ATIBESLM 18

“Your father is going on a business trip next week. About the parent-teacher meeting…”

Fei Lan stood in the living room while holding a glass of water in his hand. He looked at the woman walking out of the kitchen. “Since when do I have a parent?”

Jiang Hui had long since grown accustomed to this side of Fei Lan. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and gently said, “You can go talk to your father about it; that is between you and him.”

Fei Lan lowered his eyelids.

He took a sip of water, and then, he suddenly smiled.

“Aunt Jiang, Ye Lingwei collapsed on the sports field this afternoon. Do you know what he called me?” Fei Lan softly said, knowing exactly where this woman’s weak spot lay.

“He called me ‘Gege’.” Fei Lan said indifferently, his voice void of any emotion, “Just like when we were little.”

This woman, Jiang Hui, loved no one—not even herself. What she desired was a faithful love that lasted until the end of time, something earth-shattering, filled with eternal vows and solemn pledges.

Fei Lan knew that the only person capable of causing cracks to appear in Jiang Hui’s mask was Ye Lingwei.

If her son hurt, she hurt.

Jiang Hui stood by the dining table. The lilies on the table had just been replaced by the maid this morning; the thick and snow-white petals perfectly matched Jiang Hui’s current complexion.

Fei Lan let out a short laugh. 

He didn’t speak.

From the very moment she chose Fei Qiang back then, she should have foreseen this humiliating and awkward situation. The child who called her ‘Aunt Jiang’ when he was little still politely called her ‘Aunt Jiang’ now, but the tone and demeanor between the lines were starkly different, as if dripping with immense irony and mockery.

However, she had never regretted it, even now.

She reached out to fiddle with the tableware on the dining table and softly asked, “What does that have to do with me?”

Life and death are all fated; it was beyond her control.

Fei Lan remained unmoved. In fact, he was indifferent toward all of them—whether it was Jiang Hui, Fei Qiang, or anyone else.

When his finger was hooked by Ye Lingwei, he had looked down at the boy’s soft and exquisite neck, watching a bead of sweat roll down from the side to parts unknown. In his palm, the boy’s fingers felt slender and soft as cotton.

Even when they were children, Ye Lingwei had never been this proactive in getting close to him. Back then, managing a timid “Gege” was already a monumental feat.

Listening to the boy’s low groans of unbearable pain, a sharp pain from an unknown source clutched Fei Lan’s heart. It was as if he were vicariously experiencing the heart attack himself, yet simultaneously, he felt an abnormal sense of gratification.

Just like this—let neither of us find peace.

To just die right here…

In the middle of the field, under the watchful eyes of the crowd, as if it were only natural.

Fei Lan lowered his eyes, his fingers slowly loosening. Ye Lingwei’s fingers were visibly about to slip from his palm.

“Gege.”

The other called out softly.

Fei Lan didn’t have time to think; his body moved even faster than his mind. He grasped Ye Lingwei’s hand and crouched down in front of him.

“Gege.”

He clenched Ye Lingwei’s hand, locking it in a death grip. His expression remained calm and indifferent, like a dense forest, terrifyingly silent without the slightest rustle of wind. “Don’t call me random names. I am not your gege.”

After delivering him to the infirmary, he stood alone in the corridor for a long time. Displacing his anger onto someone else was a foolish act, yet those dark thoughts and impulses from moments ago, like a madness, still consumed his every thought.

He had called him ‘Gege’ since they were children. Regardless of the others, at least Ye Lingwei was innocent.

In their childhood, Fei Lan had always looked out for the sickly Ye Lingwei—like a pitiful little animal. When he called him ‘Gege’ for the very first time, Fei Lan felt that it was a rather nice thing.

Fragile. Breakable. Fei Lan liked a younger brother like this. Only he knew how to maintain and care for such an exquisite, fragile piece of porcelain.

Moreover, only he possessed the right to destroy it.

—

The senior year parent-teacher meeting went ahead as scheduled.

Ye Lingwei only took one day off to rest at home; the next day, he went back to class as usual. As soon as he arrived, he saw Gao Linhao slumped over his desk, wailing himself hoarse.

“Why do parent-teacher meetings even exist in this world?”

“Can I pay someone from outside to stand in for me?” Gao Linhao said suddenly, but then immediately slumped back down in depression. “But I don’t have any money.”

Ye Lingwei sat down. “Parent-teacher meeting?”

“Didn’t you take leave?” Gao Linhao had gotten used to chattering with Ye Lingwei recently. Ye Lingwei wasn’t around yesterday afternoon so he had no one to talk to. Chatting with Brother Lan was pretty boring, too.

Brother Lan wouldn’t even acknowledge him.

“It’s actually fine,” Ye Lingwei said nonchalantly.

His heart condition was discovered later in life; it wasn’t the severe kind that made even daily activities impossible. As long as the surgery went well, there was a high probability he could recover.

Gao Linhao didn’t really understand all that, but seeing that Ye Lingwei’s complexion was good, he set his mind at ease and started running his mouth again.

“Did you forget? Don’t we have a parent-teacher meeting every year? Moreover, they always pick this time, right after we’ve moved up a grade and finished exams. Last time, I didn’t know what ‘Pokémon’ told my mom, but right there on the playground, my mom nearly twisted my ear off.”

“Actually, I think grades shouldn’t define a hero, right? It’s not like I want to get into Shen University or Jing University; I want to be a little flower-selling boy.”

Gao Linhao began gesticulating excitedly as he described the career path he had planned for himself as a florist to Ye Lingwei. Ye Lingwei, kind enough to humor him, listened with great interest.

Gao Linhao’s friends usually dismissed everything he said as nonsense, but with Ye Lingwei, the other boy listened so earnestly that Gao Linhao was almost moved to tears.

“But some flowers have to be imported.”

Hearing this, Gao Linhao nodded in agreement.

“Flowers also require cultivation. Even if you get them wholesale from the market, you still need to know how to care for them—how to maintain them so they stay fresh for the longest possible time,” Ye Lingwei leisurely said.

“Besides, if your business grows enough to export, you will have to deal with foreigners. To deal with them, you will still need to use English, won’t you?”

“You’re right!” Gao Linhao slapped the table, thinking that Ye Lingwei made perfect sense!

“…”

Having finished talking about himself, Gao Linhao asked Ye Lingwei, “What do you want to do in the future?”

Ye Lingwei thought for a moment. “Painting.”

“Painting?” Gao Linhao was momentarily stunned. If he wanted to paint, why didn’t he go to the arts class? The class division at No. 3 High School was very simple: a split between Humanities and Sciences, and a split for Arts and Sports. That was it.

Besides, Gao Linhao had never actually seen Ye Lingwei paint before.

Ye Lingwei possessed a gift for painting, though he had never given it much thought. He had originally chosen the Humanities track simply because he was better at it, not because he particularly liked it.

A few days ago, under the desk, he accidentally discovered a thick stack of drawing paper tucked away in a drawer by the original host. Drawn on them were some adorable comic strips. Although the original host was reticent, his imagination was extraordinarily rich.

Actually trying out something new… why not?

“Painting is so hard. Back then, my mom thought I was too stupid to save. She even said being an art student was taking a shortcut and wanted me to do it too. To hell with shortcuts; there is no such thing as an easy path.” Gao Linhao grumbled incessantly.

Ye Lingwei patted Gao Linhao’s head in a comforting manner. This was the only person in this entire book who Ye Lingwei felt was genuinely lovable.

During the forty-minute lunch break, Ye Lingwei didn’t ask the housekeeper to deliver a meal. He bought some bread at the campus store, finished it off, and planned to use the restroom before heading back to class.

There were few people in the corridors; it was hot at midday, and homework loads were heavy. Aside from those like Ye Lingwei stepping out to use the restroom, there was no one else to be seen.

Only when he reached the restroom entrance did he see the conspicuous yellow sign standing there: Under Maintenance. Ye Lingwei went downstairs. The floor below was the territory of the specialty classes.

The restroom was quiet and still. Ye Lingwei washed his hands, and only then did he hear the sound of suppressed sobbing drifting out from one of the stalls.

In a setting like this, it was enough to make the hair on one’s back stand up.

“…”

Ye Lingwei rolled up his sleeves. He knocked on the door of the stall and asked, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

As he asked, the door slowly drifted open—it hadn’t been locked at all.

Squatting inside was a boy. His hair was a mess, two buttons were missing from his white school uniform, he wasn’t wearing pants, and his face was streaked with tears.

Ye Lingwei was startled at first, then he immediately asked, “Why didn’t you lock the door?”

The boy had soft and gentle features. Even with a face full of tears and a snot bubble, he didn’t look ugly nor did he look pathetic.

He curled his body inward, his face full of humiliation. “They wouldn’t let me lock it.”

They?

Ye Lingwei only had to think for a few seconds to know exactly who the ‘they’ the boy mentioned were. They were exactly like the people from Class 7 where the original host used to be—people who took pleasure in humiliating others.

“Don’t worry about me. Just close the door and go.” The boy whispered, “As long as I stay here until school lets out, I’ll be fine.”

Ye Lingwei curled his lips into a smile and changed the subject. “What’s your name?”

Chen Yiming lowered his head, hugging his knees. “Chen Yiming.”

“Chen Yiming…” Ye Lingwei repeated his name.

“It’s only ten past twelve right now. We don’t get out of class until nine tonight,” Ye Lingwei said with a touch of helplessness.

“Stay right here and wait.” Ye Lingwei’s temperament was mercurial; his moods were volatile, leaving Chen Yiming barely able to react, let alone handle him.

As Ye Lingwei walked away, a trace of hostility radiated from his brow. It wasn’t out of bleeding-heart charity, but empathy—because the original host had endured similar humiliation and insults.

Chen Yiming tried to call him back. He knew this boy—beautiful to the point of being dazzling. It was Ye Lingwei from the Humanities track, now transferred to Class 1. He used to get bullied all the time too, though Chen Yiming hadn’t heard much about that lately.

Just as useless as him, so why try to play the hero? Chen Yiming gave a bitter and helpless smile.

Ye Lingwei had an extra set of clothes in his classroom, specially prepared by the housekeeper. She was afraid he might catch a cold if he got sweaty, as Ye Lingwei was very prone to catching colds.

Gao Linhao saw Ye Lingwei hurry in, and then rush right back out. Stretching his neck to see, he shouted, “What the hell are you running around for?”

“Do you have a death wish?!” Gao Linhao ran out into the corridor. Even though Ye Lingwei wasn’t actually running, just walking a little fast, Gao Linhao still felt a lingering fear.

Yesterday had been so hot, the sports field was baked scorching hot. If Brother Lan hadn’t caught Ye Lingwei in time, any skin that touched the track would have been burned.

In all his years, this was Gao Linhao’s first real brush with a life-or-death situation.

Gao Linhao watched as Ye Lingwei went downstairs, skipping the restroom on their own floor.

Ye Lingwei, holding the paper bag, hadn’t even entered the room yet. Standing at the door, he saw several large, strapping boys surrounding Chen Yiming on the floor. They were kicking him back and forth between them, while Chen Yiming lay curled up on the ground, holding his head. His gaze was unfocused, like a lifeless doll.

On his two bare legs—stripped of pants—faint bruises had already begun to form. Some feet even deliberately aimed kicks at his buttocks, followed by the sound of snickering.

Ye Lingwei himself, had never experienced anything like this growing up. Perhaps he had seen it online, but witnessing such a scene with his own eyes left him feeling a suffocating weight in his chest.

The original host, beside the trash can, had been treated exactly this way. The book had glossed over it in just a few words, but now, seeing it firsthand, Ye Lingwei finally understood what the original host had actually endured—and just how painful that endurance was.

Even without being kicked back and forth like this, the cold violence from the entire class had been enough to drive the original host to a breakdown.

Ye Lingwei hesitated for a moment between the stick he had brought and the stick by the door. Ultimately, he chose the wooden stick by the door. He bent down and picked it up. He then walked in and swung it ruthlessly across the back of one of the boys wearing a black T-shirt.

The force was immense, the sound loud. The restroom fell silent instantly. Everyone stopped their movements, looking at the boy who had been hit, and looking at the boy standing behind him.

Ye Lingwei stood against the backlight; he was the light itself.

Chen Yiming held his head, and through the gap between his arms and his body, he saw those white canvas shoes that had left and returned. Tears slid silently from the corners of his eyes.

Ye Lingwei tossed the paper bag in front of Chen Yiming and calmly said, “Go put these on.”

Chen Yiming didn’t dare to move.

Ye Lingwei let out a low laugh. Tilting his head, he tapped the stick against the ground. His tone was ice-cold, a stark contrast to the curious boy who had asked for his name just moments before.

“I told you to go put them on.”

Gritting his teeth, Chen Yiming slowly stood up from the ground. He snatched up the paper bag and walked into the stall.

Until the stall door clicked shut, Yuan Song kept his eyes fixed on Ye Lingwei the entire time. He didn’t try to stop him, nor did he seem to notice the pain in his back.

“Do you know what you are doing?” Yuan Song’s voice rang out from behind Ye Lingwei. “Ye Lingwei, you sickly weakling. If you think you’re dying too slowly, you can just come out and say it. I don’t mind giving you a hand.”

Of course Yuan Song knew Ye Lingwei; he was that sickly weakling from Class 7.

He was easy to spot. When you see someone and you feel his looks are so good they’re blinding, that is Ye Lingwei.

This was the description going around the school forums recently. It wasn’t like that before. Before, they used to say that if you see someone who looks like a ghost, that is Ye Lingwei.

Yuan Song kept up with the trends. He wanted to know exactly what kind of person this was—how, in such a short time, public opinion had flipped so drastically.

When Ye Lingwei turned around, Yuan Song didn’t even think about the gossip on the forums. Almost instantly, the name ‘Ye Lingwei’ popped into his mind.

So good-looking it stung the eyes.

However, Yuan Song wasn’t a sucker for a pretty face; he still felt the urge to absolutely destroy Ye Lingwei.

Ye Lingwei held the stick. He leaned against the wall and smiled innocently. “I’m not afraid of you guys, but I am terribly good at snitching.”

Yuan Song had a careless, roguish face. He even had a black, thumb-sized moon tattooed at the tail of his eyebrow which had earned him a serious disciplinary warning. However, because his grades were good, after the punishment was issued, the matter simply blew over.

Yuan Song lowered his head slightly, gazing at Ye Lingwei. “If you beg me now—beg me not to kill you—I might just consider it.”

“I’ll count to three.” Yuan Song smiled. “Just for the sake of your pretty face, little cutie.”

Ye Lingwei’s fingers tightened their grip on the stick.

“One.”

“Why stick your neck out when you have a heart condition? I really don’t get what goes on inside the heads of people like you.”

“Two.”

Ye Lingwei moved his hand behind his back.

“Come here, let me tell you something.” Ye Lingwei interrupted Yuan Song’s counting, speaking with a touch of obedience. His submissive and demure demeanor was capable of bewitching the heart.

Anyone’s heart.

Yuan Song frowned, staring at Ye Lingwei.

Ye Lingwei stepped closer, tilting his face upward. The sunlight from the corridor reflected in his eyes, shimmering with a golden brilliance, like a beguiling spirit.

“I wanted to tell you…”

Ye Lingwei’s fingers tightened around the stick he had brought from the classroom. Then, seizing the moment when Yuan Song was completely off guard, he whipped the stick up and rammed it hard into Yuan Song’s stomach.

It was black with a glossy finish, featuring a row of deep red adjustment buttons along the top.

Yuan Song’s features twisted in agony as he collapsed to the floor, unable to even voice the curses in his throat. He twitched his fingers, trying to signal his lackeys to end Ye Lingwei, but they were all frozen in place—stunned by the object in Ye Lingwei’s hand.

What the hell is that thing?

Yuan Song’s fingers clawed blindly at the ground until they brushed against a slip of paper. Squinting, he barely managed to make out the words printed on it.

—Adjustable High-Voltage Self-Defense Stun Baton. USB and Battery Compatible. One charge lasts three days. Shocks the wolf dead! You! Deserve to own one!

F*ck!

Yuan Song’s breath hitched. His vision went black and he passed out cold.