“I don’t remember,” Lan Xingchen said to Wen Yuan. “I have no recollection of those things.”
“That’s normal,” Wen Yuan replied. “It happened when you were three or four years old. It’s natural to forget things as you grow.”
Especially after the accident that took Lan He and Lu Yinkong, Lan Xingchen had developed an instinctive resistance toward their students.
When did that happen?
It was probably a few years after Zhou Man finished her college entrance exams and entered university.
Zhou Man had done very well on the exams and could have gone to a major city, but she chose a prestigious university in their province. Her decision was practical—she couldn’t rely on Lan He and Lu Yinkong to care for Ning Yuan and Ning Rong forever, so she picked a nearby city to make it easier to live with them and ensure their schooling.
Lan He didn’t object.
When Zhou Man was in her third year, she left their village to teach in a new one. The villagers, both adults and children, were reluctant to see her go.
Zhou Man rushed back specifically to see her and couldn’t stop crying upon meeting her.
Lan He patted her shoulder and said, “Study well, live well.”
Before leaving, she arranged for the top-performing children in the village to be sent to a town elementary school, helping them better adapt to regular classrooms and prepare for junior high. Ning Yuan and Ning Rong were among them.
Ning Yuan held her hand and asked, “Will we see you again?”
Ning Rong looked at her, shyly wanting to ask too but holding back, listening as her brother spoke.
“I suppose so,” Lan He smiled.
But that was their last meeting.
Two years later, an earthquake struck the mountain village where Lan He was teaching, causing devastating casualties. When Lan Lao Tai heard, she nearly fainted from shock. Lu Lao Ye was busy taking care of him, so Wen Yuan went ahead first.
Wen Yuan looked down at the ruins—utter devastation.
He searched tirelessly, moving rubble piece by piece, finding one person after another, but could not locate his sister or brother-in-law.
Zhou Man, too, rushed there immediately upon hearing the news. She couldn’t believe it—she had just graduated, just started earning a salary, just had the means to repay her, and yet this had happened.
They brushed past each other in the crowd—one searching for his sister, the other searching for her teacher.
Finally, Zhou Man’s supervisor called her, saying that if she didn’t return, she couldn’t come back at all.
At that moment, Zhou Man cried silently. She wanted to stay away, but she had two children to care for. She couldn’t lose her job, so she tearfully made her way back.
Three days later, Lan He and Lu Yinkong’s bodies were found.
They had been trapped under broken walls, holding a child in their arms—miraculously, the child was still alive.
Initially, the media assumed they were a family and praised their parental love. Soon, they realized the mistake—they were teachers, and the child was their student. The media quickly shifted to celebrating the teacher-student bond.
But Wen Yuan stopped them.
There was no need; his sister wouldn’t have wanted it.
He watched as Lan He and Lu Yinkong’s ashes were buried. Lan Xingchen stood beside him, grief-stricken. Wen Yuan pulled him close, silently vowing that he would take care of him in her stead.
At the time, no one noticed Lan Xingchen’s inner state.
He was still very young, and everyone assumed his grief was normal. It was expected—and nothing more.
When Lan Xingchen reached middle school, one of Lan He and Lu Yinkong’s former students, around Zhou Man’s age, had made a name for themselves. Somehow, the student learned that Lan He was Wen Yuan’s sister and came to the family, hoping Wen Yuan would allow them to visit and pay respects to their teacher.
Wen Yuan had no objection. But when he mentioned it at the dinner table, Lan Xingchen reacted strongly.
He refused outright, no matter what, insisting that it couldn’t happen.
Wen Yuan couldn’t persuade him and had no choice but to send the student away. He gradually realized that Lan Xingchen was transferring his anger over his parents’ death onto the students they had taught.
He didn’t know what to do, only that he needed to guide Lan Xingchen.
But Lan Xingchen wouldn’t be swayed.
On the day he first learned of his parents’ death in elementary school, he was distraught and confused. Later, he learned that they had died protecting their students—something they might not have had to do otherwise.
He heard people remark that initially, some thought it was a family of three, a symbol of parental love, but in the end, it was the bond between teacher and student.
Lan Xingchen felt the irony. If it was parental love, where did that leave him?
At that immature age, he couldn’t fully understand his parents’ actions. All he knew was—why did they have to risk their lives teaching those students?
If they hadn’t taught those students, none of this would have happened.
Then they could have stayed by his side, still be his parents.
Did they love those students more than him?
Instinctively, he began to resent them. He stopped recalling the times he had been to the mountain village school, gradually sealing that memory away, eventually forgetting it altogether.
As Lan Xingchen grew older, by middle school he could understand his parents’ boundless love. He realized how remarkable they were and knew that some things in life simply need someone to do them—you can choose not to, but you cannot blame those who do.
Yet why did it have to be his parents? Why couldn’t they have stayed for him instead?
In high school, Lan Xingchen found his own answer.
Because Lan He and Lu Yinkong were not only his parents, they were independent individuals with their own ideals and aspirations. They loved him, but they also upheld their own convictions.
Still, he couldn’t reconcile with his parents’ students. He knew they were innocent; they hadn’t wished for any tragedy. Yet he could not overcome this obstacle.
He did not want his parents’ students to still compete with him for his parents’ attention after they were gone. He did not want them appearing before his parents, nor before him. He refused to let them pay respects or speak to him.
He vented his anger at them unilaterally. No one knew this—only Wen Yuan did.
That morning, Wen Yuan knocked on Zhou Man’s door. “I had someone check. You don’t have any marriage record.”
Zhou Man silently let him in and confessed everything. Wen Yuan was stunned; he hadn’t expected this.
“It’s incredible,” he thought. “The world really is strange.”
“So… you didn’t want to marry me because you realized I’m Xiao He’s brother?”
Zhou Man nodded.
When she had been with Wen Yuan, she didn’t know he was Lan He’s brother. They had different surnames, so it never occurred to her.
If he hadn’t been her brother, she wouldn’t have seen a problem. They loved each other, shared common interests, and wanted to marry—of course, they could.
Her eighteen-year-old marriage wasn’t her fault. She had been a victim. If he loved her, he would only feel compassion for her. Yet it remained her deepest secret, one she felt embarrassed to voice, and in carelessness, it had dragged on until now.
She thought it best to speak after meeting Wen Yuan’s child. He valued his nephew, and if the child didn’t like her, they would break up anyway. There was no need to add her shameful past into the mix.
She had not expected it to be Lan Xingchen who came.
Ning Yuan and Ning Rong recognized him immediately. Zhou Man had also heard the name, and that day she was completely flustered.
She could have been with anyone—or even not married at all. That eighteen-year-old marriage had already made her lose interest in marriage and children. If she hadn’t met Wen Yuan, if she hadn’t fallen for him, she wouldn’t have intended to marry anyone.
But how could she marry Wen Yuan?
Lan He had worked so hard to bring her out of the mountain village, to give the three siblings a brighter future—was it only so she could be with her brother?
How could she be worthy?
If Lan He were still alive, how would she view it? Would she regret having helped her?
To Zhou Man, Lan He was more sacred than anyone else. Even her brother was someone she could not be worthy of.
Who was she?
A woman sold to a middle-aged man, married before, with two children, from a mountain village—less than an ordinary woman. How could she marry Lan He’s brother?
So she picked the harshest words to wound herself, hoping to break up with Wen Yuan.
But Wen Yuan wouldn’t relent.
Zhou Man truly loved him, and because he was Lan He’s brother, she couldn’t bring herself to give up.
Wen Yuan insisted on marriage, so she ultimately agreed.
“Do I need to explain to Xingchen about my relationship with Ning Yuan and Ning Rong?” Zhou Man asked. “Even though I treat them as siblings, there’s still…”
“No need,” Wen Yuan said. “Your first marriage never legally existed. They have no legal relation to you. If you treat each other as siblings, then that’s your true relationship.”
“But Ning Yuan and Ning Rong know. Xingchen doesn’t. Won’t it be awkward?”
Wen Yuan sighed. “That would involve explaining his parents and your relationship. Because of his parents’ death, he has misplaced some anger toward their students. I worry that if you tell him, he’ll be unhappy, might dislike you.”
Zhou Man was surprised. “Then… then maybe we just leave it be.”
If Lan Xingchen didn’t like it, then so be it. He was Lan He’s son; even if it made Zhou Man unhappy, she couldn’t bear to see him unhappy.
Wen Yuan shrugged. “Then we just don’t tell him.”
If this had happened before he fell in love with Zhou Man, even during the early or middle stages of their relationship, he might have ended things for her sake. But now, he was too deeply attached. He couldn’t lose her.
“On a societal level or otherwise, you treat each other as siblings. That’s your truest relationship. No need to complicate it further.”
Hearing this, Zhou Man felt it made sense and agreed.
Yet Wen Yuan couldn’t resist explaining a bit to Lan Xingchen. He looked at him and said, “She cares about you deeply. She loves you. She couldn’t repay your mother, so she pours all that gratitude into you.”
“To her, she could never love any child more than you.”