Chapter 1

“This is the room I’m living in now; it’s no more than eight square meters at a glance.” Yan Hang sat in a swivel chair, holding his phone, and tapped his toes on the floor, making the chair spin around.

- "It's better than the last one, but it's a bit messy. Haven't cleaned up after all these days," someone said on the screen.

“Still in hibernation,” Yan Hang yawned, “too lazy to move.”

- “Will we see that kid today?” someone asked again.

“That kid... I don’t know,” Yan Hang tilted his head to look at the living room, “let’s wait by the window.”

- “Hope he won’t get bullied again today; it hurts to see.”

Yan Hang didn’t say anything and slowly slinked over to stand in front of the living room window.

This was the umpteenth time he had moved with his dad in his 17 years of life, into who knows how many different houses.

This time, it was on the first floor, next to a small street, quite clean, better than the place behind the vegetable market; at least it didn’t have a strange smell.

Except it got a bit noisy during school hours.

The residential area was large, with many children of all sizes passing through this road on their way to and from school.

Yan Hang pushed open the window and sat on the windowsill.

It was still a bit cold outside; the wind that blew in felt refreshing, like inhaling a mint candy.

He quite liked this windowsill; there was no security net, and the cabinet covering the radiator was connected to the windowsill, making it a makeshift bay window, perfect for basking in the sun comfortably in the afternoon.

The kid everyone wanted to see hadn’t passed by yet.

But it should be soon; he usually came later than the other students each day. It was unclear whether he did it to avoid going home at the same time as his classmates or if he was being kept in at school.

Yan Hang set his phone on the windowsill facing outside, not looking at the screen or saying anything more.

After just two or three minutes, a few students in uniforms walked by, tossing a backpack back and forth among themselves.

Yan Hang picked up his phone and pointed it at them: “Here they come; let’s see what kind of performance these lost souls of our motherland will put on today.”

Behind those tossing the backpack was a slightly shorter kid, who had been mentioned several times on the screen—“Is he safe today?”

“Not safe,” Yan Hang said, “that backpack is his.”

The backpack was quite old, changing shape as it was thrown around—square, long, slanted. Each time it traced a parabolic arc in the air, books or pens would fall out.

But today’s lost souls were relatively mild compared to usual; they didn’t lay hands on him.

The main character of this live broadcast silently followed behind, occasionally bending down to pick up the things that fell out.

He didn’t look at the people tossing his backpack or at his own backpack, as if those people and things didn’t exist at all; he just walked slowly with his hands full of stuff, and when the others stopped, he stood silently beside them.

There wasn’t much in the backpack; after just two minutes of tossing, it was empty. One of the students tossed the backpack and then slapped the things out of the kid’s hands, sweeping everything onto the ground, and then they happily stepped on the scattered items and continued on.

When that kid bent down to pick up his things, Yan Hang jumped down from the windowsill and went back inside.

- “Not filming anymore?” someone asked on the screen.

“No,” Yan Hang said, “too down.”

After saying that, he didn’t look at the screen again, directly exiting the app and tossing his phone aside, leaning back in his chair.

From their uniforms, these students should be from the junior high division of 82 Middle School next door. When Yan Hang went out for food at noon, he tried to wander around for a bit but got lost, passing by the gate of 82 Middle School three times, which left a deep impression on him.

That school was run pretty strictly; during his third pass by the gate, a school officer came out and glared at him, watching him until he was about a hundred meters away. Yan Hang almost wanted to blow him a kiss.

Since the day they moved in, for four consecutive days, he could almost always see that kid being bullied in various ways, whether at noon or in the afternoon after school—the bullies and the forms of bullying were different each time.

Yan Hang poured himself a cup of water; after nearly half a month of moving, he felt a bit sleepy for the first time, probably because he was too down.

He glanced at the time, put in his earphones, lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes.

Do you love me?

Do you need me?

Do you want me?

Do you love me?

He hummed along softly to the music in his earphones, adding a “No” after each line of lyrics.

Half asleep, he heard the door make a sound, followed by the voice of his dad, who had been gone for a day and a half: “I’m back.”

Yan Hang didn’t say anything, feeling very sleepy.

“Sweetie?” His dad called out again while putting down his things, “Dear Prince?”

Yan Hang sighed internally, just as he was about to struggle to wake up, his dad walked into his room, and his tone suddenly changed: “Yan Hang!”

Before he could open his eyes, he felt his arm grabbed by his dad, yanked up suddenly: “Yan Hang, what’s wrong with you?”

“Damn,” Yan Hang furrowed his brows and opened his eyes; his arm felt numb from being pulled, and his neck cracked. “If I really wanted to commit suicide, I’d be out of breath by now because of you.”

“What are you doing lying in bed at this hour?” his dad asked.

“Sleepy,” Yan Hang looked at him, “You’re in a good mood today, Your Majesty.”

“Made some money,” his dad smiled, turning to walk out, “Get up, let’s go eat out... By the way, I brought you a college English book back; they say it’s a book for English majors, and there’s also something for intensive reading... I don’t understand it; you see if it works for you?”

“Anything works.” Yan Hang took off his earphones and got out of bed.

“My son is awesome; he’s never been to school, yet can read college English,” his dad said in the living room.

“I have an elementary school diploma.” Yan Hang leaned against the door.

“Right,” his dad nodded, “I’ve kept it all this time; it’s our family heirloom.”

“...Let’s go eat.” Yan Hang sighed.

Having just moved in two days ago, he didn’t know where the good restaurants were. Yan Hang initially wanted to check on his phone, but his dad wanted to test his luck.

“Just follow this road, and the second restaurant you see after turning left, how about that?” his dad said.

“Mm.” Yan Hang nodded.

Since he was a child, his dad has always liked this, taking him to create various unknown experiences, almost like a game they've been playing for over ten years.

Sometimes the outcome is a surprise, sometimes a shock.

Sometimes it’s... painful.

Like today.

When they rented this apartment, the agent made it sound great, as if they were renting the center of the universe. Luckily, they had years of renting experience; just asking about the price was usually enough to gauge the condition of the place.

Sure enough, it was an old, run-down community.

But unexpectedly, the agent didn’t exaggerate too much because at the end of the road his dad pointed out was actually a bustling street filled with modern vibes.

So after turning left, the second restaurant they saw was a high-end Japanese restaurant.

“What to do?” His dad turned and looked at him.

"It's your choice; just eat with your hand over your heart,” Yan Hang said.

“Let’s go.” His dad waved his hand and walked into the restaurant.

Entering looked pretty suave; in fact, situations like today weren’t rare, and his dad always looked pretty suave, but coming out was another story.

“Crown Prince,” his dad stood by the roadside, rubbing his belly, “Do you feel like we actually ate or not?”

“Ate.” Yan Hang answered honestly.

“Do you remember how much it was when we paid?” his dad asked again.

“940 yuan; I made a card and put a thousand in it, so it was a 10% discount,” Yan Hang said, “We spent a total of 846 yuan.”

“Looks like it’s not just my imagination,” his dad pulled out the card from his jacket pocket and handed it to him, “There’s 154 yuan left; you can go eat whenever you want.”

“Generous, huh.” Yan Hang looked at him and stuffed the card into his pants pocket.

“Going back?” his dad asked.

“Treat you to noodles,” Yan Hang said.

“Hmm?” His dad looked at him, “We just spent nearly a thousand on Japanese food; do you think going out for noodles is an insult to that 846?”

“Are you eating or not?” Yan Hang asked.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” his dad pushed him back toward the small street, “On the way here, I saw a beef noodle shop…”

The beef noodle shop was pretty good; the bowl was large, the noodles plentiful, and the key point was that large slices of beef were generously laid on top, looking very satisfying.

“This bowl is only 15 yuan,” his dad said.

“Mm,” Yan Hang nodded as he ate, “Let’s eat first; after we finish, I’ll go back and give you a moment of silence for that thousand.”

“Okay.” His dad lowered his head and started eating heartily.

When they were almost done, he raised his head again: “Hang.”

“Ah.” Yan Hang responded.

“Do you want to go to school?” his dad asked, “I think this place is pretty good; we might stay a bit longer.”

“No.” Yan Hang answered quickly.

“Then we won’t go,” his dad replied straightforwardly, “I see you’re always reading at home, wondering if you suddenly wanted to go to school; it’s just right for you to interact with people more.”

“Two different things; I can interact with people while working,” Yan Hang said, “Besides, I’ve never thought about going to school; I didn’t even want to go to elementary school.”

“Yeah, and you made me ask the school if you could drop out,” his dad laughed, “Made me get scolded by your teacher, Ms. Lü.”

Yan Hang laughed a bit.

Ms. Lü was the only teacher he could still remember; she was a very kind and gentle old lady. The last time he saw her was at the elementary school graduation ceremony.

The old lady bluntly expressed her dissatisfaction with his dad.

“What a good child,” she said, “I’m really worried he will be led astray by your father.”

Not long after getting home, his dad went out again without saying where.

Yan Hang didn’t ask; he had never asked in all these years why his dad appeared and disappeared without a pattern.

Anyway, he would always come back.

He was used to it.

While his dad gave him a strong sense of security, he also brought him deep unease.

He tidied up his things in his room; since they might stay here longer, he still needed to take his stuff out and organize it.

He didn’t have much—one suitcase for clothes and a bag stuffed with various little trinkets.

His dad had even less; all he had was a few clothes in a bag. Sometimes he felt his dad’s life was like traveling, and it was always short trips.

He couldn’t count how many places he had been with his dad, how many residences they had changed. Sometimes they didn’t even rent a place, just stayed at a hotel, and sometimes they would return to the same old place several times.

“I want to go back to the old place,” Yan Hang flopped onto the bed, pulled out his phone, and looked at it, “I want to walk on the old road…”

There were a bunch of private messages on Weibo; Yan Hang glanced at them casually, not finding anything interesting, and replied “No” to someone asking if he would live stream today before tossing the phone aside and putting on his headphones.

He had been experiencing a bit of insomnia lately, and that moment in the afternoon when he felt sleepy was interrupted by his dad’s arm pulling him away.

With his headphones on, Yan Hang stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of rain, the wind blowing through bamboo leaves, and soft guitar music... Lying there, his back went numb, and it didn’t help.

So he got up, changed into a set of sportswear, and went out.

It was almost three in the morning; the streets were empty, and occasionally a car would zoom past under the lonely streetlights.

At the end of the road was the bustling city; at its liveliest, neon lights would cast a red hue on the night sky.

But where he was, many cities have a similar scene, close to the rundown places behind the prosperity, like two worlds, more like a shadow of that world.

Yan Hang adjusted his headphones, switched to his running playlist, took a deep breath, and started running forward.

He quite liked running; it was the best way for him to kill time and fend off boredom.

He ran from their old residential area to 82 Middle School, went around the school a few laps, and then turned onto the main street, even doubling back to the Japanese restaurant they had eaten at today as a memorial.

After running around the nearby streets, he worked up a sweat against the northern wind before finally returning home.

After showering, he rummaged through his bag, took two pills, and flopped onto the bed, finally feeling sleepy as he closed his eyes.

With the effect of the medicine, he didn’t wake up until noon.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he dazed for almost five minutes before realizing it was already noon.

His head felt a bit foggy from the sleep, and he had no appetite, so Yan Hang gave up on lunch and casually grabbed the English book his dad had brought him, sitting on the windowsill.

He sat on the windowsill all afternoon, flipping between the book and his phone, reading a dozen pages and watching an extremely boring variety show.

As time approached, Yan Hang turned his phone around. Without that kid, he would only live stream out of extreme boredom, but now, apart from his few fans who were as bored as he was, he was also curious about that kid.

Would he fight back?

To what extent would he fight back?

Yan Hang adjusted his sitting posture, leaned against the window frame, and opened his phone.

Sure enough, many people were anxiously waiting to watch; he silently pointed the camera at the street, and it wasn’t long before someone began discussing it.

Why was it like this? Why was no one taking action? Yan Hang sighed.

There aren’t that many whys; he had long stopped asking why.

A few minutes later, the main character of the live stream walked into the frame first; this was the first time in several days.

He was pushed over.

From this windowsill, he could see about a hundred meters of the street outside. It was unclear what the situation was along that stretch of road to school before, but this hundred meters was the last stretch for these little rascals before heading home. Generally, arriving here felt like the climax before the good show came to an end.

The main character stumbled a couple of steps and looked back.

Maybe it was just an unconscious action, but it was indeed the first movement he could call “resistance” in these few days.

Then several boys walked into the frame, kicking him in the lower back.

Yan Hang clicked his tongue.

That was quite hard.

Next, another boy kicked him in the leg.

At this rate, it seemed like they would all take turns kicking him.

A few snack vendors nearby couldn’t stand it anymore and shouted a few times.

But it didn’t have any effect; the boys fiercely pushed back.

Having watched for several days, Yan Hang had more or less figured it out; this kid wouldn’t fight back. He didn’t know if it was an illusion, but he even seemed very calm, as if he had isolated himself in another world where he couldn’t hear, see, or feel anything.

But for those little rascals, this kind of reaction was the most infuriating; based on Yan Hang’s experience, they wouldn’t stop until they got a response from him.

As they walked and kicked him to the opposite side, one boy pulled out a glass cup from his bag and swung it, smashing it onto the main character’s shoulder.

A thick cup shattered with a loud crash.

“Today’s a bit much,” Yan Hang said, lightly pushing off the ground and jumping down from the windowsill.

- “Is Big Brother Xiao Tian going to intervene?”

- “Be careful; maybe call the police.”

Several messages flashed across the screen. Yan Hang put his hands in his pockets to feel around, finding only a mask, not even a key.

“I don’t know,” he said, “can’t watch anymore; it’s too depressing.”

After crossing the street, for the first time in a few days, Yan Hang clearly saw the main character’s face.

It wasn’t an illusion; his expression was calm.

Calm to the point of being very composed.

Calm to the extent that it made people feel extremely uncomfortable; it was hard to say whether it was sorrow or something else, after all, Yan Hang only had an elementary school diploma and couldn’t find the right words.

Half of the broken cup had not yet hit the ground, caught on the boy’s finger by the strap of the cup. As he raised his hand to throw the half-cup back at the main character's face, Yan Hang whistled.

It was quite loud; other than staring blankly while running, whistling was probably the thing he was best at.

His dad liked to whistle, and to find a partner for himself, Yan Hang was trained to duet with him before he even entered elementary school, and the two of them would sit by the roadside whistling at passing girls every day.

This whistle caught the attention of the little rascals, who turned to look at him.

Yan Hang walked over without saying a word, propped his phone up against a pile of unused bricks under a tree by the roadside, pointing it at the live stream scene, then took out his mask and put it on. He had never shown his face during all this time of live streaming; he had to keep up the tradition.

The screen exploded with excitement, but he didn’t have time to look; the little rascals had already turned around, and two were walking towards him.

“Are you sick?” one boy asked, glaring at him.

“From today on,” Yan Hang pointed at the main character, “he’s under my protection.”