Chapter 11:Scars

"You don't know either?" Zhou Mingrui's voice held a mix of frustration and confusion as he walked through the company corridor, carrying a stack of design drawings to make proofs of PCB circuit boards.

His expression was solemn, his brows furrowed in thought as he tried to piece together the mystery that had been eluding him all day.

Accompanying him was a young man who appeared weathered beyond his years, a senior who had joined the company two years before Zhou Mingrui. Despite his age, the lines on his face and the weariness in his eyes gave him an air of someone who had seen more than his fair share of life's challenges.

The young man glanced at Zhou Mingrui with a lazy, almost indifferent look. "Yeah, Meng Xian used to be quite strange—withdrawn, even. She's always been willing to help people and chat, but she never shares personal information."

He shrugged, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Now she's a bit more sociable, but still, colleagues are just acquaintances outside of work. Who would go around shouting about their birthday for no reason?"

Zhou Mingrui nodded slowly, the crease between his brows deepening. This was the sixth colleague he had asked about Meng Xian's birthday, and even those who had been with the company longer than her didn't seem to know.

He had even discreetly approached some of the female colleagues, hoping they might have formed closer bonds with Meng Xian and knew her birthday. But all his efforts had been in vain.

The weathered young man paused in his steps and turned to look at Zhou Mingrui, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "To be honest," he said, "you're the person who has the best relationship with her in the company."

Zhou Mingrui was taken aback by the statement, his thoughts racing as he processed the implications. Was he really the one closest to Meng Xian? The realization left him feeling both honored and concerned. How could he not know something as simple as her birthday if they were that close?

why don't you just ask her?

—------

"Yeah, why didn't you just ask me directly?"

Meng Xian stood at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning casually against the glass door frame with her arms folded over her chest. Her expression was relaxed, her lips curved in a knowing smile as she watched Zhou Mingrui busily chopping vegetables on the counter.

After a long period of adjustment, Zhou Mingrui and Meng Xian had settled into a comfortable routine. They had even worked out an unspoken arrangement—Meng Xian took charge of breakfast, while Zhou Mingrui handled dinner.

On weekdays, they ate lunch in the company cafeteria, and on weekends or holidays, they would decide whether to combine breakfast and lunch or lunch and dinner, depending on their mood.

Zhou coughed awkwardly, trying to hide his embarrassment. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Surprise?" Meng Xian echoed, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Are you planning to ask me to be surprised?"

"Well, there's no such thing as preemptive actions between friends," Zhou responded, trying to sound serious but failing to hide the smile creeping onto his face. "It's called reciprocity. So, Meng Xian, when's your birthday?"

"Friends..." Meng Xian repeated, her voice softening, a trace of something deeper in her tone. "I have very high standards for my friends, so I cherish them very much." She paused, her smile returning. "Since my dear friend asked so sincerely, I'll tell him. My birthday is June 1st."

"June 1st, Children's Day?" Zhou Mingrui's eyes widened in surprise. "What a coincidence!"

Meng Xian closed her eyes slightly, her voice turning calm and distant. "It's not a coincidence."

Zhou Mingrui felt the atmosphere shift, the lightheartedness from before giving way to something more somber. He could sense that this was not just a simple birthday date, and his heart tightened in response.

"I forgot to tell you before," Meng Xian continued, a deep, resonant laugh escaping her chest, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I came from an orphanage."

Zhou Mingrui's hands froze mid-cut, the knife hovering above the vegetables as he processed her words. A scene flashed through his mind—vague, but powerful. He remembered a conversation he'd overheard once, a voice from the past saying, 'But birthday presents are supposed to be given by the person having the birthday to his or her friends! That's how it is in our place!'

His expression grew complicated as he connected the dots. The implications of what she was saying began to sink in, and with it came a wave of emotions he wasn't sure how to process.

Meng Xian continued, her tone matter-of-fact but carrying a weight that made Zhou Mingrui listen intently. "The orphanage I grew up in is a special children's orphanage. Most of the kids there were orphans abandoned by their parents.

Some of them didn't even know their real birth dates, so the day they were admitted became their birthday. Others, who could remember their past, would keep their original birthdays."

She paused, her gaze distant as if recalling a long-buried memory. "Besides that, June 1st is the collective birthday of all the children in the welfare home."

Zhou Mingrui opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come. The image of a young child, perhaps not much different from the Meng Xian he knew, celebrating a birthday that was both hers and not hers at the same time, filled his mind.

The thought of her choosing to abandon her original birthday, setting her new one on a day meant for all the children, struck him with a quiet, profound sadness.

He suddenly understood that Meng Xian was likely one of those children who had started to remember things before she was abandoned. But instead of clinging to her past, she had chosen to let it go, setting her new birthday on a day that symbolized both her individual identity and her connection to a larger, shared experience. It was an act of both defiance and acceptance, and it made Zhou Mingrui realize that there was so much more to her than he had ever imagined.

Zhou Mingrui felt a deep respect for her in that moment. She had chosen to share this part of her life with him, not seeking pity or sympathy, but simply because he had asked. He realized that any attempt to comfort or comment on her experience would be inadequate, perhaps even presumptuous

As much as he wanted to offer comfort or say something to lighten the moment, he hesitated. He was born into a loving family, surrounded by warmth and care. How could he, someone who had never experienced the kind of abandonment and hardship that Meng Xian had faced, presume to offer her comfort?

Anything he said might come across as condescending or even arrogant.

So he did what he thought was the best response: he listened carefully and remained silent.

Meng Xian, sensing the tension in the air, suddenly burst out laughing. The sound was light and airy, a deliberate attempt to break the somber mood.

"You don't need to be so nervous," she said in a lighter tone. "I mentioned this just to explain the origin of my birthday."

Before Zhou Mingrui could respond, a faint smell of something burning reached his nose. Meng Xian pointed to the frying pan nearby, her voice teasing, "Your chicken wings seem to be burning."

Zhou Mingrui snapped out of his thoughts, quickly putting down the knife and rushing over to save the nearly charred chicken wings.

The urgency of the moment brought him back to the present, and for a moment, the heavy conversation was pushed aside by the immediate need to salvage dinner.

Behind him, Meng Xian's voice softened, carrying a rare note of ethereal gentleness. "Being born with the blessings of others is a very happy thing in itself."

Zhou Mingrui paused, her words echoing in his mind. He turned slightly, catching her serene expression, and for a brief moment, he saw the layers of her personality—the strength, the resilience, the warmth she offered despite everything she had been through.

She was right, he realized. Being born with the blessings of others was indeed a gift, one that she cherished in her own quiet, powerful way.

"So," Meng Xian continued, her voice filled with a mix of anticipation and a subtle hint of vulnerability, "I'm looking forward to my birthday."

Time passed slowly, and soon it was June 1st.

The morning light filtered gently through the curtains as Zhou Mingrui fumbled to turn off his alarm clock. He groggily sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before sliding out of bed.

With his eyes still half-closed, he clumsily pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of pants, his mind drifting in that hazy space between dreams and reality. He shuffled out of the bedroom in his slippers, letting out a long yawn as he lazily made his way toward the bathroom.

"Um?"

His sleepy steps paused mid-stride as a tantalizing aroma drifted through the air, pulling him from his drowsiness. His initial path to the bathroom was forgotten as he pivoted and headed straight for the kitchen, following the delicious scent that seemed to beckon him.

As he reached the kitchen, the source of the mouthwatering aroma came into view. Meng Xian was standing by the counter, pulling a bag of pancakes from the refrigerator, her movements unhurried and precise.

The scene was peaceful, almost domestic, with Starlight, the cat, curled up on the floor in deep slumber, its fluffy form rising and falling with each gentle breath.

But Zhou Mingrui's attention was not on the pancakes or even on the sleeping cat. His gaze was immediately drawn to the pressure cooker on the stove, from which the savory, rich scent of braised meat wafted out, filling every corner of the room.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the scent envelop him, the mix of meat and spices creating a symphony of flavors in his imagination.

"Braised pork..." he murmured, excitement creeping into his voice as he opened his eyes. "Is it Roujiamo, right?"

The night before, they had watched a cooking show together, where a chef passionately demonstrated the art of making various traditional dishes. The Roujiamo—a braised pork bun with preserved vegetables—had particularly caught Zhou Mingrui's attention.

He had spent the rest of the evening daydreaming about the soft, fragrant meat filling encased in a crispy yet tender bun, the juices spilling out with each bite.

Meng Xian glanced over her shoulder, a faint smile playing on her lips. "That's right," she replied, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather. "But it's still cooking. You should go brush your teeth first."

Zhou Mingrui's eyes shone with anticipation as he nodded, his earlier sluggishness completely gone. He quickly retreated to the bathroom, brushing his teeth with a speed that would have been impressive on any other day, but today was driven purely by the promise of a delicious breakfast.

When he returned to the kitchen, Meng Xian had already laid out five white steamed buns on the counter. The buns were perfect—soft, pillowy, and just the right size to hold the savory filling.

"Can hand-pulled pancakes really be used to make these?" Zhou Mingrui asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice as he stood by the counter.

"Yes," Meng Xian replied with a nod, her confidence unwavering. She picked up a pancake and began to demonstrate. Her hands moved with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before. She spread the pancake flat on the counter, then picked up a kitchen knife.

Starting from the center of the pancake, she made a precise cut to the edge. Setting the knife aside, she began rolling the dough, forming it into a cone shape that Zhou Mingrui recognized—though it was slightly different from what he was used to.

Finally, Meng Xian stood the dough cone upright, its pointed tip facing upwards. With a deliberate motion, she pressed down firmly with her palm, flattening it into a perfect round bun, ready to be filled.

"So this is possible..." Zhou Mingrui muttered, his eyes wide with admiration.

"Awesome, just awesome."

Meng Xian smiled, a small, satisfied curve of her lips that said, I told you so.

"There are six now," she said, surveying the buns. "Two more should be just right."

She set to work, her hands moving with the same practiced grace, while Zhou Mingrui fetched the remaining pancake and returned it to the refrigerator as instructed.

Once the white steamed buns were ready, Meng Xian turned her attention to the air fryer. She placed four of the buns inside, setting the temperature to 180 degrees, then turned her focus to the pressure cooker.

With a practiced hand, she turned off the stove and opened the lid. The kitchen was immediately filled with an even richer aroma, the scent of braised pork intensified by the steam that billowed out.

The smell was almost overwhelming, wrapping around them like a warm blanket. It was the kind of aroma that made your stomach clench in anticipation, that brought memories of comfort and home rushing back to the surface.

As Meng Xian stirred the contents of the pressure cooker, Zhou Mingrui watched her quietly. There was a certain grace in the way she moved, in the way she handled even the smallest task with care and precision. It was something he had always admired about her, this ability to make the ordinary feel extraordinary.

Meng Xian glanced up and caught him watching, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Don't just stand there," she said gently, her eyes twinkling. "Breakfast is almost ready."

Ten minutes later, the kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of freshly baked Roujiamo, the air thick with the promise of a delicious breakfast. Zhou Mingrui, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, took a bite of the hot, fragrant bun.

The crispy exterior cracked delicately, giving way to a sumptuous filling of braised meat.

Each bite was a revelation. The Roujiamo was not just crispy but exquisitely meaty.

Meng Xian's choice of braised meat, with its perfect blend of fat and lean parts, created a texture that was oily, glutinous, and smooth—rich yet surprisingly light on the palate.

The combination of crispy skin and tender meat brought an indulgent pleasure that made Zhou Mingrui's appetite insatiable. He devoured the Roujiamo with such enthusiasm that his cheeks were soon bulging with each mouthful, unable to wait even for the first bite to settle before diving into the next.

As he finished the last of his Roujiamo, Zhou Mingrui quickly grabbed his water cup, filled it halfway, and took a deep, contented sip. "Ah~," he sighed with satisfaction, the taste still lingering on his tongue.

With a content smile, Zhou Mingrui turned to Meng Xian, who was observing him with a calm demeanor. "Meng Xian," he said, raising his head and looking at her with a mix of formality and warmth, "Happy birthday!"

There was a slight flush of embarrassment on Zhou Mingrui's face. He had hoped to surprise Meng Xian, but he knew how hard it was to catch her off guard. Despite his efforts, he couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious.

Meng Xian's expression remained calm, her eyes holding a reserved yet genuine smile. "Thanks," she replied softly, her voice carrying a hint of warmth that made her gratitude clear.

Zhou Mingrui's smile widened as he reached for a small box he had tucked away. "I've prepared a gift for you."

He handed the box to Meng Xian, who accepted it with curiosity. "What's this?"

Zhou Mingrui's smile remained as he encouraged her. "Open it."

Meng Xian carefully lifted the lid of the box, revealing an elegant black pen nestled inside. The pen had a sleek, sophisticated design, clearly an expensive and thoughtful gift.

Meng Xian's fingers lightly brushed over the smooth surface of the pen, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "Thank you, Zhou. I really like this."

Zhou Mingrui's eyes twinkled with satisfaction. "I noticed you often study Russian and sometimes jot down notes. I thought a quality pen might come in handy."

Meng Xian's smile deepened as she considered his words.

She hadn't fully realized how much she missed the act of writing, something she had done frequently in her past life. The pen was not just a practical gift but a reminder of her writing habits.

She carefully placed the pen back in the box, her gaze meeting Zhou Mingrui's with a look of genuine appreciation. "This gift will be really useful to me. I appreciate it."

Zhou Mingrui's smile was warm and genuine. "It's my pleasure."

Suddenly, Meng Xian's tone shifted to a more businesslike manner. "By the way, I've taken the day off today, so you'll need to manage on your own."

Zhou Mingrui's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. "Is there something important?"

Meng Xian's voice softened, a hint of nostalgia in her tone. "I promised Director Chen Yu during the Chinese New Year that I would go back to the welfare home today to attend this year's Children's Day celebration."

—--

Zhou Mingrui glanced at Meng Xian, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "What kind of person is your director?"

When Meng Xian spoke of her director, she did so with a calm assurance. "A good person," she said, her voice steady and sincere. The simplicity of her response spoke volumes, revealing a deep respect and affection for the director.

They were on the high-speed train heading toward Licheng, the rhythmic hum of the train a comforting backdrop to their conversation.

Meng Xian had mentioned that she was taking a day off to visit the welfare home where she had promised to attend the Children's Day celebration. Zhou Mingrui, after some thought, had asked if he could accompany her. Meng Xian, while initially hesitant, agreed, knowing that as a team leader, granting leave was within her authority.

The high-speed train sped through the landscape, and in less than two hours, they arrived in Licheng.

As they disembarked, Meng Xian took the lead, offering directions to the welfare home. "The welfare home is on Shangmin Road, Jiangtang District. It's about three kilometers from here, so it should take us around half an hour on foot."

Zhou Mingrui nodded, his gaze wandering over the surroundings. The slower pace of this small satellite town provided a sharp contrast to the frenetic energy of the metropolises.

It had a serene charm, a peacefulness that was both refreshing and nostalgic. For a moment, Zhou Mingrui was reminded of his own hometown, a place that seemed miles away from the bustling city life he was used to.

They walked together through the district, past a long river embankment. The willow trees lining the riverbank swayed gently in the breeze, their verdant branches dipping into the clear, sparkling water below.

The scene was idyllic, almost like a painting come to life, and it filled Zhou Mingrui with a sense of calm.

At precisely 10:40 in the morning, they arrived at the welfare home. Meng Xian had sent a message ahead, so there was already someone waiting outside.

An elderly lady, her white hair framed by a warm, welcoming smile, approached them with a lively step.

"Ah, Meng, you're back."

Meng Xian's response was more formal than usual, and Zhou Mingrui noticed a hint of nervousness in her demeanor. "Hello, Chen," she said, her gaze dropping slightly as if unsure of how to act.

The director, Chen, then turned her attention to Zhou Mingrui. "And who might this be?"

"This is Zhou Mingrui, my friend. He came to the birthday party with me. You can just call him Zhou Mingrui," Meng Xian introduced him, her voice tinged with an unusual shyness.

Zhou Mingrui felt a surprising wave of embarrassment from Meng Xian. It was a rare sight to see her so flustered, her usual confidence replaced by an almost childlike uncertainty. Her smile was not one of embarrassment but of someone caught off guard, unsure of how to present herself in this context.

Despite the awkwardness, Zhou Mingrui was soon immersed in conversation with Director Chen. Her warmth and friendliness were palpable. As they spoke, Zhou Mingrui felt a connection forming, not just with the director but with the essence of what Meng Xian admired so deeply.

Director Chen's demeanor was gentle, her approachability making it easy for Zhou Mingrui to relax. He could see why Meng Xian held her in such high regard. There was an ease to the director's presence that was comforting, and Zhou Mingrui found himself drawn to her warmth.

As he observed the interaction between Meng Xian and the director, he couldn't help but notice the subtle similarities between them. It was as if Meng Xian had absorbed some of the director's qualities—her calmness, her kindness, and her gentle manner.

It made Zhou Mingrui ponder whether Meng Xian's demeanor was a reflection of the influence her director had on her.

Was Meng Xian imitating the director, or had the director's qualities naturally become part of who Meng Xian was?

The director led them to a modest office, where two large jars of colorful candy sat on the desk. With a warm smile, she handed one jar to Meng Xian and another to Zhou Mingrui.

"Well, it's almost time for lunch," the director announced cheerfully. "The older birthday boys and girls are going to give gifts to the younger ones."

Zhou Mingrui walked out of the office holding the jar of candy, his confusion evident in his expression. He glanced down at the jar, then at the closed door behind him, his mind trying to piece together the situation.

"It seems that the director likes you very much," Meng Xian's voice broke through his thoughts, soft and faint.

Zhou Mingrui turned to her, expecting to see her familiar, composed demeanor. Instead, she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the office door. There was a deep, almost melancholic reverence in her posture as she bowed her head slightly.

"Let's go," she said quietly, and turned away.

Zhou Mingrui hurried to catch up. "Are we going to the cafeteria?"

Meng Xian responded with a vague nod, her usual enthusiasm subdued. She seemed preoccupied, her voice lacking its usual vibrancy. After a brief pause, she continued, her words taking on a more explanatory tone.

"June 1 is the collective birthday for all the children in the welfare home. To teach them about gratitude and sharing, the older children give candies to the younger ones. When the younger children grow up, they

take on the role of gift-givers."

She paused, her eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. "This year is a bit different. Because of our arrival, the director decided to make us the birthday boys and girls who receive gifts. So, Zhou, congratulations on having an extra birthday."

Zhou Mingrui looked at the candy jar in his hand, his feelings a mix of confusion and unexpected flattery. "Does this really count as a birthday?"

Meng Xian's eyes met his, a faint smile on her lips. "Doesn't it?"

Zhou Mingrui found himself at a loss for words. The concept of a birthday he hadn't planned for, and the significance of receiving a gift from the children, left him feeling oddly touched.

Then, out of nowhere, Meng Xian asked, "By the way, Zhou Mingrui, did you ever think about what you'd do if the end of the world really came?"

The question brought Zhou Mingrui back to the year 2012, a time when apocalyptic theories had captured public imagination.

He mulled it over for a moment before replying, "Well, if the sky were to fall, I suppose there'd be people to hold it up. But if even they couldn't, I don't think I could do much either."

Meng Xian fell silent, lost in thought, before continuing, "That reminds me of a novel I once read. It was set in an apocalyptic world.

The protagonist was undergoing treatment in an underground freezer when the disaster struck. He survived by entering hibernation and woke up ten thousand years later in a new world…"

Zhou Mingrui frowned, intrigued yet skeptical. "Lucky guy?" he asked. "Unless he woke up with nothing, isn't it possible he's more unlucky than lucky?"

Meng Xian's eyes widened at his response. A genuine, heartfelt laugh escaped her, and soon tears of mirth glistened in her eyes. Her laughter was tinged with a sadness that spoke of deeper reflections.

Meng Xian's face softened, and she began to laugh softly, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Yes, maybe those who perished in the old world are the truly lucky ones. Those left behind in the new world—like the survivors in Sefirah Castle—are faced with the darkest future."

Zhou Mingrui watched her, a knot of worry forming in his chest. Her unexpected laughter and tears left him concerned.

"Meng Xian, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Meng Xian's laughter slowly faded, leaving a profound silence between her and Zhou Mingrui. She wiped her face, her fingers lingering on her cheeks as if trying to erase the traces of her emotions. "It's okay, it's okay," she said, her voice carrying a soothing quality, though her smile was tinged with sadness.

"I just recalled some past events. Back then, it really felt like the end of the world was coming."

A thought crossed Zhou Mingrui's mind. This might be a chance for Meng Xian to confront something deeply personal, he considered. Summoning his courage, he asked gently, "Is it related to your parents?"

Meng Xian's gaze shifted to him, her eyes revealing a flicker of vulnerability. She offered a perfect smile, masking her inner turmoil. "I never met my father. And as for my mother… I'll just call her that." Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of nostalgic tenderness. "She was a beautiful woman, gentle and loving. I adored her."

Her voice grew softer, heavier with memory. "On my seventh birthday, she took me to the amusement park. We spent the entire day there, playing and laughing. It was exhausting, but I was so happy."

Meng Xian's eyes drifted away, lost in the past. "As evening fell, she bought me an ice cream and took me to a bench. She told me to stay there and wait while she went to handle something. I watched her walk away, and she never came back."

Zhou Mingrui's heart clenched as he heard the finality in her words. "What happened next?" he asked hoarsely.

Meng Xian's expression remained calm, but her eyes held a sorrowful depth. "She died."

The word hit Zhou Mingrui like a physical blow. He stopped in his tracks, the gravity of her revelation sinking in.

The possibilities swirling around that single sentence were overwhelming, and he was left speechless.

Meng Xian, sensing his shock, turned to face him fully. Her gaze met his with a melancholic sincerity. "How the Steel Was Tempered," she began softly, "is the autobiography of Pavel Korchagin. I was deeply moved by his story, just as you seem to be by mine."

She recounted, "Paul was born into poverty, faced numerous hardships, and was subjected to severe trials. Despite being physically and emotionally scarred, he chose to live on and use his writing as a means of survival and self-expression."

Zhou Mingrui listened intently, absorbing the gravity of the story. He had only read summaries of the book in his junior high school days and had never truly grasped its depth until now.

Meng Xian continued, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. "Most children in welfare homes have faced significant misfortune. "

"Their lives are marred by the injustices of fate and human cruelty. These experiences leave indelible marks, much like the creases in a piece of paper. The damage is permanent, and no amount of fading can fully erase it."

Zhou Mingrui's heart ached at her words. "What should I do then?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and concern.

Meng Xian looked at him, a playful yet bittersweet smile on her lips. "Since we can't erase these scars, we have to carry on with them.

Complaining helps sometimes, but it doesn't change anything. Instead, we should create equal or even more joyful memories with friends and use our misfortunes as lessons to avoid repeating past mistakes. I think that's enough."

Her words resonated deeply with Zhou Mingrui, but they also pierced him with a sense of profound sadness. Meng Xian's eyes, dark and deep, seemed to hold a lifetime of pain, yet she smiled with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly.

Her long black hair moved gently in the breeze, adding a surreal beauty to the moment.

Zhou Mingrui wanted to reach out, to tell her she didn't have to face her struggles alone. He wanted to offer comfort, to share the burden of her pain. But as he looked into her eyes, he found himself at a loss for words.

The intensity of his feelings, the desire to help her carry her load, was choked by his own inability to express it.

He stood there, silent and aching, knowing that sometimes words fall short where actions might succeed.

In that moment, he wished he could be the support she needed, but all he could do was stand beside her, offering the silent solidarity of his presence.