The Devil's Temperature

Cornered Beast

Children possess remarkable resilience in recovery, and by breakfast time, Bei Yao was feeling considerably better.

Zhao Zhilan had asked for leave from the factory to take special care of her daughter. She worked at a garment manufacturing plant, where her daily routine involved operating a sewing machine to make clothes. With a monthly salary of 430 yuan, her pay was considered quite decent for the time.

Breakfast consisted of a bowl of porridge, a bowl of pickled vegetables, and—exclusive to Bei Yao’s bowl—a plump, white boiled egg.

The sound of footsteps descending the staircase echoed through the hallway, followed by a shrill woman’s voice calling from outside the door: “Zhao Zhilan!”

Zhao Zhilan replied loudly: “I’m not going to work today. I’ve taken the day off—you can leave.”

The woman muttered under her breath: “Could’ve told me earlier,” then swayed her hips and walked away.

Bei Yao looked up at her mother, who indeed wore a frown.

The woman was Zhao Xiu, who had grown up with Zhao Zhilan in the same village. Coincidentally, both women later married and moved to City C, becoming neighbors and colleagues at the garment factory. Two years later, they became pregnant around the same time and gave birth to daughters in August. Inevitably, those around them began to draw comparisons between Zhao Xiu and Zhao Zhilan.

Tragically, Zhao Zhilan fell short in every aspect when measured against Zhao Xiu.

Zhao Zhilan’s husband—Bei Yao’s father—worked at a brick and tile factory, a laborious job with meager pay. Zhao Xiu’s husband, by contrast, was a primary school math teacher: a respected profession with a dignified status.

This alone might not have made Zhao Zhilan petty; the real source of contention lay in comparisons between their daughters.

Zhao Xiu’s daughter was named Fang Minjun, half a month older than Bei Yao. Fang Minjun was delicate and lovely, lacking the chubby roundness of most children her age. Instead, she was graceful and neatly featured, like a little jade beauty. Everyone who saw her praised her, saying, “This child will grow up to be stunning!”

In this contrast, Bei Yao was utterly overshadowed.

At four years old, Bei Yao had round cheeks and large eyes. As a young child, she had a hearty appetite; with two small topknots on her head, she looked plump and endearingly naive. Every time Zhao Xiu saw little Bei Yao, she would cover her mouth and chuckle: “Yaoyao, what have you been eating? Your little hands have a whole layer more fat than my Minmin’s.”

It sounded like a compliment, but it was secretly a taunt. Since Zhao Zhilan herself was plump, Zhao Xiu was implicitly mocking Bei Yao’s supposed genetic inheritance.

Noticing her mother’s sour expression, Bei Yao let out a soft sigh.

Her family’s financial situation had always been modest—there was simply no competing with luck. In her memory, Fang Minjun’s family moved away in junior high school, buying a new house that was later demolished two years down the line, netting them two replacement apartments. While Fang Minjun’s family’s fortunes flourished, Bei Yao’s family remained poor, having lent money to her uncle that was never fully repaid.

Yet there was one area where the Bei family achieved a complete reversal of fortunes—

By the time they reached their first year of senior high school, Fang Minjun had lost her childhood beauty; the “little jade beauty” had grown into a sharp, unkind-looking young woman.

Bei Yao, however, had matured like unfolding tender leaves. Slimmed down and radiant, she had blossomed into a breathtaking beauty, becoming the most celebrated campus belle of City C No.2 High School.

But Bei Yao could not comfort her mother with such future prospects. Even if she mentioned that she would grow up to be beautiful, Zhao Zhilan would likely dismiss it as childish nonsense. Bei Yao had tossed and turned half the night, pondering the absurdity of her rebirth. She was grateful for this second chance at life, and thus resolved to be an obedient four-year-old, staying by her parents’ side to care for them in their old age. Even if she never married, she would never again bring her parents to the brink of despair and exhaustion in their middle years because of her mistakes.

She finished her meal , and Zhao Zhilan wiped her mouth clean.

In her soft, childlike voice, Bei Yao said: “Mom, I want to go to kindergarten.”

Zhao Zhilan smiled: “Usually, I have to drag you out the door, but today you’re sick—you don’t have to go.”

Still feverish, Bei Yao’s voice was gentle and weak: “I want to go.” Her eyes were earnest, glistening with longing.

Zhao Zhilan’s heart softened. She touched Bei Yao’s forehead: “Then we’ll go this afternoon.”

Bei Yao remembered her father’s words from that morning—no one had come to pick up Pei Chuan all night—and a sense of unease stirred within her. But a four-year-old child could not defy an adult, so she had no choice but to obey Zhao Zhilan.

By the afternoon, Bei Yao was safely delivered to the kindergarten.

Several toon trees were planted at the entrance of “Evergreen Kindergarten”; their leaves emitted a pungent odor when touched. Inside the campus, however, stood several plum trees that filled the air with sweet fragrance every winter. In 1996, the kindergarten’s facilities were simple and crude—there were no slides or such amenities.

Only two seesaws, made of wooden planks, stood alone in the yard.

Summer weather was fickle; once the sun came out, the hailstones melted, soaking the seesaws and rendering them temporarily unusable.

Teacher Xiao Zhao was organizing a game for the children.

Teacher Xiao Wu would not arrive until the following week, so Teacher Zhao was run off her feet, juggling all the work alone.

When Zhao Zhilan placed Bei Yao’s soft little hand in Teacher Xiao Zhao’s, Bei Yao glanced inside the classroom. The children were playing “D ***” (Diu Shou Juan, a traditional Chinese game similar to “Duck, Duck, Goose”). Everyone was clapping and singing—everyone except one child—

Pei Chuan turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting Bei Yao’s.

His gaze was empty, devoid of any emotion.

But the moment passed quickly; he turned his head away, no longer looking at her.

Pei Chuan had been seated among the children. Without legs, he was undoubtedly the most unusual child in the kindergarten. Teacher Xiao Zhao pitied him, while the other children both feared and disliked him. Trapped in this contradictory position, he seemed like a burden to the entire kindergarten.

Thus, Pei Chuan stood apart from everyone else.

The children sang in their (childlike) voices, and Teacher Xiao Zhao smiled as she settled Bei Yao among them. Directly across from Bei Yao sat Pei Chuan.

“ (Diu ya diu ya, diu shou juan)—toss, toss, toss the handkerchief, gently lay it behind a little friend. Don’t let them know; hurry, hurry, catch them! Hurry, hurry, catch them~”

The handkerchief landed behind Chen Hu. The chubby boy did not notice until the other children laughed and stared at him. Startled, Chen Hu turned around and saw the blue handkerchief behind him. He bounced up like a little meatball to chase the child who had tossed it, but by then, that child had already scurried back to their seat.

Dejectedly, Chen Hu became the next one to toss the handkerchief. As a “punishment,” he first sang a children’s song taught by the teacher, then the game resumed.

The group of four and five-year-olds, sitting in a circle, clapped their hands: “ (Diu ya diu ya, diu shou juan)~”

Amid the children’s tender singing, the chubby Chen Hu’s eyes darted toward Pei Chuan in his wheelchair. Bei Yao’s heart skipped a beat. In her past life, she had not come to the kindergarten that day, but starting from the next day, Pei Chuan had stopped speaking entirely. He even refused to attend kindergarten, transforming into a completely silent, withdrawn boy.

So what had happened to him on this day?

The song continued, and Chen Hu tossed the handkerchief behind Pei Chuan. At that moment, Teacher Xiao Zhao had taken a child with a stomachache to the bathroom.

The entire circle fell suddenly silent. Even the youngest children sensed instinctively that Pei Chuan, without legs, could not chase or catch anyone.

Pei Chuan turned his head, his eyes dropping to the handkerchief behind him.

Chen Hu made a triumphant face at him, and the other children giggled at his comical expression.

Little Pei Chuan gritted his teeth. With one hand gripping the armrest of his low wheelchair, he struggled to bend forward.

Chen Hu pointed at him and laughed loudly.

Bei Yao’s heart raced: Don’t pick it up… please don’t pick it up…

The summer cicadas chirped endlessly from the toon trees.

Pei Chuan bit his lip so hard it turned white, straining to pick up the handkerchief. His eyes were dark and heavy, like a silent abyss.

To the laughter of all the children, he used his thin arms to push the wheelchair forward with all his strength.

But at five years old, he had only just lost his legs—he was still unaccustomed to the wheelchair.

Every push of the wheelchair moved him as slowly as a snail.

The children’s exclamations spurred him on. He did not look at anyone, the blue handkerchief draped over his truncated legs, as he chased after Chen Hu ahead.

The cicadas’ cries continued, one after another.

Chen Hu deliberately ran slowly, clutching his stomach and laughing.

Pei Chuan veered off course.

He could not control the wheelchair’s direction, nor did he understand how to apply the right amount of force.

On this summer day at five years old, he was like a trapped beast—frantic yet desperate, driving the wheelchair forward in pursuit, stubborn and unyielding.

The ignorant children all laughed at him.

Tears welled in his eyes as he reached out, longing to grasp something. Again and again, he adjusted the wheelchair’s direction.

Bei Yao stared at him, her almond-shaped eyes wide with astonishment.

As people grow older, they forget many childhood memories. In her mind, Pei Chuan had always been a disabled teenager without legs—but that was all. Her life had never had a place for him. If he had not become a “devil” and once protected her with a cold, expressionless demeanor, she might never have spared him a second glance, even with this second chance at life.

He was the world’s devil, but he was Bei Yao’s savior.

A man who had secretly cherished her as the apple of his eye for his entire life.

She realized she had to do something.

When Chen Hu came bouncing over again, Bei Yao clumsily turned and wrapped her arms around his legs.

Chen Hu yelled: “Bei Yao, let go! What are you doing?” The chubby boy thrashed about, trying to shake her off.

A four-year-old girl’s body had no strength against him. Chen Hu was like a small, stubborn ox; as he grew more frantic, charging this way and that, Bei Yao could barely hold on.

With a determined glint in her eyes, Bei Yao clung to him like a piece of sticky candy, half-kneeling on the ground to keep him from moving. No matter how strong a five-year-old chubby boy was, he could not run in circles while dragging such a “sticky little candy” attached to his legs.

Chaos erupted in the kindergarten.

July’s summer heat was sweltering. Bei Yao wore a pair of pea-green cotton shorts that reached just below her knees; her exposed calves were quickly rubbed red by the ground.

A child’s skin is delicate and tender, yet there was a reckless, childlike resolve in her almond eyes as she nearly threw herself to the ground to hold Chen Hu fast.

Still feverish, Bei Yao’s soft voice was hoarse: “You can’t leave!”

Chen Hu, unable to break free, finally burst into tears.

Bei Yao was stunned.

She looked up in confusion at the sobbing chubby boy, then turned to glance at Pei Chuan not far away. Why… why wasn’t he coming over to catch Chen Hu?

What was she supposed to do now that she had made little Chen Hu cry?

Pei Chuan stood holding the blue handkerchief, his eyes lowered to her. She happened to look up at that moment—her almond eyes, bright and lively in the summer sun, gazing up at him with helpless bewilderment.

Chen Hu’s cries were loud and shrill, like a plucked rooster, snot bubbles forming at his nose.

Pei Chuan looked at her glistening eyes, then at Chen Hu, who was hopping about, trapped by her.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, tossed the handkerchief onto the ground, and without another glance at them, strained to push his wheelchair toward the door.

The handkerchief landed in front of Bei Yao. She was still on her knees, maintaining her grip on Chen Hu, unsure whether to let go.

Chen Hu’s wails were so loud that the younger children in the kindergarten began to cry along with him. The moment Teacher Xiao Zhao walked in and saw the scene, she hurried over to lift little Bei Yao into her arms.

Pei Chuan had already reached the door.

From inside, the sound of Teacher Xiao Zhao comforting the chubby boy drifted out.

He stared at the entrance. It was already the afternoon of the second day, and his father and mother still had not come.

Behind him, chaos reigned.

Pei Chuan never looked back. Though he never spoke, he understood many things. For instance, he knew that the most popular children in the kindergarten were Chen Hu and Fang Minjun.

Chen Hu was funny and knew how to lead everyone in games; Fang Minjun was pretty and always dressed in beautiful, neat clothes.

He also knew that the little girl with bright, sparkling eyes who had looked at him just now was the youngest child in the kindergarten. She had only been enrolled at the beginning of the month and lived in the same residential compound as him.

She cried easily, was a bit spoiled, and got sick often.

Everyone called her Yaoyao.

Author’s Note: Zhi Zhi (a nickname for Bei Yao): I’ll tell you a secret.

Pei Chuan (lifts his eyes coldly).

Zhi Zhi (in a tiny voice): Yaoyao will be the prettiest girl in the whole kindergarten someday~

Pei Chuan: …