Chapter 2
I tidied up my books and sat down at my desk to finish my homework. As I finished the last stroke, only the soft breathing of the night remained outside the window. The leaves rustled day after day, a beautiful lullaby now playing in the background.
I had made the bed before I left, just waiting for me, its owner, to open it again. The soft bedding was spread out neatly, and lying on it was the familiar saying, "The greatest pleasure is to lie down and sleep."
"Ha..." I exhaled unconsciously. Tired, busy, I've barely rested lately, and today was a rare early morning for me.
This is who-knows-how-many days since I arrived here. Ever since I realized I wouldn't be going back, I gave up on the idea of keeping track of dates. Recalling the past only brings me distress and sadness; it's better to focus on the present.
When I first arrived here, I was quite scared.
A fog surrounded me, a fog that moved and only followed the direction I walked. It covered my eyes and ears, and I could only smell a faint scent of rain.
I actually hid there for a few more days. Hiding there, like hiding in my mother's womb, the gentle breeze enveloped me, and I didn't need to eat or drink or care about the outside world.
But it wouldn't protect me forever. Until one day, the moment I opened my eyes, it vanished like the receding tide, leaving behind an alleyway.
I don't remember how I got through that alley; in short, once I walked to its end, all my previous memories vanished. It was like a lock that spanned space, locking away only my past. Although I gradually recalled a few hazy fragments through the daily routine, my heart was still clouded by pain and despair.
At that time, I was standing not far from the building where I now live. Although the streetlights were bright, they were too far away from me, so I was inevitably shrouded in darkness.
This was different from the way I used to take home. I'd been walking this route for over a decade, and I couldn't believe it could change so drastically in just one afternoon. I silently concluded that I was lost, but suddenly I couldn't grasp what "going home" really meant.
Everything fell into place. I walked in, winding my way along the path, and luckily, I had a set of keys on me that would open the door. I took a shower, then lay down on the bed—this was the relaxation I always felt after a long day at work.
I awkwardly rolled over in bed, feeling something strange and uncomfortable beneath me. I got up and turned on the light; my student ID and a pen were lying where I had been sleeping.
"..."
I picked up my student ID and looked at the information on it. Qinghe, male, Class 4, Mysticism Healing Major, Department of Medicine, Eretik Academy.
School address: 37 Salvi Road.
That day, I immersed myself in the experience. The next day, I went to school.
To this day, I don't find it strange, because in my meager memories, my parents didn't love me. They even thought I was the product of my mother's infidelity because I didn't inherit their looks. My mother, of course, wouldn't admit to this, and so she treated me coldly. At that time, my appearance seemed to be white hair and blond eyes, not the appearance that should have been preserved according to genetics.
Here, I have black hair and dark gray eyes. Sometimes I can't even find my pupils and corneas; it's as if the whites of my eyes are gray too, but I always manage to tell that it's just an illusion.
If my home were like this, would I have had the chance to come here?
I felt the moonlight softly falling on me through the windowpane, accompanied by quiet footsteps at the door. My eyes were closed, and I couldn't feel whether my eyelashes were fluttering slightly. Soft breathing came from beside me, a pair of hands tucked the blanket around me, and then quickly left.
I remember a new store opened nearby; I'll buy some to try when I come back.
There were a few hairs and damp marks on the pillow; I had no doubt that I had cried in the middle of the night.
Today's sun, like yesterday's, is quiet and still. The sun here is always like this, carrying a hazy, misty feel, its rays never quite falling. It's similar to the smog of the past; perhaps I've long since become accustomed to this environment. My older and younger brothers haven't started school yet, so they can stay home every day, often sleeping until late morning.
What are they busy with at night? They sleep more soundly than potatoes in the field, but when I got home, they still looked very sleepy and about to go to bed. I usually get home very late, around nine or ten o'clock at night, thanks to the school's schedule.
It's supposed to be a university, but for some reason, it's managed like a regular high school. Mornings are a bit better; students arrive before 7:30. But in the evenings, regardless of whether they're boarding or off-campus students, school ends at 10:20 at the latest. I'm not worried about the dangers of walking at night; my only complaint is that the students always seem to want to wait for me to come back hungry.
There are also times when all classes end at four or five in the afternoon, usually on Thursdays, as well as on special holidays and school anniversaries.
Today is Thursday, so I can go home early.
Qinghe placed the sandwiches on a plate and covered them to prevent dust or mice from crawling in. He also needed to check on the children's sleeping arrangements. He opened their bedroom door; they must have fought again last night, otherwise the younger brother wouldn't be lying on the floor while the older brother was sound asleep in bed.
Shouldn't the children have some sense of privacy? Qinghe suddenly realized. While pondering this, he carried his younger brother back to bed.
The two brothers were lying comfortably in bed.
Qinghe looked at them with satisfaction and decided to give the two brothers a name that night.
The school wasn't far from Qinghe's home; it was just two blocks away, less than two kilometers in total. He wasn't used to it at first, since even a kilometer could make his heart ache for someone who didn't exercise regularly.
However, he didn't know what state he was in, or why it wasn't just a matter of not being used to the place. His vague impression told him that he used to be someone who was disliked because he was thin, and that he became thin because he was disliked.
But this is a new beginning.
Qinghe strolled slowly along the road, the aroma of freshly baked buns wafting from the street. The buns here are filled with pork, as well as chives and egg, green beans and vermicelli, and chicken—well, chicken, why is it called Orleans chicken filling?
The familiar ingredients made him think he was near home.
Although he made sandwiches for the children with ingredients such as tomatoes, lettuce, and cucumber slices, he is an adult, and it is perfectly normal for him to eat something that smells delicious on the street.
From now on, we should do this further away from home. Otherwise, it would be too awkward if the kids suddenly got up early to play.
Qinghe was at the back of the queue, counting how many wisps of steam were rising from the pots far ahead. The shop was called Sheldon's Steamed Bun Shop, and the name Sheldon seemed out of place; it felt like some kind of clumsy imitation. So he kept staring at it, but it remained unmoved, firmly believing that it was indeed called Sheldon's Steamed Bun Shop.
"Junior, are you here to eat steamed buns too?"
Someone patted my shoulder from behind.
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