Chapter 6

Chen Ye decided to drop out of school.

At the time, he was in the key class, a student the school had high hopes for.

In the days right after Chen Ye finished the withdrawal procedures, people often came to his house to persuade him.

First, it was a female classmate.

“Ye Ran still has her uncle and aunt, and if worse comes to worst, she has her biological mother. Why do you have to be the one to sacrifice yourself?”

“I have a mother too, but have any of you ever seen her? You have a mother who loves you and a father who cares for you. Just be a good girl and live your life.”

The female classmate ran off, aggrieved.

Then it was the homeroom teacher.

“Chen Ye, you need to think about yourself. Do you really want to spend your whole life in the market?”

“Teacher, our ancestors have all been fishermen. If I inherit good genes and carry on our traditional culture, isn’t that something to be proud of?”

Finally, the principal.

“Child, I don’t mean to discriminate against this profession. But think about it: when your classmates who don’t do as well as you are broadening their horizons in big cities, you’ll be haggling over a few cents in the market. Isn’t that a pity? Times have changed. If I were you, I’d never give up the chance to leave here.”

Chen Ye smiled, “Maybe you see a shadow of your younger self in me, and while you’re advising me, you’re also trying to make up for your own regrets. But people are different. I have my own responsibilities.”

“Ye Ran?”

Chen Ye didn’t answer.

The principal sighed, left five hundred yuan, and walked away.

See, Ye Hai raised Chen Ye for so many years, stayed single for him, was resented by his own daughter for him, yet no one ever blamed Chen Ye, at most they gossiped behind his back that Ye Hai was a fool.

Now, Chen Ye was only giving up his studies for me, and so many people were standing up for him. Why?

So I accepted all this with complete calm.

Every time I asked Chen Ye for money, I did so with full confidence and a strong voice.

One day, Chen Ye took me to school on his Electric Bike. I had already walked far into the campus, but instinctively turned back and saw him still standing at the gate, not leaving.

He was looking up at the dark school plaque, lost in thought.

I walked back and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Students hurried past us. Chen Ye snapped out of it and shook his head, “Nothing, just thought the school uniform looks nice.”

He seemed a bit pitiful, but I didn’t want to sympathize with him, and I couldn’t accept that the scales in my heart were tipping toward him. It made me anxious, even ashamed.

So I put on a stern face and said, “Don’t act pitiful in front of me. Go home.”

Chen Ye gave me a cold look and said nothing.

For the next month, he didn’t say a single word to me.

I didn’t feel good about it, but I didn’t think I was wrong, nor could I understand where this discomfort came from.

The two of us just coexisted in this strange, silent way.

A few days later, late at night, a wild wind suddenly rose outside. Tree branches swayed, roadside billboards rattled loudly, and soon a torrential rain began to pour.

I curled up under my blanket, trembling, hands tightly covering my ears, but I could still hear the distant roar of waves, like beasts howling, like ghosts shrieking, pounding at my eardrums.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but in the darkness, Ye Hai’s face suddenly appeared! He was struggling desperately in the churning sea, as small as an ant, as insignificant as a blade of grass, his gray eyes looking at me helplessly and hopelessly, his lips moving: “Ranran… save me…”

I broke down instantly, crying out loud, “No! No! Dad… Dad!”

“Ye Ran?”

Someone lifted the blanket. I slowly opened my eyes, and through the haze, Chen Ye’s face appeared.

The light was dim. He bowed his head to look at me, and I couldn’t make out his expression.

Rain pounded the window, short and urgent, dense and relentless. My heart beat like a drum, and I clung to Chen Ye’s wrist like a lifeline, not wanting to let go for a second.

A clap of thunder split the night sky, lighting up the room. I saw Chen Ye was fully dressed, carrying his backpack, even holding an umbrella in his other hand.

I looked up at him, eyes blank: “You… you’re leaving?”

Chen Ye didn’t answer.

I said again, “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

No question, just confirmation.

But my voice trembled uncontrollably.

After a few seconds of silence, I heard Chen Ye say, “No.”

He raised his arm and put it around my shoulders, speaking softly: “I won’t leave.”

Chen Ye’s palm was warm, like a faint candle in the stormy night. The light wasn’t bright, but it shone on me, real and tangible.

I couldn’t bear to let it go out.

At dawn, the rain stopped and the sky cleared. The air was thick with damp saltiness, like moss in the cracks of the wall, deep-rooted and persistent.

Chen Ye came back from outside with breakfast. Seeing me sitting at the table, staring at him, he laughed, “So hungry?”

I avoided his gaze awkwardly, picked up the square metal box on the table, and asked, “What’s this?”

Just as I was about to open it, Chen Ye rushed over and snatched it away. After a pause, he said, “Private stash. Don’t worry about it.”

I was deeply suspicious, frowning, “Did you sneak out and sell something?”

Chen Ye paused with his chopsticks, then flicked my forehead hard.

“Just eat.”

He stuffed a bun into my mouth.

I wasn’t hungry at all. I’d been waiting at the table just because I was afraid he wouldn’t come back.

This thought terrified me. After much reflection, I came to a sad and helpless conclusion: Chen Ye and I are both suffering. We clash, but we depend on each other.

I hate him, but he’s all I have.