Chapter 24: Warmth

Mao Xiaotong, twelve years old this year, has just entered the sixth grade of elementary school, and her academic performance is not ideal.

However, her artistic talent is quite good; she has passed the Grade Five piano exam and has begun learning Latin dance, making her a pretty girl who can both sing and dance among her peers.

This afternoon, as soon as she arrived at school, she saw a group of female classmates gathered together, chattering away, excitedly discussing something unknown.

It has nothing to do with me, she thought.

Xiaotong's relationship with the girls in her class is not good, because her personality is gloomy and she dislikes talking, and she decided early on to attend a dance school instead of a regular junior high, so she shares no common ground with her peers.

Sitting in her seat without looking sideways, she let the hair on her side fall down to cover her face and began to zone out.

Her desk mate suddenly poked her: "Xiaotong, didn't you buy today's 'Mengya'?"

"Hmm?" She didn't understand.

"Fang Xinghe!" Her desk mate exaggeratedly gestured, "That super handsome cover from the last issue! Haven't you seen it?"

"Oh, oh!"

She remembered, but still didn't understand what this had to do with her: "So? What's wrong?"

"His essay was published in the newspaper, it's super amazing!"

"???"

What does it have to do with me?

She felt a bit impatient in her heart, but didn't show it, simply nodding: "Oh, oh, that is indeed quite amazing."

"Right, right?" Her desk mate grinned foolishly and persisted in recommending it to her, "Hey? Won't you take a look?"

"I didn't buy it."

"It doesn't matter, I can lend you mine!"

No, is it really necessary?

And why must I read some essay? Just because the young writer you like is particularly handsome?

Xiaotong felt quite speechless inside; she wasn't at all impressed by handsome looks or anything, nor by middle school student essays.

But before she could refuse, her desk mate shoved the magazine at her hard, with a face full of expectation.

"Take a look! Fang Xinghe is really handsome, cool, and talented!"

"Oh, oh, okay, okay."

She wasn't completely unable to refuse, but felt there was no need to refuse such a small matter.

Anyway, class isn't interesting, so let's just take a look.

But she didn't specifically turn to Fang Xinghe's article; instead, she casually opened the book and started reading from the beginning, turning page by page, glancing a bit longer at things that interested her and quickly skipping over things that didn't.

Until page 22, the title of that article immediately caught her attention, truly and thoroughly, stirring some emotion deep within her heart.

My fate should be up to me?

Such a feeling...

She shifted her bottom, lay flat on the desk, and became focused.

Then, she immersed herself starting from the very first sentence.

The word "infection" made her intuitively feel a certain touch.

Then came that unbroken long sentence, "Only humans who constitute civilization and the various conscious behaviors, emotions, and desires born from humans will carve, shape, and even play with and destroy the young individuals within civilization," which she read with a hazy understanding, yet her heart suddenly trembled violently.

"Young individuals" seemed to be the keyword of her life, instantly flipping a switch.

She subconsciously clenched her fists.

No classmate knew that her biological father was a drug addict, who fought with her mother year-round, acted like a beast when sick, and even, when she was very young, went crazy and abandoned her in a trash can.

Why?

Just because he couldn't get money from her mother to buy drugs.

That day was very cold, she was very scared, and she cried very loudly.

Perhaps heaven would not cut off a person; her mother actually finished her stall early, and upon passing by, heard the already faint crying, and picked her up from the trash heap.

Just that night, a little girl quietly died, and what was reborn was a new life that was sensible, extremely cautious, and cried very rarely.

Now she no longer remembers the specific circumstances, but that coldness and fear that penetrated to the marrow still reminded her from time to time—Mao Xiaotong, you are not a complete child.

So, what the "process of bad infection" looks like, and what it feels like to be "bitten" by someone, she knew better than anyone.

Every word of Fang Xinghe seemed to be written directly in her heart.

The girl who used to hate studying and didn't love reading, at this moment, miraculously achieved a resonance with the text.

"Xiaotong? Xiaotong?!"

Her desk mate woke Mao Xiaotong, who was immersed in uncontrolled emotions, and asked worriedly and timidly, "What's wrong with you?"

"No, nothing..."

Only after the answer left her lips did she realize the hoarseness of her voice.

Then, reaching out to wipe, she discovered the tears still rolling hot on her cheeks.

"I'm just... just... too moved."

Sniffing hard, Mao Xiaotong buried her head again and choked out, "Leave me alone, let me finish reading."

"Oh..."

Her desk mate scratched her head in confusion, thinking: Fang Xinghe's article is good, but is it that moving? Why do I only feel it's amazing?

She didn't understand, but didn't disturb her again, letting Mao Xiaotong immerse herself in greedy reading.

"What happens in childhood is always the most tragic; missing childhood is a disease that must be treated for a lifetime, but no one dares to guarantee it can definitely be cured..."

Yes, it cannot be cured.

"What kind of family we are born into, what kind of environment we grow up in, what kind of education we receive, what kind of gaps we are gnawed open with, before the age of eighteen, we can decide nothing..."

That's right, what can I do?

"When you discover you've been bitten, don't panic first. Carefully check where you were bitten, how large the wound is, then ponder exactly why it happened. Then make a vow to yourself: 'I will never let this happen again...'"

Yes! That's absolutely right!

I truly should make a vow to myself: Never let that person hurt me and my mother again!

"Right now, I am well, living with effort yet vibrantly. May you be the same: un-tamed, un-corrupted, un-submissive to fate, actively becoming the you that you most wish to be..."

Wow, that's wonderful!

Truly, if one can achieve this, then there is no future more beautiful than this.

I want to be like that too; I want to become a strong and vibrant me!

Mao Xiaotong seemed to be looking into a mirror; the one facing the mirror was herself, but inside the mirror was Fang Xinghe.

A great power allowed her, through Fang Xinghe, to see herself clearly, and to draw courage and fighting spirit from that wild declaration at the end.

This was a warmth she had not felt for a long time: unique, unconventional, yet utterly real.

"How is it?"

Her desk mate suddenly bumped her gently, her clean and innocent eyes full of pride: "He's amazing, right?"

"Mm." Mao Xiaotong sniffled and nodded vigorously, "So amazing!"

"Hehehehe..."

The little girl smiled happily and foolishly, as if she possessed the whole world.

Mao Xiaotong solemnly took out five yuan, bought this magazine soaked with tears, and then carefully stuffed it into her schoolbag.

After school and returning home, she cut out the cover and pasted it on the wall beside her bed, in a place she could see with just a turn of her head.

Although she still did not understand the meaning of chasing a star, she had already pasted Fang Xinghe onto her heart.

Night grew deeper and heavier.

Mao Xiaotong had a dream, dreaming she fell into a grotesque and terrifying world.

There, the earth was dry and desolate, the air filled with scarlet ash, and in the distance stood many shadowy figures like dried corpses; they looked up blankly at the sky.

Mao Xiaotong followed, looking up, her pupils contracting involuntarily—what sky was there? That was clearly a flesh-and-blood canopy covered in gashes!

That canopy beat uneasily like a heart.

With every expansion and contraction, it tore open wounds, raining down a sheet of blood that crashed down from all directions.

The dried corpses let out piercing wails, seeming to be in pain and anger, endless and unceasing.

Mao Xiaotong trembled and hid back in her original spot.

It was a huge and gloomy trash bin; it was terrifying, but she had no choice. She could only pull all the debris beside her over herself, then bite her lip tightly, curling up in the corner and shivering.

Time passed for an unknown duration; she grew colder and colder, and more and more afraid.

Fear was like an invisible rope, tightly choking the little girl's throat.

Suffocation, pain, despair...

Just as she felt she could bear it no longer, suddenly, the wailing stopped abruptly, and the blood rain above her head also ceased for no reason.

She looked up blankly and saw that amidst that bloody terror, a pair of hands was gently touching the wound of the sky.

The fingertips lightly traced the torn wound; the agitated flesh immediately calmed, like a small beast soothed by a warm spring breeze.

Who was that?!

The girl struggled to widen her eyes.

However, the owner of those hands could never be seen clearly; sometimes it seemed like her mother, sometimes like a red-haired youth, and sometimes like her grown-up self.

Mao Xiaotong stared blankly; fear gradually subsided, emotions slowly stabilized, yet something deep in her heart surged as if about to burst forth.

Hah, hah, hah...

Her breathing grew coarser and heavier; courage sprouted inch by inch. Suddenly, she bit her lip hard, tore open the debris with a sudden surge, climbed onto the broken edge of the trash bin, and leaped over!

Bang!

She fell heavily to the ground, but disregarding the pain, she scrambled up the mountain of garbage before her with hands and feet.

Who exactly are you?

Let me see clearly!

The girl waded through the filth, climbing desperately; her small figure appeared and disappeared amidst the garbage, struggling fiercely in the ash.

The perspective pulled back; tens of thousands of figures stepped forward and ran wildly at once, climbing mountains when they met mountains, wading through water when they met water.

A horde of corpses crossing the border, terrifying beyond compare.

The person in the sky suddenly stopped moving and slowly lowered their head.

Mao Xiaotong held her breath, looking forward with full expectation... but at the very last moment, she suddenly woke up.

She bounced up from the bed, her upper body rising; Xiaotong panted heavily for a while, then suddenly remembered something, turned her head sharply, and finally, with the moonlight, saw the red-haired youth's face clearly.

The cold moonlight spilled upon that face, both pure and magnificent.

The girl stood stunned for a moment, then suddenly burst into tears; the more she cried, the more aggrieved she felt; the more she cried, the more relieved; the more she cried, the more at peace.

Playing with words is nothing extraordinary, but, just tonight, and also in the many days and nights that followed, Fang Xinghe's deeply empathetic words warmed and encouraged one child after another who had been bitten...