The courtyard that morning shimmered beneath the pale sun. The air carried the mingled scent of freshly trimmed grass and chalk dust, laughter echoing off the stone walls of the primary school. It was break time — a swirl of voices, running feet, and childish joy.
Shu Yao sat on the far end of the courtyard wall, a quiet boy with thin arms and an oversized shirt. His head was tilted, eyes wandering over the playfield where the younger children chased one another across the tiles. He never joined them; instead, he watched, a faint smile flickering at the edges of his lips whenever someone laughed too loudly or fell and giggled back to their feet.
Near the fountain — small, carved with roses — sat Qing Yue. Barely five, with hair cut neatly to her chin, shimmering under the sunlight like honeyed chestnut. Her cheeks glowed soft pink, her smile round and bright. She was smoothing the ears of her rabbit doll — a tattered thing named Pipi — crooning softly to it as if it could listen.
For a moment, everything was gentle. The kind of peace that exists only in childhood — before cruelty learns to speak.
Then a shadow fell over her.
Three boys stood nearby, taller, older — twelve, ten, and nine — their uniforms messy, eyes glinting with mischief. The oldest nudged the middle one, who smirked.
"What's that, a rat with long ears?" he jeered.
Qing Yue frowned and hugged the rabbit tighter. "Stay away from my Pipi," she warned, her small voice trembling but brave.
The boy laughed. "Stay away, she says. Cute." He stepped closer, grabbed for the rabbit — and before she could move, the toy was wrenched from her hands. "You're little, so be little," he taunted, dangling it high above her head.
"Give Pipi back!" she cried, eyes brimming. The boys only laughed harder, tossing the doll between them. "She's gonna cry! Look, she's crying already!"
Qing Yue's tears spilled freely now, the sound raw and helpless. She tried to reach for the rabbit again but stumbled. The oldest boy lifted the doll higher, enjoying her desperation.
"Gege!" she screamed suddenly, voice shattering through the courtyard. "Gege!"
The boys froze, then sneered.
"Calling for your weak brother?" one mocked. "The one who can't even stand straight?"
"My gege will beat you!" she said between sobs, clutching her fists tight. "He will!"
"Oh?" the oldest grinned. "Let's see him try."
And that was when Shu Yao appeared.
He came running from across the courtyard, breath unsteady, shoes scuffing the stone. His small frame looked even smaller beside the other boys. His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, and his chest rose and fell fast. But his eyes — warm brown, serious beyond his years — were fixed only on Qing Yue.
"What happened?" he asked softly, breathless.
"Gege…" Qing Yue sniffed, pointing toward the boys. "They took my Pipi!"
Shu Yao stepped in front of her instinctively, one arm half outstretched as if to shield her. His voice, though quiet, held a trembling resolve. "Give my sister's toy back."
The boys exchanged amused looks. The oldest twirled the rabbit by its ear. "If you can take it, then take it."
He raised it higher.
Shu Yao's small hands clenched. "Please… give it back."
"What's that?" the boy mocked. "I Didn't hear you!"
"I said give it back!" Shu Yao's voice cracked as he reached upward — too short, too light. His fingertips brushed only air. The boys laughed cruelly, holding the toy further away.
Qing Yue's little sobs filled the air. "Gege… they won't give Pipi back…"
Shu Yao turned, forcing a smile to calm her. "Don't worry, Qing Yue. I'll take your Pipi back. I promise."
Her tears paused. She nodded, believing him completely.
Then he turned back to the boys. He jumped once more, stretching, straining — but the boy stepped back, climbing onto the fountain's edge. The water shimmered below, sunlight dancing on its surface.
"Come on," the boy teased. "Take it, if you can."
Shu Yao hesitated. The stone edge was slick. But he had promised.
He climbed up.
The boys laughed, but his small face was set in quiet determination. "Give it," he said again, reaching for the dangling rabbit.
The boy lifted it higher. "Here? Or maybe—here?" He leaned backward, taunting him, the toy brushing the sky. Shu Yao stood on tiptoe, arms outstretched, his whole body trembling with the effort.
Then his shoe slipped.
A flash of panic crossed his face.
And then the splash — sharp and sudden.
Cold water erupted upward, silver droplets catching sunlight as his small body fell into the fountain.
For a moment, the courtyard went still. Then came the gasp — the scream.
"Gege!" Qing Yue's voice cracked the air. "Gege!"
The boys froze, horror washing the color from their faces.
Inside the fountain, Shu Yao thrashed weakly. The water was deep for someone so small. His limbs flailed, hands clawing at the surface. His lungs burned as icy water filled his mouth. The laughter was gone now — only the sound of splashing and panicked shouting filled the courtyard.
"Someone help him!"
Qing Yue stumbled toward the school, crying. "Teacher! Teacher! Gege is drowning!"
Inside the dining hall, a dozen teachers looked up mid-lunch, startled by the child's scream. The moment her desperate words reached them, chairs scraped back. Plates clattered to the table.
By the time they ran outside, the courtyard had fallen into chaos. Children stood frozen in a circle around the fountain, their faces pale.
"There!" one shouted. "He's under the water!"
A tall teacher — Mr. Zhang — sprinted forward, wading into the water. He grasped the small body and pulled Shu Yao out. Water poured from his sleeves as he lifted the boy onto the stone edge.
"Blankets, hurry!" a woman called.
Shu Yao's lashes fluttered weakly. His lips were pale, his body trembling in the sudden wind. Water trickled down his neck as he gasped for breath. Someone pressed on his chest until he coughed, spitting out a mouthful of water. The sound was frail but alive.
"Thank heavens," a teacher breathed. "He's breathing."
Behind them, the older boys stood with heads bowed, trembling under the weight of scolding voices. "Do you realize what you've done?" one teacher barked. "He could have died!"
Qing Yue ran to Shu Yao, clutching her soaked rabbit doll — Pipi — to her chest. Her small hands trembled as she reached for her brother. "Gege…" she whispered through hiccuped sobs. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have called you."
Shu Yao's eyes opened faintly. His lips moved, but the words came out in soft, broken syllables. "It's… not your fault… Qing Yue."
The teachers wrapped him in a warm blanket, tucking it under his chin. He was shaking uncontrollably, his breath misting in the cold air. Qing Yue crouched beside him, still crying quietly, her tiny hands holding the edge of his sleeve.
Mr. Zhang looked down at the boy — pale, fragile, yet still trying to comfort his sister first. There was something heartbreakingly gentle about that.
"Take him inside," the teacher said softly. "He'll be all right now."
And as they lifted Shu Yao, Qing Yue followed closely, clutching Pipi tightly to her chest — never letting go again.
The nurse's office smelled faintly of camphor and antiseptic.
Shu Yao sat on the narrow cot, a wool blanket wrapped around his small shoulders, but the tremor in his limbs wouldn't stop. His soaked uniform clung to him like ice. Every breath came out as a soft shudder.
Qing Yue stood beside him, clutching the hem of Ms Liang's dress in both fists. Her round eyes were still red from crying. The little rabbit toy—poor Pipi—was pressed to her chest, dripping wet.
"Keep the blanket tight around him," Ms Liang murmured to the nurse, her brow furrowed. "He's still freezing."
The nurse nodded and knelt beside the cot, gently rubbing Shu Yao's arms to restore some warmth.
"Sweetheart," she whispered, "can you hear me?"
Shu Yao's lashes fluttered. His lips were pale and trembling, but he gave the smallest nod.
Ms Liang straightened, heart heavy, and reached for the phone on the desk. Her fingers hesitated for a moment over the rotary dial before she spun it, one number at a time.
"Come on, come on…" she whispered under her breath.
The line clicked, and a familiar voice answered—calm, mellow, and kind.
"Yes, Ms Liang," came Mr Shu Yuelin's voice. "Did my dear daughter did something again?"
There was a note of weary humor in his tone, the kind that came from years of gentle patience. He was seated in a café, a porcelain cup of tea cooling by his hand, unaware that the world had just tilted elsewhere.
Ms Liang's throat tightened. "No, Mr Yuelin… it's not about Qing Yue."
He chuckled softly. "Ah, then it must be about my son. Though I can't imagine why—you know Shu Yao. The boy wouldn't harm a butterfly. What did my Shu Yao do this time?"
Her voice wavered. "Mr Yuelin… Shu Yao fell into the courtyard fountain. We pulled him out in time, but he's still shaking badly. He needs to be taken to the hospital—immediately. If not, there's a chance… his condition may worsen."
For a heartbeat, there was silence on the other end. Then the clatter of a chair.
"He fell into the fountain?" His voice broke, stripped of composure. "God heavens—where's my boy? I'm coming. I'm hanging up now."
The line went dead.
Ms Liang exhaled shakily, setting the receiver back on the cradle. When she turned, she saw Shu Yao sitting small and still on the cot, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. His lips quivered as if he wanted to say something, but no words came.
Qing Yue climbed onto the chair beside him, her tiny hand trembling as she tried to pull the blanket back over his knees.
"Gege…" Her voice was small. "Does it hurt?"
He shook his head faintly. "No," he whispered, though his teeth were chattering. "Just cold."
Ms Liang crouched beside them, forcing a smile. "Your daddy will be here soon, Shu Yao. He's on his way."
Qing Yue blinked at her, wide-eyed. "Really?"
"Really," Ms Liang said softly, brushing a lock of hair from the girl's cheek. "So be brave for a little while longer, all right?"
The girl nodded, sniffling.
Outside, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor—the kind of running that carried fear in every stride.
Then the door burst open.
Mr Shu Yuelin stood there, breathless, coat half-buttoned, his usually composed face drained of color. His eyes—warm brown, like Shu Yao's—went straight to the cot.
"Yao'er…"
The name fell from his lips like a prayer.
He crossed the room in two strides, kneeling beside his son. His trembling hand brushed against Shu Yao's damp hair.
"Father…" Shu Yao murmured, voice thin as mist.
He turned to Ms Liang. "How long has he been like this?"
"Nearly twenty minutes," she replied. "He's breathing normally now, but his temperature's dangerously low."
"Then we can't wait," Yuelin said. He scooped Shu Yao into his arms—so light, too light—and wrapped the blanket tighter around him.
"Papa…" Qing Yue whimpered, clutching her rabbit.
Shu yuelin bent briefly to kiss the top of Qing Yue's head. "Come on, my little moon. I'll take both you and Shu Yao with me okay. Stay close."
Her lower lip trembled, as she nodded bravely.
Yuelin turned, his coat swirling as he strode for the door. Ms Liang followed him out, still calling after him, "Be careful, Mr Yuelin!
He didn't answer. In his arms, Shu Yao's small body felt weaker than before, and he gripped Qing Yue's hand tightly with his free one.
The afternoon light spilled softly across the courtyard, but nothing could soften the urgency in his stride. Shu Yao's condition was worsening, and every heartbeat echoed louder than the calm around them as he carried his children away.
"Don't worry, Yao'er… you'll be okay," he murmured, his voice urgent but gentle.