The Devil's Temperature

In the summer of 1996, a fierce gale snapped young bamboo shoots. A group of four or five-year-olds widened their eyes, gazing at the tiny hailstones plummeting from the sky. “That’s popsicle sticks! They’re edible!” With a cheer, the children stretched out their small hands, vying to catch the hailstones. Teacher Xiao Zhao was busy changing the trousers of a little boy in the corner. The boy’s eyes were vacant and lifeless, fixed on the yellow stains of urine on his pants and beneath his wheelchair, without uttering a single word. Catching sight of the naive children outside the classroom picking up hailstones and tasting them, Teacher Xiao Zhao feared for their lives. She didn’t even finish pulling up the black-haired boy’s half-doffed trousers, hurrying out to fetch all the children back inside. Left in the classroom were only four little boys and a feverish little girl fast asleep in the front row. Among the boys was a chubby lad named Chen Hu. True to his name—“Hu” meaning tiger—he had a robust, tiger-like build, looking exceptionally healthy. His plump, fair cheeks were flushed with a ruddy glow, and he was a full size larger than the other children. Chen Hu rolled his eyes, originally watching the unfamiliar hailstones outside. But being close by, he caught the scent of urine. Twitching his nose, he turned around and saw Pei Chuan in the wheelchair trying to pull up his trousers by himself. Regrettably, there was nothing below Pei Chuan’s knees—he had no way to gain any leverage at all. After a long struggle, he could only barely yank the urine-stained trousers upward, covering his private parts. Chen Hu glanced at the puddle of urine on the floor and spoke in a sharp, incredulous child’s tone: “Look! Pei Chuan wet his pants! There’s pee all over the floor!” The other little boys in the classroom all turned around, clapping their hands over their mouths. “He’s so filthy!” “I saw it just now! Teacher Zhao was changing his pants!” “He’s still wearing those trousers—look at his private area, yuck!” A shameful flush spread across Pei Chuan’s pale, gaunt little face. He bit his lip, then abruptly grabbed a picture book to shield the soaked area of his underwear. Trembling, his gaze drifted toward the teacher outside the kindergarten. Teacher Xiao Zhao carried the last child inside and chided the children: “That’s hail—you must not eat it, do you understand? I’ll inform your parents to come pick you up shortly!” Fearing the children might disobey, she put on a stern expression and added: “If you eat hail, little ones will never grow taller again!” As soon as the words left her mouth, several children’s faces turned pale instantly. Tears welled up in their eyes, and they burst into wails. “Teacher, will I never grow taller again…?” Teacher Xiao Zhao replied: “Of course not. Just eat plenty of rice tonight, and you’ll be perfectly fine.” The innocent children ceased crying and broke into smiles through their tears. Yet innocence can sometimes be the cruellest thing of all. The chubby boy pointed at Pei Chuan with his stubby fingers: “Teacher Zhao, Pei Chuan wet his pants!” Only then did Teacher Xiao Zhao recall the child in the corner, whose trousers were still half down. But the chubby boy had shouted so loudly that everyone in the class heard him. Pei Chuan trembled, large tears rolling down his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to—truly, he hadn’t… In an instant, the children’s childish murmurs of discussion filled the air. “I stopped wetting my pants when I was three!” “Mom says kids who wet their pants are dirty.” “Pei Chuan doesn’t have legs, and he still wets his pants—we won’t play with him anymore!” “If we play with him, we’ll wet our pants too!” … The chattering finally roused the feverish little girl in the front row. Her cheeks were flushed, her long eyelashes fluttered, and she opened her misty eyes. A violent wind blew, tossing her two little pigtails. Bei Yao blinked sluggishly, her breath hot with fever. This tender, young body had no strength left. She clearly remembered dying—so how could she be here…? She lowered her eyes, sat up straight from the small round table, and stared at her soft, white little hands, still dimpled with baby fat. Behind her, countless voices were shouting Pei Chuan’s name. Bei Yao’s breath hitched, and she turned around in disbelief. The faded images in her memory shattered through the years, suddenly becoming vivid. Teacher Xiao Zhao was only twenty-six that year, radiating the tenderness and vitality of a young female teacher. The children, however, stared at the tiny figure huddled in the corner with a united, hostile disdain. Through the crowd, Bei Yao could only see the large wheels of the wheelchair and the stiff little body seated in it. Pei Chuan looked up, gritting his teeth. His eyes—made all the more striking in their black-and-white contrast by his gaunt cheeks—stared at these ignorant children. In the next second, he fell silent, tears glistening in his eyes as he gazed at his own trousers. Pei… Pei Chuan… Even with just one glance, Bei Yao was utterly certain—it was Pei Chuan as a child. This five-year-old boy, who couldn’t control his bodily functions after losing his legs, had wet his pants in class. This scene had faded from everyone’s memory, replaced by the image of him eighteen years later: a fanatical, stubborn yet icy-cold genius computer expert. To many, he was a ruthless, merciless devil—someone who frantically developed software detrimental to social stability. But the devil Pei Chuan was now just a fragile child who had only just lost his legs. “Bei Yao,” a little girl said, “we won’t play with him either from now on!” Bei Yao was less than four years old—the youngest in the class. She couldn’t remember how she had responded in her previous life, but she must have agreed. Leaving a puddle of urine on the kindergarten floor was something that made all naive children feel deeply embarrassed. What’s more, that child was terrifying—his lower legs, below the knees, had been severed clean off, leaving his trouser legs empty. The children regarded him with a mix of fear and curiosity. The classroom descended into chaos. Parents who had come to pick up their children hurried over, driven by the hailstorm. Teacher Zhao pushed the wheelchair away; mindful of the little boy’s pride, she needed to rush to the bathroom to help Pei Chuan change his pants properly, then organize the children to go home. Bei Yao watched helplessly as Pei Chuan was wheeled away, her fever-weakened voice as faint as a cat’s: “Pei Chuan…” No one heard her, so no one turned back. She suddenly recalled Pei Chuan at the age of twenty-three—sitting expressionless in his wheelchair, his voice cold and rigid as he said he would protect her for the rest of his life. Little Bei Yao froze, let out a soft sigh, and laid her head on the table. Could it be that in her previous life, he had given so much that in this life, she was meant to repay that debt? “Pei Chuan, don’t be sad. The other children will forget about this tomorrow. I have cream-filled biscuits here—would you like one?” Pei Chuan whispered: “I want to go home.” “Then let’s wait for your mom, shall we?” Pei Chuan’s fingertips were pale. He lowered his head and said nothing more. In those days, there were no mobile phones. Only a handful of people—mostly those with status and influence—owned “Big Brother” mobile phones, and Teacher Xiao Zhao was not one of them. Pei Chuan’s mother was a surgeon; sometimes, a single operation would keep her busy until late at night. His father was the captain of the criminal police team—his position was no trivial matter, and his work was equally demanding. Neither of their jobs allowed for carelessness, so occasionally, the little boy would be entrusted to a neighbor to take home. Sometimes it was Bei Yao’s parents, sometimes Chen Hu’s, Fang Minjun’s, or other classmates’ parents—they would take him home on their way. Parents arrived at the school one after another. Teacher Xiao Zhao had to keep an eye on the children, and since the other female teacher had asked for leave that day, the heavy responsibility fell entirely on her shoulders, leaving her overwhelmed. After helping Pei Chuan change his pants, Teacher Xiao Zhao wheeled him back to the classroom and gave him building blocks to play with. Pei Chuan kept his head down and never moved. Bei Yao looked at him with a complex expression. If she could relive her life, what was the first thing Bei Yao wanted to do? Naturally, it would be to stay away from that scoundrel Huo Xu, spend her life filially caring for her parents, and have nothing at all to do with Pei Chuan. That is, if Pei Chuan hadn’t left an indelible mark on her before her death. Her feelings toward Pei Chuan were tangled and complicated. The hailstorm fell more densely, descending like a shower from the sky. From time to time, parents who hurried over complained: “Oh, what strange weather this is! It was sunny this morning, and now it’s hailing!” Then, those who had bicycles rode them, while those who didn’t carried their children and ran. The kids waved their hands: “Goodbye, Teacher Zhao!” “Goodbye, Xiao Wei! Goodbye, Li Li!” Soon, Bei Yao’s mother, Zhao Zhilan, also arrived, holding an umbrella. In 1996, Ms. Zhao Zhilan was still young, with no fine lines at the corners of her eyes. She wore a neat blue short-sleeved top, exuding efficiency and vitality. Bei Yao tore her gaze away from Pei Chuan and looked at Zhao Zhilan, who was rushing over in a fluster. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. Zhao Zhilan picked her up: “Oh, my poor dear, why are you crying? Did the hailstorm scare you?” Bei Yao shook her head, leaning against the woman’s back, her throat tight with emotion. No one loves a child more than their parents—a truth known to many, yet truly understood by so few. “Here, hold the umbrella. Mom will carry you—I can’t spare my hands. Put the umbrella here on my shoulder; just keep a hold of it.” After greeting Teacher Xiao Zhao, Zhao Zhilan carried her daughter and left. Bei Yao held the umbrella with her small hands. After thinking for a long time, she turned around. The little boy Pei Chuan in the corner wasn’t looking at her. Chen Hu’s father had been among the first to come pick him up; the chubby boy sat on his father’s shoulders, strutting triumphantly. Fang Minjun’s grandmother, wearing an apron, had also taken her granddaughter home. Then there was Bei Yao’s mother… Following Pei Chuan’s line of sight, Bei Yao saw his eyes fixed on a small wet spot nearby—it was the faint trace of urine that Teacher Xiao Zhao hadn’t had time to clean properly, only giving it a hasty wipe. She thought of the cold yet gentle kiss the man would give her eighteen years later. Looking at Pei Chuan again, a faint ache stirred in her heart. This man, who would become an extraordinary figure in the future, had been so fragile and lonely in his tender, young years. Bei Yao moved her fingers, wanting to look at Pei Chuan once more, but Zhao Zhilan had already carried her far away in one swift burst. Pei Chuan lifted his eyes. His dark, jet-black gaze fell on the small figure of the girl being carried away by her mother. They walked farther and farther, until they finally vanished from sight. Above his head, hailstones fell with a crackling sound, as lively as firecrackers. Bei Yao had no strength left—she couldn’t even speak, her fever clouding her mind. In the end, only a little boy with dark pupils remained in the classroom, sitting in his wheelchair. The kindergarten wasn’t far from home, but it was quite a distance from where Zhao Zhilan worked. Zhao Zhilan walked quickly, and in ten minutes, she had carried Bei Yao home, braving the hailstorm. The little girl had fallen asleep again, overcome by fever. In the evening, she woke up in a daze. Zhao Zhilan was wiping her back with alcohol, letting out a helpless sigh: “When did you even get a fever? Why didn’t you tell the teacher? What if this fever addles your brain?” Bei Licai came in from outside and also came to check on his daughter. Earlier, when Bei Yao’s fever had spiked so high, both of them had been terrified. Luckily, Bei Yao’s uncle owned a small pharmacy and worked as a doctor—he had come over to examine her and prescribe medicine. Otherwise, in this kind of weather, they wouldn’t even have been able to take her to the hospital. In 1996, Bei Yao was their only child—her younger brother Bei Jun hadn’t been born yet. As first-time parents, they doted on their child with extra care. Bei Licai stroked his daughter’s soft cheek: “She’s better now—not as hot anymore.” “She won’t go to kindergarten tomorrow. When you go out tomorrow morning, just tell Teacher Xiao Zhao, will you?” Half-asleep and half-awake, Bei Yao suddenly heard her parents mention Pei Chuan. Zhao Zhilan said: “No one came to pick up that child today. I don’t think Juan [Pei Chuan’s mother] has gotten off work yet, and Pei Jianguo [Pei Chuan’s father] isn’t home either!” “That poor little boy—his whole life is ruined, sigh…” Her parents’ soft sighs drifted into her dreams. Bei Yao thought of the cold man who would, years later, struggle to get out of his wheelchair and embrace her. Everyone called him a devil, and even she had felt a twinge of fear at his silent, unsmiling demeanor. But this devil was still just a little boy now. When dawn broke, Bei Yao finally opened her eyes—her fever had subsided considerably. Zhao Zhilan was making breakfast, and the door to Bei Yao’s room was open. Bei Licai walked into the kitchen: “I just went to ask for leave from Teacher Xiao Zhao, but she said…” Bei Yao looked over through the old furniture in the living room. She heard a heavy sigh. “No one came to pick up Pei Chuan all night…”