Chapter Twenty-Five: Two Paths in Life

With a thunderous clang, the towering iron gates slowly parted, and Qian Zhen emerged from within their shadow. His hair was cropped short and gleamed a deep black, his skin the color of sun-baked bronze, and though his clothes were worn, they were at least clean—the very same outfit he had worn two years before. At last, the ordeal was over: after two years behind bars, Qian Zhen had regained his freedom.

Standing outside the gates, Qian Zhen drew a deep breath—the air tasted impossibly fresh, the sensation of liberty both novel and exhilarating. He did not look back once as he left; such was the rule of prison: never turn around, never utter farewells, and from this moment onward, begin anew—never to return. As a frequent guest of the detention center, Qian Zhen was well acquainted with this custom.

From as far back as he could remember, Qian Zhen’s life had been steeped in strife. His parents quarreled endlessly, their battles erupting over the most trivial of matters. The house was often filled with the cacophony of pots and pans clattering. Fortunately, none of the dishes were porcelain, so he was spared the indignity of eating from chipped bowls, yet glass shards still found his flesh with alarming frequency. With parents fond of drink, there was never a shortage of bottles at home, and no fight ended without a few of them being smashed to pieces.

Each time his parents fought, the frail young Qian Zhen would curl up in a corner, trembling. Other than the living room, the only other room was his parents’ bedroom—a forbidden zone. The boy had nowhere else to go, nor did he dare leave during the heat of battle, and so the corner became his sole refuge.

When his younger brother, Qian Gui, was born, the household finally knew a brief period of peace. Qian Zhen cherished his brother deeply, for he was the only gentle soul in their home—quiet, undemanding, neither quarreling nor smashing things. But the calm did not last; soon enough, the family’s wars resumed, and Qian Zhen retreated once more to his sanctuary, only now with a wailing infant clutched in his arms.

Qian Zhen felt nothing but loathing for this home, but what choice does a helpless child have? He had no option but to endure.

There were, on rare occasions, fleeting moments of happiness. When his father drank alone, he would call Qian Zhen to keep him company; on those nights, the boy was rewarded with scraps—peanuts, soybeans, pickled beef, or a chicken drumstick. To Qian Zhen, these were delicacies beyond compare, and he would often squirrel away a portion for his brother, eager to share this rare pleasure.

Sometimes, when his mother was in a rare good mood, she would give him a few coins of pocket money. These moments filled him with joy. He would save every cent, dreaming that, with enough, he could spirit his brother away from this cold house to a place of warmth and laughter—the kind he’d seen on television, the kind of life he yearned for.

Sadly, his painstakingly saved coins would often vanish, pilfered by his parents without his notice, leaving him only to wonder why his little savings jar was never full.

When he was old enough, Qian Zhen finally went to school and no longer had to spend every day trapped in that gloomy home. He would carry his schoolbag and lead his brother to school. But his plain clothes, his little tagalong, and the persistent smell of smoke and alcohol on his body made him an outcast; no one wanted to play with him, not even the teachers. Only his homeroom teacher, Hao Jie, offered him kindness.

To young Qian Zhen, Hao Jie was like the sun—beautiful, warm, kind. She never looked down on him for his poverty; instead, she would bring him food when he was hungry, buy him supplies, scold the bullies, and include him in group games so he could taste the joy of friendship.

Sometimes, he wished Hao Jie could have been his mother; then, he thought, he would be truly happy. Each day he saw her at school, his heart felt warmed—those were his happiest times.

But happiness was fleeting. One day, Hao Jie did not come to school. Qian Zhen searched everywhere for her, asking many people, but no one knew where she had gone. Perhaps, he thought, she had just taken a day off—surely she would be back tomorrow.

But Hao Jie never returned. Instead, the police came. Qian Zhen overheard them speaking with the principal, and pressed his ear to the window. He heard that Hao Jie had been robbed and stabbed to death on her way home. Though he did not yet understand what robbery meant, he knew what death was: Hao Jie would never return.

The child could not help but weep. After the police left, the principal called Qian Zhen into his office and handed him a small backpack, explaining it was Hao Jie’s birthday gift to him. Tears poured down his face, for he knew that Hao Jie had died trying to protect that very backpack.

Not long after, the police came to Qian Zhen’s home and took his father away. Qian Zhen learned that the very man who had murdered Hao Jie was his own father. His young heart was shattered once more. He grew to hate his father so much that he never saw him again, convinced that this man had stolen away the person he loved most and robbed him of his only joy.

His mother soon remarried, and Qian Zhen and his brother, now burdens, could not join the new family. They were sent to live with their uncle, beginning a life dependent on the kindness of others. The uncle pitied his two nephews, but the aunt resented their presence, seeing them as just another drain on the household. She was rarely kind, quick to scold or strike them and vent her frustrations on the boys.

As the elder brother, Qian Zhen bore the brunt of the abuse to shield Qian Gui. Their uncle, timid by nature, turned a blind eye, but would sometimes sneak the boys snacks when his wife was out, offering what little comfort he could.

Without Hao Jie’s protection, Qian Zhen’s school life grew miserable again; bullying and mockery became his daily fare. He began to fight back with his fists, and soon the bullied child became the school’s little tyrant. That title followed him beyond the schoolyard: he took to the streets, launching a new chapter of his life.

Qian Zhen dropped out before graduating middle school. He brawled, stole, and committed every petty crime, becoming a notorious figure in the city. With his gang, he helped collect debts, fought on behalf of others, or sometimes, when the mood struck, played the role of a robber, leaving his victims penniless.

He was no stranger to the police, regularly hauled into the station, but as he was still a minor, he was usually released after a stern lecture. Rumors spread that he had connections in the police, making him even more feared on the street.

He could not stay at his uncle’s house for long, and left without regret—better to wander than to endure his aunt’s scorn. The only sorrow was having to leave his little brother behind; Qian Gui was too young to bring along and had to remain in that hateful place. When Qian Zhen left, Qian Gui wept bitterly, but Qian Zhen did not look back; he did not want his brother to see him cry.

Even after leaving, Qian Zhen would sneak back from time to time, always bringing snacks for his brother. Watching Qian Gui eat with joy, Qian Zhen’s rare smiles would surface.

“Brother, why don’t you come home? I’m so lonely without you. Cousin always bullies me, and Aunt hits me. They say you’ve abandoned me, that you’ll never come back. Is it true? Please don’t leave me—I’ll be good, I promise!”

Qian Zhen’s eyes brimmed with tears at his brother’s words. He stroked Qian Gui’s head and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll never leave you. I’m out there making money for you, bringing you treats. Be good. I’ll come see you often.”

Qian Zhen knew his brother suffered at their uncle’s home, but he was powerless. Though he ruled the streets, he dared not stand up for his brother; Qian Gui was too young—he did not want him to become a wanderer too. At least at their uncle’s, his brother had a bed to sleep in. Besides, Qian Zhen’s own activities were nothing he wanted his brother to know about.

He threw himself even more fiercely into making money, doing whatever it took—extortion, intimidation, and worse. To outsiders, he was a devil, but to his brother, he remained the only family, the loving elder sibling.

Qian Gui, unlike his brother, did not let his difficult circumstances turn him astray. He endured every slight and injustice with quiet patience, earning survival through obedience and thoughtfulness. Only in Qian Zhen’s presence did he dare show his true feelings, revealing the sadness he kept hidden from the world.

At school, Qian Gui’s cleverness and gentle nature made him well-liked. Though he was originally bullied for having no parents, soon everyone wanted to befriend him. His excellent grades earned him favor with the teachers, and eventually, even his uncle and aunt began to treat him better.

Compared to the shame their own son brought at every parent-teacher meeting, attending Qian Gui’s conferences filled them with pride and satisfaction; they even vied for the chance to attend his meetings instead of their own son’s.

The school bullies, too, steered clear—partly because Qian Gui was the teachers’ favorite, but also because by then, Qian Zhen was the undisputed tyrant of the streets, and no one dared provoke his brother.

In this comparatively friendly environment, Qian Gui grew up day by day, greeting everyone with a smile, winning their affection. Sometimes he loathed the mask he wore, but as long as others were present, he could not help but put it on. Only with his brother could he be himself.

Qian Gui once asked Qian Zhen if he could quit school, leave their uncle’s house, and live with him, but Qian Zhen refused. He would not let his brother live the same rootless life, nor would he allow him to fall into the criminal world and live in constant fear—that life was not for Qian Gui. He wanted his brother to live a normal, happy life.

And so Qian Gui advanced, step by step: middle school, high school, university, and then studies abroad. From high school onward, he never spent a cent on education; every school competed to enroll him, and his scholarships more than covered tuition. He even managed to send some money to their uncle and aunt, which made them all the more supportive of his studies.

Privately, Qian Gui often kept in touch with Qian Zhen. Though outsiders saw them as utterly different, Qian Gui knew only his brother truly loved him, only with him could he be his real self.

Thus, though the brothers’ lives diverged more and more, their hearts remained firmly bound.

But the net of justice is vast and inescapable; in the end, Qian Zhen paid the price for his recklessness. Once, a chemical factory owner, deep in gambling debt, refused to pay up. Someone hired Qian Zhen to collect, and he and his crew imprisoned the man in a hotel room until his family produced the money, extorting even more before letting him go.

Unexpectedly, the factory owner reported them to the police. The authorities, long eager to bring Qian Zhen down, seized the chance and sent him to prison. For illegal detention and extortion, he was sentenced to three years. He behaved well and earned a reduction, but still spent two years behind bars.

During those two years, aside from Qian Gui, no one came to visit. When Qian Gui learned of his brother’s arrest, he was abroad. It was only when his aunt casually mentioned it during a phone call that he found out. He was frantic and wanted to return at once, but had to wait until the holidays to visit Qian Zhen.

Qian Gui could not understand how his brother had ended up in prison, and Qian Zhen did not explain. He simply gave Qian Gui the password to a safe, which contained the fortune he had amassed through years of hardship—a treasure saved for their future. When Qian Gui saw the money, he wept. He understood that, though his brother’s actions had been criminal, they were also a rebellion against their bitter fate—a testament to his love.