Teacher Zhu placed her fingers on the piano keys and sang the first line of the nursery rhyme from the textbook: "In front of the gate, there stands a grapevine..."
Over sixty pairs of bright, dark eyes in the classroom instantly turned toward Pei Chuan.
The old fan in the June classroom creaked as it spun, emitting a dull, weary sound. The windows were half-open, and the faint breeze that drifted in carried the scorching heat of summer—stifling and intense.
That year, he still lacked the strength to resist. His bloodless lips moved slightly: "In front of the gate, there stands a grapevine..."
His voice was hoarse. From rarely speaking, his singing lacked the lively clarity of a child’s voice, instead resembling the scratchy, unpleasant sound of an old record player. Because he was losing his baby teeth, his front teeth whistled as he sang, making his pronunciation unclear.
Starting with Chen Hu, the classroom erupted in laughter.
The children covered their mouths, giggling, while the sound of the organ continued to play.
Pei Chuan clenched his lips tightly.
Teacher Zhu kept playing, signaling for Pei Chuan to continue singing along: "Tender and green, it has just sprouted."
He fell silent. The fan above spun intermittently. Amid the laughter, Pei Chuan did not open his mouth again.
The heat of his blood rushed to his cheeks, stronger than shame. Yet, in the end, his face only showed a stark pallor.
Teacher Zhu frowned, first scolding the children who were laughing: "Stop laughing, all of you. What’s so funny about learning to sing?" Then she turned to Pei Chuan. "Keep singing along with the teacher."
But no matter how she tried to teach him afterward, Pei Chuan refused to speak again.
His dark pupils remained fixed on the music textbook. Bei Yao noticed his fingers trembling.
Teacher Zhu’s mood soured as well. It felt like an invisible standoff between teacher and student, as though failing to make him speak today would undermine her authority.
Bei Yao felt a heaviness in her heart. She, too, was afraid of the teacher, but she mustered her courage and stood up. Her clear, childish voice echoed through the classroom as she continued singing after the teacher: "The snail carries its heavy shell, climbing up step by step. Two yellow orioles in the tree, hee-hee, ha-ha, are laughing at it..."
Her singing was also marred by whistling gaps and slightly off-key notes.
Yet she sang loudly. The summer sun shifted, casting a warm silhouette at the classroom door. The little girl, singing off-key and with whistling gaps, provoked even louder laughter.
Chen Hu pounded the desk: "Hahaha, Bei Yao is hilarious!" The teacher had asked Pei Chuan, the boy with no legs, to sing, not her. And now her singing was so funny—barely a single note in tune.
Pei Chuan, who had kept his gaze lowered, slowly looked up.
That year, she was six years old, her cheeks soft and her voice tender. Amid everyone’s laughter, she clenched her small fists, her face flushed red as she sang. He could even see her incomplete set of baby teeth.
She seemed on the verge of tears, but when she lowered her gaze and met his eyes, her almond-shaped eyes curved into a bright smile the next moment.
No front teeth—so ugly.
That’s what he thought.
But he knew that when the teacher had taught the song to everyone earlier, Bei Yao had clearly not been off-key.
She had taken all the laughter upon herself.
~
After the singing incident, Teacher Zhu belatedly realized it hadn’t been appropriate. Although Pei Chuan still refused to speak afterward, she never made him sing alone again.
Elementary school days flowed by as calmly as water. Everyone grew accustomed to Pei Chuan’s legless appearance, and it no longer seemed strange or unusual to them.
His tightly wound nerves finally experienced a period of peace.
The only change was that the soft, adorable little girl beside him had changed her hairstyle.One Monday in third grade, her two little flower buns had disappeared, replaced by a small ponytail tied at the back. It made her look fresher and less childish, revealing her fair, slightly chubby cheeks.
After finishing a game of cat's cradle with the girl behind her, Bei Yao returned to her seat and heard the low, hoarse voice of the boy beside her: "Where's your hair ribbon?"
Pei Chuan occasionally spoke to her now, and each time she heard his voice, her heart swelled with joy. His heart was like a stone, every beat seeming to come with great difficulty.
Bei Yao touched her ponytail. Her childish voice had gradually been changing, though it still sounded soft when she spoke: "I threw it away. Mom said I can't wear two buns anymore in third grade."
She happily touched the ponytail on her head: "Does it look nice now?"
The boy replied coldly with thin lips: "No."
Bei Yao rested her chin on the desk and sighed softly. She knew she wasn't as pretty as Minmin. Third-grade girls were gradually beginning to understand what beauty meant, and what being plump meant.
Her memories now extended to seventh grade. Back in seventh grade, Fang Minjun had been the class beauty, while Bei Yao remembered her seventh-grade self still having chubby cheeks.
Just as Bei Yao remembered, the road from Chaoyang Elementary School to their residential area in C City began undergoing reconstruction. What was originally a narrow path was now piled with cement and stones.
The children used to linger and play on their way to and from school, but now they couldn't take the main road and had to use small paths.
Little Bei Yao sadly discovered that everything was unfolding just as she remembered - her uncle had hit someone with his car, and her mother had emptied their savings to help pay compensation. Her family had become particularly poor recently.
Pei Chuan was picked up by Pei Haobin on his motorcycle. On the way home, he saw Bei Yao walking with two other girls, all three wearing smiles on their faces.
He was still being protected by Pei Haobin in front of the motorcycle.
Pei Chuan suddenly spoke up: "Dad, let me sit at the back next time."
"Why do you want to sit at the back? It's safer in front where I can keep an eye on you."
The boy didn't explain much: "I'll sit at the back and hold onto your clothes."
Pei Chuan knew his legs weren't good, so under his mother's guidance, he had been working on building arm strength.
When they arrived home, they happened to see Zhao Zhilan taking out the trash.
Now Bei Yao walked to and from school by herself - Zhao Zhilan no longer picked her up.
Pei Chuan asked Pei Haobin to lower the wheelchair and settled into it: "I'll sit outside for a while."
Though surprised, Pei Haobin was comforted by the thought that his son seemed more outgoing. He didn't think too much about it: "Call for Dad when you want to come home."
"Mm."
Pei Chuan waited until Zhao Zhilan finished taking out the trash and returned home. After a moment of silence, he wheeled himself toward the garbage dump.
His arms were now stronger than any other child's, and the wheelchair no longer moved erratically in his hands.
He leaned over. The garbage dump reeked terribly.
Without changing expression, Pei Chuan used his pale fingers to sort through the black plastic bags, finding and pulling out a faded light green ribbon with frayed edges.
Why didn't she wear it anymore? Does everyone change when they grow up?
Before the other children in the neighborhood returned home, Pei Chuan had already gone back inside.Jiang Wenjuan prepared the meal. Over the past two years, her relationship with Pei Haobin had been lukewarm, and both remained busy with work. However, Jiang Wenjuan was clearly in high spirits today. She had bought a bottle of soda and spoke up at the dinner table: "A friend from the hospital told me that Xiao Chuan’s current condition allows for a prosthetic leg. He knows someone who specializes in this."
Pei Haobin frowned. "Is it reliable?"
"Of course." Jiang Wenjuan looked at Pei Chuan, her expression gentle. "Xiao Chuan will be able to stand up soon. Aren’t you happy?"
Pei Chuan didn’t speak, but the corners of his lips curved slightly.
Seeing this, Pei Haobin said nothing more. Pei Chuan would soon turn nine, and being able to take care of himself was important. Although their son showed no signs of psychological issues, being able to stand was undoubtedly a good thing.
Pei Chuan took time off from school to go for a check-up at the prosthetic fitting center.
The technician was a kind uncle who smiled and asked, "Can I take a look, kiddo?"
Pei Chuan nodded. As warm, large hands touched his severed limb, Jiang Wenjuan watched anxiously. Under his clothes, Pei Chuan clenched his fists, using every ounce of willpower to endure the contact with his severed limb.
"Have you been massaging it regularly? It’s well-maintained, which makes molding much easier. After you go back today, practice with a temporary prosthetic for shaping. I’ll take a mold now, and you can come back for the finished prosthetic in a while."
Jiang Wenjuan nodded repeatedly.
Pei Chuan gazed at the gray sky. Had he almost forgotten what it felt like to walk?
～
Prosthetic training was exhausting. Throughout the entire winter, Pei Chuan engaged in this simple, monotonous routine.
It wasn’t his leg—it was cold and lifeless.
The color didn’t match his skin tone. He touched it and realized that, as he grew older, his leg wouldn’t grow back. This was the only substitute.
Prosthetic technology had only begun developing around 2000, just starting to align with international standards. Pei Chuan’s family was moderately well-off, allowing them to afford the expense.
At first, he struggled to find his balance and fell hard a couple of times.
But Pei Chuan didn’t cry. Holding onto the bars, he practiced with intense focus until he broke a sweat in the winter cold. Jiang Wenjuan covered her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched her son stumble along.
By the time spring arrived, Pei Chuan could walk with his prosthetic.
With his pant legs covering it, he looked no different from any other child. Even a man like Pei Haobin shed tears that night.
Pei Chuan looked at his reflection in the mirror. The prosthetic was custom-made to his proportions.
It suddenly dawned on him that, had he grown up normally, he would have been taller than many boys.
He smiled faintly.
When fourth grade began, the children in Class One were stunned!
Pei Chuan could stand. The aloof, solitary boy now stood tall and handsome. Bei Yao, only a year younger, was half a head shorter than him, even with his prosthetic.
The children didn’t fully understand what a prosthetic was. To them, Pei Chuan walking upright felt like a miracle straight out of a cartoon.
Even the proud little goddess Fang Minjun couldn’t help stealing several surprised glances.
Bei Yao stared at him in a daze. By fourth grade, her memories extended to her second year of middle school.
Looking at her silent, aloof deskmate—the "unattainable flower" focused on his homework—she recalled something from a distant memory.
In her previous life, Pei Chuan had also worn a prosthetic, but he later rejected it and returned to his wheelchair.
And that incident, unfortunately, was related to her.
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