The iron pot, suspended and yet to fall, was right in front of him, bubbling with water, steam rising and forming a white mist that obscured Shen Que’s vision. In a daze, Shen Que saw a purple-brown figure rush in. The oil lamps along the prison corridor were lit, casting a blinding white light on the newcomer. He recognized that person. It was his Prince, his Highness.

It seemed like someone was speaking. The wound on his shoulder was still bleeding, and his limbs were growing colder. So cold. Shen Que curled up slightly, but accidentally tugged at the long nail embedded in his shoulder blade. Whether it was from the cold or the pain, he couldn’t help but shiver.

Suddenly, a fur cloak, warm from body heat, was draped over him, almost wrapping him entirely, filled with the scent of sandalwood. Shen Que seemed to finally find peace, tilting his head slightly before falling into a deep faint.

It was another snowy day. Shen Que’s fever wouldn’t subside. Outside, it was freezing, yet his body was drenched in sweat, soaking his inner clothes. His long black hair hung down, wet and sticking to his sweaty temples. He drifted in and out of dreams, several nightmares intertwining, causing him to curl up in pain.

He once had parents, in a small village not far from the capital. In his memory, there was a courtyard wall made of earthen fences, simple houses, and a bamboo bed that creaked when he lay on it. His father was addicted to alcohol, and when drunk, he would come home and beat him and his mother. He couldn’t remember his father’s face, only that he would always pick up the fire tongs in front of the hall and hit him with them.

While hitting, he would slur, “You little beast with your tongue cut by the heavenly dog, all you know is to eat, just eat! What’s the use of raising you if you can’t even speak a word?”

At first, his mother would always stand in front of him, blocking with red eyes, “Why are you angry with a child? What does he know? If it weren’t for the wrong medicine that year, he would have been a complete child.”

But if she talked back, his father would beat her too, saying she was of bad character, accusing her of not taking good care of the child, sometimes even calling her a whore, saying she flirted with the village doctor, which led to their son being poisoned mute.

“A complete child? He’s clearly a freak neither male nor female,” his father would curse while kicking him, “He should have been drowned in the river to sacrifice to the river god. What’s the use of keeping such a body in the world? Just a laughingstock.”

Shen Que listened to their words, confused, not knowing who was wrong, only feeling that the worst must be the fire tongs in front of the hall. So one day, when the adults weren’t around, he quietly threw away the fire tongs at home.

But later, when his drunken father couldn’t find the tongs, he dragged Shen Que by the hair and slammed him against the wall. After beating him, he would beat his mother too.

Over time, his mother changed as well. When his father beat her, she would vent her anger on him. She called him a mute, a debt collector, saying it was because of him that his father drank every day and did nothing right, and because of him, she was beaten by men every day.

But when his mother said those words, she cried too. Shen Que knew she was aggrieved, with grievances piling up in her heart with nowhere to vent, so she could only blame him.

She probably knew that saying those things was unreasonable, but she was just about to break down.

Finally, one day, his mother sold the only valuable iron pot left at home and bought two packets of arsenic.

That day, she held Shen Que’s hand and went with him. The sun was shining brightly, warm, the wildflowers by the roadside were bright, even the weeds were bright.

Shen Que was in a good mood, holding his mother’s hand, looking around.

By the time they returned from town, Shen Que was so hungry he was seeing stars. He drank a few mouthfuls of water by the water tank, but the more he drank, the hungrier he got. So he pushed open the bedroom door and saw his mother hiding inside, eating something.

He ran over, his dark eyes bright, pointing at his stomach, then at his mouth.

But his mother kicked him away, cursing softly, “Get out.”

Shen Que looked at her, confused. Earlier in town, his mother clearly bought two bags of food, why was she eating alone, not willing to share with him?

He used to pick sweet little fruits, always saving half, wrapping them in leaves to bring back for his mother.

He refused to leave, sitting on the ground by the door, playing with the sand on the floor with his palm.

The room was very quiet, Shen Que’s stomach occasionally growled. He knew his mother could hear it, but she still ignored him, sitting on the bed with a bowl, staring blankly.

After a while, his mother suddenly squatted down, gently touched his face, and softly said to him, “Guan’er, go outside and watch for me. When the sun sets, go find Uncle Biao at the village entrance.”

Her gaze fell, with a bit of love, a bit of gentle affection, and a bit of reluctance, “Just say that mother has been sleeping for a long time, and no matter how you call, she won’t wake up. Ask him to come and see mother, okay?”

Shen Que nodded, confused. At that time, he was still too young to understand what his mother’s words meant.

But as long as it was his mother’s words, he would listen.

He happily held his mother’s fingers with his two dirty little hands, then tucked them into his chest.

He hoped his mother could be this gentle to him every day, even if he had to go hungry.

Perhaps seeing him being obedient, his mother went out of the room, wrapped the few pancakes made before selling the iron pot in cloth, and handed them to Shen Que. It was the last bit of flour left at home, but his mother didn’t eat a single piece.

The sun quickly set. He lay by his mother’s bed, her lips turning blue. He was a bit scared, his heart in a panic, his nose itching, wanting to cry, but he held back.

He couldn’t make a sound, so he could only push his mother’s shoulder again and again.

But his mother didn’t move at all.

Mother had been sleeping for a long time, just like she said, no matter how he called, she wouldn’t wake up. Shen Que was so hungry he didn’t dare eat the pancakes. He had to obediently do what his mother instructed, only then could he eat the pancakes when he returned.

So Shen Que ran out of the house barefoot. The grass shoes his mother made for him had long worn out. His father’s old shoes lay in the hall, but he didn’t dare wear them, afraid of being beaten.

By the time he ran to his cousin’s house at the village entrance, his feet were already cut by something, bleeding.

Uncle Biao’s wife was a kind person. Seeing him run over in such a sorry state, she exclaimed “Oh dear,” and scolded him with some heartache, “Why did you run over without shoes? Where’s your mother?”

As she spoke, she wiped the blood oozing from the wounds on his feet.

This Uncle Biao, like him, was also mute, but he was made mute by medicine, while Uncle Biao was born with the condition. Uncle Biao was also a good person, teaching him a lot of sign language, which he remembered.

He thought about the gestures while slowly conveying his mother’s instructions to Uncle Biao. Hearing his words, Uncle Biao’s face suddenly changed.

Without explaining to his wife, he picked Shen Que up by the waist and hurried to their house.

Uncle Biao’s body was warm, with a bit of earthy smell and sweat, making Shen Que vaguely remember his father. But his father never held him, not even bothering to look at him.

What Shen Que was most familiar with was his father’s fist.

When they got home, Uncle Biao put him outside, only taking his wife inside to check. As soon as the door closed, Shen Que heard a scream from inside, it was his aunt’s voice.

Later, his father also came back. The adults discussed inside, his cousin’s wife whispered, while his father was furious.

At this moment, little Shen Que finally opened the cloth bag to take the pancakes his mother made for him, then ate them bite by bite.

Halfway through eating, his father suddenly kicked the door open, picked up the broom in the yard, and smashed it on him, cursing, “You really are a life-taking bastard, heartless, still only knowing how to eat at this time.”

“Your mother is dead, you killed her! Do you know that?”

Shen Que was beaten to the ground, still reaching for the pancake covered in yellow dirt.

He was too hungry, so hungry his heart was panicking, so hungry his chest hurt.

His father, like a madman, stepped on his hand and ground it hard, “Your mother doesn’t want you anymore. Why didn’t she take you, this debt collector, with her? Throwing you, this burden, to me, how much did she hate me!”

Uncle Biao and his wife held his father back, while his wife picked him up from the ground. He curled up in his aunt’s arms, listening to her comfort him, “Forget it, the pancake is dirty, we don’t want it. Aunt has something good to eat, let’s go to Aunt’s house to eat later.”

Before his aunt’s words fell, Shen Que let out a low whimper.

No crying sound, only tears.

His father didn’t love him, his mother didn’t want him anymore. From then on, he was alone in this world. How was he supposed to live?

Xie Shiguan saw Shen Que cry for the first time. Before, no matter how big the grievance, he would only see his eyes turn red, his dark eyes covered with a layer of mist.

He was curious, using his knuckles to wipe his tears, which were warm, as hot as his body.

With this light touch, Shen Que woke up, breathing low. When he finally came to his senses from the distorted dream, he looked up and saw a face both familiar and strange.

He shrank back slowly, but was held tighter in the lap of the person.

Perhaps because of the continuous high fever making him extremely weak, he almost had no strength to resist, only staring wide-eyed at the person.

Half of his body was resting in Lin Xie’s arms, the tears from the nightmare staining his collar, soaking a small patch.

Shen Que blushed, feeling ashamed, so he struggled again, grabbing his arm and trying to pry it away.

The person, however, looked as if he had suffered a great grievance, with a face full of complaint, “I don’t know who it was just now, crying and calling out in pain, wanting me to hold him. Now that he’s awake, he turns his back on me.”

Shen Que was stunned, looking at him with disbelief. His body was burning, his consciousness hazy, and for a moment, he really thought he had been the one to provoke him first.

But the next moment, he saw the teasing look on Lin Xie’s face, as if he was about to laugh.

Right, he was a mute, how could he possibly cry out in pain in a dream? It must be Lin Xie tricking him again!

Seeing his momentary daze and anger, Lin Xie laughed, “I’m not lying to you. There’s no soft couch in this room. When I came, there was nowhere to sit, so I had to sit by the bed. After sitting for a while, you climbed over, stuck to me, and wouldn’t move.”

Shen Que didn’t believe a word he said, giving him a cold look, then stopped struggling. He looked out through the half-open small window, catching a glimpse of the moonlight, icy cold, falling to the ground with the swirling snowflakes.

He hated the person behind him, but perhaps because he was still sick and had such a dream, he felt that with this person around, his heart felt a little better.