Brother Le’s maneuvers were slick; Wei Zhi Yuan’s household registration went through in record time. His name was officially added to Wei Qian’s family registry, cleared of any legal hurdles that would prevent him from enrolling in elementary school.
Feeding Wei Zhi Yuan proved to be an easy task. All Wei Qian had to do was provide enough food; the boy was never a picky eater. He devoured whatever was set in front of him, desperately absorbing every drop of nourishment he could get. In less than half a year, he shot up by half a palm’s height, a walking testament to what it meant to thrive the moment a sliver of sunlight pierced through the storm clouds.
He could no longer squeeze into Little Bao’s hand-me-downs, leaving Wei Qian with no choice but to pass down his own old, worn-out clothes.
Wei Zhi Yuan still harbored a deep-seated silence. Aside from Wei Qian, Little Bao, and the few neighborhood brothers who regularly frequented the house, he refused to utter a single word to anyone else. His psychological armor remained thick and impenetrable.
Aside from his profound silence, the child was virtually flawless. He possessed an uncanny, almost terrifying ability to read the room. The moment Wei Qian’s brow twitched with irritation, the boy immediately caught the signal. Sensing his older brother's foul mood, he would instantly transform himself into a silent fixture against the wall within three seconds, rendering his own presence entirely invisible.
At home, he was extraordinarily industrious. Since Wei Zhi Yuan's arrival, the hot water vacuum flask was never empty, the garbage never sat in the flat overnight, and any dirty laundry tossed aside by the household was silently gathered and scrubbed clean by his scrawny hands.
Yet, this was a hyper-vigilant, fawning submission. He carried himself like a desperate appendage, a watchful guard dog. Whenever a stranger drew near, he would fix them with a chilling, unblinking glare—his black, bead-like eyes staring straight through them like a feral pup that was not to be trifled with.
These were the observations compiled by Fatty San, but Wei Qian paid them little mind. A wild pup was a wild pup; as long as the kid didn't cause trouble, he was content. Since Wei Qian was rarely home, having the boy around to keep Little Bao company was good enough.
That is, until a sudden incident shattered the peace.
That afternoon, a rival gang of ungrateful bastards made a bold, armed incursions into Brother Le’s territory, splitting open the head of one of Brother Le's sworn brothers. In retaliation, a horde of their own boys grabbed their weapons and rushed out to wage war. By sheer coincidence, the clash erupted on a street just around the corner from Wei Qian’s building.
Just as they were busy beating each other’s heads into bloody pulp, the sharp, scraping sound of a heavy metal pipe dragging against the asphalt ground echoed from the narrow alleyway behind them.
Before Wei Qian could even whirl around, Fatty San let out a startled shriek from beside him. "Holy mother of God!"
Wei Qian turned his head and froze.
Down the alley stumbled the scrawny brat, Wei Zhi Yuan, dragging a rusted metal water pipe that was significantly longer than his height. He was charging toward the chaotic brawl in an extraordinarily comical, clumsy run.
But when Wei Qian’s eyes met the boy's, he realized Fatty San had been entirely correct. The child’s eyes were those of a rabid, vicious wild dog. Even though the weight of the pipe made his steps unsteady, his gaze burned with an eerie, unhinged determination to slaughter every last enemy in his path.
To put it mildly, he possessed the kind of raw "killing intent" usually reserved for the villains of martial arts novels.
Fatty San gaped. "Qian'er, what the hell did you pick up from the streets?"
Wei Qian muttered, "Don't ask. I didn't bring a magnifying glass when I took him in. If I had known..."
Fatty San shook his head in sheer disbelief, hollering toward the approaching boy, "Alright, little ancestor, the battle is already won! No need for your grand debut! Fall back, return to the palace!"
Wei Zhi Yuan recognized Fatty San. He halted in his tracks, blinking his massive, round eyes at the fat teenager, and then at Wei Qian. Dropping the heavy pipe with a metallic clatter, he wiped the winter snot from his nose with the back of his hand, letting out a flat, obedient, "Ok."
That night, Wei Qian was plagued by a horrific nightmare.
He dreamed that Wei Zhi Yuan had grown into a cold-blooded, psychopathic serial killer. In the dream, the boy sat calmly in a sprawling pool of fresh blood, making no attempt to flee, staring at him with a dead, expressionless face as he hoarsely called him "Brother."
Wei Qian jolted awake in a cold sweat. He sat upright in bed, his chest heaving. Beside him on the mattress, the little boy lay fast asleep in nothing but his cotton shorts, his small body curled in a daze. Wei Qian couldn't help but reach out, brushing a trembling hand over the boy's soft, messy hair.
Like a sleeping piglet, Wei Zhi Yuan instinctively nudged his head against Wei Qian's palm, seeking warmth.
Wei Qian gently pinched the boy's scrawny arms and legs. They were soft to the touch—every bit as soft as Little Bao's limbs. He didn't feel like a monster or a killer at all. The sleeping boy smacked his lips, likely lost in a dream about some unimaginable feast.
Wei Qian sat beside him, watching him in the dim light. The kid is barely a handful, yet he harbors such terrifying ferocity. What will become of him in the future?
Forget it. As long as he doesn't go out and cause trouble, it doesn't matter.
The future... Wei Qian let out a quiet, bitter sigh. What a laughably distant word.
Unable to fall back asleep, Wei Qian slipped out of bed and walked over to the balcony. He cracked the window open a sliver, letting the freezing winter wind lash against his face as he stared into the dead of night, pondering his own nebulous, suffocating future.
High school tuition was astronomically more expensive than the free, compulsory education of middle school. It was so expensive that even after scraping together every penny he could find, Wei Qian had barely managed to secure enough for his first semester. Throughout the past half-year of high school, the meager savings left behind by his dead whore mother had dwindled to almost nothing. Now, with the weather turning colder by the day, Wei Qian had reached the absolute end of his rope.
Yet, he had nowhere to turn to vent this crushing weight. Because he was the older brother. He had to be the pillar.
Wei Qian dreamed of finishing high school. He dreamed of becoming like the respectable citizens of this city—wearing clean suits, working a nine-to-five job, living a life of quiet decency.
"Decency." That was the dream he was willing to break his bones for, even though it felt so incredibly foolish, distant, and vain.
But reality left no room for such childish fantasies. The grueling high school curriculum devoured every second of his day, and his teachers would never permit him to skip the mandatory evening self-study sessions to go work odd shifts.
Furthermore, Little Bao was already seven years old—the age to begin elementary school. Because Wei Qian had been selfishly consumed by his own tuition fees and his own grand dreams, they had missed her enrollment window this year, forcing her to delay. How could he dare let her fall behind for a second year?
Wei Qian stepped quietly into the dark kitchen. He checked the rice bin; there were less than two pounds of stale grain left at the bottom. A single yellow onion and a few withered, rotting cabbage leaves sat on the counter. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his entire life savings: ten yuan and fifty fen.
He had to buy groceries, keep them fed, and pay the utility bills. He needed money just to maintain a baseline of survival.
This life of his was like a tattered sack riddled with holes; no matter how exhausting it was to scrape a few coins together, they inevitably slipped through the gaps with a mocking clatter.
To make ends meet, Wei Qian spent every weekend grinding away at odd jobs, but with an extra mouth to feed, the money dissolved faster than ever.
Every morning before leaving for school, he would fry a cheap side dish, leave two steamed buns for the children, and claim he would eat his lunch at school.
If he didn't starve himself of lunch money, the math simply wouldn't work. But he was at an age of rapid growth; his body craved fuel, and the hunger was a physical agony. During the noon recess, Wei Qian would scale the high school wall, slipping out to Brother Le’s billiards hall to work as a table-warmer. In exchange, he got to scrounge a free lunch. Over the course of the semester, his pool skills had practically reached a professional level.
Every single day was a lashing whip. From the moment he opened his eyes, the pressure drove him forward, forcing his brain to spin in desperate circles. Under such relentless strain, it was impossible for his mind to find peace.
He pulled a half-empty pack of cheap cigarettes from his pocket—slipped to him by a fellow gang member during the afternoon brawl. Recalling how others looked when they exhaled thick plumes of smoke, Wei Qian sat down on the cold kitchen floor and lit one.
He inhaled, instantly coughing violently. The sudden lack of oxygen in his lungs made his head spin, a wave of nausea washing over him.
He leaned his back against the wooden door, his mind completely blank.
Maybe... I should just drop out of school.
The thought drifted through his mind, cold and dead.
"I really have no other way," Wei Qian whispered to himself in the dark. "I'm at the end of my rope. There's nothing left I can do."
A wave of profound sorrow washed over him, hot tears pricking his eyes. He felt as though he were watching the heavy iron gates to another world—a decent life—slowly grinding shut before his eyes. He was running toward it with everything he had, but no matter how fast he ran, the gap was always just out of his reach.
Then, Wei Qian suddenly remembered Brother Le’s parting words: "If you ever run into any trouble, you come find me."
His eyes snapped open. He sat up straight, grasping at those words like a drowning man clutching at a floating straw. The cigarette trembled between his fingers, his entire body shaking at the sudden, desperate hope that had materialized before him.
His throat felt dry. He wanted to run out of the building and find Brother Le this very second.
Yes. Brother Le would surely lend him the money. Once he graduated high school, or perhaps even college, he would return and repay the debt tenfold, standing before him as a successful, respectable man.
As long as Brother Le backed him, he wouldn't have to worry about where their next meal was coming from. He wouldn't have to count their meager coins until his heart physically ached. He could put his head down and focus entirely on his studies. He would guarantee the absolute top grades in the city...
A hot flake of ash drifted down, searing the bare skin of Wei Qian’s hand.
He flinched. Silently, he lowered his head, staring at the smoldering orange tip of the cheap cigarette. He ground it out against the floor, tossing the butt into the trash bin.
The frantic racing of his brain cooled down, replaced by a freezing clarity.
He couldn't do it.
He remembered the story of the river crossing extraordinarily well. The rare memory of leaning into his mother's arms, listening to her voice, was a luxury he had never forgotten.
He remembered her cold, cynical words: "You can't live too comfortably. When your belly is full and your brain goes soft every single day, you're not far from your final breath. A single cold will finish you off."
Brother Le could bail him out once, but could he keep bailing him out forever?
A hand up is for emergencies, not for chronic poverty.
What obligation did Brother Le have to fund his education, feed him, clothe him, and keep him entirely carefree?
And for some reason, the thought of a completely carefree, comfortable existence made Wei Qian’s skin crawl. It felt as though he were staring at a softened, weakened version of himself—a fat pig waiting in a slaughter pen.
Was there anything in this world more terrifying to a teenager like him than weakness?
Was there anything more desperate than the total absence of hope?
If he chose the easy way out and took the money, he would lose his edge. But if he didn't, he would have to drop out of school and take a hopeless path—becoming a common street thug, a low-level punk running odd jobs, a piece of urban refuse trudging through a life whose miserable end could be seen at a single glance.
Wei Qian stood frozen in the dark kitchen for an eternity, his hands growing numb from the winter chill, before he finally sniffled. He walked back into the living room, pushed past the heavy curtain partition, and lay down on his bed.
Their apartment consisted of only one room and a small living area. Once Little Bao turned three, Wei Qian felt it was improper for her to share a bed with him. He had given her the sole bedroom, pulling a thick curtain across a corner of the living room to fashion a makeshift sleeping space for himself.
Wei Zhi Yuan had slept by his side ever since he arrived.
As Wei Qian settled onto the mattress, the small body beside him stirred.
Wei Zhi Yuan cautiously opened his eyes, checking his older brother's expression in the dark before inhaling the sharp, choking scent of stale tobacco clinging to his clothes. He wasn't like Little Bao; he hadn't been spoiled since infancy, and he didn't dare act coddled or oblivious.
Sensing the tense silence, Wei Zhi Yuan whispered softly, "Brother."
Wei Qian’s mind was a chaotic mess; he didn't want to answer.
The boy waited in the dark. After a long silence, he gently reached out, tugging at the hem of Wei Qian's shirt. "Brother... am I costing too much? Are you... are you unable to afford me now?"
Wei Qian thought bitterly, I'm glad you finally figured it out. But the words died in his throat. It wasn't out of some tender concern for the kid’s feelings, but because admitting he was a useless, penniless bastard felt like pulling his own teeth. He coldly brushed Wei Zhi Yuan's hand away. "What nonsense are you babbling? Go to sleep! Shut up!"
Wei Zhi Yuan fell silent. Wei Qian assumed the boy had finally gone to sleep.
Yet, after a short while, he heard the rustle of sheets. The small boy crawled across the mattress, burrowing into Wei Qian’s blanket to seek out his freezing hands and feet.
In the dead of winter, the apartment was like an icebox. Central heating had yet to reach this forgotten, dilapidated shantytown. Because of the children, Wei Qian hadn't dared set up a coal stove. He had spent his hard-earned savings to buy a secondhand electric heater, but because electricity was expensive, they rarely turned it on.
The touch of Wei Qian’s icy skin made Wei Zhi Yuan flinch instinctively, but in the next second, the shivering boy lunged forward. He wrapped his small arms around Wei Qian’s freezing hands, tucking them against his warm chest. He stretched his scrawny legs down, his head burying beneath the quilt until his bare feet finally found his older brother’s icy soles, pressing against them to share his warmth.
In an instant, Wei Qian felt the boy's body heat flooding over his frozen limbs.
Having done this, the boy whispered with a desperate, trembling raw edge, "Please don't throw me away. I can work. I can collect scraps. I can earn money."
The soft, fragile words made Wei Qian’s chest physically ache.
Receiving no response, Wei Zhi Yuan began to panic.
Wei Qian had given him a safe, warm shelter—a real home he had once been too terrified to even dream of. He had never beaten him, nor had he burdened him with heavy labor. This winter, his older brother had even bought both him and Little Bao a thick, padded cotton coat.
To the boy, this life was a beautiful dream. He was terrified that if he woke up, he would find himself back on the frozen streets, a discarded, unwanted child picking through trash piles just to survive another night.
"Please," Wei Zhi Yuan’s muffled voice trembled, thick with unshed tears. "Don't throw me away."
He paused, before whispering a second time, "Brother."
Wei Qian’s chest swirled with a messy tide of conflicting emotions. It would be a flat-out lie to say he hadn't wanted to dump this deadweight and salvage his own life. Yet, in the end, he merely reached out, ruffling Wei Zhi Yuan’s shaved head, and commanded flatly, "Go to sleep."
He said nothing else.
But even a stray cat or dog would earn a master’s affection after half a year, let alone a human being. Especially a child who spent every waking hour trailing behind him, working himself to the bone just to make him smile, begging for a single chance to stay.
Wei Qian knew his heart was softening. He knew giving in was dangerous, but he couldn't keep his heart frozen forever. He was not made of stone.
Forget it, he thought, listening to the small, rhythmic breaths beside him in the dark. The little cub... poor thing.