The two-day sports meet concluded amidst a lingering sense of bittersweet reluctance. In the end, Class 1 ranked seventh in the overall standings for their grade.
While the ranking wasn’t exceptionally high, it was a massive leap forward compared to the bleak, last-place finishes of the previous two years. Everyone was quite satisfied with the result, drawing envious glances from the top-tier Class 2 next door.
Through this battle, Lu Zhen had officially become a god in the eyes of his classmates—a master of both the pen and the sword. His nickname evolved from “Lu Academic God” to the ultra-evolved version: “God Lu.”
Considering the students had just endured two days of exhausting competition, No. 3 High School showed a rare flash of humanity—evening self-study was cancelled. The teachers instructed everyone to go home, rest well, and adjust their state of mind before diving back into their studies the next day.
…
By the time school let out, the sun had already dipped below the mountains. The sunset bathed the streets in a layer of pinkish-orange light, stretching the shadows of pedestrians very, very long.
After a busy day, Qiao Muyu was covered in a thin layer of sweat. The first thing he did upon arriving home was hop into a hot shower.
The sound of the shower pitter-pattered as a hazy mist rose within the narrow bathroom. As the hot water traced the curves of his body, he happened to glance down at the pale red scar on his thigh while rinsing off the soap.
Qiao Muyu reached out and lightly stroked it. His fingertip felt the slight, uneven texture of the skin, though the pain had long since vanished.
Perhaps because it had been brought up this afternoon, Qiao Muyu found himself reminiscing about things from his childhood at the orphanage—memories he hadn’t touched in a long time.
The Orphanage Director had said she found him in his swaddling clothes at the orphanage gates. For as long as he could remember, he had been a member of that institution. He knew nothing of his biological parents—who they were, or if they were even still alive.
Unknowingly, he had spent seven years there.
Conditions at the orphanage were poor. Eight children crowded onto one large communal bed. In the summer, the mosquitoes were unbearable, and the power often cut out during thunderstorms.
It was one such midsummer night, filled with thunder and rain.
Qiao Muyu was jolted awake by a full bladder. He reached for the flashlight on the nightstand only to find it dead, so he rummaged through the cabinet and found a half-used old candle.
Just as he lit it, he heard a faint sobbing coming from the farthest corner of the bed.
Qiao Muyu tilted his head, thinking. If he recalled correctly, the person sleeping there was the new friend who had arrived just today—a boy his own age.
Rumor had it his parents had died in a car accident a few days prior. His relatives, viewing him as a jinx who brought misfortune, refused to take him in, so he was sent to the orphanage. Since the Director brought him in, he hadn’t said a single word, spending the entire afternoon curled in the corner dazing. He ignored the other children when they greeted him, appearing visibly gloomy and eccentric.
Seeing that the sobbing showed no signs of stopping, Qiao Muyu felt worried. He carried the candle and tiptoed over.
By the dim, orange glow of the candlelight, he saw a little fellow with a pillow over his head, curled up like a kitten. His body trembled with every sob.
Qiao Muyu sat on the edge of the bed, carefully patted the boy’s arm, and asked softly: “Hey, what’s wrong?”
The boy peeked weakly out from behind the pillow. His dark, watery eyes were shimmering with tears—a truly pitiful sight.
Seeing this, Qiao Muyu asked hurriedly: “Are you sick? Where does it hurt? Should I go tell the Director?”
The boy shook his head. He looked at Qiao Muyu, hesitated for a moment, and whispered: “I… I’m afraid of thunder. And I’m afraid of the dark.”
Qiao Muyu froze, then couldn’t help but chuckle: “What’s there to be afraid of? You aren’t alone in this room. All eight of us are here.”
“But…” the boy said bashfully, “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“That’s fine! I have to go too. I’ll go with you.”
The boy’s eyes lit up slightly. “Really?”
Qiao Muyu reached out his hand: “Mhm, really. Come with me.”
The boy wiped his tears and took Qiao Muyu’s hand as he sat up. Just as they were about to get off the bed, a bolt of lightning tore through the sky outside.
BOOM—!
Terrified, the boy flinched, accidentally knocking over the candle in Qiao Muyu’s hand. The flame flickered violently, and the scalding wax poured uncontrollably onto Qiao Muyu’s exposed thigh.
“Ah! Hot, hot, hot!”
Qiao Muyu cried out, hopping around like a startled rabbit, trying to shake the wax off his leg.
Knowing he had caused trouble, the boy let out a guilty “Wah!” and started to cry.
Qiao Muyu immediately covered the boy’s mouth and hissed: “Don’t cry, don’t cry! I’m the one who got burned and I’m not even crying! Don’t wake the others up!”
Afraid of making a scene, Qiao Muyu ignored the pain and pulled the boy outside.
They reached the bathroom. By the candlelight, Qiao Muyu continuously rinsed the burn with cold water until the stinging sensation subsided.
The boy leaned in closer. He saw that a patch of skin had been scalded off, revealing raw, red flesh. It looked excruciating.
He felt both heartbroken and guilty: “This won’t do. It’ll leave a scar. We should tell the Director and have her take you to the hospital.”
“Hey, don’t go.” Qiao Muyu pulled him back. “It’s late, and it’s pouring outside. The Director already works so hard; I can’t cause her more trouble.”
“But…”
“I’m serious, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
The boy reached out skeptically and lightly touched the wound. Qiao Muyu immediately sucked in a sharp breath: “Sss!”
The boy’s eyes welled up again, and he began to wipe away tears, sobbing: “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault… I caused you to have such an ugly scar…”
Qiao Muyu hated it when other kids cried. He hurried to comfort him: “I don’t think it’s ugly.”
He thought for a moment, brought the candle closer to his thigh, and pointed at the red mark. “Look closely. Doesn’t it look like a little fish?”
Hearing this, the boy stopped crying and peered at it. Following the outline traced by Qiao Muyu’s finger, he saw a different possibility within the pain.
“It really does look like a little fish,” he said happily.
Seeing that he had finally stopped crying, Qiao Muyu felt relieved and smiled. The atmosphere lightened instantly. After finishing in the bathroom, they held hands and slowly walked back with their candle.
The thunder had stopped, replaced by the pitter-patter of wind and rain.
“What’s your name?” Qiao Muyu asked.
“Lu Zhenzhen,” the boy replied.
“Zhenzhen?” Qiao Muyu burst out laughing. “That’s so cute. It sounds like a girl’s name.”
Lu Zhenzhen wasn’t angry, just a bit helpless, using a tone that suggested he was used to this reaction: “My mom said when she was pregnant, she thought I was a girl, so she gave me this name.”
“Did your dad not have an opinion?”
“My dad is a ‘wife-slave’ (laopo nu). He listens to whatever my mom says.”
“Wife-slave? What’s that?” Qiao Muyu was puzzled.
“I don’t know. That’s just what everyone called my dad. My mom said it’s a compliment.” Lu Zhenzhen spoke with partial understanding. “Since it’s a compliment, it must be a good thing. I want to be a wife-slave too, just like my dad.”
Accidentally mentioning his parents again, Lu Zhenzhen’s expression belatedly darkened.
Seeing this, Qiao Muyu blinked and changed the subject: “Hey, I’m so jealous of you. You have a name given by your own parents. My name was given to me by the Director.”
Lu Zhenzhen: “Then what’s your name?”
“My name is Song Yu. I have the same surname as the Director. Everyone calls me Xiao Yu’er (Little Fish),” Qiao Muyu said. “Since we know each other’s names now, we’re friends.”
Lu Zhenzhen nodded solemnly. After a pause, he asked softly: “Can I sleep next to you tonight?”
Qiao Muyu: “Of course! You can even hug me while you sleep, I don’t mind!”
Looking at Qiao Muyu’s sparkling eyes, Lu Zhenzhen flashed a long-awaited, brilliant smile. The rain outside hadn’t stopped, but his world had cleared up again.
…
Years had passed, and Qiao Muyu hadn’t thought about that little boy who liked to hug him to sleep in a long time. Even the boy’s face had been blurred by the passage of time.
He only vaguely remembered that Lu Zhenzhen stayed at the orphanage for only a few months before being picked by a young couple and adopted. He had been there for the shortest time, a stroke of luck that many of the other children envied.
As a friend, Qiao Muyu had sincerely wished him well, though he inevitably felt lonely for a while.
Fortunately, that winter, Qiao Yongde and his wife came to the orphanage and took him home.
Though the Qiao family was of modest means, for Qiao Muyu, who had lacked love since infancy, having parents of his own who would care for him was a dream come true. For the first few days at the Qiao house, he was so happy he couldn’t sleep.
Qiao Muyu thought his happy life had begun, but unfortunately, the good times didn’t last. The following autumn, his adoptive mother passed away from an illness. His adoptive father, Qiao Yongde, underwent a drastic personality change and fell into a habit of heavy drinking.
During one of Qiao Yongde’s drunken rants, as he kicked and cursed at him, Qiao Muyu learned that the adoption had been a facade.
Qiao Yongde and his wife had been unable to conceive for years. Desperate for a child, they tried every method and folk remedy to no avail. Finally, they followed the advice of a fortune teller, who suggested that adopting an orphan to “bring luck” (chongxi) would guarantee them a biological child.
Now, not only had no newborn arrived, but the mother had died. In his grief and rage, Qiao Yongde irrationally blamed Qiao Muyu, believing his presence had brought disaster and misfortune to the family. He began to treat him with extreme harshness.
Young Qiao Muyu had no power to resist. He was terrified that if Qiao Yongde got upset, he would abandon him on the streets, leaving him an orphan once more. Consequently, he became increasingly submissive to his adoptive father. He never fought back when beaten, never talked back when scolded, and even forced a smile, telling his father he was right to hit and scold him.
The Director had said Qiao Muyu was chosen because he was the most sensible and obedient child in the orphanage.
So, he would be the most obedient adopted son in the world, giving his father no reason to abandon him…
The water temperature from the heater began to drop. The slight chill on his skin cleared Qiao Muyu’s chaotic thoughts.
He reached out and turned off the faucet. He looked down at the pool of water on the tiles, watching it—and the humiliating memories of the past—slowly drain into the dark pipes, never to see the light of day.