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He’s never had anything. He was born a boy with no name. No home. His father had a name, but the man had never given him one.
His father taught him everything he needed to know. How to look through food remains and determine what’s safe to eat, and how to open his palm for strangers to throw coins into. He taught him how to walk and how to speak. They did everything together; they even got beat up together a couple of times. He loved his father. The last great lesson his father taught him was how to be alone.
Then life taught him that lice are better than cold, that at bus stops you get beat up most, and that it was safer to disgust the old ladies going to the market than try to be nice with the salarymen. It was best when people looked away from him, shied away from his stare, and avoided his dirty fingers. Because their attention was worse. Attention made you unable to walk. Attention made your ribs ache. It made your heart clench with fear and hunger.
He hadn't had anything proper to eat in two days. It was the heat of summer, and food was rotting away faster. He was nine years old, and his only possession was an irod rod he found behind a club’s toilet. It was his most important, most beloved thing. He hugged the cold iron in his arms, feeling a fragile sense of safety in knowing it was there. Tucked away by the wall, where during the day he got to have some shade, he scratched his head and closed his eyes. The hunger was making him tired, and it was late.
Tap.
His eyes snapped open.
Tap.
His fingers curled tightly around his weapon.
Tap.
Within a second, he clambered to a standing position, knees wobbly, the rod shaking in his hand as he waved it around. “Go away!” he threatened, blinking fast to focus on the figure standing before him. It was a teenage boy. Those were dangerous. “Who are you?! Go away!” he yelled, swinging his weapon in front of him, showing the threat wasn't empty and that he shouldn't be messed with. The teenager took a step back, but his face was sealed. The nameless boy had never received such a reaction before, and wasn't sure how to react. He decided to choose the most familiar path. Tightening his grip, he took a step forward. “Go away!!”
The teenager backed away and walked toward the stairs, only pausing for a single moment to throw something at him. It was food. A bun. Still warm, even. He dug his fingers into its soft flesh, possessive, afraid, heart throbbing at the base of his throat. His stare was immediately back up, looking at the teen, but he had already started walking again, and then he was gone.
But the bun remained. He brought it to his mouth and took a bite. His stomach contracted painfully. He looked left and right, left and right, slowly backing up into his corner. And he tried to savor it, he really did. But as soon as his teeth sank into the food, a ravenous beast woke up in his stomach. Hunger was his closest companion, and out on the streets, you couldn't know if your food would stay yours or would be stolen. He stuffed the bun into his mouth in three huge bites and swallowed, his eyes stinging, ears ringing.
That's how it started. He would sit out by the stairs and wait for him every day. Often the teenager would walk past late at night, but sometimes he saw him during the day, too. Every time he watched the older boy’s back leave, something in his chest ached. Where was he heading? Did he have a house with a roof, a bed, and a shower? With shaky fingers, The boy with no name took his offerings. Time passed.
That was still in the summer. Being outside during the summer was still okay. But in the winter, he couldn't find any dry papers to sleep on, and the sun was not strong enough to dry his clothes after every rainfall. He was not as strong as a year ago. Less than a month into the cold season he couldn't stand up to get himself anything to eat. With his remaining strength, he dragged himself closer to the edge of the staircase, hoping to catch some sunlight there once the morning came around. Shivers ran up and down his body, every labored breath tickling that nerve inside his lungs, making him cough. He hadn't had anything to eat in what felt like forever, and the newspapers were starting to soak up the water from his clothes, doing nothing to keep him warm.
He wondered if he would end up lying there forever. If the pain in his skull would make the world stop spinning. There was no hunger or cold or pain after death. At least, he didnt think so. He tucked his head into the crook of his elbow, knees and toes sore, frozen.
Tap.
He opened his eyes, forcing his head to turn upward.
Tap.
Everything looked blurry, and he could barely make out a shape. Who was this? Was this the end? No. He couldn't die like this. He prayed for his fingers to open, wished for his eyesight to focus, and begged every spirit and deity in his head to allow his muscles to defrost just enough to protect himself. Then, warmth. Even the shivers stopped for a brief second. He blinked fast, able to force himself up on his elbow for just a moment to see someone walking away. He didn't see him, but he knew who his savior was. The teenager boy who never smiled.
His guarding angel. There was no other option. Time and time again, he has given him a helping hand, a gift to give him life and strength.
The boy managed to wrap the hoodie tighter around himself, curling into a little ball inside it, breathing deeply. The shivers subsided, although they weren't completely gone. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself one tiny whimper. The fabric smelled like cigarette smoke and sweat and some sort of harsh cleaning product. It burned in his nose, going up to his brain, etching the moment in his heart and in his memory.
The next morning, he managed to stand. He found a half eaten noodle box to eat and a pack of cigarettes with three still in it. And then he sat down to wait. If the older boy had given him so much and saved his life so many times, the best course of action was to stick close to him. If he was close to him, he would be okay. He would be safe there. He followed him home from a safe distance, ignoring the teenager’s first words to him.
‘Don't follow me! I can't take you in!’
Those were meaningless words, to him. He had nowhere else to go. He didn't even need to be taken in. He just needed to be closer, to be within the teen’s radius. Nothing else mattered.
At first, he stayed away. For a few weeks, he lay around the corner from the older boy’s house. Every day, he inched closer. The older boy had a younger sister. He had another teenage friend. He was up early and back home late.
Eventually, he found himself sitting just outside their family’s door. Knees pulled to his chest, the worn black sweater wrapped rightly around him as he listened. Inside were the teenager and his little sister, and it sounded like they were getting ready to eat. Faintly, he could smell garlic and ginger, and his stomach rumbled loudly.
It was fine. He dug his fingers into his sides, pinching the offending organ for bothering him. It was useless to rumble in hunger. Just like it was useless to ask to be let it. He would never get what he wanted. But it was enough, just to be this close. Just enough to rest his head on the doorframe and imagine the heat of the family inside radiating strongly enough to engulf him, as well. If only he could melt into the wooden door and become a part of them.
The door opened. He squinted at the sudden light but didn't flinch. There was no need to be afraid, in their radius.
“Qian,” the girl called, revealing to him the most beautiful sound of her older brother’s name. She stared at him, “Can I let him in?”
In? Inside? Where Qian was? He didn't even dare to hope -
“Get your dinner.”
Before he had the chance to even consider if this was a rejection or acceptance, the girl offered him a small smile. “You can come inside.”
Not willing to risk even the smallest of chances that this was not a dream, the boy slowly stood up on his feet. She took a little step to the side, and he blinked slowly at the dim yellow light in the kitchen. The smell of food was stronger, the air warm and spicy, and he stumbled inside. Qian set a pot on the table and looked up, eyes widening ever so slightly. He seemed surprised, and the boy didn't blame him. Qian’s brown eyes looked up, and sideways, like he was calculating something in his head, and then his shoulders slumped in resignation.
That emotion only survived on his expression for a brief second, but it was enough for the younger boy to sense it. He had intruded on them. The girl - the younger sister- she wasn't supposed to let him in. He was frozen in place; unable to move forward, unable to turn his back to Qian and run away. The door slammed behind him.
“Go wash your hands, Xiao-Bao.” Qian said, straightening up. He couldn't have been older than 14, maybe 15, the nameless boy thought. The girl ran past him and into the kitchen, stepping up on a stool to wash her hands in the sink. She was probably a little younger than him. Qian stared at him. He stared at Qian.
The girl hopped to the table and sat down, picking up her utensils. “Come on, I'm hungry!” she whined. His fingers were frozen solid in his pockets, his right hand wrapped around the cigarette pack he found. His heart threatened to burst out of his throat, fear somehow creeping up his toes. Would Qian tell him to go away? There was a baby picture on the table by the door. A jumping rope was thrown by the stairs. He wanted to stay so badly that there was bile rising up his throat, acidic from the emptiness in his stomach. Would Qian let him stay? Even just for a few more moments?
He almost fainted when Qian jerked his head sideways, motioning for him to come toward the table. The older boy waited until he took a careful step forward before disappearing into the kitchen and returning with another bowl. For him.
“Sit.” was all he needed to say for the younger boy to dash forward, sitting down at the chair like his life depended on it. His eyes were glued to the food being poured into a bowl—first a couple of scoops of rice, right in the middle, and then a thick soup. Qian fished out a few bits of chicken and vegetables, topping the dish. It was mouth-watering. The pain in his stomach was unbearable until suddenly it was gone—the muscles straining so hard in anticipation, his mind zeroing in on every drop falling from the ladle, that he couldn't feel anything anymore.
Qian placed the bowl in front of him, put a spoon in his hand, and didn't say anything as he poured a plate for his younger sister. The world stopped spinning, he realized, staring in awe at the food served to him, the spoon in his trembling hand. He dug in with reverence he’d never felt before, everything around him disappearing as he ate. He ate more, and more, scraping every last bit from his bowl, licking the remains, breathless like a ravenous animal. Qian kept filling up his plate without a word, looking at him. He kept eating even when he was full, even when his stomach threatened to burst from all the food, and only stopped when Qian put the last grain of rice on his plate and motioned with his hand that the food was over.
Only then did some of his senses return to him, and he realized he had finished all their food. The girl didn't seem to mind, as she was still chewing slowly, telling her brother some stories about her day. But Qian wasn't listening, only staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. The younger boy was filled with a confusing mix of shame and gratitude, and didn't say a word.
“Li Li,” Qian opened his mouth at last, standing up from the table, “go get ready for bed. It’s late.”
The girl - Li Li - slipped off her chair. She shot him a look, and then stared up at her brother. Qian ushered her away gently with his hand, watching her go up the stairs before turning around and starting to clear the table. The younger boy didn't dare move, frightened that any movement would remind Qian he was still there and get him kicked out. He breathed shallowly, following Qian with his eyes like a hawk. Even if he got kicked out, it would be fine. It would be worth it. He would stay by their door and survive on their sunlight.
The table was clear. Qian finished cleaning the dishes. The sound of running water from upstairs indicated Li Li started her shower. Qian took a step closer, and then another, and sat down, fixing the boy with his stern gaze. He seemed to be thinking, silent, and the boy scratched the itch behind his right ear and at the back of his neck, feeling feet crawling on his scalp.
“What's your name?” Qian asked finally.
He swallowed. “I don't have a name.”
A beat of silence.
“Where are your parents?”
There was a hint of despair in Qian’s voice. The boy shook his head.
“Family? Anyone?”
Another head shake.
“Why are you following me? I can't help you.”
At that, the boy had to smile. ‘Just being around you could help me.’ he wanted to say, but even at his age, he knew an answer like that would probably only get him kicked out. So he didn't say anything. Instead he slowly took out the cigarette pack and put it on the table, pushing it in Qian's direction to make his offering clear. He'd kept it since he found it, even managed to add two more crooked ones into the pack.
Qian hung his head low, shaking it as he let out a long breath of air. There was the sound of small feet padding down the stairs, and Li Li was back. She was holding a hair brush in her hand, and she walked closer to Qian to stand by his chair. She gently tapped the hair brush on Qian’s arm, and he took it, pushing his chair back to let her stand between his knees. Without another word toward the boy, clearly deep in thought, he started brushing her hair.
Li Li studied his face, holding her brother’s knees on either side of her. “Da Ge,” she opened, her eyes boring into the younger boy’s eyes, and something tightened in his heart. “Can he stay?”
He was not sure how to breathe any longer. Qian’s hand paused for a second before resuming its motion down her silky, damp hair. A million thoughts were racing behind his eyes, and the boy with no name wished with all his heart that he was able to read them. Could this be real? Would he really be allowed to stay? The spark of hope blooming inside his too-full stomach was pale blue and fluttering, like the wings of a dying butterfly.
“Please, Ge?” Li Li whined, twisting back to look at her older brother. “I saw a teeny tiny bug walk on his neck.”
The boy’s face burned with shame, his entire body curling into itself, coiling in preparation for a painful blow. Qian hummed quietly, making her turn her back to him again so he could finish brushing her hair. “Brush your teeth before bed,” he mumbled, giving her the brush back once he was done. She looked at him, pouting, and sighed. With one last look at their homeless, nameless guest, she left the room.
Qian’s eyes looked red, the boy noticed. Dry. Or maybe tired. He stood up from his chair and slowly pushed it back into place. “Come on.”
The nameless boy followed. He found himself in the bathroom, and Qian was on his knees by the tub, filling it up with water. The shower curtain was yellowing, with a heart print the boy now suspected was chosen by Li Li, and there were two rubber ducks on its cracked rim. Qian rammaged through the cabinet under the sink, muttering, and fished out a small carton box. Only then did he seem to remember that the nameless boy was there. “Get in,” he instructed. The boy didn't have time for shame; the prospect of taking the first bath in his life was too thrilling. So far, he's only managed to clean himself off in public toilets. He peeled off his gifted hoodie and the ripped T-shirt underneath it, shaking off the shorts and underwear he had on, and clutched them to his chest.
All of a sudden he was worried. Should he have done that? Was he too reckless? Now he was naked in someone’s house, didn't even have his weapon, and-
“It’s okay.” Qian mumbled, his tone softening ever so slightly, and the boy’s tense shoulders involuntarily slumped. “It’s okay. I’ll help you get rid of the lice, yeah?” He coaxed, and the boy nodded shakily, surrendering his clothes to the teen’s outstretched hand.
“Get in the bath, I'll put your clothes in the washing machine.” he said, and thankfully left the room.
Then he was alone. Steam was rising from the surface of the soapy water, and he inched closer to the tub. He looked left and right, as if someone would jump from out of nowhere and steal this away from him, prove it was all a cruel joke, and drag him back to the cold street. But the seconds passed and no one came, so he dared to indulge in his fantasy moment just a while longer, to push his luck just a little more.
He stepped one foot into the water with a little hiss and almost lost his balance as his head began to spin. He put his other foot inside and slowly sank down until he was fully seated, then closed his eyes. Never in his whole nine years had he felt such bliss. He was certain this moment would stay etched in his memory for the rest of his life. His muscles relaxed, his eyes half-lidded as he turned into putty in the water.
He jumped when the door opened, turning around in panic, caught red-handed in his stolen moment of peace, but Qian only raised his hand to sooth him, dragging a small stool and sitting down by the tub. “It’s okay.” he said again, as the boy stared at him. “Sit back. I'm not going to do anything bad to you, okay?” he whispered, his eyes kind and brown and honest. He wanted to trust him so badly. “Sit back, I'll put this thing on your hair. We need to take care of your lice.”
Meticulously, gently, for what felt like an entire hour, Qian was busy with his hair. The water was cold and brown with grime and dead lice, the air in the room heavy with the scent of the harsh chemical of the hair treatment, and Qian’s fingers in his hair were swift and careful. The boy with no name was nodding off in the water, knees pulled to his chest, head bouncing a little as the tiny toothed comb got stuck in his hair. Finally, it was all over. Qian straightened up, hands on his knees, and leaned forward to pluck the drain plug to release the filthy water.
“I'll get you some clothes,” he rasped, wiping his hands on his pants. “Wash it off while the water is still hot.”
That night, he curled into a ball under the comforter in the living room, and despite the intense emotions coursing through his system, he fell asleep like a log and only woke up in the evening the day after. Qian made him go through the lice treatment again a couple of days after that. The boy with no name would have agreed to anything Qian would have asked him to do.
A week had passed. He barely believed his luck, thanking any deity or spirit he could think of for every morning he got to wake up indoors, for every meal he got to eat with Qian and Li Li, for every second he was fortunate enough to spend with them. Inside. In their family home.
Two weeks have passed since then when Qian had gifted him the greatest gift of all.
“I got official papers for you.” he said around a mouthful of smoke, as soon as he walked in one evening. He took out an envelope, handing it to the nameless boy. He looked up.
“We need to sign you up for school. You can't be out on the streets all day or doing nothing inside.” Qian explained, butting the cigarette on a small ashtray, putting down his bag. The boy with no name didn't know how to tell Qian he couldn't go to school because he didn't know how to read or write, so he stayed silent. And then Qian dropped his bomb.
“We’re gonna call you Wei Zhi Yuan. How does that sound? We had to get some name for the paperwork..”
Qian had given him a name. He’d named him Yuan. He gave him a family, took him under his wing. Wei Zhi. Belongs to Wei. Yuan belongs to Wei Qian.
Yuan felt tears choking him. A lump in his throat. His lower lip trembled, and before he had a chance to control himself, he surged forward, throwing his arms around Qian’s waist, burying his face in his stomach. Qian grunted in surprise, and Yuan tightened his grip and held him so strong he was sure it was getting painful, just to try and convey to Qian the extant of his emotions. “You like it?” Qian chuckled, breathless, and Yuan nodded into his stomach, squeezing him even more. “Okay, okay, I get it, let go,” Qian patted his back gently, “I need to make dinner, Yuan.”
The newly named Yuan forced himself to pull back, offering a shaky smile.
“I will help you.” he promised, and Qian ruffled his hair before pushing him off and toward the kitchen. At that time they didn't know the extant of that promise.
That was how it all started. Qian found him on the streets with nothing, not even a name. He gave him hope, a home, and a family. A name. With time, he would give Yuan all sorts of other things: a school, a room of his own, cut fruit, and new (second hand) shoes. He even let Yuan call him Ge, a word that soon felt like a sacred prayer, like the softest endearment. He let Yuan help him cook and clean, and when Yuan asked, he even let him sleep in his bed.
Life was better than any dream, and Yuan knew it was all thanks to Qian’s kind and brave heart and Li Li's welcoming, loving nature. He knew he would forever be grateful and that he would forever love Qian with everything he had. Qian and Li Li. His family.