Zhuang You called the police. When the police arrived, Wu Guo and the two men who had beaten him were lying on the ground together, the three of them neatly lined up in a row.

The ground was still wet from the rain, mud clinging to their clothes in dark, filthy patches.

Meng Yanxi was standing against a wall not far away, one long leg slightly bent, head lowered as he rubbed his right fist.

Jin Zhao felt extremely apologetic. She stayed close by his side and asked him in a low voice whether he was hurt.

Meng Yanxi didn’t make a sound. He lifted his eyelids slightly and directly held out his hand for her to see.

The young master’s fist was hard, but perhaps because he didn’t usually throw punches—having lived in comfort for too long—it wasn’t built to take punishment. In beating someone up, he’d broken the skin on his own hand, red and seeping threads of blood.

Jin Zhao’s heart tightened. Her eyes were full of distress. Instinctively, she wanted to cradle his hand and look at it carefully, but then felt that such a gesture would be inappropriate. She could only lift her face to look at him and apologize again and again. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” the man asked, lowering his gaze to her.

It was getting dark, the light dim and murky. His eyes looked even darker, very deep.

Jin Zhao looked at him like that. After a long moment, her lashes fluttered lightly, and instead of answering, she asked, “Are you thinking that after all these years, my life is still the same as before—messy, in chaos, a complete wreck?”

“No.” Meng Yanxi replied calmly. “Without knowing the full picture, I won’t comment.”

Meng Yanxi’s answer took Jin Zhao by surprise.

Today, let alone someone as lofty as Meng Yanxi, probably anyone, if dragged for no reason into a brawl like this, would wrinkle their nose in disgust and keep their distance from her. Yet this favored son of heaven, who had given a speech at Sui University that very morning and donated one hundred million, a man basking in glory and adulation—there wasn’t the slightest hint of disdain in his eyes, only respect.

Without knowing the full picture, I won’t comment.

Jin Zhao hadn’t cried when her phone was snatched, but these eight light, unassuming words suddenly made her nose sting.

Meng Yanxi turned his gaze away.

Not far off, Wu Nian was squatting on the ground, picking up books.

She was completely different from the girl ten years ago who dyed her hair yellow and cursed at the top of her lungs. Wu Nian had changed a great deal—at least in appearance.

She’d grown her hair long, natural jet-black, reaching her waist. Her makeup sat smoothly and delicately. With her naturally oval face and big eyes, she looked very well-behaved. She’d even styled her hair in a princess half-up, making her look like a sweet, pretty little celebrity.

Back then, Wu Nian had been a resident singer at a bar. By chance, she took part in a singing talent show. Though she didn’t place very high in the end, her striking looks still drew in a small wave of fans. Later, she signed with an agency and managed to land a few supporting roles—some credited, some not, far more of the latter. Naturally, they made no splash. She was still an unknown actress, completely unable to get money-making gigs.

She’d also tried livestreaming, but lacking any core appeal, she didn’t have many fans, and selling products brought in very little money.

At twenty-eight, Wu Nian was better off than she’d been at eighteen—but not by much. To maintain a female celebrity’s façade, keeping an assistant and bodyguard, she even sold the only apartment she owned. When Jin Zhao returned to the country, she’d still had to borrow a car from her company to pick her up.

Jin Zhao saw through her hand-to-mouth situation. Even after finding a job, when the school arranged housing for her, she used the excuse that there were bugs in the teachers’ dorms and didn’t move out, continuing to live with her and help share the rent.

Over these past few months, their lives had actually both been moving in very good directions.

Jin Zhao found a job, and she finally fought for a role with a bit of screen time of her own—she was set to join the production on October 3. The night she got the role, the two of them went out for seafood barbecue together. She seemed to have finally retrieved the youthful spirit she’d once lost, raising her beer to clink glasses with Jin Zhao and telling her, “We’ll meet at the peak!”

She knew Jin Zhao wasn’t the same as her. Jin Zhao’s social circle was very clean. She had never brought other people home—aside from Wu Fei and Wu Guo, whom she herself had found.

If only these two siblings weren’t so hauntingly persistent, then she wouldn’t have been pushed past endurance to teach them a lesson. Jin Zhao wouldn’t have run into it, and she almost wouldn’t have gotten dragged into it as well.

The three textbooks Jin Zhao had brought back fell to the ground, smeared with mud and rainwater. The snow-white pages were now filthy beyond measure.

Wu Nian squatted on the ground, head lowered, wiping hard with wet wipes.

Selected Readings in British and American Poetry, Detailed Annotations of Famous British and American Poems, and one thick, entirely English book—Wu Nian didn’t recognize it. She’d even forgotten how many letters there were in the English alphabet. She could only wipe the pages over and over again.

But once paper had been soaked with mud and water, no matter what she did, it couldn’t be wiped clean.

After the police arrived, they first took the three men to the hospital to treat their wounds. They were all superficial injuries; only Wu Guo had it a bit worse, but once at the hospital he could still stand and walk. There was no need for IV drips or hospitalization. After the medicine was applied, everyone went together to the police station.

Both sides expressed willingness to reconcile, so everyone entered the mediation room together, with a mediator presiding.

The only one who hadn’t lifted a hand was Jin Zhao. She didn’t go in. She sat alone on a bench outside to wait.

It was already eight-thirty in the evening, quite late. The police station wasn’t on a main road; the street outside was very quiet. Occasionally a car passed by, the sound of tires rolling over asphalt drifting in.

Before long, Meng Yanxi came out as well and sat down beside her.

Jin Zhao took out the povidone-iodine she’d just gotten from the hospital from a plastic bag. She didn’t say anything. Meng Yanxi wordlessly held out his hand to her.

Beating someone up and breaking your own hand—there was something a little laughable about it. And a little miserable too. No one had even noticed that he was injured as well. Earlier at the hospital, not a single person had treated his wound.

Jin Zhao pressed the iodine spray three times against the back of his hand. The brown liquid misted over his cool, pale skin. She then tore open a pack of medical cotton swabs and carefully used one to absorb the excess liquid.

She still couldn’t help asking, “Does it hurt?”

Meng Yanxi said, “A little.”

Jin Zhao said, “Isn’t it alcohol that hurts?”

Meng Yanxi fell silent for a moment, then withdrew his hand. “Then it doesn’t hurt.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Why did he make it sound so aggrieved? As if she were the one bullying him.

Jin Zhao silently packed the spray and cotton swabs back up. The plastic bag made faint rustling sounds that felt abrupt in the quiet corridor.

Meng Yanxi sat quietly beside her. After a while, he suddenly spoke: “There’s nothing to regret. People from different worlds will eventually part ways.”

Jin Zhao stared at the propaganda text on the wall opposite, not speaking for a long time.

“Have you heard of parallel worlds?” she asked.

Meng Yanxi didn’t say anything. One arm rested along the back of the bench behind her, his gaze, like hers, fixed ahead.

Jin Zhao blinked lightly. “I’ve always felt that if parallel worlds really exist, then Wu Nian should be the me in a parallel world.”

“Let me tell you a secret.” Jin Zhao turned her head.

Meng Yanxi looked at her. “What?”

“Actually, Wu Nian and I, at the very beginning, had agreed to drop out of school together.”

Jin Zhao looked forward again. Her eyes were pitch-black, the rims tinged red. “Back in middle school, life was really hard. It wasn’t just losing someone I loved—it was being wronged, being stabbed in the back, being hurt. Now I can’t actually remember very clearly what those days were like anymore. I only remember so many tears, so much grief, grievance, and unwillingness. Of course there was no way to concentrate in class. My grades were terrible, and my dance classes were suspended. My world was a torrential downpour, and my wings weren’t hard enough yet—I couldn’t fly out.”

She gently shook her head. “To Kill a Mockingbird says, You can never truly understand a person unless you put on their shoes and walk around. You can never truly understand a person unless you put on their shoes and walk around like them. There is no real empathy in this world. Children from whole families with healthy parents can never truly understand kids from families like mine and Wu Nian’s. Back then, only Wu Nian and I were wearing the same shoes. Only we truly understood each other’s hardship and pain.”

“We desperately wanted to make money, to be independent, to carve out a world for ourselves—so we would never again live days of helplessness, grievance, and tears.”

“Wu Nian is two years older than me. When she graduated middle school, I was in my first year. She said she didn’t plan to continue to high school.” Jin Zhao turned to look at Meng Yanxi, her eyes rimmed red, the bright white lights reflecting the sheen of moisture at the bottom of her gaze. “I didn’t stop her. Worse still, I told her: wait for me—two years later, I’ll go with you.”

“At the time, I was very naïve. I read a few motivational chicken-soup essays and thought I was Bill Gates, Jobs, Zuckerberg—that escaping the constraints of school would really give me the freedom I wanted.”

“Have you heard of a very melodramatic plot?” Jin Zhao suddenly asked. “Two people agree to commit suicide together. One goes first. The other sees her struggle and pain and, betraying the promise, regrets it.”