Reborn
A light breeze stirred the elm tree outside the window. Morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows and fell gently across the boy’s face, laying a faint golden veil over his pale cheeks.
The slender boy had been sleeping. Suddenly his chest heaved, and he gasped for breath. Cold sweat trickled down his deathly pale face, and then he bolted upright in bed.
Lu Yuan braced himself with one hand, bent over the edge of the bed, and gulped down one ragged breath after another.
Hadn’t he already died?
His butterfly-like lashes fluttered as he took in the unfamiliar yet familiar surroundings. It didn’t take long to recognize them. This had once been his room in the Lu house, and would later become Lu Yuning’s studio.
Memories abruptly surfaced in his mind.
He had died. It turned out he was only a side character in a universally adored lead novel, a foil for the protagonist. The story’s lead was Lu Yuning, kind and clever, loved by everyone, the white moonlight in countless hearts. In the end, he fell in love with the chosen one, defeated a host of villains, and spent a happy, peaceful life surrounded by his family’s blessings.
And Lu Yuan was the villainous cannon fodder from the early part of the story. Shameless and deluded, he’d used their blood ties to steal Lu Yuning’s place, then cruelly bullied him. He was universally disliked, and too blind to realize it.
In the end, he got what he deserved: he died alone and wretched. The Lu family didn’t even learn of his death until months later.
Of course, kindhearted Lu Yuning bore no grudge and brought his belongings back to the Lu house. When the others heard the news, all they did was sigh that he should have known better, and praise Lu Yuning’s generosity.
And this universally disliked man had actually been reborn? What was the point?
To play the Lu family’s clown all over again?
Lu Yuan curled his lips in a mocking smile. His features had always been striking, and now there was even more wildness in them. He drew back the pale blue curtains and opened the window. The breeze brushed his face, stirring the sketches on the desk beside it with a soft rustle and carrying the elm’s scent to his nose.
Once he’d escaped the blindness of his past life, it was clear that so much had been foretold. He just hadn’t been willing to believe it.
Take the elm outside his window. Lu Zhengqing had planted it when he was born, and it had grown up alongside him. As a child, he’d run around its trunk, comparing his height to the tree’s. Every mark carved into its rough bark recorded how much he’d grown before he turned five.
By the time he returned to the Lu family, the tree had grown as tall as the second-floor window. The marks on its trunk had been replaced by Lu Yuning’s height.
In a way, this had been a room they shared. His was the best room on the second floor, planned for him long before he was born.
But by the time he came back to the Lu family, it belonged to Lu Yuning.
During the years when he’d vanished without a trace, his mother had been so distressed by reminders of him that her illness had worsened. To help her move past that pain, Lu Zhengqing had decided to put all of Lu Yuan’s things in the basement.
Then Lu Yuning had come to live with the Lus. His poor health drew most of their attention, and his obedience and good manners helped heal the wounds in their hearts.
So it was only natural that the frail Lu Yuning moved into the best bedroom.
From then on, the last traces of Lu Yuan in that house were erased.
The Lu family no longer had a proud, willful young master named Lu Yuan. They had only the sweet, well-behaved Lu Yuning.
By then, Lu Yuan had just been sold to a criminal gang. He’d refused to call his buyers Mom and Dad, stubborn as ever, with no idea how to flatter or play along. He’d paid dearly for it.
Still so young, trapped in such terrible circumstances, he’d begun to lose his memories. The clear thread of his past had frayed into indistinct fragments. He was afraid that one day he’d forget who he was altogether. Whenever he felt he couldn’t go on, he would recall the elm tree over and over, thinking of his beautiful little room and his favorite stuffed lion.
So when he returned to the Lu family and Lu Zhengqing put his luggage in a room that was nothing like the one he remembered, he knew almost at once that it wasn’t his old room.
Lu Zhengqing had planned to take him to a room they’d redecorated for him. Instead, quite inappropriately, Lu Yuan told them all that he wanted Lu Yuning’s room.
Was there anything wrong with taking back what was his?
Lu Yuan didn’t think so, but Lu Zhengqing and Lu Wangbei clearly did.
He still remembered the shock on their faces.
He’d never been any good at reading people. He’d bluntly shattered the peace on the surface, making everything awkward.
In the end, of course, Lu Yuning had flushed and said that he should move out.
Back then, Lu Yuan had felt a flicker of happiness at getting his things back. He’d ignored the guilt and displeasure in Lu Zhengqing’s and Lu Wangbei’s eyes.
Lu Yuan had thought their blood ties would bind them, that his father and brother would love him just as he loved them. He hadn’t understood that blood meant nothing without the years spent together.
He’d thought he’d get back everything he’d missed as a child. Only later did he realize that everyone else had moved on. He was the only one left behind.
The last time he’d seen this room, it had already been turned into Lu Yuning’s studio. The elm in front of the window had been cut down because it blocked the light. The marks he remembered were nowhere to be found.
It had all been foretold. He’d simply refused to believe it.
This time, though, he no longer yearned for the Lu family father and son. The thought of Lu Zhengqing and Lu Wangbei stirred nothing in him, not even a ripple. If anything, he felt a little tired of them.
If they hated him, then let them. He didn’t care.
This time, he wouldn’t live for them.
Only when the breeze had blown across his cheeks again and again did Lu Yuan touch his flushed face and realize how weak he felt. His throat hurt, too. Even trying to speak felt like swallowing a blade.
He must have a fever.
He pushed himself up and rummaged through the drawer of the desk beside his bed. Sure enough, there were still some pills in there.
The pills were all different colors, but they were all leftovers. The foil packaging had been peeled back, and the expiration dates were impossible to make out.
Without even looking, Lu Yuan picked up the glass on the desk and swallowed the pills with half a glass of water that had been sitting there for who knew how long.
He didn’t know if the pills would help, but the cold water did soothe his burning throat.
Whenever the seasons changed, Lu Yuan would come down with a fever. No one there would care whether he lived or died, so he had to tough it out on his own. Luckily, those fevers usually came and went quickly. He’d be better in a day or two.
The only time he remembered going to a hospital was after a fever and a beating from Li Fangjia left him terribly ill. Old Li, his neighbor, had taken him, half-conscious, to a small clinic in the neighborhood. The doctor prescribed some medicine, and after taking it, he slowly recovered.
Later, to repay the old man, he’d beaten up the neighborhood punks who kept smashing up his courtyard.
Old Li was all alone, with a hard mouth and a soft heart. He wasn’t much of a painter, and barely had enough to get by himself. After that, he would often secretly call Lu Yuan over and give him snacks that were pretty good by a child’s standards. He’d show him the painting manuals he treasured, and even let him try painting with a brush.
Gradually, Lu Yuan got the hang of it.
That had been one of the few good stretches of his life. He’d even decided in his heart that he would look after Old Li in his old age.
With the old man’s painting skills, he’d starve if he tried to live off selling his work. The local art-supply shop owner always offered him far too little for his ink paintings.
Unfortunately, the old man had died a few months before Lu Yuan returned to the Lu family.
Lu Yuan had a good memory. The old man had taken him to the clinic once, and he’d remembered the packaging on the medicine. After that, whenever he got sick, he’d go buy the same pills.
He didn’t care whether they were the right medicine for what he had. Most common illnesses were treated with the same handful of drugs anyway. If you didn’t die, you’d get better eventually.
When the old man found out, he’d been so angry his mustache practically bristled. He was always scolding Lu Yuan for living like a pampered young master, getting sick all the time and not knowing how to take care of himself.
It wasn’t that Lu Yuan wanted to be like this. He’d been so well cared for when he was little that even after more than a decade without anyone looking after him, he still didn’t know how to care for himself. He could be sick without realizing it until much later.
He rummaged through the left-hand drawer of the desk by the window. It was mostly full of sketches. Old Li wasn’t the only one who’d taught him to paint. His mother had taught him, too.
He remembered that whenever his mother painted in her studio, he would stand on tiptoe and lean over the table beside her, quietly identifying the pigments she’d taught him: burnt sienna, cinnabar, malachite green, and conch purple. Sometimes she would notice him, holding a brush in one hand as she gently gathered him into her arms with the other. Pointing to a brightly colored corner of her splashed-ink painting, she would softly teach him, “My An’an, look. This is kingfisher blue. Remember, indigo and water each have their shades, and from them come kingfisher blue and sky blue.” He would giggle and bury his face in her arm, shyly saying, “I know.”
He also remembered the sweltering nights of midsummer, when he’d lie across the stone table in the old man’s courtyard, copying from a painting manual. Amid the waves of cicada song, Old Li would sit sweating in his wicker chair, waving a battered palm fan and grumbling about Lu Yuan’s pampered young-master life, yet still resignedly fanning him with wisps of breeze scented with gardenia.
The old man had said that a canvas might be small, but it held the world as the painter saw it. Every brushstroke of ink expressed the painter’s feelings. The first thing Old Li had taught him about painting was how to recognize the emotions in a picture. Through the rice paper, others could see the world in the painter’s heart, so a painter was never truly alone. He hoped Lu Yuan would never be alone.
Even during the last stretch of his past life, Lu Yuan had listened carefully to the old man’s words and never stopped painting. So until the end, he hadn’t been alone.
He’d never deliberately hidden his skill in ink painting from Lu Zhengqing and Lu Wangbei. They simply hadn’t cared, treating it as one of his petty tricks for competing with Lu Yuning.
He had wanted to compete with Lu Yuning, certainly. But painting was the one thing he hadn’t wanted to compete over.
“Knock, knock, knock.” After only two or three knocks, the door swung open from the outside, as if the knocking had been a mere announcement, not a request for permission to enter.
The person coming in didn’t need permission, anyway.
Lu Zhengqing came in, looking exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and the shirt he wore was the one from yesterday, badly wrinkled.
It was rare to see him so disheveled. He’d clearly been up late the night before.
Even so, he’d come to see Lu Yuan first thing. The Lu Yuan of before would have been flattered. He knew how busy Lu Zhengqing was.
As he grew up, Lu Yuan had little experience dealing with authoritative older men. Around men like that, he’d initially been so awkward he couldn’t get a word out.
His foster father was a hopeless addict and drunk. Whenever he came home, he brought the stench of cheap liquor with him, along with the sound of his foster mother Wang Ru sobbing in pain.
Lu Zhengqing had perfectly matched everything Lu Yuan imagined a father should be.
The old Lu Yuan would have felt sorry for him. Now he leaned lazily against the desk, pushed his sketches to one side, and casually dropped the pills back into the drawer.
The drawer slammed shut.
Only then did he calmly raise his eyes to Lu Zhengqing. His voice was hoarse as he asked, “What is it?”
After being reborn, Lu Yuan understood that the only person who could make Lu Zhengqing rush around like this, without even taking care of himself, was Lu Yuning. Lu Zhengqing was a perfect father, just not his.
Lu Zhengqing froze at the question. He looked at the second son he’d seen only yesterday. The boy’s cheeks were flushed from sleeping so long, and his usually unruly hair lay flat against his eyes from sleep. It covered the scar between his brows. Even the hostility in him seemed to have faded. Like a beast with its claws drawn in, he looked almost obedient. And yet there was a distance in that obedience. The boy barely even looked at him.
He felt strangely unfamiliar with him. Somewhere in his heart, a voice told him something was wrong, though he didn’t know why.
Lu Zhengqing quickly pushed aside the absurd feeling. Hiding the exhaustion in his eyes, he remembered why he’d come. His sharp gaze fixed on Lu Yuan, watching for the slightest change in his expression. “Xiaoning had an asthma attack last night. Asthma can be serious, and his inhaler is very important. Luckily, Aunt Li came back early yesterday. Otherwise…”
He let out a soft sigh, but never took his eyes off Lu Yuan.
At Lu Zhengqing’s words, Lu Yuan suddenly remembered what had happened.
In his past life, he’d been sent home after fighting with the school’s intern teacher on the hill behind the school. Lu Yuning had seen them and called over other teachers, making a huge fuss. Lu Zhengqing had been so angry that he’d told Lu Yuan to stay home and think about what he’d done.
The servants at the villa had been given the night off, leaving only Lu Yuan and Lu Yuning at home. They’d never had much to say to each other. As soon as they got home, each went straight to his own room. Lu Yuan had been feeling unwell and gone to bed early. He hadn’t imagined that Lu Yuning would have an asthma attack and be unable to find his inhaler.
If Aunt Li hadn’t come back early, the consequences could have been disastrous.
Lu Yuan had been sleeping soundly.
It wasn’t until the next day that he learned Lu Yuning had collapsed outside his door. Lu Yuning had called for help, pounding on the door for a full minute, but Lu Yuan hadn’t opened it.
To everyone else, it was obvious: he’d nearly caused Lu Yuning’s death.
But he really hadn’t heard anything. The hearing in his right ear was almost completely gone, and he’d never told anyone. His left ear worked fine, so there was no problem in his day-to-day life. No one had noticed.
But he’d suffered from severe migraines a few years earlier. Later, he’d discovered that sleeping on his left side helped with his insomnia. When he did, he could barely hear anything around him. And he’d had a slight fever the day before. Even when Lu Zhengqing came rushing home and the house descended into chaos, none of it had woken him.
After it happened in his previous life, he’d tried to explain to Lu Zhengqing, awkwardly, that he hadn’t heard a thing. He knew it was hard to believe, especially since he’d already been hostile toward Lu Yuning, and Lu Yuning had been the one to get him sent home from school this time.
How could he not have heard all that noise?
To prove it, he’d even considered revealing his most shameful secret: he was deaf.
But after a single sentence of explanation, Dad believed him.
He still remembered what Dad had said then. It was exactly the same as now.
“Asthma can be serious. Lu Yuning’s inhaler is very important.”
“You and Xiaoning are both children of the Lu family. Dad loves you equally.”
He’d been so happy. It was the first time Dad had said he loved him.
But this time, it was different.
Under Lu Zhengqing’s scrutinizing gaze, he finally understood what he hadn’t seen in his previous life.
Asthma can be serious. Lu Yuning’s inhaler is very important.
That meant: You shouldn’t have taken Ningning’s inhaler without understanding how serious it was.
You and Ningning are both children of the Lu family. Dad loves you equally.
That meant: You can’t let Ningning have an asthma attack right in front of you just because you’re jealous.
What Lu Yuan said didn’t matter. Lu Zhengqing had already decided he was guilty.