Chapter 3: It doesn’t look good
As soon as Cheng Ye left, only Jiang Shi and Jiang Xue remained in the room.
The wind whistled against the door that hadn’t been shut tightly, while the charcoal beside them crackled softly. Neither of them spoke.
In the end, it was Jiang Xue who broke the silence with a sigh. She pulled over a chair and sat down in front of Jiang Shi. Her gaze swept over his foot as she asked, “Does it hurt?”
Jiang Shi instinctively pulled his rolled-up pant leg back down, tightly covering his swollen ankle.
“It doesn’t hurt, it just looks scary.”
The room fell quiet again. Jiang Shi’s fingers kept picking at the seam of his pants.
So awkward. Someone please save him.
Crackle—
The sound of the charcoal popping broke the silence again, and Jiang Xue finally spoke.
Jiang Shi didn’t understand the local dialect, so she tried speaking to him in Mandarin. But since she had never gone to school and never properly learned Mandarin, her words came out thick with an accent, her tone sounding a little strange.
“I know you haven’t been happy these past two days. To be honest, anyone in your situation wouldn’t be. Clearly, the ones who made the mistake were us, yet in the end, you’re the one forced to bear the consequences.”
“If there’s anything you’re unhappy about, you can tell me. If you really can’t get used to staying here and want to leave, you can say that too. But don’t risk your own safety as a joke. There’s no one in those mountains—only stray dogs, maybe even wolves. If you hadn’t run into Cheng Ye today, what would you have done if something had happened?”
Jiang Shi kept worrying at the seam of his pants, his fingertips rubbed red against the denim.
Most of the time, he only ever faced people approaching him with motives—whether it was out of dislike or to gain something, it was always wrapped in a false layer of politeness. So he had long gotten used to using sharp barbs to peel away that pretense.
But this kind of raw, genuine kindness from Jiang Xue was something he had never encountered before.
No one had ever taught Jiang Shi how to respond to it.
For once, he actually felt as though he’d done something wrong. His head dipped slightly as he murmured, “Sorry.”
He lowered his head, and the light traced a stretch of pale skin along the back of his neck. A few brown strands of hair slid softly against his cheek, while several specks of mud dotted his black clothes.
The imposing air he had when they first met was gone; now he was dripping wet and covered in dirt.
Jiang Xue’s heart softened even more. She wanted to reach out and ruffle his hair, but when she thought about the fragile bond between them right now, she held back.
“Then can you tell Mom what you went into town for?”
Jiang Shi shifted in his seat, the chair creaking under him. He propped his right leg on a small stool, rolled up his sleeve, and showed Jiang Xue the dense clusters of red rashes on his arm.
“Allergic reaction. I went to buy medicine.”
…
The first time Jiang Xue saw Jiang Shi’s photo, she could hardly believe she had given birth to such a beautiful son.
But his features were strikingly similar to hers and to her late husband’s, as if he had inherited the best of both. If the three of them had stood together, others would have marveled at his looks, but no one would have doubted he was her biological child.
She had first met Jiang Shi in bustling Jiangcheng. After nearly two days on a hard green train, she got off to meet him, her clothes wrinkled and her whole self disheveled.
The seventeen- or eighteen-year-old boy had been waiting for her at a restaurant. It was freezing outside, but inside it was warm as summer. He wore a plain white shirt and black pants—simple as could be. From afar, he looked like a pure white magnolia blooming quietly in the dead of winter.
But magnolias were meant to hang high on the branches, carefully tended—not to follow her, stepping down from the clouds into the swamp.
She felt guilty toward Song Jian’an, and guilty toward Jiang Shi as well.
It was her incompetence that had made Song Jian’an suffer alongside her for over ten years, and now, after Jiang Shi had lived in comfort for just as long, she was dragging him back to share her hardships too.
Compared to never having something, gaining it and then losing it was the hardest to bear.
But she couldn’t blame anyone else—only herself, for not watching over her child properly back then.
And now, the son she had finally managed to bring back into her life, after just a few days under her roof, was already covered in rashes.
Jiang Xue’s eyes reddened instantly.
She didn’t have the gentle, graceful air that Jiang Shi had always associated with women. Instead, she carried a blunt fierceness, the kind born of the countryside. One moment her eyes were brimming with tears, the next she smacked Jiang Shi hard on the head.
“You blockhead! You’re sick and you don’t even tell your mother?!”
Jiang Shi’s head jerked to the side from the blow, his vision momentarily going dark. By the time he recovered, Jiang Xue had already picked up the kettle and was fetching water to boil for his medicine.
She was barely over one and a half meters tall, and she looked thin, but her strength was considerable. Her movements were quick and brash—pushing open the door, lifting the heavy wooden lid off the water vat with one hand, bending down to scoop water.
A cold wind rushed in from outside. Sitting inside the shabby room, Jiang Shi let out an inexplicable laugh.
—
Cheng Ye woke very early, even before the roosters in the yard began to crow.
He didn’t turn on the light. Instead, he fumbled in the dark for a lighter and lit the kerosene lamp on the cabinet beside him.
A faint glow leapt from the thin wick, the flame swaying and casting light across his face.
He held the lamp up as he stepped out of the room. The main hall was empty. Only a pair of white-backed couplets with curling edges still clung to the wall and doorway, while strips of colorful talisman paper dangled from the lintel, and the air still seemed to carry a faint trace of incense ash.
Cheng Ye passed through the hall into the outer kitchen.
By the glow of the kerosene lamp, he began to build a fire, then boiled water to wash up.
The basin was an old enamel one, its years of use impossible to count. It rested on a wooden frame, above which hung a mirror with half of it broken away.
Cheng Ye roughly wiped his face, then looked at that half-broken mirror. Bending down in the flickering firelight, he pushed back his slightly long hair, revealing a pair of narrow, jet-black eyes.
Behind his ear, it seemed there was still the faint warmth of a boy’s breath lingering there, carrying with it a trace of some nameless fragrance.
Even the way he spoke—the timbre was cool and detached, yet his words always ended with a slight upward lilt, giving that coldness an unexpected hint of charm.
Cheng Ye touched the spot behind his ear, then set down the towel and began rummaging through the boxes and cabinets.
—
Jiang Shi was woken up by the crowing of roosters and the barking of dogs.
It was February, the weather still bitterly cold. He had no intention of getting up and could only pull the quilt over his head in powerless fury.
Three minutes later, Jiang Shi was utterly defeated by the chorus of roosters outside Jiang Xue’s courtyard door.
He was awake, but he refused to get out of bed. Instead, he stretched one hand out from under the covers to grope for his phone by the pillow, planning to play a few rounds of Sokoban before getting up.
Back then, QQ had only just come out. Jiang Shi had money, so he never cared how much data it cost—he’d just leave his phone logged in day and night to level up his account.
During his stay in Xiliu Village, he hadn’t been in the mood for games and had naturally forgotten to turn the data off.
Looking at the familiar app, Jiang Shi hesitated for a moment before tapping in.
There were dozens of messages inside: some people nosily probing into his situation with Song Jian’an under the guise of concern, others mocking him with thinly veiled sarcasm. The only one who had sent over a dozen messages was Zhang Chi.
Afraid of touching on Jiang Shi’s sore spot, Zhang Chi didn’t dare call. Instead, he had been secretly spamming Jiang Shi with motivational quotes on QQ.
Jiang Shi couldn’t help feeling exasperated as he typed back:
[Your father’s fine—eating well, sleeping well, neither dead nor crippled.]
He ignored the rest of the sneering messages. Just as he was about to exit, he noticed his contacts list had a new notification: +1.
Clicking in, he saw a new friend request. Just three characters:
Song Jian’an.
The child who had been switched with him—the true son of the Song family.
Jiang Shi stared at that name with a blank expression for a few seconds before finally clicking “accept.”
Two minutes later, a message came through.
Song Jian’an: [Hello.]
Jiang Shi thought, Well, at least he’s polite.
He didn’t know what the other party wanted, so he simply replied with a [Hello] as well.
Song Jian’an: [Did you look at the things my mom left for you?]
Jiang Shi slowly typed back: [?]
Song Jian’an: [You didn’t see them? She must have been too busy and forgot. Remind her about it later.]
Before Jiang Shi could respond, more messages started pouring in.
Song Jian’an: [School starts on the 26th at No.1 High. I made a list of the winter homework, I’ll send it to you later. Even though you just transferred over and don’t technically need to do the winter homework, “learning without thinking is useless, thinking without learning is dangerous.” There are still ten days left—I believe you can finish it in time.]
Jiang Shi: [……]
Song Jian’an: [I looked into Jiangcheng No.3 High. The academic atmosphere is decent, and the resources are even better than at No.1 High, but the teaching materials are completely different.]
Song Jian’an: [I’ll organize the textbooks and lesson progress for No.1 High and send them to you. In return, I hope you can also organize Jiangcheng No.3 High’s materials for me. That way, it’ll help both of us adjust to our new learning environments.]
Jiang Shi reread the messages several times, until his eyes practically went dark.
What exactly did this guy want from him?
Song Jian’an waited a long time without getting a reply. Finally, he couldn’t help nudging Jiang Shi again.
Song Jian’an: [What’s wrong? Is this very difficult for you? I know study materials are very private—it must be hard for you to share something so personal. But I promise you, I’ll never leak them to anyone.]
Song Jian’an: [The things mom—well, your mom—was supposed to pass on to you are treasures I’ve carefully kept over the years. I heard your grades are pretty good. If you go through them, I’m sure you’ll be able to keep up once you enter No.1 High.]
[……]
Jiang Shi typed: [Who told you my grades are pretty good?]
There was a pause on the other end.
Song Jian’an: [Huh? Aren’t they?]
Jiang Shi’s face stayed blank.
Song Jian’an: [It’s fine. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask me. I’m ranked second in my grade.]
Jiang Shi had only met Song Jian’an once. The situation had been chaotic, and so had his mood, so he hadn’t had the chance to get a real impression of what kind of person the other was. The only faint memory he had was of a boy with a dark complexion and delicate features, sitting silently across from him, clutching a vocabulary book as he memorized words.
Back then, Jiang Shi had thought the guy was just putting on a show. But looking at him now, he seemed completely genuine—exactly as he appeared.
Everything Song Jian’an said, every word he typed, was steeped in an earnest hunger for knowledge. He even seemed to suspect Jiang Shi was deliberately hoarding valuable study materials, which was why he wouldn’t share Jiangcheng No.3 High’s progress with him.
But Jiang Shi was the furthest thing from a top student. He didn’t know a damn thing about study “priorities” or “progress.” After skimming through all those messages, he couldn’t help but ask:
[Don’t you hate me?]
This time, it was Song Jian’an’s turn to reply with a puzzled: [?]
Song Jian’an: [Why would I hate you?]
Jiang Shi: [If the switch hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have had to suffer so much.]
Song Jian’an: [It was just an accident. No one did it on purpose—so why blame you? Besides, when I was in Xiliu Village I could study in peace. Now that I’m in Jiangcheng, I have to go out with them all the time, meet people, attend all sorts of pointless banquets. It’s cutting down on my study time a lot.]
Song Jian’an: [No wonder your grades are bad.]
Jiang Shi: [……]
…Unnecessary. Really.
When Song Jian’an questioned him for what felt like the hundredth time about whether he was hiding study materials, Jiang Shi finally grew a headache and shoved Zhang Chi’s contact information at him.
Jiang Shi: [His grades are decent. Ask him for it.]
After a moment’s thought, he added:
Jiang Shi: [When you get over there, if there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask him. And if anyone b*llies you, you can also go to him.]
And so, Jiang Shi’s very first exchange with the real young master ended in an oddly solemn academic discussion.
…
The lighting in the wooden house was poor. Even when the sun outside was bright, inside only a thin shaft of pale light slipped in across the window ledge.
Jiang Shi set down his phone and stared at that faint white beam for a while. Sleepiness surged back over him.
Just before his eyes closed, a thought popped into his head—
If Song Jian’an worked that hard and still only placed second in his grade… then who was first?
—
Cheng Ye’s timing was precise. By the time he arrived, Jiang Xue was just about to head out.
The morning fog was thick, with a fine drizzle in the air. Jiang Xue had slung a back basket over her shoulders and was about to lead the ox to plow the fields when Cheng Ye came up the side path.
In his hand, he carried a chicken. It had already been slaughtered and plucked, but its insides hadn’t been cleaned out yet.
Seeing Jiang Xue, he stopped where he was and greeted her. “Aunt Jiang.”
At the sound of his voice, Jiang Xue turned. First she was startled to see his suddenly shortened hair, then her eyes fell to the chicken in his hand.
“Hey! No, I asked you to come eat, not to bring food. What are you doing showing up with a chicken?”
Cheng Ye said, “It was the last one at home. No use keeping it.”
That slender ankle had haunted his dreams all night—something he could circle with just one hand. Far too thin. He needed nourishment.
Jiang Xue shot him a glare. “Take it back, quick. It’s not like my family doesn’t have chickens.”
Cheng Ye stayed silent.
He had always been like that—cold-tempered since childhood, never saying much. Even after going through such a huge upheaval, he only ever bore it all quietly on his own.
Jiang Xue had only asked him to come eat because she felt sorry for him being alone. She hadn’t expected him to turn up carrying a chicken.
Afraid of pressing further and touching on painful memories, she had no choice but to accept it. “There are sweet potatoes and steamed buns on the stove—go take some to eat. Jiang Shi’s still asleep. Call him later and have him put on the herbal poultice.”
Jiang Xue muttered on, “That stubborn child’s broken out in allergies. I even changed his bedding in the middle of the night. Don’t know if he’s any better today.”
Cheng Ye lifted his eyelids slightly.
Jiang Xue looked at him and laughed. “I have to say, I’m not quite used to seeing you with short hair.”
With his hair no longer covering his face, Cheng Ye’s sharp features were fully revealed—deep-set brows, eyes so dark they seemed to hold a brooding weight whenever he looked at someone.
“Did you cut it yourself?” Jiang Xue asked.
Cheng Ye gave a quiet “Mm.”
“No wonder—it’s all uneven. What made you suddenly decide to cut it?”
Once again, in his ears came the memory of soft, warm breaths—the exhale brushing against the back of his neck, skimming past his ear, then resting on his shoulder.
‘You’re pretty emo.’
“It doesn’t look good,” Cheng Ye said.