Around six in the evening, in Qisheng Town, dusk settled softly over the streets.

“Xiao Qing, it’s ready. Come on—let’s see our new home,” the boy’s father said gently.

His parents had bustled in and out for hours. Zhao Anqing had watched the car just as long. Finally, the move was nearly done.

Holding his son’s small hand, Zhao’s father led him into the unfamiliar house.

The moment they stepped inside, Anqing’s sensitive nose caught it—a stale, musty odor from long neglect.

*So awful.*

His delicate eyebrows instantly knotted together.

But he quickly forced a cheerful smile. He couldn’t let them see his unhappiness. Dad might understand. Mom? She’d scold him. Or worse.

So he followed quietly, fake joy plastered on his face.

The space wasn’t large, but empty. Bare. Cold.

Zhao’s mother muttered complaints under her breath—about the shabbiness, the missing furniture, the smell. She sat alone on a low stool, cigarette glowing faintly in the dim room.

“Go buy takeout. Everyone’s gone a full day without food,” Zhao’s father said, shooting her an annoyed glance. *This woman shows no care for the family.* He hurried his son upstairs, leaving her behind.

Water and electricity were dead. Tomorrow, they’d call someone.

“Xiao Qing, stay close on the stairs. No railing—easy to fall.”

Zhao’s father kept the boy on the inner side, gripping his small hand tight. The other hand held a flashlight, beam cutting through the dark.

“Mm, okay,” Anqing whispered.

He glanced toward the edge—pitch black, like a bottomless abyss waiting to swallow him. He jerked his gaze away.

“Once things get better, Dad’ll install a railing here.” Unlike his wife, he cared. Truly.

“Mm-hmm. I believe Dad.”

Anqing always answered right away. Silence made Dad angry.

Each step felt treacherous. No light. No railing. Father and son moved with quiet dread.

Second floor.

The flashlight swept across bare red-brick walls, a few broken stools. Stark. Empty.

“Xiao Qing, this is your room.”

Zhao’s father led him into one of two rooms. Since age two, Mom had insisted he sleep alone—“for independence.”

Inside: a wooden bed, a bamboo mat, a thin blanket.

“Dad set it up. Sleep alone tonight? Scared? Want me to stay?” He sat beside him, stroking his soft hair.

“I’m not scared! I’ll sleep fine. Dad should be with Mom,” the boy chirped.

But his eyes held a flicker of unease.

*How could a six-year-old not be afraid?* Yet asking Dad to stay meant Mom’s rage. Better alone than cause shouting. Or blows.

“You’re so brave, Xiao Qing. You’ll do great things,” Zhao’s father smiled warmly—missing the fragile mask entirely. *He’s not like a soft boy… more like a girl.*

“Dad… can we bathe today?” Summer heat, no AC in the car—he felt sticky, grimy. Craved cold water. Clean clothes.

“Not tonight. Tomorrow. Too late now.” Regret shadowed his father’s face. *Failing at the simplest thing.*

“Tomorrow’s okay,” Anqing said softly, tucking disappointment deep.

*Will I even sleep like this?*

Buzz buzz buzz.

Wings fluttered near his ear.

*Mosquitoes… Gotta sleep with the blanket over my head. But it’ll be so hot…*

He waved a small hand. Futile.

Buzz buzz buzz.

The sound lingered—mocking, hungry.

“Xiao Qing, let’s go down. Mom’s back with food. You must be starving.”

Down the dark stairs again. Careful. Silent.

A faint food scent greeted them downstairs—quickly drowned by mold.

Zhao’s mother devoured her takeout box. On the dirty floor: one unopened box. An open beer bottle.

“Only two boxes? How’s that enough?” Zhao’s father frowned.

“Xiao Qing eats little. Waste to buy more. Give him your leftovers,” she mumbled, grease on her lips, rice grain clinging to the corner. She wiped her mouth, gulped beer. Dismissive.

“Is that human talk? He’s six! Growing! Have you *ever* thought of him, you heartless woman?” Zhao’s father’s gentle face twisted. A low growl escaped—like a cornered beast.

“Dad, I’m not hungry! Morning bread’s still in my tummy… A neighbor gave me candy. Really! Please don’t argue. Just eat…”

Anqing’s voice trembled. *Parents fighting scared him more than hunger. Ten times over.*

“You hear him? Why yell at *me*?” Zhao’s mother stood, scowling.

“…You’re impossible.” Zhao’s father’s chest heaved. Anger swallowed deep.

“Xiao Qing, come. Dad’s taking you out.” He grabbed his son’s hand.

“Dad, no! I’m full—see?” Anqing puffed his flat little stomach hard. *Going out means Mom’s rage. And wasting food…*

“Bullshit! What money’s left? Tomorrow: repairs, supplies! You reckless fool—want to ruin us? Get out!” Zhao’s mother launched into a tirade.

“Mom… stop. Dad’s crying.”

Zhao’s father stood frozen. Silent. A statue.

In the shaky flashlight glow, tears welled in his eyes. One large teardrop traced his cheek.

Anqing’s heart clenched.

“Crying? Men cry and do *nothing*. Annoying.”

“Mom…”

“And *you*—you little burden. Raising you’s just wasted money.” She spat the words. *A son? He’ll marry out anyway. Worthless.*

“Zhao Fang! SHUT YOUR MOUTH!” Zhao’s father roared. Face crimson. Veins throbbing.

“How *dare* you?” She froze—then fury ignited. *She* ran this house.

“You good-for-nothing! I thought moving here meant change. Nope. A leopard doesn’t change its spots.”

Darkness swallowed their shouts. Blame. Rage.

Anqing stood helpless.

His words meant nothing.

He tugged Mom’s arm—shoved hard to the floor.

Scrambled up. Tried again.

Ignored.

He stopped.

Voices clashed—raw, chaotic.

*It’s my fault.*

Guilt flooded him.

Quietly, he slipped outside.

Faint yelling followed.

He didn’t know where to go. First time here.

*Wait till it’s over.*

Alone, he sat on the dirt patch by the door. Knees hugged. Head buried.

Soft sobs escaped.

*Can’t cry inside. Mom gets mad. Dad thinks I’m weak.*

Meanwhile, Xu Yuting laughed with friends at the children’s park.

But dusk deepened.

Time to go home.

As she neared her front door, the girl instinctively glanced across the street at the house opposite hers.

The long-vacant house now had new neighbors—and among them was an especially handsome boy.

She truly enjoyed talking with him, finding him endlessly interesting and always feeling cheerful in his company.

She’d even told her little friends they’d soon have a new playmate.

“Hmm… Is that Anqing?”

Bathed in the glow of the streetlights, Yuting Xu faintly made out a small figure—it looked just like her new friend from earlier that day.

Without a second thought, she abandoned her plan to head straight home and, with light, bouncy steps, hurried over.

“It really is Anqing. What’s he doing?”

As she drew closer, she confirmed it was him.

The little boy was curled up like a tiny hedgehog, but his familiar clothes made him easy to recognize.

Certain now, Yuting quickened her pace.

“Anqing, Anqing, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

Yuting gently tapped his small shoulder with her fingertip and asked curiously.

*Sniff… sniff…* “I… I’m fine.”

First came the sound of sniffling, followed by the boy’s flustered, muffled reply.

“What’s wrong? Can you tell me? Our teacher says worries float away when you share them with a friend.”

Mimicking his posture, Yuting sat beside him on the ground, voice warm with concern.

She was a clever kid who’d cried before herself—she knew he was crying.

Her heart tightened. She didn’t want to see him sad; she longed for that shy smile again.

“N-nothing… Yuting, shouldn’t… shouldn’t you go home? It’s getting dark… your parents will worry…”

He kept his face buried in his knees, unwilling to let his new female friend see this fragile side. He cherished their hard-won friendship deeply.

If she knew he cried easily, she might not stay friends with him.

Yet the tremor in his voice gave him away—anyone could tell he was crying.

“Anqing… Did your parents scold you? It’s okay. My mom scolds me all the time too. I’ve cried alone before. I won’t laugh. Please look up? We’re friends now.”

Yuting placed her warm, soft little hand on his slender shoulder, hoping to soothe him.

“I… I’m not crying…”

His muffled voice betrayed him. He knew he’d been seen—but couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

“Uh-huh, sure. Sand in your eyes, right? It’s okay~ Just look up…”

Yuting coaxed him gently. Though young herself, she carried a quiet, sisterly warmth that felt utterly reliable.