Depressed Chapter 13

Shen Lian’s adoptive father seemed like a good man.

Though he couldn’t be called handsome, his features were regular and well-proportioned, and there was always a gentle, tolerant smile at the corners of his mouth. His job, while not especially lucrative, was still considered respectable in this society.

Yet perhaps because they had no children of their own, Shen Lian’s adoptive parents’ relationship seemed neither warm nor cold, leaving a faint sense of distance in the household atmosphere.

Every morning at six, his adoptive father would get up to prepare breakfast for the family. A little after seven, he would drive the children to school before heading to work himself, come rain or shine.

His adoptive mother had no proper occupation, yet she was rarely seen at home. She dressed herself up beautifully, and from what others said, she spent four or five days a week at the mahjong table.

Shen Lian sat in the back seat, quietly observing his sister.

The girl wore a pale yellow princess dress, her hair styled in a lovely braid—clearly the work of practiced hands—making her look like a delicate porcelain doll, sitting primly beside him.

Both siblings were beautiful; it was true that people who took in children out of kindness tended to prefer those who were pretty and adorable.

Their adoptive father often liked to boast that he now had both a son and a daughter, the perfect combination for a “complete” family.

He stopped the car in front of the kindergarten.

He opened the car door and led Shen Lian out by the hand.

—Yes, Shen Lian was now just a little child.

His adoptive father always handed him directly to the kindergarten teacher, giving him a few gentle reminders to be good and not to cry before turning to leave.

Shen Lian was already in the senior class, and he let go of the teacher’s hand a bit awkwardly, walking into the classroom alone.

What met his eyes were the colorful bulletin boards and a crowd of children who all looked like trouble.

He had no interest in any of it, so he propped his chin on his hand and slouched over the desk.

He felt a little bored.

“Shen Lian!” A little boy darted up to him.

Shen Lian looked up, puzzled.

The boy was dressed from head to toe in expensive clothes, his face full of confidence—a face that had clearly never known hardship.

He pointed at Shen Lian and asked, very seriously, “You don’t have a mom or dad, so how come you get to go to school like me?”

There was no malice in his tone, just a child’s honest confusion.

No doubt it was the adults, careless with their words in front of children, who had taught him this.

Shen Lian replied, “Why shouldn’t I?”

“You shouldn’t!” The boy suddenly grew agitated.

All the children in the class turned to look.

“You’re… you’re… a little bastard! I don’t want to be in the same place as you! You shouldn’t be allowed to go to school!” The boy’s voice rose sharply. His voice hadn’t changed yet, so it was high and piercing.

The sound stabbed into Shen Lian’s head, making it throb with pain.

He grew irritated and said, “But you’re here with me, aren’t you? Why shouldn’t you be the one to stop coming to school?”

The little boy was caught off guard by the question, unable to find the words to respond.

Shen Lian thought that would be the end of it, but to his surprise, the next second, the boy’s mouth opened wide and he began to wail. As he cried, he shouted, “Bastard! I don’t want to play with a bastard!”

His crying set off the rest of the class, and in an instant, every child in the room was crying.

The sound pierced Shen Lian’s eardrums, making his head feel as though it would split open, and leaving a faint, almost imperceptible tremor of unease in his mind.

Shen Lian seemed a little too mature for his age.

His adoptive father, out of kindness, never mentioned Shen Lian’s origins. He seemed to think Shen Lian was too young to remember, and treated him just as any father would treat his own son.

But Shen Lian remembered coming from the orphanage. He knew his adoptive father was not his real dad.

Shen Lian was aware of this, so the boy’s words didn’t surprise him. He didn’t care about it.

It was just the shrill chorus of crying that really got on his nerves.

He didn’t know why, but he could never muster up any enthusiasm for anything. Everything felt dull to him; his body was tired, he had trouble sleeping, and his mind couldn’t tolerate even the slightest bit of noise. In short, he was nothing like a child brimming with energy.

He ground his teeth and endured it, when suddenly, another voice rang out in his ear: “Do you want to kill them?”