After Lin Weixia brought Ban Sheng back, he began accepting treatment and stopped resisting all of it. Before the semester ended, the school finished its investigation, cleared Ban Sheng’s name, and restored his name to the laboratory project he had been working on.

As for those who had started the rumors — the school issued formal disciplinary notices and required each of them to hand-write a letter of apology, to be posted on the school’s official website.

When the semester break came, Lin Weixia called her aunt and said she would be staying behind. Her aunt, who was fond of her, said a few things on the phone — expressing that it didn’t seem worth the trouble. Lin Weixia was somewhat put out and ended the call.

Ban Sheng underwent a total of eight rounds of MECT, electroacupuncture, and transcranial magnetic stimulation. Anesthetic was injected through the veins and he would slip into unconsciousness in an instant.

For the electroacupuncture, needles were placed at the center of his brow, in the space between his thumb and forefinger, and at the crown of his head. The process was long and painful. Lin Weixia found it hard to watch, though there was nothing she could do — only stay quietly at his side.

When the illness flared, Ban Sheng would throw things, suffer hand tremors, and experience hallucinations. At those times, his mood would become uncontrollably dark and despairing.

During light therapy or group wellness training, nurses would sometimes find that he had disappeared.

At those times, Ban Sheng had usually slipped out by himself to get some air. Lin Weixia had grown used to it — but this time was different in one way: he would send her his location.

Lin Weixia understood that sometimes he needed to be alone. So each time she found him, she stayed at a distance, watching from far behind, and didn’t approach or disturb him.

She waited for Ban Sheng to process whatever he needed to process, and then, without fail, came to bring him back.

The Lunar New Year was still half a month away. The snow was beginning to melt. Lanterns and decorations went up along every street and alley, and cheerful red appeared everywhere. Lin Weixia bought a bunch of bright red Lantern Festival flowers and put them in the hospital room. The entire space lit up.

Ban Sheng had just finished a treatment session and taken his medication. He lay in bed, looking fragile. His skin was pale — the fine veins running beneath the skin of his long neck stood out in faint blue.

He sat up in bed, dark lashes dropping low, expression languid and distant: “I dreamed about my mother again. And Liang Jiashu.”

In the dream he had tried to speak to them, and neither of them would acknowledge him.

Neither of them forgave him.

That feeling of helplessness, of despair, of regret came over him again like a tide — like an invisible rope winding itself around him. Ban Sheng couldn’t move. Even breathing became a tremor.

Lin Weixia paused in the middle of arranging the flowers, found a chair, and pulled it up to sit facing Ban Sheng. She reached into her bag and produced a scroll, held it out, and smiled at him gently: “I have something to give you. Open it and have a look.”

The medication made his whole body feel like it was floating through clouds. Ban Sheng rubbed his drowsy eyes and unrolled it idly — and his gaze landed on it. Then stopped, completely.

It was a painting.

The entire painting was dark in tone, atmospheric and expressionistic, carrying a deep, eerie quality. In it, two boys stood inside a tunnel. One was very tall — face blank and cold, wearing a black t-shirt, holding a blue Pepsi can in his left hand. The other was shorter, wearing a blue-and-white striped shirt, hair in curls.

The tunnel was pitch-black. Both walls were covered in black spiders. There were skulls with one eye. There were monsters that devoured people.

It was the kind of image that sent a chill down your spine.

The tall boy had taken the curly-haired boy’s hand, and together they walked forward through the lightless tunnel. Ahead — a beam of light broke through, and with it, waves of color rushed in, sudden and brilliant.

Beyond the tunnel was an amusement park.

In the lower left corner of the painting, in small, faint pencil:

Me and the friend who protected me.

The emotion in Ban Sheng’s eyes broke and surged. A bitterness rose from deep in his throat. A tear fell onto the paper, bleeding the word “friend” into a faint, spreading watercolor.

There was too much he wanted to say, and none of it would come out.

Lin Weixia reached over and wiped his tears away. Her smile was quiet, though her voice without meaning to had taken on a slight tremor: “It was you. Liang Jiashu used to write to me and mention a friend who protected him. It was you all along.”

“Ah Sheng — you don’t have to feel guilty anymore. I dreamed about Jiashu recently. He asked me to pass something on to you. He said thank you. Thank you for always protecting him. He said that incident was an accident. He said it wasn’t your fault.”

It was true — in gym class, when everyone had shut Liang Jiashu out — teammates dismissing him as too scrawny and too soft, no one wanting to be paired with him — it was Ban Sheng who had pretended to be left over himself, and with a cool, unwilling face, paired with him.

When Liang Jiashu was being bullied, the person who privately sent someone to warn the bullies away had also been Ban Sheng.

Once Liang Jiashu started high school, he would write to Lin Weixia often. In those letters, he spoke of a friend who protected him. Lin Weixia had never thought much of it — because Liang Jiashu had been bullied so badly in middle school that he would often imagine a boy who could slay dragons and drive away the bad people.

But this time it was real.

That boy was Ban Sheng.

Her boy had a heart that was pure and soft.

This painting had been obtained by Lin Weixia through Liang Jiashu’s family, who had searched for a long time and finally sent it by courier.

Ban Sheng sat motionless, looking into a pair of clear and unwavering eyes. The knotted rope binding his heart was cut through. A grief welled up from somewhere deep inside him that he couldn’t name.

The phone in Lin Weixia’s pocket buzzed. She pulled it out — a video call from Cheng Wusuan. Lin Weixia’s lashes stirred, and she handed the phone to Ban Sheng.

Ban Sheng barely managed a half-smile, assuming it was a friend calling to check in. He hit accept. A chime, and the connection went through — and when the face on the screen came into focus, the smile died on his lips.

A severe face that had appeared in his dreams countless times. An absolute, suffocating stillness. Ban Sheng’s breathing seized. It was like being locked inside a shipping container — a square black ceiling pressing down from above, and sorrow spreading in every direction.

His father was wearing a blue-and-white hospital gown, lying in bed. He had been diagnosed with uremia a year ago, then admitted to hospital. Because of the serious illness, his organs had begun failing rapidly — his gastrointestinal system had broken down and was bleeding.

In the later stages, Ban Sheng’s father frequently suffered from pulmonary edema and pericardial effusion. When those hit, both legs would swell and he would be unable to urinate, and the pain kept him awake entire nights.

This was a disease that tormented people — manageable through dialysis, but incurable. More agonizing, they said, than being cut open alive.

When the illness flared, Ban Sheng’s father thought often that dying would be preferable.

Fresh from dialysis, Ban Sheng’s father looked more than a decade older than his actual age — not like a middle-aged man, but like a dying old one.

His skin was deathly pale. His whole body was swollen, as though inflated. He could barely lift the phone. His muscles had gone weak, and deep lines had carved themselves into his face. Whatever vitality he had once carried was entirely gone.

Compared to the severity and coldness of before, Ban Sheng’s father seemed much gentler now.

He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to pull against something that caused him to pause. He worked himself upright in the bed with great effort, producing a pained rasp of breath.

Neither of them spoke first. Ban Sheng’s father’s lips moved. Then, as if he still couldn’t bring himself to, he coughed for a long while, and asked:

“How are you doing?”

Ban Sheng looked down and gave a quiet laugh. “I haven’t died yet.”

“You——”

His father was visibly pushed past his limit. His chest heaved violently. The moment he stirred, the pain spiked all over his body. He fell straight back, and the hospital room’s alarm went off. Nurses and doctors rushed in.

The phone fell sideways onto the bed, its view blocked. Nothing could be seen.

Only the sounds came through — the staff issuing rapid instructions as they worked, talking the patient through breathing and calm, his aunt’s constant urging in the background, and the weight of his father’s labored breath.

Beep. Beep. Fast and sharp.

Ban Sheng didn’t hang up.

He wanted to know — what his father, who hadn’t once made contact in three years, wanted to say this time.

Half an hour later, the camera moved back to his father’s face on the hospital pillow. Not a trace of color. His eyes, clouded. Like a soap bubble on the verge of bursting.

His father let out a long, heavy breath. What was he doing? Couldn’t he let go of his pride even now — still picking a fight with his own child over nothing?

Since the illness had come, his father had been unable to find a compatible kidney donor. This disease ground people down, and there was no cure.

So he clung to this half-life, this thread of breath.

Perhaps this was his punishment.

Illness had a way of changing a person — or perhaps he had simply grown old.

Ban Sheng’s father looked at him, cleared his throat, and began:

“Ah Sheng. Whatever you resent me for, all of it is deserved. Everything was my fault. For more than ten years, I have been running away from losing your mother and from my responsibility to you. The fault lies with me. I was too much of a coward. I failed to protect……both of you.”

“The phone number change — there was an issue at the company a while back. My assistant changed it for me.” His father breathed hard, face going red, eyes going red. “These years you were abroad, I did go to check on you, quietly. All this time, you never once touched the money in that account. I may not have long. Lately I keep dreaming of your mother — she’s blaming me. I can’t face her. Cough, cough…… I was too ashamed to appear before you.”

Ban Sheng let his head fall back against the wall. He closed his eyes. His other hand silently closed into a fist — tighter and tighter — the veins standing out. He had always believed all of this was his fault. He had waited so long to hear these words.

How many years had he spent fighting against this world? His lashes were wet with tears he still refused to let fall — only his dark, bright eyes had gone a restrained and guarded red.

“If not for the young woman beside you coming to find me, your father would never have known about your illness…… Ah Sheng, come home. The family is all waiting for you. Your mother’s death was an accident. It was not your fault. I knew from when you were small — you were a good child. It was I who made the world look muddled and unclear to you, through my own mistakes. My fault — for failing to be your lighthouse when you were young——

And so you have walked alone on this road for so long.

His father had started from a place of being unable to let himself down, and had arrived at a large man speaking humbly, admitting fault, seeking peace.

Illness could truly change a person. Or perhaps he had simply grown old.

Ban Sheng still said nothing. The thread of nerve in his mind swayed on the edge of breaking. He closed his eyes, his lips pale, every organ in his body aching — as though someone had broken him apart, piece by piece.

He was in fragments now. He didn’t know how to put himself back together.

Then, from the phone in his grip, came a clear, small, childlike voice — utterly innocent:

“Ge-ge, I…… want Ge-ge.”

The dark downward-cast lashes trembled. He opened his eyes. A little girl of two or so looked out at him, a fuzzy hat on her head, a pair of big round eyes blinking at him.

A wholly new life.

He had a little sister.

Whether the reason for changing phone numbers was true or not — those invisible, weightless crosses of guilt that had been forced onto him — he could put them down now.

The tear that had refused to fall finally slid from the corner of his eye. Every knot that had been bound up inside him unraveled at once — the guilt and punishment that had trapped him for years dissolved, blown apart by wind, finally turning to sand.

Ban Sheng felt all the dark, heavy, painful things leaving his body, and something new and clean being breathed in to take their place.

The little girl didn’t know why her brother was crying. Through the screen, her voice went anxious: “Ge-ge…… don’t cry. Guoguo will make it better.”

“Ge-ge, when are you coming home? Guoguo saved a few pieces of candy for you. I didn’t give them to anyone else…… they’re all for you.” The little girl pressed herself close to the phone, chewing on her finger.

Ban Sheng let out a surprised laugh despite everything — and something hard inside him turned soft and warm: “When Ge-ge is better.”

“Okay, Guoguo will wait for you. Ge-ge, I love you!” The little girl had clearly been raised to be outgoing and bright. She blew him a kiss through the screen.

After the call ended, silence. Ban Sheng felt the nerves in his mind relax in a way they never had before. The future was something new and rising — worth looking forward to. He gave the phone back to Lin Weixia, and looked up into a face that held a smile.

“Who says no one loves you?” Lin Weixia looked at him as she said it.

Ban Sheng raised a hand and tucked a loose strand of hair from her forehead behind her ear, looking at her with quiet depth: “Weixia. Thank you.”

Everything she had done for him — all of it — he had seen.

“Don’t you want to get better quickly so you can see your little sister?” Lin Weixia found his gaze a little much, and quickly changed the subject.

Ban Sheng’s throat moved slowly. He looked at her: “Will you come back with me?”

“Sure — but I don’t come cheap,” Lin Weixia said, bracing her hands against the edge of the bed, her amber eyes moving with a quiet, playful light.

Ban Sheng raised an eyebrow, his answer unhurried but genuine: “I’m fairly well-off, though. Everything I have, from here on — it’s all yours.”

From that point on, Ban Sheng embraced both psychological and physical treatment fully. His condition grew steadily better. The light came back, little by little, to those dark eyes — and little by little he was beginning to resemble the spirited, self-assured person he had been before.

Lin Weixia often accompanied him on walks. They played basketball together, or they would sit in the same room in companionable quiet, each reading their own book. She often felt that simply being near Ban Sheng, without needing to do anything at all, was enough.

More than two months of treatment passed. The new year arrived.

The night before New Year’s Eve, the doctor prescribed him medication, and Ban Sheng was temporarily discharged from hospital. They went home together to make a proper New Year’s Eve dinner. They went to the supermarket and bought a great deal of food. Lin Weixia also picked up decorations for the house, spring couplets, and a pair of paper-cut window flowers.

Back home, Ban Sheng banished Lin Weixia from the kitchen and took up residence inside it himself, moving through it with easy, practiced skill as he began to prepare the meal. He also made the soup that was Lin Weixia’s favorite to drink.

Lin Weixia dragged a stool over to the window and stood on it. She stood before the clear glass, trying to stick a window flower in place, straining on her tiptoes, arms raised and pushing it up above her head, neck arched back and aching. She stretched a little higher — and the stool wobbled.

Her heart jolted, alarm jumping to her throat. She was on the verge of losing her balance and falling when a broad, warm hand wrapped around her waist — Ban Sheng lifted her effortlessly off the ground.

Lin Weixia let out a surprised sound.

In one arm he held her securely by the waist, then swung her easily up to sit on his wide shoulders. His hand pressed lightly against her from beneath, and he asked with a casual ease:

“Where do you want to stick it?”

“I want to stick it on your face,” Lin Weixia said without amusement, then glanced down and immediately felt her nerves spike. Heights. She couldn’t help her voice turning a bit wheedling: “Come on, put me down.”

Ban Sheng let out a low laugh, chest vibrating gently. He stopped teasing and, steady and sure, lowered his girl back to the ground.

The window flowers were naturally left to Ban Sheng after that.

At eight o’clock that evening, the two of them sat across from each other at the table. Ban Sheng had made a full spread, almost entirely dishes she loved. Lin Weixia took a photo and — for the first time in her life — posted to her WeChat Moments, with the caption:

New Year ^_^

Because it was Lin Weixia’s first Moments post ever, it drew a flood of likes and comments. Qiu Minghua, with his sharp eyes, spotted a man’s hand at the corner of the table, reaching to adjust the chopsticks.

Long fingers, prominent knuckles, a ring on the index finger. He was puzzled — could this be some tall, handsome stranger?

He immediately commented: [Happy New Year, sister-in-law! But why is there a random guy’s hand in your post?]

Ban: [? That’s my hand.]

Qiu Minghua: [My bad, I need new glasses. I’m full of secondhand romance…… Happy New Year.]

Li Yiran had also seen the post, and commented: [Unbelievable. What magic did you put on him? Teach me.]

Ban Sheng replied: [I’m perfectly willing.]

Together they had their New Year’s Eve dinner. Both had poured wine into their glasses. Lin Weixia took a small sip and looked at him, softly: “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.” Ban Sheng raised his hand and wiped a small trace of wine from the corner of her lips, looking at her with a smile.

Next year, we’ll spend it together too.

After dinner, they watched the New Year’s Gala together. Ban Sheng had changed into a black hoodie and was sitting on the couch. One long arm swept out and pulled her into his lap.

At first both of them watched the television with genuine attention. Lin Weixia was absorbed. But Ban Sheng, with his arms around her, started to move — warm lips drifting along the pale line of her neck. Lin Weixia felt it, tried to dodge, and couldn’t quite escape — she was kissed into something warmer, and turned to meet his lips herself.

Ban Sheng’s large hand threaded into the dark fall of her hair. Lin Weixia’s hand came up to rest on his neck. Their lips met, then parted slightly. They looked at each other — and both, without meaning to, smiled, their eyes so full of warmth they could have melted into each other.

Ban Sheng looked at her, tilted his head down, and kissed her again.

Lips and breath tangled, his other broad hand moving from her waist upward. Lin Weixia felt a shudder move through her entire body without her permission, a trembling starting up, and the further it went the harder it became to breathe.

Lin Weixia, a little embarrassed, pushed him away. When they separated, her lips carried an intimate gloss. Ban Sheng stared at her, his gaze deep and intent, his throat beginning to itch. He leaned in and closed around her lower lip.

“I have a New Year’s gift for you,” Lin Weixia said, pushing him back, and slipped quickly free from his arms to go to the room and get it.

When Lin Weixia came back, what she saw was Ban Sheng sprawled languidly on the couch, his expression full of a roguish wanting, watching her in that way of his.

“I have a gift for you too.” Ban Sheng held out a deep-blue box.

Lin Weixia sat down with her large, rectangular parcel and opened the blue box — inside was a Van Cleef and Arpels pink sapphire butterfly necklace, the surface set with pear-cut diamonds that caught the light from every direction, dazzling and breathtaking.

“It’s so beautiful,” Lin Weixia exhaled.

“Happy New Year, baby.” Ban Sheng said it again, and he meant it.

After giving the gift, Ban Sheng was immediately curious about the large box she was holding. He reached over to open it — Lin Weixia touched her nose a bit self-consciously:

“My gift isn’t as nice as yours.”

Ban Sheng raised an eyebrow at that. He slowly opened the box, glanced in — it was too deep to see anything. He tilted it sideways and gave it a shake. With a rushing sound, countless bottle caps of varying sizes cascaded out into his lap, onto his legs, some rolling to the floor.

His gaze went still.

Ban Sheng leaned slightly forward, picked one up at random. Every single bottle cap had Try Again printed on the inside. He turned to look at the girl — and Lin Weixia said, a little shy:

“It’s not anything valuable. You always said you had bad luck. So I thought I’d share some good luck with you.”

The truth was that Lin Weixia had bought several cases of drinks specifically to collect these bottle caps. She had opened them one by one, drinking until her stomach ached, then sharing the rest with the children at the welfare center, and with her classmates. Her one requirement was that when they finished, they leave her the bottle cap. After a while, her classmates would flinch the moment they saw her coming, waving their hands frantically and saying they couldn’t drink another drop.

Lin Weixia had done all this for one simple reason —

To gather every piece of good fortune in the world, and give it all to my boy.

A burning gaze settled on Lin Weixia’s face. The walls Ban Sheng had built inside himself had long since crumbled — undone, piece by piece, by everything Lin Weixia had done for him these past months, by every sacrifice. The hollow space inside him had been filled.

Her gift was worth more than gold.

Ban Sheng was moved, and also thought his girl was wonderfully absurd. His deep eyes locked on her. He said, with complete seriousness:

“Right now I believe — every bit of good luck I have in this life was spent on meeting you.”