The year Zhui Ye left Qingling Town, he had just turned sixteen a few months prior.

Legally speaking, at sixteen, if one could have an independent source of income to support their life, they were no longer a child but a person with full civil capacity.

Then he counted too, after all, he no longer had any adults to rely on. He had to make his own living.

His family was already very poor. During the four years his father was depressed, he barely drove to haul goods. He also worried that with his father’s mental state, the money wouldn’t be earned before the person died on the road first, so he persuaded his father to drive less. Over a year and a half, he only made a few trips. Life was quite tight, but they could barely get by.

After his father passed, he lived with his grandparents. The old folks had white-haired people sending off black-haired people—their spirits were considerably worse than when his father was alive. But to feed this grandson, they still picked up hoes to farm the fields. They were farmers by birth, only knowing this old method of selling labor. It didn’t matter when young, but when old, their backs were visibly no good. Grandfather’s spine could compete with a curved bridge arch. When walking, he needed to clasp his hands behind his back, otherwise his body leaned too far forward and he simply couldn’t walk.

Yet with such a body, he secretly shouldered farm tools up the mountain for little Zhui Ye, while Zhui Ye was kept completely in the dark.

Until later, by chance, someone pulled him to the market, and he saw how there was an old man with such a familiar back at the corner, hunched over sitting on a small stool, before him a basket of freshly picked, emerald green vegetables.

Zhui Ye froze in the distance, witnessing an auntie come to buy vegetables, haggling with grandfather penny by penny. The auntie’s hands had just handled fish. From her pocket, she pulled out a handful of scattered small bills, still carrying an unpleasant fishy smell. Yet grandfather treasured these bills, stuffing them into an iron box, not daring to slight a single one.

After that day, he carefully followed grandfather up the mountain and learned the field’s location. Then he got up even earlier than grandfather, grabbed the farm tools, and alone learned grandfather’s movements, following suit to farm.

He farmed vegetables like this for a year, until the two elders also passed away. The money they had saved, he used to handle their funeral arrangements. What remained was only enough to pay the final year of middle school tuition.

Relying on this money, at least his education wouldn’t stop at elementary school. He successfully completed middle school.

The evening after middle school graduation ceremony ended, classmates put arms around each other’s shoulders discussing going to the beach to camp during summer vacation. A bunch of young boys didn’t have the ability to go far—Qingling’s not-so-pretty beach was already their best graduation trip destination. One person started it, and everyone responded in unison. When counting heads and reaching Zhui Ye, he looked distracted, swinging the old backpack washed countless times onto his back, shaking his head without hesitation. “Can’t go. Very busy.”

Before the words finished, he had already walked out quickly, without a trace of sadness or attachment that today was the last day.

The person who started it felt extremely awkward, muttering, “What’s he acting so cool for!”

Zhui Ye treated it as wind past his ears, mounting his bicycle and riding vigorously toward a restaurant.

He wasn’t lying. He really was busy—busy working.

He found a restaurant recruiting kitchen helpers with high hourly wages because they not only served dinner but also late-night snacks, always open very late. Older people couldn’t endure it, so his age gave him an advantage. Plus he could cook, so the boss hired him.

He came to the shop early, rolling up his sleeves to prepare all the vegetables the head chef would need tonight. When the busiest dinner rush arrived, the crowded kitchen was fragrant. His stomach was hooked into growling, but where was there time to stop and eat? Orders from outside came one after another. Sometimes there weren’t enough bowls—they had to be collected and washed immediately. Speed had to be fast.

The first two times, he wasn’t very practiced yet. Under pressure, his hand slipped and he broke several plates. For this, two days’ wages were deducted, and he felt the pain for two days.

But now, he could already wash plates with ease while even freeing one hand to steal a bite of food to fill his stomach. One couldn’t treat oneself too poorly. One must find joy even in suffering.

For instance, when the restaurant finally closed at night, around one AM, when everyone had left and only he remained in the back kitchen to clean up the aftermath. He treated the dirty, greasy kitchen as his personal playground, taking out the radio he carried in his backpack, playing that cassette tape Elder Sister gave him, humming and dancing along with Little Jasmine. Before long, the dishes were washed.

That scorching midsummer, Zhui Ye’s memories were almost entirely related to cooking oil smoke, foam, detergent, and swollen hands from soaking. These were the scattered details of that summer.

When the shop was really too busy, he would also be dispatched out of the kitchen to take orders and serve dishes in the bustling front hall. This wasn’t originally difficult work, but the embarrassing thing was—he encountered his middle school homeroom teacher.

She was bringing her husband and child to eat, not expecting to coincidentally encounter a class student working.

“Zhui Ye?”

He turned to leave but was quickly called back by the woman. He could only helplessly turn back around, giving her face by calling out “teacher.”

She said worriedly, “I called your home phone several times. You never answered. I thought you were unwilling, but could it be because you’ve been working here all along?”

He nodded. “What did teacher need me for?”

“I heard… you still haven’t decided which high school to attend? If you have financial difficulties, you can come to me. Besides that, there’s also the national poverty student aid. These can all help you.”

Before he could answer, someone from the back kitchen urgently shouted his name.

“Thank you, teacher.” He pointed toward the back kitchen. “A bit busy. I’ll go first.”

“Wait!”

The homeroom teacher grabbed Zhui Ye’s sleeve, hurriedly taking a napkin from the dining table, quickly writing down a line with a phone number, stuffing it into Zhui Ye’s pocket.

“You can call me anytime.”

Zhui Ye touched his pocket and strode toward the distance, lifting the curtain into the back kitchen.

He never made that call.

The restaurant was open year-round, but when summer thunderstorms hit, it rarely gave a day off. The mountain had even more abundant rainfall, even some leaking. Zhui Ye lay straight on the bed, observing rainwater seeping into the ceiling, displaying grotesque shapes like bared fangs and claws.

The two-story bungalow was filled with wind and rain sounds, yet seemed terrifyingly quiet.

He rolled off the bed in one motion, grabbed an umbrella, and just as he opened the front door, the not-so-sturdy umbrella top was blown open by the fierce wind in his face.

Seeing this, he simply tossed the umbrella by the entrance, hands in pockets, plunging headfirst into the rainstorm strung like beads.

When he reached the internet cafe, his whole body was soaked through. Shaking his head once, the rainwater could splash people into retreating. He swaggered to the cafe manager and got a computer, huddling in the most remote corner, putting on headphones. The crackling rain sounds outside the internet cafe all disappeared completely.

In their place was a woman’s slightly hoarse voice close at hand saying, “How is this wishful thinking?”

The speaker was Wu Man on the screen. She opened her eyes, those beautiful pupils tinged with gray. Looking at the camera, yet seeming to see nothing.

“With your blind appearance, you still want to sing opera for the audience?”

“I’m only blind. I’m not mute. Why can’t I?”

“You think singing opera is about the voice! Wrong! Opera must be conveyed through the eyes.” The man scoffed. “If you don’t understand this point, even if your eyes were fine, you couldn’t sing opera!”

Wu Man’s face flushed red. After a long silence, she gestured, drew energy from her core, and began to sing.

“This young nun is just eighteen years old,

In the prime of youth, my head was shaved by my master.

Every day, in the Buddha hall burning incense and changing water,

I see several young men playing at the mountain gate.”

The man froze. “What are you doing out of nowhere…”

Wu Man ignored him, spinning in place on her own, continuing to recite:

“From now on, I’ll leave the bell tower and Buddha hall far behind,

Go down the mountain to find a young man,

Let him beat me, scold me, speak of me, laugh at me,

With all my heart I won’t become Buddha, won’t recite Amitabha!”

Finally, she looked at the camera again, eyes bright, as if she had never been blind.

“Isn’t this pure joy for me!”

This was a film from last year about opera performers and famous actors. The final reputation was quite mediocre. Audiences complained that Wu Man sometimes acted too much like a blind person—her lifeless eyes were basically playing herself. Where there should be emotional release, no emotion could be seen at all, completely lacking spirit.

Zhui Ye thought the blind ones were not the people in the play but the spectators outside. He thought Wu Man acted very well. This segment, he had watched no fewer than ten times over and over. Her performance of this “Thinking of Worldly Pleasures” and that final line about wanting joy deeply shocked him.

He didn’t know what this thing called acting was, but in any case, he empathized. Her emotion at this moment transmitted to him outside the screen, making him high-spirited, rushing immediately to search online—how to become an actor.

Actually, this thought wasn’t the first time swirling in his mind.

As early as the first time seeing Elder Sister, still a young girl then, on the big screen, “reuniting” with him in this lofty posture, he was thinking, if she cannot descend from the screen, then perhaps I can enter it.

At that time, he even wrote this idea into a composition. The result was the homeroom teacher reading his composition aloud in class as a negative example.

She said, “Children, having dreams is good, but dreams aren’t for daydreaming, much less for chasing stars!”

Zhui Ye sat below expressionless, too lazy to explain this wasn’t chasing stars.

This was thinking of worldly pleasures.

That day, Zhui Ye surfed online for a long time and actually found some miscellaneous information—a public casting call. He hesitated for less than two seconds, then in one breath sent his personal introduction and photos.

Every day after that, after getting off work, he would invariably make a trip to the internet cafe to check whether his inbox, filled with nothing but advertisements, would receive any unexpected joy.

A week later, he got it.

The other party sent an email saying they thought his physical appearance was very good, with roles suitable for him. If possible, they hoped he could come meet in person. Below was attached their production team’s preparation address.

He trembled as he opened the email. The moment he saw the address, his soul left his body again.

A place he had never heard of.

He typed those two characters into Baidu—located in the distant northwest. The line showing distance on the map was so far, not to mention the actual measured distance… If taking a green-skin train, it would take several dozen hours.

That was a world he had never set foot in.

He lay sprawled on the computer desk. The chair swayed back and forth with the young man’s thin body, like an uncertain heart.

Zhui Ye closed his eyes. Before him appeared an opera stage. A woman’s singing voice entered from his left eardrum, and when exiting again, it pierced through his heart.

Alright then, Elder Sister. So what if the little nun cut off her hair? She still willingly descends the mountain to seek her young man, not fearing angry scolding or laughter. Then he was a full-grown big boy now—what was there to fear? Not to mention the great northwest—knife mountains, seas of fire, he would break through them all.

Elder Sister, just wait. I’m coming to find you right away.

He imitated the person in the play, pretentiously bowing toward Wu Man in the movie on screen.

He left Qingling Town very crudely and simply, taking photos of relatives, two or three changes of clothes, money earned from working, and a journal book plastered full of Wu Man’s photos.

Those photos were all cut from newspapers over these years. Whenever passing a newsstand, he would stop to glance at entertainment newspapers. If that issue published news about Wu Man, he would buy it, keeping only Wu Man’s parts. The rest he would recycle and sell to waste collectors. The money saved could buy another newspaper. He strived to spend every cent on Elder Sister—don’t let the benefits flow to outsiders!

These simple and pure things constituted all of sixteen-year-old Zhui Ye’s luggage.

He tightly embraced them, boarding the green-skin train heading northwest.

Although he bought the cheapest hard seat, he was young and vigorous, not feeling tired at all. He picked a window seat, watching the scenery outside the train window constantly change. Sometimes lush green forests, sometimes endless fields, sometimes starlit night skies.

These scenes were all novel and beautiful, yet still couldn’t compare to the sunset he saw from the back seat of Elder Sister’s electric scooter at age eight.

Now this train was carrying him toward that sunset.

After jolting for dozens of hours, everyone on the train was listless, yet he energetically leaped from his seat, lightly flying out of the platform.

Zhui Ye found his way following the address sent in the email. That address was very remote. He took nearly forty minutes by bus. The bus drove out of the city with some human presence, swaying to the suburbs. Along the way, it raised large clouds of yellow dust, covering the already hazy window even more obscurely.

He leaned close to the window, barely seeing a gray building submerged in yellow wind and sand.

“We’ve arrived.”

The driver saw Zhui Ye hesitating and reminded him with a heavy accent. He hesitated for a moment but still got off.

He had heard many film studios would be set up in suburbs. Having the preparation office established here wasn’t strange.

Steadying himself, he stepped toward that building.

The person receiving Zhui Ye was Brother Zhang Zi, who claimed to be the assistant director for actors.

He first asked if Zhui Ye had any communication devices. If so, they had to be immediately surrendered because the crew’s early preparation was still in a confidential stage. He shrugged, saying he had nothing.

Zhang Zi had someone check his backpack. Indeed, there were no communication devices, so he relaxed. He casually asked a few more questions like whether he had performance experience. After finishing, he had someone take Zhui Ye to the room he would be staying in next.

Zhui Ye was somewhat confused, asking, “Auditions provide accommodation too?”

“Young man, you think picking actors is that easy? We need to better understand you all. These two or three days are our opportunity to get to know each other. If suitable, just keep living here—equivalent to joining the crew. If unsuitable, even if you want to stay, we won’t let you.”

He pushed Zhui Ye into the room and closed the door.

Zhui Ye felt this place revealed strangeness everywhere, yet he couldn’t say how. He looked around the room, discovering there were only walls, no windows. It didn’t seem like a place for people to live but more like a prison cell.

The room had a total of four beds, divided into upper and lower bunks. Sitting honestly and properly on the beds were three youths about his age. They held books in their hands, a pair of eyes hidden behind the books, revealing half, staring straight at Zhui Ye.

He turned around and met these three eyes, like Erlang Shen, startling him.

Seeing these three had no intention of opening conversation, he was too lazy to speak. Scanning around, he saw the upper right bunk was still empty. He tossed his backpack up and climbed up on his own.

He hadn’t slept a proper sleep in several hours. At this moment, his back touched the bed board. Even though it was hard as concrete, he felt like he’d fallen into clouds, instantly losing consciousness.

Not knowing how long passed, someone shook him awake from his dark sleep.

The ceiling’s fluorescent light was still on like when he entered. Without windows, he couldn’t see the sky or know what time it was. The person waking Zhui Ye climbed halfway up the bed ladder, revealing half his body, eyes vacant as he said, “Time for evening class.”

“Evening class?” Zhui Ye propped up his arm, getting excited. “Acting class?”

That person didn’t respond, only silently staring at Zhui Ye getting off the bed, leading him to the top floor.

Walking out the room door, Zhui Ye looked at the sky—already dark.

The top floor had a large room that had been opened up, an undecorated rough space arranged into a simple small auditorium. The assistant director Zhang Zi he’d seen before now stood on a slightly raised platform, looking down at everyone below.

The gathered audience totaled several dozen people, all not very old. There were boys and girls. A few were relatively older, looking to be in their twenties.

Zhui Ye frowned, listening to Zhang Zi raise his voice, tone serious: “I know everyone wants to enter the entertainment industry, but sometimes, there are only so many roles—thousands of troops crossing a single-log bridge. Those who can’t rush to the other side, should they be beaten to death?”

“No—!”

Except for Zhui Ye, everyone shouted in unison.

Zhang Zi’s gaze locked onto him, rebuking, “That person, why didn’t you answer?”

Zhui Ye looked straight at him. “Even if beaten to death, I’ll climb back from hell.” He swept his gaze across the crowd with various expressions, stating resolutely, “No matter what, I will become an actor.”

Zhang Zi locked eyes with him for several seconds, then softened. “Young man, why so stubborn? You’ve only seen the entertainment industry’s glamor, thinking everyone can make big money. Naive! I tell you, this circle eats people without spitting out bones.” He clicked his tongue several times, putting on an appearance of lingering fear. “If you want to make big money, you might as well follow me. I’ll point you to a clear path…”

The words having reached this point, even if Zhui Ye was inexperienced, he realized—he’d been deceived.

This was a pyramid scheme organization.

He recklessly rushed toward the door. Several burly men surrounding there smoothly twisted his arms behind his back and pressed him to the ground.

Zhui Ye’s face was squeezed against the ice-cold cement floor. In his vision were tilted pairs of feet. Zhang Zi’s shiny leather shoes descended from the platform, step by step leisurely pacing to his front.

“Don’t be so resistant. I just want to teach you all to get rich—mutual benefit. I’ll tell you the truth—a green kid like you with no background, no resources, being able to enter the entertainment industry would be a miracle!”

That night, he was thrown by Zhang Zi into a solitary room. Inside, a crimson light was on, and besides that, there was nothing. Basically, the deceived young men and women couldn’t last a night inside. Just a few hours, and they would all surrender unable to bear it. This was a solitary confinement method Zhang Zi learned from elsewhere, repeatedly effective on these children already fragile in will during their growth period.

However, an entire night passed with no movement from the solitary room.

Zhang Zi woke up early and curiously rushed straight to solitary, only to see Zhui Ye sprawled out on the ground, sleeping more soundly than anyone.

He was so angry his back molars ground.

From this day began the tug-of-war between Zhui Ye and Zhang Zi that lasted two months.

Zhang Zi was determined to tame Zhui Ye, this unsociable little wild leopard. Otherwise, the authority he’d established in others’ eyes would vanish completely.

He didn’t give Zhui Ye food, hanging that kid with only one breath left, then prying open his mouth to pour swill inside. After controlling his mobility, he controlled his mental strength—keeping him locked in solitary day and night, others taking turns standing outside, blasting Zhui Ye with loudspeakers reciting that set of brainwashing rhetoric.

Two months later, the already thin youth was tormented into being even more skeletal. He also no longer said imposingly, “I want to be an actor.”

About this, Zhang Zi was immensely proud, thinking his methods still worked. Little brat wanted to fight with him—see if his hair had even grown in yet!

To test whether Zhui Ye was truly obedient, for the next downline development activity, he specifically arranged for Zhui Ye to follow along.

Before departure, he even starved Zhui Ye for three days, only giving him a tiny bit of water—not starving to death was enough. Lest the person have strength to run away.

Zhui Ye boarded the vehicle with lowered eyes and brows. The clothes he wore when coming hung emptily on his body. And sitting on both sides sandwiching him in the middle were adult men with physiques twice his size.

“Behave! Otherwise, you’ll have hell to pay when we get back!”

“Don’t be so stubborn! With your face, you’ll definitely develop downlines. Treatment when you return will be completely different. Why make things hard for yourself!”

One sang the villain, one sang the hero. Zhui Ye seemingly numbly hummed in acknowledgment. Only then did the two exchange glances and breathe a sigh of relief.

All along the way, Zhui Ye really didn’t make trouble again. Not until almost returning did he say, “Can I use the restroom?”

“Go back and use it!” One person said impatiently.

He persisted, “Really can’t hold it anymore. If on the vehicle… you don’t want the whole ride to smell like shit and piss, right?”

The other person imagined that scene, face iron blue. “We’ll take you.”

They brought him into a department store, the two standing guard at the restroom entrance.

Zhui Ye walked in with feigned composure, quickly observing his surroundings, targeting a small skylight.

His movements somewhat clumsy, he climbed onto the sink counter. Taking a deep breath, he used force to jump upward, wanting to grab the window edge. He reached it, but his wrist was weak. He didn’t grasp firmly, falling from the window back onto the disinfectant-scented tile floor.

The two people at the door vaguely heard the sound of a heavy object falling. One said suspiciously, “What’s this kid doing inside? He’s not trying to jump out the window to escape, is he?”

“Impossible.” The other scoffed. “I specifically chose here. Third floor. Jump down for what, suicide?”

He was certain. As a result, five minutes passed and the person still hadn’t come out.

The two’s expressions changed, sensing something wrong as they barged through the door, kicking open stall after stall to check. Empty. Their gazes simultaneously looked at the wide-open skylight, exchanged glances, and rushed down from the third floor to the back alley where Zhui Ye had jumped.

“Can’t let him escape. He’ll call the police!”

“Definitely can’t run far. We’ll chase from both directions.”

When the men’s tall backs disappeared at the road’s end, a large garbage bin in the back alley quietly moved once, then went silent again.

Not until midnight, when the back alley was brightly lit, the head chef carrying two large bags of kitchen waste pulled open the garbage bin lid and nearly dropped the trash on his own feet.

Inside the garbage bin huddled a youth with bloody knees.

Sensing the light, he groggily opened his eyes, muttering, “It’s already so dark.”

“Young man… are you alright?”

Zhui Ye climbed out of the stinking garbage bin using hands and feet, asking in return, “Uncle, where’s the police station?”

After reporting to police, Zhui Ye quietly walked away from the public security bureau.

It was when the police asked him, “Where are your family members? We’ll contact them to pick you up,” that he chose to quietly leave. Walking out the main entrance, night was vast. He belatedly felt fortunate to have survived.

Because he didn’t know how much longer he could have persisted in those conditions. Once brainwashed, where his life trajectory would go, or whether it would abruptly end in that red solitary room.

Thinking about it was terrifying. Using the remaining money fumbled from his body, he fed coins into a public phone, picked up the receiver, especially wanting to make a call to family.

But this was a call destined not to go through.

The only-sixteen-year-old youth’s spine was rigid as he gripped the receiver, listening to the continuous busy signal, his shoulders revealing a trace of trembling.

That night, he had nowhere to go. He sat hugging his knees in the phone booth until dawn broke in the east.

He walked dazedly onto the empty morning road before stalls opened, footsteps limping, unconsciously heading toward the train station direction he’d come from. Clearly at the pyramid scheme organization, he’d been hard as steel reinforcement, stubbornly insisting on becoming an actor. But escaping with his life, he deflated, suddenly born with a kind of helpless resignation.

Clearly he was only sixteen, yet life seemed to be toying with him like he was sixty. Giving premature death, pain, and separation. Whether family or Elder Sister in dreams, all made him feel this life was distant.

The sun rose. Vehicle flow gradually increased. But not one stopped for Zhui Ye.

After all, his current appearance looked too much like a little beggar.

In the end, only a jeep stopped before him. The driver had a face full of stubble, looking quite decadent and unreliable.

He said, “I can give you a ride to the train station, but you have to accompany me into the desert.”

“Why?”

Already having precedent, he asked very warily.

“Because I want to drink in the desert.” He said lazily. “But alone would be too lonely.”

After hearing this, Zhui Ye hesitated for two seconds, then chose to jump into his vehicle.

The jeep drove vigorously toward the desert. Sand grains in the wind filled his face and hair, painfully scorching. The driver twisted open a flask and gulped down a big mouthful, then tossed it to Zhui Ye, saying, “Try it.”

He observed him swallowing the alcohol, only then relaxing his guard. Curiously, he tried a sip. His throat then experienced the same taste his face felt.

The driver appreciated his awkward choking sounds, laughing heartily. “Kid, you can’t handle it!”

He furrowed his brows and stuffily gulped down another big mouthful.

“Don’t look down on people!”

After this big gulp, he felt his entire body become light, the pain from jumping off the building also vanishing into smoke.

Zhui Ye twisted his head, looking toward the driver’s seat.

So strange. The person driving had become his Elder Sister.

She still wore that day’s bright yellow tank top, not the unattainable appearance on screen, but close at hand with him.

She raised her eyebrows, smiling unrestrained. “Little kid, we meet again.”

He scrambled using hands and feet toward her, bawling.

The driver in the driver’s seat was very flustered. The youth who just had a face full of stubbornness suddenly pounced over hugging him, crying while also singing off-key—Little Jasmine, don’t forget me.

After a bout of turmoil, the youth finally sobered up, hobbling on one lame leg, lying on the jeep’s hood.

He gazed at the endless desert, suddenly stating with finality to the driver, “I’m not going to the station.”

“Then where are you going?”

“In any case, not to the station.”

In any case, not returning to Qingling.

Even though returning was the simplest and smoothest life mode—resuming school, applying for subsidies. Somehow he could muddle through life to the end. Then on some gentle sunny day, down a bowl of white liquor and meet Elder Sister in a mirage.

After sobering from alcohol, like now, the building empty of people.

Willing? How could that be possible.

He wasn’t willing.

Even if this was an arduous migration, a long march of him against a world with险恶 hearts. He also vowed to take down the flag, upright and proper, truly and genuinely plant it in Elder Sister’s heart.

—

Author’s Note:

One more Falling Into Spring Night – Chapter and the full text is complete. If I can finish writing it today, I’ll update it all at once, so come check later tonight.