what he never said

Li Wei did not go home when he left the internet café.

The sky had already begun to darken, the blue thinning into gray. He stood outside for a moment, bag hanging from one shoulder, and checked the time on the cracked phone screen. His reflection stared back faintly from the glass—eyes dull, face tight, like he was bracing for something that never ended.

He turned away from the road leading home.

Instead, he walked toward the river path behind the old shops. Fewer people went there in the evenings. That was the point.

He sat on the concrete steps and pulled his sleeves down, even though the air was warm. When he leaned forward, his shoulder protested sharply. He adjusted his position until the pain dulled into something manageable.

At school, the day had ended the way it usually did.

Li Wei learned how to fall without making noise.

It happened behind the gym, where the walls were stained and the ground stayed damp even on dry days. Someone kicked the back of his knee. He hit the concrete hard, palms scraping, skin tearing. The bag slid off his shoulder. Before he could reach it, a foot came down on his wrist.

“Stay,” a voice said.

He stayed.

Another kick landed against his ribs. He curled inward instinctively, arms pulled close, chin tucked down. Someone laughed above him. Another voice counted under their breath, slow and mocking.

“Get up,” one of them said.

Li Wei pushed himself halfway up. A fist caught him under the jaw and sent him back down. His head struck the ground. White flashed in his vision. He tasted blood and swallowed it quickly.

“Too slow,” someone said.

They dragged him up by the collar this time. His feet barely touched the ground. His shirt tore at the seam. A punch landed in his stomach. Then another. His body folded in on itself. When he coughed, dark drops splattered onto the concrete.

“Pathetic,” one of them said. “You don’t even fight back.”

Li Wei didn’t answer. He focused on breathing. In. Out. Short and shallow. The way he had learned at home.

At home, words hurt worse than hands.

His father never wasted time asking why. He never waited for explanations. A mistake was a mistake. Silence was defiance. Weakness was unacceptable.

Stand properly.

Speak clearly.

Stop embarrassing me.

The voices overlapped in Li Wei’s head as another kick landed against his side. His vision blurred, then sharpened again. Someone shoved his face toward the wall.

“Your dad treats you like this too, right?” a voice said close to his ear. “Figures.”

Li Wei’s fingers twitched.

His father’s face flashed in his mind—hard lines, eyes that never softened, hands that corrected instead of comforted. A man who scolded first and listened never. A man who saw his son as a problem that needed fixing.

Ruthless.

Unyielding. Unforgiving.

And still—

Another punch landed. His lip split. Warmth ran down his chin.

Still, if something were to happen—if the world turned against him completely—Li Wei knew his father would choose him without hesitation. He believed that with a certainty that surprised even himself.

"yeh...that's right" he smiled faintly "he loves me the most". Li wei whispers while the pain is overwhelming making his senses dull.

The thought didn’t comfort him.

It hurt more.

They let him go when footsteps echoed nearby. Li Wei collapsed onto his hands and knees. His body shook, not from fear, but from exhaustion. He pressed his sleeve to his mouth until the bleeding slowed, then used the same sleeve to wipe his hands.

He stood slowly. Everything hurt. He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and adjusted the strap so it wouldn’t slip again.

No one saw him leave.

By the time he reached the internet café, his movements were stiff and uneven. The chair creaked as he sat down. He logged in without looking at the screen, eyes unfocused, fingers trembling. The noise around him blurred into something distant and meaningless.

Here, no one hit him.

Here, no one asked questions.

This was the thing that made him feel alive.

When he finally went home, the lights were already on.

Li Jianhua stood near the table, arms crossed.

“You’re late.”

Li Wei nodded.

“Where were you?”

“School,” Li Wei said.

Jianhua took one step forward. “Look at me.”

Li Wei raised his head.

Jianhua’s eyes swept over him quickly—his posture, his bag, the way he stood slightly uneven. His gaze lingered on the sleeve pulled too far down.

“What happened to your shoulder?” Jianhua asked.

Li Wei shook his head. “Nothing.”

Jianhua scoffed. “You expect me to believe that?”

Li Wei stayed silent.

“That silence again,” Jianhua said sharply. “Do you think keeping your mouth shut makes you look mature? It makes you look stupid.”

Li Wei’s fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.

“I asked you a question,” Jianhua continued. “Answer.”

“It’s nothing,” Li Wei repeated.

Jianhua’s jaw tightened. He reached out and grabbed Li Wei’s arm, yanking the sleeve up.

A bruise bloomed dark against pale skin.

Jianhua froze for a moment.

Then his expression hardened.

“You’re fighting now?” he said. “Is that what you’ve learned instead of studying?”

“I didn’t—”

“Enough,” Jianhua cut in. He released the arm roughly. “I send you to school to learn, not to embarrass me.”

Li Wei swallowed. His throat hurt.

“They started it,” he said quietly.

Jianhua laughed again. “There’s no ‘they.’ There’s only you. If you weren’t so useless, people wouldn’t target you.”

The words landed heavier than the slap that morning.

Li Wei nodded once. He bent down, removed his shoes, and placed them neatly by the door. He walked to his room without another word and closed the door behind him.

In kitchen, Jianhua remained standing for a long time. He rubbed his forehead once, then dropped his hand. He told himself the boy needed to toughen up. That bruises can be healed. But the world wouldn’t slow down for weakness.

Inside, Li wei locked the door and slid down against it, sitting on the floor. His hands shook as he wiped the blood from his face. His shirt was torn. His body throbbed in places he couldn’t see.

He leaned his head back against the door and closed his eyes.

His father’s footsteps moved away.

Li Wei stayed there until the pain settled into something dull and constant—something he could live with.

His phone buzzed once.

A message from an unknown number.

Come back tomorrow. We’re not done

He turned the phone face down and lay back, staring at the ceiling. His chest felt tight, like something was pressing inward slowly, steadily.

He didn’t cry.

He just stayed very still.

And neither of them said what needed to be said.

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