Chapter 14
Ling Yao had been feeling down all day. During the last break of the morning, he and a boy from the next class had gotten into an argument in the hallway over a trivial matter. The boy, likely a spoiled child, had a rather harsh tone, and Ling Yao's temper had been ignited. During the shoving match, Ling Yao accidentally pushed the boy into a fire hydrant, scraping a large area of his arm.
The incident immediately escalated. Before the homeroom teacher arrived, Ling Yao's mother, Mrs. Ling, appeared at the door of the grade office in high heels, carrying a chill.
She wore a well-tailored Chanel suit, her makeup exquisite, and every hair in its place. Without even glancing at her own son, she walked straight to the injured boy's parents, apologized in an elegant yet distant tone, and promptly promised to pay all medical expenses and compensation. Her gesture was impeccable.
After dealing with the external troubles, she turned her attention to Ling Yao, who was standing beside her with a tense expression.
At that moment, the air in the office seemed to freeze.
She didn't get hysterical, nor did she even raise her voice. Instead, she whispered in Ling Yao's ear with a tone as cold as a poisoned blade, and every word struck his self-esteem with precision:
"Ling Yao, am I too relaxed with you?"
"I raised you so preciously, only to let you act like a street thug in school?"
"Where's your upbringing? Where's your status? Have they all been eaten by dogs?" "You can't control your emotions over the smallest of things. You're worse than trash!"
"I put so much effort into training you, not to embarrass you!"
"If I had known you were such a good-for-nothing, I would have been better off..."
She didn't say the rest, but the deep disappointment and contempt she felt were more devastating than any insult. She didn't even give him a chance to defend himself, as if his only value was maintaining her impeccable dignity, and any flaw was an unforgivable sin.
Ling Yao clenched his teeth, his jawline as taut as stone. His hands, hanging by his sides, clenched into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms, yet he felt no pain. A familiar, icy, suffocating feeling gripped him, as if he were back in that home that was always spotless, yet as cold as a tomb.
In the end, under his mother's cold gaze and the awkward mediation of his head teacher, he said "I'm sorry" to the boy with an expressionless face.
When the school bell rang, Ling Yao was the first to rush out of the classroom. He didn't wait for Azhe and the others, but walked straight to the black car that had been waiting at the school gate.
Su Rui watched his back from afar. Even from a distance, he could sense the gloom and depression emanating from Ling Yao, like a thunderstorm about to erupt. When he heard about what happened in the office, he felt something tighten in his heart.
He remembered Ling Yao's awkward look when he brought him medicine, remembered how he still took him home even though the street light was broken and it was not on his way, remembered the pair of shoes that were just the right size... The boy who seemed to have everything could actually be hurt so badly.
An inexplicable surge of courage prompted Su Rui to quicken his pace. Just as Ling Yao was about to open the car door, he summoned all his courage and whispered, "Ling Yao!"
Ling Yao paused and turned around abruptly. Seeing that it was Su Rui, the gloom in his eyes seemed to deepen. His brows furrowed, and his tone was extremely impatient: "What are you doing? Looking for trouble again?"
Su Rui flinched at his nasty attitude, but didn't retreat. He was running a bit out of breath, and from his washed-out schoolbag, he pulled out something wrapped in a clean handkerchief and quickly stuffed it into Ling Yao's hand.
It feels slightly cool to the touch and has a soft and sticky texture.
"This... is for you." Su Rui's voice was soft and timid, but her eyes were surprisingly bright. "The osmanthus rice cakes made by the cafeteria today... are very sweet... eating them might make you feel better."
After he finished speaking, he didn't dare to look at Ling Yao's reaction, as if he was afraid of being verbally abused again. He turned around and ran, his thin back quickly disappearing in the crowd of people leaving school.
Ling Yao froze in place, looking down at the rice cake in his hand, still warm from his body. The white rice cake, dotted with golden osmanthus blossoms, exuded a simple yet authentic sweet fragrance. The handkerchief wrapped around it, stiff from washing but exceptionally clean, still lingered with a faint scent of soapberry.
It didn't fit in with the smell of expensive leather and perfume that surrounded him.
It was at odds with his mother's cold, humiliating words.
It was completely different from his previous look, as he was covered in thorns and ready to attack everything.
At this time, Azhe came over with his schoolbag strap hooked on his shoulder and whistled: "Hey, Brother Yao, what good things has the little fox brought you as tribute again?" His tone was full of his usual teasing.
Under normal circumstances, Ling Yao might have sneered or made a few derogatory remarks along with his words.
But at this moment, he suddenly clenched the soft rice cake in his hand, raised his head, and with a frighteningly gloomy look in his eyes, he growled at Azhe: "Get out!"
Azhe was shocked by his unprecedented bad attitude. He touched his nose angrily and said nothing more.
Ling Yao opened the car door, got into the back seat, and slammed the door shut, shutting out all the noise and gazes.
The car started slowly.
He spread out his palms and looked at the piece of rice cake that was slightly deformed. After a long time, he lowered his head and very slowly took a small bite with his handkerchief.
The sweetness of the rice cake and the fragrance of osmanthus slowly melt in your mouth.
The taste is very ordinary, even a little too sweet.
But it was like a weak but persistent light, which suddenly and unexpectedly shone into the ruins in his heart that had just experienced a violent storm and was freezing cold.
A strange, sour warmth rushed into his heart without warning.
He suddenly closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cold car window. His other hand, clenched into a fist, his nails still deeply embedded in his palm, began to tremble slightly.
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