Qin Mu was born into a very ordinary family.
His father, Qin Aihua, worked a nine-to-five job at a cable manufacturing company. Apart from some basic mechanical repair skills, he had little else to his name. He was submissive outside the home and silent inside the home. Like many men around him, Qin Aihua rarely took any initiative when it came to family responsibilities. Most of the time, he would only act when prompted by his wife, Zheng Yan. The rest of the time, he sat drinking or lay around watching TV.
Qin Mu’s mother, Zheng Yan, was the second child in her family and had a fiercely strong-willed nature. In her younger years, she had rejected one suitor after another, finding fault with each of them. Eventually, age caught up with her, and at thirty, she reluctantly married Qin Aihua—a man who could barely string a few words together.
From the bottom of her heart, she looked down on this mediocre man with no ambition. But under mounting pressure, she quickly decided to have a child. However, the mother-in-law who had promised to help with childcare suddenly changed her mind, and Zheng Yan’s own mother was too tied up looking after her biological grandson to help. Left without any experienced hands to support her, Zheng Yan was thrown into anxiety. And just then, her husband Qin Aihua decisively bowed out.
The initial cuteness of the newborn quickly wore off amidst the constant crying and exhaustion. After only two nights, Qin Aihua, claiming that he couldn’t sleep and it was affecting his job, took his blanket and moved to the living room sofa. He grew impatient with Zheng Yan’s complaints and said, “It’s a woman’s duty to take care of the child. You’re on maternity leave, not working—what are you whining about?”
Cradling a relentlessly crying infant through the night, Zheng Yan, weak and all alone, finally lost all hope in the man she had married.
The confusion of being a first-time mother, a husband who offered no support, an unmanageable child, and the chaos of postpartum hormones all formed a crushing psychological pressure that nearly broke her. More than once, she even had the urge to smother little Qin Mu just to make it all stop. The only thing she could do was repeatedly brainwash herself with, “All women go through this, don’t they?” And so, she forced herself to survive the postpartum month, then braced for the long years of motherhood to come.
Qin Mu became Zheng Yan’s entire hope in the face of a life full of disappointment and disillusionment. Unwilling to admit her life was a failure, she bet everything on her son, wrapping tighter and tighter around him like creeping vines as he grew. She arranged every detail of his life—what he wore, what he ate, where he lived. She spent money on various extracurricular classes, kept a constant watch over him, and forbade him from doing anything she deemed a ‘waste of time’, including spending time with kids his own age.
And that still wasn’t enough. She constantly belittled his father in front of him and used her own suffering to guilt-trip him into obedience.
“I only put up with that useless excuse for a father of yours because of you.”
“If it weren’t for you, why would I be living so frugally?”
“I’ve given everything to you. I don’t ask for anything in return—just that you study hard. Is that so much to ask?”
“Only through good grades can you rise above others. We’re poor because your father lacked ambition and didn’t study. You must never be like him.”
Zheng Yan put heavy shackles on her son, one after another, and watched with satisfaction as he grew according to her expectations. Qin Mu’s academic excellence made her deliriously happy—it proved that all her sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. He was her flesh and blood, born from her very body; their lives were supposed to be one. His success was hers. One day, she would stand proudly at his side and make all the people who had looked down on her lift their heads to look up.
What Zheng Yan didn’t know was that the mighty ship carrying all her hopes and dreams was quietly heading toward a massive iceberg hidden beneath the surface.
Children who grow up in such families are bound to mature early. Qin Mu developed a precocious mind from a young age. He was used to his mother’s sudden, inexplicable outbursts of anger and his father’s cold indifference whenever things didn’t go his way. Early on, he learned to read the room and to gauge his parents’ moods before saying or doing anything.
He knew what not to ask for and what couldn’t be said. When he spoke, he carefully measured his words. Over time, he cultivated a kind of calm detachment, burying himself in books and tuning out the world around him.
But that calm was really just a child’s way of escaping a toxic home.
As a boy, young Qin Mu would shut himself in his room and pour all his attention into his studies. As long as he was absorbed in reading, the chaos outside faded away. He was sensitive, introverted, and carried a quiet sense of inferiority—like a tree growing in the shadows, its stunted branches heavy with gloom.
And like any such tree, he instinctively longed for sunlight. That’s why Qin Mu couldn’t help but be drawn to Han Zhang.
Han Zhang came from a well-off family, had a striking personality, a handsome face, and a large circle of friends. At first, Qin Mu only watched him from afar, full of silent admiration. Then, by chance, they became desk mates when the seating chart changed. Han Zhang took the initiative to borrow his notes, and before long, they were on friendly terms. Han Zhang was sociable and generous—he would treat Qin Mu to a drink after borrowing notes, invite him to eat at the cafeteria, and give him rides home after school on his electric scooter. Through Han Zhang, Qin Mu was pulled into a small circle of friends. Slowly, he began to open up. Han Zhang became a bridge connecting him to the normal social world, a way for Qin Mu to touch the edges of life beyond his own.
Under Zheng Yan’s strict control, Qin Mu had never experienced real social interaction. So when Han Zhang unknowingly became the most important person in his life, Qin Mu believed it was that rare, precious friendship people praised in books.
But he soon realised he wasn’t like Han Zhang’s other close friends.
When Han Zhang was chasing a girl, the others were all eager to offer advice. Qin Mu, on the other hand, just felt deeply uncomfortable. When Han Zhang went on dates, and the others cheered him on with loud whistles, Qin Mu could only swallow the sourness in his chest. When Han Zhang officially got into a relationship and celebrated publicly, Qin Mu trailed behind, gloomy and silent. Han Zhang’s love life became Qin Mu’s torment. For the first time in his academic life, he fell out of the top five in his class.
Qin Mu felt like he was losing control.
He borrowed a few psychology books from the library, hoping to understand himself. After much reading, he managed to half-convince himself that his behaviour was a projection of emotional deficiency. But then a sudden, vivid spring dream1erotic dream shattered that fragile illusion. In his dream, his brain conjured an intimate scene between him and Han Zhang—and he had a wet dream.
Terrified, he threw his underwear into the trash and sat in front of his English textbook for a long time, not absorbing a single word. The terms he had deliberately avoided in the psychology books kept flashing through his mind
—Homosexual: refers to someone who experiences romantic or sexual attraction only to people of the same sex.
At the time, the internet wasn’t yet widespread, and books on that subject were rare. People’s concepts were outdated, and they were closed-minded. Most people believed homosexuality stemmed from ‘not having tried the opposite sex’, that it was a sign of a ‘twisted’ psyche, a deviation from normal, a kind of illness. Though Qin Mu had acquired some understanding, he couldn’t bring himself to accept this version of himself. He couldn’t turn to his family for help. He had no one to talk to. There was no one he could share his unease, anxiety, or fear with. He had to bear it all alone.
At seventeen, Qin Mu made what now seems like a painfully absurd decision—he decided to get a girlfriend.
He was desperate to prove he wasn’t gay.
Qin Mu was actually quite popular among the girls. He had good grades, a nice appearance, and polite manners. Aside from being a little quiet, he had no obvious flaws. Quite a few girls had written him love letters. He chose one with neat handwriting and wrote a reply, asking the girl to walk home with him after school.
The girl was from the next class over; her name was Li Xiaomo. She had liked Qin Mu for a long time, and when she received his letter, she was so happy she nearly floated off the ground. They soon entered a relationship. But as they spent time together, Li Xiaomo sensed something was off about her boyfriend.
He made time for her but always seemed distracted. He listened to her but never opened up himself. He tried to fulfil her requests but never asked anything of her in return. He would occasionally lean in closer but always found some excuse to avoid intimacy. Li Xiaomo assumed he was simply shy because it was his first relationship, so one night after self-study, she mustered her courage and kissed him.
What she saw next was a face completely devoid of surprise—if anything, he looked startled and confused.
Li Xiaomo suddenly realised that he didn’t love her. But she couldn’t figure out what she had done wrong. She tried to analyse it from every angle, ruled out each possible cause, and fell into a fog of uncertainty.
The answer came soon enough.
One day, they were studying in the library. Qin Mu had gone to find a book, and a group of students roughhousing nearby knocked over his backpack, spilling its contents across the floor. As she helped him gather his things, Li Xiaomo caught a glimpse of her name inside a densely written grey notebook.
Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened it.
It was Qin Mu’s diary, filled with his suppressed emotions. To prevent his mother from snooping, he didn’t use a conspicuous lock-and-key diary—he disguised it as a weekly journal and kept it with him at all times.
The truth shattered her.
Li Xiaomo was stunned. The anger of being deceived overwhelmed her sense of reason. With burning hatred, she tore out the pages that revealed Qin Mu’s complicated feelings for Han Zhang. Then she stormed off, threw Qin Mu aside, and walked alone through the crowded classroom toward a bewildered Han Zhang. Slamming the crumpled pages into his hands, she shouted, “Take a look! See how much your good friend loves you! You didn’t know? Qin Mu is gay! He’s so in love with you, he’s practically gone mad!”
The once-noisy classroom fell into sudden silence. Every pair of eyes locked onto the flimsy sheets of paper. Han Zhang glanced at them, then angrily crumpled the pages into a tight ball in his fist.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “Get back to your class!”
Li Xiaomo, eyes red and teeth clenched, hissed, “You knew, didn’t you? Judging by how you’re acting, you’re probably gay too! You disgusting freaks—using girlfriends as a front while doing dirty things behind everyone’s backs!”
Han Zhang stood up, face grim. “Say one more word, and I’ll hit you.”
“Go ahead! Call your lover Qin Mu over too and hit me together!” she screamed, nearly hysterical.
Han Zhang shoved her. She hit the edge of a desk and fell, wailing on the floor in tears. Boys from her class rushed over when they heard she’d been hit. The two classes erupted into a brawl. It was total chaos and eventually drew the attention of the discipline officer.
In the end, the discipline officer called Zheng Yan.
That evening, Qin Mu walked home behind his mother. Her frail back trembled, as if she might melt into the twilight at any moment.
“Mom,” he called out softly.
She didn’t respond. When they reached the door, she fumbled with the keys, trying several times but failing to slide one into the old security lock.
“Let me,” Qin Mu offered, reaching out. But as if repelled by even the thought of touching him, she swung her hand and flung the keyring at his forehead. It hit him hard, splitting the skin and drawing blood.
“Why did I give birth to a freak like you?” Zheng Yan gritted her teeth, tears welling up. “What did I do to deserve this punishment from the heavens? I have nothing left… nothing!” All her hopes and dreams had crashed into an iceberg and shattered into ruins. And that iceberg was the very child she’d once been so proud of.
She collapsed in front of the door, sobbing in despair.
Qin Mu stood frozen, unmoving. Blood dripped slowly from his forehead, running down his face trailing past the corner of his eye like a line of red tears.
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