PSE - 42

Like every successful person who attributed their good fortune to their own efforts rather than the tides of the times, Xue Lianwu believed in the law of the jungle—the survival of the fittest. For his entire life, he pursued the privilege of trampling on the weak and could not tolerate having a son with a soft personality.

Empathy was a sign of weakness, and dwelling on past tragedies was equally unacceptable. Even though Xue Jing was still a child, post-traumatic stress was not permitted.

Seeing a psychologist was tantamount to admitting that Xue Jing was a defective product. Feng Yun studied Xue Lianwu like a textbook, so she chose to conceal her son’s condition as much as possible. She went to great lengths to improve his physical health, hiring nutritionists, enrolling him in summer camps, and signing him up for various training programs to strengthen his body. But beyond that, Xue Jing never received any form of psychological support.

All Feng Yun ever said, perhaps a million times over, was: “Just pretend nothing happened. Isn’t everything fine now? Why keep thinking about the past?”

Survival instinct drives us to seek benefits and avoid harm; those who dwell on the past and invite suffering upon themselves do not deserve sympathy. 

Over time, Xue Jing, like Feng Yun and Xue Lianwu, learned to wear a mask. 

Every morning, the first thing he did after waking up was stand in front of the mirror and practice smiling at his own reflection, rehearsing how to smile at his parents. When nightmares haunted him, he would go for a night run until his body was utterly exhausted, and his mind emptied itself. 

“I thought things were getting better, but when I entered university and moved into the dormitory, the sudden change in environment made it impossible for me to sleep through the night. Even running no longer helped during severe bouts of insomnia, and thoughts of self-harm began to creep in frequently.” 

One day, by chance, he noticed a flyer on the bulletin board advertising a student psychological support hotline. He called it once. Though the person on the other end didn’t fully understand what he had been through, they followed the textbook approach of exposure therapy and firmly encouraged the young man to confront his fears head-on. 

So, during his freshman year, on a weekend just before winter break, Xue Jing carried bundles of joss paper and flowers for tomb-sweeping and wandered through the cemetery for a long time until he finally found the gravestones of Li Shulan and Xue Ting. 

Perhaps it was divine punishment—before he could finish burning the offerings, he was kicked to the ground by some distant relatives of Li Shulan who had also come to pay their respects. 

His clothes were torn, and his body was covered in dirt. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, and his eyelashes were wet with tears. He curled up, repeatedly apologizing, but the enraged adults tore apart the flowers and joss paper he had brought, trampling them underfoot. Amidst the swirling ashes and biting wind, they kicked him mercilessly, shouting: “If you’re truly sorry, you should die.” 

After all, the one who deserved to die back then was him, not Xue Ting. 

Xue Ting was the rightful heir of the Xue family, the one worthy of boundless love and affection. And Xue Jing? Like his mother, he was nothing more than a thief who had stolen another’s nest, a criminal who had robbed others of their fruits, deserving of being torn apart piece by piece. 

That evening, Xue Jing staggered back to his dormitory, took a shower, changed into clean clothes, and headed toward the rooftop of the second teaching building. 

The winter afternoon was cloudless, the sunlight blinding. But as Xue Jing walked along, hunched over and coughing, everything around him felt dark and oppressive. The clouds hung so low in the sky that it felt as though they were pressing down on his spine, making it impossible for him to lift his head. 

At eighteen, Xue Jing resolved to return the life he had stolen. If the thousands of favors lavished upon him by the Li family meant living in luxury homes, riding in expensive cars, and pretending to be happy in a house always filled with servants, then he didn’t particularly enjoy this kind of “privileged” existence. 

If given a choice, he wouldn’t want to be used as a tool for his mother to extort promises from his father. 

If given a choice, he would have gladly taken the place of eight-year-old Xue Ting and walked into that gas-filled room. 

If given a choice, he wouldn’t want to remain the rotting, festering version of himself that couldn’t heal. 

But alas, there was no choice. His performance was never as good as his parents’. 

The space in which the boy lived felt like Truman’s world—a fabricated reality. But unlike the movie, his world was real, and beyond the sky, there was no curtain or studio where he could escape. 

Thus, he decided to destroy this defective product that had failed inspection. 

It was Sunday. After entering the second teaching building, Xue Jing climbed the stairs toward Room 508. If luck was on his side and the classroom was empty, he could climb out the window and reach the rooftop without obstruction. If 508 didn’t work out, he could always try the rooftop of the Science Building instead. 

He had heard from his roommate that the view from the Science Building rooftop was breathtaking in midsummer, perfect for sipping chilled beer with a girl he liked while enjoying the evening breeze. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t live to see summer, nor did he have a girl he liked. 

Moreover, he felt sorry for the school janitors. If his brain splattered everywhere and blood pooled on the ground, it would be a mess. 

Lost in thought, Xue Jing kept his head down as he hurried along, unaware of the large X-shaped display stands set up downstairs. By the time he reached the second floor at exactly 2:30 PM, he was swept up by a sudden surge of people, diverting him from his intended path. 

The students around him chattered excitedly, each hurrying toward the “small auditorium” on the fourth floor. They moved in an orderly clockwise direction, like devout pilgrims. 

Pushed along by the crowd, Xue Jing missed several turns leading in the opposite direction. Just as he spotted the staircase to the fifth floor on his right, he hesitated, wondering whether it would be impolite to rudely shove past two bespectacled girls nearby to break free. 

Before he could decide, two seniors from the Chinese Department, sharp-eyed, spotted Xue Jing towering above the other students from behind. They immediately called out his name across the crowd. 

The two had just finished lunch and were still basking in the glory of the Chinese Department’s overwhelming victory against the Law School that morning. They fought their way to Xue Jing’s side, each grabbing an arm and speaking in unison: “Xue, are you here to watch the debate competition?” 

“Debate competition?” Xue Jing was confused and shook his head at first, but fearing he might offend the seniors, he quickly nodded instead. 

“Hah, no suspense! We crushed those law students this morning. Do you think we’ll lose to those amateurs from the Foreign Languages Department this afternoon?” 

“If it were an English debate, maybe they’d stand a chance. But this is a Chinese debate!” 

The two laughed and joked, flanking Xue Jing like bodyguards as they pushed their way into the multimedia classroom. 

In the front rows of the classroom, the Chinese Department debaters’ supporters had already claimed the best seats. A senior sister adjusting the microphone caught sight of Xue Jing and immediately waved at him enthusiastically. 

Though petite and wearing tortoiseshell glasses that gave her a scholarly air, her warmth was inversely proportional to her size. She spoke persuasively, like an old Taoist priest recruiting Xue Jing to join the university’s debate club, suggesting he could be the face of their next promotional poster. 

“Look, this time their poster features a freshman from the Foreign Languages Department. Setting aside debating skills, we have to admit she’s quite photogenic. See all these guys behind us? They’re here because of the poster.” 

“The poster? Sorry, I didn’t notice.” 

Following the senior sister’s gesture, Xue Jing turned his pale face toward the stage. The debaters were taking their seats one by one, arranged in two rows forming a V-shape. As figures crossed paths, the scene unfolded like a curtain rising, revealing Ha Yue’s name alongside a large promotional image behind her.

In the photograph, her eyes sparkled with intelligence, and her hair was pulled up high, revealing a smooth and full forehead.

“Yes, the promotional poster for the debate competition! The topic this time is pretty challenging. They just drew lots, but our side still has an advantage as the affirmative team.”

Suddenly, Xue Jing’s gaze wavered—not because of how exquisite Ha Yue’s face was as the poster girl, but because he saw the topic of this debate.

“Does the law of the jungle apply to modern human society?”

It was as if fate had intervened at the last moment. Just as Xue Jing was preparing to quietly head to the rooftop, a debate about the value of life was unfolding right before him.

The four debaters from the astronomy department constructed their arguments with tightly interlocking logic, attempting to apply Darwin’s theory of evolution to human history. They repeatedly emphasized that survival of the fittest was natural selection. However, in the final voting round, the Chinese Department’s seasoned debaters still narrowly lost to the Foreign Languages Department.

The intellectual clash between both sides was spectacular, with intense questioning and rebuttals flying back and forth. But what ultimately secured a decisive victory for the Foreign Languages Department was Ha Yue’s calm and moving closing statement.

Ha Yue spoke almost entirely without notes, glancing briefly at her cue cards before scanning the audience below.

She said that humanity’s greatest productivity stemmed from collaboration, and its monumental civilizational leaps came from aiding the weak. In a southern Georgian town, archaeologists unearthed fossils of an elderly individual who lived 1.7 million years ago—only one tooth remained. Thirty thousand years ago in Indonesia, a young man survived for six to nine years after undergoing an amputation, thanks to meticulous care from his peers.

Without the concept of equality and the belief that everyone deserves to live, humanity would never have reached modern society, nor would it have a future.

Xue Jing, who had initially planned to make an excuse and leave midway, found himself riveted. He sat through the entire 80-minute debate until the host announced the results. Instead of heading to the rooftop afterward, he asked the senior sister for a schedule of the debate club’s activities. That night, back in his dormitory, he carefully filled out an application to join the club.

From then on, he attended every single one of Ha Yue’s sixteen debates. His curiosity about her peaked, and his interest in going to the rooftop vanished entirely. His desire to live grew stronger with each passing day.

It was pure coincidence, impossible to trace the exact chain of events, and perhaps even sounded overly sentimental. But it was undeniable—Ha Yue had saved him.

“I still remember the look on your face when you said everyone has the right to live.” At nineteen, Ha Yue was radiant, standing there like a sturdy pine tree, without a hint of hesitation or doubt. Her eyes were firm and confident, glowing with clarity and warmth.

Every time she stood on the debate stage, she was passionate and fiery, like a fledgling eagle spreading its wings, determined to change the world with her own strength. He admired her fearless enthusiasm and looked up to her logical, never-back-down attitude.

That light had once dispelled the shadows within Xue Jing. Now, he wanted to return that light to her.

Every suicide is a socially inflicted homicide.

Love alone couldn’t save someone, but he believed that in this brutal, cold, and materialistic society, she could row her own boat to safety.

He would hand her the oar. It was his duty—it was his responsibility.