Lu Yuan's life beyond the alley had never been gentle, even before Shen Qingyue became someone he could no longer reach.
Home was not a place of rest—it was another battlefield. His father's alcoholism ruled the household with an iron grip, turning each day into a gamble. When the man was sober, he was cold and distant; when drunk, he became violent, his anger spilling over at the smallest provocation. A misplaced bowl, a wrong glance, a breath taken too loudly—any of it could become an excuse. Lu Yuan learned early how pain felt against his skin, how to stay silent even when tears burned behind his eyes.
His mother was no refuge either. Years of disappointment and resentment had hollowed her out, leaving sharp edges behind. She rarely raised her hand, but her words cut just as deeply. She blamed him for his father's failures, for their poverty, for the life she believed she had been cheated out of. Small cruelties followed her everywhere: meals deliberately withheld, chores piled endlessly on his small shoulders, a cold look when he sought comfort. To her, he was less a child and more a reminder of everything that had gone wrong.
So Lu Yuan adapted.
He made himself small. He learned how to walk without sound, how to read moods in the tension of the air, how to disappear into corners when voices grew too loud. Survival became instinct, not choice. He stopped crying early on—tears only invited worse punishment. Instead, he swallowed everything: fear, anger, hunger, and the quiet, aching loneliness that never left his chest.
Evenings were the hardest.
As the sun sank, dread settled in. The slam of the front door signaled whether the night would pass quietly or end in bruises. Shouting echoed through thin walls, followed sometimes by the sharp crack of a strike. On those nights, Lu Yuan curled up on his thin mattress, body tense, listening, counting each sound until exhaustion dragged him into a shallow, uneasy sleep. Hunger gnawed at him constantly, and when food was present, meals were taken in suffocating silence.
Yet even in that darkness, something fragile endured.
In his mind, there was a single moment he returned to again and again—the memory of a narrow alley, of pain and fear, and of a quiet girl who had stepped forward when no one else had. Shen Qingyue's face was already beginning to blur at the edges, but the warmth of her hand, the calm in her eyes, remained vivid. That brief kindness became his secret treasure, something he guarded fiercely in his heart.
When nights grew too long, he thought of her.
When blows fell, he thought of her.
When he wondered whether it would be easier to simply stop trying, he thought of her.
That small act of compassion gave his suffering meaning. It told him that not all people were cruel, that somewhere beyond his cramped home and violent nights, there existed a world where someone like her could exist. It was enough—just barely—to keep him going.
Every careful step around his parents, every moment of endurance, every stolen breath of peace was fueled by a single hope: perhaps one day, fate would allow him to see her again.
For now, his future remained unshaped. The shadow of the original novel loomed quietly, waiting. In that story, Lu Yuan would grow into a man hardened by hatred, his heart twisted by obsession, clinging desperately to the light of the female lead. He would clash with the male lead, be cast as a villain, and meet a tragic end that readers would dismiss as inevitable.
But at this moment, none of that had happened yet.
He was still just a child—bruised, neglected, and alone—holding onto a fragile spark of hope planted by a girl he barely knew.
Later That Evening
Lu Yuan lay on his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling above him.
The room was silent except for the faint hum of the streetlight outside his window. His body still ached—bruises blooming beneath his clothes—but the pain felt distant, muted, as if it no longer fully belonged to him.
His fingers twitched.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, he lifted his hand and turned it over, palm facing up.
This hand.
He could still feel it.
The warmth.
The steadiness.
The way her fingers had wrapped around his as if she had never doubted he would take it.
Lu Yuan curled his fingers slightly, as though trying to trap the sensation before it faded.
"She didn't hesitate…" he whispered to the empty room.
No one had ever stepped into an alley for him before. No one had ever looked at him and decided he was worth stopping for. The thought made his chest tighten—not painfully, but deeply, like something was pressing itself into his heart.
His mind replayed the scene again and again.
Her calm voice.
Her eyes meeting his.
The way the bullies had backed away.
If she hadn't come…
The thought trailed off, unfinished. He didn't want to imagine that version of the day. He didn't want a world where she hadn't appeared.
A strange unease settled over him.
What if he never saw her again?
The idea sent a sharp, unfamiliar fear through him—stronger than the fear of the bullies, stronger than the fear of pain. His breathing quickened, and he sat up abruptly, clutching his hand to his chest.
"No," he murmured, almost pleading. "That won't happen."
He didn't know her name.
Didn't know her class.
Didn't even know if she went to the same school.
But somehow, deep down, Lu Yuan felt certain of one thing.
She existed.
She had seen him.
And because of that—
The world could no longer pretend he didn't.
His grip tightened over his heart.
I'll remember you, he promised silently, the words sinking deeper than a simple thought ever should. Even if you forget me… I won't forget you.
Outside, the streetlight flickered once, then steadied.
And in the quiet of his room, something fragile—but dangerous—took its first breath.
Author's note
Greetings from me to you, please if I should make a mistake I would love your honest opinion
Thanks 😘