Qin Nan's most vivid childhood memory was the kerosene lamp.
Such objects are rare now, but back then, most households in the village—and even in towns—relied on them. A family’s wealth was often measured by the saying, "Upstairs and downstairs, electric lights and telephones."
As a timid child, he relied on his older brother to light a kerosene lamp whenever he needed to relieve himself at night. That faint glow seemed to carry an invisible power, dispelling the unspoken fears lurking in the darkness.
Once, curled up under the same blanket with his brother, he asked, "Can we keep the lamp on while we sleep?"
His brother replied, "No, Grandpa will scold us. He says we have to save the oil."
His brother, Qin Bei, was six years older than him.
Qin Bei told him stories of their parents still being home when he was little, back when Grandma was still alive. He said their father would weave grasshoppers for him, and their mother would make pancakes.
Qin Nan had no such memories. From the time he could remember, his parents had already been working far away, rarely returning home—not even for New Year’s—because train tickets were too expensive.
They only sent money home periodically through the post office. On those days, Grandpa would take both brothers to town to collect the remittance. The gap between the village and the town felt enormous back then. He and his brother would stand for ages in front of the sugar painting stall, mesmerized.
But he never tasted one. He only watched as other children happily walked away, clutching their sugar paintings.
He didn’t meet his parents until he was five. They returned on New Year’s Eve during a heavy snowfall. A man and a woman walked in carrying bags, and his brother pulled him to stand by the door. Grandpa hurried into the yard, welcoming the unfamiliar couple home.
The man was short, no taller than the woman beside him. The woman’s face was expressionless until she spotted Qin Bei and Qin Nan. Then, her mood shifted. She asked Grandpa, "Is that Qin Nan? He’s grown so tall."
With that, she walked over happily, first hugging and kissing Qin Bei, then doing the same to Qin Nan.
Kneeling in front of Qin Nan, she urged cheerfully, "Nan Nan, call me Mom."
Qin Nan stared at her, too afraid to speak. Grandpa explained, "It’s been so long, Nan Nan." He nudged him. "Go on, call her Mom."
Still hesitant, Qin Nan stole a glance at his brother. Qin Bei said flatly, "Why look at me? Say it."
Finally, Qin Nan whispered, "Mom."
"And your dad," Grandpa reminded.
This time, it was easier. Qin Nan looked up and said, "Dad."
His parents brought them new clothes and took them to town on a tractor. For the first time, Qin Nan tasted sugar paintings and played the ring-toss game with bamboo hoops.
Everything felt new and joyful. At night, his parents slept beside him and his brother, and for once, he didn’t feel afraid—even without the kerosene lamp.
But the holiday ended too soon. His parents boarded the bus again, leaving their hometown behind.
Grandpa took the brothers to see them off. Qin Bei’s eyes were red, but he stayed silent as he watched them go. Qin Nan looked up at his brother and suddenly understood something.
With a loud wail, he cried out to his parents, already on the bus, "Dad! Mom! Don’t go! Please don’t leave!"Dad and Mom leaned out to look, while Grandpa grabbed him and scolded, "What are you crying for? Don’t your parents need to earn money to raise you?!"
He didn’t care, struggling and crying as his parents sat in the bus. He saw his mother turn back from the window—she seemed to be crying too but didn’t want her sons to see. His father sat by the window, waving with reddened eyes, "Dad will come back to see you next year. Go home, be good, okay?"
The bus started, carrying away the people he loved most.
His older brother, already accustomed to this, tried to console him with reddened eyes, "What’s there to cry about? No backbone. Let’s go."
This time, their parents’ return caused a huge stir in the village.
His brother once said their father was the most useless man in the village—short, mild-tempered, and given the least and worst land during the redistribution. Even the cabbages he grew were mocked for being small.
But this time, their parents came back with many things, vividly describing the big city—the rapidly developing coastal metropolis, filled with things this small mountain village had never even imagined.
Some were convinced by their stories. The next year, the couple next door also left the village, leaving their children behind for the grandparents to raise.
Those two kids were three years older than Qin Nan and three years younger than Qin Bei. Usually, when the grandparents went to farm, they followed Qin Bei. A group of children, old enough for school, attended classes during the day and went home with Qin Bei afterward.
Qin Nan didn’t remember exactly what happened, only vaguely recalling that the two kids from next door got into a fight with others, and Qin Bei heard it and rushed over.
A group brawl broke out, and Qin Bei was hit in the head with a rock.
Qin Bei stayed in the hospital for a week. Grandpa paid a lot of money and brought him home. After returning, the family of the kids who beat him came over, sitting in the Qin household, surrounding Qin Nan’s grandpa and demanding an explanation, claiming Qin Bei had hit their child.
Grandpa chose to smooth things over, giving them a hundred yuan as compensation to settle the matter.
When the money was handed over, Qin Nan and Qin Bei watched from the side. Grandpa slapped Qin Bei and made him apologize with Qin Nan. Qin Bei stiffened his neck but eventually bowed his head with Qin Nan and said, "Sorry."
A few months later, their parents returned for the New Year and heard about the incident. Their mother immediately lost her temper, grabbing a kitchen knife to confront the other family. The moment Qin Nan saw his mother with the knife, he noticed a spark in his brother’s eyes. The two brothers followed their mother as she stormed into the other family’s home. A conflict erupted, and the other family’s matriarch fought with their mother. Soon, their father arrived with uncles, and the fight escalated. But the Qin family was outnumbered, and their father, being short and slight, was pinned down by two men while another stepped on him.
Qin Bei shouted and charged forward, only to be slapped away. Qin Nan trembled, watching as his father was beaten into begging for mercy, his mother grabbed by the hair and screaming curses, and Grandpa pleading hoarsely, "Stop, please, stop fighting!"
He didn’t quite remember how that day ended.
He only remembered his father lying in a pool of blood, taken to the hospital. His ribs were broken. When the police came to investigate, his father insisted, "It’s nothing. Nothing happened."He heard his parents arguing at night, his mother scolding his father for being useless, while his father roared back, "You want to get them thrown in jail? Their family has so many people. What if they come after us again?"
His mother wept, his father sighed, and when he looked up, he saw his older brother under the blanket, biting his lip as he cried.
After this incident, the children from both families grew even more hostile toward each other at school. Qin Nan, being younger and more mild-tempered, did as he was told and managed to get by without much trouble.
But Qin Bei and the two kids next door were often dragged away after class.
One day, Qin Nan overheard Qin Bei complaining to the other two kids, "What’s the damn point of living like this?"
The other two kids sat by the firepit, their faces covered in bruises, heads bowed as they cried.
When Qin Nan was eight, their parents and the parents of the two kids next door didn’t return for the New Year. On the Lantern Festival, Qin Bei asked him if he wanted to eat sugar painting. He wanted to say yes.
So his brother took him and the other two kids, stole money from home, and ran to the town to buy sugar paintings. The kids went wild in town. Qin Bei bought some rope and led them up the mountain. Then he turned to Qin Nan and said, "When we get back, Grandpa will definitely beat us to death. Do you still want to go home?"
Qin Nan was scared, but he answered, "If we don’t go back, Grandpa will worry."
Qin Bei thought for a moment and asked, "Do you want to go back?"
Qin Nan said yes. Qin Bei replied, "Then go."
At that moment, Qin Nan vaguely sensed something was wrong. Clutching the White Rabbit milk candies his brother had bought him, he walked away, glancing back every few steps.
The other two kids refused to leave. They stood with Qin Bei, who watched him and shouted, "Go! Or I’ll hit you!"
Afraid of being beaten, Qin Nan ran home.
When he got back, Grandpa grabbed him and started hitting him, demanding, "Where’s your brother? Why isn’t he back yet?"
Through tears, Qin Nan answered, "He’s on the mountain. He said he’s not coming back."
His brother had said he wouldn’t return—and he never did.
And for the first time, his parents came home—not for the New Year, but for this.
From that year on, his parents returned every year, but each time, Qin Nan heard them arguing.
His father seemed to want another child, but his mother would scold him, "How would we raise it? To be as spineless as you?"
Qin Nan listened quietly. At first, he didn’t understand, but eventually, he did.
By his teens, he, too, began to think his father was spineless.
He started hanging around with some older boys at school, which gave him a sense of security—at least if someone tried to beat him up, he felt he’d never end up humiliated and trampled like his father.
He despised his father, despised his mother for berating him as useless every time she saw him, despised everything about his past—even himself.
Sometimes, in dreams, he’d see his brother again, sitting by the fire, the flames casting shadows on his face. His expression carried a weariness beyond his years as he muttered, "What’s the damn point of living like this?"
He rebelled like the other kids—fighting, smoking, drinking, gaming. The teachers would call his parents, and his father would always phone from afar, cursing up a storm, but he never came back.
More and more villagers left for the big cities to work, and more and more kids ended up like him. They gathered to play cards, sometimes talking about the future, all sharing the same bleak understanding."Just go work in a factory by the coast, you can make over 3,000 a month. Or learn a trade—plastering, tiling, fixing pipes. Do well and you might become a small contractor, making tens of thousands monthly. What's so hard about getting by?"
Friends said this, uncles said this, and sometimes even teachers would say: "If you don't want to study, fine. But at least finish the nine years of compulsory education properly. After that, no one will force you."
He thought so too, really. But sometimes, watching the diligent students in the front rows, seeing their parents carefully pick them up after school, he'd wonder: What's the difference between their lives and ours, the ones who study?
This question finally came to a head when he graduated from middle school. He asked his father.
At the time, he wanted to go work, but his father disagreed. He argued, "Everyone's going out to work. I didn't get into school anyway, so what's the problem?"
His father was silent on the phone for a long time before suddenly saying, "I'll buy you a train ticket. Come to Shanghai and find me."
He was stunned. For a brief moment, he felt a flicker of pride—he was going to Shanghai, to see the big city he'd only ever glimpsed on TV.
After a day and night on the train, he arrived in the metropolis that had previously existed only in television screens.
His father worked as a construction laborer there, living in a makeshift shed. When he arrived, they shared the space.
During the day, he watched his father work—bent under heavy loads, hauling materials. Sometimes he'd lend a hand. At lunch breaks, they'd sit together on the construction site eating boxed meals. His father would point at the distant skyscrapers and say, "See those? Everyone working in those buildings went to college."
Qin Nan turned to look. His father's weather-beaten face, dark and sturdy from years of labor, was full of yearning. "To be an official, a teacher, a doctor—anyone who gets a government paycheck every month—you need a college degree. I've worked manual jobs my whole life. I know how hard it is. You don't know shit—what are you rushing out to work for?"
"That's because you're a failure."
"Damn your mother..."
The teenage boy lashed out at his father, but his eyes were fixed on the skyscrapers. His father, usually meek around others, cursed at him now. The boxed meal in his hands contained not a single piece of meat.
When it was time to return from Shanghai, his father saw him off at the train station with final instructions: "I paid 20,000 to get you into No. 2 High School. Study hard. You have to get into college, understand?"
He didn't answer, just glanced up at Shanghai's towering buildings one last time before muttering, "Not your business."
He went back. Never mentioned working again, though many of his former playmates had already left for factories.
He attended school in town. On the first day, he saw rows of cars parked at the gates. Students stepped out one by one, parents trailing behind carrying their backpacks, reminding them to study hard, do their homework, practice piano on weekends...
This was a world utterly foreign to him.
Not long after school started, he realized his father had been cheated.
This school only sent about twenty students to college each year. Most were just marking time, their highest aspiration being third-tier colleges or vocational schools at best.Students loved skipping class, and those who studied were laughed at. Dating, fighting—it wasn’t much different from the places he’d been before. If there was any change, it was perhaps that he became more acutely aware of just how difficult it would be for him to get into college, to change his life.
Some were born in Rome, with cars and houses in town.
While he was still using kerosene lamps, their parents already owned cell phones.
When he thought smoking cigarettes was cool, they already knew the taste of cigars.
What was even more terrifying was that these people didn’t even live in the high-rises of big cities.
Sometimes, he wondered what life was like for kids in those big cities.
But then he’d tell himself—it didn’t matter anyway.
He began accepting what others said too. If someone asked about his plans for the future, he’d puff on a cigarette and play cards: “After graduation? Just find some work.”
But faintly, his brother’s words would echo in his mind—what’s the point of living like this?
Might as well…
He didn’t dare think too much. Every day, he pretended to be like everyone else. When his father found out he was living the same way as before, he called to scold him.
To stay in touch, his dad bought him a PHS phone, which only made the scolding more frequent.
But the more he was scolded, the angrier he grew, often arguing with his father before storming off to the internet café, spending his hard-saved money on games, playing until day turned to night.
Once, he skipped class for two days straight to game. His father called again, threatening to come find him if he didn’t return to school.
Annoyed, he went back for afternoon classes.
It was pouring that day, and he hadn’t brought an umbrella. As if punishing himself, he trudged through the rain until, halfway there, he suddenly heard a clear voice call out, “Hey, don’t you have an umbrella?”
He turned indifferently and saw a delicate-looking girl standing behind him. She held a large black umbrella, its edges frayed and tattered.
Qin Nan stared blankly at her as she stepped forward, sharing the umbrella with him. “You go to our school, right? Let’s walk together.”
He wanted to refuse, but for some reason, at that moment, he took the umbrella.
“Yeah.”
He lowered his head, then added, “Thanks.”
Walking side by side under the umbrella, it was the first time he’d been so close to a girl.
She must be a city girl, he thought, eating lunch at home. He studied her fair neck, guessing at her background.
When they reached the school, they didn’t even exchange names before parting ways. A faint regret lingered in his chest—until he sat down and turned around, spotting her in the classroom across the hall.
For a moment, he felt a quiet relief. Oh, so that’s where she is.
From that day on, he found himself glancing in her direction without meaning to.
He noticed how seriously she studied, how diligently she worked. Sometimes, during breaks, she’d pass by his class, and he’d hear others joke, “Ye Sibei, are you aiming for Tsinghua or Peking University?”
The girl would just smile without answering.
Qin Nan stood nearby, watching silently. He didn’t know why, but he felt an inexplicable envy.
He envied someone who could be so open, so unburdened, someone who didn’t have to struggle against the world—or themselves.From afar, he watched her and felt an indescribable strength emanating from her presence.
At the end of their first year of high school, she was chosen as class representative to give a speech during the flag-raising ceremony.
Her voice trembled as she spoke, and he looked up at her while classmates nearby snickered, whispering, "So melodramatic."
Yet he thought to himself, she spoke so beautifully.
That day, he deliberately bumped into her in the cafeteria line. When she apologized, he finally spoke to her for the first time.
"Can a person's fate really change?"
She said it could.
It could.
That was the first time he felt the world respond to the faint cry echoing in his heart.
Back then, he didn’t understand what it truly meant.
He just started watching her more often, and gradually, he began to imitate her.
But it’s easier to pick up bad habits than good ones, and simpler to give up than to persevere.
He couldn’t understand the lessons or the textbooks. When people asked him, "Qin Nan, are you aiming for Tsinghua or Peking University?" he felt ashamed. After pushing himself for a while, he’d slump back into apathy.
Yet every time he saw Ye Sibei studying, he couldn’t help but rally himself. Once, he witnessed her mother scolding her at the door, telling her she should drop out and start working early.
Suddenly, he realized—though they both struggled, at least his identity as a boy meant his parents would spare no expense to keep him in school.
That day, after much deliberation, he finally sought out his homeroom teacher, Yang Qiyu. In a small voice, he asked, "Teacher, is there still hope for me to study?"
Yang Qiyu was taken aback by the unexpected question but nodded fervently. "There is. If you don’t understand something, come ask me."
Striving to improve became a battle—a fight against himself and his circumstances.
Time and again, he failed, and time and again, he stood back up.
He no longer wanted to fight, skip class, or go out fooling around. But when he refused to help, his so-called brothers called him disloyal and eventually turned on him.
He wanted to study seriously, but the temptation to play games was strong. The problems felt too hard, and giving up seemed easier.
But this time, he reached out for help. Whenever he felt like quitting, Yang Qiyu would ask, "Qin Nan, any questions lately?"
That simple inquiry comforted him. He realized then that sometimes, people truly need someone to give them a push.
By the end of their second year, his grades had improved significantly. Holding his test papers, he asked, "Teacher Yang, can I get into college?"
Yang Qiyu smiled. "Keep working hard. There’s hope."
Overjoyed, he rushed home, eager to share the news with his father—but something held him back. After much hesitation, he decided to wait for his father to ask him first.
But the call never came. Instead, he received word from his mother.
The family hurried to Shanghai, but by the time he arrived, his father had already passed.
An accident at the construction site—a heavy slab fell. He hadn’t been wearing a helmet. Rushed to the hospital, but it was too late.
"Did the site pay compensation?" his uncle demanded first. "He didn’t die for nothing!"
His mother wailed, shaking her head. "He wasn’t wearing a helmet. They’re only giving us twenty thousand."
The room erupted in curses, everyone talking about the money.
Standing by the hospital bed, he finally roared, "Stop talking about the money!"
"You dare speak up?" The moment he did, all eyes turned to him, and the accusations flew.They said he was ungrateful, that he had never given his father a single day of peace while the old man was alive. They said his father had taken on the hardest, most exhausting jobs just to put him through school. They accused him of being unfilial, rebellious, and sinful.
He knew he was guilty.
He couldn’t speak. Head bowed, he stood there, tears streaming down his face.
After the scolding, everyone decided to demand justice. They called the villagers together—though most had already left to work in coastal cities. Still, they gathered and marched to the construction site to make their protest.
They carried his father's corpse, placed it in a coffin, and set it at the construction site entrance, hanging up banners as they made a fierce scene.
After more than ten days of protesting, the body had begun to emit a foul odor. Then a heavy downpour came, and Qin Nan finally lost his composure. He rushed out, trying to lift the coffin himself.
"Take my dad back! You can keep protesting, but my father needs to be buried!"
"You little brat, what do you know?!" His uncle charged over. "If we bury your dad now, who’s going to pay the compensation?!"
"My father needs to be buried!" Qin Nan stared at his uncle. At barely seventeen, he was far from the strong man he would later become. His eyes red, he stood before his uncle and repeated, word by word, "Only in the earth can he rest. The money can be demanded later, but my father—"
Before he could finish, his mother rushed forward and slapped him hard across the face.
"Where was all this filial piety when he was alive? What’s the point of pretending now? What do you even know? Have you ever earned a single penny at your age? With your father gone, how are we supposed to raise you without the money? Support your grandpa? Rely on that tiny plot of land or on me? Get the hell back inside!"
He stood frozen, staring at the woman whose face was twisted with rage. He couldn’t reconcile her with the mother who had once sat on the bus, quietly wiping away her tears.
"Tie him up," she ordered the others. "Drag him away! What does a child know?"
As soon as she spoke, the crowd surged forward. He struggled, he roared—just like his father had years before—but they pinned him down, bound him, and locked him in a temporary shack.
The shack was cramped, said to belong to a fellow worker. Two days later, his mother finally came to see him.
The construction site had agreed to pay compensation—500,000 yuan. His mother was beaming, not a trace of sorrow on her face.
Watching her, he couldn’t help but ask, "Aren’t you sad?"
His mother fell silent at the question. After a while, she sighed. "Life has to go on. And your father… never mind, it’s not worth talking about."
Never mind.
He thought the same.
At last, he could bring his father home.
According to their hometown’s customs, the dead must be buried whole.
But when he saw his father again, he had already been cremated—following the city’s customs—and reduced to ashes in an urn. Holding the urn, Qin Nan boarded a train and returned home.
After arriving, the village held a meeting to divide the 500,000 yuan, leaving only 100,000 for him and his mother.
During that time, he barely spoke. He often thought of his father. One day, he turned and saw the test paper in his schoolbag, the "60" scrawled across it. For some reason, he hid under his blanket and cried.
Two days later, his mother prepared to leave again. Before going, she visited him, an unusual tenderness in her demeanor as she sat by his bed and said, "I remember how much you loved White Rabbit candies when you were little. They were too expensive back then—I never bought you any. Yesterday, I saw them at the supermarket and got you a pack."
Qin Nan kept his head down. He sensed something coming but remained silent.
His mother sat for a while longer before sighing. "I know you don’t feel anything for me, and I won’t force it. Back then, I married your father just so my brother could afford his wedding. After that, I spent my days serving your grandma. When she passed, your grandpa and I had to scrape by just to survive. My whole life has been lived for others."
Then she looked up at the ceiling beam and asked, "How many years has it been since your brother left?"Qin Nan was momentarily stunned. He looked up at his mother, whose eyes were brimming with tears. "When your brother left, I almost wanted to go too. I thought it was all because your father and I were useless. If we had been more capable, would your brother have left? But then I thought, forget it. People have to keep living, after all. Enough—no more of this."
His mother watched as he stood up. She walked over to him and placed a hand on his cheek. "I'm leaving today. From now on, take good care of yourself, understand?"
Qin Nan didn’t respond. He just stared at her, feeling as though he had been transported back to the age of five, watching his parents walk away.
But he couldn’t cry out loud like he had at five years old. He watched his mother, anticipating what she was about to do. He wanted to stop her, but the words wouldn’t come. After a long pause, he choked out, "Mom, I ranked third in my class this term. The teacher said if I work a little harder, I might be able to go to college."
His class was the worst in the school, and his school was the worst in the district. Only the top twenty students in their grade had any chance of attending college. His third-place ranking was still worlds away from that dream.
He wasn’t sure if his mother understood. She hesitated, then nodded hurriedly, her eyes red as she struggled to keep her composure. "Good... that’s really good."
"It’s time," she said abruptly, turning away. "I have to go now."
With that, she rushed out the door. He watched as she climbed onto another man’s motorcycle and disappeared down the road.
When he turned back and sat on the bed, he noticed the blanket where she had been sitting was slightly disturbed. He reached underneath and found a stack of money.
Thirty thousand yuan.
After that day, he never saw his mother again. Later, he heard from others that she had already been involved with another man while living far away. His father had known but pretended otherwise.
After his parents left in their own ways, his grandfather seemed to age overnight. On the day Qin Nan left for school, his grandfather coughed as he saw him off. "Maybe I shouldn’t go?" Qin Nan asked.
His grandfather waved him away, coughing as he urged him to leave.
After a long hesitation, Qin Nan finally stepped out of the house.
On the first day of school, he instinctively looked for Ye Sibei, only to find her seat empty.
A sense of unease settled over him. A few days later, he couldn’t hold back anymore and went to find Yang Qiyu. "Teacher, um... about..."
"What is it?"
"That... Ye Sibei from Class Seven, Grade One," he mustered his courage to ask. "She hasn’t been to class for a while."
"Ah," Yang Qiyu sighed. "There’s been some trouble at home. Her parents won’t let her come anymore—they want her to work instead. We’re still trying to persuade them."
Qin Nan was stunned. Yang Qiyu suddenly realized something. "Why do you ask?"
Then, with a smile, he added, "Do you like her?"
"No," Qin Nan denied immediately. Yang Qiyu didn’t press further, only advising, "Don’t let it distract you. There’s only one year left."
Only one year left.
As Qin Nan walked out of the office, the thought lingered in his mind: Only one year left, and Ye Sibei couldn’t hold on. He knew she wasn’t like him. He had been admitted because his father paid an extra fee, but Ye Sibei had fought her way up through sheer effort.
His father had supported his education wholeheartedly, but Ye Sibei had endured her parents’ discouragement and disapproval to keep studying.
Over the past two years, she had risen early and stayed up late. He had once seen her under a flickering streetlight, already holding a book and reciting passages before dawn.
Now, there was only one year left.Just hold on a little longer, Ye Sibei, and you'll step into a world you were never meant to reach.
That night, he lay awake, lost in thought for hours. He thought of his brother, his father, his grandfather.
In his life, he had never seen anyone break free from their destined fate.
He wanted to witness it.
Just once.
After all, he wasn’t cut out for college and didn’t want to burden his grandfather. Even working odd jobs could lead somewhere—a few years back, an uncle had opened his own shop and built a decent life, no worse than those college graduates.
After wrestling with the decision all night, he went to the school administration office the next day.
He completed the withdrawal procedures, then sought out Yang Qiyu. He handed him twenty thousand yuan. “Teacher, could you take this to Ye Sibei’s family? Tell them it’s a donation from someone.”
Yang Qiyu was stunned. “Where did you get this money?”
“Teacher,” Qin Nan said earnestly, “I’ve dropped out. Thank you for everything.” He bowed deeply. “If I ever make something of myself, I’ll come back to see you.”
Without hesitation, he turned and walked away.
Yang Qiyu stood frozen for a moment before chasing after him.
“Qin Nan!” he shouted. “You’ll regret this, Qin Nan!”
Qin Nan didn’t look back. He didn’t dare.
Because he didn’t know if Yang Qiyu’s words would prove true.
Later, with ten thousand yuan in his pocket, he headed to the coast to learn auto repair.
Before leaving, he visited the school one last time. He didn’t go inside—just stood at the gate, waiting until he finally caught sight of Ye Sibei.
She was the same as ever, her gaze clear and determined, walking steadfastly toward her dreams.
He watched her from the shadows for a long time, then slowly smiled.
Then he boarded a train, swaying with its motion, bound for a new place.
Only after entering the adult world did he realize how gentle life had been for them all during their school days.
At first, he told himself he’d work hard, save money, and someday open his own shop.
But when he started working twelve-hour days for meager wages, sleeping in cramped quarters amid the stench of cigarettes and instant noodles, he stopped thinking about the future. All he wanted was a good night’s sleep.
Gradually, he began living one day at a time.
Cutting corners when he could—because exhaustion was relentless.
Until one day, when roads were blocked everywhere, he emerged covered in grease, holding a wrench, and asked what was happening. A coworker rolling a tire answered absently, “Must be the college entrance exams, huh?”
He froze. A long-forgotten clarity suddenly flooded his mind. That night, he called Yang Qiyu. “Teacher Yang, did Ye Sibei take the exams?”
Yang Qiyu sounded subdued. “Yeah, she did.”
“How did she do?”
“Well. She should easily make the cutoff for top-tier universities.”
“That’s good.”
In the darkness, he repeated softly, “That’s good.”
The next morning, he rose early, bringing tea to the senior mechanics, working diligently, asking questions whenever he didn’t understand. His mind was set: master the skills, and someday he’d be the boss.
For years after, he lived like this.
Along the way, he’d forget his original purpose—until he’d see laughing students on the street, distant skyscrapers, or polished women stepping out of luxury cars with designer bags, and suddenly remember the girl from his youth.
Sometimes, he’d secretly call her. Just hearing her voice from afar, no matter what she said, filled him with an extraordinary courage.Look, there's someone in the distance who's enduring the same hardships as you, yet she never gives up. How can you give up, Qin Nan?
If she can achieve the life she wants, so can you.
But as the years passed, such comforts became increasingly futile.
He began to clearly understand that some chasms seemed impossible to bridge in this lifetime—some people were stuck in deep trenches, while others lived in high towers.
He started forgetting what Ye Sibei looked like, yet out of some inexplicable habit, he would still occasionally make an effort to pull himself together.
Eventually, he saved enough money to return to Nancheng and opened an auto repair shop.
The business was stable, his days neither exciting nor dull. His grandfather's health worsened and began urging him to marry.
So he started attending one blind date after another in Nancheng. This, he thought, was his life now.
Admittedly, his fate was slightly better than what it could have been, but this "slightly" still made him feel as though nothing had truly changed.
It was as if he'd remained that powerless young boy facing the world, unable to fight back.
Following society's rules, he went on countless blind dates. Then during a heavy rain, he turned his head by a glass window and saw Ye Sibei.
The woman's gaze held gentle amusement but had long lost its former sharpness.
They stared at each other through the glass for a long time. Suddenly he wanted to know—how had she been all these years?
He stepped inside. Though he'd prepared many things to say, when the moment came, words failed him. Instead, she smiled first and initiated: "Hello, shall we get acquainted?"
That was how he and Ye Sibei met again.
He'd always assumed that Ye Sibei, who got into university, would have left this place—gone to a big city and built a better life.
Yet the woman before him revealed she'd stayed home all these years, unemployed. She stumbled through their conversation, speaking cautiously while stealing glances at him, as if afraid of displeasing him.
Nothing like the girl from his memories.
He couldn't describe what he felt. This, he told himself, was reality.
His youth had been an illusion. Who could truly change their fate because of one accidental twist?
Once stuck in the mud, no one could climb out.
Yet for some reason that day, the pain returned. He went to find Yang Qiyu and choked out:
"Teacher, I regret it."
He regretted it.
Not giving Ye Sibei that life-changing opportunity.
He regretted that people shouldn't have hope, much less place that hope in someone else.
After drowning his sorrows all night, he woke up sober the next morning.
Truth was, Ye Sibei had done nothing wrong—his expectations had been too high. Among all his blind dates, she was the most acceptable, so he asked her out again.
They dated politely, followed Nancheng's courtship rituals—the matchmaking, the marriage proposal—and married smoothly before his grandfather passed away.
Soon after the wedding, his grandfather left this world.
That night, he sat crying on his childhood home's doorstep until Ye Sibei hesitantly joined him. She raised her arms and embraced him. "It's okay," she said. "You have me now."
In that moment, an inexplicable attachment suddenly took root.However, this sentiment didn't last long. He soon noticed that Ye Sibei was always going home. Every time they went to her family's for meals, Ye Nianwen would sit around like a lord while Ye Sibei had to do all the household chores. When the family ate together and Nianwen stood up to get more rice, Huang Guifen would say, "Give your bowl to your sister."
This seemed to be the norm for their family. Once, unable to hold back his anger, he lost his temper, which made Ye Sibei feel embarrassed. On their way home, she kept her head down the entire time. He couldn't help raising his voice: "Next time they try to order you around like that, don't go back!"
She remained silent, and this attitude inexplicably irritated him. He didn't know what he was expecting—he only felt tormented.
He shouted at her, "Say something!"
She kept her head down and murmured, "I'm sorry."
Their conflicts manifested in every aspect.
He had been trying hard to control his emotions, but for some reason, facing Ye Sibei always stirred an indescribable restlessness in him.
It was as though he could tolerate weakness from anyone in the world—except Ye Sibei.
Every time he heard her say "I'm sorry," he wanted to explode in anger. But afraid of frightening her, he could only storm out and smoke a cigarette to calm himself down.
Meanwhile, she seemed accustomed to all of this. At times, he even had the illusion that she simply didn't care.
Her apologies were just a way to smooth things over, to brush the issues aside.
He didn't understand how she had become like this, yet at the same time, it felt inevitable.
Wasn't he the same?
He had been enduring it all—Ye Sibei always working overtime late into the night, constantly subsidizing her family. They argued, fought, and on nights when he was too furious to speak, he would turn his back to her in silence. Then she would reach out and gently hug him from behind, making him feel, inexplicably, that he was the one at fault.
Day after day, his patience wore thinner, until one day, he discovered Ye Sibei had taken out a personal loan.
At that moment, he suddenly felt hopeless about life. Closing his eyes, he could see the future—Ye Sibei endlessly supporting Ye Nianwen, their home in chaos, their arguments growing uglier until they became unrecognizable. Eventually, Ye Sibei might turn into her mother, and he, into his father or uncles.
Faced with this vision of the future, he finally made a decision.
He went to a lawyer, drafted divorce papers, and handed them to Ye Sibei.
He moved back to the shop, lying awake night after night.
But he knew he couldn't turn back. He couldn't let his life become more and more like his father's.
Later, while helping Zhang Yong investigate a case, he listened to Zhao Chuchu reminisce about Ye Sibei.
Hearing about the Ye Sibei of the past, he wanted to tell Zhao Chuchu to shut up.
He knew better than anyone what Ye Sibei used to be like—so how could she have become like this?
But when he heard Ye Sibei's recorded words, he realized: Ye Sibei wasn't a saint.
She was no different from her brother, his father, or himself.
Flesh and blood, buckling under the weight. Back then, he had Yang Qiyu, Ye Sibei, his parents, and his grandfather supporting him along the way.
Why, then, had he expected Ye Sibei to walk this path alone?
He was her husband—he should have helped her, just as Yang Qiyu, his teacher, had once helped him.
At the time, he didn't understand the reasons behind it, nor did he dwell on them.Only later did he realize that from the moment he acknowledged Ye Sibei's right to be vulnerable, she had finally transformed from a deity into a human being in his heart.
He stood by Ye Sibei's side as she reported the crime, endured the consequences together, and filed the lawsuit jointly.
He taught her everything she had once taught him, all over again.
Ye Sibei was teetering on the edge, but truth be told, he too had long been weighed down beyond his limits.
Yet just as Ye Sibei had never collapsed back then, he now refused to let himself fall.
How could he possibly crumble when Ye Sibei was bearing so much more?
But eventually, they faced defeat in the first trial. Watching Ye Sibei kneel in the rain, wailing, he realized with painful clarity—he was still trapped in that same place from years ago.
The moment he saw his father pinned to the ground was etched into his soul forever. He would never, ever escape it.
But what did it matter if he couldn’t move on?
As his mother had said, people have to keep living. He resigned himself to fate.
Then he noticed Ye Sibei’s preparations. When he understood what she intended to do, it was as if he saw that radiant girl from the past again.
He realized then—Ye Sibei would always be Ye Sibei. Her spirit was unbreakable.
She refused to submit. She would forever chase the world she believed in, where right and wrong were clear-cut.
It felt like that night years ago when he learned Ye Sibei was dropping out of school. After long deliberation, he arrived at the same conclusion.
He would go in her place. As he watched Fan Jiancheng kneel before him, he felt as though his soul had merged with Ye Sibei’s—or perhaps, with the version of himself he had yearned to become all these years.
He could resist if he wanted to. He had that power.
But the knife never fell. Ye Sibei reached out her hand to him.
Gazing at her, listening to her say she didn’t care, he was seventeen again. If Ye Sibei could do it, so could he.
And when he imagined growing old with Ye Sibei, when he thought of having a family, he suddenly realized—he had already found the life he’d always wanted.
Walking toward Ye Sibei, he was also stepping out of the nightmare that had haunted him since youth.
His brother muttered by the firepit, "What’s the damn point of living like this?"
For the first time, he could turn and answer, "There is one."
Keep going. Ten years, twenty years—one day, you’ll reach the life you desire.
A weak person’s perseverance is the most powerful rebellion in this world.
This road—he and Ye Sibei had walked it separately for twenty-eight years. At last, they reached its end together.
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