Month: May 2025 (Page 1 of 2)

       The fire made the morning news the next day.

       After solemnly reporting that ‘a fire broke out at a school due to ageing electrical wiring, resulting in the unfortunate death of a student’, the anchor’s tone abruptly shifted, spending far more time praising the authorities for their swift and wise response and the firefighters for their selfless bravery.

       Lang Feiran’s death became a disposable subplot in a tale of heroism, and his resistance was reduced to an irrelevant paragraph in the whole story. While alive, he was labelled a ‘troublemaker’; in death, it was ‘misfortune’. His existence faded like a snowflake that fell silently and melted at dawn—barely noticed, easily forgotten.

       Still, a fire that killed someone left a blemish on K City’s safety record. In addition, it was in a sensitive period with the Spring Festival approaching, and the public outcry was too great to ignore. Higher-ups issued a directive to temporarily shut down and ‘rectify’ the Yongning Youth Correctional School.

       Even as the school iron gates clanged shut, Liang Yong stepped out of the compound with a smile on his face and approved documents for an expansion tucked under his arm. Recently, student numbers had been rising steadily, and the dorms were nearly full. Once the holiday heat died down, he would rebuild two new buildings under the guise of renovations. Like weeds after a wildfire, new growth would sprout in the spring—and with it, a fresh fortune from spring admissions came.

       The students who had survived the blaze were gradually picked up by their parents. After the ‘effective correction’, these children were now obedient to a fault—compliant, unquestioning, responding to every command. Their parents, pleased, finally welcomed the harmonious family reunion they had long dreamed of.

       By the time Zheng Yan arrived at the school, Qin Mu was already gone. She assumed he had gone home on his own, but when night came, and he still hadn’t shown up, she panicked and grabbed Qin Aihua to go file a missing person report. Before they could even call, the police came knocking, asking them to cooperate in an investigation.

       It turned out that Qin Mu had reported everything to the police, accompanied by Shen Liu, Fatty, and the others. He had his injuries documented and gave a full, detailed statement. The school flatly denied all accusations of beating and attempted assault, insisting Qin Mu had simply run away in defiance of rules, and accused him of seeking revenge against his teachers out of spite.

       Upon hearing this, Zheng Yan immediately scolded her son with wounded fury, “How could you tell such lies? I’m so disappointed in you!” Then, turning to the police, she glared at Shen Liu and explained, “My child isn’t bad by nature. He must’ve been misled by someone. You know how teenagers are—confused, impulsive, unable to tell right from wrong, unaware of the pains parents and teachers take for them, and especially difficult to discipline. Strict methods are necessary. A few hits, a little punishment—it’s all fine. Sometimes pain is the only way they learn. We parents absolutely support the teachers. And besides, if the teachers were really in the wrong, why didn’t they hit the other kids? Clearly, it’s because he did something wrong. We’re grateful to the teachers. We would never report them.”

       Her absurd justification made the college students accompanying Qin Mu frown deeply. Li Feiyan muttered under her breath, “And she calls herself a mother? She’s the one who can’t tell right from wrong, treating her kid like property or a slave. I swear, I really want to slap her.”

       Fatty nervously grabbed her arm and whispered, “Don’t be rash. If you hit her, it’ll be considered serious assault. You’ll get arrested by the police.”

       Li Feiyan ground her teeth in anger. “Then maybe she deserves it. Why else would I want to hit her and no one else?”

       Glasses looked at Qin Mu with pity and sighed softly. He then murmured, “No wonder he didn’t want to come.”

       The police officer, who had stayed up all night and still had a pile of reports to process, was getting impatient with Zheng Yan’s rambling. “Alright, you all work this out yourselves. If you can settle it privately, even better.” Although Qin Mu’s body was covered in blue and purple bruises all over, they didn’t quite meet the legal threshold for minor injuries. Even if charges were filed, it wouldn’t lead to anything serious. Besides, the legal guardian had no intention of pressing charges.

       Qin Mu sat in silence, his bangs falling over his eyes, concealing a gaze void of light. It was like that of an old man who had long since seen through the ways of the world and accepted the ending. There was no vitality left in him. Shen Liu, who had been quiet the whole time, only nudged his arm after the formalities were complete and tilted his head toward the end of the hallway. “Didn’t you say you needed the bathroom?”

       Qin Mu met his eyes briefly. His eyelashes trembled slightly before he stood without a word and walked away. Shen Liu exchanged a glance with Fatty and then smiled as he turned to Qin Aihua. “Uncle, we’ll leave him in your care. We’ve got class soon, so we’ll be heading out.”

       Qin Aihua gave a perfunctory thank you. As soon as they were out of sight, Qin Aihua spat in the corner and cursed under his breath that these college kids had nothing better to do, blowing a tiny thing out of proportion. Not only that, they were reporting things to the police, making him come here and lose face for nothing.

       If word got out that he had failed to raise his child properly and that the kid was gay, how was he supposed to show his face again? Annoyed, he urged Zheng Yan to hurry up. The two of them kept blaming each other until they reached the entrance only to discover Qin Mu was gone again, leaving behind a note in the hall that said he was staying at a friend’s and would be back in a few days.

       Zheng Yan was furious and yelled at the police to help find her son. At that time, there weren’t many surveillance cameras. All they could see was Qin Mu walking out alone and disappearing into an alley across the street. No further footage. Zheng Yan threw a hysterical fit, crying and accusing the police of losing her child. She nearly got detained herself.

       Qin Mu had gotten into a taxi waiting at the end of the alley. Before going to the police station, Shen Liu had made a promise to Qin Mu that if things didn’t go well, he would help.

       Shen Liu took him back to his place.

       Though he lived on his own now, Young Master Shen still carried the airs of a rich kid. He couldn’t stand six-person dorms, so he rented a sixty-square-meter apartment near K University. His place was often packed with friends, noisy and lively. He quickly settled Qin Mu in.

       K University was a long-established institution with a long history. It was home to top faculty and elite students, many of whom were already influential in their fields. Shen Liu, though only a freshman, had quickly become a campus celebrity thanks to his striking looks and bold personality. He was active in the student union, the basketball team, and campus music competitions—all of which earned him fans. With a single call, he rallied a group of passionate students to begin their attack on the correctional school and Liang Yong.

       The students posted on major forums, exposed the truth, sought out other victims of abuse, and even contacted the media to amplify their efforts.

       But Liang Yong hadn’t risen to power in K City without backing. The powerful figures he served were like gods, shielding him with a golden bell no group of naïve college students could shake. Back then, the internet wasn’t what it is today, and the media remained silent under pressure from higher authorities. Before long, the bullet of public outrage lost its momentum.

       Frustrated but undeterred, the students strategised. Li Feiyan, the belle of the law faculty, took the initiative. She connected with older students and alumni and even enlisted the help of their department head, Professor Xiao Chengzong. With these legal experts on their side, Qin Mu officially filed a lawsuit against Liang Yong and several ‘teachers’ for abuse.

       What surprised Shen Liu most was that after consulting Professor Xiao, Qin Mu also named Qin Aihua and Zheng Yan as ‘accomplices’. He filed a petition to revoke their parental rights.

       Professor Xiao spoke to him in a grave and paternal tone, “In our culture, family ties are bound tightly with the idea of filial piety. What you’re doing will be seen as ungrateful, disobedient, and heartless. People will criticise you. And whether you win or lose, it’ll be hard to mend your relationship with your parents.”

       Qin Mu lowered his eyes. “That relationship became irreparable the moment they sent me there. I don’t want to give them another chance to abandon or hurt me.”

       Kahlil Gibran once said that a person has two selves—one awake in the darkness and one sleeping in the light.

       Shen Liu didn’t know whether the calm and composed Qin Mu before him or the one who had screamed and cried in the snow was the one awake or asleep, but he could sense a subtle change in the boy. It was as if, piece by piece, a cold suit of armour was growing from his flesh and bones, covering him from head to toe—appearing so hard from the outside that it seemed he needed no comfort or pity.

       However, that wasn’t the truth.

       Not long after Qin Mu moved in, Shen Liu began to notice something was off. One night, when he got up in the middle of the night, he found the boy missing and was startled. As he approached, he saw Qin Mu curled up on the carpet like a shrimp, wrapped tightly in a blanket. At first, Shen Liu thought he had just rolled off the bed in his sleep and reached out to wake him, only to spot a pale blue ribbon tied around the wrist peeking out from the covers.

       It was the decorative ribbon left over from Feiyan’s birthday gift a few days ago. Qin Mu had used it to tie his wrist to the bedpost. There was nothing else on the bed that could be used for restraint, and the ribbon was too short to reach from the bed itself, so he had chosen to sleep on the floor.

       His body had escaped hell, but his heart was still locked in the abyss. The long-term torment he had endured left him with an intense sense of insecurity. No matter how hard he tried to appear normal, he couldn’t conceal the fear inside him. All kinds of seemingly absurd paranoid thoughts clung to him, convincing him that if he ever let himself fall asleep, he would once again descend into hell.

       Shen Liu quietly backed away, then tossed and turned all night on the sofa before seeking help from a psychology professor. After hearing about Qin Mu’s situation, the professor connected him with a brilliant student who specialised in PTSD and was well-known in the field. The specialist agreed to help free of charge.

       The first time Shen Liu took Qin Mu to see the therapist, he was nervous and worried the boy might resist. However, Qin Mu’s response surprised him.

       Qin Mu was fully cooperative, even remarkably proactive. He knew he was sick and was willing to work hard to get better. This relieved Shen Liu immensely. Like a dutiful pet owner caring for a fragile little creature, he would get up at night from time to time to check on him.

       One night, he was overjoyed to find Qin Mu sleeping peacefully without tying himself up. Out of pure happiness, he covered his mouth and bounced in place three times.

       Shen Liu had initially planned to go home for the Spring Festival, but at the last moment, he softened and decided to stay with the now-homeless Qin Mu. He couldn’t quite explain why he was so dedicated to this kid. Maybe it was a pity; maybe he found it fascinating; maybe Qin Mu’s dependence gave him a sense of achievement, or maybe, as Feiyan joked, his ‘maternal instincts had kicked in, and he just got used to raising the kid’. Whatever the reason, every time he heard Qin Mu call him ‘Shen Liu ge’, it lifted his mood.

       Though Shen Liu stayed, he wasn’t of much practical help. He was a classic domestic incompetent, and he was utterly useless when it came to cooking or cleaning. Qin Mu knew how to do laundry, but he had rarely cooked before. With all the restaurants closed for the holiday, the two survived on frozen dumplings for two days before they got sick of it and sat staring at each other in boredom. In the end, Qin Mu felt guilty for freeloading under someone else’s roof, picked up a cookbook and began cooking by trial and error. He burned one pot, melted a steamer, charred a fair number of ingredients, and finally managed to put together something halfway edible. And just like that, the New Year passed.

       For Qin Mu, who had long been repressed and now regained his freedom, these days with Shen Liu felt like a rebirth. But for Qin Aihua and Zheng Yan, they were steeped in grief. The two sat in silence in front of a cold New Year’s Eve dinner. Eventually, Zheng Yan couldn’t hold back anymore. She buried her face in her hands and cried, “I’m his mother! I gave birth to him, raised him! I put in so much effort! Everything I did was for him! For his own good! And now he won’t even acknowledge me, and he’s even suing me… That heartless little beast! My whole life is ruined. What’s the point of living anymore…?”

       Qin Aihua sat there with a sullen expression, silently picking at his food. Hearing her neurotic wailing, the anger in him flared up. He slammed his glass down and shouted, “Shut up! You’re the one who raised that ungrateful brat! It would’ve been better if you hadn’t given birth at all! What a disgrace!”

       His words lit the fuse.

       Zheng Yan exploded and unleashed every grievance she had ever swallowed during their marriage. Her bitterness, her misfortune, all of it came pouring out in a tirade of accusations aimed at Qin Aihua. Enraged and humiliated, Qin Aihua flung down his chopsticks and snapped, “If you can’t take it, then let’s divorce!”  He stormed out and left the plate-smashing Zheng Yan behind.

       But after slamming the door and stepping out into the freezing night, he realised he had nowhere to go. He wandered aimlessly for a while in the snow before returning home, dejected and covered in frost.

       After the New Year, Qin Mu’s case went to court. Due to insufficient evidence, a lack of witnesses, controversy over electric shock therapy, and overwhelming pressure from all sides, the proceedings didn’t go well. In the end, it quietly ended in a hasty defeat.

       As they exited the courtroom, Qin Mu stood on the steps at the door, looking up at the scales of justice hanging high. He asked, “Is it that there is no fairness in this world, or is fairness simply not meant for me?”

       A wave of indescribable bitterness surged in Shen Liu’s heart. He reached out, pulled the boy into a tight hug, and whispered, “It will be yours. I promise.”

       “Ge, thank you. I will repay you in this life,” Qin Mu’s voice was soft.

       “What’s with all this talk of repayment? Can you offer yourself in return?” Shen Liu suppressed his frustration and made a joke, ruffling his hair. He watched Qin Mu get into a taxi with Zheng Yan. He stood silently in the cold wind for a while, then turned and took a cab to the airport, flying back to J City that night.

       This was the first time in his life that Shen Liu had asked Shen Lan for help in solving a problem. Shen Lan seized the opportunity to offer the condition of ‘studying abroad’.

       To his surprise, Shen Liu agreed without hesitation.

       Two weeks later, a national newspaper published a full-page article about the case, with a striking headline: ‘Beware of the Claws Stretching Toward Children’. The next day, a top-tier media outlet also published a stern editorial on the serious crackdown on unqualified pseudo-schools, with harsh wording and a clear stance.

       A fierce storm suddenly swept through K City, bringing with it the public’s heated discussions. Before the officials in K City could react, the sharp axe of disciplinary inspection fell like lightning. The school’s incomplete paperwork, questionable teacher qualifications, and unclear fund allocations cut through the false facade to reveal the nauseating tumours beneath.

       Students who had left the school came forward one after another to testify about the abuse, intimidation, and mistreatment they had endured. Liang Yong was quickly arrested, and a string of officials was implicated. On the surface, it appeared to be a clash of good and evil, but beneath the surface, it was an unseen political struggle. The personnel changes in K City shifted the balance of power, with the Shen family displacing the Zhao faction’s influence in the city and replacing it with their own people.

       When the spring breeze returned, the expansion of the Yongning Correctional School came to a permanent halt. The abusive student case that had been pushed to the forefront was sealed with a final verdict from the judge. Qin Mu, as one of the victims, was awarded 35,000 yuan in civil compensation.

       This terrifying nightmare finally came to an end in such a way. When the judgment was announced, Shen Liu hugged Qin Mu and said, “See, fairness will always come.”

       Qin Mu buried his face in his shoulder, tears streaming down as he nodded.

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       Shen Liu sat at the conference table, the light from the projector casting a kaleidoscope of colours in his pupils.

The screen displayed information on the Baolijian case. Though the contents were complex and the handwriting varied, every detail reflected the meticulous and consistent rigour of the person who compiled it.

       First there was Xiao Chengzong, and now Qin Mu. This master and disciple shared the same stubborn streak—so obstinate that even ten oxen wouldn’t be able to drag them back once they had made up their minds.

       As Shen Liu read, he sighed inwardly.

       He wasn’t the least bit surprised that Qin Mu got himself involved.

       On the surface, the man seemed intelligent, calm, as immovable as a mountain. He always wore a cold and indifferent expression that kept others at a distance. But in truth, it was nothing more than a carefully painted mask, hiding his real emotions deep beneath. He had drawn a small, tightly defined circle around himself, and anyone inside it held enormous weight in his heart. Xiao Chengzong had been his mentor, the one who guided his path. Now that the man had died tragically because of the case, there was no way Qin Mu would just stand by and do nothing.

       Shen Liu knew his character all too well. That was why, the moment he learned of Xiao Chengzong’s death, he contacted Chu Yu to try and hold him back—but even that failed. The only fortunate thing was that Qin Mu had now landed in his hands, safe and sound. He couldn’t let Qin Mu touch this case again—at least, not right now.

       But there was no way Qin Mu would just let it go.

       After weighing the options through a sleepless night, Shen Liu finally decided to step in himself. He gathered his team of lawyers to analyse and assess the value of the case files.

       The lawyers were well aware of how serious the case was. Their expressions were grim as they engaged in heavy discussion. Two of them got so worked up they nearly broke into an argument. All the legal jargon flying around reminded Shen Liu of the old days, when Qin Mu used to memorise statutes word for word. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

       The lawyers noticed and felt a chill. One of them cautiously asked, “President Shen, is there a problem?”

       “No. Carry on,” Shen Liu said, giving them ample time to discuss. He propped his chin in one hand and flipped through the documents with a solemn expression. But his gaze drifted, lost in the sight of Qin Mu’s neat and slender handwriting.

       Fate as truly something beyond one’s control. Like a pair of invisible hands, it stirred the vast and dusty world at will—causing countless twists of destiny, entanglements of love and desire, joys and sorrows, unions and partings, blooming and withering in turn. One moment, the dust seemed to settle; the next, the waves surged again. All living beings, as small as ants, lay hidden within it—rising and falling with the tide, directionless and adrift.

       It had once turned its face on them cruelly, tearing apart their deep affection with ruthless indifference, erecting mountains and chasms between them. And now, with that same capricious hand, it had brought Qin Mu back to his side—as if caught in a fated cycle no one dared to speak aloud, yet could no longer deny.

       The thread of time suddenly drew tight, yanking Shen Liu back to that snowy night fifteen years ago.

       The night they first met.

       Back then, he was in the throes of reckless youth—full of cynicism and defiance, hating nothing more than being told what to do. Among all the descendants of the Shen family, he was particularly troublesome.

       The Shen family had already grown into a massive clan by his generation. Old Shen military achievements for the country had long been recorded in history, studied and praised by generations to come. His descendants were all sharp and capable, like stones forming the foundation of the towering edifice that was the Shen family.

       His father, Shen Lan, was the youngest and most beloved son of the Shen family patriarch. As Shen Lan’s only child, Shen Liu held a status no less prestigious than that of Jia Baoyu, the jade-born darling of the Grand View Garden¹from Dream of the Red Chamber. But for some unknown reason, perhaps his mother had eaten something wrong while pregnant; he was born rebellious, headstrong, and full of opinions. The older he got, the harder he was to control.

       Shen Lan, being a domineering man, had little patience for parenting and usually resorted to sheer force to impose discipline. But wherever there was suppression, there was rebellion, and so their household was often a battleground.

       The father and son’s confrontations continued all the way through Shen Liu’s high school graduation. Defying Shen Lan, he gave up his guaranteed spot at J University, secretly changed his application to the architecture department at K University, and flew off like a bird out of a cage—leaving behind a furious Shen Lan who overturned the dinner table in rage.

       Freed from his original environment, Shen Liu found life relaxing and pleasant. The thorns the family had raised in him slowly retracted, and he made quite a few like-minded friends.

       That winter, just before the New Year, he and eight or nine classmates went to visit the hometown of one of their roommates, located in a rural county near K City. The roommate’s name was Ji Chunyang, and because of his extreme nearsightedness, he wore thick glasses like the bottom of a wine bottle. People nicknamed him ‘Glasses’.

       Glasses’ dad had an old Jeep. Shen Liu and a chubby guy named Liu Qiang egged Glasses into sneaking out of the car so they could practice driving. Their sneaky plan was spotted by another classmate, Li Feiyan, and to keep her quiet, they had no choice but to bring her along.

       That night, snow began to fall. Though Shen Liu and the chubby guy could drive, neither of them had a license. Glasses kept muttering, ‘This isn’t safe,’ like an old monk, so Shen Liu eventually turned the car around to head back.

       Just then, a dark figure suddenly darted out from the empty hillside—right into their path. It was almost too late to avoid a collision. Startled, Shen Liu slammed the brakes all the way down. The chubby guy banged his head on the seatback and yelled, “Ow, fvck!”

       The car came to a halt.

       With his soul just barely returning to his body, Shen Liu cursed and jumped out of the vehicle. But as soon as he approached the person, he shrieked and scrambled backwards, crawling away in a panic until they vanished into the darkness beyond the reach of the headlights—as if utterly terrified.

       The chubby guy and Glasses followed behind. Feiyan poked her head out of the backseat and shouted furiously, “You idiots left a girl alone in the middle of nowhere! What if someone jumps out and tries to assault me?”

       The chubby guy laughed. “Heroine, just lock the doors. With your kung fu, you could punch a man to death. We gotta leave those guys who try to molest you some chance to live.” Then he leaned in close to Shen Liu and whispered, “Just say Glasses was the one driving. He’s got a license. If not, you’ll get hauled in for driving without one. We’ll all stick to the same story so no one can extort us later.”

       Glasses, ever timid, nervously scanned the area and suggested, “The guy’s still moving and breathing. He doesn’t look seriously hurt. Let’s just go. Feiyan’s right—what if there really are robbers hiding around here?”

       Shen Liu lifted his eyelids and shot them both a look. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. What other car would be out here? What kind of brainless thief hides in the snow waiting to rob people? They would have frozen into popsicles by now.” He jerked his chin toward the chubby guy. “Go set up the triangle reflector so a passing car doesn’t rear-end us. Glasses, get in the driver’s seat and keep watch. If anyone is lying in wait, run them over—one down is one less to worry about. I’ll go see what’s up with him.”

       “Got it,” the chubby guy replied, heading to the back of the car. Glasses took a few steps, then turned back and added, “Be careful. Even if it’s not a trap, mentally ill people can still hurt you—and that’s not even against the law.”

       Shen Liu waved him off dismissively and walked toward the figure. After observing for a while and seeing no movement apart from heavy breathing, he crouched down at a distance. “Hey, I mean no harm. Don’t be scared.” He paused. “Are you hurt anywhere? Do you want us to take you to a hospital to get checked out?”

       At the mention of ‘hospital’ and ‘checkup’, the person started trembling violently, curling up into a tight ball and burying their face deep in the crook of their arm.

       Shen Liu noticed this detail and frowned slightly in confusion. He switched tactics. “Or… do you live nearby? I could take you home.” He thought that if this person really had a mental condition, the safest option was to find a family member or guardian.

       But the person just trembled harder.

       Later, Shen Liu would learn the reason for Qin Mu’s fear. The school he had been in ran so-called ‘sting’ experiments to prevent escape and crush any courage they had left. Teachers would deliberately relax their guard, creating fake opportunities to escape—only to trap those who took the bait and punish them with electric shocks. After being in that unsafe environment for so long, Qin Mu had lost the ability to trust anyone.

       But back then, Shen Liu didn’t know that. Seeing that no matter what he asked, the person remained silent, he ran out of ideas. He pulled three bills from his pocket and pressed them under a rock.

       “Alright, here’s the deal. There are three hundred yuan here. Use it to get checked out. No matter what they find, you can come find me. I won’t go back on my word. I’m a first-year architecture student at K University. My name’s Shen Liu. I’m pretty well-known at school—ask anyone, they’ll know me. K University. Shen Liu. Got it?”

       He turned and took a few steps. He seemed to hear something behind him—a sound faint and uncertain, mingled with the wind. He thought he was imagining it, but when he looked back, he saw that the person who had been curled up on the ground was now crawling toward him on all fours. The figure clutched at his pants leg, the pale yellow headlights illuminating the falling snow and the tear-streaked, still-bruised face.

       “Please… save us…”

       Shen Liu was stunned by that wretched expression. He swallowed hard before coming back to his senses, bending down to ask, “Us? You and who? What happened? How did you get all those injuries on your face?” Seeing the person shivering uncontrollably, he quickly took off his coat and wrapped it around them, offering comfort, “Don’t be scared. I’m not leaving. You’re half-frozen—let’s talk in the car, okay?”

       The person nodded but couldn’t stand up—their legs had completely given out, collapsing into the snow again. Shen Liu shouted, “Fatty! Come help me!”

       The two of them helped the person into the back seat of the jeep. Feiyan, who was still inside, had just opened her mouth to scold them when she caught sight of the face and gasped, “What the hell happened? Did we hit him that hard?!”

       “Idiot, he was beaten up.” Shen Liu pushed her into the front seat and climbed in beside the dirt-covered boy, sandwiching him between himself and Fatty. “Where’s the thermos? Give him some hot water.”

       Feiyan quickly poured a cup from the thermos and handed it over.

       The person didn’t drink it. Instead, clinging tightly to Shen Liu’s clothes, he choked out through tears, “Please… save my friend. He didn’t make it out. If they catch him, they’ll beat him to death.”

       His voice trembled violently—part cold, part terror.

       “Calm down and tell us slowly. What happened? Where’s your friend?” Fatty asked.

       The boy slowly composed himself. His words were a bit clearer now, though still shaking. “My name is Qin Mu. His name is Lang Feiran. We were both locked up in Yongning Correctional School up ahead… I escaped, but he got stopped by the gate guards. The teachers there… they’ll drag him off for electroshock… they’ll beat him…”

       “Those injuries on your face… Were from those teachers too?” Shen Liu asked with a frown.

       Qin Mu nodded.

       “What kind of bastard teachers beat people like this?” Feiyan cursed in fury.

       “I thought corporal punishment was banned?” Fatty added.

       Feiyan glared at him. “This isn’t corporal punishment—this is abuse! Assault!”

       Fatty’s flabby flesh quivered as he jumped in, outraged, “Yeah! We should report them to the Ministry of Education!”

       “No one’s going to do anything. That place isn’t even a proper school,” said Glasses, the local among them. He adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses and said, “Four or five years ago, the government was pushing some economic development goals and brought in an investor. It was originally built as a senior care facility. Once it was built, the investor ran off and sold it off cheap to some guy named Liang Yong, who turned it into a school in name only, taking in kids whose parents couldn’t control them. Think about it—if parents can’t manage their kids, what makes you think the teachers can? They rely on methods that can’t be made public.”

       He gave Qin Mu a glance and added, “They claim it’s ‘fully enclosed education.’ We’re not relatives or guardians, so we wouldn’t even be allowed to meet anyone there, let alone take someone out. And besides—it’s already late…”

       Hearing this, Qin Mu grew more frantic. Tears streamed down his face again as he pleaded, “Please… help him… He’ll die in there… the electroshock will fry his brain…”

       “If there’s a problem, we should go to the police,” Feiyan suggested.

       “It’s useless,” said Glasses, shaking his head. “A student escaped and tried that once. But all those kids were sent there by their parents. When the parents said they approved of the teachers’ methods, even violence, the police couldn’t do anything. As soon as the kid left the station, the parents just dragged him right back. Plus, the people behind that place… they’re not easy to deal with. The principal, Liang Yong, is a well-known ‘Model Citizen’ and ‘Education Pioneer’ around here—he’s got strong ties with the higher-ups.”

       “So we’re just gonna do nothing?” Feiyan gritted her teeth. “Kids aren’t their parents’ property—why should they have to suffer like this?”

       Glasses hesitated, then said, “Let’s at least take him to my place to rest. He looks like he’s barely hanging on.”

       “No… no…” Qin Mu shook his head frantically, clinging to Shen Liu’s arm as he broke into sobs again. “Please, I’m begging you—please save him…”

       The car was filled with heavy silence, broken only by the sound of his ragged crying.

       Shen Liu looked at the battered, bruised teenager, feeling something twist hard in his chest. After a long moment of silence, he said, “Glasses… drive.”

       “Go back?” Glasses asked.

       “To that school. To find his friend.”

       “Huh?” Glasses’ actual glasses nearly fell off.

Shen Liu curled his lips into a smirk, kicked the back of the driver’s seat in annoyance, and said, “So what if he’s one of those ‘Top Ten Model Citizens’? I was the damn campus singing champion, for what it’s worth. Drive! Tonight, I’ll use whatever bluff I’ve got—you guys just be brave and come along for the ride.”

       Fatty burst into laughter and gave him a thumbs up. “Now that’s bold.” He clapped Glasses on the shoulder and shouted, “Let’s go, bro!”

       Glasses sighed and shook his head helplessly before stepping on the gas.

       There was no time for Shen Liu to come up with a detailed plan. He figured they would go ask for the kid first—if that didn’t work, he would stir up some trouble, wait for the cops to show, then accuse the staff of assault. Once things escalated, he would pull out the trump card—his father’s name—and see if it carried enough weight in K City. He had never told his friends much about his background, but it looked like the truth might come out tonight.

       But the world has a way of making a mockery of plans.

       As the car rounded the hill, what they saw was blood-red snow under a burning sky.

       Flames soared into the air. Smoke billowed, thick and black.

       The firelight reflected in Qin Mu’s eyes as if setting him ablaze too. Sensing something, he bolted from the car before it even stopped. He was stumbling and scrambling like a wild animal out of control. As he ran into the crowd, he shouted Lang Feiran’s name over and over.

       It didn’t take long before he got the news from a student who had escaped.

       After Qin Mu’s escape, Lang Feiran had shaken off the guards and lit the fire he had long prepared. That night, he left the dormitory doors unlocked, giving the other students a chance to run.

       But he never left.

       This was the last rebellion of a young and angry soul against the cruel world.

       Blood and fire lit up the sky, staining the snow crimson, but could not drive away the darkness.

       Qin Mu’s hoarse and anguished cries pierced the icy night and stabbed into Shen Liu’s heart, making his chest ache with unbearable pain.

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       The phrase ‘passive resistance’ was a violation of the rules. If someone reported it, the offender would be penalised with a point deduction, while the informant would be rewarded with three points.

       Qin Mu gave the acne face a warning glance, then pretended he hadn’t heard anything and walked away. Since the start of the school term, he had never once taken the initiative to report others—this was a line he had silently vowed never to cross. Though he feared the electric shocks, he feared more the possibility of turning into mad dogs moulded by authoritarian policies and relentless brainwashing like those of his ‘classmates’, willing to betray kindness for a few bonus points or to avoid punishment.

       The ‘correction and reform’ continued. During this period, Zheng Yan came to visit him once. Under the teacher’s arrangement, Qin Mu ‘proactively and willingly’ knelt down to wash Zheng Yan’s feet, all while reciting the words he had memorised so thoroughly from daily repetition—that he had been rebellious during adolescence, obsessed with being different, which had led to psychological problems; that he had defied his parents, disobeyed them, been unfilial and committed grave sins; that from now on, under the guidance of his teachers and classmates, he would work hard to reform himself…

       When he reached the part about being grateful for his parents’ nurturing, he kowtowed heavily and shed tears.

       Qin Mu felt as though a personality entirely alien to himself had split off from him. This personality was like a skilled actor, precisely performing a carefully written script’s expressions, gestures, and lines. Meanwhile, his true self was filled with hatred and disgust, watching numbly from within.

       He saw the rare joy and satisfaction on Zheng Yan’s face. The same face just like when she used to look at his report cards. She was overjoyed and hugged him with tears in her eyes, saying, “My son has come back! Thank goodness, my son has come back…”

       Who was this ‘son’ of hers? Qin Mu dazedly wondered as he lay in that familiar yet unfamiliar embrace. If what she liked and needed was a fake version of him, then what meaning did the real him have?

       The true self that had been repeatedly swallowed by waves of loneliness, helplessness, fear, pain, and despair but still clung stubbornly to the driftwood, refusing to sink. What exactly was it struggling for?

       Whether he left or not, no one was waiting for him outside.

       Qin Mu had never felt so helpless as he did at that moment. And yet, he smiled and hugged Zheng Yan tightly in return, just like a prodigal son halting at the edge of a cliff and returning to his mother’s embrace.

       That night, he curled up under the blanket, covered his mouth with his hands, and cried in silence. Afterwards, he tried hard to convince himself to stay strong. He silently recited the classical poems he had learned, seeking comfort—

       Cling tight to the green mountain, never letting go.

       Treat raging fire as if it’s nothing at all.

       When mountains pile, rivers twist, and no road seems ahead, a village appears through the shade of willows, bright and new.

       Walk to where the stream ends and sit watching the clouds rise.

       He wanted to draw courage from those ancient people who had been long gone. These lines became his fragile thread to the outside world, his faint connection to his real teachers and classmates—like flickering fireflies in the night, emitting a sliver of light that kept him from being forever lost in the dark. Even now, he was using all his strength to preserve his final shred of authenticity, holding tight to his own sense of right and wrong, good and evil, true and false as resistance against the unending brainwashing and assimilation.

       But the hand holding the pen of fate refused to stop writing and slowly inscribed unreadable passages.

       One day, two months after arriving at the reform school, the yellow teeth man went out to receive new students, and Qin Mu’s reform teacher was replaced by a man in his forties—Teacher Zhou. His face was broad and fleshy with the top of his head balding. He was brutal toward the students, quick to punish and beat them, and Qin Mu was very afraid of him.

       The discipline room’s air conditioning was off. Baldie Zhou came in wrapped in a down coat, plopped himself down on a stool, looked Qin Mu up and down, and smirked crookedly, “Take off your clothes and pants.”

       Qin Mu froze. Normally, the yellow teeth man only made him take off his shirt—never his pants.

       Seeing his hesitation, Baldie Zhou lifted his discipline ruler and lashed it hard against Qin Mu’s shoulder, shouting angrily, “Hurry up!”

       Qin Mu gasped from the pain. His hands trembled as he took off his clothes and outer pants, peeled off his thermal bottoms, and stood there with his arms down.

       Baldie Zhou raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you understand human language? I said everything off!”

       “Teacher Zhou…” Qin Mu was both humiliated and terrified. He tried to plead but was struck again. In the end, with tears brimming in his eyes, he pulled down his underwear.

       “Well-developed, huh.” Baldie Zhou used the discipline ruler to poke at Qin Mu’s pen-s, speaking with a mocking smile. “Heard you like men?”

       “I used to be sick in the head. I don’t like them anymore.” Qin Mu didn’t dare move. He was cold and nervous, trembling all over.

       Baldie Zhou slapped him twice on the face with the ruler. “Lying through your teeth. I can tell at a glance.” Then he stood up, slowly circling around Qin Mu twice—then, without warning, pressed up behind him.

       Qin Mu flinched and instinctively leaned forward, only to be caught around the neck by Baldie Zhou’s elbow. Baldie Zhou lowered his voice and said, “Aren’t you shivering from the cold? If Teacher holds you like this, you won’t feel cold anymore.”

       Qin Mu, struggling to breathe, had to lean back. He tensed and stammered, “Teacher Zhou… I’m not cold anymore.”

       “Lying again. Want to be locked in the black room?” Baldie Zhou saw he was frightened and said slowly, “You young kids, always stirring up trouble. Homosexuality, huh? Do you know how homosexuals do it?” He tossed the ruler aside, and his rough hand slid down Qin Mu’s spine, into his buttocks, pressing a finger against Qin Mu’s anus. Leaning into his ear, he said, “It’s about shoving a d1ck in here and thrusting. You know about the prostate, right? Thrusting there will make you aroused. Heh, little brat, want to try it?”

       Qin Mu, pale and trembling, said, “Teacher Zhou… I don’t want to try…”

       “Don’t like that? There’s another way. Shove the d1ck in your mouth, ram it down your throat, fvck it hard, and shoot it all out for you to drink as a tonic.” Baldie Zhou kneaded Qin Mu’s buttocks playfully and said, “I still prefer your ass—nice and perky, soft. It’d probably feel good to thrust into.”

       “Teacher Zhou… please don’t, Teacher Zhou…” Qin Mu was terrified and began to cry.

       “Stop pretending, little liar. I know what you’re thinking. Tired of being a good kid, hitting p***rty and wanting to play rebel to seem different. Don’t you like being a homosexual? I’ll let you have a taste. Go bend over the lectern and stick your ass up.”

       Qin Mu was terrified. He didn’t react until he was pushed to the lectern. He broke free and turned to run. But the door was locked, and the windows were barred with iron grilles—there was no escape. Baldie Zhou grabbed him. Qin Mu shouted for help and struggled with all his might.

       No one came.

       Baldie Zhou took a few hits to his face and body and was enraged. He threw Qin Mu to the ground, straddled him, and slapped his face over a dozen times until his mouth bled and his face swelled painfully. He tied Qin Mu’s hands with his belt, unzipped his pants, and molested Qin Mu while pinning him down. Qin Mu resisted fiercely from beginning to end, his tensed body preventing penetration despite bleeding. Unable to enter, Baldie Zhou could only thrust between his legs a few times to satisfy his lust, then panted and ejaculated on Qin Mu’s face.

       Qin Mu was dragged out for electric shocks and locked in solitary confinement to starve for a whole day.

       He began to run a fever. The high fever dragged him into a delirious, terrifying nightmare, tormenting him repeatedly with no escape.

       The half-baked school doctor was too lazy to care, tossing him cold medicine and fever reducers before leaving. Perhaps because his fever was alarmingly high, the yellow teeth man, worried he might die and cause trouble with his parents, exempted acne face from drills and classes to watch him. He fed Qin Mu fever reducers when his forehead burned too hot.

       Acne face, a few years older, was named Lang Feiran¹feiran meaning brilliant/outstanding—his parents hoped he would be outstanding. But in his senior year, Feiran veered off course. He was sent to this facility for two years due to internet addiction and refusing to study. Qin Mu gleaned details from his ‘profound self-analysis’. Before coming, Feiran was a rising provincial esports player, about to sign with a team. However, his parents couldn’t understand the value of online gaming and believed he was wasting his life. To ‘save’ him, they forcibly sent him here to cure his addiction. Feiran resisted so fiercely upon arrival that he broke a finger, which never healed properly—his right index finger, once used for clicking a mouse, remained slightly curled.

       Acne face had truly been ‘saved’. He was the most exemplary student, strictly following every rule, tearfully reflecting on his ‘crimes’, revering teachers almost devoutly, and eagerly reporting any hint of trouble. He was a model ‘wolf dog’, and so he was made class leader. The school occasionally showcased him as a ‘reformed exemplar’ to parents, demonstrating its corrective success. When the yellow teeth man went to pick up new students, Feiran was the ‘bait’ to escort them. He was entrusted with all dorm keys, locking doors after nightly checks and collecting diaries. Feiran vowed to stay at the school forever, serving to repay the teachers’ kindness in remaking him. So, the teachers trusted him to watch Qin Mu.

       Qin Mu woke at noon, groggy. He sipped from an enamel cup handed to him, then hoarsely thanked the person before him, realising it was Feiran.

       The others were out drilling, leaving just the two of them in the dorm. Feiran glanced at the door, lowered his voice, and asked, “Did he succeed?”

       Qin Mu pursed his lips, silent, then gently shook his head.

       Feiran smiled. He gave him a thumbs-up and said, “Good job.” He handed over a cold steamed bun. “Eat. You need strength to survive here. Listen to me if you don’t want to die.”

       Qin Mu took it, silently chewing the rock-hard bun, tears falling unnoticed. He hurriedly wiped them, but Feiran pulled the blanket over his face.

       “Cry if you want,” Feiran said. “You don’t snitch on others, and I won’t snitch on you.”

       Having lived long in a place of mutual surveillance and betrayal, Qin Mu wasn’t sure if he should trust him. When he calmed down, he emerged and thanked Feiran again. He ate the bun with hot water. His swollen face and eyes throbbed with every chew. He wanted to rest, but Feiran insisted he get up.

       Qin Mu struggled to stand, his injuries making him weak.

       Feiran asked, “Can you run?”

       Qin Mu shook his head and felt it was impossible. Someone passed by, calling from the door, “Class leader, Teacher Chen wants you.”

       Feiran responded, then whispered hurriedly, “Rest well, don’t sleep too deeply tonight,” and left.

       They had no further chance to talk.

       That night, when everyone was asleep, Qin Mu felt a light tap on his back through the blanket. He opened his eyes and was startled. Feiran covered his mouth and wrote ‘escape’ in his palm.

       Qin Mu stared at him in shock, at a loss. Baldie Zhou had already set his sights on him, and he might not be able to escape the fate of being r4p3d next time. He didn’t know if he could trust Feiran, but what choice did he have? He had no way to escape by himself. After a long time, he finally nodded tremblingly.

       Acne face left the dorm door unlocked, and Qin Mu followed him quietly, tiptoeing out.

       It was snowing outside, and it was bitterly cold.

       Acne face led him skillfully past the field and staff dorms, silently approaching the small iron gate at the school’s entrance. Crouching in the wall’s shadow, he stuffed two buns into Qin Mu’s clothes and placed a brass key in his hand, whispering, “Open the gate. If the guard wakes, I’ll stop him. Don’t worry about anything—just run.”

       He pointed to the right at the mountains. “Don’t go to nearby towns; the locals are in on it and will catch you for a reward. See that mountain? Its south side has a tourist spot. At dawn, find out-of-town visitors for help. Remember, don’t trust your parents—they sent you here once, they’ll do it again.”

       Acne face hugged him and touched his face. “Don’t be scared. Unlock the gate and run. Don’t look back.”

       Qin Mu remembered the pale mist around his mouth when he spoke, the warmth of his embrace, the unusually bright eyes, and the last glance as he turned back after unlocking the gate—Feiran was grappling with the burly guard.

       Amid the blaring alarm, he heard a hoarse shout behind him.

       “Run, Qin Mu—run fast—”

       He ran desperately, so fast he felt he might take flight.

       The biting wind whipped away the tears that blurred his vision. The cold sliced his face like a knife and poured fiercely into his lungs. Like a startled antelope, he fled through the snow, his heart pounding as if it might burst. One shoe fell off, but he didn’t dare stop to retrieve it, his sock grinding painfully against stones.

       He held his breath and raced over barren hills. Two blinding beams swept over him, followed by a screeching brake. A massive vehicle screeched to a halt just before hitting him, leaving deep skid marks in the snow.

       In terror, he collapsed. He scrambled to rise but tripped on a stone, rolling into the snow.

       “Hey, you okay?” someone shouted in the snow.

T/N:

The lines listed come from different Chinese poems and were well-known excerpts from several classical works,

1. Cling tight to the green mountain, never letting go.
From: 《竹石》 (Bamboo and Rock)
By: 清·鄭燮 (Zheng Xie, Qing Dynasty)
A metaphor for perseverance and inner strength, using bamboo as imagery.

2. Treat raging fire as if it’s nothing at all.
Loosely reminiscent of a line from 文天祥’s 《正氣歌》(Song of Righteousness) or other patriotic poems. Possibly imitating classical tone to express fearlessness in hardship.

3. When mountains pile, rivers twist, and no road seems ahead, a village appears through the shade of willows, bright and new.
From: 《遊山西村》 (Strolling Through the Village of Western Hills)
By: 宋·陸游 (Lu You, Song Dynasty)
Describes a sudden sense of hope and discovery after feeling lost or trapped.

4. Walk to where the stream ends and sit watching the clouds rise.
From: 《終南別業》 (Retreat in the Zhongnan Mountains)
By: 唐·王維 (Wang Wei, Tang Dynasty)
A famous couplet that suggests a peaceful, Daoist outlook—serenity in uncertainty.

All thanks to gpt for helping me finding the poems fast ><

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       Qin Aihua felt deeply ashamed. Ignoring Qin Mu’s protests, he went to the school and filed a leave of absence on his son’s behalf, claiming it was for medical treatment.

       Zheng Yan even stopped going to work altogether and dragged Qin Mu through every major hospital in K City. When she was told that homosexuality couldn’t be ‘cured’, she lashed out. She jabbed a finger at the doctor’s nose and shouted, “What do you mean it’s not a disease? He’s not like everyone else—how is that not a disease? How can you call yourself a doctor if you can’t cure it?”

       She kept yelling until the security guards forcibly threw her out. Still not giving up, she turned to shady traditional medicine clinics tucked away in back alleys, clinging to every ‘miracle doctor’ and their concocted ‘remedies’. She brought these so-called prescriptions home and force-fed them to Qin Mu, one bowl at a time.

       Qin Mu stayed silent, letting her do as she pleased—he drank whatever she gave him, listened when she cursed him, and endured when she hit him. And yet, every day, he still quietly kept up his self-study and exam prep. He believed that one day, his parents would come around. And when they did, he would be able to return to school.

       He did his best to suppress his inner panic, repeatedly going over in his head all the possible situations he might face when he returned. He tried to comfort himself; the worst that could happen was everyone treating him like a freak and ignoring him. But he hadn’t had many friends to begin with—he was used to being alone. Once he got into K University, he could leave all this behind and start fresh.

       In the dead of night, when everything was quiet, he couldn’t help but think of Han Zhang. His heart filled with guilt—he had dragged Han Zhang into this mess for no reason, and he had no idea how to make things right.

       While Qin Mu was thinking of Han Zhang and trying to plan for his future, just one wall away, Zheng Yan was tossing and turning. She was tormented by her son’s ‘illness’. Beside her, Qin Aihua had already fallen asleep watching TV. His snores was uneven and raspy, like he might stop breathing at any moment. Annoyed, she yanked the remote control from his hand and was just about to turn off the TV—when she froze.

       Leaning forward, she stared at the midnight commercial on the screen. It was as if a terminally ill patient had just discovered the elixir of immortality—every cell in her body lit up with excitement.

       In that silent moment, fate drew a hard pause. Dipped in heavy ink, the pen turned sharply, veering off in a completely different direction.

       Qin Mu remembered it was a Wednesday, and the weather was cold.

       Zheng Yan took him out early in the morning. The destination was far—they had to transfer three times. Finally, bus No. 598 left the city and rumbled its way into a remote, unfamiliar county on the outskirts.

       After getting off the bus, a lanky young man in his early twenties came up to them and asked, “Are you Ms. Zheng?”

       “Yes, yes, that’s me,” Zheng Yan replied quickly, giving Qin Mu a push forward. “This is my son.”

       The young man had deeply tanned skin and a face covered in acne. He looked Qin Mu up and down with an unreadable expression, pursed his lips, and threw out a curt, “Get in the car,” before turning and walking off.

       Zheng Yan and Qin Mu followed him into a bronze-colored van parked by the roadside. Though old, the van was scrubbed clean. In the driver’s seat sat a burly man who grinned at them, revealing a mouth full of teeth yellowed from cigarette smoke. “Hold on tight,” he said. “The road’s rough from here.”

       The van drove out of the county and into increasingly desolate terrain. Ramshackle buildings faded from view, replaced by barren hills.

       Qin Mu began to feel uneasy. He couldn’t help but ask, “Where are we going?”

       “To cure your illness,” Zheng Yan replied flatly.

       The driver with the yellow teeth chuckled. “Almost there, don’t worry.”

       The acne-faced guy in the front seat glanced back at him, as if about to say something. Their eyes met only for a fleeting second, and Qin Mu couldn’t read anything in it.

       After a long, jarring ride, the van finally came to a stop.

       In front of them stood a massive iron gate flanked by tall walls. The tops of the walls were lined with broken glass and several coils of barbed wire. A heavy padlock hung on the main gate, clearly not meant to be opened casually—only a small door at the bottom right was used for entry. Four men stood guard at the gate, each with a metal baton strapped to their waist. Hanging beside the entrance were several white signs with black lettering. One of them read, “Yongning Behavioral Correction School for Adolescents, K City.”

       Just as Qin Mu was still unprepared, the van driver suddenly gave him a hard shove in the back. He lost his balance and stumbled through the gate. The four men immediately surrounded him, half-coercing and half-shoving him forward.

       Panic-stricken, Qin Mu struggled, only to be firmly restrained. He twisted his head around with all his strength in disbelief—and saw Zheng Yan’s emotionless face.

       “MOM!” Qin Mu shouted.

       Zheng Yan stood still like a clay statue. She was not speaking or moving, just looking at him silently.

       “When it comes to raising kids,” the yellow-toothed driver said with a grin, “you parents can’t go soft. Go soft, and the kid’s ruined. The ones who come out of here? Each one’s better behaved than the last. No matter how rebellious, we straighten them out. Your son’s got a mental issue—don’t worry; we’ve already worked with professionals to design a one-on-one correction plan. Guaranteed results.”

       Zheng Yan nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. She forced herself to look away and asked, “Where do I pay the tuition?”

       “No rush. Our school policy is to charge only after we see results.”

       “Good, good,” Zheng Yan nodded repeatedly, pulling a pack of Red Pagoda Mountain cigarettes from her bag and stuffing it into the driver’s hand. “I’ll leave it all to you… I’m counting on you.”

       How could one make someone obedient in a short amount of time?

       For teenagers who were entering adolescence—those with a certain level of knowledge and already forming their own thoughts—there wasn’t enough time to reprogram them. The most effective method, then would be violence. By instilling fear, they could make them ‘obedient’ out of terror.

       What kind of torture was painful enough, yet wouldn’t leave visible marks?

       The perfect choice was electric shocks.

       When the small door behind him closed, Qin Mu still didn’t know what kind of torment awaited him. He naively thought this place was just a strictly closed-off school, and that the teachers here were like those outside.

       That illusion was quickly destroyed by the electric current that pierced into his brain.

       Electricity surged in from his temples, traveling through his entire body like a serrated rasp desperately scraping through his bones and flesh. Just a few seconds were enough to make him convulse and cry out in unbearable pain.

       He was strapped to a steel-framed hospital bed. His head and limbs were bound tight with restraints, unable to move. A mouthguard was jammed between his teeth, reducing his cries to muffled groans. The man in a white coat who was supposedly a ‘professional doctor’ was fiddling with the power switch and casually said, “Don’t worry, ten seconds per round. Let’s start with three rounds.”

       At seventeen, Qin Mu experienced what it meant to wish for death rather than endure life—in just thirty seconds.

       After the shocks, the man in white removed the mouthguard from his mouth, smiling as he said, “Now I’m going to ask you a few questions. Think carefully before answering. If you don’t answer well, you’ll be punished again. Do you understand?”

       Drenched in cold sweat and trembling, Qin Mu nodded. He was already broken under the terror of the shocks.

       The man pressed record on a nearby recorder and asked, “Do you know why you were sent here?”

       Qin Mu tried to guess the answer he wanted and replied, “Because I’m sick.”

       “What illness do you have?”

       “A mental illness.” Seeing the displeasure on the man’s face, he hurriedly added, “The illness of being homosexual.”

       “And? Are you disobedient and unfilial to your parents?”

       “…Yes.”

       “Do you want to stay here and learn to correct yourself?”

       Seeing the warning in the man’s eyes, Qin Mu hesitated for a second, then, tears welling in his eyes, said, “Yes.”

       The man in white nodded, satisfied, and hit the stop button. He handed the recorder to his assistant, who then delivered it to the parents.

       Zheng Yan listened to it over and over again, tears of joy streaming down her face. She thanked them profusely and paid the full tuition of 45,000 yuan.

       Her sick son was finally saved.

       She loved him so much—so much that she was willing to give everything for him, even her entire life savings.

       Qin Mu nearly collapsed from the iron bed, his legs trembling as he knelt on the ground.

       What awaited him was a new life of ‘correction’.

       In the first few days, he was locked in a small windowless room at the end of a corridor, where he was given only one meal a day. Five senior students took turns teaching him the ‘school rules’. They recited one rule, and he had to repeat it. If he didn’t, he would be beaten. The ruler in the teacher’s hand was thick and long, and if it hit too hard, it could cause bleeding.

       There were fourty school rules, including things like students could not speak to each other for more than ten seconds, they couldn’t close the door when using the restroom, they couldn’t show resistance in their words, they couldn’t slack off during study time, and they couldn’t say they wanted to leave when meeting their parents, etc. The school also set up a points reward-punishment system, where violations would result in point deductions, and reporting others could earn extra points. If the score dropped below sixty, the student would be punished with electric shocks.

       On the third day, after memorizing the school rules, Qin Mu was assigned to Room 213, where eight students shared the room, and his bed number was 1607, the lower bunk. The youth with pimples on his face was facing him.

       Every morning at 6:30 AM, all students had to get up, pack their belongings within ten minutes, fold their blankets into neat squares, and then run for an hour on the sports field. This was followed by self-reflection time, where each student had to speak. If their self-criticism was not deep or thorough enough, they were punished with frog jumps on the field. There were also mutual criticism meetings, where students pointed out each other’s faults and improper behaviors. Reporting others could earn points, so students eagerly participated in this, becoming expert informants, eager to catch others in disobedience and accuse them of ‘not following the rules and being dissatisfied with the teachers’. Then, everyone would watch as the ‘bad student’ was punished, setting an example to deter others.

       In the afternoon, there were Chinese classics lessons, where they recited lines like ‘When parents call, answer without delay; when parents command, act without laziness. When parents teach, listen respectfully; when parents scold, accept with obedience…’ 

       In addition, students were divided into groups based on their ‘flaws’, such as internet addiction, gambling, learning encouragement, and filial piety groups. Qin Mu’s situation was unique in the school, so he had one-on-one sessions with a teacher.

       The teacher was the driver of the van who picked him up that day, the man with yellow teeth. He had Qin Mu take off his shirt and stand in front of a mirror while swinging a ruler, demanding responses. Any hesitation would be met with punishment.

       “You’re a boy or a girl?”

       Qin Mu answered, “A boy.”

       “Do you like boys or girls?”

       “Girls.”

       “A man liking a woman, and a woman liking a man is natural, it’s the law of nature. Liking someone of the same sex is perverted, it’s a mental illness, do you understand?”

       “Understand.”

       “Say it!”

       “I was wrong. I am sick. I like women.”

       “Say it again!”

       “I was wrong. I am sick. I like women!”

       For an hour, similar dialogues repeated many times. Qin Mu went from crying out in anguish to responding numbly, forming a conditioned reflex.

       At night, there was dormitory night study, where everyone wrote a diary to record the day’s learning and activities. Afterwards, they placed their diaries in a mailbox in the room, which the class monitor would collect and hand to the teacher. The teacher would select the best ones to send to parents as proof of progress.

       The school was full of spying eyes, and no one was to be trusted. After being reported several times, Qin Mu learned to hide all his emotions. He trembled as he complied with the teacher’s demands to be a good, obedient student.

       After one month at the school, he witnessed a student jump from the roof. The building was only two stories tall, and the student didn’t die after the fall. Fearing that it would cause a scandal, the school didn’t call an ambulance immediately. Only after seeing the blood streaming from the student’s head was he sent to the hospital. The student never returned.

       Qin Mu leaned on the railing and looked down, hearing someone beside him whisper, “It’s an escape; it’s not so bad.”

       He froze, turning to look into the eyes of the youth with pimples beside him, and saw the same look in his eyes as the one he saw on the driver’s face when he picked him up that day.

       Only then did he understand.

       It was a pity.

T/N:
I know Qin Mu will have a hard past… But I didn’t expect it’ll be this hard.. HOLY HELL???!
All those correction centre stories in other novels are like this too and what’s worse is that it really exist…

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       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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