Past

The rice bowl restaurant from my memory is still in the same old place. The shop is small, the tables and chairs have a worn-out grease sheen, and the air is filled with the smell of cooking oil and home-cooked dishes. It's lively and noisy.

Ning Wan and Qi Shuo sat facing each other at a small square table against the wall, with two simple bowls of rice topped with green peppers and shredded pork placed between them. The rice was still steaming, but the air between them seemed to have frozen.

Silence stood between them like a thick wall.

A six-month gap is enough to erode a once intimate relationship into a cautious estrangement.

Ning Wan's hand holding the chopsticks stiffened slightly. She ate her food slowly and in small bites, her gaze lowered, not daring to look at the person opposite her.

Qi Shuo ate faster than her, as usual, but after he finished eating, he didn't urge her anymore. He just put down his chopsticks, sat quietly, and stared into the unknown void, as if waiting, or perhaps just spacing out.

Ning Wan felt his gaze, or rather, felt the weight of his silence, and finally couldn't help but ask in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible, "Brother Qi Shuo... how have you been lately?"

"I'm fine." Qi Shuo's voice was calm and still, like the water in a deep pool, without ripples. After the brief response, silence returned. He neither asked her "And you?" nor did he intend to continue the conversation.

These two words were like two small pebbles thrown into a deep well, barely even echoing. Ning Wan's heart sank deeper and deeper.

There was still more than half a bowl of rice left in her bowl, but she couldn't swallow any more. She slowly put down her chopsticks, raised her head, and looked at Qi Shuo.

That face seemed thinner than she remembered, a lingering melancholy between her brows, and a weariness deep in her eyes that she couldn't decipher, a weariness that held back too much. She wanted to speak, to say something, to explain something, or at least ask, "Are you still blaming me?" But the words caught in her throat, as if something was blocking her mouth, and no sound came out. Her throat tightened, and her eyes burned.

Just then, Qi Shuo moved. He took out a square object carefully wrapped in dark brown paper from his bag and handed it to her.

Ning Wan's gaze fell upon it, and her breath caught in her throat.

"A belated gift." Qi Shuo's voice remained flat, devoid of emotion. "And, happy birthday."

Ning Wan's fingertips trembled as she took the paper package. It was very light, but it felt incredibly heavy to her.

She slowly, bit by bit, peeled back the edge of the parchment, revealing the English essay collection she had once perused countless times in the library, a book she cherished but regretted due to the obscurity of the original and the less-than-ideal translations. But this copy was clearly not any commercially available translation. The paper was new, the binding simple, and on the title page was the familiar, beautiful running script of Qi Shuo, bearing the title, followed by a line of smaller text—

"May you be happy, Ningwan."

Turning the page further, she found the original text she was familiar with, with dense annotations and comments written in the same font in the margins, as well as... a neat, fluent, and beautifully written translation.

This is his translation. He translated it for her, stroke by stroke.

Tears welled up unexpectedly, large drops falling onto the pages and spreading into a small wet patch. She bit her lower lip hard, trying not to cry out, but her shoulders trembled slightly uncontrollably.

Qi Shuo watched her silently weep, offering neither comfort nor urging her on. He got up, went to the counter to pay, and then stood at the shop entrance, waiting for her.

Ning Wan vigorously wiped her face, clutched the translation manuscript—a labor of love—tightly in her arms as if it were a fragile treasure, took a deep breath, and followed.

They didn't go back to school, nor did they go to any crowded places. Qi Shuo walked silently ahead, while Ning Wan, carrying books, followed half a step behind him.

The two walked one after the other into a deserted little park near the old town. It was an autumn evening; the vegetation was bare, and the benches were covered with fallen leaves, adding to the desolation. They walked slowly along a quiet path, neither speaking. Occasionally, Qi Shuo would stop, look up, and gaze at the twilight sky, dyed golden-red by the setting sun, gradually fading to orange-purple, and finally sinking into inky blue. His eyes were blank, lost in thought.

Just as the last ray of daylight was about to be swallowed by the night, Ning Wan, who had been silently following behind him, suddenly seemed to use all her strength to pounce on him from behind, throwing herself into his arms, opening her arms, and hugging his waist tightly.

She buried her face deep in the fabric of his shirt, her body trembling violently from suppressed sobs, yet she stubbornly refused to let go or make a sound.

Qi Shuo's body suddenly stiffened. He did not try to break free.

His hand, hanging by his side, twitched slightly before slowly relaxing. After a long while, he raised one hand very slowly, with an almost stiff stiffness, and very lightly touched the hair on her head, as if touching a snowflake about to break, before quickly withdrawing it.

"It's alright," he said in a low voice, hoarse as if it had been sanded.

These three words seemed to open a floodgate, and Ning hugged him even tighter. Finally, she couldn't hold back her sobs any longer, muffled and broken, filled with unspeakable grievances, guilt, and pain.

She held him like that, in the newly fallen night and the bleak autumn wind, like a child who had been lost for too long and finally found his way home, unwilling to let go.

Qi Shuo didn't move again, nor did he say any more words of comfort. He just stood silently, like a tree standing tall in the cold wind, bearing this heavy, silent sorrow and dependence.

He thought that what should and shouldn't be said was perhaps all contained in this belated embrace.

He understood, and perhaps she understood too. It was precisely because they understood that they remained silent.

After an unknown amount of time, Ning Wan's sobs gradually subsided, turning into soft sobs, but she still didn't let go. The evening breeze grew increasingly cold, carrying a biting chill.

Just when Ning Wan thought they would stand there forever, or that Qi Shuo would eventually push her away, she heard Qi Shuo's voice. It was soft and slow, as if he were telling a distant story that had nothing to do with her. It resounded heavily in the quiet, desolate park.

“Let me tell you about my story, Ning Wan,” he said, his gaze fixed on the blurry tree shadows in the darkness in the distance.

Ning Wan's body jolted, and the arms around his waist unconsciously loosened their grip slightly, but she still didn't let go completely.

She turned her face to the side, pressing her ear against his chest, as if trying to hear more clearly the beating of his heart and the story that was about to unfold.

“When I was little,” Qi Shuo’s voice was very calm, almost unnaturally calm, “I actually… had a very happy family. My mother was a high school English teacher, and my father was an ordinary programmer. My family wasn’t very rich, but we had everything we needed. Life was ordinary, but we were happy and harmonious.”

His description was brief, but Ning Wan seemed to be able to see a warm family of three through those few words.

A gentle mother, a somewhat taciturn but loving father, and a smart, lively, and perhaps a little mischievous little boy.

“My mom likes to talk to me in English at home and tease me. My dad doesn’t speak English well, but he secretly learns it for my mom’s sake. Sometimes he makes mistakes, which makes my mom laugh. I also like to learn from my mom. Maybe that’s why I’ve been particularly interested in languages ​​since I was little and I learn them quickly.”

There was a very faint, almost imperceptible longing in his voice, like a faint fragrance of flowers about to dissipate in the wind.

"My younger sister was born when I was twelve years old."

His tone wavered slightly for the first time, but he quickly suppressed it. "She was premature. She was very weak and always sick. My mother... also suffered health problems because of giving birth to her, and her condition deteriorated."

"The family's money was spent like water. When the savings were gone, my dad's company was not doing well and he was facing layoffs."

Qi Shuo paused, his breathing seeming to become heavier. "When he was desperate, my dad... he started gambling." He spoke the last word softly, yet it sounded like a heavy hammer blow.

Ning Wan's heart clenched suddenly.

“At first, he won a little. He thought he saw hope and could turn things around. But then he lost more and more. My mom tried to persuade him and stop him, but it was no use. I even begged him, but it was all in vain.”

“One year, two years… all the money in the house, the money that my grandparents and maternal grandparents had saved up their whole lives, was gone. He started borrowing money, borrowing from loan sharks.”

“I’m fifteen years old. I’ve finished my middle school entrance exam and I’m going to high school. The tuition at Beicheng No.1 High School isn’t expensive, but my family can’t even afford that little bit of money.”

“My mother didn’t want me to be deprived of my education, so she quit her stable teaching job and started doing odd jobs. She worked two or three jobs a day… she was so exhausted that she was practically unrecognizable. My younger sister… Shanshan, was only three years old at the time, she was skin and bones from hunger, and she was much slower than other children in learning to speak and walk.”

Qi Shuo's voice remained calm, but Ning Wan could feel that his muscles were unconsciously tensing up.

Those distant, blood-soaked scenes were being forcibly dragged out from the depths of his memory and laid out in the night.

"Shanshan is too young to understand. All she knows is that she's hungry and uncomfortable. All she can do is cry, cry over and over again, saying she's hungry."

“At first, my mom would try her best to get some food for her and me. But every time she had a little money, before she could even enjoy it, my dad would snatch it away and gamble it away. My mom… she slowly… changed. She got tired, and she became numb.”

"To Shanshan, her cries must have sounded like a death knell. She started throwing things and throwing a tantrum."

“My dad has no money and can’t pay off his debts. His temper is getting worse and worse, and he’s started hitting people. He hits my mom, he hits me, and he hits Shanshan too.”

“My mom turned around and took her anger out on us too.”

He omitted who "we" specifically referred to, but Ning Wan understood. That "we" included at least his younger sister and himself, who was only seventeen at the time.

“That year, I was a sophomore in high school.” Qi Shuo’s voice finally trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly, but quickly returned to a deathly calm. “It was the year that Sister Jin moved into our old alley.”

The story ends abruptly here.

He didn't say anything more, not about what followed was even more tragic and unbearable—his mother's leap to her death, his father's madness, his sister's tragic death, the blood on his hands, and the long eight years behind bars.

But even these words were heavy enough, enough to crush the listener's heart. Ning Wan was already in tears. She finally released her arms from his waist, looked up, and in the dim light, gazed at his expressionless face, which seemed to bear endless suffering. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found that any words were pale and powerless at this moment.

The night wind grew colder, swirling up the withered leaves on the ground, rustling them like sighs that no one could hear.

The night was as dark as ink, swallowing the last rays of daylight in the park. The wind howled through the bare branches, adding a touch of desolation and chill to the story about to be revealed.

After a long silence, Qi Shuo slowly raised his head, his gaze unfocused as he stared into the void.

With an almost detached, icy tone, he laid out that blood-soaked past, like unfolding a yellowed, tattered scroll, word by word, in the chilly night.

He mentioned Sister Jin's timely help.

When he and his sister were on the verge of despair and their studies were interrupted, it was that neighbor, who was not related to them by blood, who used his meager salary to support them and keep them from falling apart.

He recounted the days and nights he dared not go home.

How did three broken teenagers—himself, his sister Qi Shan, and Qin Zhou, who joined later—crowd into Sister Jin's small but warm room, barely surviving amidst fear and hunger, drawing slivers of pitiful warmth?

Those days under Sister Jin's protection, like walking on thin ice yet still retaining a glimmer of light, were the last and most illusory tranquility before the storm.