discipline

Character

Li Jianhua

Role: Father

Age: Early 40s

Li Wei

Role: Son

Age: Mid-teens

Discipline

Li Jianhua did not knock this time.

He pushed the door open with his palm and said the boy’s name like an accusation.

“li wei”

The boy stirred. Not slowly—quickly. Awake too fast. His eyes opened before his body moved, as if sleep had never really held him.

“Up,” Jianhua said. “Now.”

Li Wei swung his legs off the bed. His feet touched the floor, then hesitated. Jianhua noticed. He always noticed hesitation.

“You’re already late,” he said. “Or is that what you want?”

Li Wei shook his head and reached for his uniform. His fingers fumbled with the buttons. One slipped through the wrong hole.

Jianhua clicked his tongue. “Useless even at this.”

Li Wei fixed it without answering.

In the kitchen, Jianhua set the bowl down harder than necessary. Rice spilled slightly over the edge. He didn’t clean it.

“Eat.”

Li Wei sat. He stared at the food, then picked up his chopsticks. He ate two mouthfuls and stopped.

“You think food is optional?” Jianhua asked.

Li Wei swallowed. “I feel sick.”

Jianhua laughed once—short, humorless.

“Sick?” he said. “From what? Sitting around? Playing games? You haven’t done anything in your life to be sick.”

Li Wei’s grip tightened on the chopsticks. One snapped slightly under the pressure.

Jianhua stood.

“Look at you,” he said. “Other boys your age are top of their class. And you? You can’t even finish a meal. If I didn’t push you, you’d rot.”

Li Wei stood up too quickly. The chair fell backward.

“I said eat,” Jianhua said.

“I can’t,” Li Wei replied.

That was the wrong answer.

Jianhua raised his hand without hesitation. The sound cracked through the room. Li Wei stumbled but didn’t fall. He grabbed the edge of the table, steadying himself like this had happened before—like his body already knew what to do.

“You think the world will spare you because you’re weak?” Jianhua said. “Do you think anyone will care?”

Li Wei shook his head.

“Then stop acting like this,” Jianhua continued. “I’m doing this because I don’t want you to end up useless.”

Li Wei picked up his bag. His face was blank. Not defiant. Not angry. Empty.

“I'm going,” he said.

“Straight to school,” Jianhua warned. “If I find out you skipped again, don’t bother coming back.”

Li Wei paused at the door. For half a second, it looked like he might say something.

He didn’t.

At school, Li Wei kept to the edges. He always did.

Someone stuck out a foot in the hallway. He tripped and caught himself against the wall. Laughter followed him down the corridor. No one helped. A teacher passed by and pretended not to see.

In class, a note landed on his desk.

Why do you even come here?

He folded it and put it in his pocket.

During break, they surrounded him near the stairs. One boy grabbed his collar and pulled him close.

“Your dad beat you again?” the boy asked, grinning. “Figures.”

Li Wei didn’t answer.

A shove. His shoulder hit the railing.

“Say something,” another voice said. “Or are you mute at home too?”

They let him go only when the bell rang. He adjusted his uniform, pulled his sleeves down farther, and went back to his seat.

He didn’t tell anyone.

After school, he didn’t go home.

The internet café was dim and loud. No one looked at his face there. No one asked questions. He sat down, logged in, and let the screen replace everything else.

At work, Jianhua corrected a laborer by grabbing his arm and forcing it into position.

“Like this,” he said. “Do it wrong again and leave.”

The man nodded quickly.

That was how you taught people.

When Jianhua returned home, the apartment felt smaller. He set his keys down in a straight line and called out.

“Li wei.”

nothing.

He checked the room. The bed was neat. Too Neat.

Jianhua frowned. He told himself the boy was avoiding him. That he was being stubborn again. He sat at the table and waited.

The chair across from him stayed empty.

Outside, the sky darkened. Inside, the silence thickened.

Jianhua clenched his jaw. When the boy came back, he would make sure he understood.

He would speak harsher if needed. He would push harder.

That was how futures were built.

He didn’t know that some things, once crushed enough times, stopped resisting altogether.

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