Chapter 42
The early winter night wind, like a blade dipped in ice water, scrapes across exposed skin.
Xie Qingyan had been standing under the camphor tree outside Jiang Ci's villa for forty-seven minutes.
The lights on the second floor of the villa remained on, the curtains were tightly drawn, and the room was completely still. Occasionally, a shadow would flit by. It could be Jiang Ci, or it could be the night breeze stirring something.
He didn't send any more messages or make any more calls. He just stood there, looking up at the window, like a stubborn sculpture.
My hands were numb with cold, and the white breath I exhaled briefly condensed under the streetlights before dissipating.
Another twenty minutes passed.
The villa door finally opened.
It wasn't Jiang Ci. It was Aunt Hong, the cleaning lady from the Jiang family. She was wrapped in a thick coat and carrying a bag of trash, and she was stunned when she saw Xie Qingyan.
"This classmate?" She recognized him and lowered her voice, "Who are you looking for?"
“Auntie,” Xie Qingyan said, her voice hoarse from the cold, “I’m Jiang Ci’s classmate. Is Jiang Ci home?”
Aunt Hong sighed, glanced back at the villa, her eyes full of worry: "She's been locked in her room since she got back this afternoon, and she hasn't eaten dinner. Her husband got really angry and smashed things... Sigh."
She paused, then took two small items out of her pocket and handed them to Xie Qingyan.
They were two small, cold metal objects.
“These are the spare key to the back door and the key to the young master’s room.” Aunt Zhang’s voice was even lower. “There’s a ladder in the backyard, you…you can go up and check on him. But the child is not in good condition right now, so be careful.”
Xie Qingyan gripped the key tightly, the sharp edges of the metal digging painfully into her palm.
"thank you."
"Hurry up, go in through the back door. The master and mistress have already left, and they probably won't be back tonight." Aunt Zhang said hurriedly, then turned and went back inside.
——
The lock on the back door was old, and the key made a slight "click" sound when it turned. Xie Qingyan found the ladder that Aunt Hong had mentioned, and he carefully placed it under an open window on the second floor, then climbed up the ladder and went inside.
At the end of the second-floor corridor, the door was tightly closed.
Xie Qingyan stood in front of the door for a few seconds, then gently knocked.
There was no response.
“Jiang Ci,” he said softly, “is me.”
Still silent.
He took out the key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it.
The door opened.
The main light in the room was off, only a small nightlight by the bedside cast a dim, yellowish glow. The air was thick with the smell of dust, pills, and a mixture of despair.
Jiang Ci sat on the carpet by the bed, leaning against the edge. He was wearing thin pajamas, barefoot, and holding a photo frame in his arms.
Hearing the door open, he didn't look up, didn't move, and didn't even change his breathing rate.
Xie Qingyan gently closed the door, walked over, and squatted down in front of him.
Only then did he see the photo frame in his arms—it was the picture of Tang Li playing basketball that had appeared on the forum. The boy in the photo was laughing carefree, the sunlight shining brightly on his sweaty hair.
Jiang Ci's fingers gently caressed the glass of the photo frame, as if touching the fragile wings of a butterfly.
His face was in shadow, so his expression was obscured. But Xie Qingyan noticed that his eyelashes were wet.
There was no crying, no trembling, only tears silently and continuously sliding down from the corners of her eyes, gathering at her chin, dripping onto the collar of her pajamas, spreading into dark water stains.
Xie Qingyan didn't say "Don't cry," nor did she say "It will all pass."
He simply reached out and gently placed his hand on the back of Jiang Ci's hand.
Jiang Ci's hands were icy cold, and the veins under his skin were clearly visible.
"Jiang Ci," Xie Qingyan said softly, "today is your birthday."
Jiang Ci's eyelashes trembled.
"I brought a gift." Xie Qingyan took out a small bag wrapped in plain cotton cloth from the inside pocket of her coat, placed it on the carpet, and opened it layer by layer.
There are three things inside:
A Qingtian stone seal engraved with the words "Xing Zhi Yin" (行之印). Under the moonlight, the stone is warm and smooth, and the inscription is clear. There is also a handwritten, thread-bound booklet with a plain white Xuan paper cover, inscribed with two characters in ink: "Heart Sutra" (心经). Finally, there is a crooked little cake with its cream already collapsed, and a thin candle stuck in it.
Xie Qingyan took out a lighter, and with a "click," a flame shot up.
He lit the candle.
The dim, flickering candlelight appeared so faint, yet so persistent, in this deathly darkness.
“Jiang Ci,” Xie Qingyan said softly, looking at the flickering flames, “I don’t know what to wish for. But I’ll make one for you.”
He paused, his voice clear in the silence like pearls falling on a jade plate:
"From this day forward, I wish to be there for you on every birthday."
Jiang Ci finally raised his head.
The candlelight reflected on his face. Those eyes, which were always calm, aloof, or empty, were now red and swollen with tears, and in them surged emotions that Xie Qingyan had never seen before, emotions that were close to collapse—pain, guilt, despair, and a faint tremor ignited by the candlelight.
“Xie Qingyan,” he began, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping, “you know.”
It's not a question, it's a statement.
"Yes." Xie Qingyan nodded. "Wen Heng told me everything."
"Then why did you come?" Jiang Ci's voice suddenly rose, trembling with suppressed emotion. "Do you know how Tang Li died? Do you know what happens to those who get close to me? You—do you want to become the second Tang Li?!"
The last sentence was almost shouted, broken and desperate.
Xie Qingyan did not dodge or retreat. He remained crouched there, looking up at Jiang Ci, the candlelight flickering in his clear eyes.
“Jiang Ci,” he said, his voice eerily calm, “Tang Li’s death is not your fault.”
Jiang Ci shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face: "It's my fault! If I hadn't rejected Chen Jingming, if I hadn't associated with him, if I hadn't remained silent—Tang Li wouldn't have spoken up for me, wouldn't have been cyberbullied, wouldn't have—"
"Then who should we blame?" Xie Qingyan interrupted him, her voice still calm, yet like a knife cutting through the chaos. "We should blame Chen Jingming for his greed and malice, we should blame the rumor-mongers for their ignorance and cruelty, and we should blame everyone who raised the moral sword before the truth was clear."
He leaned forward, and the candlelight flickered between them.
“Jiang Ci, the victim does not need to repent for the perpetrator’s crimes.” He said each word carefully. “Your only mistake may be that you are too kind and too easily believe that there is still justice in this world.”
Jiang Ci stared at him blankly, her lips trembling, but she couldn't say a word.
Xie Qingyan picked up the seal, but instead of placing it directly into Jiang Ci's hand, he first held it in his own palm, warming it with his body heat for a moment. Then, he gently placed the stone, still warm from their bodies, into Jiang Ci's icy palm.
“This is my courtesy name, ‘Xingzhi,’” he said. “It was given to me by my teachers when I came of age in my previous life. It means ‘to keep one’s word and to carry out one’s actions.’” He paused, his voice growing deeper. “In this life, no one but you knows this, and no one can give it to me.”
Jiang Ci's fingers tightened, the sharp edges of the stone digging into his palm.
“I’m giving it to you,” Xie Qingyan continued, her gaze falling on the pale white scar on his wrist. “It’s not for you to keep anything for me. It’s to tell you—”
He raised his eyes and looked directly into Jiang Ci's tear-blurred eyes:
"From this day forward, your innocence is my innocence. Your infamy is my infamy."
If you feel your heart is clouded, I will be your clear pool.
Jiang Ci's breathing suddenly stopped.
He lowered his head, looking at the seal in his palm, at that small yet incredibly heavy stone. Large tears streamed down his face, falling onto the seal and spreading dark watermarks.
After a long silence, he asked in a hoarse voice, "...Why?"
Xie Qingyan thought for a moment and answered very seriously:
The Book of Songs says, "In life and death, in separation and reunion, we made a vow. Holding your hand, we will grow old together."
He paused, his gaze like a deep, still pool, reflecting the candlelight and Jiang Ci:
"Jiang Ci, no matter what lies ahead, whether it be life or death, wide or narrow, this agreement is made and will never be changed."
"I've taken your hand, and I'll never let go."
silence.
The only sounds were the faint crackling of the candlelight and Jiang Ci's suppressed, broken breathing.
Jiang Ci did not answer. He lowered his head, looking at the seal in his palm, at the seal engraved with "Xingzhi," and large tears fell down his cheeks.
Then, Jiang Ci did something that made Xie Qingyan's heart stop beating—
He pressed the seal tightly against his chest. Beneath his thin pajamas, he could feel his heart pounding fiercely.
"Okay," he said hoarsely. That one word seemed to have used all his strength to entrust him with his lifelong trust and vulnerability.
The candlelight danced between them, casting flickering shadows in each other's eyes.
Jiang Ci stared at Xie Qingyan for a very long time, as if trying to see through those clear eyes to discern whether he truly felt no fear in the deepest part of his soul.
Finally, he spoke, his voice as soft as a sigh:
"Xie Qingyan, you really are... the dumbest person I've ever met in my life."
Xie Qingyan smiled and said, "Likewise."
Jiang Ci smiled too. The smile was faint and fragile, like the first crack in ice, yet it truly and briefly illuminated the abyss in his eyes.
He let go of her hand, picked up the handwritten Heart Sutra, and turned to the last page.
There was a line of small regular script there, the ink not yet completely dry:
"May this merit be dedicated to Jiang Ci, purifying all karmic obstacles and granting him complete peace."
Jiang Ci's fingers brushed over the line of words, his fingertips trembling slightly.
Then, he picked up the crooked cake and looked at the candle that was almost burned out.
"Make a wish," Xie Qingyan said softly. "You should always make a wish on your birthday."
Jiang Ci closed his eyes.
The candlelight cast a warm glow on his pale face. His long eyelashes drooped, casting fan-shaped shadows on his eyelids.
He remained silent for a long time.
Then, they blew out the candles.
Darkness returned, with only moonlight filtering through the window and the small nightlight on the bedside table.
"What did you wish for?" Xie Qingyan asked.
Jiang Ci did not answer. He simply watched the wisps of smoke rising from the extinguished candle and said softly:
"Xie Qingyan."
"Um?"
"If... if I can never clear my name in the future, if I really have to live my whole life carrying the stigma of 'causing Tang Li's death'—"
He paused, then looked up, the moonlight falling into his eyes, clear and resolute:
Will you stay with me?
Xie Qingyan did not answer immediately. He reached out and grasped Jiang Ci's still cold hand, their fingers intertwined.
Then he said:
"Jiang Ci, listen carefully."
"If this world is truly upside down, if justice will never come, then I will stand with you and be an enemy of this world."
"We don't need the world to clear our names."
"We are each other's innocence."
Jiang Ci's tears welled up again. But this time, he didn't suppress them or hide them; he simply let them flow.
He gripped Xie Qingyan's hand tightly, his knuckles turning white.
"Xie Qingyan," he said, his voice choked with emotion, "remember what you said today."
"I will remember this for the rest of my life," Xie Qingyan said, his tone resolute. He looked out at the deep night, then turned his gaze back to Jiang Ci's eyes, which were now cleansed by tears.
“And remember this—from today onward, your birthday is no longer Tang Li’s death anniversary. It is the day you are reborn.”
He gripped Jiang Ci's hand tightly, speaking each word as if making a vow: "It is the day you emerge from the darkness. It is the first tomorrow we both look forward to."
Outside the window, the distant horizon seemed to reveal a faint, almost imperceptible, gray-blue hue belonging to dawn.
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