Qi Yang hung up the phone.
After ending the call, he didn’t leave the bedroom. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it between his lips, but couldn’t find his lighter. He fumbled around on the desk for a while, his movements growing slower and slower until he fell into a daze.
The events of the past few days connected in his mind, making Qi Yang feel more and more uneasy about Mu Yicong’s behavior.
At the class reunion that day, one look at Mu Yicong had been enough to convince him the guy hadn’t changed at all—still that arrogant, condescending, self-important prick.
But when he thought about it carefully, Mu Yicong had already been different from his old self the moment he heard from Ren Wei that Qi Yang hadn’t changed his number and took the initiative to call.
—The old Mu Yicong would never have reached out to him first.
They’d been classmates for four years, all said and done, and in those four years, Mu Yicong had never once added his contact info on his own.
The only times he’d ever approached Qi Yang back in school—aside from when they fought—were when Qi Yang got stitches after blocking a chair for him, when he stood him up for the movie, and after he trashed the principal’s office.
There was always a reason.
The old Mu Yicong, no matter how pissed he was at Qi Yang, would never pick a fight with him in front of everyone. He only called him out after school for a one-on-one brawl, never humiliated him publicly.
Now, after ten years without seeing each other, the first thing he did was make Qi Yang crawl on the ground.
That was exactly the kind of thing Qi Yang used to do.
Not to mention all those baffling things Mu Yicong had said—”I used to have a crush on you” and “I wanted to see you.”
And now he’d driven his car all the way to the downstairs of Qi Yang’s home.
How did he know that ten years later, Qi Yang still lived in the same house?
Qi Yang bit down on the cigarette filter. In the end, he couldn’t resist pulling aside the curtain to look outside.
The winter plane trees had shed every last leaf, their tall, bare branches offering no cover whatsoever. A black Bentley was parked by the roadside, its license plate conveniently blocked from view.
He stared for two minutes. Then Zou Meizhu called from the living room for him to come get bowls. Qi Yang took the cigarette out of his mouth, tossed it on the desk, let the curtain drop, and went to bring Qi Xing to eat.
Qi Xing’s appetite had always been pitifully small. She couldn’t focus on anything except her handcraft journal. Zou Meizhu, looking for the easy way out, had used leftover rice to make a pot of fried rice. Qi Xing scooped three or four spoonfuls and tried to get down from the table. Qi Yang didn’t have much appetite either. He took the spoon, fed Qi Xing half a bowl, then got up to take her to wash her hands and rinse her mouth.
Zou Meizhu was happily scarfing down her food while scrolling through Douyin. When she saw Qi Yang finishing up and putting Qi Xing’s jacket and hat on, she asked, “Leaving this early today?”
“Got some stuff to do,” Qi Yang answered briefly.
He ignored her further questions, hooked a finger at Qi Xing from the entrance hall, and she came over to loosely hold his hand.
It had already been two weeks since her last class. Qi Xing was a bit reluctant to go out. Qi Yang hadn’t taken the car. As soon as they stepped out of the neighborhood, Qi Xing slowed down.
She kept her head down, burying her face into her scarf, and constantly clutched the small bag slung diagonally across her chest. Inside were her favorite stickers.
“Is your face cold?”
Qi Yang stopped, crouched down to adjust her scarf, and coaxed her softly.
“It’s colder after the snow than during the snow. Once you finish your class like a good girl, Brother will buy you a big roasted sweet potato.”
Qi Xing blinked, her gaze drifting lightly across Qi Yang’s face before she tucked her hand back into his palm.
With the child soothed, Qi Yang stood back up. When he raised his eyes, he saw Mu Yicong standing under the old plane tree.
He’d changed into a dark-checked overcoat today. Qi Yang didn’t know when he’d gotten out of the car. His posture was relaxed but elegant and tall, leaning casually against the car door as he watched them.
They stared at each other for a while. Then Qi Yang led Qi Xing over.
“I told you I had stuff to do,” he said, stopping in front of Mu Yicong at a distance close enough to be heard but not too close. “I have to take the kid to class.”
Mu Yicong didn’t answer. His gaze dropped to Qi Xing’s face.
Qi Xing’s features were delicate. Most of her face was hidden by her scarf and hat, revealing only a high nose bridge and a pair of eyes with thick, defined lashes that quietly blinked and fluttered.
Her condition was on the mild-to-moderate end of the autism spectrum. As long as she wasn’t stimulated, she didn’t show any symptoms. People who didn’t know about Qi Xing always thought at first glance that she was a really cute kid.
But if they watched for a few more minutes, they could tell she was different from ordinary children.
Qi Yang had protected her well. Zou Meizhu couldn’t be bothered to take her out. Apart from the neighbors in the neighborhood and close acquaintances like Liu Dameng and Cui Wu, almost no outsiders knew Qi Xing had a condition.
Qi Yang didn’t like to talk about it.
He waited for Mu Yicong to ask if there was something wrong with Qi Xing. But after looking at Qi Xing for a few moments, Mu Yicong simply reached out and gave a gentle flick to the pom-pom on her hat.
“Where’s the class?” Mu Yicong turned back to Qi Yang. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“No need.” Qi Yang tugged Qi Xing’s hand and turned to leave.
“We can talk about the car rental on the way,” Mu Yicong said.
Qi Yang paused mid-step. The excuse was reasonable enough.
He shook Qi Xing’s little hand and asked her, “Want to ride in this big brother’s car?”
Qi Xing glanced briefly at Mu Yicong’s face. Her attention seemed drawn by the checkered pattern on his coat, and she suddenly reached out to touch it.
Qi Yang was startled and gently slapped her hand down.
Mu Yicong smiled nonchalantly and turned to open the car door.
They were supposed to talk about the car rental, but it turned out just like the last time Mu Yicong rode in Qi Yang’s car. In the sealed cabin, they had driven several hundred meters without saying much beyond the address of the rehabilitation class.
Qi Yang was busy observing Qi Xing. Mu Yicong, on the other hand, was watching him through the rearview mirror.
“She’s fourteen, right?” At an intersection waiting for the light, Mu Yicong spoke first, asking about Qi Xing’s age.
“Next March,” Qi Yang answered briefly.
The moment he said it, he remembered back when Zou Meizhu was about to give birth. She had called him, wailing like a banshee. And right at that intersection, Mu Yicong had tripped him.
Qi Yang had rolled two meters across the zebra crossing, nearly ending up under someone else’s car wheels.
He’d also lost a phone and had his bike stolen.
Mu Yicong must have remembered that afternoon too. Their eyes met in the rearview mirror. Qi Yang scowled and turned his head to look out the window.
The rehabilitation class was on the other side of the city, a private facility.
The teacher there also had a child with autism. She had spent nearly twenty years running around, taking her kid to hospitals big and small all over the country. She’d basically become a doctor herself through sheer desperation.
In the early years, Qi Yang had been frantic to cure Qi Xing and had looked down on such small institutions.
Time, money, energy—he’d poured it all out like water. After accepting that autism couldn’t be cured and that it would follow her for life, he’d gradually grown numb.
When they arrived at the rehabilitation class, Qi Yang got out with Qi Xing, and Mu Yicong followed.
Qi Yang ignored him. He had to stay and watch Qi Xing during her lesson. For the two hours of class, he wouldn’t have time to chat with Mu Yicong about anything else.
They’d arrived early today, so there were only three or four kids in class.
Each of these autistic children had different symptoms. They were like little aliens unable to connect with the human world.
One child was walking around in circles clutching an alarm clock.
Another looked well-behaved, sitting quietly, but kept muttering and making strange noises to himself.
A third, a little boy, was screaming hysterically and banging his head against the wall. The teacher was busy trying to stop him while his mother, tears streaming, held him and got her neck scratched to hell.
Mu Yicong watched all of this in silence.
Qi Yang was used to it. He waited patiently with Qi Xing. Qi Xing, for her part, was completely oblivious to the chaos. She opened her little bag and took out her sticker book to flip through.
When the teacher finally led Qi Xing into the classroom, Qi Yang sat down in the observation room separated by a glass wall, watching her through the window.
Mu Yicong watched him from outside the door for a while, then walked into the observation room and sat down beside Qi Yang.
“Qi Xing seems to be in much better shape,” he said first.
Qi Yang gave a faint “Mn,” not even turning his head.
“When did it start?” Mu Yicong asked.
“Born with it,” Qi Yang said. “She was diagnosed the year I dropped out of school.”
Neither of them was stupid. Combining that with the upheaval in Qi Yang’s family back then, and why he had stood him up for the movie, Mu Yicong already had a rough idea.
He fell silent again, quietly watching Qi Yang.
After a moment, Mu Yicong asked again, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Qi Yang found the question strange. “Tell you so you could laugh at me? Or spread the word and somehow cure her illness?”
His tone was distant, laced with self-mockery, along with the apathy of someone who had already accepted reality.
Mu Yicong just looked at him.
“What kind of car is your company renting?” When he got no reply after a long wait, Qi Yang finally turned his head and asked.
“She looks a lot like you,” Mu Yicong answered, completely off-topic.
“What?” Qi Yang didn’t get what he was trying to say.
Mu Yicong glanced toward the glass wall, watching Qi Xing in class for a moment, then turned back to stare at Qi Yang.
“Qi Xing and you,” Mu Yicong said. “Your face in middle school looked just like that. Pretty good-looking, with a bit of edge.”
“Especially here.” He raised his hand abruptly, stopping just short of touching Qi Yang’s temple, tracing an invisible line. “And the corner of your mouth.”
That same faint masculine scent—subtle, steady, with a hint of showiness—drifted past Qi Yang’s nose with Mu Yicong’s movement.
Qi Yang stared blankly into Mu Yicong’s dark pupils for a long moment. When he snapped out of it, his face twisted into a strange, annoyed expression.
“Are you a pedophile?” He shoved Mu Yicong’s arm away, frowning with disgust. “Only into kids?”
Mu Yicong withdrew his hand wordlessly and turned his gaze back to Qi Xing. “Didn’t I already tell you who I like?” he said lightly.
I used to like you.
Past tense.
That’s all there is to it.
Qi Yang’s face darkened. He didn’t know what to say, and he couldn’t be bothered to talk anymore.
The two-hour class wasn’t exactly fast, but it wasn’t slow either. Today, it felt like it passed in the blink of an eye.
When the teacher led Qi Xing out of the classroom, Qi Yang went over to talk about her condition today. He patted Qi Xing’s head and told her to go play by herself for a bit.
But when he finished talking and went to find her, the classroom was empty.
The facility had a small courtyard. Qi Yang hurried outside, and from a distance, he saw Qi Xing standing in front of a snowman at the corner of the yard. Mu Yicong was half-crouched beside her, his back straight and tall.
He held out his palm to Qi Xing. In it was a tiny snowman.
Qi Xing seemed to like it. She glanced at Mu Yicong’s hand a couple of times, then reached out and took it.
After that, she pulled open her little bag, rummaged around for a while, picked out a sticker, and stuck it on Mu Yicong’s shoulder.
Qi Yang watched their interaction. He stood there for a long time before walking over with complicated feelings.
“Does this mean she likes me?” Mu Yicong stood up as he approached, pointing at the small sticker on his shoulder.
Qi Yang was still amazed that Qi Xing had shown such goodwill toward Mu Yicong—giving away one of her precious little treasures was how she expressed approval and happiness.
Liu Dameng had never received that treatment. The only sticker he had was one he’d snatched himself, which made Qi Xing scream in frustration.
Qi Yang had raised her since she was little, practically like a second dad, and he’d only gotten a few stickers. Zou Meizhu hadn’t gotten a single one.
Staring at the sticker on Mu Yicong’s shoulder, which happened to be one of Qi Xing’s favorite ugly cat designs, Qi Yang gave an awkward “Mn.”
“And what about you?” Mu Yicong looked at him.
