Chapter 1: Living Alone

A sharp pain shot through the base of Wen Mo’s spine—so fierce it brought tears to his eyes.
He had been passing the living-room windowsill when his foot slipped and he went down hard. The impact left him gasping on the floor for several minutes before he could haul himself up along the wall, feel for the window frame, and shut the living-room window.
It had poured the night before. Rain and wind had blown in through the open window and woken him halfway through the night; he had gotten up and closed the bedroom window, but he had forgotten the living room. After the rain stopped, a puddle had formed on the floor—and that was why he had fallen when he walked by.
There was another window just like it on the way to the bathroom.
Wen Mo kept one hand on the wall and moved forward carefully. When he reached the window he remembered, he probed the floor with his foot and, sure enough, found water there too.
He went around it, shut that window as well, then found a rag and, by touch alone, wiped the floor until it was completely dry.
Only then did he go back to the living room, pull a bottle of medicated oil for bruises from the lower shelf of the tea table, and lift his shirt, about to rub the place that still ached—when the doorbell rang. He set everything aside and went to answer the door first.
“Good morning, Little Mo.”
When the door opened, a familiar woman’s voice came from outside.
“Good morning, Sister He Yi.” Wen Mo smiled at her, in good spirits. His sightless eyes softened with a hint of warmth; the corners of his lips curved as he welcomed her in.
The young woman’s name was He Yi. She was a community volunteer who made regular weekly visits to residents with special needs. Wen Mo was a blind man living alone.
“You fell again? Where does it hurt? Is it serious?” The moment He Yi stepped inside, the sharp smell of medicated oil in the living room told her something was wrong. Worried, she asked at once.
Wen Mo felt a little embarrassed. He scratched his cheek, which grew warm. “It rained last night and I forgot to close the window. I slipped this morning.”
“It’s fine—not serious. Some medicine and it’ll be okay.”
“Really? Let me see.” He Yi couldn’t help lecturing him. “You have to be careful living on your own. Check the weather forecast every day. I’ll remind you when rain’s coming. Oh—and it’s going to turn cold these next few days. Watch out for catching a cold and dress warmer.”
She set down the grocery bag she was carrying and helped Wen Mo back to the sofa in the living room. “Where did you hit? Let me take a look.”
“…I think it’s my tailbone.” Wen Mo turned around and pulled up his T-shirt.
Across a pale, slender waist spread broad patches of blue and purple, running down toward the base of his spine—enough to show how hard he had fallen.
“Don’t rub it with medicated oil. I’ll get some ice for a cold compress.” He Yi turned to the refrigerator, took out ice, wrapped it in two layers of towel, and handed it to Wen Mo to hold against the sore spot himself.
Wen Mo did as he was told. When the cold towel touched his skin, he hissed softly.
It hurt a little—and it was cold. Wen Mo sniffled.
He Yi said, “Bear with it a little. For falls and sprains, if it hurts, don’t rub medicated oil on it—use ice, understand? It’s on the second shelf of the freezer. Wrap it in a towel and press it where you’re hurt.”
“Okay.” Wen Mo nodded. “I’ll remember.”
Wen Mo hadn’t known you were supposed to ice an injury. Most of what he knew about daily life had come from his mother. When he fell before, his mother always used medicated oil… Back then, Wen Mo rarely fell at all.
He had been blind from birth. From the moment he entered the world, everything was darkness, and he had long since learned to find his way inside it.
Home had been the place he knew best. He had every piece of furniture memorized. Even without thinking, by instinct alone, he could move through the rooms without bumping into anything.
The reason he kept falling now was that he had moved. This wasn’t the home he knew by heart.
For the time being, he still couldn’t manage the way he used to.
“I told you before—we should put corner guards and bump strips around the house so it won’t hurt so much when you hit something. You said it was too much trouble.” It wasn’t only his waist. He Yi saw marks large and small all over him—his calves, his forehead. Probably all from the last few days.
Her heart ached, but she couldn’t help scolding him. “Look at you—all banged up. Do you have any idea how good-looking your face is? Keep knocking into things and you’ll ruin it!”
Her tone was stern, but her hands were gentle.
She pressed a cartoon-patterned bandage onto Wen Mo’s forehead.
He Yi: “Doesn’t it hurt? You didn’t even put a bandage on. How did you do that?”
“It doesn’t really hurt.” Wen Mo answered honestly, like a child who knew he’d done wrong—whatever she asked, he answered. “I hit the corner of the table.”
Because it didn’t hurt much, he hadn’t bothered. Otherwise he would have slapped a bandage on himself without a second thought.
He Yi: “It’s scraped.”
Wen Mo made a small sound of acknowledgment.
“Tell me yourself—how many times have you fallen this week?”
“I still have to buy you those bump strips and pad all the corners and edges. Then even if you hit something, you won’t get hurt. You absolutely refused last time.”
“Sister He Yi, it wasn’t that many times.” Wen Mo grew ashamed under her words. “I really don’t need them.”
Back then he had thought he was used to life in the dark. He had lived that way for years—surely there would be no problem.
So when he first moved in, he hadn’t laid down non-slip mats or bump strips. Those were things for children.
In reality, he had overestimated himself.
Though he could manage all the basics of daily life on his own, only after coming alone to a strange place did Wen Mo realize how well his parents had protected him before—and how great the difference could be between one darkness and another.
There was nothing for it but to feel his way forward, stumbling again and again. He bumped and bruised himself often, but by now he had more or less mapped the place out and no longer needed bump strips or foam padding.
Today was an exception.
Wen Mo had no habit of closing windows before rain. His parents had always done that for him. No one had taught him; he didn’t know, and he hadn’t understood.
He had fallen once today. He would remember. From now on he would check the weather forecast every day and shut the windows before it rained.
Experience piled up bit by bit like that. Sometimes when a fall really hurt, he felt wronged enough to want to cry—but once the feeling passed, he was all right again.
“All right.” Seeing how firm he was, He Yi dropped the subject and got up to do what she had come for.
Besides checking on Wen Mo’s life, she needed to clear expired food from his refrigerator and restock it with fresh groceries.
When you can’t see, the hardest part is not knowing expiration dates. Wen Mo had once landed in the hospital from drinking spoiled milk, which was why the community arranged for a volunteer to visit once a week.
He hadn’t lived here long and didn’t know the area well yet. He couldn’t yet walk from the supermarket home without trouble, so for the time being the volunteer still had to help buy daily necessities and food for him—and do a little light cleaning while she was at it.
Wen Mo could do most things himself. Cleaning only meant tidying spots he hadn’t noticed; the workload wasn’t heavy.
“Have you had breakfast?” Only when He Yi lifted the shopping bag did she remember. She took out a jianbing guozi and handed it to him. “I bought it on the way—it’s still warm. Want some?”
“Wow, it smells amazing. Thank you, Sister He Yi.” Wen Mo took it happily, ice pack in one hand, breakfast in the other, while He Yi worked at the refrigerator.
Half the eggs he had bought last month were still left. Wen Mo might not like eggs much—he only used one or two a week. He Yi wasn’t sure whether any had gone bad, so she cleared them all out and arranged the new groceries in order of expiration.
Wen Mo could handle most of daily life on his own—laundry, cooking, all of it. The real trouble was only the weekly check on food dates, including frozen items.
After more than ten minutes, He Yi turned and looked at Wen Mo on the sofa.
He was eating his jianbing, eyes lowered, quiet and earnest, taking small careful bites. He looked thin and slight.
He was young and looked even younger—a face no bigger than a palm, skin very fair, eyes dark and bright, only without focus. Below one corner of his eye sat a tiny mole, so faint you had to lean close to see it, like a drop of diluted ink blooming on rice paper.
Sitting there eating so obediently, he made people think of a fluffy kitten—such a small bundle, nibbling away, sniffing now and then, rubbing his nose. Cute and pitiful at once.
…Wen Mo really was both cute and pitiful.
Born blind; then his parents died in an accident. There were no reliable relatives at home. He could only live alone. Fortunately the family had some money—people said his parents had left a sizable inheritance, plus a large house rented out, bringing in ten thousand or so a month. He was comfortably off even without working; he wouldn’t have to worry for the rest of his life.
He Yi had heard bits and pieces about Wen Mo’s story.
She heard that all three of them had been out when they were hit by a car. The adults died on the spot. Wen Mo himself was in the hospital a very long time.
Relatives and a lawyer handled what came after his parents’ deaths. They had offered to take him in, but Wen Mo refused. Not long after he was discharged, he moved out of the family home into a smaller place and started a new life.
Still so young, unable to see, living alone after losing his family.
He was strong—but he was heartbreaking too.
He Yi sighed, barely audible, and closed the refrigerator door.
“Sister He Yi, are you finished?” The blind tended to hear more sharply than others. Wen Mo caught the movement and “looked” that way.
He Yi hummed in reply. “Just finished. This week’s groceries are all in the fridge. I took the half-box of eggs. What’s in there now is all fresh. Snacks are in the kitchen snack basket—things you like.”
“Okay.” Wen Mo nodded. “Thank you. I trouble you every week.”
He thanked her sincerely.
“It’s nothing—that’s what we’re here for.” He Yi didn’t think much of it.
With the refrigerator done, she glanced around the apartment—clean and tidy, no real cleaning needed—and replaced all the garbage bags with fresh ones.
Wen Mo felt awkward about her doing even that. After breakfast he followed her around. “I can do all of this myself. You really don’t have to…”
“It’s fine—easy enough while I’m here.” He Yi chatted with him. “I heard you went out the day before yesterday?”
“Hm? Yeah.” Wen Mo nodded firmly.
“Good. Getting out is good. I’d go stir-crazy for you, cooped up inside all day.” She asked again, “Where did you go?”
“Just the supermarket near the complex. I wanted to learn the route and bought new toothpaste.” Wen Mo answered.
Life had to move forward. Once he knew the apartment well enough, Wen Mo had slowly started exploring outside—learning the streets nearby, places like the supermarket.
He couldn’t rely on other people’s care forever.
He had gone out twice last week. There had been a few setbacks on the way, but he had learned the route. He wouldn’t need anyone to shop for him and lug big bags over anymore.
“Sister He Yi, you don’t need to buy daily things for me anymore.” Wen Mo said, “The complex supermarket isn’t far. I’ve walked it once and remember it. I can go myself from now on.”
“Really? That’s wonderful.” He Yi didn’t argue.
For someone like Wen Mo, being protected and cared for in every detail wasn’t always good. He still had to learn to stand on his own—except where there was a real problem that couldn’t be solved alone.
“I remember there’s a traffic light on the way to the supermarket outside the complex. Is that all right?” He Yi asked. “Do you want me to go out with you a few times?”
“No, no.” Wen Mo said quickly at that. “People around here are all very kind. They help me cross when there’s a light. If no one’s there I just wait. Don’t worry—I won’t cross a street alone.”
The blind couldn’t see the signals. That was a difficulty that couldn’t be fully solved—but most people were warm and willing to help.
“I used to go out all the time. I have experience. Don’t worry.”
“Good, then.” He Yi smiled.
While they talked, He Yi had gathered all the garbage and was about ready to leave.
Before she went, she asked Wen Mo, “Anything else you need help with?”
Wen Mo thought for a moment and shook his head. “Nothing.”
“All right.” He Yi picked up the trash bags and headed for the door.
Wen Mo walked her to the entrance. “Sister He Yi, see you next week.”
“See you next week.” He Yi smiled. “Call me if you need anything—and call even if you don’t, just to chat. Living alone gets lonely.”
“And—it’s turning cold these days. Dress warm. Don’t catch a cold.” She stressed again.
“Mm-hmm, I know.” Wen Mo answered and waved. “Bye, Sister He Yi.”
After he saw her off and closed the door, the apartment was quiet again. Apart from his own breathing, he couldn’t hear a single other sound.
Wen Mo stood where he was for a long moment, eyes lowered. Then he turned and felt his way along the wall back to the living room to wash the towel he had used for the ice pack.
Icy water ran from the tap. The cold made his fingertips tremble. He washed quickly, wrung the towel out, hung it on the rack, and felt his way out along the wall.
“Achoo!”
He sneezed, sudden and loud.