He had lived with his grandmother since he was a child in a dilapidated alley of the slums with peeling paint on the walls. Because he was on the slender side and appeared to be a frail lion-rabbit, whenever he was bullied, he could only hide inside the paint-peeled iron-sheet door, covering his ears, curling up to shield himself, and trembling as he listened to the bang-bang thumping sounds against the door.
As he grew older and his appearance blossomed into something more and more delicate and pretty, everyone around waited for him to differentiate into an omega so they could swarm over like evil spirits and possess him.
When he was thirteen, he was thrown into a foul-smelling, sour-stinking garbage dump reeking of rotting waste by an intoxicated, aging ruffian alpha. His back was pressed against an oily, pitch-black stone wall, and his feet sank into soup-like remnants of leftover meals and scraps.
The scrawny alpha’s oily, foul-smelling hair was matted against his scalp, and a coarse, dark mole grew right on his cheekbone with hairs sprouting from it. Baring his few remaining yellow teeth, his wrinkles piled up as he crept closer with a lewd, obscene smile.
“Scram! Get away!!” He propped himself up against the wall and scrambled along the edge.
The alpha grabbed Shi Yixing, who was attempting to flee. With a “bang”, a tattered cloth shoe exposing his toes kicked fiercely into the slender rabbit’s waist and abdomen. Coughing up a streak of blood, the little rabbit clutched his stomach and collapsed onto the ground in spasms, the agony of that kick leaving him unable even to crawl.
The adult alpha towered over the shivering, screaming Shi Yixing. With a “rip”, the alpha crudely tore open the little rabbit’s thin white outer tunic, fragments of fabric tumbling down into the garbage dump.
Screaming at the top of his lungs, he kicked his legs and lashed out wildly in every direction, blindly flailing his limbs until his fingertips stabbed viciously into the alpha’s eyeball. Amidst a shrill, miserable shriek, his body was whipped violently through the air like a bowstring slipping from its notch, flying heavily outward.
The sound-isolation in the slum alleys was so abysmal that commotion three lanes over could be clearly heard. At the slightest sign of trouble, hundreds of households would usually know, yet not a single person came to his aid. The gloomy alley was as dead as it was terrifyingly cold.
He was slammed against the wall, his scapula cracking and fracturing, the pain so sharp he couldn’t straighten his back as he collapsed onto the ground like a dog, unable even to stand.
Extending his arms and dragging his knees, he crawled away in desperate flight. With every inch he moved, a thicker streak of viscous blood multiplied across the concrete surface. The fishy stench of blood permeating his mouth and nose had already drowned out the scent of rotting decay.
Following the light source, he crawled for a long, long time without daring to stop, terrified to his core of being yanked back by the ankle once more. Within his blurred line of sight, a pair of clean white soccer shoes appeared something he had never seen before, nor ever witnessed anyone in the slums wearing.
Unable even to lift his head, within his extremely limited field of vision he could only lurch forward desperately to grab the owner of those feet. The white sneakers were stained with blood smudges and grime; unable to see his own wretched state, he merely pleaded: “Save me, please save me, I beg you.”
He remembered being kicked away by that person with a single kick. Unable to endure any further critical trauma, his consciousness plunged into blackness.
In the luxury hospital ward that was the first time he ever saw Xiaze Zetian. A gentle breeze carried the faint, therapeutic aroma of sage, and a youth dressed in pristine, clean, and refreshing white clothes stood bathed in the warm, gentle sunlight, smiling very softly.
“Does your body still hurt?”
It hurt—it hurt so much he felt like he was dying.
Inside the medical room, only the low, lingering sound of weeping echoed. Underneath the duvet, only a tuft of grey rabbit-ear fluff was exposed, and a curled-up, tiny white ball trembled and shook. The scent of the lilies was no longer as dense, growing as faint as if washed clean of its fragrance, while their pristine petals had turned slightly yellowish from oxidation, losing their aesthetic appeal.
He cried for a long time, his tears gushing forth like a broken dam, surging and overflowing. Two hours later, the little rabbit lifted the blanket, got up, and stepped out of bed, walking straight past Xiaze Zetian, who had yet to leave.
“Brother Tian, pretend I never said those things; just treat me like a younger brother.” His voice was so calm that no emotion could be discerned within it. Having spoken, he turned and stepped into the restroom, failing to notice the fleeting shift in Xiaze Zetian’s expression.
“Sizzle” The rushing sound of water surged fiercely. Shi Yixing tore off the thin gauze patch beneath his eyelids; the tender, unhealed, pinkish wound was roughly two centimeters long. Pressing his hands together to cup a handful of water, he splashed it onto his face, rubbing roughly with crude technique to wash away the tear tracks covering his features. Water droplets splattered wildly in all directions, clinging to the mirror and dropping onto the black marble vanity countertop.
In the wall-mounted double-sided mirror, the sensitive skin of the person’s face was pathologically flushed red, the damp, water-stained white-gold strands of hair at his forehead curled at the tips, and his swollen, red eyelids weren’t too severely puffed, fortunately. His gaze remained sharp, clear, and lucid, and his spirit had mostly recovered. Letting out a light breath, he braced both arms against the edge of the washbasin, his fingertips curling inward.
Fortunately, it was only minor superficial trauma, not enough to keep him resting for ten and a half half-months. He still needed to take care of Grandma, and the end-of-month selection trials were also the critical stepping stone for him to enter the reserve military; he didn’t have that kind of time to rest, nor did he dare to rest.
Tidying up his appearance before emerging once more, Xiaze Zetian was sitting on the bench by the window, tilting his head to look outward at the wisteria vines climbing the iron railing and blooming in full, lush splendor. The shadows outlined the handsome, tender contours of his profile; clearly sitting in the warm sunlight, he somehow exuded an icy, chilly aura all around.
Perhaps lost in his own absorption, Xiaze Zetian didn’t notice him coming out. Pausing for two seconds, Shi Yixing walked in the opposite direction toward the main door, his fingers resting upon the door handle to press it down, when a low, husky male voice called out to him from behind.
“Xiao Shi.”
“Don’t worry, the injury is of no major consequence; I’m leaving first.”
He didn’t know why Xiaze Zetian hadn’t left yet perhaps out of a basic sense of responsibility and concern for this picked-up younger brother, or perhaps seeing him cry so pitifully stirred a sense of unbearable sympathy. But he didn’t need it, nor did he wish to see Xiaze Zetian’s soft-hearted, pitying gaze.
“Click—” The door lock gently clicked shut, isolating the two people, each harboring their own hidden thoughts.
Shi Yixing went to pay the medical expenses for the disabled alpha, traversing the long corridor until his figure vanished around the corner.
“Why is your face injured?” The old lady’s lips pulled into wrinkled creases, her frail and withered voice sounding listless and languid as she gazed with nervous anxiety at the pink scratch on Shi Yixing’s fair cheek.
Her skin-and-bones physique, battered and tormented by illness, couldn’t even prop up the smallest-sized blue-and-white checkered hospital gown. On her head, the old lady wore a dark navy-blue knitted woolen cap, her facial muscles slack from a lack of moisture. Even though her face lacked blood color, her pair of pitch-black, falcon-like eyes remained remarkably bright and piercing.
Shi Yixing’s fingertips slicing the apple paused slightly. After filling a glass container with the separated fruit flesh, he lowered his gaze and brushed her off with an evasion: “I accidentally scratched it during training. Don’t worry, I’m fine, just a minor scrape; it’ll heal on its own in a few hours.”
Carrying the fruit box, he took a seat on the wooden stool beside the hospital bed, piercing a piece of fruit with a toothpick to feed it right to his grandmother’s lips. The old lady’s doubts dissipated as she opened her mouth to bite down on the fruit flesh. The apple flavor was fresh, crisp, and sweet, a single bite flooding her mouth with rich juice.
Her somewhat withered, dehydrated hand gently cradled Shi Yixing’s cheek, stroking it with affectionate pity: “Xingxing, let Grandma be discharged from the hospital. Staying here costs a lot of money every day, and you still have training to worry about—don’t exhaust yourself with extra cares. This old frame of mine has no value left even if I tack on a few more years; I can’t help you, and I’ve only become a burden.”
The old lady’s calloused fingertips gently traced the wound on his face, earnestly and earnestly advising: “Good child, listen to Grandma, we won’t treat it anymore. My body can’t handle a few more major surgeries anyway, so let’s stop spending money in vain. My precious grandson still has to become the finest mecha master in the future; the money should be saved for you to buy parts and equipment, so you won’t get easily injured during training anymore.”
A surge of soreness rushed straight to Shi Yixing’s heart. Throwing open his arms, he hugged the old lady tightly; her skin-and-bones body possessed scapulae as thin as paper without a shred of meat. His heart cracked and split open with pain that pierced deep into his bone marrow—Grandma was his sole bond and closest kin.
In those drifting, muddled days, Grandma was the one person who loved him unconditionally and without a single shred of impure motive.
He had never taken Grandma to look at assembled mechas, nor had he ever taken her to travel across the stars to witness the scenery of other planets. He hadn’t yet reached a position that could make Grandma proud, nor had he yet become the commanding leader of an army.
“Grandma, your health will always rank as our top priority. Rest assured, the money is enough, and I’m not tired. This injury really was just an accident; the military academy’s security and defense measures are exceptionally well-maintained. Don’t worry, just focus on recovering properly; the money spent is worth it. As long as you are well, everything is worth it—I cannot bear to lose you again.”
Shi Yixing raised his head in a dull, muted motion, settling back into his seat as he shoved the fruit box he was holding straight into his grandmother’s arms: “Don’t think too much, the doctor said you’re recovering wonderfully. Right now you need to supplement your nutrition, keep a happy and cheerful mood, and soak up plenty of sunlight. In a couple of days, I’ll take you out for a stroll in the garden; the flower buds outside smell so sweet when they bloom.”
Eating her fruit, the old lady fell silent, leaving Shi Yixing to knead her back and thump her shoulders. Her good grandson had told her the money came from his earnings in mecha combat tournaments, and though she pursued further questions, he hadn’t given many details yet somehow, she always felt a lingering sense of unease in her heart.
Shi Yixing stayed until nightfall, coaxing his grandmother to sleep before finally taking his leave. They say that as people age they become like children, and it was certainly not false: the seventy-eight-year-old grandmother still needed to listen to a bedtime story before she could close her eyes. Spinning a fabricated, absurd tale about an old hen laying a phoenix egg, he managed to lull the elderly woman into a drowsy, peaceful sleep.