head as she passed by him. “If you cause trouble again, I’ll tell your mother.”

“This lesson is free theme. Students can paint whatever they want. When finished, leave your boards here, pack your supplies, and leave the classroom.” She looked at Wen Xiao. “You’re new to art class, right? The others have done some basics already. I’ll teach you separately.”

Wen Xiao hadn’t expected to be singled out and rose reluctantly, only to find Wei Nanxing tugging at his hem. Looking down, he saw the top of Wei Nanxing’s head bowed low even now.

“Th-thank...”

Such a simple syllable caught Wen Xiao off guard—it was the first time he’d heard Wei Nanxing speak.

Earlier, when Huo Zhanyan called Wei Nanxing mute, Wen Xiao hadn’t thought much of it. He knew Wei Nanxing wasn’t mute, just quiet by nature. But now it was clear that while not mute, Wei Nanxing likely had some sort of speech impediment, as he’d never heard him form a full sentence.

After class, as students filed out, Wen Xiao passed by Wei Nanxing’s easel and saw four little kittens drawn there: an orange tabby, a calico, a mackerel tabby... and a white kitten. Four fluffy bundles huddled together.

Though the style was simple and cartoonish, the kittens were endearing and lively, so cute Wen Xiao couldn’t help but glance again. But he hadn’t seen that white kitten before—was it unfamiliar to him?

“They’re the school’s three stray cats,” Song Jingbai approached, looking at the drawing with a strange expression, glancing at Wen Xiao occasionally.

“Three strays? Not four?”

Shaking his head, Song smiled at Wen Xiao. “The fourth one? I’ve lived at school for two months and never saw it.”

Wen Xiao suddenly recalled seeing Wei Nanxing guarding three small cats, like a mother cat protecting her kittens. So the fourth white kitten was probably Wei Nanxing himself—he might see himself as part of the group.

Unconsciously, Wen Xiao voiced his thoughts.

Song Jingbai said nothing but, after Wen Xiao left, glanced once more at the kittens on the board, then shifted his gaze to the lower left corner where a cartoon rabbit’s head was sketched. It was a black rabbit, roughly drawn, as if accidentally stamped there.

“Wen Xiao, that cat—he drew you.”

Looking up, Song noticed Wen Xiao still staring at the board. “You’re just going to draw that?”

Song’s choice of subject was fine, just too plain. Wen Xiao frowned and glanced at the cube beside Song’s seat.

Indeed, Song had drawn a black-and-white still life of a cube, executed beautifully. But children were supposed to be imaginative, and Song’s subject was dull. Amidst a sea of colorful and whimsical cartoons, it stood out oddly.

Yet it didn’t concern Wen Xiao.

Huo Zhanyan’s painting had just received a critique from the art teacher, praising his bold lines, rich imagination, and daring use of color. The teacher told him he’d have to redo all the basic courses and that his works would be saved and sent to his parents.

Huo Zhanyan’s piece was a chaotic tangle of lines—the green ones representing trees, with the word “tree” written beside them. In the middle was a strong brown bear surrounded by many animals: monkeys, snakes, rabbits, and foxes—all flocking around the big bear. As if he thought himself the king of the forest.

Back in the classroom, the homeroom teacher approached Wei Nanxing, saying they would use the long break to bury the little orange cat in the woods behind the school. Upon seeing Wen Xiao, she asked if he wanted to come along.