As soon as Cheng Ye left, only Jiang Shi and Jiang Xue remained in the room.

The wind rattled the door that hadn’t been shut tightly, while the nearby charcoal fire crackled softly. Neither of them spoke.

In the end, Jiang Xue couldn’t help but sigh. She pulled over a chair and sat down in front of Jiang Shi. Her eyes swept over his feet as she asked,
“Does it hurt?”

Jiang Shi instinctively tugged his rolled-up pant leg back down, tightly covering his swollen ankle.

“It doesn’t hurt. Just looks scary.”

The air fell silent again. Jiang Shi’s fingers picked restlessly at the seams of his pants.

So awkward. Someone, please save him.

Crackle—

The charcoal popped again, and Jiang Xue finally spoke.

Jiang Shi didn’t understand the local dialect, so she tried her best to use Mandarin with him. But since she had never gone to school, had never properly studied Mandarin, her words came out with a thick accent and a strange rhythm.

“I know you haven’t been happy these past couple of days. To be honest, no one would be, after what happened. Clearly it was our fault, yet in the end you’re the one who has to bear the consequences.”

“If there’s something you’re unhappy with, you can tell me. If you really can’t get used to living here and want to leave, just say so. But don’t gamble with your safety. There’s no one in those mountains. Not only wild dogs, maybe even wolves. If you hadn’t run into Cheng Ye today, what would’ve happened if something had gone wrong?”

Jiang Shi kept scraping at the fabric seam, his fingertips rubbed red against the rough denim.

What he faced most often in life was people approaching him with ulterior motives—whether out of dislike or with something to gain—always wrapped in a false veneer. So he had grown accustomed to wielding sharp barbs to tear that veneer away.

But Jiang Xue’s plain, wholehearted kindness was something he had never seen before.

No one had ever taught Jiang Shi how to respond to that.

For once, he actually felt guilty. His head dropped slightly.
“Sorry.”

When he lowered his head, the nape of his neck stretched pale beneath the lamp, a few brown strands of hair falling loosely along his face. His black clothes were speckled with mud.

Gone was the aura of dominance he had the first time they met—he was drenched, filthy.

Jiang Xue’s heart softened even more. She wanted to reach out and ruffle his hair, but considering the state of their relationship, she held back.

“Then can you tell Mom what you were doing in town?”

Jiang Shi shifted in his chair, the legs creaking noisily. He propped his right leg onto a small stool, rolled up his sleeve, and showed her the red rashes spreading thickly across his arm.

“An allergy. I went to buy medicine.”

…

The first time Jiang Xue saw Jiang Shi’s photo, she had found it hard to believe she could have birthed such a handsome son.

But his features clearly resembled both her and her late husband—like a perfect fusion of their best traits. If the three of them had stood together, people might have marveled at his looks, but never doubted he was her child.

She had first met Jiang Shi in bustling Jiangcheng. After almost two days on a slow green train, she had stepped off, wrinkled and disheveled.

A boy of seventeen or eighteen had been waiting for her at the restaurant. Outside, the weather was bitterly cold, but indoors it was as warm as summer. Dressed simply in a white shirt and black trousers, Jiang Shi had looked from afar like a magnolia blooming quietly in the dead of winter.

But magnolias belonged high on branches, carefully cherished, not dragged down from the clouds into the mud with her.

She felt she owed both Song Jian’an and Jiang Shi.

Because of her uselessness, Song Jian’an had suffered with her through more than a decade of hardship. And now Jiang Shi, who had lived in comfort for more than ten years, had to return and suffer alongside her.

What was harder than never having something was gaining it—only to lose it again.

But she could blame no one. Only herself. For not keeping her own child safe all those years ago.

Now, after finally getting him back, her son had stayed with her only a few days, and already his body was covered in rashes.

Jiang Xue’s eyes instantly reddened.

She lacked the gentle grace that Jiang Shi associated with women. Instead, she carried a kind of tough, rural fierceness. One moment her eyes brimmed with tears, and the next she smacked him squarely on the head.

“You idiot! You’re sick, why didn’t you tell your mother?!”

Jiang Shi’s head snapped sideways from the blow, his vision going dark for a moment. By the time he came back to himself, Jiang Xue was already lifting the kettle to boil water for his medicine.

Barely one and a half meters tall, looking thin but surprisingly strong, she moved about in her usual brisk, fiery manner—swinging open the door, prying the heavy board off the water vat with one hand, bending down to draw water.

A blast of cold air swept in. Sitting in the shabby old house, Jiang Shi suddenly let out a quiet laugh.

—

Cheng Ye woke very early, before the roosters had even crowed.

He didn’t turn on the light. Instead, he fumbled for his lighter and lit the kerosene lamp on the cabinet.

The faint flame flared up from the weak wick, trembling and casting a glow across his face.

Holding the lamp, he stepped out of his room. The main hall was empty, save for some curling couplets still pasted on the walls and doors, and colorful talisman papers hanging from the lintel. The air still faintly carried the scent of burnt incense ash.

Cheng Ye passed through into the kitchen.

By lamplight, he started a fire, then boiled water to wash up.

The enamel basin, decades old, sat on a wooden rack. A broken half-mirror was fixed above it.

He splashed his face, then bent down, pushing back his slightly long hair in the flickering firelight. A pair of narrow, dark eyes gazed back at him.

The warmth of a boy’s breath still seemed to linger behind his ear—soft, carrying a faint, unfamiliar fragrance.

Even his voice… cold and clear in tone, yet with its upward lilt at the end, that chill instantly tinged with a trace of allure.

Cheng Ye touched behind his ear, then put down the towel and began rummaging through the cupboard.

—

Jiang Shi was awakened by the sound of crowing roosters and barking dogs.

It was February, still freezing cold. He had no desire to get up, only managed to tug the quilt over his head in frustration.

Three minutes later, he surrendered to the relentless roosters outside Jiang Xue’s door.

Though awake, he still refused to get up. He groped blindly for his phone beside his pillow, planning to play a round of Sokoban before rising.

At the time, the app had just been released. Jiang Shi had money, so he never cared about data costs, wasting hours idly grinding levels every day.

Since arriving in Xiliu Village, he hadn’t been in the mood for games and had forgotten to turn off his data.

Seeing the familiar app, he hesitated, then tapped it open.

Dozens of messages awaited. Some cloaked as concern but probing into him and Song Jian’an; others mocking him in subtle ways. Only Zhang Chi had sent more than ten messages.

Afraid of touching Jiang Shi’s sore spots, Zhang Chi hadn’t dared to call. Instead, he had quietly sent motivational quotes on Penguin.

Jiang Shi skimmed them, half amused, and replied:

[Your dad’s fine. Eating well, sleeping well. Not dead, not crippled.]

He ignored the other sarcastic messages. Just as he was about to exit, he noticed a +1 in his contacts.

A new friend request. Only three characters:

Song Jian’an.

The child who had been switched with him. The real son of the Song family.

Expressionless, Jiang Shi stared at the name for a few seconds before hitting “accept”.

Two minutes later, a message arrived.

Song Jian’an: [Hello.]

Jiang Shi thought, Polite enough.

Not sure what he wanted, Jiang Shi simply replied: [Hello.]

Song Jian’an: [Did you look at the things my mom left for you?]

Jiang Shi typed back: [?]

Song Jian’an: [Didn’t see them? Maybe she was too busy and forgot. Remind her when you can.]

Before Jiang Shi could reply, more messages poured in.

Song Jian’an: [School at No. 1 High starts on the 26th. I’ve organized the winter homework into a list. I’ll send it to you. Even though you’re transferring and don’t need to complete it, ‘learning without thought is labor lost; thought without learning is perilous.’ Ten days are left—I believe you can finish.]

Jiang Shi: […]

Song Jian’an: [I checked Jiangcheng No. 3 High. The academic atmosphere is decent, resources better than at No. 1. But the textbooks are completely different.]

Song Jian’an: [I’ll organize No. 1’s materials and schedule for you. In return, I’d like you to share No. 3’s with me. That way we’ll both adapt more easily.]

Jiang Shi reread the wall of text until his eyes ached.

What was this guy asking him to do again?

When Song Jian’an got no reply, he prodded again.

Song Jian’an: [Is it difficult? I know study notes are private. Asking you for something so personal is a lot. But I promise, I won’t share them with anyone.]

Song Jian’an: [The things my mom—that is, your mom—passed to you are treasures I’ve kept for years. I heard your grades are decent. If you use my notes, I’m sure you’ll keep up.]

Jiang Shi finally typed:

[Who told you my grades are decent?]

After a pause—

Song Jian’an: [Huh? Aren’t they?]

Expressionless, Jiang Shi stared at the screen.

Song Jian’an: [Doesn’t matter. If you don’t understand something, ask me. I’m ranked second in my grade.]

They had only met once, and the scene had been chaotic. Jiang Shi had been too overwhelmed to really observe him. All he recalled was a dark-complexioned, clean-cut boy silently memorizing vocabulary opposite him.

At the time, he thought the kid was putting on an act. Now, it seemed he was genuine, inside and out.

Everything Song Jian’an said revealed only his thirst for knowledge. He even suspected Jiang Shi was deliberately hoarding precious study resources.

But Jiang Shi was hopeless at school. He didn’t know a thing about key points or lesson schedules. After another barrage of texts, he finally asked:

[Don’t you hate me?]

A beat of silence. Then:

Song Jian’an: [?]

Song Jian’an: [Why would I hate you?]

Jiang Shi: [If we hadn’t been switched, you wouldn’t have had to suffer so much.]

Song Jian’an: [It was just an accident. Nobody did it on purpose. Why blame you? Besides, back in Xiliu Village, at least I could study in peace. Now that I’m in Jiangcheng, every day it’s endless social events and banquets. My study time has shrunk a lot.]

Song Jian’an: [No wonder your grades are bad.]

Jiang Shi: […]

This was unnecessary. Really.

After Song Jian’an accused him of hiding notes for the nth time, Jiang Shi, head pounding, simply sent him Zhang Chi’s contact.

[His grades are okay. Ask him.]

He added, after a pause:

[Once you’re over there, if you don’t understand something, ask him. If anyone bullies you, go to him too.]

And so, Jiang Shi’s first real exchange with the true young master of the Song family ended in the solemn realm of academic discussion.

…

The wooden house had poor lighting. Even though daylight poured outside, only a thin strip of white light slipped in through the window edge.

Jiang Shi set down his phone and stared at that strip of light until drowsiness crept back over him.

Just before closing his eyes, one thought popped into his head:

If Song Jian’an studies that hard and only ranks second… then who’s first?

—

Cheng Ye had timed it perfectly. When he arrived, Jiang Xue was just about to head out.

Morning fog was heavy, fine drizzle falling from the sky. With her basket on her back, she was about to lead the ox to plow the fields when Cheng Ye came up the path.

He carried a chicken in his hand—already slaughtered and plucked, though not yet gutted.

Seeing her, he stopped and greeted, “Auntie Jiang.”

Startled first by his suddenly shorter hair, Jiang Xue then noticed the chicken dangling from his hand.

“Hey! I invited you to eat, not to bring food. Why’d you bring a chicken?”

Cheng Ye replied, “It was the last one at home. No point keeping it.”

That thin ankle had haunted his dreams all night. He could circle it with one hand. Too thin. He needed nourishment.

Jiang Xue shot him a glare. “Take it back! It’s not like I don’t have chickens.”

Cheng Ye said nothing.

He had always been this way—quiet, reserved. No matter what hardship befell him, he bore it alone without complaint.

Inviting him to dinner was Jiang Xue’s way of showing care. She hadn’t expected him to turn around and bring a chicken instead.

Afraid of touching on his painful memories, she finally took the bird from him.
“I’ve steamed sweet potatoes and mantou. Go eat. Jiang Shi’s still asleep—wake him up later to apply the herbs.”

She fussed on,
“That kid’s even got allergies now. I had to change out all his bedding last night. Who knows if he’s any better today.”

Cheng Ye lifted his gaze slightly.

Jiang Xue chuckled at him.
“Look at you. With your hair short like this, I’m not used to it yet.”

Without the curtain of long hair, his sharply defined face was fully exposed—deep features, dark eyes. When he looked at someone, it carried a weight of restrained oppression.

“Did you cut it yourself?” she asked.

“Mm,” Cheng Ye answered.

“No wonder it’s so choppy. Why’d you suddenly think to cut it?”

Again, that warmth of breath seemed to brush behind his ear, exhaling over his nape, sliding past his ear and resting on his shoulder.

“You’re kind of non-mainstream,” Jiang Shi had said.

Cheng Ye spoke now:
“Doesn’t look good.”