Bei Yao’s illness lasted until August before she recovered. The four-year-old body rejected her previous life’s memories immensely. Whenever Bei Yao regained consciousness, she would write things in her homework notebook. Then she hid it in the gap between the headboard and cabinet where Zhao Zhilan wouldn’t clean.

By early August, the hottest time of summer.

Bei Yao’s memories finally stabilized. Her memories ultimately stopped at third grade of elementary school—this was the limit of this soft little body. She vaguely knew she had been reborn and knew she must treat Pei Chuan well, but if asked to explain why, she couldn’t articulate it.

At a third-grade level, when she took out the homework notebook again to read, she couldn’t understand it. She recognized some characters but not others, yet the heightened sense of urgency in her heart made her hide the notebook away again.

During this period, Bei Yao’s illness had anxiously worried Zhao Zhilan and Bei Licai. Bei Licai smoked a cigarette and said: “When Yaoyao’s fourth birthday comes, let’s hang red decorations and set off firecrackers to dispel the bad luck.” Zhao Zhilan readily agreed. In the nineties, the child mortality rate was much higher than in later generations. Bei Yao was the couple’s first child. That year, the preference for sons over daughters hadn’t been eliminated yet. Bei Yao’s grandmother didn’t like her, but the couple treasured this daughter dearly.

Once Bei Yao recovered, naturally she had to be sent back to kindergarten.

Now viewing the world from a third-grade perspective, she was much better—no longer restless, her clear eyes held more longing and curiosity about the world.

The road to kindergarten was filled with blooming summer flowers.

Bei Yao stared unblinkingly at the lotus flowers in the pond.

Finally, she begged Zhao Zhilan to pick one.

Zhao Zhilan had a terrible headache. Their residential complex wasn’t completely built yet—it was resettlement housing, and the lotus flowers seemed to belong to someone else’s family. Zhao Zhilan tried to frighten her: “These belong to someone else. If we get caught, they’ll take you away and lock you up!”

Bei Yao’s large eyes were clear: “We’ll buy one.”

“Fine, fine, fine.” Zhao Zhilan looked around and asked the lotus flowers’ owner. Then she spent fifty cents to buy a lotus flower with a seed pod. Zhao Zhilan found a tree branch to hook the lotus flower over and plucked it for her.

Bei Yao knew fifty cents wasn’t a small amount—her New Year’s red envelope was only one yuan.

Zhao Zhilan felt sorry for her being sick and getting just this one flower.

Little Bei Yao was only so tall. Zhao Zhilan, feeling the pinch of fifty cents, cut a very long section of the stem. Bei Yao carefully held it—the flower completely covered her face.

At the kindergarten, Teacher Xiao Wu had already come to work. She was even gentler than Teacher Xiao Zhao, having taken half a month’s leave for her wedding. Teacher Xiao Wu was slightly plump, and when she smiled, there was the genuine joy of a newly married woman: “Yaoyao’s flower is so beautiful. Come play games with the children.”

Teacher Xiao Wu held her hand and led her inside.

Teacher Xiao Zhao was distributing cream-filled cookies.

Cream-filled cookies were only given out once a month. The cookies usually distributed were very ordinary round ones. For the children, the day when cream-filled cookies were given out was especially anticipated each month.

Bei Yao held her flower and looked around.

Children sat around the round table. Each child who received a cookie first cherished it by licking it, then taking a small bite. A single cookie could be eaten for ten minutes.

She spotted Pei Chuan at a glance.

A cookie sat in front of him, placed on the table untouched. As if it weren’t a cookie all children loved, but rather a lump of charcoal.

Bei Yao hazily realized he seemed to have lost even more weight than a few days ago.

The thin, frail little boy wore dark blue summer clothes—beneath the clothing, it seemed empty.

He looked at the Chinese toon tree outside the window, his eyes jet-black.

Bei Yao walked in holding her flower. He glanced at it indifferently, then moved his eyes back outside the window.

Xiang Tongtong gnawed on her cookie like a little hamster. Seeing Bei Yao arrive, her eyes lit up: “Yaoyao! Your flower is so pretty.”

Bei Yao nodded.

Her apricot eyes curved: “Tongtong.”

Xiang Tongtong was her kindergarten classmate and would also be her elementary school classmate.

“Can I have a flower petal?”

“Sure.” Bei Yao’s chubby little hand carefully plucked off an outer petal and handed it to her.

Xiang Tongtong sniffed it: “Fragrant!”

Bei Yao knew she should treat Pei Chuan well, but being young, her resolve wasn’t firm. This flower was originally meant for Pei Chuan, but now she couldn’t bear to part with it. After looking at it repeatedly, she planned to admire it together with Xiang Tongtong before giving it to Pei Chuan.

While they were talking, a chubby hand reached over and took the cookie in front of Pei Chuan.

Pei Chuan suddenly turned his head.

Expressionlessly staring at Chen Hu.

Chen Hu swallowed and shook his fist at him: “So what! You can’t beat me.”

Anyway, Pei Chuan wasn’t eating it—what was wrong with giving it to him! Besides, every time Pei Chuan’s cookie went into his stomach, nothing happened.

Thinking this way, he quickly licked the cookie while the teacher wasn’t paying attention. Seeing Pei Chuan still coldly watching him, Chen Hu felt both guilty and angry.

Fang Mingjun’s face carried an arrogance inappropriate for her age: “His cookie is dirty. Chen Hu, don’t eat it.”

Chen Hu’s face turned even redder with embarrassment.

He threw the cookie he’d bitten once back in front of Pei Chuan, deciding not to want it anymore.

Minmin was right—Pei Chuan wet his pants, so his cookie must be very dirty.

The cream-filled cookie wasn’t thrown accurately. It scraped past the table edge and fell beside Pei Chuan’s wheelchair.

Pei Chuan’s pale hand suddenly gripped the wheelchair and moved toward Chen Hu. Then he grabbed Chen Hu’s collar and dragged him toward himself.

Chen Hu was stunned: “Mute, what are you doing!”

Since Pei Chuan’s legs were severed, he no longer spoke to the children.

At first, they still called him Pei Chuan, but now they simply called him “mute.”

Chen Hu was built solidly and naturally wouldn’t “sit and wait for death”—he pushed Pei Chuan. The frail boy’s chest was pushed backward by the little bull Chen Hu. Pei Chuan’s eyes were jet-black, desolate within. He grabbed Chen Hu’s arm and bit down.

“Wahhh…” Chen Hu cried out on the spot from the pain.

Teacher Xiao Wu was the first to notice something had happened.

She hurried over to pull the children apart.

The kindergarten descended into chaos.

Bei Yao held her flower and suddenly saw Pei Chuan’s eyes. He bit Chen Hu’s arm, covered in sweat, looking at her through several children.

Bei Yao looked over. He closed his eyes again but didn’t loosen his mouth, as if wanting to bite off a chunk of the chubby boy’s flesh.

Chen Hu cried while hitting his head.

Pei Chuan was like a robot without pain receptors—the next second, he bit even harder.

Teacher Xiao Wu couldn’t pull them apart. She had no choice but to forcefully pinch Pei Chuan’s jaw: “Pei Chuan, let go!”

The children had never seen such a scene and were all frightened.

Blood flowed from the corner of Pei Chuan’s mouth—unclear whose it was.

Teacher Xiao Wu panicked.

Heavens, she was forcefully pinching a child’s cheeks like this, yet still couldn’t make him release his mouth. Teacher Xiao Zhao hurried through the door. Seeing this scene, her heart nearly jumped out.

She gently touched Pei Chuan’s head: “Xiao Chuan, please let go. Teacher is here, teacher is right here…”

Pei Chuan opened his eyes and sluggishly released his mouth.

Teacher Xiao Wu quickly pulled Chen Hu’s arm out. On Chen Hu’s arm was a very deep bite mark, oozing blood.

The two teachers looked at each other, their faces pale.

Teacher Xiao Wu picked up Chen Hu to comfort him. Teacher Xiao Zhao hurried to notify the parents.

In the August weather, Chen Hu cried until snot bubbles appeared.

The children were terrified and distanced themselves from Pei Chuan.

Xiang Tongtong’s eyes held tears: “He’s so scary, biting people.”

Bei Yao held the lotus flower as tall as herself and noticed no one was paying attention to Pei Chuan. Pei Chuan wiped the blood from his mouth corner and silently looked at the cookie already trampled on the floor.

Chen Hu cried breathlessly in the teacher’s arms: “Teacher, let’s go, go…”

“Okay, okay, teacher will carry you outside.”

Fang Mingjun’s face was pale. When Pei Chuan and Chen Hu fought just now, it happened right beside her. She barely held back tears—because her mother told her that Hong Kong star was a cool beauty. So as a “little jade maiden,” she couldn’t cry.

Now she no longer sat around Pei Chuan either, running outside the classroom in one breath.

Bei Yao glanced at the teacher comforting Chen Hu. Her eyes brightened as her little short legs worked hard to walk in front of Pei Chuan. Then she placed the lotus flower in his lap.

“For you.”

She turned to look at Teacher Xiao Wu at the doorway, holding Chen Hu and patting his back: “It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t hurt…”

Bei Yao turned back, looking up at the little boy sitting in the wheelchair. Her height only allowed her to gently pat his small arm, her baby voice softly coaxing: “It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t hurt…”

His lips still had blood he hadn’t finished wiping. A ridiculously large lotus flower rested on his body.

The lotus flower’s elegant fragrance mingled with the little girl’s milky scent, surrounding him. Her plump little hand gently patted—her exposed small arm was very soft. Like a tender dragonfly quietly landing in summer.

The head that Chen Hu had just hit still hurt badly.

He looked down at her. Her apricot eyes seemed to contain a pool of clear water: “It doesn’t hurt…”

The sunlight was brilliantly blinding, scorching eyes painfully. He placed the lotus flower on the table and brushed away her little hand. Pushing the wheelchair, he moved away from her.

Bei Yao looked dejectedly at the thin little boy’s frail back, then walked toward Xiang Tongtong.

Little Xiang Tongtong’s nose tip was red. She grasped Bei Yao’s hand, wanting to pull her outside.

The boy who played best with Chen Hu in the classroom was called Li Da. Li Da shouted: “Pei Chuan is a little dog!”

Immediately, several children nodded in agreement.

Bei Yao turned back. That thin figure remained motionless.

“Mommy says biting people makes you a little dog. Yaoyao, let’s not play with him.”

Bei Yao’s eyes were large, her lashes very curled. Fluttering as she blinked, making people want to pat her head. She shook her head with a serious face: “He’s not a little dog.” She told Xiang Tongtong and the children loudly, “His name is Pei Chuan. My mommy says ‘Chuan’ means river, and rivers are very clean.”

Pei Chuan lowered his eyes.

The little girl’s voice was tender and crisp, like a string of wind chimes.

Since his legs were severed, many people found him dirty.

The kindergarten children all remembered that incident of wetting himself.

Actually, he wasn’t dirty. Very early on, he had dressed himself and put on his own pants. After using the toilet, he would seriously wash his hands three times. Pei Chuan was even more precocious than children his age—he could already do arithmetic problems now. But it seemed that once his legs were severed, he became a filthy existence.

When his father gave him his name, the meaning was taken from “all rivers flow into the sea.”

Though he couldn’t understand what this meant, he knew it was a good name.

However, a name that couldn’t be more upright and honorable was now also stained with dust because his legs were severed, losing its soul.

~

Chen Hu’s parents arrived first—both father and mother came.

The children all recognized Chen Hu’s father, an uncle with a broad back and bearlike build. His eyes glared as large as brass bells, pointing at Pei Chuan: “You brat, if anything happens to my Xiao Hu, I’ll beat you to death!”

Hearing this, Chen Hu cried even more heartbreakingly and pitifully.

Chen Hu’s mother also glared at Pei Chuan, carrying the child to go see the injury at the clinic.

Teacher Xiao Wu stood awkwardly to the side: “Sorry, sorry. We didn’t watch the children properly. Quickly take Xiao Hu to get checked.”

Only then did the couple carry their child away.

Half an hour later, Pei Chuan’s mother, Jiang Wenjuan, arrived. She had delicate features, her hair pinned up behind her head, clean and efficient.

This was a woman with an exceptionally gentle appearance. Pei Chuan resembled his mother more—his features were handsome, yet because he was three parts like his father’s appearance, his contours were deeper.

Jiang Wenjuan had heard the whole story from Teacher Xiao Zhao on the way.

This woman remained silent. Coming over, she first smiled at Pei Chuan, then bent down to touch his head.

Bei Yao clearly saw that the silent little boy’s eyes gradually lit up with color.

Like spring returning to earth, withered wood sprouting green branches, little points of light gave his jet-black eyes more color. She pushed the wheelchair toward the exit. Bei Yao heard the little boy’s hoarse voice, very soft, saying “Mommy.”

He could speak—he was just taciturn.

Young children’s hearts held a scale, with clear boundaries.

She blinked her eyes, lying at the doorway, watching their backs longingly.

When would Pei Chuan be willing to talk to her?