Chapter 37

From the moment he woke before dawn until daylight, Wen Ran got up and washed. The eyes in the mirror were bloodshot. Wen Ran lowered his head, cupped some water, and pressed his face into it.

He sat at his desk until seven-thirty, then picked up his Mobile Phone and dialed a number.

It connected fast, a kind woman's voice came through: “Hello, who's this?”

Wen Ran's voice was hoarse: “Auntie Sun, it's me, Little Tree.”

“Oh, Little Tree!” Sun Huiying said happily. “What made you suddenly think to call me?”

“There's something I wanted to ask. I'm not bothering you, am I?”

“No, no, I just finished breakfast, I was about to watch TV. What is it, go ahead.”

“Last time we met, you asked if any strange person had come looking for me after I was adopted.” Wen Ran paused. “Actually, after I was adopted, someone did come to the Orphanage looking for me. Right?”

“Ah…” There was something awkward in Sun Huiying's tone. She mulled it over a long moment, then sighed. “Yeah. The afternoon you were taken away, a woman came asking about you, and the director told her you'd already found someone to adopt you.”

“When she heard that, she cried. She asked the director over and over, like she'd lost her mind, who'd taken you away. The director said he couldn't disclose the adopter's information and told her to go home, but she said she was your mother, told us to give you back to her.”

His fingers twitched. Wen Ran nearly couldn't hold onto the Mobile Phone.

“Little Tree, you probably don't know this — your adoption wasn't done through proper channels. The director took a big sum of money from your adoptive parents and signed a confidentiality agreement with them. I only found out about it a long time after.” Sun Huiying sounded as if she'd regretted it for years too. “When that woman finally left, she wrote me a note. It had her name and phone number on it. She begged me, if I ever had news of you, to let her know.”

“But the director saw it. The moment she left, he took the note and tore it up, told me to stay out of it.”

Wen Ran opened his mouth, drew in a soundless breath, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk. “Do you still remember her name or number?”

“I didn't even get a clear look back then, just caught a glimpse of the name.” Sun Huiying thought back. “Surname Li. Li-something-wan. I don't quite remember the middle character.”

His nails dug hard into the desktop, almost embedding themselves. Wen Ran's whole body started to tremble.

“Okay, I understand.” He fought to keep his voice steady. “Sorry to bother you so early. I'll let you go now.”

“Little Tree, it's been so long now. If your adoptive parents treat you well, then maybe you shouldn't… ah, it's your own business, you should decide it yourself. Just take care of yourself, okay.”

He hung up and buried his face in his arms.

Alphas and Omegas were always the first choice for adoption; the group with the highest numbers in the Orphanage was always Betas, the result that an AO Test would never spare. Wen Ran always watched silently as the Alpha and Omega kids found adoptive families and left the run-down Orphanage one after another, while he got left behind, time and again. Being a Beta, he was the one nobody picked.

Then one day, his own adoptive parents finally came — a well-off couple. The morning he left the Orphanage, Wen Ran looked back at the gate. He really thought he was finally going to have a home.

He didn't realize, back then, that he'd come within a hair of finding his birth mother.

That tiny hair of a margin. Missing it cost him eleven years.

On Sunday, Wen Ran made a trip to the Capital Opera House.

He'd spent the whole week searching nonstop for anything about Li Qingwan, but what he could pull from the web was shallow and limited. Dejected, Wen Ran decided to try another approach.

The morning opera house was quiet and empty. Wen Ran walked straight through, unobstructed, to the largest concert hall, faintly hearing music. He pushed the door open and looked down from the very back row — the orchestra was rehearsing.

Overseeing the rehearsal was an older Omega in a dress, slim and upright. Wen Ran remembered the Teacher Wu that Gu Yunchi had mentioned last time at Zhang Fangyi's Residence, and guessed she must be Zhang Fangyi's wife, Wu Yin.

Wen Ran stepped down the stairs, found a seat in the third row, and watched them rehearse. About twenty minutes later, Wu Yin clapped to call a stop. The orchestra members packed up their instruments and drifted off the stage in twos and threes. Only then did Wen Ran stand up.

Wu Yin, who'd just opened her water bottle but hadn't drunk yet, noticed him and seemed to freeze for a second, then walked over. One hand held the cap pressed against the bottle. She looked at Wen Ran for a few seconds, then asked, “You're…?”

“Hello, Teacher Wu, I'm Wen Ran.” Wen Ran gave a bow. “Last time I had dinner at your and Teacher Zhang's place, you happened to be out.”

“So you're Wen Ran. Just like old Zhang said…” Wu Yin's gaze stayed on Wen Ran's face, and she smiled. “By the time I rushed home last time, you and Yunchi had already left. I told old Zhang we should invite you two over for a meal again sometime. Come, let's go to the office to talk.”

“Okay.”

On the way, people kept nodding hello to Wu Yin: “Vice Director.” Wu Yin nodded back to each, pushed open the office door, and invited Wen Ran in.

Another wall covered in photos. Wu Yin poured Wen Ran a glass of water, and seeing him looking at the photos, she pointed at one. “Look, this is Shuhui when she first joined the orchestra. She hadn't even graduated yet back then.”

But Wen Ran was looking at Li Qingwan's face in the same photo. He pointed at it and said, in a very ordinary tone, “Is this Li Qingwan? Teacher Zhang mentioned her to me last time.”

“Yes, that's her.” Wu Yin glanced at Wen Ran, but didn't bring up the subject of how much he resembled Li Qingwan. “That class at the Capital Conservatory of Music really produced so many excellent players — like Shuhui, and Qingwan. I deliberately kept every single video of their rehearsals and formal performances, not one missing. Looking back now, I really do miss those days.”

She handed Wen Ran the water and walked toward the desk. “Let me show you the video of the whole orchestra's first official performance.”

Wen Ran followed, holding the glass. Wu Yin took a USB Drive from a drawer and plugged it into the Computer, opened a folder, found the video, and clicked it open.

A video from nearly twenty-five years ago, probably recorded by the theater itself, more documentary in style — the picture was blurry, the audio not great, but you could still make out the focused expression on every face. Amid the lilting ensemble, Wen Ran watched Li Qingwan. She was incredibly young then, and as she played, it was as if a wind rose around her.

The camera turned slowly toward the audience, zoomed in, and Wen Ran went still — Wen Ningyuan.

He sat in the second row, watching the stage intently, seeming to smile faintly, a tender, admiring look on his face.

It lingered only two or three seconds before the camera turned away again. Wen Ran asked, “Did my father used to come and listen too?”

“Mm, before he married Shuhui, Ningyuan came often. You'd see him at the times Shuhui wasn't onstage too. But after they married, he never came again. We even joked back then that he'd gotten shy.” Wu Yin reminisced. “At first nobody knew he and Shuhui were a couple, and then suddenly they announced they were getting married. We were all stunned.”

Wen Ran thought back to Wen Ningyuan's faint smile. Even in a video this low-quality, you could see the love he let slip — but why had he never once seen that look directed at Chen Shuhui? Always gentle and respectful, yes, but you couldn't feel any love in it.

“My mom… was she close with Li Qingwan?” Wen Ran asked, hesitant and cautious.

“Not really close, no. To me it just seemed like an ordinary coworker relationship. And I never heard of any falling-out between them.”

Knock knock knock — someone came to drop off documents. Wu Yin paused the video. So Wen Ran drank the rest of his water and said goodbye to her. “I won't take up more of your time. Thank you for sparing some time to talk with me.”

“Not at all.” Wu Yin watched him, an almost tender look on her face. “I should be the one thanking you for keeping me company while I remembered those days. There really are some people I haven't been able to see again in far too long.”

That night, Wen Ran took the model out of its box, set it gently on his desk, and sat down to admire it quietly. He'd spent the whole week in a daze, desperately trying to find news about Li Qingwan, and come up with nothing.

It was hard for Wen Ran to describe how he felt — sorrow and regret over how he'd missed Li Qingwan, dread over her disappearance, anxiety and impatience at finding no clues at all. But after talking with Wu Yin today, he suddenly felt a little calmer.

He thought he ought to be happy. He had a mother. And there were many people who remembered and missed her.

There would definitely be a chance to see Mom again, Wen Ran told himself, and he began to feel a sense of anticipation.

There'd been far too little in his past life to hope for or look forward to. Now, at last, there was. Wen Ran wouldn't guess at why he'd ended up in the Orphanage from birth — it didn't matter. He knew it definitely wasn't what Li Qingwan wanted, when she'd missed him so much, when she'd told him over and over to wait for her.

So he had to keep waiting, keep searching — even if he was ten years late.

Wen Ran picked up his Mobile Phone, tried several angles before he got a perfect photo of the model, hesitated a moment, then sent the photo to Gu Yunchi with the caption: Admiring it carefully again [smile][rose][handshake]

Since Gu Yunchi left last Saturday, Wen Ran hadn't started a chat on his own. He hadn't even quite dared to take the model out, always worried that the next second Chen Shuhui would push the door open and walk in — even though he knew she wouldn't do anything to the model, because Gu Yunchi had given it. She looked down on him, but in the end she was wary of Gu Yunchi.

Today he wasn't going to hold back. He wanted to admire the model openly, wanted to talk to Gu Yunchi, even if there'd be no reply.

He could no longer obey Chen Shuhui blindly the way he had. Pure submission would never bring him any motherly love or care — only countless cold warnings and acts of destruction, forcing him again and again to lower his limits, to become a puppet with no will of his own.

Wen Ran refused to become a puppet.

Nearly twenty minutes later, a new message came in. Wen Ran, in the middle of working problems, immediately put down his pen and picked up the phone to look.

A Good Person: can you not be so corny

Wen Ran: ?

Wen Ran: how am I corny [question]

A Good Person: all of it

Wen Ran: fine [wilted]

Wen Ran: when are you coming back to the country?

A Good Person: not sure

Wen Ran: then can you tell me when you're back [praying]

A Good Person: why

Wen Ran: I'll run over fast and give you a hug [fist-cupped salute]

Less than ten seconds after that message went out, the screen went dark, and then a ringtone suddenly blared — A Good Person was calling.

It honestly startled him. Wen Ran fumbled to answer. “…Hello?”

There was quiet for a moment, then Gu Yunchi's voice came: “What is all this random crap you keep sending all day. So corny.”

Wen Ran was very confused — first, he didn't do it all day, and second, it wasn't random crap. He'd rarely chatted with anyone on his phone before, and worried his messages were too dry and dull, so he'd learned to dress them up with a few emojis to make them more fun. Tao Susu sent messages the same way, except her sticker packs were richer and cuter; in essence they had to be pretty much the same.

“Did you call just to tell me I'm corny?” Wen Ran said. “If you don't like it, I won't add emojis anymore.”

But if this line had been sent as text, Wen Ran felt he still wouldn't be able to resist adding a crying emoji at the end.

“Add them or don't, I don't care.”

Wen Ran paused, then said, “Then I'm adding them.”

When he finished, he heard a very soft laugh come through the phone, breathy — it was Lu Heyang's voice.

Gu Yunchi was off traveling with Lu Heyang, He Wei got brutally left out, the golden triangle was in jeopardy, the triangle no longer had stability — this whole string of thoughts popped into Wen Ran's head.

“Is that Lu Heyang?” Wen Ran asked. “You're traveling with Lu Heyang? That's nice.”

He just genuinely meant it — getting to travel abroad with a good friend, not having to worry about studying or exams, really was a nice thing. If you didn't consider He Wei's feelings, that is.

Gu Yunchi said flatly, “If you're so jealous, then come travel with him next time.”

“?” Before Wen Ran even knew how to answer, he heard Lu Heyang laugh and say “sorry,” then it sounded like he got up and went out.

“What's wrong with you, not having fun out there?” Wen Ran tried to comfort him. “You should cheer up a little.”

“Don't talk if you can't talk right,” Gu Yunchi said. “What do you usually take to get to and from school?”

The topic shifted too fast. Wen Ran blinked. “The Public Bus.”

“Wei Lingzhou's been restless lately. I'll arrange a driver for you.”

“No, no need.” If Chen Shuhui found out, it'd most likely be another round of sneering, Wen Ran said. “I'll ask tomorrow, see if the driver can spare time to take me back and forth.”

“If he can't, contact BDH-339 directly, it'll arrange it for you,” Gu Yunchi said. “Anything that comes up, go to it first thing. I can't always reply in time.”

“I've got it.” Wen Ran reached out to touch the model, and remembered how Gu Yunchi had come to find him with it a week ago. He said, “I'll wait for you to come back.”

After a full three seconds of silence, Gu Yunchi gave a “Mm.”

He'd said he would ask tomorrow, but he dragged it to Wednesday. Chen Shuhui had been away the past few days, and if he went over her head to contact the driver directly, the driver would surely just turn around and check with her anyway — better to speak up himself, far less hassle.

In the morning, Wen Ran carried his Backpack downstairs and walked to the dining table. Chen Shuhui didn't look up at him. So Wen Ran sat down in a chair and set his Mobile Phone at the edge of the table.

It was the old phone he'd dug out of the storage room earlier. Wen Ran had deliberately gotten a cheap SIM card to put in it. He only dared use the Mobile Phone Gu Yunchi gave him at the Preparatory School and in his own room; the rest of the time he relied on this old phone to cover his tracks.

“Can the driver pick me up for school?” Wen Ran took a bite of bread. “Taking the Public Bus every day means transfers, it eats up a lot of time.”

Chen Shuhui glanced at him. “Who spoiled you to be this delicate? Can't even handle a transfer without complaining you're tired.”

“Mm, if it's not possible, then never mind.” He'd known the answer anyway, so Wen Ran was very calm. “I'm full, I'll head to school now.”

He'd shouldered his Backpack and just turned around when he heard Chen Shuhui say, “Haven't you already gotten cozy with Gu Yunchi? Have him arrange it for you.”

Wen Ran's steps didn't stop. He walked silently out the door.

So he didn't contact BDH-339 either — otherwise he'd be proving Chen Shuhui right. Wen Ran kept taking the Public Bus back and forth on a hope and a prayer, planning to talk it over with Gu Yunchi the next time they chatted.

The frame of the little Kangaroo Model was basically done. The studio Tao Susu found had delivered the parts, and Wen Ran had also bought a palm-sized mini tool kit, just right for assembling and disassembling a small model like this.

“Why have you been so listless these past couple days again?” Tao Susu asked.

“I've got a bit of a fever. I'll rest over the weekend and be fine.” Just a fever and dizziness — probably his condition acting up again. Wen Ran was used to it.

“Is your Fenqi Period coming?”

“It won't be. It hasn't even been a month.”

“Who told you it's always once a month? Didn't you learn it in health class? In the first six months after an Omega's first Fenqi, the Fenqi Period is really unstable — the intervals can be long or short.”

“Is that so…” Wen Ran stopped what his hands were doing, staring at a single screw for a good while, then said, “Then maybe I really didn't pay attention in class.”

If it was Fenqi, then he was truly done for — Gu Yunchi was out of the country, and he had nowhere to get any Pheromone. Sitting on the Public Bus, Wen Ran stared blankly out the window, when a thought suddenly came to him — just use an Inhibitor, then. Let his Pheromone go haywire, let his Gland lose function, so Chen Shuhui could no longer use him to hold the Gu Family hostage.

Though it was only a thought he could entertain.

The sky was overcast. His stop came, and Wen Ran got up, off the bus, to transfer.

A few ride-hail cars pulled up at the curb one after another, picked up passengers, and left quickly. In the end only Wen Ran was left — this stop always had low foot traffic.

Wen Ran stood under the sign with his head down. He heard a car approaching, but it wasn't the sound of a Public Bus. He looked up — a van was coming, not slowing at all, as if it were just passing by.

Through the windshield, Wen Ran caught an inadvertent glimpse of the driver in a black mask and a baseball cap, his eyes fixed right on him.

The hair on his back suddenly stood up in a wave. Wen Ran instinctively stepped back, but the van slammed to a stop, and before it had even settled the side door was yanked open. A pair of hands shot out fast and dragged him up with brutal force.