"Perhaps I've always been afraid of the answer. Perhaps love quietly swirls in the wind. Leaving, letting go—so brief, yet again..."
Chu Zhi's voice carried despair. Almost instantly—whether it was the first or second line—his singing pulled Jiang Wan's memory back to a movie.
That movie was called Paper House, released two years ago. It was a film about school bullying, starring a talented young actress. There was a scene where the female lead, after enduring long-term abuse, let out a heart-wrenching scream—one that sounded eerily similar to this song.
For some reason, Jiang Wan hated Paper House. She had even trashed the movie across five platforms: Douban, Maoyan Movies, Taopiaopiao, Weibo, and her WeChat Moments. Normally, she wouldn't bother criticizing bad films, usually just ignoring them.
Was Paper House a good movie? Not really—at best, it was slightly above average. But was it a bad film? Not at all. The female lead's acting and the production design were still praiseworthy.
"Trash movie!" Jiang Wan snapped back to reality and criticized Paper House again, her gaze refocusing on the TV, only to be swallowed once more by the silent black tide.
Boundless and vast as the ocean, the black tide surrounded Chu Zhi, who stood like a tiny, swaying boat with no shore in sight—just as there was no one standing around the stage.
Perhaps it was the lighting director's deliberate choice, but throughout the performance, no light was cast on the band or the choir. The audience could only see a single beam of light at the center of the stage, the rest devoured by the darkness of the seats.
The boat's frame was made of old, fragile wood, easily shattered by a single wave of the black tide. Jiang Wan wondered inwardly: "Can he even finish singing this song?"
He was afraid. Absolutely afraid. The camera zoomed in—the singer at the center of the stage was terrified. His left hand, gripping the microphone stand, trembled uncontrollably at the elbow. His legs were stiff, not daring to take another step.
What was true courage? It was knowing the danger yet still charging forward. Chu Zhi was a brave singer. The fear in his body was just an instinctive reaction to the black tide. As the camera panned up, the terror in his expression became unmistakable.
Immersed in the moment, Jiang Wan wasn't sure if it was because of her strong empathy, but she felt Chu Zhi's despair completely. His voice seemed to plead with everyone: "Can you help me? Please, save me."
"That voice… it sounds familiar." Jiang Wan's mind echoed with another voice—a girl's voice: "Can I borrow your textbook? My homework was thrown away. Please, help me."
Was it from Paper House? Half her mind lost in the song, Jiang Wan tried to recall, but she couldn't remember any similar scene in the movie.
Whose voice was that in her head? It belonged to a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old girl, a desperate plea lingering in her ears—but the face was blurred.
Why did that girl's face resemble her younger self?
Soon, Jiang Wan realized why she hated Paper House. In the movie, the female lead also experienced despair, but she had a classmate who stood up for her, pulling her out of the swamp of bullying. The female lead went on to live a better life.
"It's all fucking fake. No one stood up for me."
During middle school, Jiang Wan had received no help—not from her parents, not from her teachers. Where were all those helping hands?
One day in eighth grade, after her beloved grandmother passed away, her English notebook was thrown away again the next day. The thirteen-year-old girl, crushed under the weight of grief and bullying, turned to the only classmate who had treated her with even a shred of kindness—if "kindness" could be defined as simply not joining in the bullying, treating her like a stranger.
"Can I borrow your textbook? My homework was thrown away. Please, help me."
Those were Jiang Wan's words to that classmate.
She was rejected.
Of course, that classmate had no obligation to agree. But that rejection was the final straw for young Jiang Wan.
The buried insecurities of her past were dredged up. The words hurled at her back then weren't even particularly cruel—some were even said jokingly—but to Jiang Wan, even after graduating college, even as an adult with a successful career at a law firm, they were like knife scars that never faded.
Jiang Wan spiraled into an endless loop of self-blame, drowning in sorrow.
"There was a light—in that moment, what was it that hurt so sharply? Your gaze was forgiveness. Why couldn't it fade? Against the light, I saw..."
Suddenly, a voice pierced through Jiang Wan's mental prison, clear as day.
It was as if the owner of that voice was reaching out to her. Jiang Wan realized that the singer on stage, despite facing the black tide with no way forward, despite his fear, was still trying to pull others onto his fragile boat—even though it could capsize at any moment.
"Facing hope, against the light, I feel where love exists—it has always been by my side. You are the light."
The song ended.
A song lasts only three or four minutes—not long. But for Jiang Wan, it felt like an eternity.
"Why would you try to save others when your boat is already on the verge of sinking? Wouldn't it just sink faster?"
Jiang Wan noticed Chu Zhi subtly wiping away tears, as if he didn't want anyone to see. "What's a grown man crying for?" She wanted to mock him inwardly, but she couldn't.
"Could you share what inspired you to write this song? I see you're credited for the lyrics, composition, and arrangement."
"I hope that everyone who listens to my song—whether they hate me, really hate me, or especially hate me—can be surrounded by light. And if you're burdened by too many expectations in love or life, I hope you can walk against the light."
That was Chu Zhi's response during the post-performance interview.
"You idiot. Chu Zhi, you're a fucking idiot. I've been shitting on you to your face, and you still hope I'm 'surrounded by light'? What kind of stupid, naive fool are you?"
After hearing those words, Jiang Wan's suppressed rage erupted like a burst pipe, flooding out uncontrollably.
"You don't even fight back when you're bullied? Use the damn microphone to curse them out!" she yelled at the TV, though her words felt more like a scream at herself.
Her fury lasted until Chu Zhi announced he was withdrawing from the competition due to health reasons. Only then did Jiang Wan deflate like a punctured balloon, finally reflecting on the performance.
From beginning to end, Chu Zhi had been gentle, telling everyone: "The world is kind—because you're in it."
You are the light.
Jiang Wan repeated the lyrics silently. She knew they were sung for her.
"I never forgot what happened in middle school. I've always been affected by the bullying. I've been hurt. So why have I been lying to myself, saying I'm fine? I'm not fine. They left me with painful memories, a middle school era I never want to revisit. I hate them."
Admitting this to herself, Jiang Wan felt the suppressed rage inside her slowly dissipate.
Chu Zhi's song had allowed her to forgive herself. She had always told herself she wasn't affected by the bullying because she thought, "I'm an adult now, more successful than any of them. I shouldn't have any issues."
"As for those bullies—apologies? I'll never forgive those pieces of shit!" Jiang Wan's old fiery temper seemed to return.
But it was different now. Before, her anger had been misdirected—what some might call "taking it out on the wrong people."
Now, her anger had a clear target: the bullies deserved it.
"Kittens are so cute. Why did I ever want to kick one? I'm such an asshole."
With this clarity, the world suddenly felt brighter. Jiang Wan considered going outside to apologize—but decided against it. "I'll buy some cat food tomorrow to make it up to the little guy." Tonight, she had more important things to do.
She no longer believed the rumors about Chu Zhi.
Time to bring out the keyboard!