Liang Yan grew up in the neighborhood compound — there wasn’t a single person who didn’t know him. The Liang family’s young master was lawless; he never flinched from a fight, and afterward he could always clean up the mess so thoroughly that his parents never blamed him for it.

Because he had an older sister.

A sister whose lips would curl up into a corner that pleased people whenever she spoke.

But actually, Liang Yan was originally supposed to have had a younger sister.

The year Liang Yan was in preschool, he considered himself to have already crossed the threshold into elementary school, no longer some little brat from kindergarten, and so he grew even more unrestrained.

One day, he played in the mud with a classmate, smeared his hair into a broom-head mess, and then swaggered home looking mighty and impressive.

He hadn’t even washed his face clean when his father grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to the bathroom, then forcibly dunked him in the bathtub for a “swim.”

Back then, Father Liang was still a tall, broad-shouldered man. He stood ramrod straight in the doorway, looking as vast as the sky itself.

He looked down at him, tone unfriendly. “If you’re not clean, don’t bother coming out!”

Liang Yan didn’t think bathing was any fun, but swimming was great fun, so he happily swam for two hours, his tender child’s skin soaking until it turned wrinkled and pale.

When he came out of the bathroom stark naked, he originally meant to go straight back to his room to build his Legos, but on the way past his parents’ room, he overheard his father saying something about naming a little girl.

Without thinking, Liang Yan slapped the door open, planted his hands on his hips, and shouted from the doorway: “What little girl?”

Father Liang turned his head to see his own son standing there without a stitch of clothing, striking such a bold pose, and without a word threw a pillow at him, knocking Liang Yan backward so hard the back of his head hit the door.

Then Father Liang got kicked off the bed by Mother Liang. Liang Yan himself, swinging his short little legs, climbed onto the bed and carefully pressed his ear against Mother Liang’s belly, his round eyes blinking, shining with disbelief and anticipation.

“Really? Is little sister in there?”

“Yes, she is.” Mother Liang smiled and stroked Liang Yan’s head. “From now on you’ll be a big brother. And being a big brother means you can’t come home covered in dirt every day anymore — you have to act mature, like a proper big brother.”

From that day on, Liang Yan became the cleanest, most mature kid in the whole compound. No matter who came looking for him to play in the mud, he would tug at the red scarf around his neck and say solemnly, “No, I can’t go.”

But if anyone bullied him, he would raise his little eyebrows, open his round eyes wide, and ask: “Oh yeah? Then send Zhou Jiaye instead! Zhou Jiaye doesn’t have a little sister! Let him go! Let him fight!”

As a result, Zhou Jiaye’s fighting experience grew steadily richer, and he was later almost sent off to Shaolin Temple by his own father.

But none of that mattered. What mattered was that he, Liang Yan, was going to be a big brother!

Not long after, though, Mother Liang was admitted to the hospital. Liang Yan worried so much he lost some of his baby fat. He stopped sending Zhou Jiaye off to fight every day, and instead ran straight to the hospital after school, stopping at the flower shop by the hospital entrance to bring his mother a bouquet of the white peonies she loved.

— Actually, at first he stole them, because he had no money. Later the shop owner caught him, and Liang Yan cried so hard, his face streaked with tears, that the frightened owner assumed the child’s family had lost someone, and without another word gave him a huge bouquet. Liang Yan was too small to carry it all, so he asked if he could take one stem a day instead. The owner, thinking the boy wanted to commemorate the family member who’d passed, was even more moved, and told Liang Yan he could come collect one flower free every day from then on.

By the time Liang Yan delivered the seventh flower, he finally learned the truth about why Mother Liang was in the hospital — the little sister was gone.

Liang Yan grieved for a long time. He didn’t dare cry, because his father told him that his mother was the one who was most heartbroken.

Liang Yan could more or less guess why, because Father Liang had invited Aunt Yu to the house.

Aunt Yu was a doctor. Mother must have fallen ill if she needed Aunt Yu.

Later, Father Liang and Mother Liang took Liang Yan to a place full of children. That was the first time Liang Yan met Liang Xumo. At the time, Liang Xumo was already quite tall, but she was very thin, her skin sallow, and she stood among a group of little girls without daring to raise her head.

He heard Father Liang say he wanted a seven-year-old, or a little girl whose name contained the character for “seven,” because Liang Yan had given Mother Liang seven flowers.

Liang Yan remembered the director smiling and saying that yes, there was actually one such girl, but for some reason she hadn’t shown up that day.

Father Liang was somewhat disappointed, even saying they could come back another time, that they weren’t in a rush.

But at that moment, Liang Xumo spoke up. She walked over to Father Liang with her head lowered, was silent for a long while, and then finally raised her head and said: “My birthday is in July. Would that work?”

The little girl’s eyes were brimming with pleading, and Mother Liang’s eyes reddened with tears several times just watching her.

Father Liang asked, “What’s your name?”

She said, “My name is Cai Hong.”

That afternoon, the setting sun dyed the whole sky red, the crimson light falling across Liang Xumo’s face. She looked timid, yet also full of beautiful hope and longing for the future.

Later, Father Liang told her: “Your name is Liang Xumo.”

—

Liang Xumo was four years older than Liang Yan. Liang Yan knew he would never have another younger brother or sister, but that was fine — he had a big sister, and his sister was very good to him, doted on him, made him delicious food when their parents were busy, and secretly saved her allowance to buy him snacks.

Whenever he got into fights and caused trouble outside, it was always Liang Xumo who handled it — and afterward she never told their parents, and would smooth things over so well it was as if nothing had happened at all.

By the time he reached middle school, everyone knew Liang Yan had a sister who doted on him and spoiled him rotten.

This sister was very pretty, gentle in temperament, rarely raised her voice, and didn’t seem to have much of a temper.

Because of Liang Xumo’s indulgence, Liang Yan ran wild throughout elementary school, and on the very day he started middle school, he provoked several upperclassmen outright.

The upperclassmen, furious, recruited even older students — a few high schoolers who ran with a rough crowd — to ambush Liang Yan after school.

Liang Yan had loved socializing since he was little; it seemed to be an innate gift. He could chat easily with anyone. Back in kindergarten, he could make his deskmate cry from a beating and then, in the same breath, talk the kid into buying him a drink — with Liang Yan’s own money, of course, and he’d throw in a bottle for the kid too.

In elementary school, he’d infuriate his teacher in class until she was fuming, then joke around with her after class as if nothing serious had happened at all.

It seemed like everyone liked him.

So by the time school let out, Liang Yan had already heard eight hundred versions of the news that the upperclassmen were bringing people to ambush him: “Young Master Liang, don’t come this afternoon, someone’s going to beat you up!” “Young Master Liang, maybe you should just take the day off!” “Young Master Liang! Have Zhou Jiaye go in your place!” “Young Master Liang!! Have your parents come pick you up!!”

There was no way Liang Yan would call his parents. He didn’t even tell anyone. He fiddled with something no one quite understood, and by the time school let out, he’d slipped away like smoke, nowhere to be found.

But somehow, word of the ambush reached the ears of Liang Xumo, who was home resting after just finishing her high school entrance exams. Loving her little brother dearly, she rushed out without a second thought.

Following past experience, she didn’t tell Father Liang or Mother Liang either. She even assumed this time would be like all the others — just children scuffling with each other. She thought that if she simply carried herself like an adult, she could resolve it easily.

But this time, she’d miscalculated.

The alley beside the school was so dark you could barely see your hand in front of your face. The pouring rain doused the last sliver of light on the horizon. Liang Xumo, suddenly recalling things from her own past, pressed herself against the wall, trembling all over. She screamed at the men to stay away, but was met only with a rising chorus of mocking laughter.

Then a man walked up to her, the faint glow of a streetlamp behind him. He gripped her chin, shone his phone light on her face — and the two of them, staring at each other, both froze.

“It’s you?”

Liang Xumo’s eyes went wide in silent shock, and then, tearing at her own throat, she shook her head over and over. “It’s not me, it’s not me, you’ve got the wrong person! You’ve got the wrong person!”

The man sneered. “Wrong person? As if I could ever fail to recognize a wh*re like you!”

As if her throat had been severed, Liang Xumo couldn’t get another word out. She stared silently at the man before her, offering no resistance at all.

—

Liang Yan and Zhou Jiaye had been hanging around the arcade until the downpour started, only then remembering they should head home. The two teenagers were already about a hundred and seventy-five centimeters tall, unmistakably conspicuous in any crowd.

Especially Zhou Jiaye, who’d shaved his head bald — even with a baseball cap on, the pale scalp peeking out from underneath was hard to miss.

Liang Yan found this endlessly amusing, snatching the cap off his head some eight hundred times along the way to rub his scalp, until he finally pushed Zhou Jiaye too far. Zhou Jiaye snatched the cap back, jammed it onto his own head, and jabbed a finger at him. “Try that again and see what happens, motherf*cker.”

Liang Yan didn’t stop — he lifted an eyebrow instead. “Why should I listen to you? You tell me to stop and I stop? Who do you think you are?”

Zhou Jiaye: “…Get lost.”

Liang Yan quit teasing, pulled out a toothpick from somewhere to chew on, crouched under the eaves, cupped his hand to catch rainwater, and flung a handful straight into Zhou Jiaye’s face.

Zhou Jiaye shoved him straight back out into the rain with one hand. “Just you wait! Next time I’m dumping red paint all over your head! You’re getting your head shaved too!”

Liang Yan didn’t care about getting drenched. He raked his instantly soaked hair back off his forehead, revealing the striking, eye-catching face beneath. The rain pounded so hard he could barely keep his eyes open; he squinted, his lashes clumping together with rainwater.

“That’s dyed red, dumbass — paint washes off just fine.”

Zhou Jiaye ignored him and was just about to turn and leave when his phone suddenly rang.

Liang Yan teased from beside him, “Girlfriend?”

Zhou Jiaye curled his lip at him to tell him to shut up, but less than a minute after picking up, his expression suddenly changed. He grabbed Liang Yan’s hand and bolted into the rain.

Getting rained on and running headlong into the rain felt entirely different. Today’s rain was heavy, and Liang Yan, pelted until his eyes hurt, shook off Zhou Jiaye’s hand and asked what had gotten into him.

Zhou Jiaye’s face was ashen. “I think you’re the one who’s about to lose it. Sister’s coming to get you — you know that?”

Almost in the same instant, a bolt of lightning cracked overhead, lighting up Liang Yan’s eyes — and turning his face deathly pale.

—

There were times Liang Yan chose to forget those images, but it seemed the more he avoided them, the more vividly they came to him in deep-night nightmares.

He looked at Liang Xumo in the corner, already completely blank with shock, and for a long time couldn’t take a single step.

He didn’t dare get close.

It wasn’t until Zhou Jiaye swore under his breath that Liang Yan snapped out of his daze. His hands and feet were cold down to the marrow, the fine hairs on his skin standing up like scales bristling backward.

His mouth opened and closed, and in the end all that came out was a single word: “Sis…”

He knelt before Liang Xumo, his spine bent like steel rebar under weight, his head fully lowered.

He had no face to look at Liang Xumo with.

He didn’t even know if he still deserved to call her “sister” anymore.

Silently, he took off his jacket and draped it over her, face to face, wrapping her into it.

Almost the instant the two of them touched, Liang Xumo finally broke into an ear-splitting wail. She clung to Liang Yan, sobbing as if her heart were tearing apart, begging him through her tears to take her home.

Liang Yan felt like he might grind his own teeth to dust. The veins stood out on his neck. “Sis, I’ll go—”

“You are not allowed to go!” Liang Xumo seized his arm in a death grip, her nails nearly piercing his skin. She pleaded with him, “Don’t go, please don’t go? Nothing happened tonight, Liang Yan. Take your sister home, take your sister home, please, I’m begging you…”

Liang Yan took Liang Xumo home. But every one of them knew that no one could truly pretend nothing had happened that night.

Father Liang didn’t learn of it until the next day. Liang Yan hadn’t slept a wink that night, and he didn’t go to school the next day either. He didn’t even give Father Liang the chance to come drag him out of his room — he knelt at the front door himself.

The moment Father Liang walked in, he slapped him across the face without a word. “This is how you call yourself a man?”

Blood ran from the corner of Liang Yan’s mouth. He offered no complaint, only told Father Liang: “Sis hasn’t come out since yesterday.”

Father Liang shook his hand out and went upstairs, then quickly hurried back down again. Not long after, Liang Yan saw Yu Min arrive.

After that, Liang Yan stayed kneeling on the floor. He watched many people come and go through the house, some of whom he’d never even seen before, until night fell and he saw Liang Xumo come down the stairs.

She walked to him step by step, knelt on one knee, and helped him up. She smiled, her voice as gentle and soft as ever, and stroked his head, asking if his knees hurt.

Liang Yan couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst into tears on the spot, choking out apology after apology to Liang Xumo.

Over and over.

Liang Xumo wiped his tears, told him it was fine, even pulled him into her arms and said: “It’s okay. Nothing happened. Get a good night’s sleep tonight, and it’ll pass soon enough.”

That night, before he went back to his room, Father Liang called Liang Yan into the study. Liang Yan claimed to know nothing about anything, and Father Liang seemed to let out a breath of relief, telling him: “From now on, just treat this as if it never happened.”

Liang Yan couldn’t believe it. His eyes went wide. “That’s impossible! I have to—”

“You have to do what!” Father Liang roared. “You have to make sure everyone knows about it, is that it! Does your sister get to have a life after this or not! Doesn’t she get to choose what she wants for herself! In this matter — from beginning to end — we have to respect what she wants!”

“Now you feel bad, now you regret it! But that’s what life is! Life only ever gives you one choice! You missed the choice to save her, and now all you can do is spend the rest of your life apologizing to her!”

Before leaving the study, Father Liang added one more thing: “Liang Yan, think about this — why is it that you’re the one who did something wrong, and yet it’s your sister, the victim, who has to comfort you instead?”

“She didn’t come into this family to clean up your messes.”

“From the moment she was named Liang Xumo, she has been part of this Liang family.”

“She is my daughter. She is your sister.”

“You can dote on a little sister — why can’t you dote on a big sister? Isn’t a sister a girl too?”

A girl.

A girl seemed to be the most fragile person in this world.

A gust of wind swept past, pulling Liang Yan out of the heavy, overwhelming memory. His vision blurred and cleared, cleared and blurred, over and over, until finally a pinprick of crimson lit up in the center of his eyes.

His long fingers flicked off some ash from his cigarette, and only then did Liang Yan speak — about the script matter.

“That day when she showed up, I didn’t know. I didn’t notice that.”

“I see.” Yu Min nodded. “That must have been triggering, then.”

Liang Yan gave a hoarse “Mn.”

Hearing the pain in his voice, Yu Min reached out and pressed a hand to his shoulder in silent comfort. Liang Yan curled his lip in a mocking smile. “What is there for me to be comforted about.”

Yu Min, displeased with his attitude, couldn’t help her professional instincts kicking in. “Do you want a checkup too?”

Liang Yan declined politely. “No need — save the consultation fee, at least.”

Only then did Yu Min release the hand on his shoulder.

Liang Yan turned his head to look at her. Yu Min raised a puzzled eyebrow. Liang Yan flicked his cigarette butt away. “It’s been ten years. Are you all still not willing to tell me why you never dealt with that matter?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “If you keep not telling me, I might really have to start paying you for a consultation.”

Yu Min paused, wrestling with some hesitation.

She had likely promised Liang Xumo, which was why she’d kept the secret all this time.

But some things simply couldn’t be kept forever.

She let out a long sigh, and once again pressed down on Liang Yan’s shoulder. “These years — it’s been hard on you.”

—

Yu Min had driven halfway across the city to reach the Liang household. The moment she pushed open the door, she instinctively sensed something wrong in the air.

She flipped on the light, and sure enough, there was Liang Xumo curled up in a ball under the covers, shaking almost hard enough to rattle apart.

It took Yu Min a great deal of effort to coax the girl out from under the blankets, but she still refused an examination.

With no other options, Yu Min had Father Liang contact the director of the orphanage. On the phone, once the director learned what had happened and heard about Liang Xumo’s reaction, he suggested Father Liang reach out to the person who had originally arranged for Liang Xumo to be sent to the orphanage.

It was through that person that everyone finally learned the truth: this seemingly fragile little girl had, in fact, already been broken beyond recognition long before.

She’d been born into a troubled family. Her mother died in a difficult childbirth. Her father was a chronic alcoholic and gambling addict. She was raised by her grandparents until age four, when the entire family of four — everyone but her — died in a car accident.

She was sent to an orphanage and quickly adopted. But then she was resold, and subjected to abuse and violation at the hands of a monster.

Later, she was sent to Mingtian Orphanage. Because her past was complicated and rather sensitive, the person who sent her there deliberately kept it hidden.

Had she never hoped for anything, for life? The first time she was adopted, had she never dreamed of a beautiful life?

Even one that wasn’t so beautiful.

She had really only ever wanted a normal person’s life.

“You see, beneath this layer there’s another layer. Peel back this scar, and that one underneath will tear open too. And by the time you’re done tearing, what would be left of her?” Yu Min said. “She’s doing well now, and she’ll only do better in the future. She herself is trying to bury that past — let’s not be the ones to expose it.”

“Liang Yan, everyone is trying hard to let themselves off the hook,” Yu Min said. “You need to try too.”

Another gust of wind blew past. Yu Min said to Liang Yan: “You’ve got to keep going, all right?”

With that, she turned to leave — and suddenly froze.

Liang Yan, standing beside her lost in thought, noticed and turned his head — and saw someone who had apparently been standing in the corner for who knew how long. “…”

Qiao Qi felt quite awkward. She had actually just come out to clear her head, never expecting to overhear something like this.

Partway through, she’d genuinely wanted to leave, but was too afraid of a repeat of what had happened with Lin Chu last time, so she played dead instead.

She hadn’t expected… well. Sigh.

“Sorry.” Qiao Qi spoke up first.

Yu Min glanced at Qiao Qi, then looked back at Liang Yan — the meaning more or less: you handle this yourself.

Then she left, a step ahead.

Liang Yan narrowed his slightly swollen eyes, his voice hoarse. “How much did you hear?”

Qiao Qi was extremely blunt. “All of it.”

Liang Yan: “…”

Qiao Qi felt a bit guilty too. “I didn’t mean to.”

Liang Yan said nothing.

Qiao Qi didn’t know what to say either, but from what she’d just overheard, Liang Yan must be having a rough time right now.

Maybe she should just give him some space alone.

Qiao Qi thought it over and decided to turn and leave.

But she’d only turned halfway when she heard Liang Yan’s voice stop her: “Stay right there.”

His voice was low and cold, and paired with the sound of the night wind, it was thoroughly unsettling.

Qiao Qi’s body went rigid.

…He wasn’t planning to silence a witness, was he?

“Since you already heard everything, why not hear a little more?”

Qiao Qi was stunned. “Huh?”

Liang Yan casually raked back his hair, which had been styled with careless flair, and tilted his head back to look at the pitch-black night sky. “Let me pour out some of my troubles.”

Qiao Qi: “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Isn’t it… not great to tell me this stuff?”

Liang Yan glanced at her. “Do you even know how relationships work? A girlfriend’s for sweet nothings. Have you ever seen a guy pour out his troubles to his girlfriend?”

She had, actually.

You’re doing it right now.

But Qiao Qi didn’t say that. She just gave a soft “Oh,” walked over to stand beside Liang Yan, and rested both hands on the painted railing.

The two of them stood in similar poses — except Liang Yan looked at the sky, and Qiao Qi looked at him.

— She tilted her head to watch him, watched the loose strands over his forehead lift and fall in the wind, his lashes narrowed into a curled, upturned line.

Even through that narrow sliver of a gap, Qiao Qi still caught a glimpse of the unguarded vulnerability in his eyes.

As if to say: Qiao Qi, welcome to my world.

Author’s Note: Rounding up, that’s a full ten thousand words. I’ll make up the remaining two thousand with twenty red packets. [doge] Oh, and by the way — I start work tomorrow, so updates will move to around midnight. (I’ll try to post before midnight.)