heavy rain
In the last few days of April, the weather changed without warning.
A sudden gust of wind whipped up dust and withered leaves, which splattered against the glass. Then, large raindrops began to fall heavily, quickly forming a vast expanse of water that filled the world with a deafening roar.
This rain, which had been building up for a long time, was now coming down in a massive downpour, as if it were trying to wash away all the gloom of the past few days.
The Grade 11 teaching building at Beicheng No.1 Middle School.
It was during recess, but the rain was pouring down, and no one wanted to leave the classroom. The corridor was also crowded with people, and the noise, playful shouts, and complaints about the weather mingled with the sound of the rain, creating a buzzing background. Tan Huaiyu stood alone at the end of the corridor, looking at the torrential rain outside.
He stood ramrod straight, his back stiff, his face expressionless, except for his amber eyes, which, through the blurry glass, gazed at the red flag on the playground in the distance, tattered by the rain, their gaze calm and unfathomable.
The rumors about him being "kicked out of the Tan family," "giving up his inheritance rights," and "now being a penniless bastard with no backing" had been brewing and spreading unseen, like the sultry heat before the rain, and finally erupted under the cover of today's downpour.
No, perhaps it wasn't an "outburst," but rather a carefully planned and perfectly timed "fermentation completion" and "harvest moment" by certain individuals.
Tan Zhenye's approach was not sophisticated, but effective.
For a group of seventeen or eighteen-year-old teenagers, whose minds are restless and who are best at praising the powerful and belittling the weak, what could be more exciting and more likely to show off their "power" than watching the once high and unattainable "young master of the Tan family" fall into the mud?
Tan Huaiyu could feel those gazes, like needles pricking his back. There were curious stares, gloating prying glances, undisguised contempt, and... eager malice. Like a pack of hyenas that had caught the scent of blood, their eyes lit up in the darkness.
These gazes, these whispers, even the mockery, whether to his face or behind his back, had long been a familiar, numbing routine for him over the past few years.
The only difference is that before, they only dared to watch from behind, their eyes filled with a complex mix of envy, jealousy, and fear.
Now, he himself has shattered the protective shell called "Tan Family," and all fear has vanished, leaving only naked malice and...excitement.
An excitement that allows one to trample on things at will without paying a price.
The sound of the rain was so loud that it drowned out many other sounds, but it also made some sounds stand out clearly.
"Hey, isn't this our young master Tan? What, you're here to watch the rain too? Your clothes... tsk, you're not wet yet, are you? Want us to give you a hand?" A sarcastic voice rang out from behind, filled with undisguised malice and glee.
Tan Huaiyu didn't turn around. He knew who it was. Several boys from the next class, who had always flattered him, were now the most eager to fawn over him. He didn't move, his gaze still fixed on the window.
"I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?" A light shove landed on his shoulder. The force was probing, but mostly humiliating.
Tan Huaiyu swayed almost imperceptibly before regaining his balance. He slowly turned around to look at the faces filled with mockery and excitement.
He vaguely remembered the leader; his family seemed to run a small business, and the man used to be so intimidated by him that he didn't dare breathe too loudly. Now, the man's face was twisted with pleasure, as if being able to push him was some kind of remarkable achievement.
"What's up?" Tan Huaiyu asked, his voice flat and even, as if asking, "How's the weather today?"
The boy was taken aback by his calm and composed demeanor, then became enraged, feeling he had lost face: "What are you so arrogant about? Do you still think you're some young master of the Tan family? What are you now? Trash thrown out by the Tan family! Bastard!"
"Exactly! I heard his mother's a whore, and his father..."
Before he could utter any harsher words, Tan Huaiyu's gaze swept over him. Those eyes, which usually held a distant, inorganic coldness when they looked at people, were now like icy blades, chilling to the bone, carrying an almost tangible, heart-stopping chill.
He didn't speak, he just stared at the person who was speaking.
The boy was stung by that gaze, and the words caught in his throat. His expression changed several times, but he ultimately didn't dare to say anything more. The others who had been egging him on also shut their mouths awkwardly, but the malice and contempt in their eyes remained undiminished.
Tan Huaiyu withdrew his gaze and turned back to the window, as if that warning glance had never happened.
He remained standing there, his posture ramrod straight, like a lone bamboo stalk in the downpour, yet refusing to bend. Only his hand, hanging by his side, curled slightly, his fingertips digging into his palm, causing a sharp, piercing pain.
The school bell rang. The crowd reluctantly dispersed, casting a few last glances—some of pity, some of mockery, and some simply amusement—before returning to their classrooms.
Tan Huaiyu waited until the corridor was empty again before starting to walk towards her classroom. Every step she took was steady, her back ramrod straight.
Only he knew that beneath that calm exterior, his blood was surging with an almost frenzied speed, his heart pounding heavily in his chest, striking his ribs and bringing waves of dull pain. A destructive impulse, like black vines, was growing wildly in his heart, coiling and tightening, almost bursting out of his body.
Kill them. In the cruelest way. Shut them up, make them unable to utter another word, make them pay for their stupidity and malice.
The thought was so clear, so tempting, with a sweet, metallic taste, that it spread across his tongue.
cannot.
Two words, like ice water, poured over his head, instantly extinguishing the boiling, bloodthirsty flames.
Qi Shuo Ge hates him like that.
That man lurking in the shadows, his eyes sinister, his methods ruthless, covered in mud and reeking of blood. That man who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals, lurking like a venomous snake, seeking revenge like a demon. That man… who shared the same filthy blood as his father.
Qi Shuo wouldn't like it. Qi Shuo likes clean people.
Like Xiao Jue, warm and reliable; like Qin Zhou, sunny and lively; like Song Yungui, quiet and hardworking. Even like Ning Wan, though timid, at least she is pure.
He, Tan Huaiyu, was destined to be forever separated from the word "clean" from birth.
His blood was dirty, his past was dirty, and his entire being, inside and out, was permeated with the stench of the rotten mansion of the Tan family.
All he could do was disguise himself, locking away the filth and bloodlust beneath his skin, revealing a facade that seemed "harmless" or even "well-behaved." Even if this facade was so fragile, so vulnerable, that it could be washed away at any moment by a downpour or a few idle words.
He cannot.
At the very least, it can't be done openly, it can't leave any evidence, it can't... let Brother Qi Shuo know.
Tan Huaiyu pushed open the back door of the classroom and walked in. The previously noisy classroom fell silent for a moment, and all eyes turned to him, filled with a variety of indescribable emotions. He ignored them and went straight to his seat—the second to last row, by the window.
Then, he stopped.
The chair cushion was soaked, filthy, and torn to shreds.
On the table, the open book was covered with obscene words and vicious curses written in red pen. Several pages were roughly torn out, crumpled into a ball, and thrown on the corner of the table.
The drawer was crammed with all sorts of trash—crumpled paper balls, leftover snack wrappers, and even a few clumps of sticky, unidentifiable filth that emitted an unpleasant odor.
His schoolbag was thrown on the ground, zipper wide open, its contents spilling out. His pen was broken, and the cover of his notebook was covered in dirty shoe prints.
A complete mess. A blatant and insulting mess.
The classroom was completely silent. Everyone stared at him, holding their breath, waiting for his reaction.
Tan Huaiyu stood there, looking at the mess. Time seemed to stand still.
The sounds of torrential rain outside the window, the suppressed breathing in the classroom, the chalk dust floating in the light... all the sounds faded away, leaving only the deafening pounding of his own heart in his ears and the buzzing of blood rushing to his head.
Kill them all. Leave no one alive.
The thought surged up again, more intensely and concretely than ever before.
He could even picture the horrified faces of the perpetrators, hear the cracking of bones breaking, and smell the sweet, metallic scent of splattering blood. The desire for destruction, like a venomous snake, licked at his nerves, bringing a thrilling, almost chilling pleasure.
He slowly, very slowly, bent down and extended his pale fingers, the tips trembling slightly.
It wasn't fear, but a barely suppressed rage. He picked up the dirtied notebook from the ground and dusted it off.
He straightened up, picked up the filthy notebook, turned around, and calmly scanned the classroom. Wherever his gaze fell, some people lowered their heads guiltily, some looked away with schadenfreude, and others wore expressions of unbearable disapproval.
Finally, his gaze fell on a few boys in the middle of the classroom, who were winking and whispering among themselves. They were the same boys who had provoked him in the hallway earlier.
The one in the lead, upon meeting his gaze, first flinched, then puffed out his chest, stiffened his neck, and adopted a defiant expression that said, "What can you do to me?"
The footsteps were clearly audible in the quiet classroom; each step felt like it was treading on everyone's heart.
The smugness on the boys' faces gradually froze, replaced by a barely perceptible hint of panic. They exchanged glances, seemingly trying to bolster their courage, but none of them dared to make the first move.
Tan Huaiyu walked up to them and stopped.
They were very close, close enough to smell the cheap cologne mixed with sweat on the other person. He didn't look at the leader, but instead turned his head slightly to look at a boy next to him who had been cursing the loudest in the corridor just now, but whose eyes were now shifting.
“Your shoes,” Tan Huaiyu said, his voice not loud, but clear enough to penetrate the sound of rain and reach everyone’s ears, “size 42, classic Nike, there’s a scratch about three centimeters long on the outside of the left sole, they’re new.”
He paused, his gaze returning to the dirty notebook cover. Then, with his fingertip, he gently touched the edge of the clear shoe print, where there was a tiny, irregular tear.
“It matches this.”
The classroom was deathly silent. You could hear a pin drop. Everyone stared wide-eyed at Tan Huaiyu, then at the boy whose name had been called, and then at the shoe print on the notebook. The boy's face turned deathly pale; his lips trembled, as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
The leader was also stunned, and subconsciously looked down at his companion's shoes.
Tan Huaiyu did not pursue the matter further. He withdrew his hand, picked up the dirty notebook, turned around, and walked back to his seat.
He bent down, picking up the scattered items one by one, dusting them off, and putting them into his schoolbag. His movements were unhurried and methodical, as if dealing with something unrelated to him. Then, he picked up the soaking wet, tattered cushion, walked to the trash can at the back of the classroom, and threw it in. He returned, took out tissues from his schoolbag, and began wiping the grime from his desk and drawers. His expression remained calm, even...numb.
There was no anger, no resentment, no tears, only a cold, mechanical focus.
And so, under everyone's watchful eyes, he painstakingly cleaned up the mess, using up most of a pack of tissues. Finally, the desk and drawers were restored to basic tidiness, though water stains and stubborn dirt remained. He took out a spare set of clean books and stationery and arranged them neatly.
Then, I pulled out a chair—the one that had just been cleaned and was still damp—and sat down. My back was straight, just as it had been when I stood by the window.
Throughout the entire process, the classroom was eerily quiet. Only the faint sounds of him cleaning and the relentless, torrential rain outside the window could be heard. Those mocking gazes gradually changed. Bewilderment, fear, even… a barely perceptible, chilling unease.
He wasn't unresponsive; his reaction was far more chilling than any cry or rage. He remembered every detail, pinpointed the "murderer" precisely, yet didn't pursue the matter further, completing the cleanup with an almost self-destructive calmness. This exerted a far greater, more invisible, and heavy pressure than any violent retaliation.
The bell rang again, and the teacher walked in carrying her lesson plan. Seeing the unusually tense atmosphere in the classroom and the water stains left on Tan Huaiyu's desk, she frowned but didn't ask any questions and began the lesson.
Tan Huaiyu took out his textbook, opened it, and stared at the pages. But he couldn't absorb a single word. The printed words in front of him blurred into a hazy blur, and the teacher's voice seemed to be coming through a thick layer of glass.
All the senses seemed to shrink inward, leaving only the raging, unstoppable, and turbulent emotions of ice and fire within the body.
Nausea. Anger. Murderous intent. And... a deep, cold weariness.
He clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms, the stinging pain barely pulling him back to his senses.
No. I hate Qi Shuo. I'll hate Qi Shuo.
Qi Shuo Ge… he murmured to himself over and over again, as if chanting some kind of incantation to suppress inner demons.
He needs this.
This pain is necessary. This self-imposed confinement because of Qi Shuo is necessary.
This was the only piece of driftwood he could grasp at that moment, preventing him from sliding completely into the abyss. It was also the last line of defense that distinguished him from that man—his biological father.
Fine. So be it. Washed away by the rain, forgotten by the world. Like a real, homeless stray dog.
After school, he walked for about half an hour. When he finally reached the entrance of the old residential area called "Yucaiyuan," he was soaked to the bone and shivering uncontrollably from the cold. His hair clung to his forehead, with water droplets constantly dripping from the ends. His face was deathly pale, and his lips were purple from the cold.
He stood outside the rusty iron gate of the residential compound, not going in immediately. Instead, he looked up and gazed in a certain direction.
Through the heavy rain and the vast distance, nothing could be seen.
It is absurd and laughable, yet it carries a hidden, self-destructive sweetness.
Tan Huaiyu tried to force a smile, but it only produced a smile more painful than a grimace. More rainwater flowed into his mouth, salty and cold.
He finally lowered his head, took out his key, and opened the rusty iron door. The hinges creaked harshly, barely audible in the downpour.
He walked in, his figure disappearing into the dimly lit stairwell, thin and resolute, as if he were about to be completely swallowed up by the boundless rainy night.
The rain is still falling. It's getting heavier and heavier, seemingly without end.
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