The next day, Wei Qian stepped outside only to find the brat was surprisingly still there. With an oversized head and stick-thin limbs, the boy had curled himself into a tight, round ball.
Wei Qian nearly tripped over the ragged heap.
A night had passed, and the wicked fire in his chest had mostly simmered down. He looked down hopelessly at the tiny thing huddled at his feet, unable to fathom what was ticking inside this Little Cub's skull. Wei Qian was entirely self-aware that he emanated a vengeful, antisocial aura—there was no divine grace or holy light about him—and looking back, he certainly hadn't thrown the boy a single kind look.
He couldn't understand why this little creature, who otherwise seemed permanently primed for a fight, would drop his guard so completely around him, willfully relying on a stranger.
Thank god it was summer. Had it been a northern winter, a single night on the streets would have frozen the boy to death.
The kid was small, standing barely as tall as Little Bao. It wasn't as if Wei Qian could actually go back inside, grab his kitchen knife, and butcher him to finish the job. He extended the toe of his shoe and nudged the ball under his feet. "Hey, hey. Wake up. Don't sleep here, you hear me? We’re closed for business. What the hell are you blindly sleeping here for?"
The filthy, ash-covered ball sleepily raised its head. The moment his eyes found Wei Qian, he instantly energized. He looked up with an expectant face, resembling a battered, mud-streaked kitten whose tail-tip shivered as it desperately tried to nuzzle the soles of a passerby's feet, straining to prove it was well-behaved, harmless, and begging for adoption.
Anyone else would have succumbed to pity. Unfortunately, the stray had run into Wei Qian—a man with a heart carved of stone.
Wei Qian possessed no reserves of sympathy; he could abuse stray cats and dogs without feeling a thing. Decisively ignoring those pitiful, pleading eyes, he didn't waste another breath. He turned to lock his door, bent down, and hoisted the boy up by his scrawny arm. He hauled him all the way downstairs like a piece of luggage, threw him into a patch of sparse weeds, and said dryly, "Don't push your luck. Scram."
The boy tumbled backward into the weeds, watching with bated breath as the teenager walked away without a single backward glance, the picture of a cold-blooded villain.
It took a long time for the little boy to crawl back up. He stared up at the dilapidated silo, which loomed massively from his perspective. After a moment, he hung his head, his bare, dirty toes tangling together in profound disappointment.
The little guy was indeed a victim of human trafficking—Wei Qian's cynical eyes and vicious intuition had judged him perfectly.
He had been stolen when he was far too young to remember the details, and the traffickers had kept him for a few months before reselling him to a family in a deeply remote farming village. At first, it wasn't entirely terrible; a son was a son to them, and he enjoyed the privilege of being an only child for two years.
But by the third year, his adoptive mother—whom the village doctor had declared barren—miraculously became pregnant. A year later, she gave birth to a healthy, chubby baby boy.
From that moment on, the stray became redundant. His miserable days blurred together.
One day, while washing dishes in freezing well water, his fingers grew so numb that he accidentally shattered a ceramic bowl. This earned him the wrath of his adoptive father, who had returned home heavily intoxicated. The man stripped the boy naked and forced him to stand in the middle of the dripping, sub-zero courtyard in the dead of winter.
Feeling the icy grip of death closing in, the boy made a decision shockingly bold for his age—he ran.
He stole a few pieces of adult clothing, threw them over his small frame, scaled the courtyard wall with a ladder in the pitch black, and slipped into the back of a cargo truck hauling winter cabbages to the city.
He had been a stray ever since.
An unsupervised child was easy prey.
During his time on the streets, he had nearly been abducted several times. Some tried to resell him, others tried to draft him into a ring of thieves, and two men had even discussed harvesting his organs. The boy had overheard their muffled conversation while sneaking out to pee in the middle of the night, fleeing into the darkness immediately after.
It was a miracle he had survived this long, escaping every trap with enough luck to make him a half-grown escape artist. He had learned to hitch rides on trains, drifting through several cities and encountering every stratum of society.
Whenever someone tried to coax him into conversation, he played mute, instantly plotting his getaway.
Among them, there might have been genuinely kind souls, but the boy never dared lower his guard. Being sold wholesale into labor was one thing, but he was terrified of the monsters who planned to slice open his stomach and retail his organs piece by piece.
Yet, despite the biting wind and constant hunger, he still instinctively envied those who had a roof over their heads and a family to call their own.
The little guy hadn't known the warmth of a home for a long time, but establishing one seemed impossible because he feared touching anyone. In his eyes, the world held only two kinds of people: those who reviled his filth, walking a wide berth around him or pelting him with stones, and those who showed him sudden kindness but secretly harbored designs to sell him off.
Until he met this strange, hostile teenager.
He had heard the locals call him "Qian'er" in their thick, gritty accent. This was a man who had fought off vicious wild dogs for him and given him food, yet always walked away without expecting a thing. Of course, more often than not, the man simply ignored his existence entirely.
Wei Qian's rough familiarity and total lack of calculated sweet-talk made the boy feel profoundly safe, while his sporadic acts of charity offered a rare, intoxicating hint of warmth.
The little boy had actually been drifting from place to place, but just to catch a daily glimpse of this teenager, he had unknowingly anchored himself in this squalid little alley for months. In that time, analyzing the world through a brain starved of nourishment, he came to a definitive conclusion: the big brother was a good man.
In his entire grueling career as a stray, this was the first time an involuntary desire to connect with another human being had sparked in his chest. But to his sorrow, the moment he tentatively reached out his tentacles, the supposed "good man" proved to be an asshole who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.
Saddened and dejected, the boy wandered the immediate vicinity, debating whether to give up entirely. Before he could reach a conclusion, the skies opened up, forcing him to retreat back into the shelter of the corridor.
The heavy downpour didn't let up until evening. Around noon, Fatty San’s mother came downstairs to help Little Bao heat up her lunch. Spotting the child huddled in the dark hallway, she gasped, bending over for a closer look. "Yo, whose kid is this?"
The boy instantly reacted like a cornered wild animal, bristling fiercely. He raised his head with a menacing glare, his entire body locking up as if he intended to leap forward and tear a chunk out of her. His savage expression startled Fatty San’s mother into taking a hasty step back. "Aiyo, this little wildcat is feral!"
Terrified of inviting trouble, she threw the boy a wary glance, quickly unlocked the door with the spare key Wei Qian had left her, and slipped inside in three hurried strides.
In the evening, Wei Qian returned from his post-school odd jobs. The moment he looked down and saw the ragged clump in the corner, his expression soured.
He sauntered over, fully intending to physically evict the troublesome pup again. But as soon as the Little Cub saw him approach, he braced for a beating, cowering flush against the wall in a desperate defensive posture.
The fact that the kid actually knew enough to fear him sparked a bizarre sense of grim satisfaction in Wei Qian’s chest. The cynical teenager let out a cold grunt, glanced at the torrential rain lashing against the corridor window, and turned into his apartment, surprisingly leaving the boy alone.
In the sweltering heat of summer, Wei Qian usually left his heavy wooden door open for ventilation, pulling shut only the mesh screen door.
Inside, Little Bao peered out, asking in her sweet, babyish voice, "Brother, who's that outside? He's so shame, he isn't even wearing pants."
Wei Qian replied flatly, "Play with your toys. Mind your own business."
After a moment, Little Bao added, "Brother, he keeps staring into our house."
Wei Qian marched over to the threshold, barking viciously through the screen, "Get the hell away from my door!"
Startled, the boy took a few hesitant steps back into the shadows.
But when Wei Qian emerged from the kitchen carrying the dinner dishes, he found Little Bao squatting by the door, peering through the mesh. "Brother, he's still looking in. Just let him come inside."
This time, Wei Qian didn't even bother wasting his breath on threats. Ignoring her completely, he set the dishes on the table, walked over, and violently slammed the heavy wooden door shut, entirely isolating those two pair of prying eyes from one another.
Let him in? Wei Qian mocked internally. If I were a millionaire, I'd gladly adopt eight or ten of these little cubs, lining them up every morning just to count them for amusement.
But was he?
He was just a broke, desperate street punk who didn't even know which mountain to climb to unearth the four hundred yuan required for his upcoming high school tuition!
Unfortunately, blood ties only went so far; Song Little Bao was a little traitor through and through. She had barely been out of diapers for two days, yet she had already mastered the art of siding with an outsider.
Not two days later, Wei Qian walked through the door only to find that Little Bao had somehow smuggled the little brat inside.
Terrified that the feral child carried infectious diseases or parasites that would compromise his sister, Wei Qian instantly snapped at her, reducing the little girl to a wailing mess. He lunged forward, snagged the collar of the Little Cub's tattered undershirt, and threw him back out into the hall like a piece of filthy rag.
The boy thrashed wildly in his grip, but his meager strength was no match for the teenager. He glared at Wei Qian with those dark, bottomless eyes—eyes that resembled black river stones freshly polished by mountain rain. Set against a face so caked in grime that his features were completely obscured, his gaze looked incredibly wild, vibrating with fierce indignation, profound loss, and a desperate, unspoken plea.
"Son of a bitch," Wei Qian spat.
Little Bao was the type who remembered food but forgot the cane—mostly because Wei Qian never actually struck her. Though he was emotionally detached, he treasured her so deeply he wouldn't dare harm a single hair on her head. Consequently, the moment the shouting ceased, Comrade Song Little Bao wiped her nose and forgot the lesson entirely.
Less than three days later, she claimed the Little Cub once more.
It was as if she were possessed by a ghost. This time, her cold, short-tempered older brother was thoroughly pushed past his limit. Wei Qian lunged to seize the boy, but the kid sensed the lethal danger, leaping back nimbly so that Wei Qian's heavy slap sliced through empty air.
Enraged by the miss, Wei Qian drove a brutal kick straight into the boy's chest. The kid took the solid impact, absorbing the agonizing pain without a single shriek; he merely let out a muffled grunt, dropped obediently to his knees, threw his scrawny arms forward, and locked his arms tightly around Wei Qian's leg.
The spoiled brat Little Bao finally realized the gravity of the situation. She had never imagined the brother who coddled her could possess such terrifying, unhinged violence. Scared out of her wits, she let out a piercing shriek, howling, "Brother!"
The boy caught the word, and something seemed to snap within his starved mind. Having feigned being a mute for over a year to survive, he suddenly forced his mouth open, uttering a sound directed entirely at Wei Qian. Though his throat was too hoarse to sound like a child's and his pronunciation was warped, Wei Qian caught it with terrifying clarity.
Parrotting Little Bao, the boy croaked, "Brother!"
Wei Qian's raised foot, poised to stomp down with crushing force, froze instantly in mid-air.
What the hell am I doing? Wei Qian thought blankly. Beating a helpless brat like this? How makes me any different from my whore of a mother?
Ultimately, Wei Qian let out a long, defeated sigh. He slowly retracted his foot, walked into the kitchen without a word, and hastily threw together a pot of plain, clear noodle soup. He brought the steaming bowl out and set it before the boy. "Eat."
The boy tried to maintain a shred of dignity, but the food was like rain to a parched desert. The moment the aroma hit his nose, any concept of pride abandoned him. He buried his face into the ceramic rim, inhaling the meal like an autumn wind sweeping away fallen leaves. He violently downed three consecutive bowls until his stomach swelled into a tight, round dome.
Wei Qian sat quietly beside him. When the boy finished, the teenager reached out to clear the bowls, then locked eyes with him. "You understand human speech, don't you? Alright, I know you do."
Wei Qian shook the dishwater from his palms and squatted down, bringing himself to exact eye level with the tiny creature.
"I can't afford to feed you," he said, summoning the absolute greatest reservoir of patience he had ever possessed in his life. "You, kid, are looking for salvation in the wrong place."
Traces of leftover broth clung to the corners of the boy's mouth, his bright, starry eyes locked onto the teenager.
Wei Qian placed a hand on his scrawny shoulder, giving it a gentle push toward the exit. "Alright. You've eaten. Now go."
A minute later, the boy walked out of the apartment on his own two feet for the very first time, rather than being violently hurled across the threshold.
For the next three days, the persistent shadow was nowhere to be found. It wasn't until dusk on the fourth day, as Wei Qian dragged his bone-weary body up the stairs—painfully calculating how much money he still lacked for his high school tuition—that he spotted the kid lounging by his doorstep again.
This time, Little Bao hadn't dared open the door. The two children had simply stood on opposite sides of the threshold. Hearing his heavy footsteps, both of them simultaneously raised their heads, looking up at him with identical, dazed expressions.
The boy standing outside was dragging a massive, heavy sack that clinked loudly with every shifting movement. Wei Qian lowered his gaze, realizing it was entirely packed with discarded glass bottle caps and aluminum cans.
"This... can be sold for money," the boy explained in a raw, timid whisper, terrified that Wei Qian wouldn't believe him. He extended a filthy, sweat-slicked palm, revealing two yuan and fifty fen in crumpled, dirty paper bills. "Really. I already sold some."
Wei Qian remained frozen, completely silent.
From inside the door, Little Bao chimed in at the perfect moment, her voice soft and pleading, "Brother..."
Wei Qian closed his eyes, a wave of sheer exhaustion washing over him. "What the fuck... what is all this absolute nonsense!"