10

When Lu Zhiyao was a child, he was abandoned by his mother and left to wander the streets for half a year before he met his master, who finally gave him a full meal.

The original novel never went into much detail about Lu Zhiyao’s background, but in Li Ruoshui’s imagination, his mother had always been the archetype of a cruel, heartless woman—someone who married into wealth and kicked her disabled son to the curb.

She had imagined a sharp-tongued woman, decked out in gold and jewels, mocking her own child with cold sarcasm. Certainly not this light-footed, soft-voiced woman with the air of a young maiden.

Aside from her beauty, she shared absolutely nothing with Li Ruoshui’s expectations.

With bright eyes, perfect teeth, and a smile as radiant as spring, she was an undeniable beauty. She even shared six or seven points of resemblance with Lu Zhiyao. Her smile was not as gentle as his, but it carried a kind of innocent charm he lacked.

Bai Qingqing took some time to navigate around the cluttered flowerpots and placed the food box down in front of little Lu Zhiyao. The purple sandalwood beads on her wrist jingled softly.

She looked at him carefully, then took his hand in hers. Her cheerful expression quickly faded, replaced with a faint frown and a hint of urgency in her voice.

“Ah Chu, where’s the prayer bead bracelet I gave you? Why isn’t it here?”

Only then did Li Ruoshui realize that his childhood name was Ah Chu. It sounded more like a girl’s name, honestly.

Little Lu Zhiyao pointed toward Li Ruoshui’s direction, his voice clear and crisp.

“Over there, I think.”

Bai Qingqing followed his gesture and saw the white prayer beads. Instantly, her bright smile returned, as innocent and cheerful as before.

“Mommy thought you threw it away!”

Watching her face change so quickly, Li Ruoshui couldn’t help but be struck by the resemblance—yep, definitely mother and son. That sudden shift in expression? Exactly like Lu Zhiyao.

Bai Qingqing opened the food box and carefully laid out the dishes on the table. Then she circled around the flowerpots to pick up the prayer beads, muttering as she walked.

“This was blessed by a monk—it’s meant to keep our family together and bring your father back to us.”

Little Lu Zhiyao didn’t respond. He simply fumbled around until he found a steamed bun and started chewing on it.

Li Ruoshui leaned closer to see what was inside the food box—and immediately choked. A kid around five or six, and all he had in front of him were a steamed bun and some plain greens. Not even a shred of meat or anything flavorful.

And yet little Lu Zhiyao was eating happily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Isn’t this child abuse???

Bai Qingqing was absolutely not some kind-hearted mother. She was exactly the cold, calculating woman Li Ruoshui had imagined. She nearly got fooled by her pretty face!

Li Ruoshui turned her head and saw Bai Qingqing finally reach the rose bush. She lifted her skirt delicately as she bent down, that faint smile still resting on her lips.

It looked like the serene scene of a young girl leaning in to smell flowers under the sunlight.

But then, that “gentle” girl grabbed the thorny stem without hesitation and snapped it in half—tossing the broken stem to the ground without a second thought.

The pink rose was tossed to the ground, scattering dewdrops like a spray of fallen tears. A butterfly, just moments ago sipping nectar, fluttered away, startled.

The once-tender rose lay crushed on the stone path, its delicate petals trampled underfoot and smeared into a wilted, bruised red against the pale white slabs.

“Ah Chu, this bracelet—your mother prayed for it, for your father’s sake.”

Bai Qingqing slipped the prayer beads back onto his wrist. Her words, once about the whole family, were now narrowed down to just his father.

She sat on the stone bench, resting her chin on her hand as she watched little Lu Zhiyao eat, her eyes full of fondness.

“You eat just like your father. You’ve only met him a few times, and yet—blood ties really are a mysterious thing.”

Little Lu Zhiyao still didn’t respond, as if used to her talking to herself.

“If only he and I shared a connection like that too…”

Li Ruoshui widened her eyes at that line—she had never heard of anyone who wanted to become someone else’s mother just to feel close to a man.

So his mother had a few loose screws too.

Apparently worn out by her rambling, little Lu Zhiyao let out a soft sigh, licked the bun crumbs from his fingers, and flashed her a perfunctory smile in reply.

“I see.”

Bai Qingqing continued to stare at him. The longer she looked, the more dazed—and infatuated—she became.

“Ah Chu, you’re growing more and more like your father… but he still left us.”

“If only he had gone blind too. Then he would have had no choice but to rely on me.”

“Ah Chu, remember how I always said I wanted to pierce your father’s ears? But now that he’s gone… why not do it for you instead?”

Lost in some twisted fantasy, Bai Qingqing cupped her blushing cheeks in both hands. Her expression, dreamy and lovestruck, was that of a young girl in love. The way she gazed at Lu Zhiyao burned with unsettling intensity.

Help. She’s unhinged!

To Li Ruoshui, the shock of this scene rivaled the moment Lu Zhiyao once dragged her into a pit. Her mind blanked.

So that was it. Bai Qingqing didn’t just treat her son as her child—she treated him like a stand-in for his father. And he was still just a boy.

His father had run away. His mother, a delusional obsessive, had turned him into a substitute and trapped him inside this tiny courtyard.

Li Ruoshui suddenly understood Lu Zhiyao’s personality. With a background this twisted, how could anyone come out of it normal?

But little Lu Zhiyao behaved like he was used to it all. His expression remained calm. After finishing two steamed buns, he didn’t touch the plate of greens. Instead, he looked up at the sky—silent, motionless.

His quietness stirred something complicated in Li Ruoshui’s heart.

Bai Qingqing leaned over to adjust the ill-fitting white robe on him, her gaze distant. But it was clear she wasn’t seeing him anymore.

“This white robe suits you just as well as it always has. When you threw it away, I thought you didn’t like it.”

Lu Zhiyao didn’t spare her a glance. He seemed lost in thought—or perhaps simply tuning her out.

Either way, Li Ruoshui saw it written all over his face: boredom.

Bai Qingqing stayed lost in her fantasy for a while before her expression suddenly softened, shifting into something almost motherly. She reached out and cupped Lu Zhiyao’s small face, the sandalwood beads on her wrist clinking softly together.

“Didn’t we agree on the ear piercing? Are you ready, Ah Chu?”

Only then did Lu Zhiyao react slightly. His misty eyes turned toward her. He nodded with indifference.

“Do you know why I love you?” Bai Qingqing asked sweetly. “Because you’re so obedient. No matter how much I love you, you’ll never leave me.”

She opened the food box and pulled out a silver needle and a jar of medicinal wine—already prepared in advance.

Lu Zhiyao didn’t flinch. His clouded eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused.

Bai Qingqing dropped the needle into the wine and stirred it gently, smiling as if she were simply packing for a picnic.

“Your father sent word a few days ago. It seems… he’s married.”

The wine was slightly murky. As the silver needle twirled inside, it ground the few medicinal herbs into a fine sediment—her smile, all the while, light and innocent.

“But I can’t really blame him. Didn’t I remarry too, with you in tow? He’s probably still mad at me, isn’t he?”

A breeze stirred the narrow courtyard. The crushed flower petals stuck to the stone tiles like stubborn bloodstains. The scent of flowers lingered faintly in the air—but stronger was the pungent aroma of alcohol.

But Lu Zhiyao didn’t notice.

He was only wondering—just how big was this courtyard, really? He had walked its length so many times, yet never found the gate.

“Are you mad at me too? Is it because I remarried?”

Bai Qingqing flicked the medicinal wine to the side. The porcelain bottle wobbled on the table, rolling in two small circles before finally steadying itself. Inside, the silver needles clinked against the bottle’s neck—a clear, delicate sound, oddly pleasing.

He was nearly entranced by the sound.

Still getting no response from the one she loved, Bai Qingqing stepped forward and grabbed his arm. She smiled innocently, but tears welled in her eyes—a mix of pleading and something slightly unhinged.

“Why won’t you answer me? Is it because I remarried? Are you jealous? Is that why you married someone else, just to spite me?” Her voice trembled. “Our little Ah Chu is blind—he needs you. Why won’t you come back?”

Little Lu Zhiyao turned his head toward her, though his eyes remained unfocused. In them was only the soft haze of Jiangnan rain—a gentle mist, veiling the sky’s light that tried to break through.

“Mother,” he said quietly, “are we still piercing my ears?”

Bai Qingqing instantly lit up, cupping his cheeks with trembling hands. Her voice went soft and quivering, filled with restrained emotion.

“Not now. Don’t say anything else. Just tell me you’re jealous. Say you’re jealous I remarried.”

His tiny face was twisted in her grip, soft red lips nearly pulled to the side of his cheek. His dark pupils couldn’t settle, like the eyes of a puppet being manipulated at will.

Li Ruoshui, even as an adult, was frightened by the scene. Lu Zhiyao was only five or six—how could he not be terrified?

She tried to pull Bai Qingqing’s hands away, but they passed right through—leaving her helpless.

Tears now streamed freely down Bai Qingqing’s face. She looked heartbreakingly fragile, yet her words dripped with venom.

“I took medicine to keep you by my side. That’s why Ah Chu was born blind. But you left anyway, without a shred of pity. You’re so cruel. And now—now you’re jealous, aren’t you? Tell me, you are jealous!”

Li Ruoshui stared at Lu Zhiyao, stunned. Her heart ached.

Neither of his parents had truly wanted him. Even his blindness was the result of his mother’s own hand.

“I see…”

Lu Zhiyao’s lips lifted into a soft smile, but the expression was distorted, pulled tight by her grip. He looked like a fragile ghost blossom blooming in the night—silent, unaware of how easily it could be broken.

Then came his voice, high and clear, naturally tinged with childish innocence:

“I’m jealous. I’m jealous you married someone else.”

It took effort for him to speak the words, but once he did, Bai Qingqing seemed to switch tracks entirely, as if a switch had been flipped. Her tears stopped. She wiped her cheeks and tapped his nose lovingly, wearing the giddy smile of a girl in love.

“Of course you’re jealous,” she said softly. “But don’t be upset. I only remarried because that man looked a bit like you. It’s just… I love you too much. I miss you so badly, it’s driven me a little mad.”

Lu Zhiyao let out a soft laugh, as if he’d just heard a joke. Then he asked, “Mother, are we still doing the ear piercing?”

“Of course.”

Bai Qingqing picked up the medicine bottle again. Her cheeks were still streaked with tears, but she began to hum a lullaby, her voice thick with emotion and nasal from crying.

She took out a silver needle soaked in medicinal wine, eyes curved like crescent moons, and leaned forward to pinch his earlobe.

The needle went in without hesitation.

Bright red droplets, like tiny scarlet beans, slipped down from his earlobe and scattered across her white robe like falling plum blossoms.

“Look,” she said cheerfully, “I searched everywhere for these ear sticks—they’re made from the bones of white-feathered chickens. Aren’t they beautiful?”

Both ears now pierced, Bai Qingqing held up the small white ear sticks and waved them in front of his face, her eyes crinkling with pride, her tone practically begging for praise.

She seemed to forget that her child couldn’t see a thing.

All that excitement, all that joy—yet Lu Zhiyao’s eyes remained blank, and still she gently inserted the sticks into his bleeding ears, red droplets still forming like seeds along the torn skin.

Outside, the cicadas screamed relentlessly, as if summer would never end.

Li Ruoshui waited for a cry of pain, but none came.

Lu Zhiyao simply stared into the distance, his gaze unfocused and hollow. Wherever he looked, it was the same—an endless stretch of nothingness.

=^_^=