Chapter 24 Part 2

Getting into the newspaper meant the school’s reputation would be damaged. Pressure came from both sides, putting the school in a very difficult position.

Lu Qingyuan had explained the whole cause and course of the incident very clearly. The police retrieved the surveillance footage and also verified the facts. The women who had caused a ruckus, upon seeing the surveillance video, felt uneasy. After thinking it over, they felt it didn’t reflect well on their son—they had been in the wrong first. Having the school formally punish them wouldn’t look good.

After all, the boy was about to graduate sixth grade and enter middle school. If a black mark was recorded in his conduct book for the middle school teachers to see, it wouldn’t be good.

A few people went to discuss with the school. “If you want compensation for mental distress, just name a number. And the cost of your child’s checkups, we’ll reimburse that too. What do you think, brother? After all, my son was also hit by yours, his head was split open!”

Lu Wenyuan didn’t want money. This matter wasn’t up for discussion. He was absolutely, resolutely determined to have the school expel those children involved.

If this matter blew up too big, and everyone was severely punished, then Lu Qingyuan would inevitably also face disciplinary action. This would be detrimental to his advancement to higher education. That affiliated middle school was the top school in Nanjing and did not accept students with any blemishes on their record.

The Dean of Students wanted to mediate further, but Lu Wenyuan insisted on dealing with it according to school regulations. To do such appallingly wicked things at this age—who knew what kind of people they’d grow into later?

The other party’s parent couldn’t understand this course of action. Upon hearing her son would be expelled, she flew into a rage. “So damn infuriating! The worst that can happen is we both go down together. I’ll make sure your little brat eats prison food too!”

Lu Wenyuan sneered coldly with disdain.

This matter ultimately couldn’t be mediated. Before long, everyone’s punishments came down. The primary instigator who started it all was expelled. The remaining few who had helped were given serious demerits and suspended from school for reflection at home. Lu Qingyuan couldn’t escape either.

Hearing about this incident, other parents no longer dared to let their children play with those bad kids. Even if they returned to school, they would be ostracized. In the end, somehow, after Lu Wenyuan’s private handling, those troublemaking students all moved away from the city.

Over half a month passed in the blink of an eye. Lu Wenyuan requested a long leave of absence for both children and looked after them at home himself. September passed, and October arrived. But Chen Annan’s condition hadn’t improved at all. He still habitually stared blankly into space.

The head teacher organized the classmates to visit him. A big bunch of little carrot heads, varying in height, crowded around Chen Annan, showering him with concern and care, asking about his well-being.

Children usually have a strong capacity for empathy. A few even started sobbing softly. Xie Xi cried especially hard, tears and snot running down his face as he apologized to Chen Annan, saying he shouldn’t have left him alone at school that day, that it was all his fault.

Chen Annan patted his good friend’s shoulder and comforted him softly, “Don’t be sad. It’s not your fault.”

Xie Xi cried even harder.

That day, the children all did their best to soothe Chen Annan, trying to cheer him up.

But Chen Annan’s mood still didn’t improve because of these comforts. He had hidden his feelings so tightly, no one could find a crack.

By the calendar, it was already autumn, but the city’s summer heat hadn’t yet receded. It was still sultry, with many mosquitoes. At night, Lu Qingyuan lit a coil of mosquito incense and fanned Chen Annan with a palm-leaf fan.

A cool breeze blew gently. The desk lamp was switched off. Chen Annan clutched the edges of the blanket with both hands, quiet and still.

After a while, Lu Qingyuan suddenly heard a rustling sound next to his ear—like the faint, tiny noise a small animal makes. The motion of his hand slowly stopped. Moonlight streamed in from outside, illuminating spiraling dust motes.

By the moonlight, Lu Qingyuan saw that Chen Annan was trembling slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Lu Qingyuan asked.

Tears soaked into the blanket. Chen Annan’s voice was very small, suppressing a trembling, pitiful tone. “Brother… I don’t have a mom anymore…”

Lu Qingyuan was rendered speechless.

Even if his heart were cast from stone, it would have to surrender at these words—like a tiny yet sharp silver needle, piercing the softest spot in his heart.

In these few fleeting moments, he seemed to relive the panic and unease from when his own mother left.

That long, lingering pain pushed one into a corner with no escape. So much so that he was at a complete loss, only able to watch in the moonlight as Chen Annan curled himself into a tiny ball, hiding in a place others couldn’t see.

“I know lying is wrong… Mom always told me that,” Chen Annan’s voice was low, carrying a nasal tone. “But… I don’t want to lie either. I want a mom and dad too…”

Chen Annan had never seen his father since birth.

He couldn’t even picture what a father should look like. He never dared to bring it up, because Mom would secretly be sad.

When he was little, he thought—Dad should be like the neighbor uncle, leaving all the good food and fun things for him. Later, he thought—Dad should be like Lu Wenyuan, infinitely tolerant, infinitely accepting.

He indulged himself in his own fantasies, telling his small fantasies to every classmate, only to be mercilessly exposed.

“Lying isn’t always wrong.” Lu Qingyuan reached out to wipe his tears. Those wet lashes trembled against his palm.

“Your mom and dad are just with you in places you can’t see. If you’re like this, they would be sad too.”

His brother’s words were very gentle. Chen Annan’s eyelids simply couldn’t hold back so many tears. The moment he blinked, they all streamed down. Lu Qingyuan could feel the warmth and dampness of the tears seeping through his clothes.

“But I don’t want them to be with me this way at all…” Chen Annan said, full of grievance. “I really, really want a mom and dad… I’ve never even met my dad… I just want to see them… I don’t want to be a kid who’s never met his dad…”

He was so pitiful, Lu Qingyuan couldn’t find other words in this desolation.

Lu Qingyuan stroked his sweat-damp hair. After a long silence, he said, “What they said wasn’t right. You are a child with a dad. You are my little brother. So Lu Wenyuan is also your dad.”

Chen Annan finally couldn’t hold back and cried out loud. It started as weak, quiet sobs, then turned into uncontrollable, choked weeping. This was the first time Lu Qingyuan had seen him cry like this.

Unlike his usual brief, manageable bouts, his face was smeared with tears. He cried for a very, very long time.

Lu Qingyuan patted and coaxed him. The October night breeze carried the crisp chill of autumn, also diluting the night’s heavy stickiness.

Later, Chen Annan, exhausted from crying, nestled in his brother’s arms and said hoarsely, “Brother, I’m sorry… It’s all my fault your hard work was wasted…”

Tears slid down again. He said softly, “If only I weren’t here…”

His words, in a way that wasn’t sharp at all, touched the very tip of Lu Qingyuan’s heart.

Even though he and Lu Wenyuan both tried their best to treat him well, even though Chen Annan, nourished by them, seemed lively and cheerful on the surface—Lu Qingyuan could deeply perceive this child’s unease and fear.

He was too afraid of being abandoned. His sense of security seemed to be built only on an inexhaustible, boundless amount of love.

Chen Annan’s world was very, very small. So small it had no door. Inside, it only held his brother and his uncle.

A tumult of emotions stirred in Lu Qingyuan’s heart. In this brief night, a sense of shared loneliness was born within him. So, with youthful, unripe determination, he thought—

He would give Chen Annan lots and lots of love. More love than he could ever use up in a lifetime.

Lu Qingyuan touched his little brother’s tear-streaked face and said, “Don’t say sorry. I never really wanted to go to that school anyway… It’s too far. I’d have to wake up an hour early every day. Could you handle that?”

Not giving Chen Annan a chance to answer, he added, “Even if you could handle it, I couldn’t.” He didn’t know what else to say after that.

That night, Chen Annan fell asleep lying in his brother’s arms. Lu Qingyuan listened to his tiny breaths gradually becoming slow and even, and felt this sleep was longer than ever before.

When they woke in the morning, both of them were sweaty, stuck to each other. Chen Annan must have been exhausted from crying; he was in a very deep sleep, his eyelids still puffy.

Lu Qingyuan tiptoed around, dampened a towel, and patiently wiped the sweat off the child. Chen Annan’s long lashes fluttered imperceptibly. No one knew what he was dreaming about.

When Lu Wenyuan came to call them to go out, he was startled at first glance.

After Lu Qingyuan explained, he sighed and said, “It’s good that he cried. If he hadn’t cried, I’d be afraid he’d bottle it all up and hurt himself.”

Afraid that Chen Annan had really developed some kind of autism, Lu Wenyuan planned to take them to see an old psychologist. This old doctor was advanced in years and had once been a military doctor in the Eastern Theater Command of the People’s Liberation Army. He had long stopped seeing patients. Lu Wenyuan had to pull quite a few strings just to get an appointment.

Having experienced much in his youth, the old doctor now, in his old age, preferred a quiet, tranquil life. He had gone to the countryside to live out his remaining years in peace.

Lu Wenyuan bought train tickets for that very day. The railway sleepers rumbled and trembled. In the long, drawn-out whistle of the train, they glided into an unfamiliar county.

The sky of this unfamiliar land pressed down directly on them. The train decelerated early, slowly coasting into the station on residual momentum. Wind, mixed with the smell of petroleum, swept across most of the platform.