Reactions across the table were varied.
Little Bao understood intellectually that this was an opportunity, but emotionally, she couldn't fathom school as anything desirable. While genuinely glad for him, she couldn't help gloating a little at the thought that her big brother would soon be strapped to a wooden desk just like her, listening to lectures and slaving over homework every single day.
Wei Zhi Yuan, on the other hand, was far more perceptive. Though he had been very young when Wei Qian first dropped out, he had viscerally felt the suffocating despair and grief his brother had buried deep inside. He looked up at Teacher Lee with wide, glowing eyes -- radiating the pure ecstasy of an abandoned child watching his savior arrive.
The most dramatic reaction came from Old Mrs. Song. Having lived longer than all three of them combined, she had weathered the rise and fall of too many eras.
She noticed that the moment Wei Qian sat before Teacher Lee, his entire aura shifted. He sat upright, polite, poised, and articulate -- far more mature and composed than his peers. His handsome features shed their street-hardened savagery, revealing the brilliant, untamed youth buried beneath the grime.
A young man in his prime, burning like an unquenchable flame.
A sudden conviction seized the old woman's mind: This boy has to go back to school.
Yet Wei Qian, hearing Teacher Lee’s offer, merely froze for a split second. Then, without even lifting his eyelids, he offered a mild, self-deprecating smile. "Thank you, Teacher. But... well, I’ve never really been fond of studying. I’m probably not scholar material anyway..."
"Are you afraid you can't afford the tuition?!" Old Mrs. Song blurted out, cutting him off sharply.
Wei Qian’s face fell. He shot a venomous glare at his clueless ally. If it weren't for Teacher Lee’s presence, he would have slammed his chopsticks onto the table right then and there. Crying poverty in front of an outsider -- what did she think she was doing? Were they begging for pity, or shameless enough to exploit someone's goodwill? Shamelessness had to have a bottom line.
Old Mrs. Song, however, couldn't care less. She was a woman capable of rolling in the dirt to get her way. Dignity? Face? What was face? Could you eat it for dinner?
Before Teacher Lee could speak, the old woman pressed on forcefully. "It’s fine! You go study! I'm not that old yet -- I can still work! I'll guard the intersection morning and night selling tea eggs. I can easily sell hundreds a day. Think about it -- that's good money! The kids are still small and don't cost much. Primary school fees are next to nothing aside from a few book costs. You just go to class with a clear mind and don't worry about us!"
Wei Qian caught Teacher Lee’s gentle gaze, grinding his molars in secret while forcing a harmless, polite, yet thoroughly strained smile. "No, Teacher, it’s really not about the money..."
He tried his best to maintain the polished composure of an exemplary student, but Old Mrs. Song took ruthless advantage of his manners, drowning him out with her booming, market-tested voice. "Teacher, we can't thank you enough! You're the savior of our family! As long as you get this boy back into the classroom, I’ll cover his tuition myself! Even if he gets into university later, we’ll find a way! A child’s future can’t be held back by poverty, right? Oh... do you really think he can get his record back...?"
Teacher Lee smiled gently, pushing up her glasses. "Auntie, don't worry. I’ve been teaching my whole life. I don't have much power, but the least I can do is protect a promising child. Wei Qian's grades were exceptional -- he was always in the top ten of his grade. Right, Wei Qian? In a few days, I'll have my husband process the paperwork. Once summer vacation starts, you can register directly. If you face any financial difficulties, just come to me. When you achieve success in the future, you can repay me then."
Old Mrs. Song was so overjoyed she nearly gathered her sleeves to bow. "Oh! Bless you! Thank you so much, Teacher! Thank you!"
The old woman completely commandeered the conversation with overwhelming force.
Little Bao focused entirely on stuffing her face, while Wei Zhi Yuan glanced back and forth between them before carefully picking up a prime piece of meat and placing it into Wei Qian’s bowl -- he could see the veins throbbing violently against his big brother's temple.
After dinner, Teacher Lee took her leave. Wei Qian originally intended to walk her out, planning to politely decline her generous offer and put an end to this absurd idea of returning to school.
Yet the instant he pushed his chair back, before he could even straighten his spine, Old Mrs. Song delivered a vicious, unprovoked kick straight into his shin.
Right before his siblings' eyes, their dignified big brother leaped into the air in unprecedented humiliation, clamping his knees together and dodging like a startled rabbit. Before he could recover, the front door slammed shut with a heavy bam -- Old Mrs. Song had already sprinted out into the stairwell to escort Teacher Lee downstairs, moving with an agility completely unnatural for a woman in her late sixties.
After two seconds of dead silence, Wei Qian roared at Little Bao, "Is that old hag trying to get herself killed?!"
Little Bao blinked at him innocently, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "Brother, can I have a popsicle?"
Wei Qian: "Eat shit! Go wash the dishes!"
Little Bao slouched off to the sink in defeat. Beside him, Wei Zhi Yuan asked with genuine concern, "Brother, does it hurt?"
Wei Qian: "..."
Swiveling his artillery around, Wei Qian snapped, "Shut up and get lost! Go wipe the table!"
Wei Zhi Yuan scurried off to clear the table. But before picking up the rag, he smartly retrieved Wei Qian’s herbal bruise ointment from the bedside table, set it right before his brother, ducked his head to hide a smirk, and darted away before the storm broke over his head.
The fury on Wei Qian’s face slowly subsided. Letting out a long, quiet breath, he slumped awkwardly into the small wooden chair Wei Zhi Yuan used for homework. His long legs were forced to bunch together in the cramped space.
As his pounding heart settled, Wei Qian admitted a bitter truth to himself: if he truly didn't want to go back, if he truly despised school as much as he claimed, he would never have invited Teacher Lee home for dinner in the first place.
No matter how fierce Old Mrs. Song was, she barely reached his chest. If a grown youth truly dug his heels in, could an old woman stop him?
Impossible.
Deep in his marrow, he craved to go back. Even though his childhood dream of working in a research lab was shattered beyond repair, a high school diploma and a university degree remained the ultimate, distant beacon.
He didn't care about elite prestige; even if he ended up at a third-rate university, holding that degree in his hand would place him on the same starting line as ordinary people. He didn't ask for much -- he simply wanted a ticket aboard the train that could take him to that starting line.
Chasing steel rails on bare feet was simply too exhausting.
He desperately wanted that single sliver of hope.
But if I leave, who feeds this family? Who covers our daily bread?
In less than six months, Wei Qian would turn eighteen. In the eyes of society, he would be a full-fledged adult capable of self-reliance. He had working hands, working feet, and raw physical strength -- no one would pity him for being poor, and no one would hand out charity to someone like him. In this world, the desperate always far outnumbered the funds available for relief.
He couldn't stomach the thought of going to school on money scraped together by an old woman selling tea eggs and scavenging cardboard. His pride would never allow it.
Furthermore, Teacher Lee was kind and willing to help -- that was his rare stroke of luck. But did she have any obligation to look after his household, or secretly help him support Pocky’s disabled mother?
Twenty minutes later, the front door opened, and Old Mrs. Song bustled back inside. Wei Qian had already prepared a blistering tirade in his head.
He had planned to say: "You're not my grandmother, who the hell gave you the right to meddle in my business? This is my house, I call the shots, so stop putting on a show in front of me!"
Since the sentence was long and meant to be delivered in a single, crushing breath, Wei Qian had taken a deep lungful of air. Yet the moment he caught sight of the pure, unmasked joy lingering on the old woman's wrinkled face, the words died in his throat.
To Old Mrs. Song, education was the highest form of glory. In her rural village, the most educated person she had ever known was the local party secretary, who had barely finished middle school.
She was trying to show him kindness in her own clumsy, domineering way.
Wei Qian slowly released his breath, the venom draining away until it sounded like a weary sigh.
Waving toward Little Bao and Wei Zhi Yuan, he dismissed them both, telling them to grab a popsicle and head into the small bedroom to start their summer homework.
Little Bao had originally pouted at the idea of doing homework on the very first day of vacation, but hearing that Wei Zhi Yuan was coming along, she immediately perked up, shooting him a hopeful glance.
Though Wei Zhi Yuan’s face remained neutral, Wei Qian caught his reluctance and pitched his voice lower. "Go on. Take whatever you want, and behave."
Wei Zhi Yuan knew his big brother wanted to talk without little ears around. But the flat was tiny; there was nowhere else to go. Pausing, he waved off the popsicle Little Bao offered him, turned toward the kitchen, pulled the wooden door shut behind him, and called out loudly, "I'll slice the watermelon!"
Disappointed, Little Bao hovered outside the kitchen door for a moment before turning back to her bedroom, finding that even the creamy red bean popsicle had lost its flavor.
Wei Qian let out another heavy sigh. His two siblings were an impossible pair -- the boy was as stubborn as a mule, proud and unyielding, while the girl was an absolute airhead.
How the hell are they supposed to survive without me?
Lowering his feet, Wei Qian arched his back, resting one arm against the table and propping his chin on his palm. In a rare, calm tone, he asked, "Do you have any idea how much high school costs a year?"
Old Mrs. Song held up four fingers. "Your teacher said four hundred a year. We have that money."
Of course they had that money. When Wei Qian was an enforcer for Le Xiao Dong, he pulled in fifteen hundred a month, with free top-shelf cigarettes and liquor -- a massive income for the late nineties. He had savings tucked away, and four hundred yuan for tuition was well within his reach. But tuition was merely the smallest fraction; what about the rest?
Wei Qian rubbed his thumb and index finger together, craving a cigarette.
"Our school... that high school has almost no lunch break and requires mandatory evening self-study. It's a closed-campus system. You’re locked in for twelve to thirteen hours a day -- working part-time is completely out of the question. They require students to eat all three meals in the canteen, which runs at least one hundred and fifty yuan a month. Books and study materials are extra. At home, the three of you need groceries and meat. I know you try to cook cheaply, but the kids are growing like weeds -- you cannot cut corners on their nutrition. Add utilities and daily expenses, and you need at least two hundred yuan a month just to scrape by."
Wei Qian looked up, locking eyes with her. "Tell me, where are you going to pull three hundred and fifty yuan every single month? After the cost of eggs, soy sauce, and coal, you make five cents profit per tea egg at best. Can you sell seven thousand tea eggs a month? Do you really think your eggs are laid by roosters?"
The old woman froze. After a long silence, she stammered defensively, "I... I can sell more than that! I can sell hundreds a day..."
"Hundreds of eggs?" Wei Qian replied with a bitter smirk, his throat dry from talking. "Drop the act. You think I don't know the street market? Working from dawn till dusk, you're lucky to sell sixty or seventy on a good day."
Old Mrs. Song argued, "What do you know?! I can sell cardboard, scrap metal, plastic wrappers... and bottles, aluminum cans..."
"Even if you break your back to scrape together three hundred and fifty yuan, what happens when an emergency hits?" Wei Qian cut in ruthlessly. "You're not young anymore. Let’s be blunt: what if you trip, break a bone, and end up in the hospital? Do you have health insurance? And even if you and I can endure eating dirt, what about the kids? When their school hosts a sports meet and every other kid gets new sneakers and snacks, do you expect them to eat dirt too? Little Bao is a girl. She’s ignorant now, but in a year or two when she starts caring about her appearance, are you going to make her hold her head high in front of her classmates wearing tattered rags?!"
As the words landed, Old Mrs. Song’s eyes welled up, and tears began to spill down her weathered cheeks without warning.
Wei Qian was right. She knew it in her heart. This was the big city, not their dirt-poor rural village. Back home in the fields, every child rolled in the mud together, and nobody looked down on anyone else.
But here in the concrete jungle, people rode in luxury sedans and wore fine clothes; poverty was a trap with no escape.
How hard this boy has had it!
And she was just a widowed, helpless old woman with no marketable skills. Her only real talent was farming vegetables, but in this sprawling city of steel and stone, she couldn't even find a patch of dirt two feet wide.
Wei Qian had braced himself for another shouting match, but seeing her sudden tears, he fell completely silent.
With eerie speed, the youth regained his composure. Standing up quietly, he tore a length of paper from the roll on the table, handed it to her, and spoke with the steady authority of a true family patriarch. "Don't cry. I'm just telling you the reality."
Old Mrs. Song only sobbed harder.
Wei Qian let her weep for a moment before his patience wore thin. "Alright, that’s enough. Wailing like that brings bad luck. We’re discussing business -- what’s there to cry about?"
Hearing his rough, unpolished street tone resurface, the old woman sniffled, bent down, tore off her cloth shoe, and began swatting Wei Qian’s shoulders with the thick sole. "You little bastard! You ungrateful little beast, I’ll beat some sense into you! Do you really love being a hoodlum that much?! Do you really want to break your back as a coolie for the rest of your life?! I'll thrash you to death!"
Wei Qian certainly wasn't going to be beaten to death by a cloth shoe. Too exhausted to dodge, he merely hunched his shoulders and raised an elbow to shield his face, letting her vent her frustration.
Yet he had no intention of indulging in pointless wallowing. Amidst the chaotic thumps of the shoe, Wei Qian’s mind raced furiously, desperately searching for a way out.
The road ahead was paved with thorns, and hope was like the mythical bronze horse treading on a swallow -- galloping past at breakneck speed, leaving only the very tip of its tail within his reaching fingertips.