When Tao Xiuping hurried to the Second Affiliated Hospital of the Medical University, the corridor was empty and silent—there was hardly anyone around.

A few warm-hearted neighbors were standing by the door, recounting what had happened to the police. Jiang Hesheng was leaning against the wall, talking to a doctor.

At the end of the corridor, outside the operating room, the young man sat on a cold bench, his elbows resting on his knees, head hanging low, as if he could not hear any sound around him.

The smell of disinfectant filled the air. The hospital’s pale, cold white lights stretched his shadow long and thin, lonely against the floor.

This was the first time Tao Xiuping saw Jiang Qihuai.

Before this, his understanding of him was limited to photographs, the school’s wall of honors, and Tao Zhi’s descriptions.

The youth’s face was pale and cold, his back slightly hunched, dark bangs covering his eyes, casting a dim shadow.

He was an upright and tall young man.

Tao Xiuping looked at him from afar. The anger and anxiety burning in him on the way here—the urge to assign blame—was forcibly pressed down by reason. He suddenly remembered what Tao Zhi had said that night.

Jiang Qihuai indeed had never done anything wrong. Fate was simply like this. Life itself was unequal. While he bore everything, he was also trying hard to escape everything.

He worked harder than anyone else. Tao Zhi was right—his selfishness, to Jiang Qihuai, was a cruel thing.

But people were inherently selfish.

Jiang Hesheng was the first to notice Tao Xiuping. He turned his head and called out, “Uncle Tao.”

Tao Xiuping turned back, forcing himself to stay calm, and asked, “How’s Zhizhi?”

“Most of it’s just superficial wounds. There’s a cut behind her ear that’s a bit deep—it might need a few stitches.” Jiang Hesheng hesitated, then said cautiously, “Please don’t worry. My mom’s inside. She told me to tell you that Zhizhi will be fine.”

Tao Xiuping nodded slowly. He had just opened his mouth when, from the other end of the corridor, Ji Fan came rushing like a gust of wind.

He brushed past Tao Xiuping’s shoulder, hitting him hard, yet seemed not to notice at all, heading straight for the figure at the end of the hall.

Jiang Qihuai lifted his head unknowingly. His light brown eyes were sunken and empty, looking at him blankly, without any expression.

Ji Fan charged in front of him, grabbed his collar, and with his other hand raised high, swung a fierce punch straight at his face.

A dull thud sounded. Jiang Qihuai’s head tilted, half his body following the motion, hitting the bench with a harsh screech before collapsing to the ground.

Ji Fan looked down at him, gasping heavily.

He could not beat Jiang Qihuai.

From the first time they met at the affiliated high school, he had known. He had picked fights with him two or three times, yet had never once landed a clean punch. But when this one finally struck his face, he did not feel the satisfaction he had imagined.

Ji Fan crouched in front of him, his teeth clenched tight as he stared at him. “I know you’ve had it hard. You’re a victim too,” he said in a low voice. “But what did Zhizhi do wrong?”

Jiang Qihuai stayed motionless, head bowed. After a long time, he slowly raised a hand, wiped the blood from the corner of his cracked lips with his thumb, and spoke hoarsely, “I’m sorry.”

Ji Fan’s eyes turned red.

“I know you’re a good person,” he said, voice trembling. “That’s why I never tried to stop you two. When she ran out to find you, I even helped her cover for it with my dad.”

The young man clutched his hair, then suddenly buried his head deep into his knees.

“I thought you could do it. I thought that if it were you, no matter how messed up the situation was, you’d still take good care of her. I trusted you that much—I handed you the treasure our whole family holds in our palms…”

Jiang Qihuai’s Adam’s apple moved. “I’m sorry.”

He knew this wasn’t Jiang Qihuai’s fault.

But there was a fire in his chest, crackling louder and fiercer, and he couldn’t find an outlet to release it.

Clearly, it was he who hadn’t watched her properly. Old Tao had even told him to keep an eye on her for a while.

“Fuck,” Ji Fan cursed under his breath. He drew a deep breath, rubbed his face hard, then lifted his head. “How’s Grandpa?”

Jiang Qihuai raised his head. “He’s fine.”

The old man had always been sturdy. But at his age, his bones were brittle. Falling straight into the snow like that had still caused a small fracture in his forearm.

When Jiang Qihuai entered the ward, Jiang Qinghe had just woken up. A nurse beside him was pulling the blanket over his chest, speaking gently to him: “Your hand’s already like this, and you still want to run around? Just lie down and rest a while. In a bit, when your grandson comes and can’t find you, won’t he be worried sick?”

Jiang Qinghe smiled faintly. “I wanted to see how the little girl who was with me is doing.”

“She’s fine, lively and full of energy,” the nurse reassured him, then turned her head and saw Jiang Qihuai. “Look, your grandson’s here.”

Jiang Qinghe turned his head to look.

The old man’s white hair was disheveled. The spirited, lively elder who usually looked full of energy suddenly seemed to have aged several years in an instant. His lips moved slightly. “A’Huai…”

Jiang Qihuai strode over quickly, stood by the bed, and leaned down to pull the blanket higher for him. “You’re awake? How do you feel, any discomfort?”

“How’s that Tao girl?” Grandpa Jiang asked.

Jiang Qihuai’s fingers, still tucking in the blanket corner, paused. “She’s asleep. She’s fine.”

Grandpa Jiang finally seemed to let out a long breath. His body slumped, muttering, “Good… good, as long as she’s fine…”

“I saw her. She looked at me. I wanted to tell her to leave quickly, not to worry about me,” the old man said with a trembling voice. “But I couldn’t speak. The words wouldn’t come out.”

Jiang Qihuai’s fingers gripped the sheet tighter and tighter.

Jiang Qinghe’s eyes were red as tears fell. “This old life of mine isn’t worth much. But she’s still so young, what if something had happened to her? Grandpa… Grandpa failed to protect someone important to our A’Huai.”

Jiang Qihuai closed his eyes, unable to utter a single word.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When Tao Zhi woke up, it was already deep into the night.

The anesthesia hadn’t completely worn off yet. She could faintly feel a prickling pain, her arm tingling all the way down to her fingertips, refusing to obey her will.

The ward was completely quiet. The lights were off, and only the faint glow from the corridor filtered softly through the square glass.

She lay there for a while in silence, slowly sorting through the scattered, muddled pieces of memory in her head.

Before her consciousness and vision had plunged into complete darkness, Tao Zhi had felt something fall onto her face.

Warm. Scalding.

He had cried.

She stared blankly at the ceiling, her mind empty and dazed. After a moment, she struggled to sit up, turning her head with effort.

Tao Xiuping was sitting by the bed, watching her. He held her hand, his voice heavy with exhaustion and hoarseness. “You’re awake?”

Tao Zhi licked her dry lips. “Dad…”

Ji Fan, curled up on the small sofa at the foot of the bed, woke with a start. He jumped up instantly, took two quick steps forward. “You’re awake? Does anything hurt? Feeling dizzy? Thirsty? Hungry?”

Tao Zhi: “…”

Ji Fan held up a finger in front of her face, watching her nervously. “How many?”

Tao Zhi rolled her eyes, her voice raspy. “I’m not an idiot, lunatic.”

Ji Fan let out a long breath and plopped down by the bed, his whole body relaxing. “Scared the hell out of me.”

Tao Xiuping poured a cup of warm water and handed it to her.

Tao Zhi took it and drank in big gulps, gulp after gulp, finishing the whole cup.

Her throat, dry and burning as if on fire, finally felt some relief. Holding the cup, she looked at Tao Xiuping, about to speak—

“The old man’s fine now,” Tao Xiuping said first, knowing what she wanted to ask. He reached up to smooth her messy hair, his voice soft. “Zhizhi protected him well. Zhizhi was very brave.”

Tao Zhi blinked, and suddenly, very slowly, she felt something like grievance—and fear.

A sixteen-year-old girl, no matter how mischievous she usually was, still got scared.

At that moment when she rushed forward, she had been trembling all over.

She had always thought she was good at fighting, not afraid of pain. Since she was little, she’d fought who knew how many times—but this time was different.

That adult strength and oppressive force was something she could not resist.

Tao Zhi held back the urge to cry and reached her hand toward Tao Xiuping.

Tao Xiuping embraced her.

She buried herself in his arms, against the warmth and breadth of his chest. She had rarely felt a father’s hug. When she was little, she would still throw herself into her father’s arms and act spoiled—but as she grew older, she never did again.

Tao Xiuping stroked her hair.

His child, small and curled up in his embrace, seemed in an instant to have turned back into the little girl from long ago.

A delicate, pretty little bundle of jade and pink, who would shout “Daddy” when she saw him and run over, wanting him to hold her.

When had it started, that their conversations became limited to her calling to tell him what had happened lately, what trouble she had gotten into—and him merely giving objective judgments about whether she was right or wrong.

Back then, she must have felt very sad.

While growing up, she had already heard too much about reason, about right and wrong. All she wanted was a single sentence of comfort she could cling to.