On a day in May, the second-year students performed for the third-year seniors who were about to take the university entrance exam — putting on a cheerleading routine to boost their morale. Everyone complained that it made them feel ridiculous, but there was no help for it. It was a Mei High tradition.

The summer uniform was actually quite attractive — white top, black skirt, carrying a faint echo of old-era Taiwan school aesthetics. Embroidered on the chest were the school name, the class, and the student number — a row of numbers. The third-year senior boys greatly enjoyed watching the cheerleading performance, seeing which class had the girls with the longest and whitest legs. That, after all, was the sum total of a teenage boy’s preoccupations.

Of course, the first-year students also liked to squeeze in and watch from the sides.

Students from the honors classes always had to be a cut above the rest. Not many of them bothered to go watch — most stayed in the classroom doing whatever they were meant to be doing. The whole school that day seemed unsettled, the air charged with a restless surge of adolescent energy.

Jiang Du was reading a popular science book borrowed from the library. Since childhood, she had been drawn to all sorts of miscellaneous knowledge — how to raise rabbits, why stars in the sky seemed to flicker, as though they really were winking.

She remembered looking at an animal science book with Wang Jingjing once — when it came to the part about what happens when a male rabbit mates with a female rabbit and the male rabbit faints, Wang Jingjing loudly asked the teacher what mating meant and why the male rabbit would faint from it. The teacher had been furious and sent both of them to the office, scolding them severely — saying that girls their age were looking at inappropriate material and being improper. They had been too frightened to say a word.

Thinking back, it was both funny and a little sad. It had been a while since Jiang Du had seen Wang Jingjing. Young girls always have a way of treating the most ordinary kind of drifting apart as though it were a catastrophic event — not realizing that looking back from adulthood, it really amounts to nothing at all. People come and go; it’s the most natural thing in the world.

That day, it had seemed perfectly ordinary.

It would only be after the fact — when everything was done — that anyone could grasp what had just occurred was in fact the turning point of an entire youth. A watershed.

A classmate came in to tell her that someone was looking for her downstairs. Jiang Du asked who, but the classmate didn’t know.

She went downstairs full of unease. Because of the school event, the teaching building felt unusually empty. At the entrance to the first floor stood a man. Jiang Du didn’t recognize him at first — he was dressed cleanly, with what looked like a fresh haircut, hair very short. When she met his gaze, the man stared fixedly at her and asked:

“Jiang Du? Your family name is Jiang?”

Her heart was drumming warily. She was guarded, and asked back: “I don’t think I recognize…” The words broke off — and her expression changed. Jiang Du had recognized him. The pervert. He had tidied himself up and was actually quite convincing at first glance.

As if driven by pure instinct, Jiang Du spun and ran. She felt herself moving her legs — but the man behind her was like a hawk swooping on prey, lifting her clean off the ground like one might lift a chick by the scruff.

“One look and I knew it was you — the spitting image of your mother. You’re both beauties.” The man’s smile was sarcastic and hollow, feigning gentleness. “I’m your father. I’ve come to take you with me. Come with Dad.”

Jiang Du’s face went white. She struggled with every ounce of strength, desperately trying to wrench herself free: “I don’t know you — what are you doing to me!”

A sharp crack — a slap landed violently on her face. Amid the violent ringing in her ears, Jiang Du spun dizzily out of his grip and hit the ground. Before she could react, the man had hauled her back up again, seized her by the hair, and was yanking — the roots of her scalp practically splitting open.

Jiang Du cried out in pain, half her face burning and stinging. Before she could say a word, the man had one hand fisted tight in her hair, her head wrenched back, and with the other hand began slapping her back and forth across the face.

“You miserable little tramp — no matter where you go, no matter what day, you’ll always be my flesh and blood, and you dare not to acknowledge me? What, ashamed of your own father? Same rotten character as your slut of a mother, shameless to the core, acting like you’re so much better — who do you think you’re fooling?” The man raged and cursed, striking blow after blow as if intent on beating her to death.

The entire world lurched violently into unreality, into weightlessness.

Students passing by were horrified at the sight. Someone sprinted off to find a teacher. Students from the first-floor classrooms rushed out to see what was happening.

Wei Qingyue was on the third floor. Under ordinary circumstances, students in the sciences honors class had remarkable composure — no matter how much noise the school made, a certain portion of them never went to watch the commotion.

The screaming from the first floor was particularly piercing. Some of the female onlookers had been so frightened they were crying.

From the third floor, students could hear clearly that someone was calling out the name “Jiang Du.” Wei Qingyue heard it too. He was by the window. He immediately stood up, stepped onto the windowsill, and jumped out.

One look downward — and Wei Qingyue ran for the stairs.

Jiang Du had already lost consciousness, collapsed on the ground. The man was dragging at her. Her black skirt was covered in boot prints; it had ridden up on one side, exposing the white lace trim of her safety shorts.

The students stood frozen in shock. A few boys hesitated, wanting to step forward and intervene, but the man bellowed them back: “Who dares interfere? I’m disciplining my own daughter — who the hell do you think you are?”

“Sir, please stop — even if you’re her father, you can’t beat her like this.” A girl’s sobbing voice rose from the crowd.

“I’m beating this little tramp, this worthless tramp — same as her mother, same rotten worthless tramp! Wearing a skirt to seduce men — tramps like her deserve to die!” The man grinned with a hollow, sinister look at the girls watching. “What about you — every one of you in your skirts. Who are you trying to seduce?”

The crowd was suddenly shoved apart with brute force. Before anyone could make sense of what was happening, a figure lunged forward.

Wei Qingyue came flying from behind the man and drove his feet down onto him. The man hadn’t noticed anyone approaching from behind — he stumbled forward onto his knees.

There was only one thought in Wei Qingyue’s mind: I’m going to kill him. I am going to kill him.

In what felt like a single second, Wei Qingyue ripped the belt from the man’s waist and, cold and swift, looped it around his neck — teeth clenched, a low, grinding sound from his throat. Every muscle in his face was taut from the force he was exerting, flushed dark red.

He felt as though every tooth in his head was about to shatter.

The man was still a grown man — and Wei Qingyue was still a boy, somewhat lean. The man clawed with both hands at the belt, eyes bulging. Seeing his strength about to give out, Wei Qingyue suddenly released his grip — and the moment the man clutched at his own throat, heaving and coughing, Wei Qingyue lifted his leg and drove a relentless series of kicks straight between the man’s legs. The man finally let out a cry of agony.

Like a man possessed, teeth locked together, Wei Qingyue hauled him up again and targeted the bridge of his nose — one fist, then another, driving blow after blow.

The whole world seemed to cease to exist. There was nothing but his own heavy, ragged breathing. Wei Qingyue didn’t know who finally pulled him away. Several male teachers managed to hold him back. Even as they held him, he was still fighting to break free, his eyes looking nearly bloodshot — his expression of refusing to stop until the man was dead burned itself into the eyes of every single person present.

Wei Qingyue felt as though in one single instant, he had wanted to destroy the entire world. That despair, that hatred, had pierced through him entirely, clean through. Why — why could adults always inflict violence on them so freely, without restraint, blood and all? Why could they not fight back? Why did they have to endure? Why were they supposed to bear all of this?

Drenched in sweat, clothes disheveled, his entire body trembling uncontrollably. His face was flushed, then drained of all color. A teacher was saying something to him from beside him, but Wei Qingyue couldn’t hear a single word.

He only saw one of the teachers carrying Jiang Du on their back, the crowd parting before them. Her skirt — some girl had already smoothed it back into place, covering what should be covered.

By degrees, the chaos began to calm.

The students at the scene started to disperse. Some people had been watching him and were whispering about him. Wei Qingyue didn’t care about any of it. He was drained of everything, taking a few stumbling steps backward, his face expressionless.

From nearby, Zhang Xiaoqiang, who had arrived at some point without anyone quite noticing, walked slowly forward and called his name: “Wei Qingyue.”

He looked up at his old classmate with unfocused eyes, and said nothing.

Zhang Xiaoqiang reached into her pocket, pulled out a tissue, and pressed it into his hand: “Wipe your face.” She had seen a great deal of what happened. Her own expression was deeply troubled.

Wei Qingyue didn’t move. From that direction, the homeroom teacher of Class One in the sciences honors track came over with a grave expression, asking him to come to the office for a moment.

With an incident like this breaking out at school, the first order of business was holding the security staff accountable for how the man had been let through. Then there was the question of how the school should respond if parents demanded answers, and what position to take if the story spread to the public and caused adverse public opinion. That entire process was for the school leadership to deliberate over carefully. The homeroom teacher had called Wei Qingyue in to ask whether he knew the man.

“I don’t know him. But it isn’t the first time I’ve seen him.” He replied, his mind elsewhere.

The homeroom teacher began with a measured, earnest tone: “You don’t know him — so why such extreme force? Your act of seeing danger and coming to a classmate’s defense deserves recognition, but your actions today, as a teacher, I cannot approve. Wei Qingyue, your grades have always been outstanding. Everyone in this school knows your name. But it is equally well known that there is a sharp, violent edge in you. Remember the school opening ceremony last year — you made quite an impression that day, and no one has forgotten. “

Wei Qingyue was silent, looking at the homeroom teacher with an expressionless calm.

“Before becoming talented, one must first become a person of character. The world will not change for one individual.” The homeroom teacher, suppressing the fire rising in his chest at this reaction, said: “What kind of expression is that?”

The tone of it was uncannily familiar. Every time Wei Zhendong found that he would not bend like a docile lamb, he would ask him the same thing.

“The world is nothing to do with me. Whether it changes or not has nothing to do with me. And teacher, you need not hold any deep misunderstanding of me — I have never been so arrogant as to think I could change the world.” Wei Qingyue spoke sharply. He almost never spoke disrespectfully to teachers.

“Do you think I’m angry about that? Wei Qingyue, do you think you’ve been deeply misunderstood — that no one in the world truly understands you? What I am angry about is this: you are so exceptional, yet you do not know how to care for yourself. That sharp, violent edge of yours — if you don’t bring it under control, it will destroy you one day. If you had beaten that man to death, you would have gone from being in the right to being in the wrong. Do you know what you looked like just now? Every one of the teachers was watching you. Several grown men could barely hold you back. You made us feel like we didn’t know you at all. Is this our best student? Not one of us hoped you would let a moment of impulse lead to a disaster you couldn’t undo!”

The homeroom teacher’s voice was firm and resonant, every word weighted with feeling.

But Wei Qingyue found himself completely unable to feel any of it. He was exhausted and profoundly lonely — so unbearably, wretchedly lonely. His reason had separated from his body, hovering like a ghost in the air, watching the figure standing there below, saying: the teacher is right. He means well by you.

Even as he means well by you, he always hopes he can change you.

He spoke with composure, looking at the homeroom teacher: “I am not able to simply stand by and watch. All I knew was that Jiang Du was about to be beaten to death. I cannot endure watching a beast beat my classmate to death. May I go now?”

The homeroom teacher’s brows drew together sharply: “After everything I’ve said, you still haven’t understood what I mean. Resolving things doesn’t only mean violence. The point is, I cannot approve of a student of mine acting with such total disregard for the consequences. I hope you will think carefully about this. You are a child with a great future ahead of you — for the sake of one female classmate, acting this impulsively…”

“I am simpler than adults.” Wei Qingyue, for the first time, directly cut the teacher off — quite rudely. The homeroom teacher stared at him in surprise: “What do you mean by that?”

He knew what the teacher was assuming — that he must be in love with Jiang Du, or that the two of them were secretly in a relationship. He knew what his classmates would think too.

Wei Qingyue didn’t want to keep going around in circles with the homeroom teacher. He surrendered. He said he understood the teacher’s good intentions, that he would take them to heart, that he would never do something like this again. He answered like a model top-performing student. And at last, he was allowed to leave the office.

At the small flower bed by the entrance to the office building, Zhang Xiaoqiang was still waiting for him. Seeing him come out, she hurried over and asked carefully: “Did the homeroom teacher give you a hard time?”

Wei Qingyue shook his head. His hair was disheveled, his clothes filthy and rumpled, the laces of his navy-blue sneakers undone.

“Let me go with you — to visit Jiang Du,” Zhang Xiaoqiang said, watching his expression carefully. “I just asked — the teachers took Jiang Du to the military hospital nearby. Would you like to go see her?”

The two of them prepared to skip class and take a taxi to the hospital.

Jiang Du had sustained a concussion from the beating. Her face was swollen; her eyelids were swollen. There were abrasions all over her body. She had regained consciousness, but was in a state of extreme shock — lying there, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

When the two of them arrived, the ward was crowded with a teacher, the class president of the arts honors class, and her grandparents. Grandmother had long been reduced to tears.

The teacher, seeing Wei Qingyue, gently explained to the grandparents that it was this young male classmate who had stepped in to help — that he had fought with the man, and nearly choked him to death with a belt.

Jiang Du’s gaze drifted slowly toward the doorway.

She met Wei Qingyue standing at the door, looking in. He could barely recognize her.

Tears slipped slowly from the corner of Jiang Du’s eyes. She blinked at him, then looked at her grandmother beside her, and opened her lips. Grandmother immediately leaned down to hear.

The moment stretched long. The old woman finally straightened up, her eyes blurred with tears: “Good child, come here. Jiang Du wants to say thank you.”

Wei Qingyue paused, then walked slowly over and sat in the chair beside the hospital bed. Jiang Du’s lips moved with great difficulty. After a brief hesitation, he lowered his head until his ear was close to her mouth.

“You got into a fight…” the girl’s voice was barely a thread, “if your father found out it would be terrible — he would beat you for it.” The scene from that summer night flashed back again and again. Jiang Du squeezed her eyes shut in pain, tears streaming down in rivulets, her consciousness blurring. “Your father will beat you. Wei Qingyue — run, please run. It hurts so much. It really, truly hurts so much.”