Chapter 689: My Name Is Zheng Yingxiong

My name is Zheng Yingxiong.

I’m from Quanzhou, Fujian.

I lied. I came to “Daocheng” precisely to find that scent I once caught.

Before arriving at the “Land of the End,” I was sitting in the second-grade classroom, trembling.

As the homeroom teacher’s footsteps drew closer, my head remained bowed.

I didn’t have the courage to look at her, let alone at my deskmate.

Just as I expected, when the teacher saw the meal tickets quietly lying in my deskmate’s desk compartment, she exploded like Zhang Fei from a comic book.

She slapped him across the face and then yanked him up by his dirty collar.

“Xu Jiahua! Are you out of your mind?!” she shouted, jabbing her finger at his temple. “Stealing at such a young age—what’s next? Becoming a thief when you grow up?!”

My deskmate stared in disbelief at the meal tickets in her hand, stammering, “Dang it! I—I didn’t steal them!”

“Swearing! Swearing?!” The teacher rained blows on him. “If you didn’t steal them, where did these come from?! Your family’s so poor they can’t even afford a meal ticket! What, you think stealing is the way to eat? Can’t even afford a three-yuan meal ticket—you deserve to rot in jail when you grow up! Your family line’s doomed!”

“It really wasn’t me!” His voice cracked with desperation. “My mom packed me lunch! I brought my own!”

He frantically pulled out a crumpled plastic bag from his desk, revealing two dry, crumbled flatbreads inside, the bag filled with crumbs.

Holding them up, he choked out, “Look, teacher! I—I brought bread! Why would I steal if I brought my own?”

The teacher’s voice boomed louder. “As if you haven’t done enough bad things already!”

Her voice was so loud my ears ached.

“I… I…” His hands trembled as he clutched the bread. He had probably never been wronged like this in his life.

“Oh, so because there’s ham in the school lunches, you decided to steal your classmate’s meal tickets?!” She slapped the bread out of his hands and jabbed his forehead. “You filthy little thief! Poor trash! Don’t you dare disgust me with that crap!”

She berated him in front of the whole class. My usually cheeky deskmate, who always joked around, was now drowning in humiliation—yet he couldn’t think of a way to defend himself.

How could he? There was no defense.

Because those meal tickets weren’t stolen by him.

They were stolen by me.

During recess, when no one was around, I had taken them and slipped them into his desk.

The girl who lost them had burst into tears mid-class, interrupting the teacher. After figuring out what happened, the teacher made everyone sit with their hands behind their backs as she inspected each desk and bag.

Just as I’d planned, my deskmate was caught.

The teacher’s words cut deep, and I trembled—because I knew those insults weren’t meant for Xu Jiahua.

They were meant for me.

I didn’t want to steal. I didn’t want to end up in jail. But I wanted him expelled.

He wasn’t a good person.

He’d demand money from me, stab me with pencils, and hit me if I didn’t obey.

But the teacher never cared. She’d just say, “Get along with your classmates! Why doesn’t he bully anyone else?”

I had no choice. I didn’t want to be beaten every day. I didn’t want to give him my lunch money.

My family couldn’t afford three-yuan meal tickets either. I only had 1.5 yuan a day for food, yet he demanded 0.5 yuan every day!

Kids who didn’t buy meal tickets were already despised by the teacher. If I got caught this time, she’d kill me.

But… I never thought framing someone would feel this awful.

I kept my head down, fighting back tears. I thought I’d feel happy watching him get scolded—but I didn’t.

I was scared, but mostly, I was heartbroken.

Later, I learned stealing meal tickets wouldn’t get anyone expelled. The teacher made him apologize to the girl in front of the class and stand for the next two days.

On the surface, he was punished.

But in truth, I was the one suffering.

I stole. I framed him. Watching him slouch in place, I knew I should’ve been the one standing. The one apologizing.

Even after school, my heart weighed heavy.

That night, my dad came home drunk again. He fought with my mom as usual, smashing plates and cups.

He sprawled on the couch, snoring. Mom wasn’t home—probably out gambling.

Our tiny house was littered with broken glass. I swept it up, then retreated to my room.

My room was small—just a bed and a desk at the foot of it.

I always did homework on the bed. The ceiling light had been broken forever. Dad never fixed it, and I couldn’t reach it. But I had a small desk lamp.

Tonight, though, their fight had been worse. The lamp had toppled, its bulb shattered.

“Ah…”

I panicked. Now there wasn’t a single bright spot in the house for homework. I wasn’t the best student, but I had to do it—or the teacher would slap me. She was good at everything except controlling her temper.

I grabbed my bag and sat on the front steps under a streetlight, pulling out my workbook.

At least… there was one light outside.

Today’s assignment was copying “Sima Guang Smashes the Vat.” The story was so fun I didn’t even need pinyin to understand.

Sima Guang had friends. He even saved one.

And after smashing the vat, his parents and teacher didn’t scold him.

What a great story. I envied him.

He had friends. No angry parents. No cruel teacher.

Mid-copy, droplets splattered my notebook.

Was it raining?

I looked up. Summer evenings were always full of arguments—neighbors, pigeons, even cicadas.

Sometimes the sky argued too. Like Dad, it’d throw down raindrops after thunder, letting them shatter on the ground.

Then it’d sleep heavily, acting like nothing happened the next day.

But tonight, the sky was silent. No stars—just a lonely moon, like me.

Was the moon doing homework outside too?

I touched my cheek. Cold.

It wasn’t the sky crying.

It was me.

I buried my face in my knees, choking back sobs as tears streamed down.

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