TPIL - 21

There are many ways to describe feelings of admiration—”giving your heart and soul,” “being infatuated,” or “deeply, deeply in love.” But when it came to Qi Xiaochuan, this affection turned into something described as “pitiful” liking.

He had objections.

Moreover, he didn’t admit to ever behaving in the manner his father described.

As Qi Xiaochuan was about to start a fight with his father, Luo Andi remained cheerful. And just like being an experienced driver on the road, Qi’s father was equally adept at teasing his son. Ignoring his protests, he wholeheartedly focused on the long-unseen young lady: “How have you been? What about Boss Luo and Mrs. Luo? How’s Young Master Chui Shun?”

Luo Andi smiled gently, just about to answer when a muffled thud came from the kitchen.

They rushed over to find Qi’s mother on the ground, breathing heavily.

Luo Andi’s face turned pale: “Auntie!”

Qi’s father shouted: “Wife!”

Without a word, Qi Xiaochuan immediately crouched down, found a paper bag from a nearby shelf, and instructed them to call the hospital right away.

What was supposed to be a touching and memorable reunion unexpectedly turned into a funny and abrupt farce. The ambulance arrived with a wail, and fortunately, Mother gradually calmed down while waiting, but she still ended up on a stretcher, leaving with Qi’s father.

Qi Xiaochuan and Luo Andi drove to the hospital alone. In the end, not even a sip of water was consumed from the grand feast.

The doctor diagnosed her with respiratory alkalosis, likely caused by sudden excitement leading to breathing difficulties. Though not a common condition, it was manageable with proper care. The prognosis wasn’t severe.

As they walked out, Luo Andi finally sighed in relief, bitterly smiling: “I really am a jinx; I made Auntie feel unwell as soon as I arrived.”

“What does this have to do with you?” Qi Xiaochuan snapped back irritably, “Don’t take responsibility so casually.”

Pushed out by his father, he was repeatedly told to make sure Luo Andi ate something good to fill her stomach. This couple’s relationship had been consistently strong for decades. Shortly after their marriage, when they were dirt poor, Qi’s mother was pregnant, and Qi’s father worked tirelessly driving taxis day and night, dreaming of a better future. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. During a rather advanced stage of pregnancy, Qi’s mother slipped. Faced with the dilemma of either risking her life to keep the baby or losing her fertility to save her, Qi’s father decisively chose the latter. From then on, they never had another child. Qi Xiaochuan’s grandmother rushed to the maternity hospital that night. Expecting reproach, the young couple was already crying, eyes red, ready to apologize. Unexpectedly, the old lady banged her cane and, with emotion, called out, “Silly children,” embracing her daughter-in-law without hesitation.

“You’ve suffered. That baby is gone because we didn’t have the缘分 (fate). There’s nothing we can do… Your life is the most important.” The grandmother’s heartfelt words were soaked in sorrow. “As long as you’re well in the future, that’s all that matters.”

Such enlightenment was rare among their generation. Qi Xiaochuan’s grandfather never stepped foot into his son’s home again, sneering at him and his wife during festivals. He held a poor impression of these two juniors who “caused our Qi family to become extinct.”

After years of infertility, they stumbled upon the opportunity to adopt. Welfare facilities housed many children, most with congenital diseases, malnourished due to poor conditions, and many couldn’t even speak properly at an older age. When they first met Qi Xiaochuan, he was categorized as autistic, living in the same room with twelve other children suffering from Down syndrome, polio, or other conditions.

Honestly, their decision to adopt Qi Xiaochuan was influenced by their limited knowledge.

They didn’t understand what autism entailed, only knowing it wasn’t intellectual disability or physical handicap—better than most other children. They even failed to realize that Qi Xiaochuan was pretending to be sick, simply thinking they got lucky with a relatively trouble-free son.

The unnatural dents on Qi Xiaochuan’s knees and shins were remnants from when he begged, pretending to be disabled. Cutting off an arm could solve the problem, but that wasn’t new. However, he was vastly different from other abducted children. Very alert and adaptable, losing limbs would be a loss, even the “boss” liked him somewhat, sparing him from such a fate.

When the police finally focused on professional beggars and began cracking cases, Qi Xiaochuan was rescued. Unfortunately, he had forgotten the direction he came from, retaining only a vague silhouette of himself being abducted on a green train. Traffickers changed hands multiple times, with countless suspects missing and information unclear. He lost all chances of returning home. Transferred via government arrangements, he endured countless beatings and witnessed the deaths of many peers. Covered in scars, numbly standing on the platform, hearing the train’s long whistle again brought no feeling whatsoever.

Among the beggars, his nickname was “蛤乸” (frog), stemming from an incident where he jumped into the water to hide until dawn to escape another gang. The last time this name was used was during testimony when the woman who usually brought food and collected money scolded him: “Hama, how can you be so ungrateful? We fed you so you wouldn’t starve to death!” Upon entering the facility, he had a temporary name, sharing the surname “Dang” with other children, later changing it after leaving.

He had little trust in people and lacked any positive thinking patterns. Human kindness was nonsense; acting based on profit motives was reasonable. Initially, he didn’t plan to be adopted, ignoring anyone who spoke to him and occasionally causing trouble. Gradually, routine doctors visiting the welfare institution labeled him as autistic.

Adoption was accidental but natural, and surprisingly calm. He became Qi Xiaochuan.

They entered a nearby department store.

Qi Xiaochuan wasn’t picky about food, so he mainly wanted to see Luo Andi’s preferences. However, she proactively said she wasn’t hungry, only brightening up when she saw an ice cream shop.

“I’ll go buy it; you wait here,” he promptly settled her down without a second thought.

“But, Xiao Chuan…” Luo Andi actually wanted to say something. The ice cream shop’s theme was sweet and cute, especially the current best-selling product—a pink sakura flavor with plenty of strawberry-flavored wafer cookies and Pocky. The queue was predominantly young women—college students with elaborate makeup, fashionable working women—but Qi Xiaochuan seemed oblivious or perhaps didn’t feel out of place at all, paying no heed to others’ gazes.

Qi Xiaochuan walked in, holding Luo Andi’s coat, looking straight ahead at the advertisement board, giving the visual impression of a loyal hound running errands for his girlfriend, drawing wet attention from those around. His demeanor was too unconventional; even busy staff couldn’t ignore such a serious, handsome male customer.

After purchasing and collecting the order, he navigated smoothly under everyone’s watchful eyes, returning to hand her the ice cream she wanted.

Luo Andi smiled, tilting her head up, took a bite, and then slowly opened her mouth. Her voice was soft, requiring Qi Xiaochuan to slightly lower his head. He leaned closer, hearing her say: “Everyone is looking at you.”

Frowning, he sternly rebutted: “It’s an illusion. Who has nothing better to do than stare at others?”

“Don’t you usually pay attention to other people?” she asked.

“Why should I care about strangers?” His response was a question, but akin to a statement, adding, “I only look at you.”

Luo Andi gazed at him, slowly letting her smile spread. She called him for no reason: “Xiao Chuan.”

And he responded, despite the bad experiences this title brought him: “Hmm.”

“Xiao Chuan,” she stood up, looking up at him.

“What?” he retorted.

She recalled a long time ago, when he violated the employee handbook at his part-time pizza job to bring her ice cream. Now, she offered him the ice cream: “You eat too.”

Unexpectedly, Qi Xiaochuan shook his head, firmly refusing. Luo Andi was puzzled: “Is something wrong?” He said: “If you want to eat it, I won’t take it from you.”

She paused, her smile deepened, dazzling to the point of wanting to avoid it: “You’re so good to me, just like my mom.”

He suddenly remembered, though he hadn’t forgotten to ask before. Luo Andi and her family disappeared without a trace for many years. The two grew apart, walking back to the car under the evening sky, covered in twilight, vast and desolate. The moon hadn’t risen yet, stars dotted the night sky.

Qi Xiaochuan lowered his head: “Mrs. Luo? It’s been so long, and you’ve never mentioned her.”

Luo Andi ate the ice cream, its chill numbing her tongue, tasting only sweetness: “Mom… was in an accident on the way to the hospital, hit by a car. Her injuries were severe, and she didn’t survive.”

“…What about your dad?”

“Dad was in the hospital. Mom went to see him one last time. He had heart disease and was devastated afterward, needing to see a psychiatrist. He drank too much, and it was sudden. He passed away suddenly.”

Her tone was calm, almost making the cruel content hard to detect, like gleaming glass shards, sparkling like gems.

In Luo Andi’s frequently read foreign novel A Little Princess , the protagonist once fell into disgrace, living in an attic. For some days, the only thing keeping her going was the doll her father gave her before he passed away. But even then, there were moments of breakdown, nearing despair murmuring, “I’m going to die, I can’t take it anymore,” and hysterically throwing the doll, shouting: “You’re just a doll! A doll! A doll! You can’t feel anything!”

Did Luo Andi have such moments?

She smiled, gazing intently at the cute, sweet ice cream, speaking slowly: “When I was little, there was a pond at home. At night, the stars reflected on the surface; it was truly beautiful.”

He seemed to have said “Hmm,” or maybe remained silent throughout.

“Dad originally hoped that after Chui Shun graduated, he would take over everything at home. That was the plan. After the family troubles, Chui Shun was very anxious and blamed himself. He was too demanding on himself.” Her voice sounded like lifting a dust-covered skirt hem, pacing in place. “Actually, the pond wasn’t deep; nothing should have happened. Nothing should have happened…”

The first time he visited the Luo family, Qi Xiaochuan jumped into that pond. The water wasn’t deep, just cold. Luo Chui Shun, regarded as a “prodigy,” specialized in astronomy and occasionally revealed signs of brilliance being a double-edged sword. He had entrusted his friend, three years older, with the task: “You should treat my sister better.” The violin-playing youth vanished like a dream.

“It’s good to have met Xiao Chuan again.” Luo Andi turned her head, looking at him, her smile spreading like smoke from a loft window, sigh-like, blurry, fading without sound. She said, “Now, I’m the only one left.”