Upon opening the door to our dorm, the thick scent of CD J’ADORE perfume wafted over me. I saw ELIAN twirling gracefully in front of the mirror in the living room, filling the air with fragrance. She was dressed in a fiery red dress, resembling a freshly roasted duck. She flirted with the fringes of her skirt, glancing sideways at A Yao, who was sitting in a chair studying vocabulary. In her characteristic acerbic tone, she remarked, “Oh, some people probably won’t wear a dress with more than three zeros on the price tag in their entire life.” Qiqi, a radical by nature, with an innate sense of justice, retorted indignantly, “Why are you looking down on people like that?!” “Hmph, ignorant country bumpkin, I won’t bother with you,” she said, as she began to undress, revealing her 700 RMB+ Triumph underwear, which, to be honest, did a fantastic job of enhancing her sagging breasts. As she admired herself, she commented, “Oh, my little underwear costs several times more than what those bumpkins spend on living expenses for months.” Qiqi, unable to contain her anger, lunged forward to strike, but ELIAN let out a shriek and scampered off to her bed in a coy manner. A Yao’s face turned beet red; the excellent student she was, she must have never been so mocked before. The wealth gap among students at Renfu University is the institution’s most troubling issue. This school, known for its arts programs, has a mix of students from regular admissions, those with special talents, and wealthy kids attracted by the school’s excellent faculty and facilities. This mix has created a school culture where the ‘elite’ aren’t elite enough, and the ‘commoners’ aren’t common enough, resulting in a place where young ladies like ELIAN coexist with scholarship students like A Yao and Qiqi. The pervasive attitude of comparison easily leads the unwary into various traps, heading down a path of no return. But perhaps this is a common phenomenon in any university, just more pronounced here.
I stretched, groggily getting up to see Qiqi eating sweet and sour pork. “Qiqi, why are you having pork for breakfast?” Qiqi struggled to swallow a piece of pork before replying, “Sis, it’s already noon!” “What?!” I leaped up in shock. I had planned to start studying seriously from today, but now half the day was gone, and to make matters worse, I had missed two sessions of “Geometric Patterns” class, taught by Miss Christiana, an old lady who had returned from some small German castle. She made us spend a beautiful morning drawing circles, supposedly to train our composition skills. Refusing to use modern compasses or computer design, she insisted we draw by hand and measure our circles’ diameters with an old steel ruler from the ’70s, likely made by some obscure factory in East Germany. “I’m done for, I must have been marked absent,” I said gloomily. “No worries, Xiao Yu, I drew for you,” A Yao smiled at me, “You haven’t had lunch yet, right? I just bought some chicken tenders, have some.” A Yao could actually smile without looking constipated. I thanked her profusely. She beamed, emptying all the chicken tenders into my bowl. I swallowed, “A Yao, this is too much, just give me a few.” I looked at the heaping bowl, half amused, half exasperated. And A Yao, to save money, usually ate steamed buns with pickled vegetables, so why today…? “A Yao, you drew for me, but what about yours? Miss Christina uses a real-name system, you know.” “Oh, it’s nothing, I didn’t submit mine.” “Ah?” Qiqi and I exclaimed in unison. A Yao gave an awkward smile, “Just eat, you two.” I looked at the crispy meat, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat it.
