Wei Qingyue lived in a very large villa.

A stern-faced security guard stood at the entrance — no unauthorized entry permitted. The residential compound had a relatively low occupancy rate, partly because the location was somewhat remote and partly because the prices were steep. To the east, the area bordered a river, where some people enjoyed sitting on the banks for half a day fishing, even taking the subway in the early hours of the morning to claim a spot. Then one year, an early-rising fisherman discovered a woman’s corpse floating in the river — bloated and disfigured — which thoroughly disgusted everyone, and the crowds thinned considerably after that.

Wei Qingyue’s home happened to be on the eastern side. The moment he pushed open a window, he could see the lush, exuberant vegetation bursting forth in dense clumps of green, its vitality almost frightening in its intensity. When the incident with the female corpse broke, panic spread through the neighborhood. That year, Wei Qingyue was starting middle school — living alone in the villa, he had no idea what fear was supposed to feel like.

In the third week after school started, the Mid-Autumn Festival holiday arrived.

Wei Qingyue called a cleaning lady to tidy the house. He would be spending Mid-Autumn alone.

But then Wei Zhendong called and asked him to come over for a meal.

Wei Qingyue agreed over the phone, his expression blank.

In truth, Mid-Autumn hadn’t actually arrived yet — Wei Zhendong had summoned him early.

Getting to the other district took twenty minutes by taxi.

His stepmother was a young and attractive woman, twenty-eight years old, who had been with Wei Zhendong for ten years. Wei Qingyue wasn’t entirely sure where she ranked among Wei Zhendong’s women, but she could be considered his current permanent arrangement. After all, they had a son together — eight years old, round as a ball from overindulgence, with a terrible temper and dismal grades. His teachers were calling home every other day. A private elementary school cost tens of thousands a year, and no small amount of money had been thrown at the problem. It was a pity that Wei Zhendong had ultimately produced an idiot.

Wei Qingyue genuinely didn’t want to be so vicious toward a child, but when the door swung open and the little fat boy swaggered in to sneer at him — demanding to know if he’d come to their home to beg — the burning shame of it was like having flesh scraped from bone for a proud young man.

He had a powerful urge to kick the little brat across the room.

The stepmother displayed a kind of economical warmth, calling him “Qingyue,” and offered a few breezy words of reproach toward the fat boy.

“I know everything — you’re here to beg for money. You’re nothing but a beggar. Without Dad giving you money, you’d be a pauper.” The fat boy scrambled up onto the sofa and jabbed his middle finger at him with gleeful malice.

Where on earth had he picked up such a vile habit?

Wei Qingyue gave him a cold, measured look.

At that moment, Wei Zhendong’s car rolled slowly into the courtyard. The stepmother immediately called out “darling!” and shot a glance in the fat boy’s direction. The child instantly sprang off the sofa and bolted to the entrance, shrieking “Daddy!”

Wei Qingyue had no choice but to rise. He walked out and stood on the steps, watching the woman’s smile, the child’s smile, the briefcase being handed over, the hem of a dress stirred by the breeze, and a man sweeping the boy up into his arms. Every sound, every expression — even the faint fragrance drifting over from the garden — felt like a barrier that had utterly sealed him out from another world entirely.

This feeling was no longer loneliness or solitude. It was closer to indifference. The boy watched everything unfold without a trace of emotion, and when Wei Zhendong walked over, he called out, “Dad.”

Wei Zhendong had a lean, well-maintained physique — the precisely right amount of muscle — and beating him would cost no effort at all.

He’ll grow old someday, the boy thought with cold detachment.

Wei Qingyue sat through a meal that was harmonious on the surface and hollow underneath. At the table, Wei Zhendong asked him a few questions about his studies. In the physics quiz that had just passed, Wei Qingyue had placed first.

To Wei Zhendong, that first place ranking held only one purpose: the occasional flattering compliment from business associates at drinking banquets. However much he despised Wei Qingyue, the infuriating truth was that Wei Qingyue took too much after his mother — high intelligence, academic achievement coming effortlessly to him. And the fat boy’s consistent failure to measure up made even that first place ranking into a thorn that lodged in the heart.

“I heard that at the school’s opening ceremony, the school asked you to give a speech, and you went up there and said whatever you pleased, embarrassing the administrators and teachers. Is that true?” Wei Zhendong began, unhurried and deliberate.

He was immaculate in his habits and fastidious in his standards — his leather shoes gleamed without a speck of dust twelve months a year, his formal wear ironed to absolute precision without a single crease. Wei Zhendong’s image was that of a successful, elite middle-aged man.

Wei Qingyue had no idea how much of this man’s hypocrisy others saw through. He knew all of it.

The calmer the opening, the more it foretold a coming storm.

His chopsticks paused briefly. He answered Wei Zhendong: “The speech was too long. My classmates had been standing in the sun for a long time. I didn’t want people cursing me behind my back.”

“It seems you think you were perfectly justified.”

Wei Qingyue said nothing.

“If it weren’t for your father’s success and the face people show me, do you think you could afford to act so arrogantly?” Wei Zhendong’s cold laugh descended on him, his gaze cutting down from above like a string of poisoned needles driving into every pore. Only now did Wei Qingyue understand that today was a trap — Wei Zhendong had engineered an occasion to strike. What was the point? Did he truly need to make enemies of his own son? Wei Qingyue no longer had any desire to understand it. He only knew he could not talk back, that he must endure, must restrain himself. He was still living on Wei Zhendong’s money, still living in Wei Zhendong’s house.

He had barely finished that thought — a matter of seconds — when Wei Zhendong, taking his silence as a silent act of defiance, reached for his wine glass and flung the red wine across Wei Qingyue’s face.

“Speak. Your father is speaking to you. What kind of attitude is it, saying nothing?” Wei Zhendong’s expression turned suddenly thunderous.

Wei Qingyue’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. He let the wine trickle down his face, winding along his neck, its color deep red — much like blood.

Beside them, the stepmother and the fat boy watched the father and son standoff in perfect silence. The fat boy was shrewd enough — when Wei Zhendong was reprimanding Wei Qingyue, his mouth stayed firmly shut, his cunning little eyes darting around.

Wei Qingyue simply stared at Wei Zhendong. He still made no sound. That look in his eyes resembled an unbroken young tiger, unwilling to submit to humiliation — as though at any moment he might bare fangs not yet fully sharpened and lunge.

“What kind of look is that? Let me tell you — right now, the only person you can rely on is me. Your mother is busy sleeping with foreign men in America.” Wei Zhendong mentioned his ex-wife in terms that were crude and unsparing, with no consideration for the fact that Wei Qingyue was still a minor. “If she had been willing to take care of you, she would have fought for custody. But she didn’t want you. I’ve raised you all these years, spent God knows how much money on you — what, you’re unhappy because I say a few words to you?” Wei Zhendong demanded harshly.

“No. Father’s correction is right.” Wei Qingyue lowered his gaze.

“I’m warning you — keep a low profile at school. Don’t cause me any more trouble. If I get one more phone call asking me to come in, I’ll break your legs.” Wei Zhendong’s words fell like a gavel, his absolute authority intact.

A few seconds of silence fell over the table.

It was only then that the stepmother smiled faintly and urged Wei Zhendong not to get angry. Beside him, the fat boy joined in, reaching over to add food to Wei Zhendong’s bowl.

The meal was, as expected, tasteless. Afterward, Wei Zhendong and the stepmother talked about real estate and stocks. He was skilled at making money and took great pride in it. Wei Qingyue couldn’t deny that materially, Wei Zhendong had not shortchanged him — his clothing and daily needs far exceeded the average among his classmates. That, in fact, was precisely why he’d been targeted by the delinquents from the vocational school.

But all of this came at a price.

Wei Qingyue had once believed that as long as he studied and kept his grades high, Wei Zhendong wouldn’t hit him. He had been wrong. Toward him, Wei Zhendong always had some senseless, smoldering rage.

On Mid-Autumn Festival itself, the streets were filled with people. All manner of discount promotions drew the crowds.

Jiang Du had gone to the municipal library early in the morning to claim a spot, bringing her study materials with her. Her schedule was clearly laid out: morning for math practice papers, afternoon for English practice papers, and any leftover time for her beloved magazine.

She arrived early, and the library wasn’t crowded yet. The lingering heat of early autumn was still fierce, but the air conditioning inside was pleasantly cool. Jiang Du stowed her bag in a locker, refilled her thermos with hot water, and was heading back to find a seat when she stopped short — a familiar figure appeared in her line of sight without any warning.

Wei Qingyue had also arrived early. He sat alone by the window, the light streaming through the glass sculpting the clean, handsome lines of the young man’s face in a gentle shade of gold. The scene was like some detail from a memory turned over and over until it had worn grooves in the mind.

Jiang Du’s very breathing became careful and light. She watched him quietly for a few seconds, then chose a seat where she could look up and catch a glimpse of him, yet remain hidden among the crowd, unnoticed.

The hollow sadness of spending Mid-Autumn away from home dissolved at once.

Encountering Wei Qingyue — this was a very, very good day.

A fierce happiness surged against her ribs. Yet beneath the secret delight lay a thread of something she couldn’t quite name — a faint, inexplicable shame.

Even so, Jiang Du was afraid of Wei Qingyue seeing her. She crept forward carefully, deliberately taking a wide detour to reach the bookshelves where she went in search of the magazine Book City.

After checking several times, Jiang Du finally accepted what she saw: the library had no recent issues of Book City. In the months before her middle school entrance exams, Jiang Du had given up all leisure reading. After the exams, Wang Jingjing’s mother had taken them on a trip, followed by a summer spent studying high school material. When she counted it up carefully, she hadn’t read Book City in nearly a year.

The most recent issue available was the December 2005 edition — but that was already last year’s.

Jiang Du stood in front of the shelves in a daze. She pulled out the December issue. A narrow gap opened in the shelf, and through it, completely without warning, her eyes met another pair — Wei Qingyue was also looking for a magazine.

The library was quiet, but inside Jiang Du’s chest, waves crashed against the shore.

The girl’s eyes were dark and bright. In her confusion, she seemed to fall under a spell — she forgot to look away, and stared at Wei Qingyue without blinking.

At school, Wei Qingyue was always the center of attention. Every Monday flag-raising ceremony, he was the flag-bearer, and every eye would turn toward him.

But only now, in this moment, did Jiang Du clearly understand that Wei Qingyue belonged to her alone. In this narrow space between the shelves, only she had seen Wei Qingyue. There was no one else.

The two of them simply looked at each other in silence for a moment.

Wei Qingyue assumed the girl who had happened upon him must have something to say. But there was nothing — she just quietly stared at him.

“Can I help you?” The boy’s voice was lowered, questioning.

Jiang Du startled back to herself. Her face flushed crimson. It was the most vivid physical reaction Wei Qingyue had ever seen from anyone — a face that had been pale white turned, in an instant, scarlet from end to end, as though the whole of her had been set ablaze.

“Um — do you know why Book City only goes up to 2005?” In her flustered state, she seized on a question and blurted it out.

She hadn’t held out any hope that he would know. She just needed something — anything — to save herself from the excruciating awkwardness.

“It’s been discontinued,” Wei Qingyue told her, his voice flat.

For a moment, bewilderment and disappointment crossed the girl’s eyes in quick succession. Wei Qingyue glanced at her and said, “The decline of print media is inevitable. Of course, if the magazine adjusts its strategy, it might actually manage to resume publication in about six months.”

The decline of print media… But the newsstand at the school gate was always crammed with students buying teenage magazines — how could that be? These were things that a girl her age rarely thought about, and even the boy’s framing felt unfamiliar to her.

Wei Qingyue had unmistakably revealed a side of himself that was older than his years. To him, the girl’s expression was thoroughly naive — she clearly hadn’t absorbed what he’d said.

“How do you know it’s been discontinued?” Jiang Du’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. Her heart was pounding rapidly. She was terrified of speaking to Wei Qingyue, but if she said nothing more, she would regret it — regret it bitterly, in that way that leaves a person dissatisfied for days.

Wei Qingyue looked at her, that unremarkable expression on her face, and suddenly gave a slight smile: “I’ve flipped through it from time to time.”

He came directly around to her side, stepping close. The boy carried a dry, faint fragrance of orchids, and as the scent reached her, Jiang Du’s heart rattled like the pages of an old magazine caught in the wind. His arm reached past her head, pulled out the December issue, opened it, and turned it to the editor’s letter for her to read.

Jiang Du was far too nervous. She couldn’t take in a single word. The page was full of text, yet before her eyes there was nothing but a vast expanse of white.

“All good things must come to an end.” Wei Qingyue occasionally had a dry wit — the opening phrase mournful, the final words a small joke — and he delivered it naturally, without any effort. “Rest in peace.”

Jiang Du looked up sharply.

She couldn’t help herself — she pressed the magazine over the lower half of her face, and the corners of her mouth curved just slightly.

Wei Qingyue was unimpressed. “Are all you girls this dramatic? If you want to laugh, just laugh. Why do you need to cover yourself with a book?”

Jiang Du’s smile slowly stiffened. She lowered the magazine, revealing a thoroughly flushed face, and said nothing.

“I’m sorry — I didn’t realize you were this easily embarrassed.” Wei Qingyue looked at her red face and exhaled with gentle resignation. “I’ll head back now.”

After he’d gone, Jiang Du let out a quiet “Mm.”

Only then did her vision return to normal. She discovered that the editor’s note announced the magazine’s suspension for six months.

She let out a small breath, tucked this last and newest issue under her arm, and carried it back to her seat.

Occasionally lifting her head, she could see Wei Qingyue’s face, absorbed in concentration. The sunlight had long since shifted away from him, but still the whole world angled itself around the line of his profile.

At some point, when she looked up again, that seat was empty. In an instant, Jiang Du felt her own heart go equally hollow. She glanced around the room — many other seats had emptied as well.