The Nemesis Desk-Mate’s War: A Prophecy from the Future
The pressure of the university entrance exam hung thick in the air at the prestigious private school. To maximize results, the head teacher initiated a “one-on-one” study support program, pairing students with complementary strengths. Out of 50 students, 48 found their partners, leaving only Jiang Ling—the top-ranked student, and Zhu Jin (Chu Cận)—the notorious second-ranked, two figures famous throughout the school for being irreconcilable enemies.
I, Jiang Ling, was pragmatic and a control-freak; everything in my life was neatly organized. Zhu Jin, the “ice-prince heartthrob” with a vicious tongue, was the single most unbearable element of chaos. Our families had pitted us against each other since childhood, turning every interaction into a bitter rivalry.
Initially, the head teacher hesitated to pair us, but acknowledged my weakness in Math and Zhu Jin’s inconsistency in Chinese Literature. The deal she offered me was irresistible: “If you agree, you won’t have to run the 800-meter dash in P.E. this semester.” The temptation was too great. I agreed, but not out of goodwill. I saw a perfect chance for revenge: I would stuff his desk with fan letters and sweets until he became so annoyed that he’d beg to switch seats.
And so, Zhu Jin—the person I couldn’t stand—officially became my desk-mate.
Contrary to my predictions, Zhu Jin acted completely out of character. He stopped his usual provocations. During study hall, he focused intently, utilizing every minute. However, once night fell, the “war” resumed.
Precisely at 11 PM, just as I was settling into bed, my phone would buzz incessantly. “Here are a few questions I got wrong today. Could you help me review them?” His texts were relentless: vocabulary explanations, practice tests. He revealed a mild obsession with learning—if he didn’t grasp a concept that day, he couldn’t sleep. My initial patience giving voice messages to teach him quickly turned into frustration as he consumed all my free time.
This strange dynamic continued until one weekend evening when, exhausted, I decided to fight back. I texted back curtly: “Sleeping. Talk tomorrow.” I wanted him to taste his own medicine. A moment of silence passed, then three rapid-fire messages flooded my screen: “Seriously? Lie to me and you’re a dog. Open the door.”
Five minutes later, a thunderous knocking rattled my door frame. Peeking through the peephole, I saw Zhu Jin’s face pressed against it, his expression unnervingly patient. This guy simply wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. I grudgingly pulled the door open halfway, but suddenly remembered: letting a boy into my apartment late at night was inappropriate.
I quickly shut the door back, sticking my head and one arm out, and said coldly, “Say it quickly.”
But instead of a stack of test papers, I met a warm hand. Zhu Jin grabbed my arm, used the leverage to push the door open, and stepped right in.
It was only then that I saw him clearly: Zhu Jin was wearing black silk pajamas, the V-neck slightly open, his face flushed as if he had run here, his breathing still ragged. He closed the door, grabbed my other hand, and lifted both my arms above my head. His voice was low and husky: “We can’t rush this. We have to take it slow.”
My mind raced between fear and astonishment. Trying to regain control, I lowered my voice: “Zhu Jin, let go of me first. I’m not in a hurry anymore. Let’s go to the study desk to talk.”
He released my hands, but steered me towards the sofa. Panicked, I realized I had nothing on underneath my pajamas. I grabbed a cushion to cover my chest, plopping onto the sofa. I urged him impatiently, “Can you hurry up?”
Zhu Jin sat down slowly, his gaze on me unusually serious. Then I realized something was terribly wrong: he held no test papers in his hands. He leaned in, his fingertip lightly touching my lips.
“Zhu Jin, what are you trying to do?” I stammered.
He chuckled softly, his ears visibly red, but his eyes were firm: “Didn’t you just rush me? How do you want to sleep?”
A light breath of mint hit my face. In the next moment, he kissed me—a soft, warm sensation that brought a pleasant numbness to my lips. Zhu Jin was clearly inexperienced, the kiss rushed, yet it sent my heart pounding. As I stood there stunned, he suddenly yanked the cushion away from my chest.
“Zhu Jin, you bastard!” I cried in anger.
He smiled meaningfully: “Jiang Ling, didn’t you say you were asleep and we’d talk tomorrow? That was my first kiss, and I’m not very good at it. How about we practice seriously again? I guarantee I’ll satisfy you this time.”
His hand firmly held the back of my neck. Zhu Jin kissed me again, deeper this time. My mind went blank, and I had to admit his learning ability was terrifying. This kiss was no longer clumsy; he even adjusted the angle. My whole body went weak, clinging onto his shoulder for balance. Zhu Jin seemed hot; he unbuttoned two buttons of his shirt with one hand while the other began exploring my body. His voice was low in my ear: “Jiang Ling, which way do you want to sleep?”
But as his hand reached my chest, he suddenly felt the anomaly. He flinched, quickly released me, glanced for a fleeting second, and turned away, stammering with embarrassment. “Why… why are you wearing nothing underneath?” Mortified, I grabbed the cushion and bolted into my room.
When I finally emerged, Zhu Jin had turned on the TV and was lounging on the sofa, watching calmly as if nothing had happened. I stood in front of him, grinding my teeth: “Zhu Jin, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Jiang Ling, did what on purpose?” He smiled mockingly.
I stamped my foot in frustration, clarifying that I meant: “I was already asleep, and the study questions should wait until tomorrow.”
He shrugged, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes fading quickly: “I know.” He had deliberately messed with me.
Determined not to be defeated, I slipped, stumbling to a seated position right on his lap. This was my first time feeling vulnerable in our decade-long rivalry. Gritting my teeth, I decided on a counter-attack. I turned back, grabbed his chin, and smiled seductively: “Zhu Jin, I bet you don’t know this, but you’ve never dated anyone, yet you ran to my place tonight and used your first kiss. Are you secretly in love with me?“
He widened his eyes, a stunned and slightly foolish look on his face. As he stammered a denial, I covered his mouth, leaning in closer, pushing him until he had nowhere to retreat. My hand slid down his chin, lightly tracing it. Zhu Jin trembled slightly, his Adam’s apple moving, then he closed his eyes, waiting.
Perfect counter-attack. I immediately sprung off him. “Hahaha, Zhu Jin, did you actually think I was going to kiss you?” I put my hands on my hips and laughed, having successfully turned the tables.
Zhu Jin’s face was beet red. He stared at me, sending a chill down my spine. “Jiang Ling, you’re right. I do like you.”
I dismissed it, convinced he was just trying to scare me. “Zhu Jin, let’s stop here. Don’t try to get revenge. Your first kiss was your first, and mine was too. We’re even.”
He opened his mouth, then swallowed his words. After adjusting his clothes and composure, he looked up, returning to his usual serious demeanor, but with a hint of dissatisfaction: “Jiang Ling, I wasn’t wrong. With your Chinese Literature skills, how are you top of the school? Are you helping me, or dragging me down? Also, if it were any other guy who tested you like I did today, would you have refused them? No EQ and high IQ, you’re just too easy.”
“Better than you,” I retorted. “No EQ, and an IQ so bad you mistake a lack of a comma for a different meaning.”
Zhu Jin scoffed: “If you’re so confident, let’s compare our university entrance exam scores.”
“A competition is fine, but there are conditions,” I said, listing them: no dating until the exam, serious studying, and the bet must remain private. Zhu Jin added the final, decisive condition: The loser gives the winner the right to choose their university application. His voice was firm. We had studied together since elementary school, and with our current performance, entering Tsinghua or Peking University was highly likely. I laughed coldly, realizing he was desperate to win just to avoid going to the same university as me. Ironically, I felt the same way. “Who’s afraid of whom?” I challenged.
After he left, I stared at my phone. Everything felt wrong—his texts, his actions, the bet’s conditions. As I was about to text a friend, a series of floating lines appeared before my eyes: “Jiang Ling, you’re 18, and you can still be this stupid?”
I rubbed my eyes. The text returned: “I am you, ten years from now.”
To prove it, the future me revealed: “You have a mole on your right hip.” A fact known only to my mother and me. I quickly asked: “Did I win the bet against Zhu Jin?”
A moment passed, then the reply: “I really give up on you. Do you think about anything other than winning? Aren’t you curious about your future?”
I scoffed, I always trusted myself. But the future me was cold: “You lost.”
I jumped out of bed. “No way! Did that horrible Zhu Jin choose a terrible university for me?”
The text appeared instantly: “Both of you got into Tsinghua or Peking University. You idiots. You’re dating now, too.”
The shock escalated: “We just registered our marriage today. Can’t talk anymore, he’s rushing for the wedding night. Remember to visit Mom often.”
The prophecy from my future self shattered my perspective. I realized Zhu Jin wasn’t hateful. He knew what I wanted, so he deliberately came in second for years. The university bet was because he knew I desperately wanted to escape my father, and he secured the right to ensure I could follow my dream.
But what worried me most was the warning: “Remember to visit Mom often.”
The future me revealed: My mother suffers from depression. She was a brilliant scientist, forced to quit her career after giving birth to a daughter in an arranged marriage dominated by patriarchal beliefs. In my relentless pursuit of academic excellence and my father’s approval, I had neglected the mother who loved me unconditionally.
That afternoon, I skipped half-day of school and went home. I found my mother, Ms. Dung, sitting silently on the swing in the back garden, her eyes vacant. I buried my face in her lap, crying hysterically, and used the excuse of “academic pressure” to take her to a psychiatrist.
The doctor confirmed my mother was in the early stages of depression.
I moved back home, attending school from there to spend more time with her and take her to regular therapy sessions. During this time, I noticed Zhu Jin had become distant, still angry that I had mentioned someone else and that I had run away that night.
My future self reappeared, teasing me: “Zhu Jin hates seeing you cry. Don’t worry, if you don’t go back to your apartment, he’ll seek you out himself.” I realized how much he truly cared.
During the last self-study period, I secretly passed him a note. He didn’t react, slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking straight out when the bell rang. The sudden emptiness made me recognize my true feelings for him: I loved the challenge, the sparring, the excitement of Zhu Jin. It wouldn’t be bad to date him.
As I muttered to myself, “Do I really need to cry to get him to talk to me?” his voice sounded right beside me. “Didn’t you say you’re scared of going home alone? Why are you still dawdling here?”
We started our usual bickering, but this time, I smiled up at him: “What if I was serious? I agree to be your girlfriend.“
Zhu Jin’s eyes widened, his expression serious: “Jiang Ling, don’t play with me. I can’t handle a second prank.”
“Why?”
“Because I really like you.”
I knew life was difficult, but if I already knew that I would marry Zhu Jin in a few years, I chose to enjoy the happiness sooner.
I extended my hand, my voice full of determination: “Zhu Jin, I’m serious. I want to try dating you. Do you dare?“
Zhu Jin didn’t hesitate, immediately clasping my hand. His radiant smile was the only answer I needed. The war between the two arch-enemies had ended, giving way to a new chapter where they would face the college entrance exams together and, more importantly, heal the wounds of their families.
