Stunned.
What Yezhe saw before him was the complete opposite of what he’d hoped for—blackened walls and windows twisted by the shockwave, with shards of glass scattered all over the ground below.
The fire had only just gone out, and the firefighters were still dealing with the aftermath downstairs.
Having just returned home, Yezhe ignored the cordon and dashed up the stairs.
“Let go of me!!!”
The scene hadn’t been cleaned up yet, so Yezhe was naturally stopped as he rushed up.
“There’s still danger inside! You can’t go in now—think of the people watching downstairs.”
A firefighter grabbed the reckless young man in front of him, dragging him toward a safer area.
“Let me go…”
First, a roar echoed through the stairwell, and then the source of the voice moved outdoors, drawing everyone’s attention.
Yezhe felt weak all over. He tried to stand, but staggered and fell again, only managing to get back up with help from a neighbor.
“So this is their kid… What a shame…”
“What will this family do now…”
After a while, a community worker recognized the tear-streaked youth and led him to the nearby community office.
“How are my mom and dad…”
“Child, it’s alright, they’re both at the hospital…”
In the end, the community contacted relatives to pick up Yezhe.
“Zhe, don’t worry. We’ll go see them after dinner… Everything will be fine, don’t overthink it.”
“…Mm.”
The boy in the back seat replied softly.
…
“Get out, we’re here.”
At the hospital, the light outside the Emergency Room was still on, and the youth sat waiting by the door.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when the doors finally opened. Doctors wheeled out a bed covered with a white sheet.
“Please accept our condolences.”
“It’s alright, child, it’s alright… I’m still here…”
The middle-aged woman who had brought him began to cry at the sight, then hugged the dazed boy standing in the hallway.
The boy’s reaction, however, was quite calm.
“Aunt, could you let go of me first…”
I want to go home.
…
In the end, he ran—he ran away from his aunt’s house.
The midnight street was eerily quiet. Usually, at this hour, a few drunks would be staggering their way home.
But there were no barbecue stalls here to welcome them.
The door to the broken apartment hung slightly ajar, sagging and leaving a narrow gap in the frame.
Seeing this, Yezhe made sure to pull it closed behind him.
His gaze lingered on the numbers sprayed in red paint on the door.
They were exactly the same as the house number engraved on Yezhe’s key.
There was definitely no one home. Yezhe unlocked the security door and stepped inside.
The living room hadn’t suffered too badly from the fire, and the boy felt a tiny bit relieved, turning to head further in.
…The entire kitchen was burned beyond recognition.
All four walls had turned pitch black. Furniture? What furniture?
Maybe the remains had collapsed into a corner, now just a pile of wreckage, sometimes giving off that nauseating smell of burnt plastic.
Among the debris, Yezhe even spotted the old pot that always sat on the stove.
It had lost its former shine to the flames and now lay on the ground, carelessly tossed aside.
He refused to believe this was the kitchen. Every wallpaper and piece of furniture had been chosen by his mother, item by item. He’d been young then, but he remembered it all clearly.
Such an ugly place, this… This couldn’t possibly be…
The next day, the cause of the accident was found.
Gas Leak.
Father noticed something was wrong after coming home from work.
Walking toward the kitchen, he smelled something acrid.
The next thing he saw was Mother passed out on the floor, and panic seized his heart.
He shut the valve in time, but made a mistake—a tiny, fatal mistake…
That afternoon was the Peak Hour for elementary and middle schoolers, one of the rare lively times in the Old Community.
According to people downstairs, he was walking back when there was a sudden “boom” from above—someone’s window exploded, flames bursting out.
Someone called the fire department immediately.
But what use was that?
At that very moment, both husband and wife were in the kitchen…
Father was already gone when he was sent to the hospital. Mother was rushed for emergency treatment.
All their former happiness was destroyed in an instant.
…
After that day, Yezhe stayed with relatives.
Every morning, he’d go straight to the hospital, only to be called back by his aunt in the evening.
But that night, Yezhe stayed at the hospital all night.
Her body was hooked up to countless tubes, wrapped head to toe in white bandages.
Severe burns—her lungs forever scarred.
Yezhe knew there was no hope. The pity in the Doctor’s eyes, the faint, garbled voice from Mother’s ruined throat…
He watched helplessly as the bandaged hand gripping his own fell limp, his ears filled with the beeping of countless machines.
So loud… So loud…
“Resuscitate, quickly!”
It’s so loud I can’t even hear what you’re saying anymore…
The bed was wheeled into the Emergency Room, and the youth in the hallway still hoped for a miracle.
Today was the first time Mother woke up.
It was also the last time Yezhe saw her wheeled out of the Emergency Room.
“Please accept our condolences…”
…
For a while, Yezhe didn’t return to School.
The popular Classmate from Class vanished for two weeks—any Class would be buzzing with gossip.
The day Yezhe came back, it caused quite a stir. As soon as he stepped into the classroom, the usual racket died down, every gaze turning to the haggard boy at the door.
Yezhe noticed the change, but said nothing, heading straight to his desk.
“Are you… alright?”
As soon as he sat down, his former inseparable friend scooted over.
“I’m fine… They’re gone, what else can I do?”
A wan smile twisted his pale cheeks, looking even more out of place.
“If anything’s wrong, you have to say it. Don’t bottle it up, you’re always like this…”
“Really, I’m fine… If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have come… Just leave me be…”
Seeing Yezhe like this, the boy trying to talk to him suddenly became agitated, gripping Yezhe’s shoulders tightly.
“Don’t bottle it up, okay? You…”
Say it out loud.
…
Time kept moving on, but Yezhe was like a different person.
The cheerful, smiling boy was missing from the Class’s clamor between lessons; during roll call, there was only a thin, quiet figure.
“Zhe, let’s go home together after school.”
“I’ll stay for some self-study. There are still a few things I don’t get.”
“You weren’t like this before…”
His friend cast a worried look at the boy lost in a sea of problems, then left.
The next day, when he tried to say hello again—
Yezhe’s seat was empty. The figure from before was gone for good.
…
“You brought him back, you raise him! Don’t bother me!”
“It’s not like you’re spending your own money! Can’t you have a little sympathy after such a big accident?”
“If not my money, then whose? Even our own kid turned out so pathetic!”
So noisy…
“They probably left some money for their son! All you do is yell at me all day—what else can you do?”
“Money? If you’ve got money, hand it over! We’re deep in debt, don’t even know how to repay it, now we have to raise an orphan?”
“How can you be so heartless! Don’t you remember how much their family helped us before?”
“Oh, talking back now, huh! Mad, always siding with outsiders when you see people!”
Suddenly, the sound of shattering porcelain echoed from the Living Room.
“You hit me! You…”
So noisy…
After midnight, the sound of a slammed door finally brought peace to the Living Room.
Some time later, the door to the bedroom where Yezhe was staying creaked open, and the battered woman sat by Yezhe’s bed.
The bruise on her forehead looked pitch-black in the moonlight, blood crusting at her lips, tangled with a few strands of hair.
But Yezhe saw none of this—he just lay on his side, unmoving.
“Zhe, your aunt is useless… I couldn’t even keep your parents’ money safe…”
“You have to grow up well…”
With that, she stood up to leave, closing the door behind her.
Maybe her hand was weak, because the first time she tried, the door didn’t latch—the handle bounced back up.
She had to close it again.
Yezhe hadn’t actually been asleep. From the moment the arguing started, to when the woman left, he was aware of everything.
He remembered it all.
At that moment, Yezhe understood what Mother’s last words had meant.
“Live well…”
…
“Money again?”
That night, a man reeking of alcohol staggered home after a wild night out.
“School said it’s for buying materials…”
“Mad, always asking for money… No money, figure it out yourself.”
“What about my parents’ money?”
“None! Who left you anything…”
“That’s mine!”
Yezhe’s voice suddenly soared, like a violin string snapping under too much tension—never to sound again, but driving Yezhe’s emotions to their peak.
“Qu ni mad, once it’s in my hands, you think it still belongs to you? Useless, just like your aunt!”
The man snapped at Yezhe, and in that instant, Yezhe felt his blood boil. Grief turned to rage, and he punched the man square in the face.
Knuckles cracked against cheekbone, echoing through the Living Room with the man’s howl of pain.
He’d already been drunk—one punch was enough to knock him flat.
The punch sobered the man up. He scrambled up, cursing as he lunged at Yezhe.
In a flash, the boy and the man were rolling around, fighting. The woman hurried out to break them up.
“Get lost! Whoever wants him can raise him! I’m done!”
When they were finally pulled apart, both were covered in bruises, the man’s face visibly swelling.
“Get out!”
“Alright, alright, go to sleep. Yezhe, you too—you can’t just hit your uncle…”
“Mad, why go to school! Just drop out! Spent all that time studying and still don’t know how to respect your elders. Don’t know how your parents raised you!”
“Enough! Stop talking.”
“And you… What good are you, anyway, all you do is…”
Yezhe said nothing, only stared daggers at the man’s disgusting face.
Hearing these words, his just-relaxed fist tightened again, ready to strike at any moment.
Finally, the woman shoved the man into the bedroom. At the door, she turned to look at Yezhe.
Gratitude? Sadness? Weakness? Reluctance?
Yezhe couldn’t read her expression.
After the man went in, Yezhe turned and entered his own room, but soon came out again.
Live well…
He put on the new jacket his mother had once bought him, slung his schoolbag over his shoulder, and left.
“Zhe? Where are you going?”
Clearly, the woman heard the sound of the security door. Yezhe had barely closed it and started down the stairs when she opened it again.
She called his name, but he didn’t respond—just sped up, shoved open the heavy iron door at the bottom of the building, and strode into the darkness.
“Yezhe!?”
That night, Yezhe left the city where he’d grown up—the place that had destroyed everything he had.
He didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye at the cemetery.