BACKFLIP 3

Chapter 3

Translator: Abo Dammen

26.

That afternoon nap? Yeah, it flopped hard. Xu Zhou spent the rest of the day in that blurry state where you're not asleep but definitely not awake either. His mind kept circling the same thought,If Jiang Ling realized I was following him on purpose… he probably hates me now, right?

But then again… he did buy Xu Zhou a drink. Maybe he doesn’t hate him?

Xu Zhou couldn’t figure it out. His pen was copying English vocab like a machine on autopilot, but his eyes had completely zoned out. And then… Bam! Two miniature Jiang Lings popped up in his head. One had tiny bat wings, devil horns, and a pitchfork. The other one rocked angel wings, a glowing halo, and a cross on his chest like some holy anime character.

They both stood right on his English workbook, duking it out. Devil Jiang Ling shouted, “You’re always following me! And you suck at it! I noticed forever ago. I hate you!”

Angel Jiang Ling smiled serenely. “I’m not mad. If I were, would I have bought you a soda? I don’t hate you.” 

Devil Jiang Ling snapped back, “I gave you that soda because I’m a good person. That doesn’t mean I don’t hate you!”

Angel Jiang Ling held firm, “I saw you following me, and I didn’t stop you. That means I don’t hate you.”

...

The two tiny Jiang Lings kept yelling faster and louder until they were just a chaotic blur of shouting. Xu Zhou finally buried his face in his hands like a man on the brink, dramatically despairing, Why are human relationships so freaking complicated?! Why couldn’t everyone just be cats or dogs?

Wag your tail = happy.
Puff up and hiss = pissed off.
Simple. Logical. Perfect.

27.

Because the Great Angel-Devil Jiang Ling debate took up all of Xu Zhou’s brain space during his English test, he unsurprisingly flunked it. Spectacularly. The teacher handed back his paper like it was a tragic artifact and made him redo the whole thing.

Xu Zhou sighed, shoving all celestial beings, demons, and hypothetical furry-people out of his mind to focus on rewriting his test. By the time he scratched out the final vocab word, the sky outside was a dull orange smudge, fading into near-total darkness.

The classroom had filled back up—dorm kids returning after dinner, settling in for night study. The room was buzzing with chatter. Someone said, “Looks like it’s gonna rain.”

“Looks like it. The sky’s super gray now.”

28.

Xu Zhou, of course, hadn’t brought an umbrella. Classic. He glanced out the window with a deep frown, quickly shoved his stuff into his bag, and dashed out the classroom like he was being chased. Outside, the humid smell before rain hung heavy. Wind tore through the treetops, making leaves scatter all over the pavement.

Xu Zhou jogged toward the subway station, mumbling under his breath, “Please wait till I get home. Please wait till I get home…” 

But fate was not feeling generous today. The moment he stepped through his apartment complex gate, the last lingering breath of summer cracked open into a downpour. At first it was just a few lazy drops. Then whoosh, a full-on summer-ending downpour. Thunder rolled low and loud across the sky.

He looked up at the massive curtain of rain, then down at his soggy, soaked-to-the-bone self. He realized his entire desperate sprint had amounted to nothing. He stood there, silently, absolutely drenched, and mentally flipped the sky off. Dragging a hand down his wet face, he stepped into the building’s entryway.

But just as he did, he froze.

“Meow…”

A soft, shaky little cat cry reached his ears.

29.

Using his phone’s flashlight, Xu Zhou stumbled through the muddy little garden out back, stepping deep here, slipping there, until he finally found the meowing source. By the time he unearthed the shrieking cat, both were drenched and filthy, like a pair of beggars who’d been living rough for centuries. His phone, also now drenched, flashed its last flicker of life, and died a noble death. Xu Zhou stared at the black screen, tried to turn it back on, but it stayed dead.
Just like a side character in a period drama, it had passed away tragically in the storm.

Xu Zhou, "…"

He scooped up the cat by the scruff, eyeballing it sternly. "You owe me a phone."

30.

Home at last.

What should’ve been a simple commute had turned into a Journey to the West-level ordeal. He and the cat, now both subjected to a mud and rain spa, headed into the bathroom and finally got a proper hot shower. The cat was surprisingly cooperative. The feline lord reclined regally in the sink, paws draped over the edge like it owned the place, missing only a glass of mulled wine to complete the vibe.

Xu Zhou almost laughed. As he washed the cat, he asked, “Sir Cat, is this pressure to your liking?”

The cat primly twitched its whiskers. “Meow.”

Xu Zhou: "…"

This little freeloader actually thinks I’m its spa attendant.

Once the humble bathhouse boy Xu Zhou washed all the dirt off and towel-dried the cat, then blew its fur fluffy with a hair dryer—he finally realized, Damn, this cat’s actually pretty.

Green eyes. Orange fur. Long tail. And a perfect little triangle of white fur on its chest.

“Oh wow. He brought his own napkin. Table manners are immaculate.”

Xu Zhou popped open a can of fish, poured it into a little dish, and set it down for the cat.

31.

In the quiet living room, the cat munched away happily. And Xu Zhou watched happily. Xu Zhou belly-flopped onto the rug, admiring his freshly groomed houseguest. He reached for his phone, then remembered its watery demise.

He poked the cat. “You owe me a phone.”

The cat continued eating.

“Do you have a home? Did you sneak out or have you always been wandering?”

The cat continued eating.

“…One can of fish enough? Need another?”

Cat, “Meow.”

Xu Zhou, “So you did hear me earlier. You have selective hearing huh.”

The cat continued eating.

32.

Ever-faithful food service worker Xu Zhou cracked open another can of fish.

33.

A crack was left open in the big balcony window of the living room. The scent of damp earth and rain drifted in, along with the occasional cool breeze. The massive crystal chandelier cast a cold light down from the high ceiling of the duplex apartment. Xu Zhou, tired of cat-watching, flopped onto his back, staring up. The light was cold, the walls were cold, even the floor was cold. He was long used to everything here. But today felt a little different.

Xu Zhou chuckled softly twice, rolled over, and buried his face into the cat’s warm fur. “It’s okay if you ignore me.”

He had just showered and tied up his long hair into a tiny stubby bun, revealing his jet-black, glistening eyes and lips flushed red from the steam. His skin had a dewy, porcelain glow to it, and with that distinct smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, the usual gloom that clung to him had lifted, at least halfway.

Cradling the well-fed cat in his arms, Xu Zhou was in a good mood. “As long as I’m not talking to myself alone anymore, I’m already really happy.”

34.

Xu Zhou only realized after starting elementary school that he couldn’t communicate with other people normally.

His parents, both elite researchers, were brilliant, ever physically absent, and emotionally stunted. One studied the stars in the sky, the other studied apes on the ground. Equally high IQ, equally low EQ. Gone from six in the morning to nine at night. Out of the 24 hours in a day, they spent 25 of them immersed in their research. Raising him was basically like raising a dog. As far back as Xu Zhou could remember, his parents only made brief cameos in the morning and at night. The rest of the time, the house was just like this. Empty. Just him, and silence.

Childhood memories were a montage of empty rooms, padded furniture and childproofed, so he could run around, jump, crash, and fling himself however he liked. When he got tired, he’d lie on the floor and have one-sided conversations with his toy dinosaurs, plush bunnies, and the floral-patterned curtains.

They installed an automated feeder on the wall, basically the same kind they use for pets. At pre-set times, it would dispense a carefully calculated meal tailored to the dietary needs of a growing child.

Little Xu Zhou treated this machine with reverence. Every time he got his food, he’d mutter his thanks in baby gibberish with utmost sincerity.

But the feeder never responded to him. Neither did the toys. Or the curtains.

35.

In an environment that boring, Xu Zhou—gifted with a strong DIY-entertainment instinct—evolved two survival skills real fast.

Namely: “Talking to Himself” Lv.1 and “Nonstop Chatter” Lv.1.

In short, Xu Zhou became a chatterbox who needed no audience. He talked to objects, birds, himself—especially himself. He comforted himself, cheered himself up, cracked jokes with himself. And young Xu Zhou thought he was absolutely amazing for that.

36.

Both of Xu Zhou’s genius scientist parents firmly believed that they were prodigies—so obviously, their child would be one too.

And being a prodigy means being different. Extraordinary. Those preschool lessons like “1 + 1 = honk honk honk” were, in their view, designed for basic, low-level baby humans. Xu Zhou, being their offspring, naturally shouldn’t waste time on such trivialities. So he successfully missed his window to attend kindergarten.

His days were divided into two halves. In the morning, he watched beginner videos on neutron stars, white dwarfs, and supernovas, all prepped by his mom. In the afternoon, he read children’s science picture books about gorillas, chimpanzees, and orangutans courtesy of his dad.

The two of them, stars among mortals, were dead-set on raising a little prodigy to follow in their footsteps. But unfortunately, Xu Zhou had zero overlap with the word “prodigy.” 

When it was finally time to enter elementary school and take the entrance assessment, he hit them with a shocking surprise: out of three subjects, he scored a grand total of two points. The rest? Big fat zeroes, shining bright red on a completely blank exam paper.

37.

As top-tier academic elites, Scientist Mom and Scientist Dad, perched right at the pinnacle of the intellectual food chain, naturally couldn’t accept that their own son was some kind of zero-scorer. But they soon realized something even harder to swallow. It wasn’t just that Xu Zhou wasn’t excellent, he couldn’t even manage to be normal.

Because it seemed like he couldn’t recognize people, and he couldn’t carry on a normal conversation at all.

38.

Xu Zhou still remembers the scene from the first day of elementary school.

The school gate was packed with people swarming everywhere, everyone talking, crowded and noisy. His hand was gripped tightly by his dad’s, his dad’s palm sweaty against his skin. It was the first time he had ever seen so many people. Xu Zhou stood there in a daze, unable to focus his gaze. The sound of voices morphed into harsh, static noise. Fear weighed down on him like a mountain.

He was like a cat that had never been socialized and was utterly terrified of every stranger, unable to get a single word out, just wanting to run back to somewhere safe and familiar.

But his dad held his hand in a death grip and insisted on dragging him into the school. The teacher bent down to greet him, the other kids waved enthusiastically, and the principal at the gate looked kind and friendly. Xu Zhou peeked at them timidly. Their facial features blurred and reassembled in his mind. Every person looked the same to him. He couldn’t form any recognition of them. He didn’t feel like he was “one of them.” He didn’t know how to speak to them.

He wanted to run, but in front of strangers, he couldn’t even cry.

39.

Later, his parents took him to see many doctors. But all the diagnoses sounded more or less the same. “Psychologically induced social and facial recognition impairments. Not much that can be done. Just observe it over time.”

His parents had no choice but to painfully let go of the dream of raising a genius. They downgraded their expectations for Xu Zhou from “a shining star among men” to “just be a normal human being.” 

Xu Zhou didn’t care. He curled up in his little snail shell and grew up quite content in the cozy safety of his comfort zone.

40.

Seventeen-year-old Xu Zhou still hadn’t outgrown his habit of talking to himself rambling on and on. He talked to stray dogs, talked to bugs, and could even chat with a newly bought loaf of bread for half an hour straight. But when it came to actual people, he remained completely silent. Sometimes, he did feel a little lonely. 

But now, things are different.

Now, he has a cat.

41.

Xu Zhou, now a cat owner, paraded around like Rafiki presenting Simba.

His eyes sparkled as he made eye contact with the cat. "Now that we’re fed and hydrated, how about we have a little chat?"

Cat: "……"

Still full of enthusiasm, Xu Zhou pulled the cat into his arms. "I take that silence as a yes! We're so like-minded it’s uncanny. So, what would you like to talk about?"

Cat: "……"

His gaze landed on the peach soda can displayed like a museum piece.

The Jiang Ling dilemma came rushing back.

Hugging the cat close, he swayed gently. "I just know you want to hear the epic tale behind this beautifully designed, uniquely flavored soda of immense historical importance. It's a long story, so settle in. The owner of this soda is like… drop-dead gorgeous, graceful, gentle, kind, beautiful on the outside and the inside. I really like him. But… I think he’s starting to hate me."

Cat: "…Meow?"