The Devil's Temperature

Stuffed up

Amid the crackle of firecrackers, the New Year arrived.

Every winter in City C brought snow—a season that filled children’s hearts with pure delight.

The world outside was blanketed in a sea of silvery white. Chen Hu had received a beating just before the New Year; his father, a man with a fiery temper, had seen his exam paper and pinned him down for a thrashing on the spot.

Chen Hu had scored 50 points—dead last in their preschool class.

The chubby boy’s howls of agony were so loud they nearly echoed through the entire neighborhood. Zhao Zhilan shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “That child’s voice has quite the penetrating power.”

The New Year became Chen Hu’s get-out-of-trouble card. His New Year’s money was withheld, but at least his short-tempered father stopped hitting him.

Chen Hu rounded up a group of kids from the neighborhood to go out and play, with six or seven boys trailing behind him in a grand procession. Two of them were two years older than him, yet none were as sturdy as the chubby boy.

Li Da suggested, “Let’s go find Minmin.”

Chen Hu hesitated. “We’re gonna catch birds and set off firecrackers—no girls allowed.” But then he thought of Fang Minjun’s elegant, beautiful appearance and changed his mind. “All right, let’s go get her.”

Every boy in the old neighborhood was there—except Pei Chuan. The neighborhood was a relic of the past, with a unique layout reminiscent of a traditional courtyard, though its buildings stood taller.

In summer, the south-facing wall would be covered in climbing ivy; now, it was encrusted with a layer of ice crystals.

Finding someone was easy here—all they had to do was stand downstairs and shout at the top of their lungs: “Fang Minjun—!”

The children’s voices rose and fell below. After calling for Fang Minjun, Chen Hu suddenly remembered the apple Bei Yao had given him. So he led the group in another shout: “Bei Yao—!”

Their clear, childish voices echoed through the entire neighborhood.

Pei Chuan was making dumplings with his mother, Jiang Wenjuan, in their apartment across the way. At first, Jiang Wenjuan had only let him join in to give him something to do. After all, Pei Chuan had finished his meager preschool winter homework in just two days, and no other child would voluntarily invite a “burden” like him to play. Jiang Wenjuan’s heart ached for her son, so she made time to keep him company whenever she could.

Yet Pei Chuan, his head bowed, the pleats of the dumplings with his pale fingers—his movements surprisingly skilled. He had always been like this: quick to learn anything he set his mind to.

Jiang Wenjuan’s heart ached even more. The night Pei Chuan had brought home his exam paper, she had buried her face in the quilt and cried silently for half the night. Pei Chuan was the only one in his preschool class to score a perfect 100. Her son was so intelligent and outstanding, yet he had been robbed of his legs—his life already half-ruined.

Pei Chuan had been focused on making dumplings, but when he heard the calls for Bei Yao rising and falling downstairs, he pinched the dumpling skin a little too hard, leaving a small tear.

His dark eyes fixed on the tear for a moment, then he carefully pressed the gap closed.

Jiang Wenjuan had been watching him, and she noticed the slip instantly. No child would take the initiative to ask Pei Chuan to play—after all, kids were like agile birds; they couldn’t push a heavy wheelchair, nor would they want to.

Fearing her son might feel hurt, Jiang Wenjuan said, “Let’s stop making dumplings. Mom’ll take you out to play, okay?”

Pei Chuan’s lips parted as if to refuse, but in the end, he said nothing. At five years old, he still held hope and yearning for the world—he wanted to go out and see the snow too.

Jiang Wenjuan washed her hands, then pushed Pei Chuan outside in his wheelchair.

About a hundred meters north of the neighborhood stood a teahouse, where the air was thick with the scent of tobacco and the clatter of mahjong tiles.

Jiang Wenjuan had no intention of playing mahjong; she just wanted to push Pei Chuan there to join in the liveliness—kids often played nearby.

Tall cypress trees were heavy with snow, and the sound of children’s laughter and chatter filled the air beneath them.

Pei Chuan’s wheelchair was parked off to the side. Someone inside the teahouse called out, “Doctor Jiang, come join us for a game?” Their eyes drifted lightly over Pei Chuan, then softened into a gentle greeting: “Xiao Chuan.”

“I’m good—you folks play. I’ll just watch for a bit,” Jiang Wenjuan replied.

Pei Chuan’s gaze passed over the cypress trees and settled on a little girl covering her eyes.

Bei Yao was wearing her red cotton jacket, her small hands pressed tightly over her eyes. Chen Hu was leading Fang Minjun in a game of hide-and-seek, ducking and weaving through alleys. The little girl’s clear voice rang out: “3… 2… 1… Here I come!”

She laughed and dropped her hands—only to lock eyes with the boy in the wheelchair.

He looked away first.

Bei Yao’s eyes lit up. She still didn’t understand the little secrets in her notebook, but that didn’t stop her from feeling drawn to Pei Chuan. She wanted to talk to him, but all semester long, Pei Chuan had barely spoken to her. Besides, she needed to find the other kids first. So she trotted off on her short legs to look for Chen Hu and the others.

Chen Hu had a mischievous streak—he led everyone into a warehouse next to the teahouse, which was piled high with nylon sacks.

The kids squatted down inside, confident Bei Yao would never find them, no matter how long she searched.

Bei Yao had always been good-natured. She searched around for a while, her breath coming in little puffs, lifting up cloth curtains and checking under bushes—yet found nothing. Pei Chuan watched on, his expression cold.

A flurry of snow fell from the cypress tree, dusting the girl’s face.

The cold snow melted against her warm skin, trickling down her cheeks like tears. She stumbled out, looking flustered, her almond-shaped eyes glistening—as if she’d been wronged and was about to cry.

Pei Chuan’s fingers tightened around the armrest of his wheelchair. When Bei Yao walked past him, still intent on searching, he finally spoke in a low voice: “In the warehouse.”

His voice was soft, like a hoarse whisper buried under snow, rough and awkward.

Bei Yao froze and turned to look at him. He wore a cold expression, as if he’d said nothing at all.

She turned toward the warehouse, pushing aside the nylon sacks—and sure enough, a row of kids was huddled inside.

Chen Hu stared at Bei Yao’s smiling face, stunned for a moment, then burst into a shout: “Bei Yao! You must have peeked!”

“I didn’t peek,” Bei Yao said.

“I don’t believe you! You cheated!”

The chubby boy looked like a lit firecracker, ready to explode. It was Li Da who noticed Bei Yao’s helpless expression and spoke up: “Who did you see first?”

Pei Chuan’s gaze drifted through the open warehouse door.

Bei Yao looked at the chubby boy, who looked so wronged he was on the verge of tears. In her soft, gentle voice, she said, “I didn’t see anyone.”

She thought to herself: I’m a big sister with memories of third grade. I shouldn’t bully little kids.

Covering her eyes again, she said, “You can hide now.”

Chen Hu let out a sigh of relief and scampered off. Fang Minjun hurried to follow, and the kids scattered to hide again.

Pei Chuan’s lips pressed into a tight line, his chest burning with frustration. He’d been meddling for no reason.

They hadn’t wanted him to play with them in the first place—he never should have said anything.

Bei Yao dropped her hands and went to look for the other kids. Pei Chuan shot her a cold glance, then took his pale hand and tugged at Jiang Wenjuan’s sleeve. “Mom, let’s go home.”

Bei Yao watched as Aunt Jiang pushed Pei Chuan away. She blinked her almond-shaped eyes in confusion. What was wrong? She hadn’t even had a chance to thank him yet.

Zhao Zhilan was playing mahjong at a table with Zhao Xiu in the teahouse. Zhao Xiu had terrible luck that day—her tiles kept ending up in Zhao Zhilan’s hand. Annoyed, she took a sip of hot water and said, “Next year, my Minmin and your Yao Yao will be in first grade together, right? Kids grow up so fast.”

The mahjong tiles clattered as Zhao Zhilan arranged her hand. “That’s right.”

“Zhilan, don’t be discouraged. If Yao Yao really can’t keep up with the curriculum, she can repeat preschool for another year. She’s still young, after all.”

Zhao Zhilan frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t Yao Yao do poorly on her final exam? I heard she just barely passed. No need to rush her—solid foundations are what matter most, if you ask me. I originally thought the same for Minmin: if she’d done badly, I’d have her repeat preschool. But when she brought her paper home, she scored 90! So moving on to first grade should be fine for her.”

Zhao Zhilan finally caught on. She shot Zhao Xiu a sideways glance. “Who told you Yao Yao just barely passed?”

Zhao Xiu thought to herself: Keep pretending. We’ll see how long you can keep it up.

Zhao Zhilan drew a tile, her face breaking into a smile. “She’s been really good this year. She missed a perfect score by just one point—she got 99!”

Zhao Xiu froze.

The other two women at the table exclaimed in surprise and admiration. “Wow, that child’s going to have a bright future!”

Zhao Xiu’s face turned ashen. “Zhao Zhilan, you don’t have to make up stories to lie to me!”

“Do I look like I need to lie to you? If you don’t believe me, go ask Teacher Yu—she has the scores on record.”

Zhao Xiu knew full well such a lie would be exposed in an instant. Zhao Zhilan wasn’t stupid enough to fabricate something so easily verifiable. Which meant that little Bei Yao had actually scored 99?

Zhao Xiu thought back to her earlier remarks and felt her face burn with embarrassment. To make matters worse, the other two women at the table had no sense of tact—they shot Zhao Xiu odd looks, then showered Zhao Zhilan with praise for her “smart, clever daughter.”

Zhao Xiu was so angry she could barely contain it. This was the first time Zhao Zhilan had ever outdone her, in all the years they’d known each other.

The feeling was humiliating and frustrating. She wanted nothing more than to drag Fang Minjun, who was playing outside, inside and demand an explanation.

The New Year passed in the blink of an eye. In those days, the festive spirit was far more vivid—just eating candy and melon seeds while watching TV was enough to fill one’s heart with joy. Bei Yao was happy every day, though sometimes she’d rest her chin in her small hands and stare at the building across the way, wondering why she hadn’t seen Pei Chuan come out to play that day.

Fang Minjun had been scolded by her mother, crying until her face was streaked with tears. She sniffled and defended herself: “90 points is a lot! Chen Hu only got 50!”

“I told you to beat Bei Yao!” Zhao Xiu snapped.

“Mom, I’ll do it next time,” Fang Minjun sobbed. “Besides Bei Yao, I got the highest score!”

Zhao Xiu paused, then nodded. It was true—Fang Minjun had at least scored 90. The other kids in the neighborhood were just a bunch of rowdy brats. The only one whose score she didn’t know was that legless boy from the Pei family, but what could you expect from a child like that? He’d probably failed too.

Zhao Xiu poked Fang Minjun’s forehead. “You better work hard after the New Year, understand?”

Fang Minjun nodded quickly.

When spring came, the second semester of preschool began. Childhood days slipped by in a blur of joy.

In little Bei Yao’s eyes, Fang Minjun was still aloof, the chubby Chen Hu’s voice was as loud as ever, and Pei Chuan, in his corner, never spoke to her voluntarily—as if the boy who’d whispered “in the warehouse” to her that day had been just an illusion.

In the last month of preschool, the school announced a new policy: exams would be abolished for future preschool classes!

Kids like Chen Hu were overjoyed, cheering and celebrating.

Most of the other children were also happy to be spared a final exam. Only Fang Minjun felt a twinge of melancholy. If there were no more exams, would she have to wait until first grade to surpass Bei Yao?

By the time Teacher Yu Qian saw off this group of children, summer had arrived. They were still like tender young saplings—fragile, fresh, and full of life.

She didn’t know what they would grow up to be, or where life would take them.

Waving to the children, she called out, “Good luck in elementary school, little ones!”

The children, who had gone from knowing nothing to understanding the rules, all replied obediently, “Okay!”

Pei Chuan was six years old now.

His legs hadn’t “grown back when he got older,” as his mother had once promised. Every night before bed, he would stare at his empty trouser legs—but they never grew back.

Before starting first grade, he heard Jiang Wenjuan and Pei Haobin arguing.

Jiang Wenjuan laughed bitterly. “There won’t be any teachers in first grade who can help Xiao Chuan go to the bathroom!”

“I told you I’ll ask the teachers for help! I’ll give them gifts, do whatever it takes!” Pei Haobin replied.

“You can beg for one year—but what about after that? What about fifth or sixth grade? Junior high? High school? Can you beg for the rest of his life? I’ll find a hospital to get Xiao Chuan prosthetic legs! I’ll spend every last penny we have to help him stand up again!”

“Wenjuan, don’t be impulsive. Xiao Chuan is still too young…”

Pei Chuan stared at his empty trouser legs.

He wanted to say that since kindergarten, he hadn’t asked a teacher to help him go to the bathroom.

He didn’t know what “prosthetic legs” meant, but he understood the words “stand up again.”