He said: “Wen Si Wan, I’ll never believe you again.”

When they were little, he would often say: “Wen Si Wan, stop following me, why are you so annoying, you’re irritating, always following me.”

When Grandfather spanked him for poor grades, he would also cry at the top of his lungs: “Wen Si Wan, stop always getting little red flowers, if you get another one I won’t play with you anymore!”

Si Wan would look at him with tears in her eyes: “Why, brother?”

Why, brother?

Every time, she asked, why.

Little Master Yan would think very, very seriously, and when he couldn’t figure it out, he’d hand over his milk packet: “I don’t know why either, but anyway, you’re not allowed to get any more red flowers, or I’ll beat you up! Here’s some milk, don’t cry!”

He never said: “Wen Si Wan, I’ll never believe you again.”

About trust, about promises.

The grown-up Yan Xi said to the grown-up Wen Si Wan, I’ll never believe you again.

He saw Ah Heng curled up on her side in bed, clutching the blanket tightly, her back a sticky red mass giving off a metallic smell. He swung his fist, hitting Wen Si Wan hard, holding nothing back.

That woman, aged enough to show wrinkles, looked at him with sorrowful eyes.

He said: “I finally understand how weak the name ‘Yan Xi’ is.”

What a laughable Yan Xi!

He picked up Ah Heng.

The girl was like a newborn child, obediently curled up in his arms, not crying out in pain, not weeping, just quiet, only relief remaining.

She smiled, feverish, her mind clouded: “Yan Xi, you’re so handsome. But why aren’t you smiling?”

Yan Xi’s eyes were red as he smiled, his voice trembling as he comforted her: “Shh, don’t talk anymore, baby.”

He wrapped that blood-stained back in a blanket, held her, and ran all the way.

Cars, overpasses, walking, cold wind, desolation, through alleyways.

Like carrying a bowl of water holding the moon, protecting it, stumbling along, not daring to slip.

Precious, oh precious.

Yan Xi suddenly remembered the jokes from male gatherings in college: “A girl is most heart-wrenching when her beauty meets illness.”

All nonsense – his mind had turned to mush, who had the luxury to care if she was beautiful or not?

Afterward, Sun Peng often teased him: “Beautiful one, keeping a Ferrari at home, but when it matters, two legs are still better.”

He gritted his teeth: “Sun Peng, I sincerely hope you never encounter something like this in your life!”

Sun Peng flashed his bright white teeth in a smile: “Yan Xi, the biggest difference between us is that when I care about someone, heaven knows, earth knows, I know, but others don’t know.”

At the hospital, the on-duty doctor gave Ah Heng a shot for her fever, then said the wounds needed cleaning and asked Yan Xi to step out first.

Yan Xi hesitated to speak.

Seeing Ah Heng’s wounds, struck with such force, presumably domestic violence, the doctor frowned at Yan Xi without knowing the truth, saying: “She’s already in this state, if you have something to say, say it, don’t waste time.”

He smiled and bowed to the doctor: “Please be gentle. When she’s in pain, she never makes a sound.”

Taking one last look at Ah Heng sleeping on the hospital bed, he turned and closed the door, clasping his hands together as he sat in the hospital corridor.

On New Year’s Day, all was quiet.

There were several messages on his phone, mass texts from classmates: Happy New Year, how are you lately?

Yan Xi replied to each one, then raised his fingers to find his palms stained with Ah Heng’s blood. He stared blankly, gripped his phone, and walked to the bathroom.

Turned on the tap, washing repeatedly, trying to fade it. Dark red flowing away, he watched, the metallic smell wouldn’t wash off.

Again and again, again and again.

Yan Xi’s face was expressionless – soap, scrubbing, foam, rinse. Repeat – soap, foam, rinse. His palms turned very red, like a birthmark.

Suddenly, he grabbed his phone from beside the sink and smashed it against the dark wall, pulling his hair, and breaking into sobs.

Yan Xi, who could no longer be innocent or proud, could only become strong.

Sometimes, he hated Ah Heng, wanting to hate her for no reason. If Ah Heng always hoped for everyone to love her, then perhaps Yan Xi wouldn’t be so insecure. But if she had many, many people loving her, then what would Yan Xi be?

Walking back to that white room, Yan Xi gently held her hand, this girl sleeping so peacefully. He said: “Fate gave you to me. Perhaps in the future, you’ll have another choice, but right now, there is no other choice.”

When Ah Heng’s fever broke, the sunlight outside was just right.

Squinting his eyes, that black-haired youth standing by the curtains was handsome and straight-backed, pacing back and forth, appearing somewhat agitated.

He held his phone, took a deep breath, trying to say something to the person on the other end: “Auntie, I won’t send Ah Heng back to the Wen house, there’s no room for discussion on this! Yes. Reason? You’re asking me for a reason? Look at the wounds on her back! No mother would be so heartless to her daughter. Fine, you just lost control of your emotions, you can’t face her, yes, she does have the surname, Wen…”

Suddenly, the youth raised his voice, his expression becoming furious, almost shouting: “You say she has the surname Wen, but apart from that surname, damn it, what part of her belongs to you or the Wen family? You, and your Wen family, have no reason for me to back down!”

He hung up the phone, pressed his head against the window, breathing heavily, his fingers white from clenching.

Breathing in and out.

As if sensing a hint of warmth, he turned around to see Ah Heng smiling at him, gentle and quiet.

The hospital room’s TV was showing New Year scenes from Japan, and she imitated the beckoning cat, putting her hand by her ear and waving: “Good morning, Yan Xi.”

Yan Xi’s sharp, agitated eyes instantly became clear. He walked to her side, bent down, quietly looked at her, and after a while, smiled: “So silly… getting beaten up. Ah Heng, you’re Yan Xi’s daughter, you know – the legendary Yan Xi, the fighting king Yan Xi.”

Ah Heng: “I’m so sorry, Mr. Yan.”

He asked her: “Does your back still hurt?”

Ah Heng said: “What a stupid question. Yan Xi, you try getting your back beaten bloody.”

Yan Xi scolded her: “Silly, why didn’t you scream? If you’d cried so loud the neighbors could hear, would she dare keep hitting you? Your mom cares most about face.”

Ah Heng lowered her head, sniffled, and muttered: “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Yan Xi: “Daughter, following me, you still have so much to learn!”

Ah Heng chuckled: “Yan Xi, when you furrow your brows like that, you look like a decrepit old grandpa.”

Dayi came to visit with Chen Juan.

Chen Juan had changed back to normal men’s clothes, the colors and styles all the most fashionable, still looking extremely beautiful, but not lacking any masculine spirit.

These years, still bickering with Dayi, they remained at odds.

Seeing Ah Heng, he complained dramatically: “Sister, to help you tie down your man, my poor legs have become bow-legged from running around, how will you compensate me?”

Ah Heng just smiled at him without speaking.

Chen Juan didn’t mind, recounting in detail Yan Xi’s days without her by his side, from the big things like how many shows he’d done, how many programs he’d participated in; to small things like how many meals a day, how he still loved pork ribs so much.

Finally, he concluded with regret: “Clearly, whether you’re here or not does not affect Beautiful Yan.”

Dayi chimed in, mimicking Yan Xi’s manner on shows—the way he’d often been frozen on television: “Hello everyone, I’m Yan Xi.”

Every time, the same opening line.

Hello everyone, I’m Yan Xi.

Nonsense, even if you didn’t say it, who in the country doesn’t know you’re Yan Xi, appearing on TV so frequently?

Yet every time, it was this line.

That way, as if afraid others would forget him.

He even took sanitary pad commercials, just because it was the brand Ah Heng used.

How could he not know how terrifying time was – if he didn’t appear before people every day, he feared time would leave its mark, changing everything beyond recognition, making it hard for her to remember that in this world, there was still such a person.

Oh, his name is Yan Xi.

Oh, he was someone I once met, three years out of seventy, barely significant.

He smiled, saying softly: “Ah Heng, I’ve always been fine, like Mary said, fine even without you. But that doesn’t mean you’re not important.”

“You understand, right?”

DJ Yan never appeared for his thousands of listeners but for that one person among thousands.