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A few more days slipped by at a leisurely pace.
In early spring in the northern part of the city, the days are still short. By six or seven o'clock in the evening, the sky has completely darkened, and the streetlights turn on one after another, casting halo-like glows.
Qi Shuo's life seemed to have returned to its previous rhythm. The restaurant and home, a straight line between two points. But in a corner of his heart, it was as if a pebble had been thrown in. Although the ripples had subsided, the weight at the bottom constantly reminded him of the unresolved waves.
His hair had grown quite long, with stray strands hanging down, almost covering his eyes, creating a sticky and irritating feeling. After work that day, instead of going straight home, he rode his bike and turned into a familiar alley in the old town.
Deep in the alley, there was an old-fashioned barbershop. The old barber had traditional skills and the prices were reasonable. Qi Shuo pushed open the door, and the bell hanging on the door rang crisply. The shop was filled with the familiar yet strange smell of cheap shampoo and talcum powder.
"A haircut?" The old barber looked up from the old newspaper.
"Hmm." Qi Shuo sat down in front of the mirror. "Just cut it short, a buzz cut will do."
The electric clippers hummed, their cool surface pressed against his scalp. Strands of black hair fell to the ground. Qi Shuo looked at himself in the mirror; his features gradually became clearer and more defined after the stray hairs disappeared.
He recalled that when he was in school, the boys always had those thick bowl cuts or meticulously styled split-top haircuts, thinking that was fashionable.
He had secretly envied it before.
But now, as the stylist puts down the clippers and brushes away the stray hairs at the back of his neck, he looks in the mirror at his own sharp features, cold lines, and almost fierce demeanor, and suddenly realizes that perhaps this simplest, even somewhat rough, hairstyle is the most suitable for him now.
Stripped of all embellishments, only its most essential form remains, like a silent declaration, or a protective shell. It's been a bit longer than when I was first released, but much more efficient than before.
After paying and walking out of the barbershop, the evening breeze blew directly onto my scalp, bringing a refreshing coolness that made me feel exceptionally refreshed.
He rode his bike, not home immediately, but to a fairly large snack store nearby. Qin Zhou, that glutton, had long since run out of the snacks he'd stocked up on last time. These past few days, he'd been rummaging through drawers and cupboards after school, unable to find anything to eat, and his wailing could be heard throughout the entire building.
I'll take this opportunity to replenish my stock, and while I'm at it... I'll also buy some of that brand of milk candy. Song Yungui seems to really like it, so we can eat together when he comes over this weekend.
He emerged from the store carrying two large bags full of snacks; it was already dark. He rode his bike home. The old town was much quieter than the city center at night, and the dim streetlights cast his shadow long and short.
As he approached the entrance to the residential area, he spotted a blurry figure standing under a streetlamp in the distance. A sudden unease gripped him, and he unconsciously slowed down.
As they drew closer, the figure became clearer in the dim light—it was Tan Huaiyu.
He was still wearing that long, off-white down jacket and a scarf, his nose was red from the cold, and in his hand... he was carrying several rather exquisite-looking gift bags.
Qi Shuo recognized the logo on one of the bags; it was the plum wine brand that Sister Jin occasionally enjoyed, a drink or two of.
Another long, rectangular box had a picture of the latest remote-controlled airplane model printed on it. Qin Zhou had seen it on TV a few days ago, and his eyes lit up as he talked about it for a long time.
In his other hand, Tan Huaiyu was holding a heavy-looking, square object carefully wrapped in kraft paper. Judging from its edges and thickness, it looked very much like... very much like the authoritative book on translation theory and practice that he had browsed through several times in the bookstore before, but had never been able to afford because of its high price.
Qi Shuo's heart sank suddenly, and an extremely complex and indescribable emotion instantly seized him.
He gripped the brakes, braced himself on one foot, and stopped a few steps away from Tan Huaiyu. His newly cut buzz cut made him look even more aloof, and his gaze, in the dim light, was as sharp as an icicle.
"What are you doing here?" Qi Shuo's voice was cold, carrying undisguised aloofness and wariness.
Tan Huaiyu seemed startled by his sudden appearance and cold tone, and subconsciously hugged the thing in her arms tighter.
He raised his head and looked at Qi Shuo. The light from the streetlamp cast tiny dappled patterns on his clear eyes, which were filled with tension, unease, and a hint of... humble expectation.
"Brother Qi Shuo..." He took a small step forward, his voice trembling slightly in the cold air, "I...I want to talk to you. Is that alright?"
"There's nothing to talk about between us," Qi Shuo refused without hesitation, his tone curt.
He didn't want to have anything to do with this boy anymore; every meeting felt like tearing at his scabbed wounds.
"Just a little while! Just a few minutes!" Tan Huaiyu took another step forward urgently, almost touching Qi Shuo's handlebars. "I know... I know you hate me, hate my dad... but... it's been eight years, Brother Qi Shuo, I..."
"Eight years?" These two words were like a red-hot iron rod, stabbing into the deepest, most unbearable festering sore in Qi Shuo's memory.
The anger, resentment, and pain he had been forcibly suppressing were completely ignited at this moment. What right did Tan Huaiyu have to bring up "eight years"? What right did he have to mention it?!
Qi Shuo jumped off the vehicle, the movement so forceful that the electric scooter wobbled. He strode up to Tan Huaiyu, and to the other's astonishment, grabbed the front of his down jacket and slammed him against the cold, rough wall.
A muffled "bang" was heard.
"Eight years?!" Qi Shuo's eyes instantly turned bloodshot, and veins bulged on his forehead. He stared intently at Tan Huaiyu's face, which was pale with fright so close to his own, and his voice was squeezed out through clenched teeth, filled with earth-shattering hatred, "You dare to mention those eight years to me?! Huh?!"
Tan Huaiyu was startled by his sudden outburst of rage, and the gift bag in his arms fell to the ground, the set of books making a heavy thud.
He struggled for a moment, but Qi Shuo held him down with even greater force.
"What have you done to my family, Tan family?! Isn't that enough? Huh?" Qi Shuo's voice was hoarse, trembling with sobs, yet filled with rage. "My mother is dead! My sister is dead! My father is dead too! I've been in there for eight years! Eight years!!"
With each word he spoke, he tightened his grip, making it almost impossible for Tan Huaiyu to breathe, and a look of pain appeared on his face.
"Right now... right now all I want is to live! I want to start over! I finally... finally managed to catch my breath..." Qi Shuo's voice trembled, filled with endless grief and resentment, "Why do you keep showing up? Why do you keep reminding me again and again? Reminding me how my sister died! How my mother died! Reminding me... that I'm a murderer! I'm a murderer with blood on my hands!!"
He practically screamed the last few words, with a heart-wrenching despair.
Tears welled up unexpectedly, streaming down his cold cheeks and dripping onto Tan Huaiyu's down jacket, leaving dark stains.
He'd had enough! He'd really had enough! He just wanted to bury that bloody, painful past completely. Why did this person, this person with Tan Zhong's blood flowing through his veins, always have to haunt him, tearing open his wounds again and again, reminding him of the sins and pain he could never escape?
"Qi Shuo! Stop!"
A sharp shout came from behind. It was Sister Jin! She had just returned from work and saw this horrifying scene at the entrance of the residential area from afar. Terrified, she rushed over.
Sister Jin rushed forward and forcefully pulled Qi Shuo's arm: "Qi Shuo, let go of him, calm down!"
Qi Shuo seemed to be startled awake by the call, and the strength in his hand loosened a little, but his body was still trembling violently from excitement, and tears flowed uncontrollably down his face.
Taking advantage of the moment, Sister Jin separated the two, pulling Qi Shuo behind her like a mother hen protecting her chicks, standing between him and Tan Huaiyu. She looked at the unfamiliar Qi Shuo in front of her, his face streaked with tears and his emotions out of control, still in shock, then at the pale-faced boy leaning against the wall, coughing and clutching his neck, and the gifts scattered all over the floor, which were clearly carefully prepared.
As her gaze fell upon the bottle of plum wine and the model airplane, a vague thought flashed through her mind.
Over the years, during holidays and festivals, people would always send her something just right, sometimes anonymously or under pseudonyms—sometimes expensive tonics, sometimes her favorite snacks, sometimes school supplies or toys for Qin Zhou…
She had always assumed it was one of Qi Shuo's old friends who was secretly helping him. It wasn't until she saw Tan Huaiyu and these highly targeted gifts that she suddenly realized what was going on.
"You..." Sister Jin looked at Tan Huaiyu, her eyes filled with mixed emotions—shock, understanding, and barely suppressed anger. "You're Tan Zhong's son?"
Tan Huaiyu caught his breath, straightened up, and faced Sister Jin's sharp gaze. He lowered his head in shame, his voice weak: "...Teacher Jin, I'm sorry..."
"No wonder..." Sister Jin sneered, her chest heaving violently, "No wonder all these years... I thought it was... it was you! Is it guilt? Do you think you can make up for the sins your family committed with these things?!"
Her voice choked with emotion: "Do you know how Qi Shuo has lived these past eight years? Do you know what Xiao Shan has done...?"
She couldn't continue. She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing her surging emotions, pointed at the gift on the ground, and said sternly to Tan Huaiyu, "Take it away. Don't send anything here again, and don't ever appear in front of us again. You're not welcome here! Never again!"
Tan Huaiyu raised her head, her lips moving as if she wanted to say something, but her gaze went past Sister Jin and saw the figure behind her—Qi Shuo with his head down, his newly cut buzz cut making him look fragile yet stubborn, tears still silently streaming down his face, his shoulders trembling slightly.
That silent weeping is more lethal than any roar or accusation.
All the words of explanation, all the humble pleas, were stuck in his throat at this moment, and he couldn't utter a single word.
Yes... what right does he have to beg for forgiveness? What right does he have to talk about making amends?
Qi Shuo lost his sister and mother, his family was destroyed, and he wasted his youth in prison.
And what face does he have to disturb the little bit of peace that he has finally managed to obtain, this indirect "beneficiary," this person who used his hatred to get rid of his abusive father?
Overwhelmed by immense guilt and helplessness, he looked deeply at Qi Shuo, his eyes filled with pain, despair, and final understanding.
He slowly bent down, silently picked up the gifts scattered on the ground, and without looking at Sister Jin and Qi Shuo again, he carried those heavy things, staggering step by step, and turned to walk into the deeper darkness.
His slender figure stretched long under the dim streetlights, filled with the loneliness of being abandoned by the whole world.
Jin Jie watched Tan Huaiyu disappear into the darkness before turning around and looking at Qi Shuo, who was still silently weeping, with heartache. She reached out and gently patted his back, comforting him in a hoarse voice, "It's alright, Xiao Shuo, it's alright... it's alright... let's go home."
Qi Shuo closed his eyes, letting the tears flow freely. The cold wind swept across his freshly cut buzz cut, icy and biting, but it was nothing compared to the chill in his heart.
This time, the seemingly scabbed wound was ripped open, skin and flesh torn apart, leaving it bleeding profusely.
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