Chapter 13: The Weight of Unspoken Words

Wan Kun sat on the rock all night, a sentinel against his own demons. He Lizhen watched him through the darkness, her vigil equally stubborn, equally necessary.

In the latter half of the night, exhaustion claimed her in increments. Her eyelids grew impossibly heavy, head nodding in that helpless rhythm of the sleep-deprived. Consciousness ebbed like a retreating tide until she could no longer distinguish Wan Kun's form from the shadows—only the orange ember of his cigarette, a small beacon in the void, proved he was still there.

Wan Kun smoked with deliberate slowness, each drag measured, finishing an entire pack as the night deepened around them.

When He Lizhen stubbed out her final cigarette, her body finally surrendered. Her head lolled to the side, and sleep took her.

---

She woke to hardness beneath her—an old bed, unfamiliar and unyielding. Her head throbbed with a dull ache as she pushed herself upright, disoriented.

An ancient sofa squatted beside the bed. As her vision cleared, she found Wan Kun there, his tall frame curled uncomfortably in sleep, his body too large for the sagging cushions.

He Lizhen absorbed her surroundings slowly. The room was cramped, spare. Through the window, she recognized the courtyard from the previous night. This was his home, then—the place he'd never invited her to see.

She slipped from the bed, retrieved her backpack, and checked the time with a wince. Phone in hand, she eased the door open and stepped outside to make her call.

Past six o'clock. Director Jiang would still be deep in sleep. The phone rang persistently before connecting, the voice on the other end thick with interrupted dreams.

"...Hello? Teacher He?"

He Lizhen kept her voice soft, apologetic. "Director, I'm sorry to call you so early, this is He Lizhen."

"Hmm, it's nothing, what's wrong?"

"I'm not feeling well today, could I ask for half a day off?"

"Not feeling well? Sick?"

The lie sat bitter on her tongue. "Maybe..."

"It's okay, I can reschedule a class. You should take good care of yourself, your health is the most important thing."

"Okay, thank you, Director."

She disconnected and returned to the room, staring at her phone screen without seeing it. A pair of worn sneakers entered her field of vision. She looked up sharply. Wan Kun stood before her, silent as a ghost.

"Why didn't you make a sound?" she demanded, heart still racing.

He gazed down at her, unreadable, wordless.

She glanced toward the bed. "Did you bring me back last night?"

His expression shifted—cold amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, I can't be like some people, bringing someone home and then kicking them out."

The barb landed. He Lizhen's body went rigid, her face hardening in defense.

"How can that be compared to this! Don't you know what you've done?" She cut him off before he could twist the knife deeper. "Let's not talk about this, you've already forgotten about it."

Wan Kun's stare was unwavering, intense. He Lizhen found herself unable to hold his gaze, her courage faltering. She crossed to the door, gathering her bag. "I'm leaving, remember to come to school."

Her hand touched the doorknob. Another hand—larger, stronger—pressed against the door above hers, holding it closed.

She didn't turn around. "Wan Kun, let go, I'm going back."

His voice came from directly above her head, low and deliberate, stripped of all emotion. "My family is poor, do you look down on me?"

The question pierced something vulnerable in her chest. He Lizhen's heart contracted painfully as fragments of the previous night reassembled themselves—her assumptions, her judgments, all of it now tainted with bitter understanding. The silence stretched between them before she finally spoke.

"I do look down on you in many ways, but not because you're poor."

Wan Kun said nothing. They stood frozen in that tableau, her hand on the knob, his hand on the door, until slowly, reluctantly, he released his grip.

He Lizhen pulled the door open. She'd barely crossed the threshold when his fingers circled her wrist, yanking her back inside with startling force.

"Wan Kun—!"

"You wait here, I'll go hail a cab." The words were curt, almost aggressive. Then he was gone.

Through the window, she watched his figure disappear into the courtyard's depths.

Movement caught her eye. Someone emerged from the neighboring house—Wan Kun's father, Wan Lin.

The older man moved about the courtyard with careful, quiet efficiency, organizing things, tidying. Then his eyes drifted toward her window—a furtive glance he clearly hadn't expected her to catch. When their gazes met, he jerked his head away immediately.

He Lizhen started to acknowledge him with a nod, but he'd already retreated, leaving the courtyard empty. A realization crystallized: Wan Kun had told his father to stay away from her. And his mother? The bald man's vicious cursing from last night echoed in her memory, and she couldn't help but wonder, couldn't help but piece together what she'd rather not know.

Lost in these dark speculations, she didn't notice Wan Kun's return until he was inside, speaking. "I flagged it down, wait for me."

He pulled a shoulder bag from the cupboard with practiced efficiency. "Let's go."

She studied him. "You're coming with me?"

"Yes."

Outside, she asked, "Should we tell your dad?"

"No need."

They walked the path she'd stumbled along the night before. Dawn had transformed everything—what had seemed menacing in darkness now revealed itself as ordinary countryside. The cornfields flourished beside them, and houses appeared at regular intervals, perhaps ten meters apart, their ordinariness almost shocking.

Wan Kun carried his bag slung over one shoulder. Sleep deprivation showed in his movements—a looseness to his gait that might have been called lazy if it weren't for his natural stride. His height and long legs meant that even walking this way, he outpaced her easily.

He Lizhen hurried to catch up.

The vehicle Wan Kun had flagged down wasn't a proper taxi—it was an unlicensed minivan, six seats crammed behind the passenger seat. When the door slid open, four people already occupied the back, leaving only the two innermost seats available.

He Lizhen climbed in and squeezed into the farthest seat. Wan Kun folded himself beside her.

She was small enough to fit comfortably. Wan Kun clearly wasn't. He shifted restlessly, stretching his legs until his knees pressed against the seat ahead, his thigh muscles taut and defined beneath worn denim. He Lizhen turned her attention to the window.

The van filled quickly and lurched into motion.

Almost immediately, Wan Kun closed his eyes. He Lizhen noticed his left hand gripping the handrail in front of him with white-knuckled intensity. Puzzled, she watched him covertly, trying to understand what was wrong.

"What are you looking at?"

She startled. Wan Kun hadn't moved, hadn't opened his eyes—he'd simply spoken, as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

Rather than attempt to explain how he'd detected her scrutiny, she looked down at her phone and said nothing.

But in that moment of movement, something clicked into place. When she looked again, she understood: Wan Kun was gripping the handrail to keep his back from fully contacting the seat.

Her heart lurched in rhythm with the swaying vehicle.

"What are you looking at..." Wan Kun finally opened his eyes, impatience bleeding through his tone.

"Your..."

"Hmm?"

The words stuck in her throat. "Is your back all better?"

Wan Kun froze, realization dawning. He released the handrail abruptly, crossed his arms in a show of indifference, and leaned back deliberately—as if to prove her concern was completely unwarranted. "It's nothing." Then he turned his face away.

"If it hurts, don't lean back," she said quietly.

Silence.

His stubbornness ignited something in her—frustration, anger, something sharper. She grabbed his arm. The muscle beneath her fingers was stone-hard, unyielding. She hesitated only a moment before pulling him forward, away from the seat back.

As he straightened, she saw it: a vivid red stain seeping through his shirt. The mark was just the beginning, she realized with growing horror—like the seal on a scroll. What damage lay beneath, waiting to be revealed when the fabric was peeled away?

Panic rose in her chest. "You..." Her voice trembled. "How could it be so serious? Didn't you get it treated afterwards?"

"It's nothing," he said carelessly.

"What do you mean 'nothing'? The water was boiled, you—"

Wan Kun laughed suddenly—a cold, bitter sound in the cramped van. He turned to look at her directly, his eyes hard. "You even threw boiling water on me? How angry were you? If that had gotten on my face, I might have been disfigured."

Fear flickered through her, but she refused to retreat. "Don't make me think about that day again. If you dare to do something reckless again, I'll throw it on you again."

Wan Kun fell silent.

"When we get back, I'll take you to the hospital," she said firmly.

"No need, it's nothing."

"If the doctor says it's nothing, then I won't ask."

---

The vehicle swayed and jolted for more than two hours before finally reaching Yangcheng. He Lizhen emerged nauseous, her back aching from the cramped position. If she felt this terrible, how much worse must it be for Wan Kun—tall, hunched over, injured?

But when she looked at him, his face revealed nothing. No discomfort, no pain, nothing.

They disembarked at the entrance of Yangcheng Auto Parts City, a truck distribution center some distance from Yangcheng No. 2 Middle School. "I'll take you to the hospital first," she announced.

She hailed a proper taxi this time, but didn't know which hospital was closest. She deferred to Wan Kun, who looked at her for a long moment before giving the driver an address.

Exhaustion claimed He Lizhen in the back seat. She dozed fitfully, waking only when the car stopped. Stepping out, she found herself on the street behind her own house.

"Wan Kun?"

He regarded her with that same expressionless stare. "Do you still have the burn ointment from back then?"

Memory surfaced—the ointment he'd refused to accept. "Yes," she said slowly. "At home."

He nodded and began walking toward her house.

"What are you doing?" Shock made her voice sharp. "Where are you going?"

He turned back, his expression suggesting the answer should be obvious. "Applying medicine."

"I want you to go to the hospital, you—"

But Wan Kun seemed tired of her protests. He turned and walked away before she could finish.

He Lizhen stood rooted in place, bone-tired and hungry. Wan Kun's figure receded down the street. Only when he'd nearly disappeared did she force her leaden feet to follow.

When she entered the courtyard, Wan Kun stood at her gate, face upturned toward the loofah vines Aunt Zhang had planted next door.

Brilliant sunshine poured through the leaves, illuminating the tender yellow blossoms. Wan Kun stood motionless, almost transfixed, as if he'd never seen anything quite like them before.

The sight struck her as oddly endearing. She approached slowly, only then noticing Aunt Zhang watching from her window. The neighbor stood at her sink washing vegetables, perfectly positioned to observe both He Lizhen and her tall male companion.

He Lizhen nodded in greeting. Aunt Zhang smiled warmly. "Teacher He is back."

Guilt crashed over He Lizhen like a wave. The way Aunt Zhang emphasized "teacher" felt loaded with meaning—observation, judgment, curiosity. She turned away quickly.

Wan Kun stepped aside when he saw her approach, allowing her to unlock the door. She opened it, and he strode inside with the confidence of someone who belonged there.

Sunlight flooded the small space. He Lizhen set down her bag. "Wait here for a moment, I'll go find the medicine."

"Okay."

After she disappeared into the bedroom, Wan Kun stood in the small entryway. This wasn't his first time in this space—he knew it already, had memorized its modest dimensions. The spotless kitchen counter. The checkered tablecloth covering the table. The fish tank sitting in a pool of morning light.

Sunshine streamed through the window, striking the water and fragmenting into dancing rays. The plump goldfish moved with languid grace, their tails scattering the light into prismatic patterns.

He Lizhen emerged holding the ointment. "Please sit down."