The Silent One at the Feast
Ye Shu's youth wasn't a reckless poem, but more like a silent film playing silently amidst the bustling city. His world was a card-accessible penthouse in a prime city location, a space with a constant temperature year-round, rich Persian carpets, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the dazzling river.
While his classmates discussed the latest sneakers, hot games, and naive romances, Ye Shu's spare time was filled with various "classes": equestrianism, golf, tasting (wine, cigars, art), and, more importantly, observation. He would wear a well-tailored suit and sit quietly in a corner of his father's study, listening to the adults, in gentle or sharp tones, discuss projects worth billions, the intricacies of equity, and the "uncles" whose names often appeared in the financial news. He learned to judge the rhythm of a conversation by the frequency with which he lifted and put down his teacup, to distinguish sincerity from hypocrisy by the curve of a smile, and to sense the tension of a deal from the gaps of silence.
He briefly tried to fit in with his so-called "peers." Once, he invited several classmates from similarly wealthy families to his home. The huge indoor swimming pool, professional audio-visual room, and dazzling array of imported snacks didn't bring the expected cheers. Instead, they made the teenagers stiff and fawning, their words filled with cautious probing and subtle comparisons. Ye Shu watched with a cold eye, suddenly feeling bored. After that, he became more accustomed to solitude.
At school, he excelled, but not out of passion. It was simply part of the "rules," and it came easy to him. He had few friends, nor did he feel the need for them. His presence was like a faint shadow—handsome, quiet, and polite, yet always separated by an impenetrable wall of glass. Some girls, drawn to his unique aura, would summon the courage to offer him love letters or gifts, but he would simply gaze calmly at them. His gaze was so clear, so penetrating, it seemed to see through every shimmering tangle of curiosity, vanity, and genuine emotion in their hearts, causing them to retreat in embarrassment.
Perhaps the strongest emotion of his youth was a silent pity for his mother. That beautiful yet melancholic woman, like a bird carefully kept in a gilded cage, masked her inner emptiness with jewels and finery, her greatest comfort being the delicate yet ephemeral imported flowers in the garden. Ye Shu often saw her lost in thought, contemplating the withered blossoms, her eyes as blank as his when he gazed out the window at the bustling traffic.
His adolescence, enveloped in the whims of material possessions, foreshadowed the hypocrisy, calculation, and uncertainty of the adult world. He experienced no rebellion, for he had long since seen through it: all resistance was powerless before the vast empire of family rules and interests. He simply grew more silent and distant each day, a dispassionate spectator observing the grand spectacle of "high society," foreseeing its eventual end. His youth was spent alone, beside the feast, savoring loneliness, quietly nurturing the soil for his future, apathetic indifference bordering on divinity. Prosperity was the backdrop of his youth, and he, the only actor within it, predisposed to know the script and feeling weariness.
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