Chapter 2

Chapter 2

My father wouldn’t agree.

Lin Zhixing lived a life of honorable poverty.

He ran a private school, accepting tuition fees to teach the town’s children to read and understand reason. The rice jar at home often was empty, but whenever students came, he always cleaned his clothes and set the discipline ruler straight, as if he could truly teach them a path to heaven.

He looked at Xie Wujiu, whom I had brought in, his brows deeply furrowed.

“Wanzhao, he is not a student.”

“He could be.”

“Who will pay his tuition?”

I took off the silver bracelet from my wrist and placed it on the lecture desk.

It was the last thing my mother left me.

My father’s face darkened. “Nonsense.”

Xie Wujiu stood at the doorway, water still dripping from his body.

He heard the clink of the silver bracelet on the desk, and his eyelashes lowered.

My father lowered his voice. “This child’s background is unclear, and the Zhou Family doesn’t like him. If you bring him in today, you’ll drag the private school into trouble.”

I knew.

I knew better than anyone.

In my previous life, the private school did not accept Xie Wujiu.

He stood at the door for half a day, and in the end, Zhou Cheng’an brought people and broke one of his ribs.

Three days later, his mother died of illness in a rundown house south of town.

After that, Xie Wujiu disappeared.

Ten years later, he returned with the Black Armor Army, first burning down the county office, then the private school.

My father stood in the fire and said to him, “If you resent me for not accepting you back then, just kill me alone.”

Xie Wujiu said, “Mr. Lin, you are mistaken.”

“I never resented you for not accepting me.”

“I resent that you taught benevolence and righteousness, but only to the children of the rich.”

My father died without ever knowing where he went wrong.

Even now, I can’t fully explain it.

I could only kneel down.

“Dad, accept him.”

My father was stunned.

I had been taught discipline by him since childhood and rarely pressured him like this.

“If he causes trouble later, I’ll take responsibility.”

My father laughed in anger. “What can you take responsibility for?”

I looked at him, remembering his face reddened by fire in my past life.

“Even if I can’t bear it, I have to try.”

The room fell silent.

The schoolchildren secretly watched the excitement.

Zhou Cheng’an sat in the front row with a grim face, his fingers picking at the corner of the desk.

After a long while, my father finally sighed.

“Come in first.”

Xie Wujiu didn’t move.

I turned back. “Xie Wujiu.”

He looked up.

“Come in.”

He glanced at my father, then at the students, and finally walked to the last row and sat down.

No book.

No brush.

He still reeked of rain and blood.

I pushed my own book toward him.

He didn’t take it.

“I can’t read.”

Zhou Cheng’an immediately laughed out loud.

I picked up the brush and carefully wrote his name stroke by stroke on the paper.

Xie Wujiu.

“Start with this.”

He stared at those three characters for a long time.

“Which one is me?”

I pointed to the last character.

“This one.”

“What does it mean?”

I said, “Without guilt.”

He smiled, very faintly.

“They all say I’m guilty.”

I dipped the brush in ink.

“Then it’s even more important to learn to write.”

“Why?”

“In the future, when someone convicts you, at least you’ll know if they wrote your name wrong.”

Xie Wujiu stopped smiling.

Finally, he reached out and took my brush.