A Glimpse of the Past

He Chuanrong turned his head, his heart tightening at the sight of tears tracing a path down the corner of the other’s eye. A dryness seized his throat as he frantically bent over, attempting to soothe the person who lay curled in a fetal position, muttering in their sleep.

The figure on the sofa’s lips quivered, fine beads of sweat breaking out on their forehead. Their brows were tightly furrowed, as if enduring some terrifying ordeal. They clutched the hem of his clothes ever tighter, like a drowning person grasping at driftwood.

He Chuanrong panicked. He covered the hands gripping his clothes with his own, softly reassuring him not to be afraid. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, the grip only intensified, and Ji Ye’s tears flowed even more uncontrollably, his body trembling slightly with terror.

It was only when He Chuanrong released his hold that the other’s emotions finally stabilized.

He Chuanrong seemed to sense something, his eyes clouding with sorrow. His heart felt as though it had been pierced by an arrow, then slowly, agonizingly, carved apart by a blunt knife.

‘Ji Ye… detests him.’

He slumped dejectedly in front of the sofa, his hands propped beside him, his breathing rapid and strained. It took him a long while to compose himself. Ji Ye was his blessing, like the cool, bright moon hanging high in the night sky. All he could do was gaze up at him.

Yet, the time they had spent together recently had fostered a dark desire within him—a delusional urge to pull that bright moon into his embrace.

He Chuanrong scoffed, a self-deprecating smile twisting his lips. He then gently pried open Ji Ye’s fingers from his clothes, tucked the corner of the blanket, and squatted down beside the sofa, resuming his studies.

****

When Ji Ye’s mother returned, he politely declined her kind offer to drive him home, choosing instead to walk through the biting wind.

The streetlights cast a dim, yellow glow, stretching his shadow long before him. Along the way, there was nothing but the occasional blaring car horn and the reek of alcohol from rowdy hooligans. Unbeknownst to him, freezing rain began to drizzle from the night sky. He Chuanrong tilted his head back; there was no moon tonight.

He arrived home close to one in the morning.

****

The next day, Ji Ye’s cold had improved, and he was once again full of life. He invited a few friends to his house for dinner on Friday.

Upon hearing the good news, Zhang Qian wished he could fast-forward the calendar to Friday.

He Chuanrong, however, felt a pang of awkwardness. After all, the others had been Ji Ye’s childhood companions, while he was an outsider. He was racking his brain for an excuse when Ji Ye approached him.

“Vice-monitor, join us! My mom said she wants to meet you and thank you in person for looking after me that day.”

Ji Ye spoke quickly, his voice low.

“I… alright.” He Chuanrong had intended to decline, but he found himself agreeing, as if by some strange impulse.

Receiving a positive answer, Ji Ye’s smile widened. It was as though stars had fallen into his dark pupils, making his eyes sparkle brightly.

On the podium, the geography teacher was explaining questions related to the terminator line, but He Chuanrong was far too elated to absorb any other information. His gaze was fixed on Ji Ye, who seemed to be in an equally good mood.

Long-awaited sunlight streamed through the window, crossing one row of desks to bathe Ji Ye in a soft, ethereal glow.

He watched, mesmerized.

****

The summer of his seventh year flashed before his eyes:

“You spend all day idling around! My salary is barely enough to cover rent and daily expenses. How could I have extra money for your gambling?” He Lina shrieked hysterically at the man sprawled on the broken-legged sofa, as if trying to unleash all her pent-up grievances.

“Didn’t your mother send three thousand over a few months ago? How can there be no money?” The man on the sofa rose, stumbling towards He Lina, intent on searching her for the three thousand yuan.

The pungent stench of alcohol assailed her. He Lina, utterly enraged, pushed him away and screamed, “That’s for our son’s tuition!”

“Tuition for what? Learn a trade, at least you won’t starve.” He Mingsheng said indifferently. Finding nothing in her pockets, he staggered into the bedroom.

Sensing his intention, He Lina lunged forward to stop him, but he spun around abruptly and shoved her to the ground. She landed face-first, watching helplessly as he ransacked the room, while she lay sobbing on the floor, consumed by regret.

Young He Chuanrong had long since been awakened by the violent argument. He curled up against the wall, witnessing his drunken father turn the bedroom upside down and his mother cry helplessly on the floor.

He tiptoed out of bed, shuffled into his shoes, and ran to his mother’s side, attempting to help her up. But she merely shook off his hand, then growled at him to get out.

Little He Chuanrong froze for a long moment. Only after his drunken father gleefully counted the money, wetting his fingers with saliva before leaving, did he quietly slip out the door under his mother’s disgusted gaze.

Before closing the door, he peered back inside, seeing his mother with her back to him, burying her face in her hands and weeping. He knew that at that moment, disappearing from her sight was the best comfort he could offer her.

Little He Chuanrong, as usual, went downstairs and squatted behind the groups of children playing. His eyes, vacant, watched their bright smiles, but his heart was lodged in his throat. He constantly turned his head to stare at the direction of the stairwell.

The sun gradually sank in the west. Children, two by two, said their goodbyes, then skipped away, holding their parents’ hands. Little He Chuanrong’s eyes brimmed with envy as he stared blankly at their silhouettes in the afterglow. When most people had left, he looked around. Seeing no one by the sandbox, he timidly shuffled over.

He plunged his hands into the sand, feeling the lingering warmth of it sift through his fingers. As always, he buried his head in the sand, drawing.

“A little baby should stand between Mommy and Daddy.”

Suddenly, a childish voice drifted down from above. Little He Chuanrong’s heart clenched. He didn’t dare turn his head, apologizing profusely, bracing himself for blows that never came.

After a long pause, he slowly looked up. Seeing that it was his friend, he let out a long sigh of relief.

“I thought you wouldn’t come. What’s that in your hand?”

“Eucalyptus,” the little boy said, squatting beside young He Chuanrong. He handed over the straight, sword-like eucalyptus branch. “Here, this sword is for you. Now no one will dare bully you anymore.”

Little He Chuanrong reached out to take it, but then caught sight of his own dirty hands. He awkwardly hid them behind his back.

The little boy noticed, and naturally placed the eucalyptus branch in the hand of the child drawn in the sand. “Let him hold it for you first. Let’s pick up stones and build a castle.”

The little boy’s eyes sparkled as he blinked at young He Chuanrong, who nodded vigorously. After all, this boy was the only one willing to play with him.

He considered meeting the little boy the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him. That day, the boy had ‘rescued’ him from being ganged up on, and his mother had even bought him an ice cream cone.

Lights gradually came on, and the stone castle began to take shape. The two cheered, but just as they were celebrating, little He Chuanrong was kicked from behind, collapsing the castle beneath him.

“You rotten brat, still not going home?”

He Mingsheng roared, reeking of alcohol. His hands were stuffed into his pockets as he glared viciously at little He Chuanrong on the ground. Then, he grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him home.

The next day, when he returned to the sandpit, the stones had already been tossed aside. That day, he waited from sunrise until the stars twinkled in the night sky, but his little friend never came.

****

“Read the prompt, everyone, and offer some suggestions for local development. Answer point by point.” The geography teacher’s voice pulled He Chuanrong’s thoughts back.

He suddenly remembered the geography teacher in his first year of high school explaining the terminator line, saying that if you kept walking west, crossing the terminator and the International Date Line, you could return to the previous day.

He Chuanrong had a sudden, whimsical thought, uncharacteristically distracted in class. He leaned over and quietly asked Ji Ye if he could go back to the past, which day or period he would choose.

Ji Ye’s hand, mid-note, paused as he fell into thought. “I’d go back to the summer when I was eight, and stop myself and my mom from leaving for Grandma’s house.”

‘That way, Mom wouldn’t blame herself,’ he thought. Though he didn’t remember, nor did he know why his mom blamed herself.

He had only coincidentally overheard the doctor mention to his mom that he had experienced memory loss due to PTSD.

After he finished speaking, He Chuanrong’s pupils trembled. For a moment, he didn’t know how to react.

“What about you, Vice-monitor?”

Ji Ye looked at He Chuanrong, expectantly.

He Chuanrong feigned contemplation to conceal his emotions, then said softly, as if to himself, “Time always moves forward. No one can go back to the past.”

Ji Ye didn’t understand, but he nodded nonetheless.

****

That Friday, Zhang Qian’s spirits were exceptionally high, lasting from morning self-study until after evening self-study.

Shen Qin even came personally to pick them up.

At the Ji household, Zhang Qian and Tian Jingwen were completely at ease, chatting and laughing with Shen Qin at the dinner table. He Chuanrong, however, appeared somewhat constrained.

“Xiao He, treat this place like your own home. There’s no need to be so reserved. Come, try some of the corn and pork ribs your Auntie Shen stewed.” Shen Qin piled several pieces of ribs onto He Chuanrong’s plate.

He Chuanrong repeatedly thanked her.

After dinner, the group chatted and laughed, discussing many things. Before his first year of high school, He Chuanrong had rarely experienced such a harmonious atmosphere. Encouraged by Ji Ye, he even began to actively participate in the conversation.

Through their words, he caught glimpses of Ji Ye’s childhood fragments. For instance, Ji Ye disliked spring onions; once, when his grandmother made pancakes with spring onions, Ji Ye teared up indignantly while picking out the minced green onions. Another time, Ji Ye had shown astonishing artistic talent from a young age, becoming especially engrossed in painting after he turned eight. His family fully supported his pursuit of art as a lifelong passion, even if it didn’t earn him money.

Their conversation drifted from Ji Ye’s childhood to Zhang Qian’s and Tian Jingwen’s younger years.

He Chuanrong listened intently, feeling as though his own missing childhood could be constructed through others’ descriptions.

When they asked He Chuanrong about his childhood, he was momentarily speechless. He racked his brain but couldn’t recall any interesting anecdotes. Though there was one event, everyone else remained silent about it, and he dared not mention it rashly.

So, he fabricated stories about fishing in rivers and herding sheep on mountains with his friends when he was little.

“Your childhood sounds so interesting!” Tian Jingwen exclaimed, clasping her hands together in admiration and envy.

Zhang Qian also chimed in, saying that if he had such a childhood, he would surely wake up laughing in his sleep.

Ji Ye, too, cast a longing gaze at him.

Only He Chuanrong’s hands, resting on his lap, unconsciously clenched into fists, his palms slick with a thin sheen of sweat.

Fortunately, the topic quickly shifted, and everyone began discussing other things. He Chuanrong breathed a sigh of relief, quietly listening to them speak, though most of his attention was actually on Ji Ye’s smile.

“Vice-monitor, does your name have any special meaning? I wanted to ask the first time I heard you introduce yourself.”

Zhang Qian suddenly asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Instantly, everyone’s gaze turned to He Chuanrong.

“Not really, my family never mentioned anything about it,” He Chuanrong prevaricated.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to answer, but rather that he didn’t want anyone to know his father had considered him a burden, initially calling him He Rong. It was only after his mother raised a huge fuss that his name was changed to He Chuanrong.

Thinking of this, He Chuanrong smiled bitterly to himself. ‘But perhaps there was no need for the change,’ he thought. ‘He was indeed superfluous, a burden. Otherwise, everyone wouldn’t have abandoned him.’

Upon hearing this, Zhang Qian nodded, an expression of “I see” on his face.

He Chuanrong hummed in acknowledgment, then hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Auntie Shen, Ji Ye’s nickname is A Dai. Is there any particular significance to that?”

He Chuanrong knew that these past few years were the only intersection in his and Ji Ye’s lives, and this was the only time he could legitimately address Ji Ye in such a familiar way. So, he emboldened himself, carrying a private hope, and asked, intending to make it a comfort for future days.