Chapter 9 – One After Another and Reaching the Limit

40

Just as Xiang Lei was about to log off, the shades guy avatar of “Give Me a Cigarette” lit up.

Wasn’t it “Days Without Cigarettes”? When did the name change back? Xiang Lei thought for a moment—it was probably after breaking up with Wu Liang and meeting Xu Menghu again that this guy had switched his name back.

Give Me a Cigarette: Miss me?

Herbivorous Wolf: No.

Give Me a Cigarette: Why?

Herbivorous Wolf: Why should I?

Give Me a Cigarette: You tell me. If you have no one to miss, won’t you get used to missing someone?

Herbivorous Wolf: No one to miss? You’re making assumptions.

Give Me a Cigarette: Oh? You have a new target already?

Herbivorous Wolf: Yes!

Give Me a Cigarette: You’re really fucking fickle!

Herbivorous Wolf: Busy, logging off. Bye.

Give Me a Cigarette: What could you possibly be busy with? Meeting another online friend?!

Herbivorous Wolf: Yes.

Give Me a Cigarette: Don’t you have anything more important to do?

Herbivorous Wolf: This is pretty important to me.

Give Me a Cigarette: Still not giving up on what you’re looking for?

Herbivorous Wolf: Not giving up. In fact, I’m even more determined to prove it to myself!

Give Me a Cigarette: Obsessive-compulsive disorder?

Herbivorous Wolf: Bye.

Give Me a Cigarette: Wait!

Give Me a Cigarette: Can you… not go meet them?

Herbivorous Wolf: Reason?

Give Me a Cigarette: Because I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.

Herbivorous Wolf: Driving has a risk of car accidents—should everyone stop driving?

Give Me a Cigarette: Can you just not go?

Give Me a Cigarette: Can you not go?

Give Me a Cigarette: Can you?

Give Me a Cigarette: SAY SOMETHING!!!

Herbivorous Wolf: No. Bye!

Xiang Lei decisively closed QQ, and his own decisiveness surprised him the next second.

Things were bound to change. Xiang Lei had started learning to log off before Xu Menghu could inexplicably disappear, learning to leave a black-and-white avatar for the masked man behind some computer screen. This masked man called himself Xu Menghu.

41

Xiang Lei spotted the person standing at the foot of the main building’s steps from a distance.

It was that law school boy people often gossiped about. He actually had a sunny, innocent face, slightly thin but well-proportioned. What people talked about were his delicate mannerisms and his unconventional, avant-garde style.

He always wore a gray cap with a brim and had both ears pierced—not just one stud like some nonconformists, but a silver earring on each side. Headphones perpetually hung from his ears, layered necklaces from his neck, and a single-strap bag from his shoulder.

Xiang Lei thought that walking with him on campus would naturally make his own identity obvious. While Xiang Lei didn’t mind, he realized he probably couldn’t stay relaxed under the constant stares of passersby.

Xiang Lei hesitated a little before walking over and raising a hand in greeting.

“Hi!” The other boy responded, taking off his headphones.

The sunlight was fairly bright as the two walked side by side across campus, chatting.

Before meeting, Xiang Lei had suspected it might be this person. He’d worried he’d inherit others’ negative impressions and dislike him, but after talking, Xiang Lei discovered his endearing qualities—not some feminized distortion, but a childlike simplicity and purity.

Xiang Lei once had an engineering major as an online friend who’d drafted a detailed plan for his dating goals, complete with quantified standards, systematic procedures, a SWOT analysis of his own conditions, and public resource research—utterly jaw-dropping. Xiang Lei, on the other hand, couldn’t pinpoint his own preferences. He might like A or B, even if they were completely opposite types.

“I’m Wei Tong,” the boy said.

“I’m Xiang Lei.”

Xiang Lei realized he genuinely liked this boy named Wei Tong. He was entirely different from Wu Liang. Around him, Xiang Lei felt his innate masculine instincts unconsciously awaken, a process that exhilarated and energized him. For instance, when crossing the first half of the street, Xiang Lei would instinctively stand on Wei Tong’s left, then switch to his right for the second half. Occasionally, if Wei Tong stepped slightly ahead, Xiang Lei would unconsciously reach out to gently pull his arm.

Neither of them ever said outright, “I like you, let’s be together,” but Xiang Lei and Wei Tong almost simultaneously acknowledged each other as boyfriends.

In terms of style, Xiang Lei always admitted he had a trendy mind but lacked the skill or eye for fashion. Wei Tong often took Xiang Lei shopping, picking out clothes for him and teaching him matching techniques and taboos. As a result, we saw an increasingly polished Xiang Lei in the dorm—not just in appearance but in spirit.

“You’re getting gayer by the day,” He Fei remarked, eyeing Xiang Lei sideways.

Liu Chong rarely commented on Xiang Lei’s external changes, sticking to his role as the “100,000 Whys¹“One Hundred Thousand Whys” is a very famous series of popular science books for children. The title has become a common idiom used to describe someone who constantly asks questions.“:

“Xiang Lei, how far have you two gotten?”

“Xiang Lei, are you the top now?”

“Xiang Lei, for bottoms like Wei Tong, are they all small down there?”

“Xiang Lei, you’ve transformed so completely—how’d you adjust so fast?”

Xiang Lei laughed and replied: “Liu Chong, if you’re so curious, next time we book a room, we’ll invite you. You can either watch or join in for a threesome. Then you’ll know everything.”

“Threesome? What’s that? New gay terminology?” Liu Chong pressed.

After strolling through Wangfujing, Xiang Lei held Wei Tong’s hand, and Wei Tong, still childlike, swung their clasped hands back and forth. The two boys walked hand in hand under the neon lights of Chang’an Avenue without a care.

Xiang Lei told Liu Chong this was the most intimate thing he and Wei Tong had done.

For some reason, Xiang Lei’s fondness for Wei Tong grew stronger, yet he never felt the urge to take things further.

42

Xiang Lei had a pen pal from Shanghai named Leo. Originally, they’d met online.

In the latter half of senior year, both had just discovered the internet and were struggling to accept their sexual orientation. After connecting, they quickly fell into an online romance, exchanging letters and vowing to meet at Fudan University.

But Xiang Lei failed to score high in his college entrance exams and, under family pressure, had to settle for a school in Beijing. After that, their virtual relationship cooled, though they kept writing.

Once, Leo complained in a letter: “You only wrote one page, so to prove I’m more loyal, look—I wrote two.” Xiang Lei then replied with three pages, Leo with four, Xiang Lei with five, and Leo with six, and so on.

Until one day, Xiang Lei waited nearly a month for Leo’s reply—a registered package containing half a notebook of diary entries. It documented a month’s worth of daily life, cultural critiques, and past relationships—rich in content. Xiang Lei tried to reply but eventually gave up.

Before New Year’s Day 2002, Leo told Xiang Lei he’d landed a part-time gig at a sports magazine and was coming to Beijing to interview a volleyball star he admired. He asked if he could crash in Xiang Lei’s dorm. Since beds were often empty at night, Xiang Lei agreed immediately.

Xiang Lei and Wei Tong wanted to treat Leo to Peking duck, but Leo insisted on eating in the school canteen.

After the meal, Xiang Lei brought Leo back to the dorm. The guys, already biased, took one look at Leo’s stylish appearance and immediately pegged him as Xiang Lei’s “kind.”

Later, Leo told Xiang Lei that if he’d known Xiang Lei was out at school, he’d never have asked to stay over. Xiang Lei asked why it mattered. Leo recalled: “No wonder your roommates only took off their pants after turning off the lights!”

43

On Leo’s second night in the dorm, He Fei returned early in the morning.

He Fei leaned over to inspect the person on his bed—Leo—then shook awake the still-dead-asleep Liu Chong. “Who the hell is this on my bed?” Liu Chong mumbled, “Xiang Lei’s friend. Damn it! Why’re you back so early? Woke Laozi up!” He turned over and went back to sleep.

“Fuck!” He Fei muttered under his breath, grabbed his backpack, and left.

At noon, the moment Xiang Lei opened the dorm door, He Fei pointed at him and roared:

“Hey! Gay! I’m warning you—don’t you fucking dare put your kind on my bed again without asking!”

Xiang Lei froze, stunned.

Seeing He Fei’s deadly serious expression, everyone else paused too. He Fei had seemed a bit off since returning at noon, but no one expected he’d been stewing over this. While the rest of them weren’t entirely comfortable either, they’d all hosted visiting friends before—it shouldn’t have been this big a deal.

Phrases like “”Hey! Gay,” “warning,”” and “”your kind”” had been tossed around jokingly before without much reaction from Xiang Lei. But that day, spat out with genuine fury, they sounded jarring, uncomfortable, even harsh.

Wait—maybe I’m letting my present feelings color my memory. Back then, I was surprised but also a little smug, probably understanding He Fei’s perspective. If it were me, I might’ve reacted the same way.

For a moment, the air in the dorm thickened like a boulder, teetering on thin ice.

Either way, none of us wanted He Fei and Xiang Lei to come to blows. For one, their squad photo was still proudly displayed on the publicity screen—everyone knew they were “comrades-in-arms” who had once gotten along well. For another, we all understood we’d have to live together for four full years, relying on at least a surface-level harmony.

Xiang Lei snapped out of his daze and said slowly, “Okay… sorry, it won’t happen again.”

He walked to his bunk, placed his books down, and paused before leaving, turning back to add to He Fei beside him, “Thanks for not saying anything this morning and waiting until now.”

We didn’t see any embarrassment on Xiang Lei’s face.

He opened the door and left without slamming it.

Liu Chong nudged He Fei. “Was that really necessary?”

“Then why don’t you let that guy sleep in your bunk tonight?” Zheng Dongming retorted instead of He Fei.

“Fine! I’ll sleep in He Fei’s bunk, Xiang Lei can take mine, and that guy can have Xiang Lei’s.” Liu Chong said, tongue-twisted.

“Who said I’d agree even if it were you sleeping in my bunk?” He Fei shot back, glancing at Liu Chong.

“Fuck!” Liu Chong sighed, shaking his head.

Xiang Lei still returned to the dorm every night but didn’t bring Leo back again.

Three days later, Xiang Lei borrowed 500 yuan from Liu Chong. He said Leo had overspent and asked him for travel money, but he was too strapped himself to cover it.

We were all surprised—Leo was, at best, just a pen pal. Xiang Lei didn’t even know his real identity. We warned him in unison that this guy might be a scammer, but Xiang Lei insisted he had good judgment. In truth, he was relying purely on gut feeling, but he trusted it completely.

A week later, Leo sent the money back as promised.

Xiang Lei showed us the remittance slip, as if eager to prove his instincts right in front of us.

At the time, I genuinely admired Xiang Lei’s intuition. But later, we gradually realized that whenever he encountered strangers on the street pouring out tales of hardship, he couldn’t help but dig into his pockets.

Turns out, the Leo incident was just a coincidence.

44

When Liu Chong asked about Wei Tong, Xiang Lei told him that by Leo’s third day in Beijing, he and Wei Tong had already reverted to being just friends.

Liu Chong’s mouth hung open for a long moment, but no sound came out.

Xiang Lei pulled the covers over himself for a nap, but Liu Chong yanked them back. “Why? Why? Tell me, tell me.”

“There was never much to begin with. He felt we weren’t compatible, and I thought being friends was fine too. That’s it.”

“Why weren’t you compatible? And why aren’t you drinking over this?”

Xiang Lei realized he was oddly calm about it.

Wei Tong had said to him, “We’re not a good match. Let’s just be friends.” Naturally, Xiang Lei asked why. Wei Tong studied him with a half-smile and replied, “Because you’re also a bottom.”

Xiang Lei couldn’t wrap his head around it. What was the big deal about the top/bottom divide? To him, it was simple—if he felt like being a bottom, he was; if not, he could be a top.

So why was Wei Tong so insistent that he was a bottom?

But Wei Tong saw it differently. He believed it wasn’t about physiology but psychology—the key to compatibility lay in mental roles, not physical ones.

Wei Tong had read all of Xiang Lei’s writing on the forums he frequented—fiction, diaries—and concluded that their psychological roles overlapped.

Xiang Lei knew he liked Wei Tong, enjoyed being with him. But the look in Wei Tong’s eyes when he ended things made it clear no amount of regret could salvage what had barely begun. That half-smile, in an instant, made Xiang Lei feel a flicker of panic, as if some shameful secret had been laid bare.

Xiang Lei decided to accept it, effectively abandoning any attempt to prove his “psychological role.”

Some say human sexuality isn’t a strict binary plus a middle ground but more like a spectrum—a continuous gradient. Xiang Lei wondered if the same applied to psychological roles in same-sex relationships. Maybe every point on that spectrum corresponded to a quantifiable value. But Wei Tong clearly favored a rigid binary with a midpoint.

Luckily, it had started quietly, progressed quietly, and ended quietly. That made it easier for Xiang Lei to accept.

Still, a sense of loss shadowed him for days.

45

Xu Menghu, setting aside past grievances, reached out with a simple “You okay?” Xiang Lei thought of He Fei’s outburst, of the fleeting joy Wei Tong had brought him, and suddenly felt a surge of bitterness.

“Want me to help you get back at that roommate?” Xu Menghu asked after hearing about He Fei.

“What do you mean? Revenge? How?”

“What do you think? Find some guys to beat the shit out of him for you. What else?”

“Are you insane?” Xiang Lei was stunned by Xu Menghu’s caveman logic.

“You’re fucking ungrateful. I’m pissed off for you!”

“I’m not angry, just sad. Maybe I never should’ve admitted I was different. Now I’ve isolated myself. I thought it’d be freeing, no more exhausting secrecy. I didn’t expect the cost to be this high.”

Xu Menghu didn’t reply for a long time. Xiang Lei thought he’d vanished again, but when he checked, the shades guy avatar was still online. That’s when Xiang Lei realized how much he still relied on this illusory figure.

He hated online romance.

“Then try dating a girl. Change things up,” Xu Menghu suggested.

“You’ve known from the start I can’t change. Why even say this?” Xiang Lei was disappointed.

“Then ignore those assholes. Live freely!”

“That guy from Room 202 probably really dropped out. I haven’t seen him since that day. If I can’t get along with my roommates, how am I supposed to survive four years?”

“You’re not thinking of quitting too, are you?! Don’t be stupid!”

“Of course not.”

“By the way, I’ve got something to tell you. Don’t freak out.” Xu Menghu abruptly changed the subject.

“Go ahead.”

“I beat up that Wu Liang from Polytechnic U for you.”

WHAT—?!

Xiang Lei rubbed his eyes, highlighting the sentence with his mouse to read it word by word. He suddenly remembered that strange phone call—the unfamiliar voice, the barrage of rude questions.

What kind of person was this?! A lunatic! A psychopath! Self-righteous, self-important!

Xiang Lei had once sensed a shadow of Pei Yong in him. But now? Impossible. Pei Yong would never act like this—domineering, unreasonable, throwing tantrums!

“I wasn’t wrong. You really are sick,” Xiang Lei said.

“I warned you not to get worked up.”

“Who gave you the right? ‘Helping’ me? Did you even ask if I needed your help in the first place? You’re terrifying! Don’t use ‘helping’ as an excuse for your insanity. I don’t need it! I regret ever knowing you!” His fingers hammered the keyboard.

“You’re fucking heartless, you know that? If not for you, who’d waste time rounding up buddies, treating them to meals, tracking him down among thousands at his school?!”

“That’s exactly why I regret knowing you. Now I have to take responsibility for your shamelessness. Goodbye!”

Xiang Lei forcefully closed QQ. After a moment, he logged back in.

The shades guy avatar was still flashing. Probably more “ungrateful bastard” rants. Without bothering to read, he dragged the idiot into his blacklist.

46

Xiang Lei realized misfortunes came in waves. Outside of sleep, he spent every moment unconsciously frowning. He had no patience left for anyone’s jokes.

Liu Chong kept bombarding him with questions until Xiang Lei snapped, “Shut up!”

Liu Chao from the next dorm had already been beaten up by Zhang Kefan once but still hadn’t learned. He laughed lewdly, spouting nonsense about how women shouldn’t be so harsh to their men. Liu Chong ignored it, but Xiang Lei’s eyes blazed as he hissed through gritted teeth:

“Do you really have to insist on splitting the bill every time you get noodles with a girl? Or brag for days about bargain socks from Carrefour? So what if you’ve got a scruffy beard and a fucking forest of pubes? You’re just flaunting secondary sex characteristics. Tiny dick, tiny balls—what exactly makes you more of a man than me?”

Liu Chao’s face turned crimson. Defeated, he muttered “Fuck,” pretended to storm off, and left.

In that moment, my perception of Xiang Lei’s sexuality shifted entirely. It hit me with near-shock: If you laid out all of a person’s traits, sexual orientation seemed like the most fucking trivial thing.

47

Your primary sex characteristics passed divine inspection at birth

Your secondary ones bloomed unchecked over twenty springs

But did you know masculinity demands a third certification?

Hearing this, you scoff—then freeze in baffled silence

You stand atop skyscrapers marveling at the city’s sprawl

Yet split breakfast bills with girls down to the last cent

You fret people will think you’re cheap for ignoring beggars

So you keep insisting you just despise their way of life

You tell us how people say all Henan natives are scum

And from then on, you proudly flaunt your disdain for them

You learned how horses move in chess yesterday, yet today declare yourself a master in elections

After mustering a passionate string of parallel sentences, you boast of your writing skills in speeches

You use “woman” as an adjective to describe people and things

Yet you worship boy bands like F4 with the frenzy of a middle school girl

You gasp dramatically at Hollywood’s grand spectacles

But never question why life and death are arranged that way on screen

Around girls, you fawn like a fool, your mind in disarray

With guys, you tirelessly emphasize you’re not gay

You get drunk but never smoke yourself into a haze

Unaware your cringeworthy monologues overflow with basic errors like the floods of ’98

You jump into current debates only to spout embarrassingly shallow takes

Easily silenced by those you mock with a single retort

You pound your chest, preaching how men should be this and that

As if you embody all masculinity in the animal kingdom

You borrow a book on manhood from someone’s bedside

Your face immediately clouds with confusion unbecoming of a philosophy reader

You’ve gritted teeth suppressing rage at others’ triumphs

And belted out songs behind their failures

A withered blade of grass barely surviving, yet fixated on another

Wishing you could guide wildfire to burn everything away

Don’t worry—no one will blame you for hiding cowardice behind that scruffy beard

Nobody believes those basic sex traits can prove anything more about you

Hey buddy! Listen—

Before you habitually call yourself a “man”

You’d better figure out what that word truly means

—To a Biological Male

Xiang Lei

2002.1.2

48

During this period, Xiang Lei’s rebellious spirit was on full display. Seemingly disillusioned with his former lifestyle of obsessive QQ chats and gay forum lurking, he began spending more time writing poetic pieces he called “word lines,” posting them on the student network BBS. Unexpectedly, he quickly gained minor fame. Among the campus literati, hardly anyone didn’t know of “Herbivorous Wolf” on the forums.

Back then, campus BBS features were limited—you could upload maybe one or two pictures at most—so text-based sections thrived. These birthed many aspiring writers who naturally formed schools based on style: the thinkers, the romantics, the bold, the subtle. Xiang Lei’s emergence made these categories feel insufficient. His writing wasn’t purely intellectual nor wholly romantic, appearing unrestrained yet deeply nuanced. Each post sparked heated discussion—praise, criticism, even outright abuse. Xiang Lei eagerly checked replies daily, his mood swinging between smugness and devastation.

He even became a BBS topic himself. Some, perhaps fearing their comments would drown in his post’s flood of replies, started separate threads critiquing his work or overall style.

Then a mysterious figure emerged, gaining instant notoriety through a post titled: Herbivorous Wolf is Gay.

The thread blew up instantly. Xiang Lei read every reply. Most expressed views like: This is personal, not gossip material; This is a cruel, pointless attack; This isn’t a big deal. Many lambasted the poster rather than engaging with the content. Days later, the thread devolved into profane tirades before being deleted.

After finals, the BBS organized a meetup. The organizer invited Xiang Lei via private message, but he declined. His online persona felt too distant from reality—he feared disappointing people, losing his confidence to continue participating.

Yet at that time, Xiang Lei poured his entire self into the forum.

This helped those around him understand his earlier obsession with finding companionship. It wasn’t that the search itself mattered so much, but that Xiang Lei simply threw himself wholly into whatever defined a particular phase—just as he’d devote absolute focus to anyone he chose to pursue.

49

Hi Brother,

You’re Xiang Lei, right?

Now I can finally tell you my name properly—I’m Tao Zhuwen. The guy from Room 202 who stood you up. I’m writing from my hometown in Hubei.

I’m back in a high school classroom now, but it’s not as agonizing as I’d imagined.

You must’ve seen me fighting in the hallway that day. Only fury could’ve driven me to that—if I weren’t a few inches shorter, he wouldn’t have gotten the upper hand. For nearly a week, he’d provoked me, demanding I move out, calling me a freak. I’ve got pride too—there’s only so much a man can take!

Though I’ve accepted my orientation after much struggle, I can’t be as open as you. Beyond potential partners, I never intended for others to know. That’s why I hesitated before agreeing to meet you. Actually, I’d guessed who you were beforehand—that meeting was just to let you know me.

I once believed I could make you fall for me quickly. Now, that’ll have to wait at least six months. Barring surprises, I’ll be at Peking University then. Would you wait for me?

You probably know how I got outed—living on the same floor, interactions were inevitable. But I don’t resent your roommate. Gossip might be ugly, but it’s human nature—a right beyond moral judgment.

More importantly, I’d already lost all hope in this school, feeling increasingly worthless here, yet lacked courage to restart. Remembering last year’s torment made me recoil. This incident forced me to find fighting spirit in despair. For that, I thank your roommate. But first, I’m grateful to have met you.

I saw your QQ message—glad reality wasn’t what I’d assumed.

Until I enter PKU’s gates, I probably won’t go online or write again. Better not hope for replies if I can’t receive them, so I won’t include my address.

See you in Beijing in six months!

Tao Zhuwen

2002.1.12

50

During finals week, Xiang Lei received the letter from the Room 202 guy.

He reread it multiple times, each pass bringing a flicker of joy—precious in such dull days.

Seeing Xiang Lei poring over the letter, Liu Chong asked who it was from. On impulse, Xiang Lei handed it to him.

Liu Chong froze after reading. “Seriously? It got this bad?”

“Still think you’re innocent?” Xiang Lei asked.

“Did I ever say that? I just didn’t expect such consequences.” Liu Chong muttered, “Never imagined… really didn’t…”

“Sit often to reflect on your faults; speak seldom of others’ errors,” Xiang Lei intoned mock-profoundly.

“I should write back to apologize. Maybe treat him to dinner later.”

“No need—he didn’t leave an address. If you mean it, wait six months.”

“This guy’s impressive—still aiming for PKU!”

Liu Chong’s expression confirmed his simplemindedness—childish curiosity, straightforward thinking, never meaning harm. Perhaps only such a nature could avoid genuine disdain for different orientations. Xiang Lei suddenly saw him in a new light.

“Xiang Lei, will you wait for him?”

“You want me to or not?” The question felt absurd as soon as it left his mouth.

“Fuck!” Liu Chong yelped.

“Yes! Why not?” Xiang Lei blurted.

One moment unsure if he could like Tao Zhuwen; the next, declaring he’d wait without hesitation.

Xiang Lei realized he wasn’t being serious—who knew what six months would bring?

“After reading his letter, he does seem great. Stop your endless searching and settle down,” Liu Chong said, striking an unexpected chord.

“Swear to god—I haven’t been looking lately!” Xiang Lei exclaimed.

“Shut the fuck up! People are napping!” He Fei’s voice, though quiet, dripped with irritation from Liu Chong’s upper bunk.

Xiang Lei smirked at Liu Chong, grabbed his toiletries, and headed to the washroom.

Since the Leo incident, He Fei and Xiang Lei hadn’t exchanged a single direct word. If He Fei joined a conversation, Xiang Lei stayed out, and vice versa.

Sometimes Xiang Lei worried Tao Zhuwen’s story might repeat with him. Then he’d think—even if it did, he lacked the courage to redo senior year. Sharing a dorm while avoiding each other would be unbearable.

Endure it, he told himself.

Here, Xiang Lei felt confident. His inability to stay angry at He Fei wasn’t just about lingering camaraderie—He Fei’s disgust, whether impatience, contempt, or deeper revulsion, felt somehow justified. Though Xiang Lei never considered his orientation wrong, facing He Fei’s reactions always left him feeling guilty.

Remembering his long-neglected QQ and forum duties, Xiang Lei decided to check them.

As he grabbed his computer card, Liu Chong returned with a basketball. Spotting the card, Liu Chong said, “Going online again? Thought you were waiting for that Room 202 guy?”

Xiang Lei froze. Why did this guy care so much?

“Come play ball instead! Life is all about movement! What’s so great about the internet?”

Against his will, Xiang Lei followed to the court.

His skills were mediocre, and he nearly quit several times, but Liu Chong dragged him through the entire afternoon.

• 1
  “One Hundred Thousand Whys” is a very famous series of popular science books for children. The title has become a common idiom used to describe someone who constantly asks questions.