Wei Qingyue rarely took the initiative to come calling at Wei Zhendong’s residential complex.
The little chubby boy wasn’t home — his stepmother had taken him to some tutoring class. Because it was a detached villa with a garden, Wei Zhendong was personally trimming tree branches, like a gardener.
Wei Qingyue’s arrival here was completely like that of an uninvited guest.
“Dad.” Wei Qingyue walked into the garden and called out.
Wei Zhendong didn’t even look up. His pair of slender hands were very well-maintained. He appeared considerably younger than his peers, with fine features — and truly did carry a certain elegant bearing.
“What is it that can’t be said over the phone?” Wei Zhendong’s tone was impatient. That manner of his — Wei Qingyue, looking on, didn’t realize that he himself was sometimes identical to it.
“There’s a matter — I don’t know whether Dad could help with it.” Wei Qingyue opened calmly.
Wei Zhendong laughed, looking at his son with eyes full of mockery: “If you’re asking someone for a favor, you should look the part. Stop holding your head so high — a stranger would think your old man owes you something.”
The young man’s star-bright eyes flared for an instant, then there was a very humble expression: “I have no one else to ask — only Dad. If Dad won’t help me, no one can.”
This was quite funny. Wei Zhendong said: “Did you take the wrong medicine today? Wei Qingyue, tell me — what kind of trouble did you get into that could make a stubborn bone like you soften?”
The matter was simple — it could be explained in a few sentences. All things in the world are like this: no matter how tragic, they can be summarized in just a few words.
“What do you mean — asking your old man to do something illegal on behalf of your little girlfriend?” Wei Zhendong laughed from extreme anger. “Not even fully grown yet, and already you’ve learned to chase girls? You say she’s a classmate — is she your girlfriend or not?”
Wei Qingyue had known it would be like this. He remained calm: “I’m not asking Dad to do anything illegal. Wang Yong has a criminal record — rape, theft. I suspect he also uses drugs and has committed molestation. Someone like that — dig a little, and something will certainly turn up.”
“Then let the police investigate. If he broke the law, the police will handle it. What are you coming to me for? If he really uses drugs, a urine test would produce results. Are you also planning to have me find a police officer to arrest him for a urine test?” Wei Zhendong’s eyes turned cold in an instant. “If you think he’s a criminal, go to the police station. Don’t come to me.”
Wei Qingyue bit down briefly and looked Wei Zhendong directly in the eyes: “I have no evidence — that’s why I’m asking Dad for help.”
“What’s wrong with you? Ordering your old man around to do things for you?” Wei Zhendong raised his leg and kicked Wei Qingyue in the body. He stumbled back several steps, then steadied himself.
“He must go to prison — even two years would do.” Wei Qingyue said stubbornly. “Dad, you must have a way. Wang Yong has serious problems. Leaving him in society is a danger. Someone like him belongs in prison.”
“Foolish!” Wei Zhendong’s face darkened. “I thought you had some promise, but you don’t even understand the most basic principle — whether a person belongs in prison is decided by the law. There’s no room here for what you think. Instead of studying properly at school, you come here to talk nonsense at me. I see last time I didn’t teach you enough of a lesson.”
“If he doesn’t go to prison, he’ll eventually come after my classmate again. My classmate’s family only has two elderly people — they can’t withstand this scoundrel harassing them. Dad, I beg you, I beg you to help my classmate just once. Help her resolve this trouble. She still has to sit the university entrance exam — once she gets into university she can leave this city.” Wei Qingyue saw that Wei Zhendong had already dropped his tools and was heading back toward the house. He followed step for step, speaking urgently: “My whole life I’ve never begged Dad for anything. As long as Dad agrees, Dad can ask me to do anything.”
The moment the words fell, a slap landed across his face. Wei Zhendong erupted: “Useless! Did you lose your mind over a girl? Someone with a criminal record like that — don’t you know to stay far away? And you dare bring trouble to your old man — it never ends, does it? Wei Qingyue, if I don’t deal with you today, you clearly won’t come to your senses!”
Wei Zhendong kicked open a door and, while walking, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, retrieved his horse whip, and brought it down on Wei Qingyue without mercy.
He didn’t dodge — he just stood rigid and let Wei Zhendong beat him. Wei Zhendong, seeing his obstinate expression, grew even more furious and struck harder. Each lash of the whip made Wei Qingyue’s body shudder, yet he gritted his teeth and made not a sound.
“A criminal recidivist like Wang Yong — you dare provoke him? Do you have a death wish? Trying to play the devoted hero, are you? Your old man will beat you to death today.” Wei Zhendong’s veins bulged. Even the whip seemed insufficient to vent his fury. He hurled it aside and resorted to his feet — it had always been like this, the more he beat, the angrier he became.
From beginning to end, Wei Qingyue made not a sound. His face was drenched in sweat.
Wei Zhendong could not help but concede that this boy had some backbone — no matter how much pain, he would never make a sound.
He grew tired of beating. Breathing heavily, he pointed at Wei Qingyue’s nose: “Don’t you dare cause me any more trouble. Your old man has no time to clean up after you every single day. Do you hear me?”
Wei Qingyue’s eyes were red from holding everything back; his lips trembled continuously: “I beg Dad to help me just once.”
“If Wang Yong really uses drugs, that makes him all the more dangerous. Drug addicts will hack apart their own parents and children — what exactly are you trying to do? Who do you think you are? What does any of it have to do with you? Wei Qingyue, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Get back to school and study! If I find out you dare do anything again — I’m telling you, your old man won’t let you go abroad. I’ll just beat you to death and be done with it!”
Wei Zhendong roared the word “get out” in succession, several times.
The entire villa echoed with “get out.” Wei Zhendong’s expression was ferocious — even the most handsome person, in a moment like this, turned out to be very ugly.
Wei Qingyue’s two eyes were like black hollows as he looked at Wei Zhendong. He couldn’t control himself from shaking. His body was covered in whip wounds, aching terribly, his temples throbbing with taut tension.
The villa was exquisite and beautiful. Wei Zhendong was impeccably dressed — luxury goods from head to toe, cologne and expensive watches — like a mannequin. He thought of Jiang Du’s essays, the ones the teacher had read aloud as models of good writing. Her grandmother was always making watermelon sauce and drying radish strips. Her grandfather liked afternoon naps. Summer sunlight filtered through bamboo curtain blinds. Neighborhood friends would come to find her, and she would be thinking about sneaking away from her nap while telling them to keep their voices down, not to disturb her grandfather. And how her grandfather would discover a group of children looking like little thieves about to slip away, and tempt and tease them with money — come give him a back rub, and whoever did well would each receive a coin for a popsicle. That was her grandfather’s way of dragging out the time to stop them from running off into the blazing afternoon sun, afraid it would harm them.
The teacher had said he truly loved Jiang Du’s essays. Many had been skeptical — too mundane, not flowery, no technique. The teacher had said: at your age, you’re all too full of self-importance to understand what it means to express deep feeling through simple language.
Jiang Du was far enough from him. Wei Qingyue thought sadly — how wonderful it would be if he could live with her, in the home of old people who made watermelon sauce. He had never eaten watermelon sauce, but he needed it.
That day, he drifted alone to the hospital to see a doctor, collected some ointment, then put his long sleeves back on.
In the blink of an eye, June arrived, and the tension of the final year of high school reached its peak.
The class group chat for the advanced humanities class was silent. But the old group — the original Class Two group — was extremely lively. Lots of people jumped in talking about celebrating Children’s Day, saying they were still little babies, followed by a string of shameless remarks accompanied by various emoji.
Lin Haiyang was the most exuberant of all. He drifted around the group for a long time, and when there was no one left talking, he stared at the gray, offline avatar labeled “Ghost Writer” in his friends list and fell into a daze.
When Jiang Du received Lin Haiyang’s message, she was just preparing to return to school.
Hey, Happy Children’s Day.
Jiang Du replied: Same to you.
To her surprise, Lin Haiyang replied instantly, asking: Is it convenient to give you a call? Does your family have a landline?
It seemed he had taken for granted that since her household had only elderly people, they’d naturally still have a landline.
Jiang Du thought it over and replied: I’m just about to go back and resume classes.
Really? That’s wonderful.
Lin Haiyang sent her a string of welcoming emoji.
The day she returned to school was Monday the 4th. The reason she chose this day was because starting from this day, the third-year students would no longer have classes. The first and second-year students would only attend this one day before their classrooms would be rearranged in the afternoon as examination halls for the university entrance exam.
In the morning, her grandmother had prepared fresh soymilk and bought small steamed buns, and sat watching Jiang Du eat. The neighbor across the hall, Grandma Weng, gave her a vintage brooch, saying it would look nice pinned to a school uniform. Word of what had happened to her had spread among the neighbors above and below and across the hall. People had come to check on her, though they only stood briefly at the doorway, saying a few words in very hushed voices, as if deliberately trying to shield her from hearing. Jiang Du pretended she’d seen and heard nothing.
“Little one, if anyone at school says something wrong to your face, don’t be afraid — tell the teacher. Whatever you do, don’t bottle it up by yourself.” Her grandmother watched her face carefully as she offered the reminder, helping her pin on the brooch.
Jiang Du had even bought herself a new hairband; the edges of her sneakers had been scrubbed snow-white.