Jiang Qiaoxi stormed into his study, slamming the door open. He gathered a thick stack of lecture notes and exam papers from his desk and walked out.
These pale pages, piled together and covered in dense solutions, resembled a stack of painstakingly prepared funeral offerings.
Jiang Qiaoxi let go, and with a thunderous crash, books and papers scattered across the living room floor.
“Go ahead, tear them up,” Jiang Qiaoxi said, coldly eyeing Liang Hongfei. “Tear them up.”
Liang Hongfei, wearing a black fitted cashmere sweater, parted her lips slightly, her face turning an eerie purple-red from extreme agitation.
She lifted her head, standing amidst the wreckage, glaring at her son’s face.
At seven or eight years old, when he wasn’t diligent enough, always playing and unable to finish the problems his mother assigned, Liang Hongfei would tear up his math olympiad books. He would stand by the wall, crying and pleading, “Mom… please don’t tear up my math books…”
Now over 1.80 meters tall, Jiang Qiaoxi had grown up. Over the years, he had become much quieter and hadn’t cried since. He suddenly smiled at Liang Hongfei, though the smile was filled with sorrow.
“You think I’ll beg you?” he said.
“Qiaoxi,” Liang Hongfei shook her head as she stepped forward. “You can’t, you can’t treat your mother like this.”
Jiang Qiaoxi looked down at her, watching as Liang Hongfei reached out with both hands, approaching to grasp his arms.
“You can’t give up,” she shook her head, her tone commanding even through tears. “You can’t join the national training team, you can’t go to Tsinghua. You’ve worked so hard, you should win the world championship. Qiaoxi, that’s what your brother—”
Jiang Qiaoxi was gently shaken as she gripped his arms. His voice sounded devoid of emotion: “That’s not what I want.”
Liang Hongfei asked, “What do you want?”
Jiang Qiaoxi lowered his eyes to look at her.
“You want to date, don’t you?” Liang Hongfei suddenly asked, her eyes widening.
Despite his efforts to hide it, Jiang Qiaoxi’s face couldn’t conceal a moment of disappointment.
Or perhaps it was despair that made him want to laugh.
“You were such a good child when you were little, always listening to your teachers, to your father and mother,” Liang Hongfei said earnestly. “It’s only since you went to Qunshan… Qiaoxi, you’re not this kind of child. You should have ambitions for your future.”
“I do have ambitions,” Jiang Qiaoxi suddenly interrupted her. “So let me pursue them.”
“What ambitions do you have?” Liang Hongfei asked as if surprised to hear that Jiang Qiaoxi had any ambitions at all. “What exactly are you pursuing? Huh?”
Jiang Zheng, returning from smoking on the balcony, stood irritably by the balcony door and scolded, “Liang Hongfei! Can’t you stop shouting?”
“I’m shouting…” Liang Hongfei turned her face away, taking a deep breath before hissing at Jiang Zheng, “You don’t care! Have you said anything about what our son has become?!”
Jiang Zheng, red-faced, retorted, “If he doesn’t want to go, what use is it if I say anything?”
Jiang Qiaoxi stood among the scattered books and papers on the floor, surrounded by numbers, symbols, graphs, and functions that had accompanied him nearly every day and night for sixteen years. But what had they given him?
People said Jiang Qiaoxi was born to fill the enormous void left by “Jiang Mengchu.” From birth, he seemed to carry a responsibility, an expectation, a sin. He needed to follow this path to its end.
“Qiaoxi,” Jiang Zheng approached. At fifty-five, his hair graying, he tried to calm himself. “Why, at this point, don’t you want to join the national training team?”
“Because I don’t like mathematics,” Jiang Qiaoxi said calmly.
Before he finished speaking, Liang Hongfei cried out from behind, “What nonsense are you talking!”
Jiang Qiaoxi stepped back as Liang Hongfei’s hand suddenly swung towards him, and he lowered his head.
Jiang Zheng pushed Liang Hongfei back forcefully: “You old woman, have you gone mad?!”
Liang Hongfei’s carefully maintained bun came undone, revealing her disheveled, worn appearance. It turned out she had quite a few white hairs too, always hidden beneath her daily facade of perfect authority.
“Jiang Qiaoxi,” Liang Hongfei said tremblingly, “Is this how you repay the kindness your parents have shown you?”
Jiang Qiaoxi raised his head from behind Jiang Zheng.
“What my parents wanted me to achieve,” he said softly, “I’ve already achieved.”
The implication was that any great debt of gratitude had been repaid. His tone suggested that his parents were strangers, not standing before him in conversation.
“You achieved it for yourself!” Liang Hongfei shouted hoarsely.
Jiang Qiaoxi heard her.
“Not for myself,” Jiang Qiaoxi’s voice showed not a trace of emotional fluctuation as he denied her claim. “What I want, you’ve never considered—”
Liang Hongfei cried, “So for yourself, just for yourself, you want to ruin our whole family!”
Jiang Qiaoxi suddenly pressed his lips together.
“Are you so selfish? So unappreciative of your talent, not knowing how to cherish your opportunities!” Liang Hongfei began to wail, on the verge of a breakdown due to Jiang Qiaoxi’s stone-heartedness. “From the day you were born until now, how much have we sacrificed to nurture you? How much!”
Jiang Zheng couldn’t stand Liang Hongfei’s hysterical shouting anymore. He walked away to the sofa, also wanting to escape this suffocating situation. Jiang Qiaoxi’s guaranteed admission to Tsinghua should have been cause for great celebration. How had it turned into this?
He opened his cigarette box and, unable to take out a single cigarette, simply dumped all the cigarettes onto the floor beneath the table.
“Mom gave up her chance for further studies, for you. Every day, driving you back and forth, accompanying you until late on weekends, all for you! Your dad, a big executive in a corporation, for you, he couldn’t even see his driver,” Liang Hongfei suddenly opened her mouth, exhaling, as if tired from crying, her whole being listless. “Before, Mengchu always said he loved riding in dad’s car the most and loved mom accompanying him to math olympiad classes. Mengchu loved math the most. At just four years old, he said he wanted to go to Tsinghua—”
Jiang Qiaoxi stood motionless, head bowed.
He was silent as if he could never atone.
Next to Jiang Qiaoxi was a cabinet with a landline phone and a tray of miscellaneous items. Jiang Qiaoxi looked down, searching but not finding what he sought. The car card and keys fell to the floor as he brushed against them. Jiang Qiaoxi turned around and saw a fruit knife next to a plate of apples on the dining table. He walked over.
Liang Hongfei said, “Jiang Qiaoxi, what are you doing, Jiang Qiaoxi!”
Jiang Zheng, sitting on the sofa smoking, had just made a phone call. Turning his head to see, he instantly stood up.
“Lin Gong, ah, Lin Gong!” he said into the phone, “What a coincidence… We haven’t eaten yet. Qiaoxi and I are at home, just the two of us!”
He suddenly walked in front of Jiang Qiaoxi and Liang Hongfei, grabbing Jiang Qiaoxi’s wrist that held the fruit knife. At sixteen, over 1.80 meters tall, Jiang Qiaoxi’s imposing figure made even Jiang Zheng look up at him. He was no longer the little boy who used to be pushed back and forth by his parents with his backpack.
Jiang Qiaoxi’s eyes were devoid of emotion; this child had always seemed this way, expressionless.
Jiang Zheng looked up, speaking into the phone while staring at Jiang Qiaoxi’s face.
“Lin Gong,” he said fearfully, “I’ll bring Qiaoxi over right away.”
The Lin family had been eating hot pot, with ingredients Lin Gong and Teacher Yu had bought at the market that afternoon. In cold weather, the hot pot was comforting—washing and cutting vegetables at home, preparing meatballs, mixing dipping sauces, the whole family gathered happily around the table.
Lin’s mother opened the door to find Jiang Zheng standing outside, with Jiang Qiaoxi behind him.
Jiang Qiaoxi’s face was deathly pale, just as it had been many years ago when he first came to the Lin household, silent and withdrawn.
Lin Gong had already put lamb slices into the pot: “Ah, Qiaoxi’s here!”
Lin’s mother sensed something odd about the father and son’s mood, but she smiled: “Come in, come in!” She said, “Yingtao, bring your Uncle Jiang and Qiaoxi some small dipping bowls! Qiaoxi, do you eat cilantro and chili? Add them yourself in a bit.”
Lin Yingtao emerged from the kitchen carrying two small bowls of sesame paste. She first saw Jiang Qiaoxi as she looked up, then smiled at Uncle Jiang.
Jiang Zheng, as if having just endured a battle, wearily lowered his head and changed into slippers provided by Lin Gong. Jiang Qiaoxi still stood motionless nearby. Lin Gong placed slippers at his feet, smiling gently: “Qiaoxi, change your shoes, and let’s eat first.”
Jiang Qiaoxi said, “Thank you, Uncle.”
Lin’s mother said, “It’s been years since Qiaoxi last visited. We’ve rarely seen him since moving from Qunshan.”
Jiang Zheng, seated on the sofa, accepted the bowl and chopsticks Lin Gong handed him, smiling, “Well, he’s been busy with math olympiad classes all the time.”
Lin Yingtao sat on a small stool by the tea table. She had grown taller and was a bit uncomfortable on the stool. With Jiang Qiaoxi’s tall frame sitting next to her, it felt even more awkward.
Lin Yingtao placed the small dipping bowl in front of him, chopsticks resting on top.
But Jiang Qiaoxi didn’t touch them. He seemed to have no appetite, despite the hot, fragrant steam from the hot pot wafting towards him.
Lin’s mother said, “I heard from Yingtao that Qiaoxi won a national first prize in the math olympiad.”
Jiang Zheng smiled, like an ordinary father proud of his son: “Yes, he did.”
Lin Yingtao then noticed the blood-red stain on Jiang Qiaoxi’s wrist cuff.
“What… what happened to your hand?” she asked.
Lin’s mother stood up from nearby, exclaiming “Oh my!” as she put down her bowl: “Qiaoxi, what’s on your sleeve?”
Jiang Zheng, sitting opposite, struggled to maintain his composure.
Lin’s mother walked to Jiang Qiaoxi’s side, noticing some reflective debris on the back of the boy’s jacket as if something had been smashed against it.
“Qiaoxi, come, take off your jacket. Auntie will wash it for you,” she said gently.
Jiang Qiaoxi still sat motionless. Jiang Zheng said from across the table, “Take it off. Let your Aunt Juan help you wash it.”
Lin Gong also said kindly, “What’s it stained with? Let’s wash it now while it’s still easy to clean.”
Jiang Qiaoxi stood up from the table, unzipped his jacket, and took it off. He wore only a short-sleeved white T-shirt underneath. “Thank you, Auntie,” Jiang Qiaoxi looked up as Aunt Juan took his jacket. This seemed to be the first time today that Jiang Qiaoxi had truly seen anyone.
Lin Gong and his wife exchanged a glance.
“Yingtao,” Lin Gong suddenly said, “if you’re full, why don’t you and Qiaoxi go play in your room?”
“Huh?” Lin Yingtao was startled. She hadn’t eaten yet. Jiang Qiaoxi hadn’t eaten anything either.
Lin’s mother took a plate and filled it with cooked lamb slices, potatoes, fish balls, and mushrooms from the pot. She carried it, along with the children’s small dipping bowls and chopsticks, into Lin Yingtao’s small bedroom.
“Your father and the others are smoking outside, it’s smoky. You two eat in here,” Mom said, then closed the door from the outside.
Lin Yingtao and Jiang Qiaoxi stood inside the room, feeling a bit awkward.
Her small room had only one chair, by the desk. Jiang Qiaoxi walked over and sat down. This was his first time in Lin Yingtao’s home in the provincial capital, his first time in Lin Yingtao’s bedroom.
He opened his right hand on his knee, revealing a wound on the webbing between his thumb and index finger. Jiang Qiaoxi lowered his head to watch Lin Yingtao sit on the edge of the bed in front of him, using an iodine-soaked cotton ball to disinfect the wound. Lin Yingtao occasionally looked up, frowning as she asked, “Does it hurt?”
Because the wound was long and deep, a bandaid wouldn’t suffice. Lin Yingtao went out to find gauze and wrapped it around Jiang Qiaoxi’s hand, round and round until Jiang Qiaoxi seemed about to pull his hand away. Only then did she find scissors to cut the gauze and struggle to tie a knot?
“You look so unhappy,” Lin Yingtao raised her head, studying his face.
Jiang Qiaoxi looked at her too.
Since parting at the station, he hadn’t seen her again.
At home, Lin Yingtao didn’t wear her school uniform but a light yellow pajama set, soft fabric with wave-like edges. She hadn’t tied her hair either; it fell naturally from behind her ears in a gentle curve, softly resting on her shoulders.
Lin Yingtao turned to look at the bed behind her. “Mimi!” she called softly.
A small cat suddenly jumped onto the bedspread, quickly scooped up by Lin Yingtao. She closed her eyes and kissed it behind its perked-up pointed ears.
“Here, hold it,” Lin Yingtao smiled at Jiang Qiaoxi.
Jiang Qiaoxi’s hands were still stiff. He felt like a walking corpse, without support, undeserving of her smile.
The fluffy kitten was a soft, warm bundle, its large eyes open in bewilderment. Jiang Qiaoxi’s fingers were ice-cold, but as they touched this softness, they instinctively opened.
Jiang Qiaoxi’s eyes suddenly grew hot. He lowered his head to stroke the kitten, then looked up to meet Lin Yingtao’s sympathetic gaze.