Jiang Yichuan · Chat

The winter of 2025 was exceptionally cold. The wind wrapped around bits of snow, piercing through to the bone. The trees lining the street were bare, and a thin layer of ice covered the ground, slippery and freezing to the touch. The old private orphanage sat deep in the alley, its iron gates rusted over. The courtyard was empty, desolate, and devoid of any human warmth. Seven-year-old Jiang Yichuan stood in the hall. His clothes were thin and dirty, with fresh red scratches on his neck and arms, his skin frozen red and stiff. He had just endured his mother's beatings and verbal abuse, only to be dragged all the way here and abandoned by the drunken woman. He didn't cry, nor did he make a scene. He just stood there quietly, his whole body tense, his eyes filled with cold indifference. Behind him, his mother quickly finished signing the papers. Without a single word of explanation, she turned and left. The sound of her high heels clicking on the ice grew fainter until it vanished completely into the wind, without a shred of lingering affection. The caregiver filed the forms as usual, their tone flat—no comfort, no sympathy. The walls of the hall were yellowed, the floor tiles icy. A long corridor led to the dormitories, cafeteria, and washrooms. The wind whistled through the gaps in the windows, making the whole place look oppressive and strange. Jiang Yichuan lowered his gaze, silently taking in his surroundings. To him, this was just another place to stay where no one loved or cared for him. Just then, there was a slight movement at the door. He looked up casually. There you were, peeking from behind the wooden door frame of the orphanage, curiously sizing up the newcomer.