The Boy Who Lives Next Door

Wen Mo was born blind. After his parents died, he lived alone.

It didn’t go smoothly.

He had long adapted to life in the dark and could manage daily life on his own—but only after losing his parents did Wen Mo learn that one darkness can be very different from another.

No one told him the milk in the fridge would expire and give him a stomachache if he drank it.

On rainy days he forgot to close the window; the floor got soaked and he fell hard.

When he caught a cold or fever, he didn’t know which pills to take or how.

With no choice, Wen Mo had to ask someone for help.

When he opened the door, he heard voices at the apartment next door.

After sitting empty for a long time, the unit had a new tenant. Wen Mo paused, then tried to ask: “Sorry—could you help me tell which one is the cold medicine?”

The conversation stopped dead.

Wen Mo tilted his head, puzzled.

The next second, the box was taken from his hand.

“This one.” A boy’s cool voice. “Twice a day, two tablets each time.”

Not only which medicine—it was how to take it. Wen Mo was grateful. “Thank you. You’re so kind—a really good person.”

At that moment, Pei Zeyang—leg broken from street racing, hair dyed blond, a dark tattoo on his neck, freshly kicked out of his family home—“……”

His friend was silently laughing so hard he was pounding the wall.

—Kicked into the wall without mercy.

“Yeah. I’m a good person.” Pei Zeyang handed the pills back, eyes fixed on Wen Mo. “If you need anything later, you can come to me.”

“Really?” Wen Mo was delighted; even his sightless eyes seemed to brighten. “Actually there’s something I can’t find—I was hoping someone could help me look…”

“I can.” Pei Zeyang agreed without changing expression.

That night, Wen Mo found the suitcase on the top shelf of his closet.

Pei Zeyang ended up in the hospital again—for injuring his leg on the job.