When I was teaching at the university, Brother Lu called me a pervert at the beginning.

Because my family lived in the countryside, I was very good at catching fish from a young age, and I caught a fish in no time.

The little mute boy looked very happy, and a joyful smile appeared on his rosy cheeks.

After catching a few more fish, I walked towards the shore.

The little mute boy had already prepared a fire, and he held a sharp wooden stick in his hand, sticking it into the fish's mouth and roasting it in the fire.

However, her grilling skills seemed to be very poor; I could smell a burnt smell even from quite a distance.

"I'll do the grilling."

The little mute boy let out a soft "woo-wah" and handed the grilled fish to me.

I sat down next to her, gently took the fish, and tore off the charred part of it with my hands.

The little mute boy sat quietly beside me, his hands supporting his chin, watching me grill the fish.

I remained silent as I grilled the fish.

I don't like to talk; I've been a quiet person since I was a child.

"It's done."

I handed the grilled fish to the little mute boy.

She was delighted and began to devour the fish after receiving it.

I then continued grilling the fish.

After the little mute girl finished eating, I handed her the grilled fish.

She accepted the grilled fish without hesitation and started eating.

I stared quietly at her flat little belly, and had an urge to cut it open with a knife to see what was inside that allowed her to eat so much.

After the little mute boy took the last grilled fish from my hand, he looked at me with a puzzled expression and then made a whimpering sound.

I think she was probably asking me why I didn't eat grilled fish.

I shook my head and handed her the last grilled fish I had in my hand.

I don't like eating fish, perhaps because there are too many bones on it, making it troublesome to eat.

Or perhaps for some other reason, I don't like eating fish, and I even find it somewhat repulsive.

After passing the time at the little mute's place, I returned home.

The mother was staring blankly at the ceiling.

Upon hearing my movement, she mechanically took the food out of the pot and placed it on the table, then continued staring at the ceiling.

It seemed there was something on that pristine white wall that was worth her such serious attention.

I looked up at the ceiling and saw my reflection, burning in flames, on the white-painted wall.

But when I looked closely, it suddenly disappeared.

I was curious about what kind of scene that white wall looked like in my mother's eyes.

……

Time passes slowly.

I thought I would just continue living a mundane life like this.

But unexpectedly, when I was in the second semester of junior high school, my mother suddenly fell ill and was hospitalized.

When I arrived at the hospital, the doctor handed me a white medical form, saying that I was in the late stage of kidney failure and that my life would be in danger if I didn't get a kidney transplant soon.

Without thinking twice, I signed the kidney transplant consent form and went with the doctor to get my blood tested.

After I returned from the blood test, I sat down next to my mother and picked up a knife to peel fruit for her.

She stared blankly at the hospital ceiling, saying nothing.

I held the peeled apple to my mother's lips, but she only glanced at me before turning her head away.

I gently placed the peeled apple on the table and then started peeling another one.

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After a while, the doctor knocked on the door and called me out.

I placed the knife next to my mother and then turned and left the ward.

Once outside, the doctor told me some shocking news: my bloodline was not a match for my mother's.

A flicker of surprise crossed my mind when I heard what the doctor said.

I never imagined that I wasn't my mother's son.

When I returned to the ward, I prepared to ask my mother about my background.

But unexpectedly, her mother committed suicide.

That cowardly mother plunged the knife into her own neck, just as I had killed my father.

Red paint covered the white ceiling.

I walked to my mother's side and looked up at the ceiling covered in red paint.

I... I think I know why my mother always looks at the ceiling now.

In the days that followed, I began to handle my mother's funeral arrangements.

It was very easy to handle, because the mother had no friends or relatives in the city.

The little mute boy saw me once from afar during my mourning period, and then disappeared.

I carried my mother's urn back to the small village where I used to live.

That small village has been abandoned, leaving only ruins and broken walls.

I searched for a long time using the memories in my mind before I finally found the address of my original home.

This place is overgrown with dandelions and some weeds.

After burying my mother's ashes in the ground, I turned and left.

As a gentle breeze blew by, dandelions swirled all around me.

Suddenly, I remembered that when I was very young, my mother, father, and I went to the top of the mountain to see dandelions.

My memory is a bit hazy, but I remember my mother smiling very happily at the time.

Time keeps moving forward, and life goes on.

I returned to school and sat quietly in my seat, looking at the book in my hand.

The strange looks from onlookers were now tinged with something else entirely.

I've also acquired a few more nicknames, such as "lone star" and "orphan."

My face remained completely indifferent, so indifferent that even if they provoked me to my face, I couldn't be bothered to pay them any attention.

I propped my head up and looked at the white clouds outside the window. I was thinking that I hadn't seen the little mute boy for a while.

Is she... very busy right now?

With this question in mind, I went to look for her under the bridge.

But they found that her tent had been burned down, a blackened mess, with only a black bracelet remaining by the river not far away.

I picked up the bracelet, put it in my pocket, and turned to walk outside.

I had a strange feeling that something had happened to the little mute boy.

So I started asking around about the little mute boy.

Finally, I secretly sneaked into a nearby shop to check the surveillance footage and discovered that more than a week ago, the little mute boy had been bullied by several boys who looked like students.

They hit the little mute girl on the head with stones on the road and subjected her to all sorts of verbal abuse.

Two days ago, in the afternoon, I saw on the surveillance footage that these boys were laughing and joking as they walked towards the little mute boy's house with gasoline in their hands.

About four hours later, we saw them fleeing in disarray.

After carefully observing the faces of the boys on the surveillance footage for a while, I realized that one of them, with blond hair, was the same person who had provoked me at school before.

To further investigate what happened to the little mute boy.

So the next day, I lured him to the gymnasium under the guise of being a physical education teacher.

I started asking him about the little mute boy.

But he stammered and didn't dare to say anything.

As I pressed closer, he turned to run away, but I grabbed his collar and threw him to the ground.

I pulled a knife out of my pocket and stabbed it hard into the rubber slab next to him, asking again what they had done at the little mute's house two nights ago and why the little mute had suddenly disappeared.

He stared at the gleaming blade beside him, his eyes clenched in fear, and he recounted what they had done two nights ago at the little mute's house.

It turns out that word got to him that I walked with the little mute girl at school that day, and in order to get revenge on me, he actually went and caused trouble for the little mute girl.

Two days ago, they were preparing to bully the little mute boy as usual.

But one of his accomplices told them that he was getting a little tired of just throwing stones at people and wanted to try something else.