Chapter 48: Brothers

Lu Qi was fretting about how to steer the conversation back to the main point, but to his surprise, Cheng understood everything already. Once the matter was laid bare, Cheng simply stood there, as if saying, “Go ahead”—there was a certain forthrightness to him.

If it came to a fight, Lu Qi would never back down, but to strike someone who wouldn’t fight back—he truly couldn’t bring himself to do it. The big fellow hesitated for a long while before replying, somewhat sheepishly, “I am here to fight you today, but not because of what happened five years ago. I’m standing up for my brothers!”

“Brothers?” At that, Cheng let out a cold laugh. “And who are your brothers?”

Lu Qi’s brows shot up at this. “Qiu Hui! Zhang Peiyue! They’re all my brothers!”

Cheng tilted his head, disdain written all over his face. “Qiu Hui’s father is a senior official in the education bureau; Zhang Peiyue’s dad is the richest man in town. As for your father, if I’m not mistaken, he’s a laborer, isn’t he? Carrying sand and cement up and down the building, swinging a sledgehammer, sweat flying, shattering on the ground—a laborer’s son, how could he be brothers with the son of an official or a tycoon? Tell me?”

By the end, Cheng’s face contorted, his words squeezed out through gritted teeth, as though the humiliation and resentment he spoke of belonged not to Lu Qi, but to himself.

Lu Qi’s face flushed red; he had no rebuttal, for every word was true.

“You’re in your third year now, about to take the high school entrance exams, aren’t you? I’ve heard your grades aren’t great—you’re struggling to even get into a vocational school. Your homeroom teacher has spoken to you several times, suggesting you transfer to a technical school, but your family insists you take the entrance exams anyway, isn’t that right?”

None of these were secrets. Lu Qi had little aptitude for academics. Graduation was just around the corner, but his scores hovered near the passing line. For someone of his abilities, passing the standard high school exam would be an extraordinary feat. Most likely, he’d end up following in his father’s footsteps, the two of them waiting for work at the labor market, or perhaps learning plumbing or masonry, heading out to work as so many graduates did.

“Qiu Hui’s family has connections; there’s already a seat reserved for him at the county’s top high school. Zhang Peiyue’s family is rich; a sponsorship of eighty or a hundred thousand means nothing to them. Their path has been paved since long ago—after high school, he’ll go abroad, spend a few years overseas, come back with a foreign degree, driving a luxury car worth a million, while you’re still swinging a sledgehammer. When you run into them on the street, will you even greet them? Or if you do, will they acknowledge you? Brothers!”

His words thrust Lu Qi into that awkward scene—when friendship is tested by disparity in status, can it endure? In their youth, children make friends with pure hearts, unburdened by notions of class, but everyone grows up, and when innocence fades, can that brotherhood still be called by its name?

This was reality, raw and unvarnished, torn open by Cheng, left gaping and bloody, almost unbearable to behold.

“Your father swings a sledgehammer on the construction site; my grandmother sells candied hawthorns by the roadside—we are the same kind of people! We and they, we can never truly be brothers!” Wen Xiaocheng’s words were a low, bitter snarl.

Lu Qi’s eyes brimmed with tears; he couldn’t utter a single word.

Cheng seemed to have spent all his strength. He slumped down, and for a long five minutes neither spoke. At last Cheng stood again.

“If you don’t want to hit me, I’ll go. If you ever want to, I’ll be here—if you want to vent your anger for your father, I won’t fight back. But don’t talk about brotherhood, because if a brother beats me, I’m the one who’s wronged!”

That last sentence—“brother”—could be seen as the reason for the fight, or as its very subject. Cheng was not persuading, not preaching; only subtly guiding: we are the same kind. Yet those words left Lu Qi with a strange illusion.

Lu Qi dared not even lift his head. The boy, tall as a tower, over six feet, buried his head between his knees. Only after Cheng had gone did the muffled sounds of weeping escape him.

A seed, once planted, will sprout sooner or later. A thorn, once lodged in the flesh, hurts with every touch. Others, not knowing where it lies, may touch it by accident, and after a few such moments of pain, they will never dare draw too close. Only one person knows where that thorn is—Wen Xiaocheng.

That day, someone saw Wen Xiaocheng and Lu Qi climb to the rooftop together. Cheng came down first, looking calm and unruffled, while Lu Qi stayed up there for a long time; when he finally descended, his eyes were red. Soon, rumors spread that Lu Qi had been beaten to tears by Wen Xiaocheng.

Meanwhile, Qiu Hui and his little gang were still waiting by the horizontal bars for Lu Qi’s news. Since it was supposed to be a one-on-one, they didn’t feel right being present, and besides, there was nothing to worry about—Lu Qi was known as the “Conqueror Lu,” “Invincible Lu.” Beating Wen Xiaocheng would be child’s play.

The group’s stomachs were already growling, yet Lu Qi still hadn’t shown up. Someone with sharp eyes spotted Wen Xiaocheng walking out of the school gates, swinging his bag, perfectly at ease, not at all like someone who had just been in a fight.

“Hui! Hui! Look! Quick, look!” The sharp-eyed one was so surprised, he slapped Qiu Hui’s shoulder twice, making him wince.

“What is it?”

“Wen Xiaocheng! He just left through the school gates!”

Qiu Hui and Zhang Peiyue were both stunned. The two had gone up to the rooftop together—how had Wen Xiaocheng come down first, with Lu Qi nowhere in sight? Impossible! Lu Qi knew his brothers were waiting; if things were over, he’d come straight here. What on earth had happened?

“Did Seventh fail this time?”

“How could that be? This is the Seventh we’re talking about! Invincible Lu! The Conqueror! He couldn’t possibly lose to Wen Xiaocheng. That’s a joke! Even eight Wen Xiaochengs wouldn’t be enough for him!”

Just then, a burly figure approached—Lu Qi at last.

“There’s the Seventh, let’s ask what happened!”

Seeing Lu Qi’s expression, the gang, though curious, dared not ask too much, fearing they’d offend him and get a slap for their troubles. Everyone looked to Qiu Hui—after all, he was the real leader.

“Seventh, what’s up?” Qiu Hui got straight to the point, making no effort to hide his displeasure. “We agreed—you’d settle this with your fists. So why did that kid come down unscathed? We all saw him leave, bouncing along and humming a tune!”

Zhang Peiyue, though also unhappy, was less blunt. “Seventh, what happened up there? Did that kid pull a fast one on you?”

Wen Xiaocheng was infamous for fighting dirty—throwing glasses, twisting fingers. Maybe Lu Qi had suffered a loss.

Lu Qi shook his head. “No, we didn’t fight.”

“Didn’t fight?” Qiu Hui’s brows shot up. “Damn it, what did you go up there for, then? To chat?”

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I think this section turned out rather well, so—votes, tips, come out and chat!