With that, he waved goodbye to his only companion—along with the life that had been consumed by flames.
That year, he was eleven—two-thirds of his current height—brimming with excitement, ready to conquer this brand-new world. Yet, days of travel and exposure to the cold prevented him from even taking his first step. He collapsed.
His companion gasped and leaped off the bus’s cargo hold, running over to support him. But Li Xuan insisted, “Go.”
By then, the chance to leave had already passed.
He had rarely been this sick before. Li Xuan had always been in good health, like a tree growing in barren soil, able to survive on just a drop of water. But now his eyes were bloodshot, his legs weak, yet his mind only grew clearer as the fever burned on.
“You should go. I don’t need medicine or a hospital.”
Forcing his eyes open, he calmly analyzed the situation with Zhao Jizhe. “We already agreed—I’d take you out of the orphanage, then you’d go do your thing, and I’d do mine… It’s just a cold. Even without medicine, I’ll be fine in a week… You should head west. I heard there are many nice, livable small cities over there. You like places like that, don’t you? Go back to the drop-off point and ask the driver if he knows anyone delivering goods westward. If someone’s willing to help, great… If not, how much money do you have left? You’ll find someone who’ll take you… Go far away. Forget everything about the orphanage—including me.”
“Nineteen, I’m not leaving…” Zhao Jizhe shook his head desperately.
“I told you to go. Stop acting like you’re in some tragic drama.” Li Xuan shoved his hand away. “You don’t like school? Then learn a trade. Aren’t you good at picking locks? Find a locksmith to take you in. If one won’t teach you, find ten, find a hundred. You barely eat anything—someone will take you in eventually.”
Zhao Jizhe started crying in panic. He thought Li Xuan must have been delirious from the fever. “I only learned how to pick locks because they kept locking you in solitary… I had to bring you food. That’s not a trade… I’m not leaving. I’m your older brother—I have to take care of you. Stop talking, Nineteen. Your voice is hoarse, I’m scared, you might—”
He didn’t dare say the last word.
Li Xuan rasped, “I’m not going to die! As long as you want to live, you won’t die!”
“Ugh, this kid is so stubborn.” The woman who had come to collect payment knocked on the wall, watching the scene like it was entertainment. “Enough with the drama. Time to pay up. We’re just a small clinic—we don’t do credit. Even kids have to pay. Hurry up.”
“I’m not staying here. I don’t need medicine.” Li Xuan tried to pull out the IV, sounding fierce but barely audible.
“You can leave after paying up. You’re burning up so badly you’re about to get pneumonia, still acting tough? Fine, then make sure you die far away, not at my doorstep.” The woman hummed a tune as she walked away, her high heels tapping sharply against the floor.
“It’s okay, Nineteen.” Zhao Jizhe held his hand down firmly. “You need medicine. You’ll get better soon. We have money—we can buy your medicine.”
They had only five hundred yuan between them, all in small, crumpled bills. Li Xuan drifted in and out of consciousness, feverish and exhausted. By the time he left that shabby clinic, eleven days had passed. The money should never have been enough, but Zhao Jizhe had somehow paid the medical bills.
“Where did the money for the treatment come from back then?”
“I picked it up.”
Zhao Jizhe still gave the same answer as before. He rubbed his eyes and looked across the street at the now desolate food stalls. “I remember now… this place sold food too.”
But it was nothing like before. Back then, the stalls catered to truck drivers, selling simple boxed meals. The makeshift tables and chairs were always greasy. The pushcarts weren’t decorated with colorful stickers, and the variety of food wasn’t nearly as rich.
At the very end of the row, a stall now selling oden had a koi fish flag fluttering in the wind. It used to be a wonton stand. The only thing unchanged was the rising white steam—something that would remain the same no matter how many years passed
On the day Li Xuan was finally well enough to leave the clinic, Zhao Jizhe used the last of his “picked up” money to buy him a bowl of wonton soup.
“I already ate. You have it. You need to recover.” Zhao Jizhe said, just like he used to say when he gave Li Xuan his milk in the orphanage.
Later, Li Xuan also learned how to “pick up money.”
Like a cycle they could never break free from, he used “picked-up” money to, in turn, save Zhao Jizhe’s life.
“You should leave. You came from here—you might as well leave from here.”
The waiter brought out the appetizer and, overhearing this, cast a curious glance between them. But when his eyes met Li Xuan’s cold gaze, he quickly looked away.
Perhaps it was because Li Xuan was behaving so strangely today, Zhao Jizhe, already suspecting something, did not react as dramatically as he usually would. He sat there in silence, his thin face trembling slightly.
After a long pause, he finally said, “That’s not what you said last time.”
“I regret it,” Li Xuan answered calmly.
The word was so unfamiliar to him that Zhao Jizhe took a long time before he could speak. “Why?”
“No reason.”
“I don’t know what I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Li Xuan let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m just scared.”
“You… scared?” Zhao Jizhe stared at him in disbelief, wondering if he had misheard.
“Yeah, I’m scared.”
Li Xuan’s expression and tone were light, as if he could have simply built a wall in front of Zhao Jizhe to stop him. But throwing a stone carelessly—what if the falling bricks and tiles shatter the fragile porcelain?
He pulled out the tracker and gently slid it across the table toward Zhao Jizhe. The moment Zhao Jizhe saw it, his expression changed drastically.
“Nineteen, I… I, I didn’t…” He panicked, reaching for it, but as if it were a burning coal, he fumbled and dropped it in a fluster.
“You did. It just didn’t work,” Li Xuan said calmly.
“You knew all along.” A flash of resentment crossed Zhao Jizhe’s face before he slumped back down. “You were watching me make a fool of myself…”
Li Xuan neither confirmed nor denied it. Zhao Jizhe struggled to say, “Nineteen, I’ll change. I…”
“You were just worried about me, right?” Li Xuan picked up a piece of chicory with his chopsticks, stating it plainly. “But you won’t change. You can’t. You can’t control yourself, and you can’t predict what you’ll do next. You have to leave.”
“Go where?”
“Out of N City. Anywhere you want.”
“Become a locksmith?” Zhao Jizhe still remembered that childhood joke. “I even taught you, remember? Now that no one locks you up anymore, have you still picked any locks?”
“I have.” Li Xuan recalled that bizarre, desperate yet incredibly lucky night, standing before the security door of Sheng Min’s home with Sheng Min, who hesitated and whispered, “Did you forget the keys?” His expression softened for a moment as he looked at Zhao Jizhe, but his gaze sharpened again.
“When I was locked up, I had a cellmate who was in for burglary—he could pick any lock. One year, for some reason, the prison even held a contest. Of course, the thieves had the advantage. First place got a month off their sentence,” Zhao Jizhe muttered. “I wanted to shorten my sentence too, so I could get out sooner… Nineteen, if only you didn’t have all this now, we could still be like before…”
“Impossible.” Li Xuan cut him off mercilessly. “No matter when you got out, you still have to leave. I need a normal life. And if you leave me, you might finally have one too. Stop walking into traps like a moth to a flame. After all these years, have you learned nothing?”
“I’m not leaving.”
Li Xuan leaned in slightly, staring at him. “Zhao Jizhe, you should know by now—I’m not out of options. I’ve just given you too many chances. Since I’m saying this today, it means you’ve already crossed my bottom line. You can’t stay here anymore.”
“I’m not leaving,” Zhao Jizhe insisted, just like back then.
“It’s not up to you.” But Li Xuan was no longer the boy from back then. He stood up, lowered his eyes slightly, and looked down at him. “We are not family. I don’t mind making you my enemy.”
He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and pulled out a card, holding it between his fingers, casually flashing a number. “This money—I’m spending it tonight. Either you take it and leave on your own… or I’ll have someone take it and send you away. You already tried the second option last time. I doubt you want to go through that again.”
The waiter carrying their dishes hesitated mid-step, alarmed by the conversation, unsure whether to approach.
“Nineteen…” That suffocating feeling gripped Zhao Jizhe’s throat again. He swallowed hard, his mind flashing back to the white platform piled with hospital waste.
“You’ve been in Qingshui Alley for years. You’ve done time. You should know the rules better than I do,” Li Xuan toyed with the card absentmindedly. “You’re not worth this much money, but I like to keep things clean.”
