135: Chapter 135 He smiled and let go.

The Homeroom Teacher's screams were still echoing back and forth in the U-shaped building.

Six meters.

Four meters.

Song Yaoshan's right hand completely slipped off the edge of the low wall. His entire center of gravity tipped outward. His left hand was still clawing at the top of the wall, his five fingers sliding against the concrete edge.

His school uniform filled with wind as he hung against the exterior wall of the seventh floor, his legs kicking in the air once.

Two meters.

Li Li did not slow down.

He slammed head-on into the low wall, his ribs crashing hard against the concrete edge. A dull pain exploded from his chest to his back.

He dug the five fingers of his right hand into the rough surface inside the wall. A fingernail tore back, and blood smeared onto the cement.

His left hand reached out over the low wall.

He caught him.

The collar of the school uniform. The fabric twisted between his fingers, the tendons in his wrist straining. The one-hundred-and-twenty-pound freefall was stopped by one hand. His shoulder joint let out a dull thud, and his entire arm, from shoulder to fingertips, felt like it had been electrocuted.

"Hiss..."

His left hand was shaking; it was a physical warning as his muscle fibers endured a load far exceeding their limit.

He was grabbing the arm through the collar of the school uniform, and the fabric was sliding downward.

Song Yaoshan hung against the seventh-floor exterior wall, his body swaying. He reached up with his right hand, but his arm fell halfway up. Having sat on the low wall for too long, his muscles had long surpassed their limit; lactic acid had built up so much that he couldn't even make a fist.

He couldn't reach it.

"The rope! Pull the rope!"

The Old Police Officer's roar exploded from behind him.

Shen Jue, Jiang Shiyu, and the Old Police Officer all lunged forward at once, their six hands gripping the safety rope behind Li Li tightly.

The young police officer moved to Li Li's right, half his body leaning over the low wall, reaching his hand down—

He was half a meter short.

If he leaned out any further, he would tumble over himself.

"Pull me!" the young police officer shouted to those behind him.

Only his colleague was holding onto him; everyone else was pulling Li Li's rope.

Li Li's entire upper body was pressed onto the top of the low wall, his head leaning over the edge of the rooftop. Looking down, the air cushion spread out on the slope next to the fire truck was a white patch, as small as a piece of A4 paper.

Song Yaoshan's face was just a meter below.

Fear had twisted his entire being out of shape. His mouth was open, his teeth chattering, the veins on his neck bulging, his breathing sharp and fragmented.

Then he looked up.

And made eye contact with Li Li.

The moment that twisted face met Li Li's, it suddenly relaxed.

It wasn't relief; it was quieter than relief, cleaner than giving up.

The sixteen-year-old boy hung outside the seventh floor, the wind whipping his school uniform with a loud flapping sound. His legs stopped kicking, and his body stopped struggling.

He smiled slightly.

"Teacher Li Li."

Li Li didn't reply. If he opened his mouth, he would have to catch his breath, and if he caught his breath, his abdominal pressure would release, and if his abdominal pressure released, his left hand would let go.

"Xu Qi likes roses."

Song Yaoshan's voice was fragmented, the wind blowing half the syllables away.

"Red ones, not pink. He said pink is too soft; only red has backbone."

Li Li's left hand slid one centimeter down the school uniform fabric. His fingers were slick with sweat.

"He also likes to dance, classical dance. He says every movement in classical dance has a name, and they sound better than people's names."

The fabric slid another section.

"You must write it in, Teacher Li Li."

Song Yaoshan's right hand lifted up again, his fingertips touching Li Li's forearm, brushing against the cuff of his firefighter's uniform.

He didn't catch it.

It fell.

Li Li gritted his back teeth tightly.

He pressed all his strength onto the low wall, his right hand digging into the cement, his left hand gripping that clump of school uniform fabric tightly, his shoulder muscles tearing inch by inch.

A continuous pulling force came from the safety rope behind him. Shen Jue and the others were pulling, but the direction was backward, meant to prevent Li Li from being dragged down, not to help him pull the person up.

His left hand was grabbing fabric.

Fabric slips.

At this moment, the windows on both wings of the U-shaped teaching building were packed with people. Previously, a teacher had stood by the window of each classroom, using their backs to block the students' view, but now they couldn't block them anymore.

Dense crowds of heads popped out from the window frames. Screams, crying, and shouting crashed into the echo channel of the U-shaped building from all directions, overlapping and amplifying, twisting into a chaotic mess.

Someone was shouting, "Pull him up quickly!"

Someone was crying.

Then Li Li heard a whistle.

From some window on the third floor.

Sharp, short, and carrying the kind of excitement one only has when watching a fight.

Song Yaoshan heard it too.

He didn't look up.

"Look."

He said softly.

"They're all the same."

Behind him, Shen Jue's voice cracked: "Brother Li! Hold on! Wait for reinforcements!"

Reinforcements? By the time reinforcements arrived, Song Yaoshan's weight would tear the school uniform collar apart.

Ji Shen ran over from the direction of the iron gate, dragging another rope in his hand, trying to loop around to the other side of the low wall to set a noose.

It was too late.

Li Li stared at Song Yaoshan.

Song Yaoshan stared back at him.

Then Li Li realized it.

The weight in his hand was getting heavier.

It wasn't that Song Yaoshan was being lifted by the wind. It was that he was letting go.

The left hand that Song Yaoshan had been using to claw at Li Li's arm—his five fingers were loosening one by one.

The pinky finger let go first.

Then the ring finger.

The pulling force on Li Li's left hand increased abruptly. Before, two people's strength had been resisting gravity; he was grabbing the arm through the fabric, and Song Yaoshan was also grabbing his hand. Now that Song Yaoshan had let go, all the weight pressed down on Li Li's single hand.

The arm beneath the fabric slid a full two centimeters.

"Don't let go!!!"

Li Li's throat cracked.

He couldn't worry about losing his breath anymore.

"Think about your parents! They can't lose you!"

This sentence crashed into the echoes of the U-shaped building, bouncing three times.

The first time, it slammed onto the rooftop.

The second time, it slammed into every open window.

The third time, it slammed into the face of the Homeroom Teacher kneeling on the rooftop.

She covered her mouth with both hands abruptly, her whole body shrinking down a notch, her shoulders shaking violently.

Song Yaoshan hung outside the low wall, the wind blowing his hair flat against his forehead.

He looked up, watching Li Li, who was sprawled on the wall top, face covered in bulging veins, his left hand already shaking like a sieve.

He smiled.

"Director Li Li."

Director.

Not "Teacher" anymore.

"I'm an orphan too."

Six words.

All sound on the rooftop disappeared.

Shen Jue's hand gripping the rope froze. Su Nianzhi stood at the iron gate, her ten fingers embedded into the mortar joints of the wall. The Old Police Officer's mouth hung half-open, unable to close.

"Nobody will lose me."

The school uniform collar tore open another centimeter.

"Just let me reunite with my family."

When these words fell, Li Li's left hand stopped hurting.

It wasn't because he had adjusted; it was because he couldn't feel it anymore.

His entire left arm, from shoulder to fingertips, was completely numb. The signals of his muscle fibers tearing were forcibly blocked by his brain. The only information transmitted from his nerve endings was that he was still holding on.

But "still holding on" was becoming "about to lose his grip."

The stitching on the school uniform collar popped. One stitch. Two stitches.

The fabric slid inch by inch beneath his fingers.

He looked down at Song Yaoshan.

Song Yaoshan looked down at the ground.

Then looked up again, at him.

Smiling.

The sixteen-year-old boy, his hair blown into a mess by the wind, tear tracks still on his face, his nose red, his school uniform collar pulled out of shape.

But he was smiling.

Very calmly.

Just like someone who had decided on their destination, saying goodbye to those remaining behind.

Li Li opened his mouth.

No sound came out.

It wasn't that he didn't want to speak.

"Don't give up"? Had he ever given up?

From beginning to end, standing up there, he had never feared death; what he feared was living a meaningless life.

Living without anyone caring, living being bullied, living being treated as something transparent, redundant, and unworthy of existence.

"It will get better"?

The hell it will.

His predecessor grew up in an orphanage; he knew that feeling from memory. He knew the feeling of waking up in the middle of the night to hear the child in the next bed crying, knew that children who were adopted didn't dare look back at those left behind when they walked away, knew that the weight of the three words "nobody cares" could crush an adult, let alone a sixteen-year-old boy.

The school uniform fabric pulled out the last centimeter from between his fingers.

Li Li's left hand was left clutching only the seam of the collar.

A layer of fabric.

Half a layer of fabric.

He saw Song Yaoshan wave at him.

The movement was small; he just lifted his palm, his five fingers opening and closing.

Then his hand was empty.

The sensation of the fabric sliding past his fingertips was very light.

Li Li only had time to see a figure wearing white sneakers receding from his field of vision. The school uniform was puffed up by the wind, the entire trajectory of the fall carrying a slight rotation.

Song Yaoshan was facing up.

Toward the sky.

Toward him.

Smiling.

Li Li's body lunged over the low wall.

The safety rope tightened to its limit at the same second—the steel buckle embedded into his belt, forcing his whole body to fold at a right angle, half his body hanging outside the rooftop, his outstretched left hand grasping at empty air.

His fingertips were less than ten centimeters away from that hand.

Six hands behind him dragged him back.

He was dragged back inside the low wall, his back slamming onto the rooftop floor, the back of his head hitting the cement, and a flash of white exploded before his eyes.

Screams came from below the floor.