Tong Xilin didn’t succeed in passing Kong Ji. Just as he took a step, his arm was tightly grabbed and he was pulled back irresistibly. The next second, Kong Ji gripped his face and pinned him against the ladder of the bunk bed.
The paper bags beside the bed clattered against each other amidst Tong Xilin’s panicked stumble, producing rustling sounds.
This series of actions came too suddenly. Completely unprepared, Tong Xilin stared at Kong Ji in stunned astonishment. The dorm curtains hadn’t been drawn; the cramped room was dim and blurry. His pupils reflexively dilated, forgetting to even blink. Kong Ji held him like this, leaning down slightly, gazing into Tong Xilin’s eyes.
“Tong Xilin,” he drawled slowly.
Tong Xilin didn’t dare move. The force of Kong Ji’s hand on his face wasn’t overly heavy, but also not light—precisely enough to make his whole body stiffen, unable to turn his head. The close-up eye contact had simply paralyzed him.
“If we really go by the term ‘inheritance,'” Kong Ji tilted his head slightly, as if pondering. “You should be the legacy Tong Yuzhi left to me. I brought you here, I’m raising you. Strictly speaking, I’ve inherited the role of your guardian. So me coming to see you… is completely justified.”
A tiny firework exploded in Tong Xilin’s mind. In Kong Ji’s eyes, he saw his own stunned reflection. Kong Ji hadn’t used “your dad” to refer to Tong Yuzhi—he’d directly spoken the name. Dad and Tong Yuzhi were, of course, the same person, yet they represented two entirely different identities. Kong Ji’s tone was casual, making Tong Xilin abundantly, distinctly aware: the Tong Yuzhi in his mouth right now was the Tong Yuzhi he had loved. He, this son, was merely an outsider, a stranger on another plane of existence.
“Don’t avoid me.” The thumb on his face slid down to his chin, hooking under it. “At least, don’t avoid me so blatantly. It makes me a little unhappy.”
What was this? The myriad strange feelings exploding in that instant made Tong Xilin even more speechless. His limited mental capacity, strained by the all-nighter, could only process one piece of information: —I adopted you because of your father. Naturally, I hold the right to view you however I see fit.
Growing up in poverty, at this adolescent stage, sharp, sensitive defiance was flaring up.
“…My dad is my dad. I am me,” Tong Xilin gripped Kong Ji’s wrist, pulling his hand down. His first instinct was still to mention money. “I told you I’ll pay you back.”
Kong Ji didn’t get angry with him this time. The way he looked at Tong Xilin had changed, different from before at home. Though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly how—still ambiguous, still effortlessly in control—it was unmistakably fixed on Tong Xilin himself.
“What do you call me?” The hand Tong Xilin had just pulled down propped upwards against the upper bunk’s railing, bringing their bodies even closer.
Tong Xilin looked away, turning his face aside, his mouth set in a tight line, unwillingly uttering, “Uncle.”
Kong Ji smiled, straightened up, and ruffled his hair. “Eat well. Don’t get sick.”
The originally planned peaceful afternoon nap was completely shattered by Kong Ji’s sudden appearance. He left behind a pile of things, a pile of words that left Tong Xilin unable to calm down for ages, and his same ambiguous attitude before he left. Sitting on the edge of his bed, gripping the bed frame tightly, Tong Xilin silently fumed at the tips of his shoes. He really didn’t know how to get angry. This frustration was unclear, mixed with discontent toward Kong Ji for maintaining that same attitude even after he’d laid everything bare; and also discontent with himself, because after all his thinking, he couldn’t help but feel that Kong Ji’s words weren’t entirely unreasonable.
Life wasn’t a movie. All confidence stems from the ability to be independent. He couldn’t deny that Kong Ji had taken over his life only because of Tong Yuzhi. Eating his food, wearing his clothes—how could he stand tall and speak firmly? After a long, stifled silence, all Tong Xilin could do was take out his frustration on the stuff Kong Ji brought. He gave the paper bag a gentle kick. After kicking it, seeing the shoe print, he felt even worse, so he picked it up and patted it clean.
As he was patting, a question suddenly struck him. Fuelled by the lingering discontent, he grabbed his phone and messaged Kong Ji.
Tong Xilin: How did you know which dorm room I’m in? He hadn’t even told Kong Ji he’d moved to school, let alone given his room number. Kong Ji must have been driving; he replied ten minutes later, forwarding a WeChat contact card. Their Head Teacher’s contact card.
Kong Ji: I follow everything regarding you at school.
So he could have also directly asked the Head Teacher about the Mock Exam score. Tong Xilin’s heart felt even more complicated. Clutching his phone, he collapsed onto the bed, tossed and turned twice, then pulled a corner of the blanket over his face.
The first semester of Grade 12 was divided by three mock exams and breaks almost every month. When the Labor Day Second Mock Exam results came out, Tong Xilin had improved by 17 points compared to the first one. The Head Teacher, beaming, analyzed his point losses and encouraged him to maintain his form and aim for a top-tier prestigious university. Tong Xilin felt no particular fluctuation. The Second Mock Exam paper was easier than the first; a higher score was natural. Labor Day had no holiday break; the class complained bitterly, but he showed no slack.
The countdown to the College Entrance Exam on the classroom blackboard refreshed daily. He gathered all his focus, not sparing a moment for review outside of sleep. Even going to the cafeteria, he carried a book to memorize key points.
“Can you just eat properly?” Zhou Qi, a non-studious type, was nonetheless driven to anxiety by his intensity. He smacked the table, urging Tong Xilin. “How high do you need to score, Young Master? Your grades could practically get you into the White House.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Tong Xilin was tickled by his joke. He put down his book and shoveled rice into his mouth. “Eat some meat,” Zhou Qi tossed a chicken wing onto his plate. “You were already skinny, now you look skeletal from studying.”
Kong Ji also noticed the excessive thinness. On the last day of the Labor Day holidays, he came to the school to see Tong Xilin again, still laden with bags of stuff. This time he didn’t enter the school, just drove straight to the school gate and called Tong Xilin to come out. Tong Xilin had just returned to his dorm after evening self-study. There was only half an hour left before lights-out. He wanted to refuse, but remembering what Kong Ji had said last time, he still grabbed his phone and ran out.
No one was at the school gate. Kong Ji was leaning against the car door smoking. Seeing Tong Xilin, he narrowed his eyes. “Too thin.” He touched Tong Xilin’s face. “Let me take you for a late-night snack.”
“No.” Tong Xilin stepped back. “Lights-out is soon, Uncle.”
Kong Ji didn’t push. He opened the trunk and told Tong Xilin to take all the bags inside. Tong Xilin wanted to say he didn’t need them, only one month left until the exam, he didn’t want too much stuff in the dorm. Before he could speak, someone got out of the car—Jiang Lin, stretching and mumbling, “Damn, where’d you bring me?”
Tong Xilin leaned sideways from behind the car to look. Seeing him, Jiang Lin let out an “Oh,” and naturally moved to pat Tong Xilin’s head. “I was wondering why your uncle was rushing back like his ass was on fire. So it was to come see you.”
Kong Ji pulled Tong Xilin back, perfectly dodging Jiang Lin’s hand. “The top student’s head can’t be touched?” Jiang Lin laughed. “My nephew—last time I patted his head, gave him a thirty-point boost.”
“Mm.” Kong Ji smiled. “Mine can’t be touched.”
“Give me a cigarette,” Jiang Lin turned to rub his fingers at Kong Ji. The two of them smoked by the car. Tong Xilin listened in and realized Kong Ji had been out of town working with Jiang Lin the past few days. Kong Ji had rushed back specifically to make it before dorm curfew.
He didn’t know what to say. After standing by the trunk for a moment, he still picked up all the bags.
“Go on back,” Kong Ji didn’t hold back even in front of others, flicking Tong Xilin’s forehead.
“Bye, Uncle,” Tong Xilin thanked him quietly and turned to walk back through the school gate.
“Which uncle are you calling?” Jiang Lin teased from behind. Tong Xilin didn’t look back, only hearing the sound of Kong Ji opening the car door and urging Jiang Lin, “Stop babbling, get in the car.”
After the last mock exam at the end of May, the school held an Oath-Taking Rally. Very brief, none of those lengthy speeches by leadership representatives. Just to boost morale, telling the seniors they’d take their graduation photos today. After everything ended, there would be no more classes. Students who wanted to review at school could do so with teachers in attendance. Those needing extra tutoring or wanting to review at home could leave. The school wished every student success and victory. The younger students leaned on windowsills and in hallways, listening avidly, anticipating the annual ritual of tearing up books.
Tong Xilin and Zhou Qi stood in the shade of a tree at the edge of the sports field, listening to the rousing encouragement, raising their eyes from their textbooks to sweep over the campus, feeling calm and indifferent. He wasn’t nervous, wasn’t anxious, wasn’t expectant. He only thought of Kong Ji, thought of the goal he’d set—”as far away as possible”—soon to be realized.
“Starting tomorrow, I won’t be coming anymore.” After the graduation photos, Zhou Qi, having ripped his books to shreds, sat on the windowsill and said to Tong Xilin. Tong Xilin hadn’t torn his books; he was still doing problems. He looked up at Zhou Qi, then lay on the windowsill. Together, they listened to the deafening chaos echoing through the building, watching books and paper snow down from every floor.
“If you get bored alone, I can come play games to keep you company,” Zhou Qi swung his legs.
“No need.” Tong Xilin pulled out a bag from under his desk—the snacks Kong Ji had brought him—and gave them all to Zhou Qi. “A graduation gift too?” Zhou Qi, never one to be formal, accepted them generously. “I didn’t prepare anything though.”
“Thank you,” Tong Xilin said.
“What’s wrong with you?” Zhou Qi, finding him too sappy, clicked his tongue in mock disgust. Tong Xilin didn’t explain, just twirled the pen in his hand.
Zhou Qi was a very good friend. In fact, his first friend ever. Grades couldn’t represent a person’s character, but at their age, in their high school life, they were the most real watershed. Parting at each stage was an unspoken understanding. Off to different universities in the future, chances to meet and connect would naturally dwindle. He didn’t know if he could make new friends.
“Just do well on the exam,” Zhou Qi, lacking Tong Xilin’s delicate sensitivity, hopped off the windowsill carelessly. “We’ll hang out again after the College Entrance Exam.”
Tong Xilin stayed at school until June 6th. His exam site was his own school; he didn’t need to make a special trip to check the room. The dorm was empty. The chubby kid, who’d stuck it out with him till the end, moved out on the afternoon of the 4th. Tong Xilin also gave him a bag of snacks. A few students still came to the classroom daily to review, but by the 6th, they were gone too. The supervising teachers no longer stayed in the classrooms. Only Tong Xilin remained, silently doing practice problems.
At 8 PM, the building was silent. He finished his last exam paper, put down his pen, and flexed his fingers. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure at the door. He didn’t know how long Kong Ji had been there, leaning against the doorframe, silently watching him, not making a sound.
“Come home,” he said to Tong Xilin. “All alone.”
