The Zebra's Tale

Chen Wan became the first girl to step into Li Mu's bedroom.

In his original youth, Li Mu had been too shy to invite girls home. Even in college and adulthood, none of his fleeting romances had reached the "meet-the-parents" stage. This was virgin territory.

The room was small—fifteen square meters at most—crammed with a twin bed, a weathered desk, a glass-fronted bookcase, a wardrobe, and a Red Cotton brand acoustic guitar. Cluttered yet immaculate, it carried the faint scent of sunbaked laundry detergent, comforting and nostalgic.

Posters adorned the walls: Kurt Cobain mid-scream, the Tang Dynasty band's defiant flag. Most striking was a monochrome print of railroad tracks vanishing into fog, a hunched figure burying his face in his knees.

"What's this one?" Chen Wan pointed to the enigmatic image.

"Black Dream by Dou Wei." Li Mu shrugged. "Knockoff poster. Original had the album title."

At eighteen, Li Mu had been a music obsessive—obsessed with Michael Jackson, Nirvana, and Chinese rock. The guitar, a gift from his mother at fourteen, had cost a small fortune. With it, he'd serenaded his way through college, claiming two "first bloods" (as he nostalgically recalled).

Chen's eyes lit up at the instrument. "You play?"

"Dabbler."

"Play something!" she urged. "The boys at Fudan only know "the deskmate"(famous 90s campus folk song）…"

"My Autumn by Xu Wei?" she suggested.

Li Mu raised an eyebrow. "Dark stuff for a báifùměi. But okay."

Strumming the opening chords, he paused. "Let's try something you've never heard."

What followed was Zebra, Zebra—a haunting folk ballad from Li Mu's future, written by Song Dongye. Here, in 2001, its creator was still a middle-schooler. Li Mu stole it shamelessly.

"Zebra, zebra, don't fall asleep

Let me see your wounded tail once more

I won't touch the scars you try to hide

Just let me brush back your hair…

Your city has no door that opens for me

So I wander these cold, wasted years…"

Chen listened, chin cupped in hands, as the allegory unfolded—a man and his metaphorical zebra, both scarred nomads. When the last note faded, her eyes glistened.

"Who wrote this?"

"Me." Li Mu lied smoothly. "You're the first to hear it."

"Why zebras?"

Head tilted poetically, he channeled thirty years of faux depth: "Zebras… they can't sleep alone."

Chen's admiration solidified.

A fist hammered the door. "Li Mu! You alive in there?"

Zhao Kang barged in, all acne and swagger. His jaw dropped at Li Mu's makeover. "Fuck's sake! Did you sell your soul? Where'd you get that haircut?"

"Jealousy's ugly, Kang."

"Screw you. Let's get KFC before I disown you."

Li Mu grinned. Some things never changed.