Chapter Fifty-Seven: I Have Also Known Despair

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The Children's Day performance at Hope Elementary School had come to an end. After exchanging a few warm words with the enthusiastic school leaders and leaving his contact information, Yang Qing departed with Tan Jiner and the three women, taking the little ones with them.

"Ke'er, thank you so much for today. I’m sorry to have troubled you to come all this way," Yang Qing said, cradling the drowsy Dong'er in his arms as he smiled at Wang Ke'er, who was walking beside him.

"Oh, that's too polite, Brother Qing," Wang Ke'er replied with a playful wink. "I’m also a member of our 'Seasons of Flavor,' you know."

As she spoke, her gaze drifted to the group of children ahead, holding hands and skipping merrily. With a touch of envy in her voice, she said, "Chuner and the others are lucky to have a big brother like you. Sometimes, I wish I had a brother who could shield me from life's storms. But, alas..."

Yang Qing responded with a gentle smile, turning to her with earnest eyes. "Love is always mutual. You've only seen me fending off the storms for them, but you haven't noticed how, in their own way, they are sheltering the storms within my heart as well."

The storms within the heart...

Wang Ke'er was taken aback, her gaze trembling as she looked at him. "Brother Qing, you..."

He gave a self-deprecating chuckle, his voice soft. "I'm no saint. How could I be so selfless?"

Looking ahead at the laughing children, his eyes filled with both tenderness and guilt. "I’ve been through despair. I've thought of giving up, even considered leaving quietly, alone and unnoticed."

"Heh, what is life? Life is firewood, rice, oil, salt—it’s the daily grind of eating, drinking, and living. Life has never been idealized. Being born is easy, but living is difficult."

A shadow of painful memory flitted across his eyes; a bitter smile crept onto his lips. "Can you imagine a child, only thirteen years old, fighting stray dogs for scraps just to survive, his body covered with wounds, all for a single bite of food?"

"Back then, his world was shrouded in darkness, never a glimmer of light. He never looked forward to tomorrow. He lived simply, so simply that all he wanted was a full meal, even if the next moment meant death."

"Hunger is the original sin. It gnaws at the stomach, the body, and even more so, the soul. He had known warmth once, only to have it mercilessly taken away. After that, he stopped hoping."

As Yang Qing spoke, Wang Ke'er listened, her heart aching for the man beside her. Her voice caught as she asked, "But… wasn’t there an orphanage?"

"An orphanage… ha," Yang Qing's lips curled with stubbornness. "If you had once had warmth, if you’d had a home where someone gave you food, tucked you in, and played with you… could you bear to leave?"

"Of course not. But that’s life. When your very existence depends on the charity or pity of others, all your efforts and struggles are nothing but a joke to those in power."

"Merchants chase profit. How many people can resist the test of their conscience in the face of money, let alone for a group of orphans to whom they have no blood ties? And they feel no guilt, for they believe they’ve arranged the best possible outcome for these children. But to him, it meant losing his home."

"So, stubborn and proud, he ran away—afraid that if he gained something, he’d only lose it again. You might think he was extreme, but that’s the truth. He would rather go hungry and wander than endure the heartbreak of losing his home once more."

Wang Ke'er asked in a trembling, stifled voice, "Then… what happened after that?"

"After that…" Yang Qing’s face softened into a gentle, happy smile. "It was winter. The day was bitterly cold. The ground was blanketed in thick, white snow, like a fluffy quilt. He, battered and bruised, lay down to sleep on it. For a moment, he felt as if he’d returned to that warm home filled with many younger siblings."

"When he woke, he found himself on a spotless hospital bed, and the first thing he saw was a kind, gentle face smiling down at him with concern."

"There, he was healed and fed. Once again, he felt warmth, but fear drove him to escape."

"He ran, but the image of that kind old woman was etched into his memory, impossible to erase. So he snuck back to that snowy spot. He didn’t find her, but there was a bowl of cold rice waiting for him."

"From then on, he went there every day for food—sometimes cold, sometimes warm, with noodles, vegetables, and even meat. It became an unspoken bond between them, a silent warmth and love."

"One day, as he wolfed down another bowl of cold rice, a tender voice sounded behind him, asking if he’d like to come home with her. She said she was alone too. She said they were the same—both solitary souls. She said the two of them could make a family."

"And so, he cried, burying his dirty, tear- and snot-streaked face in her embrace."

"At last, in that cold winter, she took him to a small courtyard. She gave him a name—her surname was Yang, so his was too. She wished that he could stand tall and resilient like a poplar tree, growing strong through all life’s storms, and stay evergreen."

Yang Qing’s eyes shone with memory. "After that, he called her Grandma, and she gave him everything she could. She sent him to school, taught him to read and write."

"In time, he grew up. By eighteen, he’d finished elementary school but had no chance to continue his studies. He wasn’t disheartened, though—he was happy, because he could finally earn money to support Grandma. So he went to work on construction sites."

"One day, he returned home, his wages for the month clutched in his hand, only to be stunned to find a one-year-old girl in the house. From then on, he had a little sister, and their family of two became three."

"Later, three became four, and then five. He worked harder and harder, to support Grandma and his little sisters."

"At that time, he never thought of giving up, because he felt indebted. He wanted to repay Grandma’s kindness, so anyone she cared for, he cherished too."

"One winter, on another snowy day, he brought home a little child. He just wanted Grandma to be happy—and she was. She praised him as a kind, good child."

A smile lingered on his lips, but as he smiled, a trace of sorrow appeared, and his voice grew choked.

"Birth, aging, illness, and death are never swayed by kindness. In the end, Grandma passed away. On the day she left, she told me, even begged me…"

"She said… she begged me never to abandon my little sisters, that they were angels misplaced in the human world. I promised her through my tears—I didn’t want her to leave with regret, nor did I want her to think the first child she’d saved had no heart."

"From then on, I worked desperately, from dawn till dusk, to support my sisters. But the money I earned was pitiful, so meager that ever since Chuner and Xiaer started school, I couldn’t even afford to buy them each a new piece of clothing."

"So I despaired. I was so tired I wanted to give up. I knelt before Grandma’s grave, pouring out all my pain and hopelessness in tears."

"That night, I knelt and wept until dawn. In the end, engulfed by guilt and despair, I convinced myself to leave. I had to escape—escape from this hopeless home."

At this point, Yang Qing paused. Eyes brimming with tears, he looked at the joyful, skipping children ahead, a tender smile playing on his lips.

"But when I returned home, back to that little courtyard, the sight before me pierced my heart with a pain so sharp I could hardly bear it."

"It was five in the morning—dark and cold. Yet Chuner was in the icy room, washing Dong’er’s little underwear. Her cheeks were red from the cold. I asked why she didn’t light the fire, and she said the coal had to last. She grinned, saying she wasn’t cold at all."

"Xiaer ran out from the kitchen, her little face smudged with soot, streaked with two clear, stinging lines of tears. She handed me two boiled eggs, saying, ‘Brother, these are for you.’ She said she didn’t want to go to school anymore, didn’t want me to work so hard, that she’d help me earn money to feed our sisters."

With a sob, Wang Ke’er couldn’t hold back her tears. She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound, but the salty bitterness of her tears seeped through her fingers onto her lips.

Yang Qing continued, his gaze landing on Qiu’er, who was holding little Xier’s hand up ahead.

"Back then, Qiu’er was very young, but she was sensible beyond her years. She came running out, eyes swollen and red, pleading, ‘Brother, please don’t go, don’t leave my sisters and me. I can help you earn money, so Chuner and Xiaer can go to school, and we can buy new clothes for Dong’er.’"

"From then on, she woke at five every morning to help me with the street stall. She never complained, always cheerful."

"Truth is… I knew she was afraid—afraid I’d leave without a word, abandon them. But how could I ever make such a heartless choice again?"

"The storms in my heart had long been shielded by their little bodies."

Yang Qing finished his story, and Wang Ke'er, trembling, finally broke into sobs.

Gently, a tissue appeared before her—it was Li Wanxiao. Her own eyes were red, tears streaming down her cheeks as she hugged Wang Ke'er tightly.

At some point, she and Tan Jiner had joined Yang Qing, listening to his story.

Tan Jiner slipped her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her tear-stained face against his back, whispering softly, "Brother, from now on… I’ll always be here for you, and for them. Always…"

"Yes, always."