The Weight of a Shadowed Past

The warmth on his lips spread to Lu Xingye’s fingertips, and even his heart trembled in response.

The late summer night had shed the scorching heat of the day, and even the cicadas had fallen completely silent.

Lu Xingye unconsciously raised his hand, pressing the fingertips that had just touched Qiyu deeply against his own lips.

His heart pounded like a drum, making his eardrums vibrate.

Lu Xingye told himself he felt nothing out of the ordinary, merely a slight discomfort in his chest.

If he felt nothing special, then why did Qiyu always smile and kiss him? Could Qiyu…?

Qiyu and Lu Xingye’s relationship currently existed in a strange duality of distance and closeness. They were distant due to an unspoken barrier, yet undeniably close because of their past intimacy.

To understand the depth of that intimacy, one had to trace back to when Lu Xingye was seven years old.

****

Before the age of seven, Lu Xingye had lived in an ordinary household—or rather, a family whose structure was alarmingly complex. This was precisely why the Lu family had vehemently refused to let Qiyu be exchanged back.

The father in that home was a frequent drunkard and domestic abuser. Of the vices: prostitution, gambling, and drugs, he indulged in two—gambling and drugs. If merely touching one meant the ruin of a family, then theirs was destined to be destroyed twice over.

His mother, by contrast, possessed a gentle, almost timid nature. One might even describe her as somewhat cowardly.

Despite the circumstances, even for her children and herself, she refused to divorce. She clung to the belief that “harmony in the family brings prosperity,” never reporting the abuse but choosing instead to silently endure the pain.

She continued to live with her scoundrel husband.

Even though the very core of this home had rotted, festering with decay, she still tried to mend the broken pieces with mere adhesive tape.

Young Lu Xingye often witnessed his father’s return after a night of drinking. His father would leave without his house keys, and instead of knocking, he would simply kick the door in the dead of night.

He kicked with such force, utterly unconcerned if he woke the neighbors.

When Meng Zhaolan roused herself from sleep and opened the door, a fist immediately slammed into her face. Chen Jingzhi, acting like a tyrant, slurred, “Didn’t I tell you… to leave the door unlocked for me? Aren’t you just asking for a beating?”

Meng Zhaolan couldn’t withstand the sudden impact, collapsing onto the floor. The spot where she was hit instantly flared red.

Leaving the door unlocked in the middle of the night—wasn’t that just inviting thieves? Besides, even if she did, he would find countless other excuses to hit her.

This posture instantly revealed he had gambled all their money away again. It was the tuition fee Meng Zhaolan had hidden, the money for Lu Xingye’s experimental primary school.

“I gave you a key,” Meng Zhaolan replied timidly, rising as if nothing had happened, avoiding Chen Jingzhi’s eyes. “What do you want to eat? I’ll go make it for you now.”

Chen Jingzhi bristled at the first half of her sentence, convinced Meng Zhaolan had grown too bold, daring to disobey her own man.

With alcohol clouding his mind, he bared his teeth and struck out at Meng Zhaolan, utterly heedless of the consequences, driven solely by a need to vent his rage.

Meng Zhaolan was struck until she saw stars, yet she bit back any sound, terrified of waking Lu Xingye, who would have to rise early for school the next morning.

But how could such sounds be concealed? Little Lu Xingye painstakingly climbed out of bed, pushed the door open just a crack, and peered out at the scene.

His left hand tightly clutched an object that gleamed with a cold, silver light, his eyes filled with profound hatred for the demon beyond the door.

Finally, in a moment when Chen Jingzhi was distracted, just as he reached for a liquor bottle to smash against Meng Zhaolan, Lu Xingye burst out.

Before anyone could react, he plunged the tip of the knife straight into Chen Jingzhi’s thigh. However, a child’s strength was limited, and with the thick winter clothing, it caused little harm, merely drawing a trickle of blood.

Chen Jingzhi clutched his thigh, hissing in pain. Once the initial shock faded and he saw what Lu Xingye held, he reached out and slapped it away.

Then, he fixed a ferocious gaze on Lu Xingye, his eyes bloodshot. Unfazed, Lu Xingye defiantly stared back, chin jutted out.

Lu Xingye was clearly not yet of primary school age, yet he possessed such courage. With his back straight and chin defiantly raised, he looked like a small hero.

He felt no regret, only resentment that his strength had been too meager to stab deeper.

The instant Meng Zhaolan saw the knife, she was utterly terrified. She gasped, trembling all over, her eyes wide with fear.

She feared that brute, Chen Jingzhi, would truly be provoked and kill both her and her son…

Suddenly, Chen Jingzhi burst into laughter. After a moment, he abruptly stopped, saying in a hoarse, unpleasant voice, “Good, good! You truly are my son, you goddamned spirited brat.”

Meng Zhaolan, frantic with both urgency and fear, yanked Lu Xingye behind her.

Chen Jingzhi’s expression drastically shifted. “But to dare lay a hand on your old man? That’s rebellion!”

****

In the end, Meng Zhaolan held Lu Xingye in the room, weeping.

“Mama is sorry, my child. I couldn’t give you a good life,” Meng Zhaolan sobbed, gasping for breath.

Lu Xingye was also injured, though not as severely as Meng Zhaolan appeared. He fell into a long silence, but upon seeing her tears, he offered her a tissue.

Lu Xingye’s soft, gentle voice broke through. “Mama, please escape.”

Due to his family circumstances, Lu Xingye was remarkably precocious. His original plan for that day had actually been to kill his father with the knife himself, then let his mother escape while he went to prison.

He had, however, overestimated his own strength and underestimated his mother’s yearning for a complete family.

Meng Zhaolan also fell silent. After her silence, she shook her head, then nodded, weeping so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.

Lu Xingye couldn’t comprehend the complex emotions between adults, nor could he understand why his mother couldn’t bring herself to leave this devil.

Not long after this incident, the first crucial turning point in his life occurred: he was recognized and taken back by the Lu family.

He not only escaped his bitter predicament himself but also used the Lu family’s influence to help Meng Zhaolan escape hers.

****

On his first day back at the Lu residence, he saw Qiyu, who resembled a beautiful little prince, observing him with curious eyes.

His immediate thought was that this Qiyu surely wasn’t good news. He imagined their home would soon be in chaos, and he would be forced into an endless competition for affection.

This thought only intensified his annoyance with Qiyu. What he hadn’t expected was that the household *did* descend into chaos, but in a way he hadn’t foreseen…

“Brother, come help me with my homework.”

“Brother, I want to be your wife and have you wait on me for the rest of my life.”

“Brother, do you want me to be your wife?”

“Brother, can I watch you shower?”

“No, no, I said no! Aren’t you annoying?” Lu Xingye gently pushed Qiyu, who was clinging to him, a hint of impatience in his voice.

“Why?” Qiyu asked, seemingly unfazed. He didn’t cry when pushed away, merely gazing at Lu Xingye with wide, innocent eyes, utterly bewildered.

“Why?”

“Why?” It seemed this habit was one Qiyu had possessed since childhood: never giving up until he received an answer.

“There’s no why.”

Qiyu’s small face scrunched up. “If there’s no why, then why can’t I watch!”

Lu Xingye was speechless.

“Fine then, tell me! Why exactly do you want to watch me shower?” Lu Xingye demanded, hands on his hips, pointing at him.

Qiyu’s persistent, wheedling nature had actually managed to coax a flicker of temper from Lu Xingye, a person naturally indifferent to emotions.

“Because I’m scared to be alone,” Qiyu declared, his voice firm despite the flimsy reasoning.

“I’m so cute! What if a big bad wolf kidnaps me?”

Lu Xingye understood now; it was likely that fairy tale book they had read that afternoon. He had always wondered why, despite being the same age as Qiyu, Qiyu seemed so simple-minded while he himself was so sharp, intelligent, and quick-witted.

Qiyu, by contrast, still took fairy tales seriously.

“If you’re scared, just sit here! There’s a light here!” Lu Xingye took Qiyu’s hand and firmly settled him onto the desk chair.

He pointed to the ceiling. “There’s a light here, see?”

Lu Xingye treated Qiyu as if he were foolish. Qiyu’s gaze followed Lu Xingye’s pointing finger, and finally, he nodded, half-understanding.

“Then you have to shower quickly, okay?” Qiyu sat obediently on the stool, hands resting on his thighs, sitting perfectly straight, like a beautiful, well-behaved doll.

For Lu Xingye, the deepening intimacy with Qiyu had been entirely unexpected. Perhaps it began when he found himself unable to trust anyone else to look after Qiyu.

Qiyu’s daily routine involved incessantly pestering his brother to play with him. He had to hug his brother to sleep, and even when he drank water, his brother had to bring it to his lips.

This made Lu Xingye utterly exasperated, leading him to scold Qiyu sharply. “Can’t you just play by yourself for a bit? You’re not allowed to come near me today. Our class has a test tomorrow, and I need to study. If you bother me, I’ll never make up with you, ever again.”

After being scolded, Qiyu stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly at this unfamiliar Lu Xingye before him. His large, round eyes welled up with tears, and his little mouth drooped, as if he would burst into tears any second.

Yet, Qiyu managed to hold back his tears, remembering his brother’s command not to disturb him. He bit his lip, forcing the tears back, though his nose couldn’t help but twitch uncontrollably.

“Alright. I’m sorry, Bro… Brother,” Qiyu said, his voice thick with emotion.

After Lu Xingye had scolded him, Qiyu hugged the doll his brother had given him and returned to his own room.

Hearing the sound of the door closing, Lu Xingye tightened his grip on his pen, suppressing the pang of regret, and redirected his attention to the homework before him.

He had lied.

Even middle school exams were easy for him, let alone a fifth-grade midterm.

He simply wanted to send Qiyu away, to have some peace and quiet alone. In his mind, Qiyu was just a mediocre, clingy, spoiled, and foolish child.

Lu Xingye disliked foolish children.

Even more, he detested the words his parents had spoken when he was seven, including the nature of ‘that’ relationship. He hated it especially, an explosive, insurmountable hatred.

Lu Xingye quickly finished his homework, packed it into his schoolbag, tossed aside his slippers, and climbed into bed. But once truly lying there, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Could it be that without a certain clingy person tonight, the bed felt too large, making sleep impossible?

So, in his mind, he began counting Qiyu: one Qiyu, two Qiyus, three Qiyus… five hundred Qiyus.

By the five hundredth Qiyu, sleep still hadn’t claimed him. Instead, someone else came knocking.

Wang Ma paced anxiously outside his door. Finally, as if having made a decision, she knocked. “Young Master, the Young Lord isn’t feeling well. He keeps crying and asking for you.”