TWMOV Chapter 5: The Poor Little Thing Who Suffered Domestic Abuse 05
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🌺Chapter 1-23
The next morning, a tall and slender boy stood quietly under the shade of the jujube tree, wearing a clean long-sleeved crewneck shirt and a pair of faded blue shorts. His gaze was fixed on some distant spot, eyes cold and indifferent.
It wasn’t until Yu Mu called his name that he looked away, turned around, and gave the man a faint, curved smile.
Under Liang Han’s fringe, the corners of his eyes were dark with bruises, his cheeks swollen, and a bandage still stuck to his forehead—the one Yu Mu had applied the day before.
As Yu Mu approached, he noticed Liang Han’s exposed neck, and his pupils contracted involuntarily.
Dark purplish bruises, the shape of fingers, crisscrossed his skin—marks that could only be caused by someone gripping his neck with brutal force for a long time.
Yu Mu’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, teeth grinding as a surge of fury rushed through him.
He gently touched the bruises on Liang Han’s neck with his fingertips, his voice cold.
“Your dad did this? Where is he now?”
He had previously held back from interfering, partly out of respect for Liang Han’s pride, and partly because he hadn’t yet seen the situation as life-threatening.
But after seeing these marks, it was clear—Liang Han’s father was a beast. If this continued, something terrible was bound to happen.
“He went to the shop.”
Liang Han’s voice was hoarse from the damage to his throat and hadn’t recovered yet.
This time, he took the initiative to grab Yu Mu’s arm and shook his head.
“Teacher, don’t worry about my dad. Just look after me. I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want to become a scumbag like him. That’s why I didn’t fight back.”
Liang Han didn’t want Yu Mu to get too involved with his father.
His family was already a mess—he couldn’t allow Yu Mu to get dragged into the danger.
Yu Mu stared at Liang Han’s battered face for a long time before finally backing down.
He pulled Liang Han back into his own room, applied a healing ointment to the bruises on his neck, and gently massaged it in. Liang Han furrowed his brows in pain, but didn’t make a sound. His eyes remained fixed on Yu Mu’s face, as if lost in thought.
The barbershop wasn’t close to their compound, so Yu Mu rode a bike and let Liang Han sit on the back. Halfway there, a pair of arms suddenly reached forward and wrapped around his waist.
Yu Mu’s body stiffened.
“Teacher, do you know why I didn’t die last night, even though I didn’t resist?”
Liang Han rested his head against Yu Mu’s back and closed his eyes, replaying yesterday’s scenes in his mind.
“It makes me a little happy to say it,” he continued. “It was my mom—she stopped my dad.”
Yu Mu froze.
“She still doesn’t want me dead. She still sees me as her son.”
Liang Han’s voice was torn apart by the wind.
“So I was thinking... maybe, if I keep provoking my dad, pushing him to want to kill me, my mom will keep stepping in to save me. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll start noticing me... acknowledging me as her son.”
Yu Mu was shaken by the implications of these words. He felt a chill rise from deep within.
He wanted to say something to stop him, but Liang Han went on.
“But it’s too dangerous. If I really die, I’ll never see my mom again. I’ll never see you again, Teacher. I can’t take that risk.”
He tightened his arms around Yu Mu’s waist, greedily soaking up his warmth, and softened his voice.
“Teacher Yu, after we get my hair cut, could we stop by the flower shop? My mom loves flowers. It’s Mother’s Day today—I want to buy her a bouquet.”
Yu Mu, silent for a long time, finally found his voice again. It was hoarse, choked.
He gripped the handlebars tightly and replied with a quiet, “Okay.”
Liang Han had always hidden the money he earned from odd jobs in a sewn-up inner layer of his backpack. Today, he took it out for the first time.
Yu Mu insisted on paying for the haircut himself, so when they arrived at the flower shop, Liang Han didn’t let him come inside—instead, he went in alone to pick out the flowers.
While the florist was wrapping the bouquet, Liang Han glanced outside—and in that moment, he couldn’t look away.
It was noon, hot. Yu Mu had parked the bike under a camphor tree, leaning against the trunk, a cigarette between his fingers, eyes half-closed as he smoked.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling his hair and shoulders.
Unlike Liang Han’s pale and fragile appearance, Yu Mu’s skin was a healthy wheat color, his features sharp and strong, the slight lift at the corners of his eyes giving him a touch of wild charisma—strikingly handsome.
His slender fingers held the cigarette, light-colored lips exhaled smoke that blurred his face slightly, adding a hazy, seductive air of danger.
An absurd thought suddenly surged into Liang Han’s mind.
In that moment, he wanted to become that cigarette—fleeting though its life might be—just to touch those fingers, to brush those lips. That alone would be a life worth living.
What kind of feeling was this?
Liang Han was frightened by his own thoughts—but he couldn’t stop them.
After staring death in the face yesterday, he was more certain than ever of how special Yu Mu was to him.
If it weren’t for Yu Mu, he would’ve fought back yesterday. He would’ve been dragged down into the abyss by his father, never to return.
So when he climbed onto the back of the bike, he held Yu Mu tightly, resting against him, greedily soaking in the sense of peace only Yu Mu could give him.
“Young man, what are you staring at so intently?”
The florist, a woman in her twenties, broke his train of thought.
She followed his gaze and saw a girl standing in front of Yu Mu, adjusting her hair.
With a teasing smile, she said, “Looking at someone you like, huh?”
Liang Han was stunned, staring blankly at her. “Someone I like?”
What does it mean to like someone?
Did he like Yu Mu?
Thinking of those absurd thoughts earlier, Liang Han stood still, dazed.
Seeing his reaction, the florist thought she had guessed correctly. Her smile grew more mischievous.
She plucked a rose from a bucket nearby, trimmed the thorns, and tucked it into the bouquet she’d wrapped. Then, she handed the whole bundle to Liang Han with a wink.
“This rose is on the house. Give it to the one you like—she’ll definitely be happy.”
Holding the flowers, Liang Han walked out of the shop and over to Yu Mu.
“Teacher, I’m done.”
He hid the rose behind the bouquet, fingers tightening unconsciously.
Yu Mu didn’t notice anything unusual. He put out the cigarette, tossed it in the trash, and when he turned around, he saw that the affection meter—once at two and a half little hearts—had suddenly filled up to three full ones.
He gave Liang Han a strange look, wondering what on earth had happened in the flower shop to spike the affection level so much.
But it didn’t matter. His mood improved.
He reached out to ruffle Liang Han’s freshly cut hair and suggested, “It’s still early, no rush to go back. Come on—let’s go get something good to eat.”
There was a local restaurant nearby known for its clay pot dishes. Yu Mu ordered a chicken and potato hotpot and a yellow croaker stew. The two of them ate until they were stuffed, then decided to walk home instead of riding.
It was a long walk.
Liang Han still clutched the rose, and the florist’s words swirled in his mind.
As a teenager, his understanding of romantic feelings was still vague and uncertain.
He longed to be close to Yu Mu, had welcomed him into his world, but—Yu Mu was his teacher, and a man, no less.
So in the end, even when they reached the compound, Liang Han didn’t give him the rose.
He said goodbye to Yu Mu and went back to his house, holding the bouquet in his arms.
When he opened the door, he saw his mother, Jiang Yuan, sitting on the sofa watching TV. Her mid-length wavy hair draped over her shoulders, and she wore a blue dress. Her arms and legs, exposed under the skirt, bore new and old scars.
Remembering how she had stood up for him last night, Liang Han felt a rare warmth in his heart.
“Mom, I’m back.”
He walked over to the sofa, holding the flowers in front of her with an almost pleading smile.
“I got you some flowers. Happy Mother’s Day.”
Jiang Yuan finally looked away from the TV, her gaze falling on Liang Han—and the bouquet of carnations and lilies in his arms.
The gentle fragrance filled the room as the beautiful, tired woman quietly observed the boy crouching in front of her—his face strikingly similar to hers.
“You got a haircut?”
Liang Han’s fingers trembled. A sharp ache rose in his nose, and his eyes turned red.
It was the first time in years his mother had noticed any change in him.
He replied in his hoarse voice, “Yeah. I got it today. Teacher Yu took me.”
Jiang Yuan seemed to have forgotten the horrors of the night before. She looked in a good mood. She didn’t respond to his words, but reached out to take the flowers, hugging them close and inhaling deeply. A rare, gentle smile appeared on her face.
“They smell lovely.”
She stared at the flowers, as if through them she could glimpse the beautiful years of her past.
Looking at her face, Liang Han’s tears started to fall without him realizing.
He wiped them with his sleeve, but he couldn’t stop crying.
He hadn’t seen his mother smile in so long—and today, she had smiled.
It felt so lucky, so unreal—like a dream.
That night, Liang Han’s father didn’t return. He and his mother enjoyed a rare moment of peace.
But even lying in bed, Liang Han couldn’t sleep.
Late into the night, he finally got up and went to the living room.
Jiang Yuan had found an empty vase, filled it with water, and placed the bouquet inside. The faint scent of lilies now permeated the whole room.
Liang Han pulled out the bright red rose—the one that didn’t match the others—from the vase, opened the door, and stepped outside.
He passed beneath the jujube tree, bathed in the soft moonlight of early summer, and stopped in front of Yu Mu’s door, holding the rose.
His heart thumped wildly in his chest.
He didn’t know why he’d gotten out of bed in the middle of the night, nor why he’d brought the rose.
He only knew—he wanted to share his happiness with this person.
So many good things had happened today.
And somehow, he had attributed all of it to Yu Mu.
As if just by having Yu Mu nearby, happiness followed.
Just like the florist said: if you give flowers to the one you like, they’ll be happy.
He wasn’t sure what these intense feelings meant, but at this moment, he wanted Yu Mu to wake up in the morning, open his door, and smile upon seeing the rose.
That would be enough.
Carefully, he slipped the rose’s stem into the doorframe, just above the iron latch.
Then he bowed deeply to the wooden door.
Thank you, Teacher Yu.
Author's Note:
Liang Han: I really want to be that cigarette.
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