Seeing the people around you as books and “reading” them—that was the method Ye Weibai taught the little girl, Xue Yutong. Of course, if it’s just guessing minds, that’s no different from daily small talk. It won’t pull her out of that swamp of social dread. You need a scene that lets her take the lead.
As Ye Weibai said—only you can save yourself.
Instead of handing Yutong “books” to read, better let her write one.
So the point isn’t reading. It’s writing.
In a detective novel, clues—obvious or buried—are breadcrumbs the author scatters in ink. Before the author lays out the culprit and the crime, piecing truth from those crumbs is every fan’s peak joy.
But the book titled “Human” and written by “Reality” has clues only you can observe. They’re tangled like fishnets and knotty as hemp. They aren’t fake, not one of them useless. Each thread leads to a different truth. Which thread to follow, which truth to reach—that’s the writer’s choice.
So if you write a book that’s rotten to the core, even flat-out wrong, don’t mind it. Just pivot and write from another angle.
Humans are a braid of contradictions and knots. There are a thousand angles to cut in.
“You read your deskmate’s smile as a friendly signal. Then you find she bad-mouthed you with others, calling you a ‘phony bookworm,’ and tossed your pens into a toilet. If the story ends there, it’s a trash book that flouts basic decency.”
“But did you dig for the truth beneath it? Are you sure what you saw is the ending? Your deskmate’s backstab might be just one clue. The story isn’t over. Don’t slap on a finale too fast—that’s a botched ending.”
“Go dig for more clues. As a reader, you don’t want a mystery cut off at the halfway mark. That’s cruel.”
“So, don’t stop your pen too easily. Finish the book.”
Here, Ye Weibai frowned slightly, reached out, and flicked the little girl’s forehead as she sat blank and speechless. “Classmate Xiaotong, the teacher’s lecturing. Why are you spacing out?”
“N-no—I wasn’t—”
“You’re gonna cry?”
“Who—who’s gonna cry…”
She covered her forehead, then slid her palms up to cover her eyes, then her mouth. Her shoulders trembled like reeds in wind. Her sobs were trapped in her cupped hands, yet something warm seeped through her fingers and pattered onto her knees like light rain.
Ye Weibai sighed. He knew she wasn’t crying because she’d grasped his method and found a road forward. She was crying because she felt his gentleness, like a cool hand on a fevered brow.
It’s been hard, hasn’t it? Those sharp little disasters. She told no one. She swallowed a fistful of blades, then hid among the pages, bleeding quietly. Yet even so, she wanted a light hand to comfort her. If—if he had met her earlier, she would not have hurt this long. Things would look much better now.
He ruffled her neatly combed hair until it was a small, warm mess. His nature fails him at moments like this; he can’t say sweet words. He only smiled and said, “Good. If you’re going to cry, go cry in the restroom. This is a library—keep quiet.”
…
“Keep quiet?”
No one knew when Li Mengguo sat down across from Ye Weibai again. Hearing that, she said coldly, “So you chose a line that out of place.”
“Out of place? I thought it was already gentle.”
“In this one thing, your charm is a negative number.” Li Mengguo bit her lip. “Say something soft once in a while—girls like that.” As she spoke, her cheeks flushed. She turned her head, shy and demure like a camellia in mist.
“Hey, I taught you that trick.”
Ye Weibai didn’t budge an inch. He coolly punctured the little stage-play she’d set—the sour-sweet “I secretly like you” drama that reeked of vinegar.
“Don’t state your view outright. Use words and gestures to paint a mirage, then guide them to guess on their own. The effect beats bluntness tenfold. I taught you that.”
“Hmph. I thought I could fool you.” She dropped the shy mask with a snort. “So? What was the real ending?”
“You can guess the arc of a bullying case like this.”
She ground her teeth. “Again with ‘finding a substitute’?”
“Bingo.”
…
In the game called “Life: Legend of Bullying—Grand Adventure,” there are two classes: bully, and the bullied. The reasons vary: timid temper, odd looks, special talent.
As usual, the first commands the life and death of the second. Changing class from bullied to bully is hard as climbing a cliff with bare hands. Only one method is simple, efficient, and—violent: find a “sacrifice.”
Find a new target. Bully her. You evolve into a second-generation bully. If luck smiles, you break the class ceiling, join the first generation, and rule from the pyramid’s tip. (Laugh.)
In this process, the bully is guilty, no doubt. But is the former victim guilty? She’s been trampled. To save herself, to climb out of a pit, she steps on someone more fragile and rises. It’s helpless, inevitable, a tide you can’t turn. It even sounds like Ye Weibai’s creed: only you can save yourself.
Yet Ye Weibai loathes such people most. More than the first-generation bullies.
Worse than raw power or raw cowardice is this—wearing the “victim” mask while dealing death with clean conscience. She should know that pain the best. Yet she spreads it without mercy. It’s kin-devouring, the pack eating its own. Ye Weibai will never forgive this. He won’t think of saving them.
Of course, that’s only Ye Weibai’s view. The World belongs to everyone. He doesn’t mind dissent.
Anyway, if you disagree, I’ll kill you in secret—just kidding.
So when Xue Yutong told him the ending she’d reached and her take on it, Ye Weibai only smiled.
He asked, “Are you angry?”
She hesitated a breath, then shook her head. “No. She’s innocent too. She was forced… so, so…”
Ye Weibai’s eyes tightened. He said nothing, until her gaze started to flicker. Then he pressed each word like a seal: “Tell the truth.”
Her face went pale. She bit her lip for a long time before speaking, her voice cold as a winter draft. “Very angry—or rather furious. So, so, so angry I want to—kill her!”
On the word kill, her reddened eyes flashed with naked hatred. Brief, but bare.
“Good.”
Ye Weibai smiled instead. He patted her head. “Being angry is right. Anger is your right. A person should be broad and tolerant, but that isn’t weakness or spinelessness. When it’s time to rage, rage. Retreating again and again is the mistake. Craven weakness is the original sin. So—what did you do?”
“I—I cursed her.”
“What did you say?”
Her cheeks went red. She lowered her head. “Swear words. Ugly ones.”
He didn’t laugh. For a doe-like girl like Xue Yutong, swearing is a high-tier move. Swear, hit, even kill—those are just vessels for anger. The only thing that matters is the will to express it.
If you’re willing to show anger, you’ve chosen not to yield.
You don’t yield, and the other side steps back. That’s the well-known walkthrough for Legend of Bullying. Everyone knows it. Using it takes real courage. That courage—less given by Ye Weibai, more found by her in books.
“Seeing them as bad books with legs isn’t that scary anymore—I hate bad books, but I’m good at reading!”
Choosing the tool you’re best at to crack a hard problem—that’s human wisdom.
The little girl did great. Do well, get a reward.
So Ye Weibai simply opened his arms and gathered her small, soft body into his chest. He held her until her limbs went weak and steam rose from her head, as if she’d faint. Then he let go.
“A reward.”
…
“Hm? So you seduced a middle-schooler?”
“Seduced… I knew Classmate Xiaotong liked me, but I didn’t expect her to confess by text,” Ye Weibai sighed.
“That’s because you hug people for no reason and plant romance flags.”
“She’s twelve— When I was twelve—uh, don’t use me as a yardstick. Guozi, what did you know at twelve? And she’s so timid.”
“You—” Li Mengguo looked at him and sighed in her heart. You probably don’t know that a little move you make for fun is a lifeline to a little girl.
She bit her lip. Not just little girls. Even a sixteen or seventeen-year-old can’t resist it.
“The cause doesn’t matter. What matters is how you’ll turn her down.”
Ye Weibai pressed his brow. After a long moment, he said, “Give me a napkin.”
“What for?”
“Have you heard a story about a husband off at war?”
