When Qiao Qingyu woke up, her limbs had regained strength and her headache had eased considerably. The warm bed felt slightly damp from her sweat. Outside, the streetlight’s glow filtered through the light curtains, casting a faint light on the wardrobe opposite. The sound of rain outside was steady and soothing, making the room feel like a timeless oil painting in its stillness.
She got out of bed, dressed, and carefully turned the door handle. In the silence, the “click” of the lock seemed unusually loud.
The living room was empty, with a floor lamp casting a soft, warm glow near the sofa. The clock by the door showed midnight. The kettle and glass were still on the dining table. Qiao Qingyu poured herself some water and quietly sat down on the sofa.
Through the gap in the kitchen’s double curtains, she could see her family’s apartment across the way, brightly lit.
She sat silently, sipping her water, and noticed a sliver of light from under the small room’s door. Was Mingsheng in there? Was he asleep?
Her head no longer felt heavy, but her stomach ached with hunger. Reluctantly, she knocked on the small room’s door.
Mingsheng opened it wearing only a short-sleeved shirt, his eyes sleepy and hair disheveled, as if he’d just gotten out of bed.
“I just,” Qiao Qingyu quickly glanced at his bleary eyes, “wanted to ask if there’s anything to eat?”
Mingsheng scratched his head. “Give me a moment.”
He grabbed a jacket from the wall, put it on, and went to the kitchen. Two minutes later, he returned with a white bowl in one hand and a red apple in the other.
“Milk and cereal,” he said, placing the bowl where Qiao Qingyu had sat earlier, then taking his usual seat across from her. “Eat this first, and I’ll go out to buy more later.”
He then produced a fruit knife as if by magic and began peeling the apple.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
Qiao Qingyu nodded with a muffled “Mm” through a mouthful of cereal. She was famished, gulping down the milk while stealing glances at Mingsheng, her eyes fixed on his hands. His right hand wielded the knife skillfully and smoothly, the curved part between his thumb and index finger marked with several surgical scars. Suddenly, she felt an urge to grab that hand and gently kiss it. Remembering how Mingsheng’s blood had trailed across the playground that day, Qiao Qingyu’s breathing quickened.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Mingsheng seemed not to hear, pulling out a tissue and placing the smooth, round, pale apple on it before pushing it toward her.
“I’m sorry,” Qiao Qingyu said louder. “It was too impulsive of me to threaten Ye Zilin with a knife…”
“How many times are you going to apologize?” Mingsheng interrupted, his tone unexpectedly reproachful, tinged with exasperation. “I’m telling you now, it’s okay. It was my fault for pushing you away, which allowed Ye Zilin to act so recklessly and push you to the edge. Do you understand?”
Qiao Qingyu was stunned for a moment. “But still, I shouldn’t have…”
“Those losers wouldn’t dare mess with anyone from No. 2 High School,” Mingsheng’s face showed clear anger. “You’re in my class, and they dared to cause trouble! It’s because I already had… for you…”
He abruptly stopped, looking at the blushing Qiao Qingyu, and let out a soft sigh. “It was my fault.”
Don’t look at me, Qiao Qingyu thought, her heart pounding as she stared at the apple. Don’t look at me, don’t look at me.
An eternity later, Mingsheng pulled out another tissue and focused on wiping the fruit knife. Qiao Qingyu, feeling relieved, smiled brightly. “You peel apples so quickly!”
“Is it quick?” Mingsheng furrowed his brow slightly, but couldn’t hide his pleasure. He pinched the end of the apple peel and slowly raised it. “I slowed down today.”
The apple peel was a single, unbroken strip without even a crease.
Qiao Qingyu couldn’t help but exclaim in awe.
“In elementary school, all my classmates asked me to sharpen their pencils,” Mingsheng lowered his hand, his eyes gleaming with pride as he looked at Qiao Qingyu. “I beat all the pencil sharpeners.”
Qiao Qingyu smiled, suppressing a laugh, and took another sip of her milk and cereal – her movements becoming stiffer under Mingsheng’s gaze.
“Why?” she asked after swallowing, trying to sound casual. “Why are you so good at peeling?”
Mingsheng adjusted his posture nonchalantly. “Practice.”
“Practicing pencil sharpening?”
“When I was little, my dad liked to compete with me to motivate me, in everything,” Mingsheng looked away. “You know what he does. His standards for precision aren’t easily met.”
“Is that the same for calligraphy?”
Mingsheng turned back, tilting his chin up, hands crossed behind his head, relaxing against the chair. “Calligraphy was to please my mom. She’s an artist herself, and her standards for me were both vague and extreme.”
“What standards?” Qiao Qingyu asked seriously.
Mingsheng looked at her with a meaningful gaze from his elevated position, slowly uttering one word: “Beauty.”
Qiao Qingyu made a small “Oh” sound and returned to her milk and cereal. Feeling Mingsheng’s occasional glances, she swallowed her last mouthful of milk and looked up, trying to appear relaxed. “So, you’ve… I mean, I think you must have met your parents’ expectations by now, right?”
“No, it’s impossible to ever meet them.”
His tone was emotionless, bleakly hopeless. Qiao Qingyu suddenly felt that Mingsheng was also a pitiful child. She nodded, silently placing the empty bowl aside and taking a bite of the apple, its fresh fragrance filling her senses.
“Is it… sweet?” Mingsheng’s voice held a shy smile.
Qiao Qingyu nodded again.
“I’ll go buy something hot,” Mingsheng said, standing up. “How about the clay pot porridge from the shop behind the bus stop?”
“No, no need,” Qiao Qingyu quickly stood up, waving her hands. “I’m not hungry anymore, and it’s too late, plus it’s raining.”
“But I’m hungry,” Mingsheng replied, putting on his scarf, grabbing an umbrella by the shoe rack, and closing the door behind him.
Shortly after he left, a woman’s agonized scream tore through the peaceful rainy night. The cry was so urgent, so desperate, that Qiao Qingyu, who had just finished her apple, couldn’t help but shudder. Pressing her face close to the gap in the partition curtain, she peered out through the misty rain. In the familiar fluorescent-lit living room across the way, she could see Qiao Lilong sitting helplessly at the dining table, Qiao Lusheng pacing anxiously in front of the TV, and though mostly hidden by the wall, the dangling legs of Li Fanghao, too weak to sit up straight on the sofa.
Imagining Li Fanghao’s heartbroken expression, Qiao Qingyu’s heart tightened, and the apple in her mouth suddenly lost its flavor.
More heart-wrenching cries reached her ears, accompanied by a man’s vicious curses, sounding as if they were just behind her. Qiao Qingyu stepped back, turning towards the locked front door and peering through the peephole.
What she saw outside the door shocked her, making her gasp.
A man grabbed a woman’s shoulders, throwing her to the ground despite her desperate screams and resistance. He then grabbed her hair, flinging her down the stairs like a sack. Moments later, a familiar face appeared in the open doorway across the hall, expressionlessly glancing down the stairs before pulling the door shut with a bang, leaving the man and woman outside.
“Ah—” The woman screamed and wept. The man produced a small bottle of erguotou liquor from somewhere, gulped down several mouthfuls, then smashed the bottle on the ground. Staggering, he walked down the stairs.
“I’ll teach you to gossip, you bitch…”
It sounded like he was repeatedly kicking the woman. The curses and painful moans alternated endlessly, frightening Qiao Qingyu, who kept backing away from her position behind the door. A few minutes later, the man, seemingly tired, returned to pound on the door, his shouts thunderous: “Mumu! Open the door!”
A few minutes later, the woman returned, crying out, “Mumu, open the door for Mama!” Then silence fell.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Ming Sheng slipped in, bringing a rush of cold air with him.
“I brought hot rice porridge,” he said while changing his shoes. Noticing Qiao Qingyu’s shaken expression, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Qiao Qingyu shook her head, trying to make sense of the stormy scene she had just witnessed.
“It’s quite mild,” Ming Sheng continued, walking to the table and unpacking the takeout boxes. “Do you like spicy food? The buns at your place were really hot… Qiao Qingyu, what’s the matter?”
“Ah Sheng,” she blurted out, surprising even herself, “I just saw Mumu’s father beating her mother.”
Ming Sheng shrugged. “No wonder there were beer bottles outside. For their family, it’s a regular occurrence.”
Qiao Qingyu sighed heavily and stood up, moving towards the table.
“Did it scare you?”
She wanted to shrug casually like Ming Sheng, but couldn’t. His sudden tone of concern and gentleness was as thick as the night itself, making her so uncomfortable she wanted to bolt.
“What did you just call me?” Ming Sheng asked with a suppressed smile, his eyes dancing with anticipation as he pulled out the chopsticks.
Qiao Qingyu hesitated, ignoring the question as she sat down. “Why are there so many unreasonable things in this world?” she muttered, almost to herself.
Sensing her discomfort, Ming Sheng explained, “Mumu’s family situation is complicated. Her father used to be a primary school teacher but left to start a business. He borrowed high-interest loans, lost money to fraud, and never recovered. Now he drowns his sorrows in alcohol daily.”
“I see.”
“He drinks too much, his liver’s failing, and he’s in and out of the hospital. He’s got a violent temper and often beats her mother. According to my dad,” Ming Sheng’s tone grew somber, “Mumu’s father doesn’t have long – three to five years at most.”
“Three to five years,” Qiao Qingyu echoed softly. For some reason, she thought of herself – she had planned to leave her parents for five years but never considered what she’d do if one of them died during that time.
“Mumu hates her home,” Ming Sheng said, opening Qiao Qingyu’s takeout box. “I also hate my…” He swallowed the word “home” and replaced it with, “parents.”
Qiao Qingyu looked up, puzzled, meeting his intense gaze. She watched as his eyes instantly lit up, becoming dazzling, restless orbs.
She shrank back, glancing at the kettle on her left before absently tucking her loose hair behind her ear. Sitting far from the window, she couldn’t hear the rain, only the thundering of her own heart.
“You’re beautiful.”
These words hit Qiao Qingyu like a bolt from the blue. “I wanted to ask… I wanted you to help me ask,” she stammered, suddenly flustered, “to ask your father about something very important.”
“The thing I refused to help you with before, right?”
Ming Sheng’s quick response caught Qiao Qingyu off guard.
“I already know,” Ming Sheng said, observing her confused face, “how your sister died.”
The air grew so still that Qiao Qingyu dared not breathe. After a moment, she repeated what Qiao Lusheng had said three years ago: “Acute appendicitis?”
“You don’t believe that either, do you?”
The caution in his eyes frightened her. The truth, so close now, felt like a bottomless abyss, and she hesitated to step forward.
They both lowered their heads, then looked up at each other simultaneously, both starting to speak: “You…”
Silence.
“You go first.”
“Just tell me,” Qiao Qingyu asked rapidly, afraid she might lose her nerve, “is what others say true? Did my sister have AIDS?”
Ming Sheng looked at her, his lips moving but no sound coming out.
“Is it…” Qiao Qingyu took a deep breath, “true?”
“HIV positive.”
It took Qiao Qingyu nearly half a minute to process these words, feeling as if a permanent black curtain had fallen in her mind. The rumors she had always scoffed at were confirmed, and she felt she could never hold her head high again.
Ming Sheng broke the silence once more: “You’re very different from your sister.”
“No,” Qiao Qingyu shook her head absently, “equally stubborn.”
“I used to think you hated her.”
Qiao Qingyu wanted to say “I don’t like her now either,” but the words caught in her throat, overwhelming her with sudden grief. She and Qiao Baiyu shared the same blood, connected souls – it wasn’t as simple as “hate” or “like.” The word “sister” made her want to cry.
Looking at Ming Sheng, she saw his gaze had softened like a fawn’s.
“My sister’s life was tragic, wasn’t it?” Qiao Qingyu stared at him. “Our whole family is tragic, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“If I didn’t exist, she could have grown up in Shun Yun and had a completely different life,” Qiao Qingyu’s voice trembled slightly. “I pushed her out of the family. What right do I have to dislike her? It’s only natural that she dislikes me. She should hate me even more.”
“I don’t think she hates you.”
“Don’t try to comfort me,” Qiao Qingyu allowed herself to sink into sadness. “I know what I am. My very birth was a sin, and I’ve done irreparable harm, hurting every family member. It’s sin upon sin. No matter what I do now – leave or stay – this guilt will follow me for life, never to be erased.”
“Qiao Qingyu…”
“Can you help me with one more thing?” she looked up resolutely. “Ask your father if it was Qiao Jinrui and Sister Xiaoyun who had surgery this morning.”
Ming Sheng seemed confused.
“There was a car accident involving a wedding car on the Huanshun Highway. Your father performed the surgery. I saw it at the Provincial First Hospital this morning,” Qiao Qingyu explained. “They say it was terrible. I’ve decided, if it was Brother Jinrui and Sister Xiaoyun, I’d stay in Huanzhou, go home, and face everything.”
“And if it wasn’t, you’ll leave Huanzhou?”
“Yes.”
“This morning, I learned your sister was buried in Anling Cemetery from the commotion at your house. That’s how I found you,” Ming Sheng said slowly. “Don’t worry, your brother Qiao Jinrui kept going to the balcony to take calls. He’s not only fine but also leading the search for you.”
“He’s okay,” Qiao Qingyu clutched her chest, barely daring to believe it. “You saw him at our house today, right?”
“Yes, I saw him with my own eyes.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Qiao Qingyu said, dazed with relief.
After a moment, she noticed Ming Sheng watching her. Their untouched bowls of porridge sat before them. Remembering he’d mentioned being hungry, she gently urged him to eat.
“Are you leaving?”
Qiao Qingyu couldn’t meet his eyes. She lowered her head, scooped up some porridge, and nodded slightly in silence.
“Where will you go?”
After considering for a few seconds, she replied, “Somewhere bigger, with more people.”
“Shanghai? Beijing?” Ming Sheng frowned. “Do you have money?”
“Speaking of money,” Qiao Qingyu looked at Ming Sheng apologetically, “I promised to pay you last time. I can’t let your cousin make the trip for nothing. But my money was stolen at the train station, so I can only pay you back when I earn some…”
“Qiao Qingyu,” Ming Sheng’s tone sharpened, “what do you mean?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t you know why I helped you?” A bitter smile flashed across Ming Sheng’s face. “Did you think I helped you for money?”
“I…”
“Anything you ask, I can’t refuse,” Ming Sheng interrupted forcefully. “After helping you, I still feel bad, worried I haven’t done enough, afraid you’re shouldering too much alone.”
Qiao Qingyu’s gaze wandered helplessly across the table.
“I don’t care where you go,” Ming Sheng’s tone softened as he gazed at her, “but do you realize the whole of Huanzhou is looking for you? Leaving won’t be easy. Once we know your destination, we can plan and prepare together.”
“Prepare… what?”
“Money, of course,” Ming Sheng chuckled lightly, his eyes full of fond exasperation. “The cost to Beijing isn’t the same as to Shanghai.”
Qiao Qingyu waved her hands frantically. “You don’t need to help me. I can figure it out on my own, truly.”
“If you’re not staying,” Ming Sheng continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “then I’ll go with you.”
Qiao Qingyu’s eyes widened in shock.
“Don’t worry, I won’t force you to marry me,” Ming Sheng glanced at her casually. “I’ve wanted to run away from home for a while. Besides, I want to show you just how upright and reliable I can be.”