Lately, Cen Wan had been feeling that everyone was acting strange.
In class, whenever he asked a classmate about homework, the person he asked would always keep their head down and mumble evasively. Either they wouldn’t look at him, or they’d hold back for ages without saying a word. Everyone else would look at him with unfriendly eyes at those moments.
At first, he thought maybe Class F had some unspoken hidden rules he hadn’t discovered yet, but after it happened several times in a row, Cen Wan could only conclude that perhaps everyone thought he was putting on a show and showing off at the school gate last time, so now they were isolating him.
The most obvious evidence was that the amount of time Class F spent on their phones had skyrocketed these past few days. All Cen Wan had to do was look up and glance around to see large swaths of people clutching their phones with odd expressions on their faces.
Yet, eerily, everyone would immediately shut off their phones the moment Cen Wan looked up. A few individuals would even nonchalantly turn their phones on and off, pretending they simply had a habit of pressing their phone buttons.
Cen Wan also often saw many of them huddled together, whispering and discussing something. The moment he approached, they would instantly fall silent.
This wasn’t just happening in Class F.
Many times, as Cen Wan walked down the hall, he’d run into people pointing and whispering about him. But as soon as he looked over, they’d turn away and hurry off.
Yet the posts related to Fu Xingjian had clearly been deleted completely, and everyone tacitly avoided mentioning what had happened before.
Although he could ask them to clarify, he wouldn’t be staying here much longer anyway, so Cen Wan simply let it be. They hadn’t done anything else out of line, after all.
“Cen Wan.” Along with the end-of-class bell came a clear, refined voice. Cen Wan withdrew his blank stare and looked out, lifting his head to meet Jiang Xinian’s eyes.
The strangest thing these past few days was the story’s shou.
After his father was driven away, Jiang Xinian had transferred seventy-eight thousand yuan to Cen Wan, saying it was part of his payment.
Cen Wan had been so startled he immediately sent it back. All he’d done was help by reporting things to a teacher if the professor didn’t like Jiang Xinian as a student, there was nothing Cen Wan could do about getting the man to come.
But Jiang Xinian stubbornly transferred it back again, insisting that they weren’t even yet, that he still owed Cen Wan a great deal.
The moment he mentioned “evening things up,” Cen Wan didn’t dare say anything and had no choice but to accept the money for now.
Last time Cen Wan said they were even, he’d barely turned to leave before Jiang Xinian grabbed him. He’d been met with those reddened eyes, seemingly tinged with a hint of moisture. In that gaze raged a heavy, complicated emotion that Cen Wan couldn’t read.
But it clearly couldn’t be crying after all, judging from the original novel, the shou was practically the strongest person in the entire story. With so many lunatics swarming around him, he still persevered in his academic research, and when they bullied him, he either ignored it entirely or coldly fought back.
He must have been angered by Cen Wan.
Jiang Xinian staring at him with those terrifying eyes was creepy enough, but he also kept muttering about not being even, about needing to repay him, and so on.
Cen Wan had no choice but to go along with his words and soothe him.
After that, Cen Wan practically couldn’t mention those words anymore. The moment he said anything even slightly related, the shou would fix him with that stare.
Then Jiang Xinian went and proposed repaying the debt with his body.
Of course, it was all in a wholesome, innocent version services included but not limited to: washing Cen Wan’s clothes, bringing him meals, tutoring him in his coursework, and walking with him to and from class. Even though Classes A and F were separated by half the school, he insisted on escorting Cen Wan all the way to his classroom, then waiting outside the door of Class F the moment class ended.
When the class first saw Jiang Xinian getting so close to Cen Wan, there was an uproar, and everyone immediately grabbed their phones and started typing away. Chu Zhili even came over to ask Jiang Xinian why he was hanging around Cen Wan so much, but Cen Wan brushed it off with vague non-answers.
Cen Wan even discovered that the story’s protagonist-bottom was hand-washing all of his laundry. Only after he’d argued back, face bright red, did he win the right to wash his private garments himself.
But no matter how strange things got, Cen Wan gathered his thoughts and left the classroom with Jiang Xinian.
The afternoon sun filtered through the tall leaves of the plane trees, casting dappled light and shadow on the freshly trimmed grass. The air carried a heat that had turned thick and sticky.
Cen Wan was being squeezed between that sticky air and an even stickier presence in front of him.
“Classmate Cen Wan.”
A tall boy in a basketball uniform blocked their path.
Under a neat buzz cut, his eyes and brows were sharp; an oversized athletic tank top wrapped around solid muscle, and a sweatband circled his wrist.
“Can we get to know each other? I’m Jiang Ye.”
A hormone-laced scent mixed with faint sweat hit them head-on, heavy with aggression.
Cen Wan couldn’t help backing up a few steps.
He pressed his full, rosy lips tight, lowered his eyes, gave a small “mm,” and walked around the Jiang Ye blocking his way, continuing forward.
“So are we friends now?” Jiang Ye wouldn’t let it go.
He raised his voice and even tried reaching out to grab Cen Wan’s arm. “Don’t walk so fast, we”
The instant that hand was about to touch the bend of Cen Wan’s elbow, another hand shot in faster and colder.
“He doesn’t want to.”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a faint chill. It was Jiang Xinian.
A tall figure planted itself between Cen Wan and Jiang Ye. His face was turned sideways, the clean lines of his jaw pulled taut; sunlight fell across his high nose bridge, casting a small patch of cold, hard shadow. His gaze settled heavily on Cen Wan’s fingers, which had curled up slightly from nerves.
“Can’t you tell he doesn’t want to talk to you?”
Cen Wan and Jiang Ye both froze.
Jiang Ye raised an eyebrow and turned his gaze to Jiang Xinian, who was standing there in full guardian mode.
By now there was probably no one at Saint Rhode who didn’t know Jiang Xinian.
Cold, antisocial, a cockroach that crawled out of the slums. And recently, a new title: Li Mingde’s treasured disciple.
But what right did he have to control who other people befriended?
One corner of Jiang Ye’s mouth lifted, his tone dripping with mockery:
“What standing do you have to stop Cen Wan from making friends?”
Jiang Xinian’s expression didn’t change. He simply repeated:
“He doesn’t want to talk to you.”
Jiang Ye’s raised brow slowly lowered, irritation flickering at being provoked:
“So what’s that got to do with you?”
“Who are you to him?”
“A dog?”
The moment Jiang Ye’s hostile, humiliating words landed, Cen Wan frowned and cut him off first:
“You’re so loud. I’m hungry right now.”
“Please move.”
With that, he turned his head and kept walking straight ahead.
Rejected by Cen Wan, Jiang Ye didn’t get angry. Instead, inexplicably even more excited, he licked his lips, shoved past Jiang Xinian who was blocking the way, and chased after him.
“You’re going to eat, right? Let me come with you. What do you like? It’s my treat”
But another figure arrived even faster than Jiang Ye.
A hand with defined knuckles and thin calluses suddenly seized Cen Wan’s wrist. Before Cen Wan could react, his body was yanked forward by a tremendous force.
“Go.”
Wind abruptly roared past Cen Wan’s ears. His feet barely touched the ground as Jiang Xinian dragged him stumbling forward.
Behind them, Jiang Ye’s shocked shouts were quickly flung far away, stretched thin.
Jiang Xinian ran half a step ahead, the hem of his uniform billowing in the wind, slapping against his taut waistline carrying, for once, a trace of youthful spirit.
Just as they were about to dash out of the side path and turn toward the cafeteria, an extremely faint “mew,” trembling with pain, pierced through the rhythm of their running without warning.
The sound came from beside a half-full trash can at the end of the side path.
Jiang Xinian’s steps slammed to a halt, the momentum nearly sending Cen Wan crashing into his back. Cen Wan staggered a step to steady himself, and panting, followed Jiang Xinian’s suddenly frozen gaze.
In the shadowed corner beside the trash can curled a small, dirty, emaciated ginger kitten only slightly bigger than a palm its hind leg dangling at an unnatural angle, smeared with mud and dark red blood. It tried desperately to shrink itself smaller, its damp eyes rounded wide with pain and fear, letting out intermittent, breathless cries of distress.
Time seemed to freeze in that instant.
The color drained completely from Jiang Xinian’s face, his eyes locked on the kitten, pupils contracting violently.
The burning, protective spirit that had driven him to pull Cen Wan along vanished without a trace, replaced by a deathly stillness that sank deep into the bone.
Those eyes that were always calm, or distant and guarded, were now terrifyingly hollow, surging with an immense pain and despair Cen Wan had never seen before. Sunlight fell on him, but only cast a ghastly, frigid pallor.
Cen Wan didn’t stop to wonder at Jiang Xinian’s strange reaction instinct made him bend toward the kitten. Just as his fingertips were about to touch that trembling little body,
“Don’t touch it!”
A hoarse, nearly pleading voice exploded in Cen Wan’s ear.
Jiang Xinian’s hollow eyes were now bloodshot, staring at Cen Wan’s outstretched hand.
“It’s already dying.” His voice shook terribly, carrying an unspeakable grief.
“Don’t don’t save it.”
“Saving it is… what will hurt it…”
Cen Wan’s movements paused.
But he didn’t withdraw his hand, and he wasn’t frightened off by Jiang Xinian either.
He drew a deep breath, then instead gently but unwaveringly brushed aside the gravel and low grass. Carefully avoiding the kitten’s injured hind leg, he used his fingertips to softly sweep the matted, dirty fur away from its eyes.
“It’s okay,” Cen Wan said softly, his voice carrying a soothing warmth spoken to the kitten, but even more to Jiang Xinian, who stood rigid as a statue behind him.
“It’s just a small injury. The bone might be broken, but a doctor can set it. It won’t die.”
With extraordinary care, he slowly lifted the little thing, which was still trembling faintly but no longer so terrified. The kitten seemed to sense this harmless kindness, letting out a weak “mew” as its tiny head instinctively nuzzled into the warmth of Cen Wan’s palm.
Cen Wan held the warm little life in his arms and slowly, resolutely turned around to face Jiang Xinian, who was still frozen in place as if nailed to the spot.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, dancing across Cen Wan’s fair, smiling face.
He took a step forward and gently cupped the now-docile kitten, holding it up before Jiang Xinian’s eyes in a way that brooked no refusal.
“Look, it’s very well-behaved,” Cen Wan said, his voice carrying a barely perceptible, coaxing softness. His eyes curved like crescent moons, their clear pupils reflecting Jiang Xinian’s pale face.
“It needs someone to take care of it. Will you take care of it?”
Jiang Xinian stared blankly for a long time, his expression vacant as his gaze met Cen Wan’s.
Just as Cen Wan’s arms grew sore and he thought he was being refused,
Jiang Xinian caught Cen Wan’s hands with a movement that was almost reverent, exceedingly gentle.
Cen Wan let go, and the scrawny kitten slowly settled into Jiang Xinian’s palms. Unexpectedly, the kitten only let out a weak cry and didn’t struggle. Instead, it nuzzled its tiny head against Jiang Xinian’s stiff palm, emitting a faint purr.
Cen Wan breathed a sigh of relief, and the smile on his face grew a little more genuine.
The warmth in his palms and the faint breath of life were like a thunderbolt laced with electric current, violently splitting apart the ice that had sealed Jiang Xinian whole.
“I…” Jiang Xinian’s throat felt scraped raw by sandpaper; only a broken syllable escaped. Almost in panic, he instinctively started to let go,
But the kitten stirred ever so slightly in his arms, letting out a faint “mew” full of utter dependence and pained grievance.
The feel of that soft, fine fur, the milky warmth of its breath brushing against Jiang Xinian’s palm… these vivid, living sensations stood in cataclysmic contrast to the dark fragments buried deep in his memory cold, blood-soaked, mingled with his mother’s hysterical screams and the kitten’s final, piercing shriek.
Jiang Xinian’s whole body shook uncontrollably, trembling from his fingertips to his eyelashes. He couldn’t help cupping his palms closer, as if trying to grasp something, yet afraid that too much pressure would once again crush this fragile life.
Looking down at the pair of damp cat eyes gazing up at him from his arms lost, and with just a hint of reliance they overlapped with the memory of a small, thin figure of that same color from years ago, looking at him with that same dependent gaze.
Leaving him no escape from recalling that painful memory.