Chapter 9: Favoritism

Li Ang was an honest father, and Li Ran took after him, becoming an honest child.

They knew that in life, there were inevitably moments when one had to ask others for help.

They thought that way, but when it actually came time to tackle something difficult themselves, they were never willing to speak up.

They struggled on their own until the very end.

Bai Qingqing was an outstanding, capable woman. Back when she hadn’t divorced Li Ang, her salary had been higher. Despite society’s many harsh demands on women’s work and survival, she always cursed Li Ang as useless and never asked anyone for help.

To avoid seeming so useless in front of his wife, Li Ang gritted his teeth and forced himself to finish any chores on his own.

Thus, from elementary school onward, Li Ran learned to rely on himself completely. To do everything by his own hands.

He had never imagined that simply moving one’s lips to ask for help could feel so good. The initial panic seemed utterly insignificant under the other’s calm guidance.

Click.

The Cullinan’s door lock made a sound.

Chi Mo said, “Try again.”

This time, Li Ran opened it.

The evening breeze was slightly cool, rushing refreshingly onto Li Ran’s face the moment the door swung open. He comfortably squinted his eyes. The heat that had risen from his anxiety, spreading from inside out across his entire back, subsided. Before any thin sweat could form, it was swept away by the gentle night wind.

“Thank you.” Li Ran stood outside the car, smiling at Chi Mo across the center console.

“You motherfucker! Fuck!”

They had lingered in the car for a moment, and Shen Shu had just ridden back on his bike.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Shen Shu jumped off the mountain bike, casually parked it by the roadside, and stormed to the driver’s seat with fists clenched. “You damn…”

The other man didn’t even glance at him; he was looking at his phone.

The cursing stopped abruptly. Shen Shu nodded ferociously, forcing a sliver of a smile from that handsome face—which was clearly Chinese yet somehow carried a foreign air—and muttered a few English swears.

Finally deeming English not dirty enough, he switched to his native tongue: “May you die without a wife!”

Chi Mo shot back, “You don’t have one either.”

“I don’t need one!”

“Oh.” Chi Mo couldn’t care less.

The atmosphere grew tense, like two kings refusing to yield, on the verge of blows. Faced with such a scene, Li Ran didn’t act like a man at all—his hands shook, his feet shook. He never joined in and always kept his distance.

He tiptoed over to push his mountain bike, shoulders hunched, back bowed, on tiptoes, sprinting away at top speed.

Even a ghost couldn’t catch him.

His backpack bounced on his back, the snacks inside rustling with each step.

The bike’s wheels, which Shen Shu had pedaled furiously earlier, now smoked from Li Ran’s frantic pushing.

If it kept going, it could become a wind-fire wheel.

After running a good distance, he looked back—no sign of the car or people. Only then did Li Ran relax, panting as he slowed to a walk. Dealing with these big shots really kept him on edge.

Just now, he’d subconsciously thought that Chi Mo, the unflappable bigwig, was pretty decent.

Pig fat must’ve clouded my heart.

“Excuse me, make way please.” The female voice ahead repeated the phrase, in case there were any moving obstacles. The two large boxes she carried were stacked, blocking her view, so “make way” was all she could say on repeat.

Li Ran had just locked his bike and stepped back to the roadside when he heard her. He quickly jumped aside, then returned to his spot between the bike’s frame.

Once the woman passed, Li Ran recognized her silhouette.

Miss Li. She was moving.

No moving company; she’d driven her own car over, with the back seat and trunk for loading. But with so many odds and ends, it would take several trips.

Maybe even days.

Several small boxes and black bags sat at the stairwell entrance. The bags bulged with books—heavy with knowledge like mountains. Miss Li was a slender woman; she might be fierce swinging a bag at someone, but that didn’t mean she was built for heavy labor.

Li Ran didn’t know what possessed him. Maybe it was the pleasant, comfortable evening breeze, or perhaps the notion of “asking for help” that Chi Mo had gently instilled in him still lingered. Vaguely, he realized that no one could live entirely alone.

Shopping for groceries, strolling streets, going to school, buying clothes and shoes, phones, surfing the web, going to the hospital when sick, making friends, dating, marrying… All required dealing with people, even strangers.

But he wasn’t entirely sure.

So it remained vague.

Accustomed to going solo and never asking for help—but loving to quietly assist others, the kind no one noticed, because he couldn’t handle overly enthusiastic thanks or the discomfort if they didn’t—Li Ran paused quietly for a few seconds. Then, wordlessly, he easily picked up the bags of books from the ground and walked toward her car in plain view of the returning Miss Li.

The trunk was nearly full; what remained at the stairwell was all she planned to move that day. Miss Li had made several trips back and forth, one hand on her hip, the other fanning herself, sweat streaming nonstop.

She watched Li Ran with keen interest.

They’d lived here for years and saw each other often, but they’d never spoken. When Miss Li was in a good mood, she’d call out “handsome little brother” to Li Ran. He’d nod in response but quicken his steps—strong safety awareness.

Their real connection began when Li Ran stumbled upon her boyfriend cheating with another man.

Once everything was loaded, Miss Li pulled a bottle of drink from a box in the back seat and naturally handed it to Li Ran. “Thanks, handsome little brother.”

Not too enthusiastic, not too cold.

Blended with the evening breeze, it made Li Ran feel even better. He took the drink and smiled shyly under the warm yellow glow of the old streetlamp. “No problem, sis.”

A streetlamp in the distance was broken, unrepaired for ages. No light.

But someone stood beneath it. Chi Mo watched Li Ran in his eyes. Teaching him once had made him so bold—quite the promising material.

Congratulations were in order.

But for some reason, replaying that harmonious scene of the handsome boy and pretty girl made Chi Mo laugh in exasperation at himself.

He pulled out a cigarette case, extracted a cigarette, tapped its end against the case casually, and tucked it between his lips. The lighter’s flame danced in the wind, glowing faintly like ghost fire amid the dense shadows.

Just as he went to light it, he snapped the lighter’s metal lid shut, extinguishing the flame.

—

The morning’s groceries included shiitake mushrooms, tofu, and chili peppers.

Plus a bunch of greens. Li Ran didn’t know many veggies—celery, spinach, and garland chrysanthemum he could identify, but beyond that, he lumped them all as “greens.”

He made himself a bowl of shiitake soup. While it simmered, he cut the tofu into small cubes, washed and diced the chilies, and stir-fried them in another pot.

Finally, with two steamed buns, he ate and drank heartily. Satisfied.

The next morning at seven, Li Ran got up and tidied himself. Today he was going to his mom’s; beneath his calm expression bubbled uncontainable excitement. His eyes sparkled.

He stood before the full-length mirror. The boy inside, identical to him, wore a white T-shirt on top, light jeans below, and high-top canvas shoes.

Clean and fresh.

But was it too plain?

Li Ran changed into his school uniform. The blue-and-white design radiated youthful energy, with a great fit that hugged everyone’s body perfectly. In the mirror, he looked tall and handsome.

But this was a visit to Mom’s, not school.

He rummaged back and forth through outfits, trying them on, checking the mirror. He realized his style was all the same; just these few clothes, no new combinations.

After an hour, he settled on the first set. Breakfast was a hasty affair, but he didn’t skimp on the Black Cat’s toll—two full yolks.

Ever since Li Ran had accidentally glanced extra at the White Cat last time, Black Cat hadn’t paraded his wife around lately.

If Black Cat were human, the White Cat would probably be locked at home…

Li Ran didn’t bike. After feeding the cats, he walked the opposite direction from school. Five minutes later, he reached the subway entrance and descended quickly, passing security.

About twenty stops.

Over two hours.

Everyone in the subway stared at their phones; Li Ran did not.

Some passengers bowed their heads and forgot to look up, missing their stops.

The few times Li Ran checked his phone were for messages from Bai Qingqing asking where he was.

He disliked initiating talk with strangers but enjoyed observing them.

On weekends without plans at Mom’s or Dad’s, Li Ran rode the subway too. Unsure of destination, he’d sit quietly watching the flow of people, sometimes switching seats.

Today was Saturday, crowded. Li Ran stood by the door, squeezing into the tiniest corner.

People got on and off at every stop; some rushed, squeezing in at the last five seconds before doors closed; others ambled leisurely, unaffected by the haste around them.

A girl cried openly but quietly, not letting her sadness disturb anyone. A middle-aged man laughed, sharing news of his wife’s successful delivery with a friend on the phone, filling the car with unreasonable joy.

An old grandma moved unsteadily, legs trembling slightly, knees deformed—likely chronic rheumatism. A girl stood to offer her seat, but the grandma firmly pressed her back down: “I’m almost at my stop. You paid, so enjoy it. Young people today have it tough.” The girl sat, no further protest, her smile toward the grandma tinged with bitterness.

An old man stood straight-backed, unflushed and unlabored after ten minutes, snidely remarking to the seated white-collar woman before him: “People nowadays don’t respect elders or love the young—one generation worse than the last.” The woman clutched her laptop and stack of files—Saturday overtime—ignored him, adjusted her glasses, and shot back obliquely: “It’s not that bad people are gone; they’ve just gotten old. There’s one right in front of me. Bad luck.”

Those who could stand two-plus hours on the subway were tough. After that, even an honest guy like me will turn into a wolf, Li Ran comforted himself inwardly. When his stop arrived, he stepped forward—his knees so stiff he nearly buckled.

Good thing he cared about face; he held it together without kneeling.

He exited from Exit C.

Before heading to Bai Qingqing’s, as usual, Li Ran stopped at a nearby supermarket for a few boxes of goods and some fruit.

His hands were loaded full.

He paid in cash.

The middle-aged man who’d bumped him last time—nearly costing him thousands in repairs—had transferred eighty yuan for the fix. His phone still held just over a hundred; not much.

He’d pocketed five hundred when leaving home.

Bai Qingqing’s neighborhood was upscale and clean, with nice greenery. Li Ran always enjoyed the sight.

He took the elevator to the sixth floor, two households per level.

The doors opened; Li Ran exhaled and rang the bell, waiting without blinking.

The door swung open, revealing Bai Qingqing’s familiar beautiful face. “Son!”

“Mom.” Li Ran’s smile was huge.

He was already seventeen, practically an adult. On her calls, he mostly said “Mom,” and even in person, he should stick to it as he grew. But every time he saw Bai Qingqing in person, Li Ran felt like a little kid again, as if they’d never parted. “Mommy” gave him a stronger sense of closeness and belonging.

Even if that belonging could never return.

“Aiya, you come empty-handed next time. I always say just come as you are—you’re not earning yet, don’t waste money.” Bai Qingqing took everything from his hands, not letting him carry a thing, and led him inside.

Her nagging put Li Ran at ease.

Bai Qingqing had faint lines at her eyes’ corners, but few other traces. Time couldn’t defeat a beauty.

Though these years, after birthing twins and with erratic schedules and eating habits, her figure had changed somewhat—her waist noticeably thicker, as she always complained. Li Ran thought it looked fine.

Bai Qingqing ate like a starving ghost reincarnated. Hot or cold, once on the table, it vanished into her mouth.

No complaints about aching teeth from ice or scorched mouth from heat—a true rice-devouring marvel.

Her ex-husband Li Ang, by contrast, chewed slowly, did everything like he was half-asleep, dreamwalking daily. When Li Ran ate slowly before, Bai Qingqing scolded him for being like his deadbeat dad—”Don’t eat if you won’t.” Eat fast, and Li Ang said, “Slow down, no one’s snatching; it’s better for you.”

The mismatched parents turned Li Ran into a ping-pong ball. In the end, they raised a middle-of-the-road kid who neither ate too fast nor too slow.

Uncle Zhao emerged from the kitchen at the commotion, apron around his waist, spatula in hand. Seeing Li Ran in the living room, he said a bit awkwardly, “You’re here. Sit down quick.”

Li Ran was equally reserved. “Uncle.”

A bouncy ball suddenly shot up high from the floor and bounced right toward Li Ran. He was mildly startled and instinctively turned his head, but his reflexes were quick—he snatched it out of the air.

The two girls, who looked almost identical, giggled at Li Ran’s swift move and babbled incoherently. They were only two years old, twins who didn’t yet grasp the concept of danger and needed patient teaching.

“How can you throw the ball at your brother? It hurts if it hits him! Do you have any more balls? Bring them all to me.” Bai Qingqing’s expression darkened as she strode over and precisely grabbed one girl’s arm—she wasn’t worried about mixing them up. “Last time, you two played with your brother like you were real siblings, you…”

Her words trailed off abruptly. She seemed to realize one phrase was off and wanted to rephrase it. Calling them “real siblings” sounded affectionate, but it actually reinforced boundaries.

Li Ran didn’t mind. “Mom, my little sister didn’t mean to…”

“Yeah, she’s still little. She does this with everyone who comes over—it’s not on purpose,” Uncle Zhao added mildly from the side.

In the three years since Bai Qingqing’s remarriage, Uncle Zhao had always treated Li Ran well. He never raised his voice and even cooked for him personally. But the two weren’t close, so they never had much to talk about.

At lunch, Bai Qingqing relentlessly piled food into Li Ran’s bowl, her eyes brimming with affection for him alone. She lavished praise on him, from the tips of his hair down to his clothes.

He should have been happy, but for some reason, a faint sadness lingered in his heart.

It felt like a ravine—small and shallow from a distance, easily filled with a handful of dirt. But as he grew older and watched Bai Qingqing’s new family grow ever tighter-knit with her new husband and children, Li Ran finally saw how vast that chasm of sorrow truly was.

He also realized that the reason he always brought gifts whenever he walked through the door was because it didn’t really feel like “coming home.”

“…Thanks, Mom,” Li Ran murmured, his voice barely audible as he stared at the bowl now heaped like a small mountain of rice and dishes.

He thought to himself that he was an ungrateful brat, a white-eyed wolf. His mom and Uncle Zhao were so good to him, yet here he was, still unsatisfied. What a jerk.

The two little sisters had just turned two. They could walk steadily but not run without tumbling. At that age, kids often didn’t know what they were saying, drooling uncontrollably and lisping nonsense anyway.

Adults called it childish innocence.

When Li Ran boarded the subway for the two-hour ride home, he no longer observed the strangers around him. He stood quietly in the corner, dazed, desperately trying to banish the curse from his mind.

“You’re not my brother. I don’t have a brother—Mom didn’t give birth to one for me. Why did you come to my house? Why do you call my mom ‘Mom’?”

Li Ran couldn’t tell the twins apart, but one of them had said this to him right before he left.

The subway arrived at his station with an announcement to exit.

Li Ran got off at Exit A.

He had taken the subway back at five-thirty, and now it was nearly eight.

Home was close—just a few minutes’ walk.

Otherwise, his parents would worry…

Li Ran walked with his head down and kicked a dirty, grimy little pebble with his toe. No one would want a rock like that.

He nudged it along all the way to the entrance of the old neighborhood.

“—Li Ran.”

The boy looked up, toward the voice across from him.

The wind tousled his curly hair.

Chi Mo stood there under the streetlight, his face illuminated. It was still as stern as ever, and Li Ran should have felt his heart race with unease and shied away.

But Li Ran just kept staring at him.

Chi Mo beckoned to him.

“Stop crying. Come here.”