What, like the holy spirit? It wasn’t glory she wanted to share with me, but faith. Her belief in Grandpa was religious. Hence the proselytizing, though she must have known I was a lost cause. She looked at me like I was a lost lamb.

“Peixuan, you’re the one who’s lost,” I murmured, shaking my head.

I suddenly remembered the day you and I were on the wall around Dead Man’s Tower, and she came to summon me home. I refused, instead describing the corpses inside in vivid detail. She blanched, started trembling, and walked away. Then she turned back and said very distinctly, “Li Jiaqi, your life is going to end up a tragedy.” Her voice was weird, as if these weren’t her words, and she was just passing on a prophecy.

“You mean your life, right?” I snarled back.

It seems we cursed each other. All these years later, my life is definitely tragic. And isn’t Peixuan’s too?

She’s living for Grandpa and the rest of the clan. They’ve bound her like that retainer she wears, molding her into shape. Even as an adult, she doesn’t dare take it off in case any gaps appear. No gaps between her teeth. No freedom.

“Peixuan.” I broke the silence. “Don’t you think family glory is ridiculous?”

“Don’t.” She slowly stood up. “You may not understand, but there’s no need to be hurtful.” Her scar was quivering.

I looked away. Before I could think of a response, I heard her door slam.

Alone on the sofa, sitting in dangerous silence, I imagined myself charging into her room and saying, “Peixuan, let me tell you something.”

Perhaps she’d expect violence, but with me and my shadow filling the doorway, she’d have no escape. Curling up, she’d stare in terror. I’d open my pocket, and the truth would escape like a vicious dog barking wildly, lunging at her and shredding her glorious armor, gouging out her heart, licking away her sugarlike faith with a slobbery tongue. Just like that, she’d lose the thing most precious to her. I’d watch her destruction calmly, telling myself I hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t me ruining her, but the truth—all I’d done was unleash it.

Was that really how it was? I felt dazed. I’d seen how many people the truth had hurt. I was passive. All I’d done was accept it. But now I held something in the palm of my hand: the power to harness the truth. I could hurt Peixuan, I could pretend not to see the harm I was doing, cloak it in righteousness, maybe even persuade myself it was my duty.

My emotions abruptly diminished. All I wanted was to be kinder. Peixuan’s faith in family glory might be delusional, but it sustained her. There was no virtue in this belief, but it purified her heart and made her virtuous.

If Peixuan were an ordinary friend, or even a stranger, it would be easier to treat her with kindness. We’re born kind, but it slips away as we age. Remember how fervently we searched for the truth when we were kids?