Little Mu was Ye Yuncheng’s neighbor, and had lived there since he was very young.

He had previously been introduced to work in town by Liu Qiaohong, but for some reason had come running back a few days ago, and had been shut up in his house in a state of self-imposed isolation ever since.

After Fang Zhuo had gone out that evening, he’d quietly slipped out as well, wanting to take advantage of the empty road to pick up a package at the village entrance. He had happened to fall in behind the two of them — only to be frightened half out of his wits. Crestfallen, he picked up the shoe and started back, and on the way ran into Ye Yuncheng. He handed the shoe over and then went home to be miserable again.

Ye Yuncheng promised to collect the parcel for him, and the three of them made a detour to the general store at the village entrance.

Fang Zhuo listened in for a bit and found the whole business rather baffling and unreasonable. Silently trailing along behind them was one thing, but his reaction to being caught in the flashlight’s beam was deeply strange — enough to nearly give Yan Lie a complete breakdown, and to cost Fang Zhuo a shoe in the bargain.

At the very least, they had been walking openly with their lights on. There was nothing remotely furtive about it. What on earth was there to be afraid of?

Both of them had been a little shaken by the evening’s events, and their verbal systems were impaired — neither was particularly inclined to talk. Yan Lie especially looked subdued, moving with a mechanical heaviness, listening to Ye Yuncheng’s explanation up ahead while hanging his head, his attention drifted off somewhere entirely else.

Fang Zhuo watched his dejected figure from behind, and couldn’t help reaching up to pat him on the head. He turned back slightly, managing an expression that couldn’t quite be called a smile.

Fang Zhuo pressed the flashlight back into his free hand, and the fingers that had curled so tight they’d gone white gradually loosened.

When their hands made contact, his unusually low body temperature gave Fang Zhuo a fleeting impression of ice.

Perhaps having something to hold gave him a sense of security — the rigid set of Yan Lie’s spine finally began to relent.

Looking back at it, Fang Zhuo thought, the whole thing was actually rather absurd. She felt somewhat like laughing, but couldn’t quite bring herself to.

Once they were back at the gate of the house, she took a careful look. The neighboring house was still dark, with no sign of habitation. It was an old, run-down dwelling, dilapidated in the way of things untouched for many years. The plot of land in front was sizeable enough, but several wild and unruly trees grew behind it, and at night the place looked gloomy and forbidding, like a haunted house.

Back in her room, Fang Zhuo pushed up her sleeve and looked at her wrist — sure enough, several red marks had appeared, left by Yan Lie’s grip as he’d pulled her along in his panic.

She had called out to him several times while they ran, but Yan Lie in his extreme fear had been closed off to any input from the outside world, and her voice had only made him more frantic, so in the end she had simply gone along with it.

Now that they were back inside under the bright lights, he had recovered considerably — like a solar panel back in sunlight, recharging, and capable once again of radiating warmth outward — and was beginning, belatedly, to feel embarrassed.

Fang Zhuo ran into Yan Lie coming out of the bathroom, freshly showered, at the bathroom door.

His hair was damp. He was wearing an oversized set of pajamas that wasn’t his, and the overall effect was warm and soft.

Not knowing what to say, Yan Lie raised a hand in greeting: “Hey?”

“…” Fang Zhuo. “Hi.”

Ye Yuncheng walked past and caught the two of them exchanging greetings as if they were meeting for the first time. A question formed on his face.

What’s going on with these two kids?

He went over and pulled at Yan Lie’s collar, looking him over, and said with mild regret: “The pajamas are a bit big. Sorry — I tend to buy oversized things.”

The two of them were actually about the same height, with Ye Yuncheng being the slightly slimmer one, but on Yan Lie, the pajamas appeared to be at least two sizes too large.

Yan Lie smiled: “It’s fine — I like wearing loose things.”

Because he’d missed the last bus, Yan Lie had to stay the night. But Ye Yuncheng didn’t have an extra blanket to spare.

There were clean ones, but they’d been packed away in a trunk for a long stretch of time and had developed a heavy, musty smell. Ye Yuncheng thought Yan Lie wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping with that, so he asked if he’d mind sharing a bed.

Many of the beds in the house had been made years ago by older relatives from solid wood — their only virtue being that they were big.

Yan Lie agreed readily.

Once he was lying down, though, he felt slightly ill at ease.

Ye Yuncheng, out of necessity, had to sleep on the outer side. He hadn’t shared a bed with anyone for a very long time either, and looking at Yan Lie, he felt the same way he did looking at Fang Zhuo — this was still a child, one deserving of care. He thoughtfully tucked the blanket in around him, said a quiet goodnight, and switched off the overhead light.

The window here was fitted with cheap patterned glass. Yan Lie lay on his side, eyes open, watching the faint trace of moonlight come through that small rectangle. It was a long time before his eyelids finally fell shut.

He felt that this place held a particular kind of stillness — though it was his first time here, it matched somehow with scenes he had imagined in memory.

He lay on the sand. Ye Yuncheng’s breathing was like the tide at the shore. Next door lived someone who could understand him. His footsteps fell lightly on the soft, giving earth, so lightly. And the whole world was the color of deep blue.

That settled, grounded feeling let him sleep more deeply than he had in a long time, and he didn’t stir until the next morning when Ye Yuncheng woke him.

Uncle had found him a new toothbrush and sent him out to the front with his cup to brush his teeth.

He shuffled outside, still drowsy, and found Fang Zhuo already standing at the door in a daze.

The two of them went to the tap for water and squatted side by side at the edge of the field to brush their teeth.

Shortly afterward, Liu Qiaohong arrived. Dressed in two outer layers piled together — probably to deal with the changeable weather lately — he stopped short when he saw Yan Lie, and instinctively pulled back the foot he’d half already stepped forward with.

Yan Lie nudged Fang Zhuo with his elbow. She called out immediately: “Uncle! Mr. Liu is here looking for you!”

Ye Yuncheng came out with his walking stick. This township civil servant in charge of poverty alleviation work wore his customary expression of vague existential bewilderment.

“How is it that every time I’m gone for a little while, your household has one more person in it?” Liu Qiaohong asked. “Just how many children does your family have?!”

Ye Yuncheng glanced over at the two of them and showed his teeth in a grin: “Do they look like mine?”

Liu Qiaohong studied Yan Lie’s face seriously for a moment, and — reflecting that good-looking people always seemed to share some resemblance, even when four out of five features were different — gave a nod. “They do.”

Ye Yuncheng called out to Yan Lie, who turned with Fang Zhuo’s face in his hands to look over. All three of them arranged themselves into matching smiles, which set Liu Qiaohong off into peals of laughter.

Ye Yuncheng then explained: “This is Fang Zhuo’s classmate — came back with her yesterday, and missed the last bus home.”

“He must have been part of your family in a past life,” Liu Qiaohong said. “Just slots right in!”

“That’s what I think too,” said Ye Yuncheng, face bright with pride. “He’s very accomplished — top of the class, top three in the whole school. And Zhuozhuo’s seatmate.”

This manner of boasting about one’s own child made Yan Lie feel a little bashful — though he was generally an easy-going sort. He rinsed the foam from his mouth and raised a hand in greeting.

Liu Qiaohong’s eyes lit up with approval. “That’s wonderful!”

“Come inside,” Ye Yuncheng waved. “You two hurry up as well — the porridge is already done.”

He ushered everyone in and poured a cup of hot water as the conversation continued.

Ye Yuncheng had told Fang Zhuo he wanted to find something to do — and he hadn’t been joking. He’d thought about it seriously.

Selling knowledge wasn’t feasible. He’d never received his high school diploma, and people wouldn’t trust him.

Other kinds of work wouldn’t suit him either. Jobs requiring fixed hours from nine to five didn’t work for his situation — his health was unpredictable, and he was afraid that leave of absence penalties would outweigh whatever bonus he might earn.

That left the relatively flexible option of running his own small business.

The village had a small population and low spending power. Within several kilometers, there was only one general store, and it was barely making ends meet with slow traffic even then. To buy anything during festivals or holidays, you had to travel to the market town ahead, though by now that market was already fairly saturated — there was no room for him to squeeze in.

Ye Yuncheng had one idea: if you wanted to make money, you had to go where the people were. And since he also wanted to be closer to Fang Zhuo, he set his sights on City A.

Though he hadn’t yet decided on a specific direction, his capacity for action was high. He’d already acquired an old pushcart through other channels and had been working on modifying it lately.

He had only a few thousand yuan in savings, and his thin wallet had in some ways already made the decision for him.

His top choice was food. Selling vegetables, fruit, breakfast foods, braised goods, or pastries — all of these had low startup costs, high mobility, and an easy exit if needed. The difficulty was that each of these sectors had its own unspoken rules, and if he charged in recklessly, he wouldn’t be able to carve out a market share, and might even be squeezed out.

Ordinary people living ordinary lives had their own ways of doing things, and he was far too unfamiliar with City A’s landscape.

“You’ve seen more of the world — help me think it through. What sort of work would be good?”

Ye Yuncheng felt that, for all the books he’d read over the years, they had done him very little good in practice. When he finally wanted to pull himself together, society had already moved on without him, and most of his experience was no longer of any use. Already well into his years, yet as lost as a newcomer just setting out — it was frankly embarrassing.

Liu Qiaohong listened to all of this, then gave a small smile and answered with something that seemed beside the point: “Brother Ye, it’s so good that Zhuozhuo is back. You’re a completely different person.”

Among all the people Liu Qiaohong worked with on poverty alleviation, Ye Yuncheng was the one he worried about most. He had always feared that some day he’d come by for a visit and find this man was no longer there.

Ye Yuncheng was different from the other households in difficulty — he was educated, knowledgeable, and not the sort to idle away his days. He had put in a great deal of effort, without asking for anything in return.

Years ago, when education in the area was still in a difficult state, the only primary school in the village didn’t have enough teachers. He’d walk more than half an hour each way to substitute teach, taking home only a few hundred yuan a month. Later, when his body gave out under the strain, he still did his best to stay home and not trouble anyone else.

What can you say to someone who doesn’t take care of themselves?

People can only become strong when they have something to hold onto.

“Let me think it through with you,” Liu Qiaohong said, his spirits lifting. “Haven’t they been emphasizing ‘Internet Plus’ this past year? We’ve been working on an industry-based poverty alleviation project here too, and we’re thinking of starting by opening up online markets. I’ll bring you the materials to look through as well. With your ideas, I’m sure you can make it work!”

Liu Qiaohong breathed a long sigh of relief, then immediately furrowed his brow again in concern: “You’ll definitely need someone to help you. I’m worried you’ll wear yourself out on your own. Let me see if there are any reliable, hardworking young people in the village who could lend a hand.”

By the time Fang Zhuo and Yan Lie finished brushing their teeth and were about to head inside, they noticed someone had appeared beside the neighboring house.

The person was tall and broad-shouldered — not even shorter than Yan Lie — yet he was hiding behind the wall, too timid to come out. Half his body was peeking around the edge, and it wasn’t clear how long he’d been watching.

Fang Zhuo called out tentatively: “Little Mu?”

The man across the way appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He had a round, pale face and wore dull grey clothing, with his hair cropped close in a flat top. The moment Fang Zhuo called out, he immediately turned and went back inside.

Fang Zhuo shrugged at Yan Lie, completely bewildered.

Before long, Little Mu came back out again, carrying several packets of old-fashioned popsicles — the kind that brought back childhood memories.

“For us?” Fang Zhuo asked.

Little Mu nodded.

So the two, who had just been about to stand up and go in, sat back down and carried on licking their popsicles facing the wide expanse of farmland.

Little Mu squatted about a meter away from them, eating his own, occasionally glancing at them sideways with a look that was part curious, part nervous.

Yan Lie pointed to the corner of his own mouth and asked: “What happened to your face?”

Little Mu moved his lips, his expression pained: “It hurts.”

“Who hit you?” Yan Lie asked.

Little Mu kept his mind on his popsicle, and after a while said: “Not a very good person.”

Fang Zhuo pointed toward the old house behind him. “Do you live there alone?”

“Mm.” Little Mu summoned his courage and looked at Fang Zhuo. “Before, I was close with Uncle Ye — he used to invite me for meals.”

Fang Zhuo was lost for a moment. “Oh…”

Little Mu grew anxious — he didn’t want to lose a neighbor like Ye Yuncheng — and repeated himself: “We’re close. He invites me for meals.”

“I heard you,” Fang Zhuo said. “I know what you’re trying to say.”

Little Mu: “Yes!”

Yan Lie gently guided Fang Zhuo over toward Little Mu.

Yan Lie’s smile was hard to resist. Little Mu was somewhat on edge, but held his ground.

Yan Lie asked, in a casual, friendly tone: “Hey, buddy — where do you work?”

Little Mu’s face fell at the mention of it. He stopped eating his popsicle, holding it suspended mid-air, and said dejectedly: “Not going back.”

Before either of them could ask why, Liu Qiaohong happened to come out of the house just then. The moment Little Mu saw him, his expression changed completely. He grabbed Yan Lie’s sleeve and ducked behind him, trying to use him as cover.

“Little Mu?” Liu Qiaohong recognized him, surprised. “When did you get back?”

Little Mu mumbled, too nervous to speak. Yan Lie spoke up on his behalf: “He got beaten up — and he doesn’t want to go back to work!”

“How could this happen?” Liu Qiaohong said, incensed. “That’s outrageous!”

Yan Lie: “Exactly!”

Fang Zhuo: “…”

Yan Lie, with great moral indignation: “He’s all bruised up — they must bully him all the time in normal circumstances!”

Liu Qiaohong said, puzzled: “Did you already know about this?”

Yan Lie said, without missing a beat: “He just told me.”

Liu Qiaohong motioned for Little Mu to come out, and said in a reassuring tone: “Alright — I won’t make you go back to that job.”

Only then did Little Mu relax. He stepped out from behind Yan Lie. Looking down, he discovered his popsicle had melted, and quickly began chasing the drips down the stick with his tongue. He took a lick, then stopped abruptly and looked anxiously at the two of them, dreading that they might show disgust.

Yan Lie raised his hand and licked his own finger.

Fang Zhuo always dispatched food at speed, and by now held only a bare wooden stick. Under Yan Lie’s expectant gaze, she put the stick in her mouth and gave it a lick.

Little Mu looked as though he had received tremendous encouragement, and visibly brightened.

Liu Qiaohong’s smile carried a trace of bitterness. He ruffled Little Mu’s head and told them all to go in and have breakfast.

After breakfast, Fang Zhuo was standing at the basin washing the bowls when she asked abruptly: “Has he always been like that?”

“Yes,” Ye Yuncheng said. “He has a mild intellectual disability — it wasn’t caught and treated in time. But he’s a gentle soul.”

“What about his family?” Fang Zhuo asked.

“His father passed away long ago. Even when he was alive, he treated Little Mu’s mother terribly — and when he saw the child had some difficulties, he ran off. Ye Yuncheng sighed. “Too much hardship, I suppose.”

Fang Zhuo’s hand stilled on the bowl she was rinsing, then continued washing.

“Everyone wants to live a better life,” Ye Yuncheng said quietly, head bowed. “But this world isn’t always gentle with people. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be able to grow into someone kind and brave. There’s nothing to be done about that.”

Fang Zhuo turned off the water. Something in her chest stirred — she thought, unbidden, of herself, and felt the stone inside her begin to shift. She couldn’t stop herself from asking: “And what about my mother? Did I make her life even harder?”

Her voice was very small, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Ye Yuncheng turned to look at her, surprised. “Why would you think something like that?”