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He sometimes loved, sometimes didn’t. He rarely grieved.
Gu Chong once said that when he was drunk, he didn’t look like someone alive. What he didn’t understand was—that had always been his natural state.
But he hadn’t been born that way.
When he was little, he was lively, even mischievous, the kind of child who liked running wild through the courtyard. But children who showed even a little “difference” like him were often beaten. And that “difference” wasn’t just his brightness or his tendency to stand out—it included the fact that he was not quite like the other children.
His memory came in fragments. He clearly remembered certain parts of the past, while other pieces hid in corners of his mind, impossible to retrieve no matter how hard he tried. He had long since gotten used to living like that. Because there was no pain, no intense emotion, there was also very little loss.
At seven, he taught himself the staff notation and basic music theory. At nine, he could play a few simple melodies on the donated piano in the orphanage hall. He never once thought those were things other children couldn’t do. He only thought the music sounded beautiful.
Most children in the orphanage had difficult lives, but he didn’t feel much about it. Life was just life. Even if it was lived like a dog, it was still living.
The head of the orphanage was an old man who looked gentle and kind. The names “Shen Wang” and “Mei He” were given by him. Yet for some reason, Shen Wang could never quite get close to him. Perhaps it was because he always wore gold-rimmed glasses, hiding all emotion behind them.
Still, the old man seemed to be fond of him—very fond, in fact. He often gave him special treatment.
It wasn’t anything complicated, just a matter of flipping through a dictionary. But when the old man’s aged fingers stopped on page 192, the child became “Shen Wang.”
The old man said he hoped he would become exceptional among men. He didn’t understand what that meant. He only felt relieved that at least he hadn’t been named “Wang” in the sense of “prosperity.”
That would have sounded awful.
But not all the children in the orphanage were innocent or kind.
Lack of care and poverty often twisted behavior and perception. They didn’t see their actions as shameful.
For example, the older children led by Xu Si often bullied the younger ones like them. Shen Wang was one of their main targets—he was fair-skinned, small, almost like a girl, and he could play the piano. So they called him “pretentious,” “fake,” even “disgusting.”
He never once found meat in his food tray. His bed was always damp. And yet he didn’t think he was especially miserable. He had no concept of the word “miserable.” He would look at children even younger, even more unfortunate than himself, and conclude that his own life was still not too bad.
At ten, he was still being bullied, still living quietly and uneventfully. One of the few things he “liked” was flipping through the sheet music on the bookshelf. He liked the piano. He liked Mei He. He liked the sounds instruments made.
Everything else was just… everything else. Chicken was simply chicken. If there wasn’t any, half a steamed bun made no difference.
And then, he was adopted. It was, in hindsight, a strange thing.
That afternoon, after lunch, the head of the orphanage crouched down and carefully wiped his hands with warm water, then washed his face. He told him, “Be good later. Don’t say anything unnecessary. Understand?”
He didn’t understand, but he still said, “Mm.”
The old man took his hand and led him to the office.
He only remembered that the walk from the dormitory to the office was short, yet it felt unbearably long. Maybe it was the damp, cold corridor and the gray floor tiles that made him hesitate. Or maybe it was the old man’s cold hand.
But he remembered the instruction clearly—be good—so he said nothing.
Inside the office, there was a very beautiful woman.
Her hair was a curled brownish gold. She smelled nice. Sunlight fell on her curls, making each strand stand out clearly. The ends of her hair were fluffy, stiff from perming, almost translucent—like a steel scrubber in the kitchen. He almost laughed at that thought, but quickly swallowed it back down.
Then he lowered his gaze to her shoes. Too pointed. Like lonely little triangles standing by themselves.
He didn’t understand most of their conversation. He only understood that he was going to leave with this woman, though he didn’t know where.
He asked the head of the orphanage, “What about Mei He?”
The old man touched his face with damp, slightly sticky hands. “Mei He will stay here.”
“Then why do I have to leave?”
“Because our Shen Wang is very quiet. He doesn’t talk乱, he’s well-behaved, polite.”
He still didn’t understand.
He looked blankly at the woman holding his hand. Her nails were painted red and long, but her palm was warm.
She crouched down and said, “From now on, we’ll live together. I heard you can play the piano. Will you play for Auntie when we go back?”
He thought for a moment. “Do you have a piano too?”
“Yes,” she smiled. “We have one too. Will you play for me?”
He looked toward the head of the orphanage.
The old man’s eyes were hidden behind his glasses. Sunlight reflected off the lenses, scattering light so that his aged face seemed half-concealed behind deep blue curtains.
Then the old man patted his back. His hand slid along his spine to the back of his neck and gave it a light squeeze.
That meant “yes.”
Shen Wang understood.
So he nodded obediently.
The woman stroked his forehead in satisfaction.
He was led away.
He did not look back.
He followed her as if trying to escape something.
When he thought of that now, he felt a faint guilt—so he deliberately slowed his steps.
In truth, he had wanted to see Mei He one more time, to ask if he wanted to come and play the piano with him.
But then he remembered what the head had said.
Be good. Don’t talk too much.
So he stayed silent.
That day was snowy—cold, dry.
He was placed into a car by the beautiful woman. Outside the window, the rundown orphanage receded. A cluster of children stood at the gate, peeking out.
He couldn’t read their expressions.
But he saw Xu Si among them.
Xu Si had a thick dark-blue scarf wrapped around his face, only half of it visible. He was frowning at him, one foot already stepping forward as if ready to come and hit him.
Shen Wang wasn’t afraid.
He kept searching for Mei He.
And then the car suddenly started moving—
