Chapter 13

It was the weekend, barely dawn, when Guan Xiangchen knocked on Qin Yue’s door. She hauled in three enormous bags of snacks and piled them at Qin Yue’s feet, then clapped her hands together and announced with great flair: “Take these home!”

Qin Yue leaned sideways against the wall, knuckles pressed to the tip of her nose, and closed her eyes wearily. “I only have two hands.”

Guan Xiangchen smiled. “But you’ve got nearly a hundred younger siblings. Wait, why are your eyes a little puffed up?”

She reached out and poked at Qin Yue’s eye. “Did you not sleep well?”

Qin Yue lowered her hand and pressed her fingertips against her eyelids. “Yeah.”

Guan Xiangchen rattled off at breakneck speed. “Is it from reading too much, or is Wei Xincheng rushing you on that project? Want me to help you with it?”

Qin Yue shook her head. “No need. Neither.”

Guan Xiangchen looked puzzled. “Then what happened to your eyes?”

Qin Yue said: “Thinking too much.”

“Huh? Thinking about what?”

“How to apologize.”

Guan Xiangchen was dumbfounded. “Apologize to who? For what?”

Qin Yue tilted her head back against the wall and went quiet for two seconds before speaking. “Teacher Shen. I lied to her.”

Guan Xiangchen scratched her head and planted a foot on the threshold. “Teacher Shen is the one you’ve been…”

Qin Yue said: “Yes.”

“What did you lie to her about?”

“I told her I threw up because of something bad I ate.”

“That’s it?” Guan Xiangchen waved her hand, tension draining from her body. “You’re just sleeping with her, okay? It’s not like you’re dating. You never had any obligation to tell her your private business.”

Qin Yue said nothing, her gaze resting quietly on the pattern of the wallpaper across the room.

Seeing her like this, Guan Xiangchen grew hesitant. “You want to tell her?”

Qin Yue denied it. “No.”

“Then why are you thinking about apologizing?”

“She’s angry.”

“…Fine. This is the first time I’ve ever seen anyone care this much about their little lover’s mood.” Guan Xiangchen leaned her body against the doorframe and offered some advice: “If you’re afraid she’ll dump you over being mad, just tell her the truth. It’s not some big deal, it’s not contagious. What are you afraid of?”

Qin Yue pressed her lips together and thought for a moment. Still those two words. “I don’t want to.”

“You’re so conflicted.” Guan Xiangchen asked: “So why don’t you want to?”

Qin Yue said: “I don’t want pity.”

“I grew up in a welfare institute. I can accept gifts. I’m even good at it. Material things, emotional things, I can handle them all. There’s only one thing I can’t.” Qin Yue paused, her words slowing. “It should be mutual.”

Guan Xiangchen didn’t understand. “Which one?”

Qin Yue fell silent. For a long time. Then she suddenly let out a laugh and bent down to pick up the snack bags by the door.

“Go get some more sleep. It’s rare you get a day off,” Qin Yue said with a smile.

Guan Xiangchen frowned and considered for a moment, but ultimately chose not to press further. She only said: “Head out early and come back early. You’ve got work tomorrow.”

After breakfast, Qin Yue packed up the snacks Guan Xiangchen had brought and took the bus from across the residential compound to go home.

Her home was very large. Beyond the nearly hundred younger siblings Guan Xiangchen had mentioned, there were also over twenty teachers who shared no blood relation but were closer than family.

Her home was the Chengnan Children’s Welfare Institute.

On weekends, whether they were day students or studying within the institute, all the children were free.

The men and women consumed by work in the city finally had time to visit on such a bright, sunny open-house day.

Some brought their own children and looked at the little ones in the institute with eyes full of pity, giving them all kinds of exquisite gifts, then lowering their voices to instruct their own children in a lecturing tone: “Your family is complete, your body is healthy, you are very fortunate,” so “you should cherish what you have and study hard.” Others brought cameras and wandered around snapping photos everywhere to enrich their online personas. And some came armed with a head full of rigid standards, hoping to pick out one or two “normal” children from among these “strange” ones to adopt, to fill the void of their own inability to become parents.

Of course, there were also genuine volunteers and orphans like Qin Yue who came back “home” on weekends.

Qin Yue had lived here until she turned eighteen, and it had been seven years since she left.

In those seven years, whenever she had time, she came back to visit. She also used her modest means to support two children: one was six-year-old Fan Jiayue, who was visually impaired and intellectually disabled, abandoned by her parents shortly after birth; the other was eight-year-old Qi Yang, who had autism, with an unknown mother and a father serving time in prison.

For these two children, despite the institute arranging active treatment and their gradual improvement, like most of the disabled children here, they would likely spend their entire lives needing special education, never leaving the welfare institute.

When the time came, they would be transferred from the children’s welfare institute to the adult social welfare institute, taking on some work opportunities within their ability, living out lives that were ordinary yet full of hardship.

Compared to them, Qin Yue was far luckier. She had normal intelligence and sound mental health, and had integrated herself into the fast-paced outside world. Now she had the energy to turn around and help them.

The moment Qin Yue appeared carrying the snacks, Xinxin, the one-armed girl heading into her senior year of high school, shouted excitedly: “Sister A-Yue!”

Once Xinxin called out, the nearby children all came running to surround Qin Yue, one voice overlapping the next as they called out “Sister A-Yue!” with such sincerity, warmth, and vitality.

The corners of Qin Yue’s mouth, which she’d been pressing together the entire way here, were tugged upward by their voices. She smiled and patted their heads, responding with patience.

After the excitement died down, Qin Yue went to the dean’s office as usual, chatting about life and work, and listening to the dean’s caring nagging.

Later, when the dean got busy, Qin Yue sat alone by the window, lighting up and dimming her phone over and over until the device couldn’t take the abuse and urgently flashed a low-battery warning. Only then did she finally unlock the screen, open WeChat, and send two messages to Shen Jianqing.

[Teacher Shen, I’m seriously…]

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Today, Shen Jianqing had brought her students to the Metrology Institute to produce an appraisal report on equipment measurement precision. The process was rather complicated, and they worked alongside the institute staff until the afternoon before finally getting it done.

Fortunately, the effort paid off. The results were much better than expected.

Considering how hard her two students had worked, Shen Jianqing drove nearly ten miles to an old restaurant outside the Third Ring Road to treat them to stone pot fish.

They ate while Shen Jianqing leaned back.

One side was bustling with chatter; the other was completely silent.

One of the students couldn’t help asking: “Teacher Shen, are you in a bad mood?”

Shen Jianqing’s thoughts drifted back from last night to the present. She casually wiped the image of Qin Yue’s face from her mind, picked up her chopsticks, and said: “No.”

On the way back, Shen Jianqing couldn’t stand the bird droppings on her windshield anymore and found a nearby car wash.

There was a long weekend line. The staff said it would take at least an hour.

Shen Jianqing would rather wait that hour than have bird droppings in her line of sight, so she told her two students to go to the coffee shop next door on the department tab and found herself a shady spot in the opposite direction to smoke and clear her head.

After six or seven hours of droning noise at the Metrology Institute today, her head was about to explode.

Halfway through her cigarette, a gentle melody drifted out from the deafening cicada chorus, playing the recent children’s hit “Lonely Warrior.”

Shen Jianqing couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person could play “Lonely Warrior” with such a gentle, storytelling quality. It was so soft, yet more resilient and composed than any straining shout.

Driven by curiosity through the fog in her head, Shen Jianqing stubbed out her cigarette, tore open a sachet of mouthwash, slung her bag over one shoulder, and wandered aimlessly down the road. She ended up walking all the way to the source of the sound: the Jiangping City Children’s Welfare Institute.

The teaching buildings in the institute were all newly built. The rubberized playground had every piece of exercise equipment you could want, and even the national flag fluttering overhead seemed exceptionally bright.

The conditions here looked no worse than any ordinary primary or middle school. But every child here was missing one thing that others had: a home.

Shen Jianqing stood at the gate with knitted brows for a while, then decided not to go in.

She had been a teacher for eight years. That was too long. She could barely stand to see any trace of gloom on children who should be as radiant as the morning sun.

Just as she was about to turn away sharply, her gaze froze behind a window. She didn’t notice someone walking slowly into her peripheral vision, asking in a warm voice: “Are you a friend of our A-Yue?”

Shen Jianqing snapped back to attention at the sound and saw a bespectacled woman with graying hair smiling at her.

The woman was the institute’s dean. She had just seen off a group of generous community donors who’d come to deliver books. Raising a hand to adjust her glasses, she smiled at Shen Jianqing and said: “I saw you watching A-Yue from all the way over there.”

Shen Jianqing looked at the dean, then at Qin Yue sitting in the sunlight surrounded by children, playing an electronic keyboard. In disbelief, she asked: “Qin Yue was a child here???”

The dean glanced over, her voice full of heartache. “Yes. She was left at the gate less than a week after she was born.”

“A-Yue was sickly from a young age. She grew up bit by bit following behind our teachers,” the dean said halfway through, holding her hand above her own head to measure a height, then sighed. “She grew tall, but very slowly.”

“How slowly?” Shen Jianqing heard herself ask.

The dean said: “Stumbling and struggling, fighting through one hurdle after another.”

A buzzing filled Shen Jianqing’s head. Her sluggish heart suddenly began pounding violently.

Qin Yue threw up, caught cold from getting rained on once in summer, always had a pale face and dry lips because she’d been sickly since childhood, growing up through stumbling hardship?

This wasn’t something shameful. Why hadn’t she just said so?

Was there something she couldn’t talk about?

Shen Jianqing’s thoughts were in turmoil.

The dean didn’t notice her reaction and turned to her, asking kindly: “Would you like to come in and sit? A-Yue is beautiful and patient. Every time she comes back, the children cling to her and make merry all day long. If you’re looking for her, you might be waiting a while. She definitely won’t leave until the sun goes down.”

Shen Jianqing wanted to say no. She had only been drawn by the music, not here to look for anyone.

But then she remembered their unhappy parting last night. She looked up and saw Qin Yue being kissed on the cheek by a little girl of five or six, laughing in the sunlight with a warm, hazy glow. That probing desire she’d felt before surged wildly in her mind.

Shen Jianqing struggled to control her breathing and said: “Sorry to intrude.”

“Not at all. Right this way.” The dean led Shen Jianqing inside while explaining her intentions. “Ever since A-Yue became independent, she only ever reports the good news when she comes back. I was hoping to ask you about how she’s doing out there.”

The click of high heels sounded, then stopped.

Shen Jianqing pressed her lips together, unsure whether to tell the dean in advance that she knew absolutely nothing about Qin Yue’s life, or about Qin Yue herself.

Just last night, she had brazenly asked Qin Yue: “Master Qin, do you always eat like this at home? Doesn’t anyone in your family say anything?”

And after discovering that Qin Yue had thrown up, her first reaction hadn’t been to comfort her, but to coldly accuse her of lying.

“Qin Yue, I was the one who personally brought you here to help. If something happened to you at my place, how would I ever explain it to your family?!”

“I’ve never lied to you about anything. Why is it so hard to just tell me the truth?”

“You love playing the tough one, right? Fine, find your own way home!”

After saying those things, she turned to leave.

Qin Yue rushed over to grab her hand, but she shook it off without hesitation. Then Qin Yue just stood there alone, never taking another step forward.

And her?

Even after hearing the dull thud of Qin Yue’s hand hitting the wall, she hesitated for only a few seconds before decisively leaving, abandoning her alone in the shop.

Remembering that scene, Shen Jianqing was overwhelmed with regret.

So what if she lied? She should have taken her to the hospital first.

Even if Qin Yue had lied on purpose, she hadn’t deliberately made herself sick.

Her poor health was no one’s fault.

And…

Shen Jianqing suddenly remembered something and quickly turned her head toward Qin Yue not far away.

Last night, before she walked out of the bathroom, she seemed to have heard Qin Yue call out to her. But after that, the only words were two monotone syllables: “I…”

She had still been angry then. The more hesitant Qin Yue acted, the more she felt it was out of guilt. She had unconsciously magnified the behavior: deliberately lying to her, deliberately creating trouble so she couldn’t pull away.

Now that she thought about it, was Qin Yue’s hesitation about considering how to tell her the truth?

Children who grew up in welfare institutes had all experienced others’ strange looks. Some things they instinctively avoided talking about, and some vulnerabilities couldn’t be shown to outsiders.

Was she really out of her mind last night?

When one of her students had made a life-threatening mistake, she could calmly clean up after them, comfort them, and give them confidence.

So how could she not even show the barest patience to Qin Yue?

Shen Jianqing couldn’t understand. Her complex, deep gaze lingered on Qin Yue for a long time.

When Qin Yue laughed, it was bright. Every emotion was vivid and dynamic. But when she habitually lowered her head to rub her chin against her collar, she would instantly become quiet again.

Someone who could switch between emotions so effortlessly must be carrying a great deal in their heart.

Shen Jianqing thought heavily.

…

When the piece ended, Qin Yue looked out from where she sat but didn’t see Shen Jianqing, who had just passed by.

Later, when Shen Jianqing could only steal glimpses of Qin Yue from a safe distance, she would often think: if she hadn’t been drawn by Qin Yue’s resilient, peaceful music, hadn’t stopped because of it, she probably would never have known there was someone born in winter, raised in winter, yet always walking on the road toward spring.

Someone who loved her with the only warmth life had given them, loving her in silence and yet with thunderous passion.