Chapter 3
The endless speeches finally came to an end. Director Liu led the inspection delegation on a tour of the orphanage, while two military officers stepped out from a corner and took their places before the children.
Shen Quanquan recognized those two officers. Every so often, they would visit and take one or two lucky children away to Cloud Peak.
He clamped a hand over his mouth at once, turning to look at Lin Duozhi.
Lin Duozhi was breathing in ragged, shallow gasps, as if suffocating, but his eyes shone with extraordinary brilliance.
Every child standing on the sports ground recognized the two officers. Chests puffed out, not a single child dared to make a sound; even the coughing that had echoed across the yard fell silent.
Shen Quanquan was filled with both yearning and dread. He knew that in a moment, something would burrow into his brain, leaving his head dull and swollen with pressure. But as long as he endured it for just a little bit, that bit of agony was nothing compared to going to Cloud Peak.
“Mental strength inspection is about to begin. It’ll be over very quickly. Don’t be afraid, now. Don’t be afraid.”
Along with the supervisors’ soothing voices, stifled groans of pain began rippling through the rows of children behind them. Just as Shen Quanquan went to look over his shoulder, a violent buzzing tore through his mind—as though a sledgehammer had cracked his skull open, followed by an electric drill whining its way straight into his head.
The drill tore wildly through his brain, churning up an excruciating, bone-deep agony, only to yank itself back out the instant a sharp cry of pain escaped his lips.
Though the searing pain vanished, Shen Quanquan still wobbled on his feet and collapsed to the frozen ground. Lying on his back, staring up at the leaden sky, all the color had drained from his face and lips. It took several full seconds before he finally came to his senses.
He pushed himself up with trembling arms, only to see the two officers already walking toward the main gates. Trotting behind them were two older students, a boy and a girl.
Shen Quanquan hadn’t cried during that agonizing pain. He hadn’t cried when he slammed onto the ground, either. But now, watching their retreating silhouettes, tears rolled down his cheeks in unbroken strings.
“Sniffle…”
The children around him were crying as well. Not daring to wail aloud, they let out only hushed, sorrowful whimpers.
“Alright, alright. Everyone is dismissed now. Go to the cafeteria for breakfast,” one of the supervisors called out, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
When Chu Ya stepped back onto the sports ground, the older kids had already cleared out. Only a handful of the youngest ones lingered in place, sniffling as they stared toward the main gates. Among them stood that loud-mouthed, filthy little child.
The kid’s mouth was stretched open in a miserable wail, his face caked with a runny mess of tears and snot. Although he didn’t utter a sound, the bright light in his eyes had dimmed, replaced entirely by profound grief.
He looked rather pitiful.
Chu Ya kept walking forward, but after a short distance, he stopped dead in his tracks. Opening his leather bag, he lowered his head to rummage through it.
Knowing that he rarely ate outside food, his mother had packed some dried meat and chocolate for his trip to the Abyss.
Chocolate was a rare luxury even up on Cloud Peak. But he had no sweet tooth; he had devoured only the dried meat, leaving the chocolate sitting untouched in his bag.
Chu Ya turned, walked straight over to the dirty kid, and extended his hand in front of him.
Shen Quanquan was standing beside Lin Duozhi, weeping their hearts out together.
The first thing that caught his eye was the colorful, glossy wrapping paper. Next were the clean, slender fingers. He lifted his head to look at the hand’s owner, only to discover that it was that extraordinarily handsome older boy from Cloud Peak.
Chu Ya gazed down at Shen Quanquan without an ounce of expression. Forcing himself not to scrutinize the filth coating the kid’s face, he fixed his eyes solely on the only clean thing there: a pair of dark, gleaming eyes swimming with tears.
After two seconds of utter stupor, Shen Quanquan’s gaze drifted back to Chu Ya’s hand.
Convinced he had understood Chu Ya’s intention, he choked out between hiccups, “Your… your pretty paper is so, so nice. It looks just like the ones I—I pick up in the junkyard. Just as pretty.”
Chu Ya held his hand out in silence. Beside them, Lin Duozhi edged closer to Shen Quanquan in nervous apprehension.
Shen Quanquan looked back up at Chu Ya. “This one… this one of yours is really nice. Not a single smudge of mud on it! If you use… use some water to stick it onto a window, and peel it off after, it’ll be super, super flat.”
“You have to wait until it dries before peeling it,” Lin Duozhi chimed in from the side in a small, timid voice.
Chu Ya remained motionless. Shen Quanquan rubbed at his eyes, his voice thick with tears: “Can I teach you later? Right now… right now I’m still feeling really sad.”
Ignoring the fresh smudge of dirt the boy had just smeared across his cheek, Chu Ya offered a terse clarification: “It isn’t an empty wrapper. There is food inside.”
“Oh. Then you—”
“Take it.”
“Huh?”
“It’s for you.” Chu Ya cast a glance at the scrawny Lin Duozhi. “Share it together.”
Jolted by sheer shock, Shen Quanquan completely forgot his misery. He slowly cocked his head, peering at the other side of the wrapper to confirm that it was indeed plump and bulging with something inside.
“You’re giving it to us?” Shen Quanquan asked, his small face filled with suspicion.
“Mm.”
“You’re really giving food to us?” Shen Quanquan pressed, unable to believe his ears.
Chu Ya’s brow furrowed. “Hurry up. If you don’t want it, I’m leaving.”
Lin Duozhi stood by in a daze, but Shen Quanquan finally reached out a hand.
Still, he seemed skeptical that Chu Ya would truly part with food. His eyes never left the older boy, his hand reaching out with excruciating care—ready to snatch it right back the instant Chu Ya changed his mind.
Seeing the grime-encrusted little hand drawing closer and closer, Chu Ya’s temple gave a sharp twitch. “Wait,” he blurted out.
Shen Quanquan pulled his hand back in a flash, clasping both hands nervously behind his back.
“Hold your hand out. Palm flat. Don’t move.”
Shen Quanquan obediently held out his left hand. Pinching a corner of the wrapper, Chu Ya dropped the chocolate onto the flattened little palm.
With that done, Chu Ya turned on his heel and strode toward the main gates, hurrying into the vehicle he had arrived in. The two small boys stood rooted on the sports ground watching him, turning back to each other only when his figure had completely vanished from sight.
Exchanging a wide-eyed glance, Shen Quanquan tore and bit at the wrapper until it gave way. The intoxicating, sweet fragrance of chocolate hit him full in the face, drawing a soundless whoa from his lips.
“What is that?” Lin Duozhi shoved his nose right up to the opening.
Shen Quanquan’s little nose twitched vigorously. “It smells so good! These black round balls smell amazing!”
“What black balls? Let me smell!”
Shen Quanquan swallowed loudly with an audible gulp. “It might be a kind of hard biscuit.”
Someone walked past nearby. Shen Quanquan immediately pinched the wrapper shut and cradled the chocolate tightly against his chest, while Lin Duozhi stepped in front of him like a bodyguard.
Once the person had passed, Shen Quanquan darted watchful glances left and right. “We can’t stay here.”
Lin Duozhi nodded eagerly. “Right, let’s go hide, or the big kids are gonna steal it from us.”
Terrified someone would snatch their prize away, the two children suppressed their racing hearts and frantic cravings. After circling around for a bit, they slipped behind a stack of concrete bricks in a remote corner of the sports ground.
Sitting with his back propped against the rough bricks, Shen Quanquan tipped the entire pouch of chocolate out onto the hem of his pulled-up coat.
“They’re round.”
“Mm.”
“…Sniff, smells so good.”
“Let me smell too… Sniff.”
“I’ll count how many there are.” Shen Quanquan poked out a stubby finger to point. “One, two, three. One, two, three.”
“Four comes after three,” Lin Duozhi said.
“I know! One, two, three, four. One, two, three…”
After losing track twice, Shen Quanquan gave up on counting altogether. He simply went one for you, one for me, splitting the pile of chocolate balls cleanly with Lin Duozhi.
Clutching their respective shares of chocolate, the two boys had cast the heartbreak of not being chosen for Cloud Peak entirely to the winds. Lin Duozhi wanted to run back to the dorms to hide his stash, but Shen Quanquan didn’t want to go inside yet. Once Lin Duozhi had scampered off, Shen Quanquan shoved the chocolate into his coat pocket and wandered over to the perimeter fence to peer out.
The motorcade from Cloud Peak was still parked outside the orphanage gates. Shen Quanquan mashed his face into the gap between the iron bars, his eyes glued to the vehicle Chu Ya had entered. Digging a chocolate ball out of his pocket with one hand, he used his front teeth to gently scrape off a tiny layer, basking in the dizzying, rich sweetness exploding across his palate.
Feeling he was too far away to see properly, he skirted along the iron railing. After shuffling forward a bit, he pressed his face into the bars again, alternating between watching the car and gnawing off another sliver of chocolate.
Still too far.
Just a little closer.
…
Inside the car, Chu Ya waited for the officials touring the orphanage to return. Ever since stepping foot into the Abyss, his breathing had felt constricted and his mood suffocated; sitting inside the enclosed car now, the air felt utterly stifling.
“Young Master Chu, would you like to step outside for some fresh air?” the driver asked solicitously.
Chu Ya kept his eyes downcast. “No need.”
“How about rolling down the window for a bit?”
Chu Ya offered no objection, so the driver tapped the button.
The window slid down smoothly and soundlessly, ushering in a rush of brisk air. Chu Ya turned his head toward the window, only for his expression to freeze mid-glance, his entire body stiffening.
Not even a meter from the car window, an impossibly filthy little face was squeezed through the narrow gaps of the iron fence. The bars distorted the child’s eyes upward into bizarre angles, and a long pink tongue hung out of his mouth.
Chu Ya’s first instinct was that the kid had gotten his head stuck, and he moved to open the door at once. But the instant his hand gripped the handle, the tongue and face popped right back through the bars. The kid grinned at him with a wide, toothy, rather foolish smile.
It was that filthy child in the padded cap.
Chu Ya had been genuinely startled by that ghastly sight, and a spark of annoyance flared in his chest. He couldn’t fathom why this child had materialized here again, but he had no intention of asking. Pressing his lips into a tight line, he leaned back into his seat with a dark expression.
Since he refused to speak, Shen Quanquan remained on the other side of the fence, staring at him unblinkingly while sticking out his tongue to continue licking the chocolate ball.
“Do you still want to learn how to stick pretty paper?” Shen Quanquan finally struck up a conversation.
Chu Ya ignored him.
“Do you want to eat a black ball? Here.”
Chu Ya sat ramrod straight, not sparing a glance at the little hand poking through the iron railing.
“You don’t want to eat it? Really not? It tastes super good! Oh… wait, you’re the one who gave it to me, so shouldn’t you have one too?”
Receiving no response to his outstretched hand, Shen Quanquan pulled it back, nodding in self-reassurance as he mumbled to himself: “He definitely doesn’t want to eat right now.” With that, he tucked the chocolate safely back into his pocket.
“I found all my pretty papers in the junkyard. Sometimes I even find glass marbles! Do you want some? Super pretty glass marbles… Snuffle.”
Hearing the wet snort of snot, the vein at Chu Ya’s temple throbbed. Just as he was about to tell him to scram and play elsewhere, the boy let out another sharp gasp: “You dropped something! It’s that cloth strip you tied around your neck!”
Pretty paper, black balls, cloth strip…
Chu Ya was utterly unaccustomed to such childish, sing-song terms. After a beat of confusion, he reached down to pat his overcoat pocket, only to find the necktie tucked inside was gone. Glancing at the sky-blue fabric lying on the ground outside the window, he realized it must have slipped out when he climbed into the car earlier.
The ground in the Abyss was carpeted in gravel and grime. Seeing that Chu Ya wasn’t moving, Shen Quanquan shoved the half-eaten chocolate into his mouth and bolted toward the main gates: “I’ll pick it up for you!”
Before Chu Ya could even utter a word to stop him, Shen Quanquan had whirled away like a gust of wind, reappearing breathless outside the car door a moment later.
Scooping up the necktie, his eyes shone like bright stars as he looked up at Chu Ya, stretching his arm toward the open window: “Here!”
“I don’t want it anymore,” Chu Ya hesitated before answering.
“Huh?”
“Throw it away.”
A look of total bafflement crossed Shen Quanquan’s face. Lowering his head, he inspected the necktie carefully. “Why throw it away? Is it broken? It’s not broken at all.” Spreading the fabric flat with both hands, he held it toward the window again: “Look, it’s totally fine!”
Chu Ya shifted his body slightly away. “I said I don’t want it! Throw it away!”
“…Oh.”
Cradling the tie, Shen Quanquan squatted down and carefully laid it back where he had found it. Standing upright again, he glanced down at the tie, then back up at Chu Ya.
“B-but it’s really completely fine. I have half a roll of tape; if there’s a hole, I can patch it for you—”
“I don’t like this tie. If you like it, you can keep it,” Chu Ya cut him off, reaching over to press the window switch.
Shen Quanquan didn’t hesitate this time. Snatching up the tie, he stuffed it into his coat pocket, took two steps forward, and stood on tiptoe to shout at the steadily closing glass: “Then I want to give you something too!”
Without waiting for Chu Ya to answer, he spun around and sprinted full-tilt back into the orphanage.
Shen Quanquan dashed across the sports ground, racing through the dormitory passageway and nearly slamming head-on into an older kid coming the other way.
“You blind, brat?!”
Shoved hard by the older boy, Shen Quanquan hit the floor, but didn’t utter a peep of protest. Flipping nimbly back onto his feet, he sprinted out the back door of the dormitory building.
The backyard was an expanse of wasteland enclosed by a wooden fence. Rumor had it that many years ago, this had been a lush forest with green canopies as vast as umbrellas; now, it was merely a dumping ground for broken desks, chairs, and rusted iron beds. Not far beyond the fence lay a graveyard where children who had died young at the orphanage were buried. Peering through the slats, one could see small, rounded mounds of dirt rising in clusters.
Terrifying ghost stories abounded in the orphanage, and most of them began with: One night, in our backyard…
Consequently, none of the orphanage kids liked coming here, and there wasn’t a soul in sight.
Shen Quanquan wriggled into the hollow beneath a pile of scrap desks and chairs. When he emerged, he was clutching a square blue tin box to his chest.
The tin had lost much of its paint, its lid stamped with the faded design of several round biscuits. Popping the lid open revealed a collection of colorful wrappers, a small yellow plastic spoon, a tiny transparent blue medicine vial, and a small pile of glass marbles.
Shen Quanquan poked out a finger to count: “One, two, three. One, two, three.” He let out a little chuckle: “You’re all still here!”
Not a single marble was missing.
Snapping the lid securely shut, he hugged the tin to his chest and bolted anxiously toward the front gates.
A crowd had already gathered outside the iron fence, and the vehicles were revving with low, mechanical rumbles. Shen Quanquan ran as fast as his short legs could carry him, but by the time he burst through the gates, the motorcade was already pulling forward.
He sprinted desperately after the convoy. A supervisor seeing off the guests caught sight of him and bellowed, “Which class is that kid from?! How did you get out here?! What are you running for?!”
Shen Quanquan didn’t utter a sound, nor did he break his stride. Fixing his eyes on the black military vehicle in the middle of the convoy, he clutched the tin box tightly against his chest, sprinting so hard sweat beaded across his forehead while ragged puffs of white steam burst from his mouth.
Yet the convoy steadily picked up speed. No matter how desperately he pushed himself, the car pulled further and further away. In rising panic, he cried out at the top of his lungs:
“Hey, you! Hey, you! I haven’t given you the glass marbles yet!”
“Ouch!”
His foot caught on a jagged rock. He pitched forward violently, crashing hard against the rough ground. The tin box flew from his grip and slammed down, sending glass marbles scattering everywhere across the dirt.
It was a brutal fall. Shen Quanquan lay belly-down in the dust, motionless for several agonizing seconds. By the time he caught his breath and slowly lifted his head, the distant motorcade had already vanished into a swirling cloud of dust.
