"…Okay."
"Do you promise?"
"I promise."
After hanging up the phone, Fang Mu remained seated for a moment, staring at nothing in particular. Then he grabbed his toiletries and went to the bathroom to wash up.
Once there, the bathroom mirror reflected a young man's skinny frame. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his skin was pale white and his chest sunken.
He moved closer to the mirror and looked at himself; short, spiky hair, broad forehead, pale, gaunt cheeks, blood-flecked eyes, black stubble on his chin, arched eyebrows, and deep crow's feet.
Was this face really only 24-year-old?
Fang Mu turned his head left and right, closely inspecting himself.
At the sink beside him, a commercial law grad student named Zou Tuanjie was thoroughly washing his face. He looked over at Fang Mu, his face white with acne cleanser.
"Are you breaking out?" he asked, squinting at Fang Mu, who was still gazing absently into the mirror. Offering his bottle of face wash, he asked, "Want to try using this?"
"What? Oh, no. I'm fine."
Zou Tuanjie continued scrubbing his face a little longer, and then used fresh water to wash away all the cleanser. Afterwards he dried off his face and looked in the mirror for a long time. At last he smiled at his reflection, and then walked away, satisfied.
After watching this detailed face-washing process, Fang Mu thought for a moment, and then smiled into the mirror like Zou Tuanjie had just done.
Jeez, he thought, I'd look less ugly if I cried.
Still, it was better to smile.
He filled his washbasin with cold water and then dunked his head.
After all, there's more to life than just serial killers.
CHAPTER 10
It was the night of June 30th, 2002, and in Yokohama, Japan, Brazil was playing Germany in the World Cup finals.
From the start of the World Cup, all of the little restaurants outside the JiangbinCityUniversity campus gate had been showing the games. Since tonight was the finals, every single one was now overflowing with people.
Fang Mu and several of his classmates were eating at a Sichuan-style restaurant called Guang Yuan. On the table in front of them were a number of beer bottles, piles of peanut shells and edamame skins, and several plates of cheap fried food that had already been picked clean. This state of affairs was roughly replicated on all the other tables in the restaurant. Now all the customers were staring up at the 21-inch color TV hanging on the wall, while the owner stood behind the bar, obviously elated, his fingers flying over the calculator and punching the buttons like fireworks going off. The smug look on his face told everyone he wished there was a world Cup every month.
Du Yu, Zou Tuanjie, and Liu Jianjun had dragged Fang Mu along. Initially Fang Mu hadn't wanted to go, but after thinking about it he realized he didn't have anything else to do, and anyway it might be fun. However, he had one condition: no barbecue.
Naturally, the people at the restaurant were split into two groups. One supported Brazil, the other Germany. Fang Mu didn't really follow soccer, so aside from Ronaldo, he didn't know any of the other player's names. But seeing that Du Yu and the others were all rooting for Brazil, he decided that for the time being he might as well do the same.
Neither team was able to get much going on the field during the first half. On the face of things, Brazil had seemed a little passive, but Germany hadn't been able to score either, despite several good chances. At halftime, everyone in the bar began enthusiastically discussing the play up until then and loudly arguing over who would come out on top. A number of bets were made, with late-night snacks at stake, and it wasn't until the second half began that peoples' attention returned to the TV.
At first, Fang Mu had been rather bored. His first night as a soccer fan, and his team wasn't even playing well. But the crowd's excitement was contagious, and before long he found himself yelling along with everyone else.
After stealing the ball near Germany's goal, Ronaldo passed to Number 10 — "That's Rivaldo," said Du Yu — who then dribbled to the edge of the penalty box and took a long shot at goal. It was not a very powerful kick, and as Oliver Kahn, the German goalkeeper, grabbed the ball, he hardly looked concerned. Little did he expect, however, that a moment later the ball would pop out of his hands and back onto the field.
"You can't relax like that!" cried a tall, well-built young man at the next table. But before the words had even left his mouth, Ronaldo was on the ball like lightning, and without breaking stride he kicked it into the lower right-hand corner-goal!
Brazil had taken the lead!
At once everyone cried out in surprise. Then a second later the restaurant erupted in a flurry of cheers and curses.
"Kahn was way too relaxed," said the tall guy at the next table, shaking his head. "When the ball is kicked low like that, you should use your body to press it to the ground. Otherwise it can easily slip out of your hands. He's being overconfident."
"What a professional analysis," said Zou Tuanjie with a smile.
"Come on, man, you're my hero; don't let me down." The tall guy was staring at the screen, his expression as upset as Kahn's.
"That's Qu Weiqiang from the physics department," whispered Liu Jianjun to Fang Mu. "He's the goalie for the school soccer team."
"Oh, no wonder."
Germany now began going all out trying to score, but despite several near misses, they were unable to get the ball into the net. Then in minute 79, Rivaldo threaded a long, beautiful pass to Ronaldo at the top of the penalty box. Before anyone could stop him, Ronaldo turned and kicked it low and fast into the bottom right corner of the goal, making the score 2–0. Brazil's victory was now assured.
Germany's fans swore ceaselessly.
Heaving a deep sigh, Qu Weiqiang said, "Brazil definitely analyzed Kahn's technique before the game. Those kinds of low shots are his biggest weakness."
Before long the World Cup was over and Brazil was the champion. As confetti rained from above, Rivaldo sprinted around the field, holding his country's flag aloft.
As the game ended, the assembled students were either raising their arms in the air and shouting happily or hanging their heads, paying and leaving.
In a loud voice, Qu Weiqiang called out: "Hey, boss, give me four more beers. I want them to go."
At this, the lovely, petite young woman who had been watching the game with him whispered, "Don't drink anymore. You've already had a lot tonight."
Qu Weiqiang's eyes went wide. "You're going to tell me what to do?" he yelled. "After a game this depressing I'm not allowed to have a little bit to drink?"
Pouting, the young woman said nothing.
For his part, Fang Mu hadn't really cared about who won. His only thought was getting to a bathroom. Having drunk way too much beer during the game, he felt as if he were about to burst.
So, after paying, he rushed out of the restaurant and back to the dorm, where he went straight into the bathroom and relieved himself.
Feeling much better, Fang Mu walked cheerfully back to his room. He was surprised to find Du Yu standing in the hallway and using a rag to vigorously wipe something off the door.
"What's the matter?" asked Fang Mu, shaking his hands dry. "What are you wiping off?"
"I don't know who drew this," said Du Yu, pointing at the door, "but it seems we have a practical joker around here."
Fang Mu looked up. Several marks still remained on the door, seemingly drawn with a big felt-tip marker. It was a total mess.