For two whole days, Wei Zhi Yuan stood firm in his resolve, refusing to utter a single word to his enemy, Song Lee Lee. As long as Wei Qian was at home, the boy clung to him like a shadow, following him inside and out.
Every time Wei Qian turned around, he nearly tripped over the boy. He was genuinely annoyed by the kid's persistent trailing, yet knowing the deep-seated insecurity driving the boy's behavior, he couldn't bring himself to blow his top.
Instead, Wei Qian offered a rare, mild attempt at peacemaking: "Play nice together. Stop fighting."
Coming directly from his big brother, the words carried the weight of an imperial decree. Wei Zhi Yuan had no choice but to accept the mandate, begrudgingly re-establishing a tense friendship with Little Bao, his heart still simmering with resentment.
When it came to competing for favor, Little Bao simply wasn't in the same league. She was fundamentally unequipped for such emotional maneuvering, lacking the sharp instincts required for the trade.
For instance, the moment Wei Qian pushed the door open, he would find Wei Zhi Yuan quietly wiping down the table with his head bowed, while Little Bao sat on the sofa watching television, completely oblivious. Since she had just returned, Wei Qian didn't want to pick a fight with his sister, merely offering a couple of mild admonitions. Yet in stark contrast, he handed Wei Zhi Yuan an extra ten-yuan note as pocket money.
The following morning, a red-eyed Little Bao scrambled out of bed early, huffing and puffing as she scrubbed the house clean before noon. Wei Zhi Yuan watched her frantic efforts with a cold, mocking sneer. Sure enough, when Wei Qian returned that evening, he didn't even notice the spotless floorboards.
On another occasion, Wei Qian stepped out of the shower looking for his discarded socks to wash by hand, only to find Wei Zhi Yuan already hanging the freshly scrubbed pair onto the clothesline. That day, Wei Zhi Yuan practically preened with satisfaction as he savored his big brother's awkward head-pat and rare praise.
Green with envy, Little Bao attempted to copy his success the very next day. She reached her small hands toward her brother's discarded underwear, only for Wei Qian to snatch them back with a flushed face, blasting her with a harsh, defensive bark: "What the hell are you touching?!"
What a stark reminder of the world's sheer unfairness -- Wei Zhi Yuan and Little Bao are, after all, members of the very same species.
The moment Mrs. Song realized Little Bao had vanished from the women's dormitory, she knew the girl had run back to that "little rascal."
Not far from the dilapidated shantytown where Wei Qian lived stood a cheap, privately run dormitory split into men's and women's quarters. It catered to low-income day laborers, charging a single yuan per night. If Little Bao squeezed into the narrow cot with her grandmother, the two of them only had to pay for one ticket.
Mrs. Song’s original plan was to save up a bit of cash, find a small, cheap room to rent in the city, or, if worst came to worst, take Little Bao back to their rural hometown together.
She hadn't anticipated that the mere mention of "going back home" would send the girl running. Little Bao refused to abandon the only home she had known for nearly a decade.
Ever since the girl fled, Mrs. Song had been loitering around Wei Qian’s neighborhood every day, sneaking around the alleys to catch a glimpse of her granddaughter whenever Wei Qian was out.
As the year drew to a close, the winter cold grew increasingly vicious. A young woman in the dormitory contracted contagious tuberculosis, sparking a frantic, disorganized mass exodus. People fled in every direction, nervously checking their own throats for coughs and low-grade fevers.
Carrying her solitary bedroll, Mrs. Song was forced out onto the streets once more.
Trudging through the chaotic city, she passed beneath a dark bridge where a homeless man lay frozen to death. She paused, noticing how the corpse had been completely ignored in the bitter cold. It wasn't until late afternoon that a middle-aged couple passing by stopped to check, finally calling the authorities.
A police car soon arrived to haul the body away. From the whispers of the gathered crowd, Mrs. Song learned that had the man survived, he would have been sent to a shelter or forcibly deported back to his registered hometown.
Hometown...
Mrs. Song looked up at the pale, leaden sky of the northern city and thought to herself: New Year's Eve is almost here. Why don't I just go back?
Yet could a lonely, widowed old woman truly endure spending the festival all by herself?
Lowering her head, Mrs. Song wiped away a trail of freezing snot, steeling her heart to throw away what little dignity she had left.
And Little Bao, true to her nature, managed to cause another domestic disaster.
It was the twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month -- the Kitchen God Day.
Wei Qian returned home carrying a bag of traditional sugar melons and fresh pork for New Year dumplings, only to find the hallway in complete disarray. A silent war was raging right outside his front door.
Little Bao was a greedy child. She couldn't bear to lose the big brother who had raised her, yet she couldn't turn her back on her biological grandmother either. When the old woman arrived at the door wiping away tears, the girl let her in -- even though she was old enough to understand the sharp hostility between them.
With Wei Qian still away, Wei Zhi Yuan, who usually kept a quiet, low profile, was the first to explode.
Ever since Little Bao had acknowledged him as her second brother, Wei Zhi Yuan had generally been good to her, rarely losing his temper. It was as if the title had taught him a degree of patience and restraint.
That was why Little Bao was completely unprepared for his violent reaction. Like a feral dog protecting its territory, Wei Zhi Yuan stood at the threshold, glaring with murderous intensity at the old woman and Little Bao. At the slightest hint that they intended to step fully over the line, he looked ready to pounce and fight to the death.
Mrs. Song loathed Wei Qian, but she didn't harbor much ill will toward Wei Zhi Yuan. In her eyes, he was just a quiet, handsome boy with a polite demeanor -- far more pleasing to the eye than the unruly Little Bao.
Standing in the doorway, Mrs. Song tried to reason with him. Unfortunately, Wei Zhi Yuan refused to process a single word. The raw, fierce hatred burning in the young boy's eyes was thoroughly chilling.
Giving up on a peaceful resolution, Mrs. Song took a step forward, trying to set her luggage inside.
Wei Zhi Yuan lunged forward, snatched the old woman's bag, and hurled it out into the snow without a shred of mercy. Still unsated, he turned around and began grabbing Little Bao’s schoolbag and her belongings off the table, throwing them out the door one by one. Then he bolted into the small bedroom, tearing the pillows and blankets off Little Bao’s cot and flinging them into the hallway in a blind fury.
If only Song Lee Lee didn't exist... If only neither of them existed... Wei Zhi Yuan was completely consumed by rage, his mind echoing with those venomous thoughts.
Little Bao tried to shove him back, but Wei Zhi Yuan countered with a harsh push, sending her sprawling onto her backside.
"Traitor!" He pointed a trembling finger at her nose, hiding his true, selfish terror behind a righteous accusation. "You're nothing but a big traitor!"
Little Bao tried to defend herself: "I'm not a traitor! That's my grandmother!"
Wei Zhi Yuan spat, "Bah! She's a shameless old hag!"
Hearing her grandmother insulted, Little Bao lost her temper as well, jumping to her feet. "You called my grandmother names! What right do you have to talk to her like that?! This is my house! My brother! My grandmother! You don't even belong to this family! Get out!"
Wei Zhi Yuan froze, the words dying in his throat.
The intense heat of his anger drained away instantly, leaving him cold as he realized the absolute truth of her words.
He had almost forgotten -- this was indeed not his home. Wei Qian was not his biological brother. He possessed no right whatsoever to decide who was allowed through the door and who was cast out.
His rage evaporated, leaving him standing there in stunned, humiliated silence. His face flushed bright red with a mixture of shame and despair. In a single instant, his fragile young pride was shattered to pieces.
Little Bao regretted the outburst the moment the words left her mouth. Yet her awkward, stubborn nature prevented her from taking them back; she stood her ground, wearing a capricious, defiant scowl.
The two children stood in dead silence for a full minute. Then, without a word, Wei Zhi Yuan brushed past her and walked out the door.
Realizing something was terribly wrong, Little Bao called out softly, "Second Brother..."
Wei Zhi Yuan didn't even pause.
Empty-handed, he marched out into the freezing wind with a bleak, resolute determination.
He gritted his teeth, thinking: Fine. It's nothing. At worst, I'll go back to fighting wild dogs for food scraps behind the dumpsters. I'm three years older now; I'm practically a man. I can handle wild dogs, and if I run into abusive adults again, I'll beat them with an iron pipe...
Like a tragic hero setting off on a one-way mission of no return, he dove blindly into a man’s hard-set chest.
The familiar, acrid scent of cheap tobacco wrapped around him as a heavy arm caught his back.
In that singular moment, Wei Zhi Yuan’s resolve fractured. His fierce, independent facade crumbled, transforming him back into a vulnerable, frantic child.
Burying his face into Wei Qian’s coat, Wei Zhi Yuan gripped the fabric with a desperate, iron hold. He stood dead still, refusing to let his brother step past him, refusing to lift his head, desperately trying to swallow his tears as his small hands crumpled the coat into tight folds.
Wei Qian looked up, taking in the scene: the scattered luggage and bedding in the hallway, Mrs. Song’s face shifting from embarrassment to stubborn defiance, and Little Bao watching him with wide, fearful eyes.
Wei Qian took a deep breath. Every instinct urged him to thrash the old hag out of his sight, but looking at Little Bao -- his precious girl who had finally come home -- he felt his grip loosen.
He threw in the towel.
Wei Qian understood that if he wanted to keep Little Bao, he had no choice but to tolerate this frail, insufferable old woman ... even if the lump of resentment in his throat felt as large as a fist, burning to break free.
He had prided himself on never bowing to anyone in his life, no matter how low he had been dragged. Yet for the very first time, facing his sister's tearful eyes, he was forced to compromise.
After a long, tense standoff, Wei Qian reached out, gently patting Wei Zhi Yuan’s trembling shoulder. When the boy refused to budge, Wei Qian used a fraction of force to catch his chin, tilting his head up.
The older youth let out a quiet sigh, picked out the largest sugar melon from the paper bag, and stuffed it gently into Wei Zhi Yuan’s mouth.
Dazedly licking the sweet candy, Wei Zhi Yuan felt the sudden rush of sweetness. He had a sweet tooth, but he couldn't stand the cloying, stick-to-your-teeth sweetness of traditional sesame-coated sugar melons. So, he shifted it with his tongue, parking it against his cheek to let it slowly melt.
Immediately after, Wei Qian shoved the grocery bags into the boy's arms, reached under his shoulders, and scooped him up like a stray kitten, carrying him into the house.
"Help me wash the vegetables. We're making dumplings tonight," Wei Qian said quietly. Completely ignoring the two people standing in the hallway, he asked Wei Zhi Yuan in a surprisingly soft tone, "Is the sugar melon good?"
Wei Zhi Yuan hesitated before nodding. After a second, he carefully rolled the candy back onto his tongue, deciding it wasn't so bad after all.
Wei Qian paid no attention to Old Mrs. Song, nor did he stop Little Bao from helping her grandmother bring her things inside. He didn't offer a hand, nor did he stand in the way.
Yet when Mrs. Song quietly slipped into the kitchen, observing his reaction before tentatively picking up a knife to chop the dumpling filling and roll out the dough, Wei Qian remained silent, offering no resistance.
Wei Zhi Yuan’s heart was heavy with unresolved heartache, Little Bao remained anxious and cautious, while the young man and the old woman reached a strange, unspoken truce. They maintained a superficial, fragile peace -- neither winning, neither losing.
Mrs. Song had ultimately failed to tear her granddaughter away from the young thug, while Wei Qian was forced to swallow his pride and share his small, crowded home with a woman he despised.
Though they loathed the very sight of each other, they treated one another as mere air, coexisting in tense, absolute silence.
That evening, Little Bao offered a awkward, mumbled apology to Wei Zhi Yuan. Glancing at Wei Qian’s face, Wei Zhi Yuan begrudgingly muttered that he wouldn't hold it against her.
The matter was laid to rest. Little Bao remained the younger sister, and Wei Zhi Yuan remained the second brother. In the days that followed, they occasionally sat together to compare their winter homework answers.
In the past, they had always done their homework in Little Bao’s small room, which held a proper desk and a tiny bookshelf. But from that day forward, Wei Zhi Yuan never set foot in that room again.
He carried his textbooks out into the cramped living room, wedging two pieces of cardboard under the uneven legs of a small, disused table, settling there permanently.
Wei Qian understood why, yet he chose not to intervene.
Years later, as Little Bao grew older and more perceptive, she tried under various pretexts to invite him back into her room. Yet Wei Zhi Yuan refused every single attempt. Until the day they finally moved away from that historic shantytown, he never stepped across that threshold again.