Xiaoluzi also
I remember the rain that day, so cold it felt like it was freezing me to the bone. It wasn't because of the weather, it was because of my father. He beat me again, but I can't remember the reason anymore.
Perhaps it was because I couldn't hide the hatred in my eyes when I looked at him, or perhaps it was simply because my presence in his sight was a reminder of my disobedient stain in his failed marriage and his all-controlling life. The belt lashed my back, burning with pain, but I didn't cry. I just gritted my teeth until the taste of rust reached my mouth. When he was tired of beating me, he said, "Get out," like throwing away trash.
I really left, rushing into the cold rain without looking back.
I didn't know where to go. Like a homeless stray dog, drenched from head to toe, I wandered aimlessly through the streets. My face was soaked, and I couldn't tell if it was rain or tears that hadn't flowed; they mixed together, cold and salty. Finally, I curled up on a rain-soaked park bench, motionless. Lin Wanqing's house was nearby, and I wanted to find her. I'd once nailed a swing for her there. But today, I watched as the new tenant dismantled the wisteria-wrapped swing and tossed it into the car like trash. It turned out she'd moved.
The last faint light in my heart seemed to be extinguished with a snap. The world was gray, cold, and full of malice.
Just when I was about to merge with the rain and the bench and was completely frozen, a clear voice penetrated the rain curtain and pierced my ears.
"Hello? What's wrong?"
I looked up suddenly.
A boy stood in the rain, holding an umbrella. The edge of the umbrella created a clear circle around him, and the falling raindrops cast a hazy glow around him. He looked clean and neat, forming a stark contrast to my disheveled appearance. The most glaring thing was the gold badge pinned to his collar, a symbol of a good student. In the gray rainy day, it shone so brightly that it seemed to mock me.
I was shocked.
It wasn't because I saw a man of my age in a place like this, but because of the look in his eyes. There was no fear, flattery, or pity that I usually see, only a pure, clean worry.
A nameless rage suddenly surged up. What are you looking at? Are you here to laugh at me? This good student, what does he know?
He leaned so close that I could smell his milky scent, mingling with the freshness of the rain. The tattered umbrella separated the two of us from a patch of dry, precarious sky. Rain slid down the ribs, forming a curtain behind him. He stood in the center of it, like... like an angel out of place.
I'm used to assuming ill will towards everyone. I glared at him, trying to scare him away with my fierce gaze, just as I'd scared off those children with ulterior motives who'd tried to get close to me. I wondered maliciously: Who sent him here? Was he here to make fun of me? Or was he trying to curry my favor in this clumsy way?
"Get out!" I grabbed the soaked, heavy schoolbag next to me and threw it at him with all my might. The metal chain scraped across his calf, leaving a glaring red mark. I waited for him to scream and run away crying.
But he didn't.
He simply squatted down, right in front of me, keeping the same height as me. The transparent umbrella tilted forward, enveloping both of us in this makeshift little world. The sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella grew muffled, and his eyes, bright as he looked at me.
"You were kicked out," he said, his tone not as a question but as a confirmation, "I can tell at a glance." There were raindrops on the tip of his nose, and he looked a little funny.
Then he did something that shocked me even more.
"Have you eaten yet? Why don't you come to my house and eat?"
My stomach, at the most inopportune moment, made a loud, unmistakable growl.
A huge sense of shame instantly overwhelmed me. I grabbed my soaked sleeve and wiped my face vigorously, trying to hide my embarrassment, but I smelled the lingering smell of my father's cigarette smoke on the sleeve, and the smell made me sick.
"Who wants to go to your house! Go away!" I roared in a cowardly manner, trying to cover up everything with ferocity.
He suddenly smiled, a smile that was inexplicably dazzling in the rain. "What if you starve to death here?" he said in a deliberately serious tone. "The park will stink tomorrow."
"Who do you think is starving to death here?" I was completely enraged and pounced over like a small animal whose tail was stepped on.
We wrestled in the sandpit after the rain. There was no rhyme or reason, just childish outbursts and inexplicable anger. Two of his umbrella ribs broke with a sharp, crisp sound. My nails left bloody marks on his delicate collarbone.
Finally, we were all exhausted, like two stranded fish, slumped on the wet slide, gasping for breath. I don't know when, the dark clouds above our heads cracked, and the sunlight poured down like melted honey.
He sat up first, with a few grains of sand stuck in his hair, looking disheveled and stubborn.
"You are not allowed to die here," he declared in a domineering tone. "This place is so beautiful, you can't pollute it!" After that, he reached out and grabbed my wrist with an astonishing force. "Come to my house for a meal before you leave!"
"I won't go! Let me go--" I tried to break free.
"Then let's fight again!" He interrupted me, his eyes a clear amber color in the thin sunlight. "If I win, you have to come with me. If you refuse..." He deliberately prolonged his tone, with a hint of provocation, "that proves you're a coward!"
I don't remember how long the subsequent scuffle lasted, but I remember that when he finally got on top of me and pinned my wrists to the sand, I started shaking uncontrollably from low blood sugar and exhaustion.
He was stunned for a moment, then announced, "You lose." He was panting, with blood still on the corner of his mouth from the scratch I had just made with my punch, but his eyes were surprisingly bright.
Just like that, I was half-dragged and half-pulled back home by this strange guy who had just finished a fight.
At night, as we slept, he mumbled something, his warm breath tickling my neck. I couldn't help but laugh, but my nose also felt sore. What a weird guy! He fights so fiercely, but he sleeps so restlessly, even thinking about homework in his dreams.
I looked at his face so close to me, at his two rows of eyelashes that looked like little fans, and my heart was in a mess.
Why?
Why did you take a piece of "trash" like me home? Why weren't you afraid of my ferocity? Why did you give me your only egg fried rice even though I had bruises on your legs?
These questions swirled in my mind, unable to find answers. In my past, I'd assumed that anyone close to me was either afraid of the Lu family's power or hoping to curry favor with my father through me. Kindness comes at a price, and gentleness often hides deeper calculations. This was the truth my father taught me with his belt and his cold gaze.
But the person in front of me...what does he want?
I was mean to him, hit him, hurt him, but he brought me back to this home filled with awards and sunshine. He even gave me his pajamas with little dinosaurs printed on them. They were a little worn from washing, but very soft.
An unfamiliar, simmering emotion surged in my chest. Not anger, not resentment, but a bitterness... bordering on resentment. It was like walking through the snow and ice, suddenly being dragged into a small, firelit cabin, the warmth so intense it made me want to cry.
I carefully and very slowly raised one hand, which remained suspended in mid-air. After hesitating for a long time, I finally gently placed it on his back, as if touching a fragile treasure. He hummed, rubbed against my arms, and fell into a deeper sleep.
At that moment, I seemed to hear something inside me snap and shatter. It was the hard shell I had built up with indifference and hostility, the shell that had protected me for so long.
This fool named Cheng Xiaorui used the most unreasonable way - a fight, a bowl of rice, a set of ridiculous dinosaur pajamas, and a domineering hug - not only did he tear a hole in my dark world, he even... brought the sun in.
I knew I would have to go back at daybreak, back to that cold "home" filled with scolding and belts. But at least on this night, in this small but warm room, I clung to the only source of heat around me, like a drowning man clinging to driftwood.
I secretly thought, if… if I could stay here forever, it would be great.
The thought, once born, grew like wild weeds. Along with it came a surge of panic and a near-reverent cherishment. I closed my eyes, feeling the breath and heartbeat of the person beside me. For the first time, I wished this night could last just a little longer, a little longer.
The thunder was still roaring in the distance, but it seemed... not as scary.
------
When I was six, I received a porcelain doll. She wore a puffy skirt and her eyes were as blue as the sky after rain. It was the first proper toy I had since my mother left.
I didn't dare show my affection. I could only touch her cold cheek with my fingers when my father wasn't looking. I hid her in the deepest corner of the bookshelf, shielding her with a few thick business dictionaries.
I thought I hid it well.
Until that evening, when I got a number wrong, my father made me stand in the corner of the study, his gaze piercing me like an icicle.
"What is that?" he asked suddenly.
I followed his gaze and my heart suddenly stopped—the hem of the porcelain doll's skirt was peeking out from between the cracks in the book.
"It's from Aunt Wang." My voice was so low that it was almost inaudible. Aunt Wang had just been fired last week because she secretly bought me an ice cream.
My father stood up, his tall shadow completely covering me. He picked up the porcelain doll and slowly turned it in his hands.
"Playthings lead to loss of ambition."
These four words sound like a verdict.
Then he let go.
“Bang!”
The crisp sound of shattering made me shudder. The porcelain doll turned into pieces, its blue eyes shattered into three petals, and its tutu was scattered everywhere.
I bit my lip tightly, tasting blood but refusing to let go. I couldn't cry, or I'd be considered weak. I couldn't beg for mercy, or I'd be looked down upon.
My father picked at the broken pieces with the tip of his leather shoe. His voice was eerily calm. "See? The thing you like is so fragile. So, don't show your love for anything. It will become your weakness."
The next day, the servants swept the debris into the trash can like sweeping away a pile of dust.
From that day on, I learned.
My father gave me an expensive fountain pen, and I accepted it expressionlessly. He took me to a fancy restaurant, and I ate quietly. He bought me the latest video game console, and I left it unopened in a corner.
But every sleepless night, I'd open that unopened video game box. Inside was the porcelain doll fragments I'd secretly glued together. The rough seams crawled across her mutilated face like centipedes, and the hem of her skirt could never be put back together.
I ran my fingertips over the bumpy adhesive joints again and again.
This is the only one I dare to like.
A pile of broken, shattered pieces that can never be put back together.
Just like me.
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