Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The night before Xie Wujiu left, it snowed at the private school.

It rarely snowed so heavily in Qingshi Town.

My father sent the other students home early, keeping only Xie Wujiu behind.

He gave him a set of books.

The books were old, the edges worn and frayed.

“I have nothing fine to give you.”

Xie Wujiu accepted the books and bowed solemnly.

“Master, I will never forget your kindness.”

My father waved his hand.

“Spare me the empty words. If you really make something of yourself someday, remember to build a few tuition-free schools.”

Xie Wujiu was taken aback.

My father sighed.

“I’m a poor man with a lot of pride. In the past, I always thought running a private school had to follow its own rules. Later, I realized that if rules only serve the rich, they aren’t rules-they’re barriers.”

Xie Wujiu said quietly, “You weren’t wrong, Master.”

My father gave a bitter smile. “You’ve learned to flatter, kid.”

Xie Wujiu didn’t smile.

He said seriously, “You took me in.”

My father’s eyes reddened, and he turned away.

“Enough. Go on-Wanzhao is outside.”

I stood beneath the locust tree.

The gnawed marks on the bark were still there.

Xie Wujiu approached.

He was in clean clothes, still old but washed very white.

Snow settled on his shoulders.

He asked, “Aren’t you going to convince me to stay?”

I said, “Could anyone make you stay?”

“You could try.”

I looked at him.

“Xie Wujiu, do you want to stay?”

He didn’t answer.

Not answering was itself an answer.

He wanted to stay.

But he couldn’t.

Madame Qin was dead, the Zhou Family had fallen, and Prince Yan’s old case was surfacing. Those twenty-year-old grievances, the former army, the blood debts-they were all waiting for him.

I’d pushed him into the school, made him recite lessons, made him learn to be a good person.

But I couldn’t demand that he pack his mother’s and clan’s vengeance into his book-box too.

“Go on,” I said.

His gaze dimmed.

“How generous of you.”

“Generosity doesn’t help.”

I drew a thin booklet from my sleeve.

“This is my compiled notes on the Zhou Family case. Who needs investigating, which accounts haven’t been settled, which witnesses can’t be killed, which testimonies can’t be trusted-it’s all in here.”

Xie Wujiu took it.

Opening to the first page, he froze.

The first page had only eight words.

Do not do to others what you do not want done to you.

He looked up at me.

I said, “Don’t misunderstand-it’s not telling you to turn the other cheek.”

“Then what does it mean?”

“It means, if you hate being treated like grass, don’t treat others like grass either.”

Xie Wujiu was silent for a long time.

“Lin Wanzhao.”

“Mhm.”

“What if I can’t do it?”

My fingers curled.

“Then I’ll remember.”

“Remember what?”

“I’ll remember that you once sat in the back row of the private school, ate Xu Yuanbao’s meat buns, had your palm rapped by my father, handed a note to Chen Sangsang, and carefully wrote your own name.”

The snow fell harder.

I said, “I’ll remember that you weren’t born evil.”

Xie Wujiu looked at me, his eyes very red, but no tears fell.

He took a piece of paper from his robe.

The characters on it were his.

Much neater than when he first started.

It was my name.

Lin Wanzhao.

“Returning it to you.”

I took it.

“I never lent it to you.”

“Then consider it a debt.”

He turned and walked into the snow.

I didn’t chase after him.

I knew this wasn’t a boy leaving home for a while.

It was a blade sheathed, and then unsheathed again.