The Gaze of the Radio Girl (GL) - Chapter 1

“Hey! Whose desk is this?”

“It’s the ‘Deep Space Witch’s’… That girl, no idea where she ran off to again…”

“Heh heh heh, probably up on the rooftop again, look.”

As usual, the seating arrangement in Class 6 of Senior Year 3 changed every half month, and today happened to be one of those days.

According to the blackboard’s layout, Xue Ran moved her desk and chair to the corner by the window in the last row.

That’s when she ran into trouble—everyone else was methodically moving to their new spots, but her future deskmate was nowhere to be found.

Looking at the empty space, she didn’t know how to arrange things for a moment. The culprit behind this mess was none other than the one her classmates called the “Deep Space Witch.”

Following their pointed directions, Xue Ran glanced out the window.

Less than thirty meters away, in the opposite school building, the “Deep Space Witch” leaned against the rooftop railing, staring up at the sky.

Summer break, extra classes, a clear blue sky.

Creamy white clouds floated in clusters along the horizon.

The wind tousled the “Deep Space Witch’s” shoulder-length hair, obscuring her facial features.

The “Deep Space Witch” always wore headphones. Big, silver ones.

She held a device with an antenna in her hand.

Xue Ran guessed it was a handheld radio, similar to the ones security guards used, but it looked more complex.

The “Deep Space Witch” gazed at the blue sky, raising the radio high, its antenna extended to its fullest, as if that would improve the signal.

Her posture was so striking that it unintentionally drew everyone’s attention.

Before long, someone finally voiced the lingering mystery: “What the heck is she doing?”

“Fortune-telling? Divination?”

“Receiving cosmic messages?”

“Talking to aliens?”

“Didn’t someone say ‘don’t answer’?”

“…The wavelength and power of that thing don’t seem right, though. I bet it can’t reach that far.”

“Speaking of… what kinds of electromagnetic waves are there again?”

The gossip suddenly shifted gears, turning into an academic discussion—typical terrifying Senior Year 3 students.

The “Deep Space Witch’s” desk and chair, neglected by their owner, remained abandoned in the classroom, getting pushed and bumped by passing classmates until, by some twist of fate, they ended up next to Xue Ran.

“Class monitor, the ‘Deep Space Witch’ is sitting next to you, right?” someone asked, knowing full well the answer.

Xue Ran looked at the messy desk and empty drawers, letting out a soft sigh: “Just give it to me.”

The desk and chair finally found their place, pushed by Xue Ran to the window’s edge, leaving a small aisle, aligned with the front row, and joined by her own desk.

With a “click,” the “Deep Space Witch’s” stuff settled into place, and the problem was finally resolved.

After the seat change, the noisy classroom continued its chaos. Suddenly, everyone fell silent, returned to their seats, and even the academic discussion vanished.

Xue Ran glanced sideways with her peripheral vision. The homeroom teacher, Tao Tao, appeared at the back door’s frame, like a ghost.

Despite her name, Tao Tao had a stern face.

Her thick nearsighted glasses glinted with a cold, eerie light, making the twenty-six-year-old look like she was steeped in classroom authority.

“Finish switching seats and start studying! How many days are left until the college entrance exam? Don’t you have any sense of urgency?” Tao Tao said, knocking “thud thud” on the doorframe. Then she beckoned to Xue Ran: “Class monitor, come out for a sec.”

Xue Ran knew exactly how many days were left until the exam. She also knew exactly who Tao Tao was summoning her about.

She glanced at the “Deep Space Witch,” still basking in the sunlight and breeze, and stood to walk outside.

Tao Tao pulled her to a corner by the staircase, speaking softly: “How did you let her slip away again?”

Xue Ran: “I can’t exactly tie her to my waistband, can I?”

Tao Tao: “You haven’t forgotten our deal, have you?”

Xue Ran uncomfortably averted her gaze.

Half a month ago, during study hall, Tao Tao had called her to the office.

On the desk were six exam papers, all bearing the same name: Wu Lele.

Wu Lele was the “Deep Space Witch” herself.

Since transferring in during the second semester of Sophomore Year, her physics, chemistry, biology, and math scores were always perfect, while her English and Chinese were consistently failing.

This time, she broke her own record: the former subjects all ranked first, the latter two dead last.

All rankings were grade-wide, with no middle ground.

Probably never having seen such extreme academic disparity, Tao Tao waved a Switch in front of Xue Ran and said: “If you can get Wu Lele’s English and Chinese into the top 10% of the grade, I’ll return your gaming console and won’t tell your parents.”

It was blatant blackmail and temptation.

Xue Ran appeared calm on the surface, but inside, she was beyond irritated.

As the homeroom teacher, why wasn’t Tao Tao handling Wu Lele herself instead of dumping the responsibility on her?

Wasn’t she a Senior Year 3 student too? Why should she be responsible?

That’s what Xue Ran thought, but she couldn’t say it out loud.

With the mindset of placating the “kidnapper” to avoid “tearing the ticket,” Xue Ran casually agreed to Tao Tao’s terms.

After all, “willingness” and “ability” were two different things. Once the heat died down, she’d tell Tao Tao she tried her best but lacked the talent or potential to join the tutoring industry, then return Wu Lele to Tao unscathed.

Half a month passed, and aside from stealing a few extra glances at Wu Lele, Xue Ran did nothing.

As expected, whether it was big or small tests, Wu Lele’s grades remained frighteningly consistent.

Xue Ran planned to stick to her strategy, but before she could act, Tao Tao came to her again, upping the stakes.

She said: “I accidentally saw the stash in your console yesterday. Lots of new mystery games, huh.”

Xue Ran’s brain instantly sounded the alarm.

Tao Tao: “I actually quite like mystery games too. How about I clear them all for you? Save you from staying up late, heh heh.”

Heh… heh?

Through Tao Tao’s thick lenses, Xue Ran saw those eyes squinting into slits, and she could feel her tiny heart being bombarded by the teacher’s overwhelming glee.

Devious, utterly devious!

You have time to play games but not to deal with Wu Lele?

Xue Ran had to back down: “Teacher, if even you can’t handle it, how could I possibly manage?”

Tao Tao kept her smile: “With such a busy academic load and such good grades, you still find time to game. How could you not have the ability to help your deskmate?”

“…” Xue Ran suspected Tao Tao had installed a tracker in her brain, pulling a rebound move.

Tao Tao: “You’re the same age, so it’s easier for you to get along than with an old fogy like me. Naturally, you’ll have more ways to handle it.”

“…”

“Like your console, doesn’t it have that ‘Ice Block Murder Case’ or something? I’ve already roughly figured out the culprit…”

Though unsure how Tao Tao jumped from generation gaps to games, Xue Ran didn’t have time to dwell. She hurriedly stopped the spoiler: “Alright, alright, I get it.”

“Heh heh, my expectations aren’t high—just passing grades for now. No time limit either, roughly until I figure out the culprit…”

“Please don’t keep playing.”

“Heh heh, explaining problems to a classmate can also help you improve. If you both get into a top university, I might even throw in a rare game cartridge.”

At that, a spark faintly lit up in Xue Ran’s cold eyes.

She forcibly steadied her voice, which was about to derail: “Just to confirm… is it the out-of-print, discontinued ‘Dog Detective Chronicles’?”

“Uh-huh.” Tao Tao nodded with a smile.

“…” Xue Ran lowered her lashes, adaptable and resilient. “Fine, I’ll try my best.”

Lust clouds judgment; games make people lose themselves. Not good.

By the time Xue Ran’s enthusiasm cooled and she realized what happened, it was too late.

She looked at the bobbing head and conspicuous black antenna on the opposite rooftop, still clueless about what was coming.

Until study hall ended and school let out, Wu Lele never came down from the rooftop, and Xue Ran couldn’t be bothered to go find her.

You can’t fatten a pig with one bite or turn someone into a top student in a day.

Today’s matters could wait until tomorrow.

Back home, the shoe rack by the garage was missing a pair of slippers but had an extra pair of branded sneakers.

Xue Ran didn’t need to ask to know her older sister, Xue Lin, was back.

The house was lively, decked out in festive lights.

As Xue Ran approached the dining table, her father, Xue Haichao, set off a small confetti popper, and colorful bits predictably showered her.

She was used to it, letting her mother, Lin Ran, put a little paper crown on her head before sitting obediently in her spot.

Not just Xue Ran—everyone wore paper crowns, all cheerful and harmonious, though for what, who knew.

Xue Ran didn’t bother asking, as she didn’t need to. Xue Haichao eagerly announced: “Congratulations to our Linlin for passing the exam and earning the Amateur Radio Operator Class C certificate! Applause! Where’s the applause?!”

Celebrations like this were too common. Even when Xue Lin learned to unclog a toilet, the whole family threw a party.

Xue Ran clapped numbly, expressionless: “Congrats, congrats… Can I eat now?”

“Dad, look, she’s jealous of me again.” Xue Lin said this but still broke off a roasted chicken leg for Xue Ran. “Eat up, don’t blame me if you fail to get into Beijing University.”

“I won’t blame you, future senior.” Xue Ran took a quiet bite.

“Sigh… too bad there’s a four-year gap between you two, or Linlin could’ve looked after Ranran.” Lin Ran pursed her lips helplessly.

But since her daughters couldn’t be stuffed back into her womb, she just mentioned it casually before changing the topic: “By the way, what’s this certificate good for?”

Xue Haichao: “Yeah, what’s it for? You planning to be a streamer?”

Clearly, the Xue parents didn’t quite get it either, just blindly celebrating.

Xue Lin explained while munching on fries: “An amateur radio can do a lot—besides streaming, you can communicate, study tech, and in emergencies like earthquakes, it could even save lives.”

Xue Ran focused on her chicken leg but inexplicably thought of the figure on the rooftop.

Lin Ran: “But I saw you brought a ton of stuff back today. You quitting?”

“Nah. I’ve got internships and thesis writing coming up, so I probably won’t have time to touch it this year. Since I’ll have to move out of the dorm after graduation anyway, I figured I’d bring it home now. Ranran,” Xue Lin suddenly turned to her, “even though amateur radio is fun and you’d probably love it, for the sake of your future, don’t touch it this year. I’m worried you’ll get hooked.”

“Not interested.” Xue Ran kept eating.

After dinner, Xue Lin went back to her dorm for a group discussion.

Xue Ran, as usual, returned to her room to finish her homework. When she was almost done, she grabbed her pajamas and headed to the bathroom.

Their family lived in a three-story house, with Xue Ran and Xue Lin’s rooms on the third floor, no en-suites, just two bedrooms and a shared bathroom.

Xue Lin’s door was never closed, and a breeze made the rusty hinges creak.

During the day, the sound was faint, almost ignorable, but late at night, it could disturb a peaceful sleep.

After her shower, Xue Ran habitually went to Xue Lin’s room to close her door tightly.

Cool moonlight, carrying a hint of summer heat, streamed through the glass window onto Xue Lin’s desk.

Unlike its usual clear state, the desk was now cluttered with black machines.

A microphone and headset with metal frames glinted white under the moonlight.

Xue Ran’s heart skipped a beat as that peculiar figure flashed in her mind again.

She glanced downstairs, confirming Xue Haichao and Lin Ran were already asleep in their room. Then she quietly closed her own door, slipped back into Xue Lin’s room, and locked it.

In the dark, she turned on the dim desk lamp and put on the headset.

The surroundings were quiet, and suddenly, she didn’t know what to do next.

If Xue Lin used these machines after passing the exam, there should be some study materials, right?

With that thought, Xue Ran rummaged through the quiet room. Soon, she found a set of materials detailing the operating procedures.

Amateur radio licenses were divided into Classes A, B, and C, starting with A. Xue Lin took nearly three years to earn all of them.

The pages were yellowed. Following the instructions, Xue Ran turned on the machine, tuned the frequency, and after a short burst of static, voices from all directions flooded in.

Strange, excited, calm voices, mixed with unfamiliar jargon and symbols, enveloped her instantly.

Was this what Wu Lele heard every day?

She kept tuning, as if waiting or expecting something.

Suddenly, a familiar yet unfamiliar voice came through the headset: “CQ CQ, this is BD6WLL, can anyone hear me?”

In class, Wu Lele was quiet, rarely speaking.

Xue Ran had only heard her voice during roll call, but in that moment, with inexplicable certainty and confidence, she knew it was Wu Lele.

The microphone’s red light was on. Xue Ran opened her mouth but made no sound.

For a long time, she stayed silent.

The frequency was quiet, and Xue Ran hesitated in that silence. She thought someone else would respond, so she didn’t need to.

But she was wrong. No one answered.

Xue Ran figured if Wu Lele got no response, she’d probably stop talking.

Just then, the voice came again: “CQ CQ, this is BD6WLL, can anyone hear me?”

This repeated three times, and Xue Ran didn’t respond.

Her gaze lingered on a small device nearby—a Morse code transmitter, with Xue Lin’s cheat sheet for code practice tucked underneath.

Xue Ran waited.

If even one person replied, she’d move her hand away from the device.

As the clock’s hands passed midnight, the frequency remained silent, and Wu Lele didn’t repeat herself again. Instead, she suddenly said: “73.”

Xue Ran didn’t know what it meant but assumed it was a farewell.

Her fingers rested on the small key. A light press, and Wu Lele would hear the beeping telegraph sound, a primitive noise abandoned by the entertainment era.

A lone bet fell empty in a corner of the universe.

A small pebble slid through her heart, via pulse, muscle, skin, to her fingertips.

Following the code’s rhythm, Xue Ran, almost possessed, tapped out a response.

“I can hear you.”