By Zephyria 
Li Changan’s eyes reddened at that moment. Amidst the dust, he choked out a question, “Did he fall ill when he was still so young?”
“Right… right… In that household, it seemed like no one treated him well.”
“I didn’t know…”
He struggled for a few seconds before continuing hoarsely,
“I didn’t know the child had it so hard.”
In the silent pause between them, the cold seemed to seep through their clothes, dissolving into the night.
As if struck by a sudden thought, Li Changan abruptly lifted his head and hesitantly asked, “If you’re the ‘Brother’ Jing Mian spoke of…”
“Didn’t… you also abandon him once?”
Ren Xingwan’s lashes froze.
His tense back tightened around his heart, as if gripped by an invisible hand, making the man appear suddenly rigid.
Li Changan’s lips paled as he spoke, “I know about you. The year MianMian was eight, after that accident… you had already vanished without a trace.”
“That summer, the child couldn’t eat or drink properly. Every day, he sat at the mouth of that alley, waiting for the brother who had left him behind.”
“Later, because he lost weight too quickly, he was sent to the hospital. The doctor said it was malnutrition. It took a long time for him to recover…”
The old man’s voice gradually trailed off.
He seemed to realize that dredging up the past now was meaningless.
—No one had ever treated him kindly.
This world hadn’t even spared the slightest bit of favor for that boy.
……
After a long silence, the old man finally spoke again,
“I don’t have much time left.”
Li Changan turned away, his cane tapping against the ground, his steps unsteady and silent. He murmured, “I leave the days ahead to you… treat him well.”
……
“Save him.”
When Ren Xingwan returned home, he found Jing Mian already asleep on the sofa not far away.
Aside from his own study, the sofa on the first floor was the young man’s favorite place to stream.
The laptop still had some battery left, its faint glow casting light on Jing Mian’s face, outlining his beautiful, delicate features.
The young man wore a hoodie, his mask pulled halfway down, overlapping and resting against his chest. His legs were slightly curled, and his long lashes trembled faintly in his sleep.
The man walked over to the sofa, first setting the laptop aside.
Then, he bent down and quietly removed the mask.
He lifted the young man into his arms.
“Didn’t you also abandon him once?”
The earlier words still echoed in his ears.
“Save him.”
The nightlight on the second floor illuminated the steps one by one.
Ren Xingwan carried Jing Mian to the bedroom and gently laid him on the bed. Just as he was about to straighten up, his sleeve was suddenly caught.
“Brother.”
……
……
“Brother.”
The young man’s gaze jolted in surprise.
Ren Xingwan tilted his head, lowering his lashes to find the soft, childish voice coming from behind him—a beautiful little boy. “Brother, the popsicle melted.”
The sweltering summer air was stifling. Ren Xingwan froze for a few seconds, sweat trickling down his neck, making his Adam’s apple bob slightly.
He slowly crouched down.
The child’s palm was sticky with melted syrup. Reluctantly, he held out the last bit of ice to the older boy’s lips, watching as the other leaned down and ate it without hesitation.
“Give me your hand.”
Jing Mian, now lifted into the air, obediently extended his small hand.
Pale and soft, it was enveloped by the older boy’s grasp. The rusted faucet by the street was covered in flaking patches, but when turned, the water gushed out violently.
—Splash, splash.
Jing Mian stared down at it.
“MianMian.”
“Hm?”
The older boy’s voice asked, “Have you been eating properly at school?”
For a second-grade child, Jing Mian was far too light and small, pale, soft, with long eyelashes.
Like a doll, or perhaps a glutinous rice ball meant for the New Year’s pot.
“I eat a lot,” Jing Mian lifted his head, his voice quiet and soft. “I just don’t gain weight.”
The teenager’s lips curled into a faint smile.
“Brother, my classmates saw you picking me up after school.”
Ren Xingwan’s brows lifted slightly, his sweat glistening like abruptly halted ink. He paused before asking, “Oh? What did they say?”
“That you’re really handsome.”
Jing Mian added, “They said they envy me for having such a good looking brother.”
The teenager bent down, letting Jing Mian wrap his arms around his neck, then hoisted the child securely onto his back and began walking home. “Did no one in your class say MianMian is handsome?”
“No.” Jing Mian lowered his lashes, his childish voice tinged with gloom. “The teacher and the other kids said I’m pretty.”
“But I don’t like that… ‘pretty’ is for girls.”
The teenager’s voice was cool yet gentle. “When MianMian grows to my age, he’ll naturally become handsome.”
Jing Mian’s eyes brightened. “Really?”
“Mm.”
But Brother is still very pretty too.
Jing Mian thought silently.
……
“Brother, can I stay at your place tonight?”
Jing Mian asked in a tiny, hesitant voice.
The teenager’s steps faltered slightly.
So all the earlier compliments were leading up to this.
Last night, Ye Suqing had arranged to meet an unfamiliar man over the phone at eight in the evening. Based on past experience, the woman likely wouldn’t return home tonight—or at least not until very late.
After only a brief hesitation, the teenager tilted his head slightly and replied softly, “You can come.”
This was probably the happiest moment of Jing Mian’s evening.
He clung tightly to the teenager, breathing in the pleasant scent that seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt. Jing Mian’s lashes fluttered as he asked, “Brother, can you help me with my homework?”
If he’d asked his mother that, his bottom would’ve ended up red from spanking.
But Brother was different.
“Because you don’t know how?”
Sure enough, he heard the teenager speak.
“No.” Jing Mian wiggled his feet slightly, shoes tilting. “Because I want to watch Digimon.”
Ren Xingwan: “Okay.”
Brother’s building was just a block away from his own home, not a long walk at all. Jing Mian dashed back to change his clothes before hurrying downstairs again.
Following his brother with practiced ease into the building, even the slightly damp air and the peeling flyers on the walls seemed endearing now. Jing Mian stood by the door, watching as the teenager took out his key and unlocked it.
The door creaked open a sliver.
The soft, warm glow of dusk spilled into Jing Mian’s eyes.
Brother’s home wasn’t big, in fact, it was even smaller than his own.
The furnishings were sparse. In sight were only a stove, a bed in the inner room with haphazardly scattered liquor bottles, some upright, some toppled, and a simple knee-high study desk in the corner. There was a dining table by the stove, a wardrobe against the wall, and opposite the table, a bulky old television.
No computer, not even a fridge or washing machine.
Yet despite all that, Jing Mian loved this place unconditionally.
Perhaps because every time he came, Brother’s mother was never home, so Jing Mian had instinctively marked this as their secret hideout.
At night, the young man never let him sleep on the alcohol-scented bed in the inner room. They would lay out bedding in the living room. Even without a fan or mosquito coils, the young man would fan him and apply floral-scented insect repellent for him.
Jing Mian walked around the room.
Then, at the edge of the stove table, he spotted an ashtray.
A turquoise ashtray, its curved corner cracked, looking quite old. Inside were seven or eight stubbed-out cigarette butts, with ashes scattered around. When he got closer, he could smell the strong odor.
A slender hand grasped the edge of the ashtray and silently took it away.
Jing Mian snapped out of his thoughts and looked up to see that it was Brother who had taken it.
“Does Brother smoke too?” Jing Mian asked.
The young man lowered his eyes. The sound of running water came from nearby as the accumulated cigarette stains were washed away. He replied softly, “They’re not mine.”
Jing Mian sat down where he was, took his backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out two bottles of chilled soda.
The cold mist condensed on the bottles, turning into droplets that slid down and landed on Jing Mian’s calves.
Jing Mian shivered from the cold and quickly wiped them away.
Ren Xingwan took the soda and placed it on the floor. Then he picked Jing Mian up and laid a thick cushion where he had been sitting. “When did you buy these?”
Jing Mian shook his head. “I brought them from home just now.”
“Tomorrow’s the weekend, and the teacher assigned a lot of homework, enough for six or seven hours.” Jing Mian found his workbook and test papers and quietly placed them on Brother’s desk.
“What about Brother’s homework?”
The young man unscrewed the soda cap and handed the bottle to Jing Mian.
“Finished it at school.” He picked up a pencil, opened Jing Mian’s workbook, and silently began writing.
The setting sun slowly sank beyond the horizon.
The warm light dimmed.
Jing Mian drank most of the soda through a straw, his eyes gleaming as he stared intently at the flickering TV screen.
Then, something cool and heavy pressed against the top of his head.
Jing Mian froze, about to look up, when he realized it was a bowl resting against his head.
When he took it down and held it in his hands, he saw it was filled to the brim with washed blueberries, glistening with droplets of water.
“Blueberries?!”
Jing Mian asked, “When did you buy these?”
The young man bent down and took the empty soda bottle from Jing Mian’s arms. “Before picking you up from school.”
Even at his young age, Jing Mian vaguely remembered that blueberries were expensive and rarely appeared in the fruit stalls of what could be considered their impoverished neighborhood. They were a luxury fruit for that era.
Could it be because yesterday after school, he had casually mentioned wanting to eat them?
But today wasn’t a day off, and they had been bought before school ended… Did Brother skip class to get them?
Jing Mian asked, “Where did you buy them?”
“Nearby.”
“Are there any sold nearby?”
The young man deftly changed the subject. “Homework’s done.”
Jing Mian was quickly distracted, his eyes widening. “So fast?”
Such a massive amount of problems, finished in just ten minutes.
“Yeah.” Ren Xingwan stacked the workbook and test papers neatly into the bag and said truthfully, “Because I didn’t need to think, just wrote the answers directly.”
So impressive.
Jing Mian lowered his gaze and ate the blueberries one by one. The sweet and tangy flavor burst on his tongue, the juice overflowing.
The TV screen changed as one episode ended, cutting to commercials.
At that moment, faint footsteps echoed from the hallway beyond the door.
Unlike ordinary footsteps, these sounded sharper, as if someone were wearing heeled shoes.
Jing Mian hadn’t paid much attention at first, but when he looked up, he noticed Brother’s expression had changed.
He was about to speak when he suddenly felt his body lifted.
“Brother?”
Carried by the youth, the wide cabinet door was opened, and Jing Mian felt something soft beneath him, he seemed to be sitting on a pile of folded clothes.
His blueberries were placed on his lap as well.
Just then, the footsteps outside the door abruptly stopped.
What followed was a sudden, violent knocking.
Startled, Jing Mian was about to speak when he saw the youth lean down.
“MianMian.”
Jing Mian let out a small, questioning hum.
“Don’t make a sound later,” Brother said gently, his voice steady. “No matter what you hear, don’t come out of the closet.”
“Brother will take you home later, okay?”
Jing Mian unconsciously held his breath, then nodded lightly.
The cabinet door closed, plunging Jing Mian into darkness. Outside, the shouting grew louder, and the knocking gradually turned into violent banging.
“Ren Xingwan, open the door!”
“Open the door!!”
The sound of the lock turning finally came, and the chaotic noise ceased abruptly.
“You little bastard.” The drunken woman staggered in, immediately slapping the youth across the face the moment she entered.
A sharp smack echoed through the silent room.
Ye Suqing bent down, swaying as she kicked off her high heels. “You’d love it if I died out there, wouldn’t you? Damn it, took you so long to open the door.”
Blinded by the harsh light inside, the woman squinted, her slightly curly hair disheveled.
Her gaze landed on the bottle of soda with a straw on the youth’s desk.
With a mocking laugh, she sneered, “Living it up while I’m not home, huh? Sipping soda all leisurely, did it ever cross your mind that your mother couldn’t even get a sip of water outside?”
The youth’s voice was cool, his tone indifferent. “You had alcohol, didn’t you?”
Ye Suqing’s head snapped up. “What did you say?”
“Since when do you, this worthless piece of shit, get to tell me whether I drink or not?”
Her cursing continued until suddenly, her expression twisted. Barefoot, she staggered toward the sink by the stove and vomited violently.
Leaning against the dining table, she slumped onto a stool, her stream of abuse never ceasing. “How did I give birth to a monster like you?”
“No gratitude, just a disgrace… Damn it, if I’d known you’d be such a burden, I should’ve strangled you the moment you were born. Your own father couldn’t even stand the sight of you, good for nothing trash, unwanted filth…”
Words like these were nothing new.
And when she was drunk, they came even more easily.
The youth’s expression remained unchanged, though his gaze occasionally flickered toward the closet.
“…Heartless little bastard, why aren’t you dead yet?”
“If you died, I’d finally be free.”
Ye Suqing slumped drunkenly in her chair, her long hair falling messily around her. Through the tangled strands, she stared at Ren Xingwan for a long moment before speaking again.
“Make me a bowl of noodles.”
This time, her voice was much calmer.
To an outsider, it might have sounded like an ordinary conversation between mother and son.
The youth glanced silently at the clock.
Then he stood and walked to the kitchen. The stove ignited, water boiled in the pot, and faint steam rose, carrying the quiet warmth of a summer night.
Ye Suqing’s gaze followed the sound, studying the youth.
From his profile down to the boy’s waistline, and those long, firm arms.
“……”
A bowl of noodles was quickly cooked and placed on the dining table.
Ye Suqing glanced at the bowl, no eggs or vegetables, just a plain serving with a faint sheen of oil.
“You ungrateful brat. Taking care of your mother and you dare to resent it.”
The woman fell silent for a moment before suddenly raising her hand.
With a loud smack,
The steaming hot bowl of noodles was knocked to the floor.
The porcelain bowl shattered into pieces upon impact, scattering across the ground.
She sneered coldly, “What did you eat for dinner? And you serve me this?”
Jing Mian’s eyelashes trembled slightly.
His heart clenched.
Brother hadn’t eaten anything at all tonight.
On usual days when Ye Suqing came home drunk, she would stagger through the door, cursing loudly before collapsing into bed, too intoxicated to cause any trouble.
But today, she must not have drunk enough to lose consciousness. Having bottled up her anger outside, she still had energy to vent at home.
And today, Jing Mian was present.
Ren Xingwan suppressed his anger and asked calmly,
“What do you want before you’ll go to sleep?”
Ye Suqing glared at him with loathing. “Whether I sleep or not is none of your business.”
“If it weren’t for you dragging me down, I wouldn’t be stuck living in this dump…”
After a long pause, as if exhausted from her tantrum, Ye Suqing finally answered the boy’s earlier question: “Clean up this mess and make me another bowl.”
“Add eggs and vegetables this time.”
At last, the room fell silent.
Ye Suqing lowered her gaze, watching the boy sweep up the debris before carefully picking up the broken porcelain shards with his slender fingers.
Propping her chin on her hand, she observed him for a while before suddenly standing up.
“……”
“Why don’t you go sell yourself?”
Without warning, Ye Suqing leaned in closer.
A mix of strong alcohol and perfume assaulted his senses as she patted his cheek and chuckled. “Lucky you inherited my genes… With such a pretty face, women of any age would adore you.”
In that instant, a powerful force sent Ye Suqing crashing to the ground.
The woman didn’t even have time to react.
When she looked up, her eyes met her son’s.
Reflected in her own gaze was unmistakable hatred in her child’s eyes.
“You pushed me?”
Ye Suqing felt a sharp sting beneath her and instinctively reached out, only to cut her fingers on the scattered porcelain shards. Blood seeped out.
“You fucking dare push me…”
The sight of crimson ignited something in the woman. Ignoring the pain, she scrambled to her feet, her eyes burning with terrifying malice as she glared at the son who had brought her nothing but suffering.
Snatching the ashtray from the table, she gripped it tightly, the jagged edges digging into her palm.
Nearby, the wardrobe door creaked.
Without hesitation, she hurled it at the boy.
Bang.
Clatter—
The ashtray didn’t shatter upon hitting the floor. Instead, its smooth, raised rim struck the ground like a muffled bell, emitting a fragmented, dense hum.
But on one fractured corner—
A glaring streak of blood stained its surface.
A crimson trail slowly trickled down Jing Mian’s forehead as he lay draped over the boy, letting out a faint groan.
The child squinted slightly with one eye, his collar growing increasingly damp and warm. He felt his vision tinged with red, yet there was no pain, just a dazed confusion as his first reaction.
But within his blurred vision, the boy’s pupils constricted sharply.
…
Jing Mian briefly lost consciousness.
When he opened his eyes again, he realized he was being carried in someone’s arms, his body jostling slightly. He wanted to speak, but his limbs were weak, devoid of strength.
Instinctively, he whispered, “Brother…”
“MianMian.” The boy responded quickly, his voice trembling.
He was panting.
By the time Ren Xingwan rushed into the hospital, he looked as if he had been drenched in water. The boy held a child in his arms, his neck, cheeks, and palms smeared with blood, a horrifying sight.
They hadn’t been able to hail a taxi the entire way.
No one had dared to let them in.
This was the nearest hospital to the city center. A two-kilometer distance, covered in just six minutes.
Ren Xingwan let the doctors take the child from his arms. He wiped his face, his palms were also covered in blood. An intern approached, asking about his condition, whether he was injured, if any of the blood was his.
The boy shook his head, his legs unsteady beneath him.
His entire body was rigid.
“Don’t worry, the doctors are already treating him.” A nurse handed him a consent form. “Tell me how the injury happened. Are you family? Sign here.”
…
The boy stood outside the emergency room, staring at his elongated shadow.
Like an endless nightmare.
The procedure to stop the bleeding, clean the wound, and suture the head injury would take only about ten minutes.
However, Jing Mian’s head was honored with five stitches.
Lying on the hospital bed, the anesthesia hadn’t yet worn off, an IV drip in his hand.
When he could finally open his eyes and see the person beside him, he immediately called out softly, “Brother…”
“Awake?” The boy’s voice was gentle, as calm as ever.
Jing Mian inexplicably felt a wave of reassurance.
He heard his brother ask, “Does your head hurt?”
Jing Mian answered honestly, “No.”
“It just feels a little swollen.”
The boy didn’t tell him that the lack of pain was only because the anesthesia hadn’t worn off yet.
The worst was still to come.
“…Brother, I’m sorry.” Jing Mian blinked, as if recalling what had happened before he lost consciousness, guilt creeping in. “I didn’t keep my promise to hide properly in the closet.”
The boy murmured, “It’s okay.”
In the quiet, dim light of the emergency room at night…
Once the anesthesia faded, the sutured wound on Jing Mian’s head began to throb with a fine, persistent pain.
Jing Mian sniffled, his eyes reddening, whimpering from the discomfort. His head was tightly bandaged, stuffy and unbearable. The hospital had no air conditioning or fans, making it nearly impossible to lie still.
He asked, “Brother, can you hold me for a while?”
When someone is sick, the person taking care of them will likely fulfill any request.
The child, now held in his brother’s arms, nestled against his chest.
Breathing in the familiar scent, Jing Mian clutched a corner of the boy’s clothes like a little dumpling.
This time, despite the lingering pain, exhaustion and drowsiness finally took hold.
The child frowned slightly and whispered, “It hurts.”
The other didn’t respond.
But soon, Jing Mian felt something wet against his neck.
Drip.
Drip.
“I’m sorry…”
The boy held him tighter, little by little.
He heard the other whisper, “I’m sorry… I didn’t protect you well enough.”
The voice sounded like it was biting down on its lower lip.
Jing Mian wanted to say it was okay.
But his hand lacked the strength to lift, otherwise, he would have patted Brother’s back.
Because he noticed,
the young man was trembling.
“MianMian.”
Jing Mian’s lips moved slightly.
He responded softly with an “Mm.”
……
The young man holding him tight seemed to say something.
The child’s brow twitched slightly, drowsiness making it hard to focus, his vision growing blurry.
In the end, Jing Mian couldn’t make out those words—
“I can’t rot here.”
“Brother…”
“Still awake?”
This time, the childish voice had transformed into the gentle clarity unique to a young man.
Only, drowsiness made it sound somewhat muffled and indistinct.
The man paused slightly as he leaned down.
Coming fully back to his senses.
He asked quietly, “Did I wake you?”
“No, Husband.”
Jing Mian opened his eyes, now much more awake, and silently corrected his form of address.
At the same time, Jing Mian released the man’s sleeve, seeming to think for a moment before asking, “Is Husband still busy?”
Ren Xingwan hesitated briefly: “Not busy.”
After a few seconds, the man slowly parted his lips:
“Call me brother.”
In the uneventful quiet of the night, Jing Mian suddenly felt his heart give a heavy thump.
His throat inexplicably dry, after a small silence, Jing Mian murmured:
“Brother.”
Mr. Ren seemed ready to sleep as well.
Jing Mian noticed the sheets dip slightly behind him. Pressing his lips together, his heartbeat gradually steadied, no longer as clamorous as before.
But then, the other found his hand.
Fingers interlacing from the outside, slotting snugly between Jing Mian’s.
Jing Mian’s lashes fluttered.
Composure shattered.
They’d done far more intimate things than this, yet merely holding hands left him more nervous and awkward than a high schooler.
Time might have stretched long or frozen in that moment, the clock’s hands stilled.
As drowsiness crept over the young man again, he faintly sensed a warm weight press against the back of his head.
The contact lingered without withdrawing.
A featherlight touch.
Mr. Ren kissed the scar on the young man’s skin.