The night Jiang Shuo moved into my house, he was huddled in the alleyway covered in injuries. "Call the police?" I handed over the strawberry milk. When he shook his head, blood dripped on the uppers of my shoes: "He is my dad." Later, the whole school laughed at him as the son of a murderer, and the ice water poured from the toilet cubicle soaked through his school uniform. I kicked open the door and held up my cell phone to record the video: "If you touch him again, this video will appear on the principal's computer." On the day of graduation, the roads were blocked due to snowstorms, and he walked to the rooftop with his application for withdrawal from school in hand. I took off the red scarf and wrapped it around our wrists: "Jiang Shuo, strawberry-flavored life... Do you want to try it with me?"
