Fate Aligns

"Young master, Mr. Xie is busy, so he asked me to show you around." A woman with shoulder-length hair, dressed in dark olive work overalls, spoke to Jiang Wenzhe gently.

"Alright, thank you for your trouble."

Eleven-year-old Jiang Wenzhe still carried the innocence of childhood. He wore a brown hoodie, his hands shyly clutching his backpack straps, his hair in a neat crop. His dark pupils were clear and bright, the bridge of his nose high and sharp, his features clean and handsome.

"Okay," the woman said. "You can call me Sister Luo. Where would you like to go?"

"Can I take a look inside the farm?" Jiang Wenzhe pointed ahead.

"Those breeding sheds? There's nothing fun to see in there, and it smells terrible."

"But I want to go." Jiang Wenzhe's tone was unhurried as he repeated his request.

"Alright, alright. Get in the car, young master. I'll drive you over—even though it looks close, it's actually a good ten-minute walk on foot."

As soon as he stepped through the gate of the chicken coop, a thick wave of pungent stench—foul, sour, and reeking of ammonia—hit him under the dim lights, mixed with the relentless cackling of chickens. Sight, sound, and smell were all engulfed at once, the heavy oppression triggering waves of physical discomfort.

"Young master, I told you this wasn't the place for you. Let me take you somewhere else to look around." Sister Luo patted Jiang Wenzhe on the back and pulled a mask from her pocket to put on him.

"I haven't seen it clearly yet. Let's go further inside." Jiang Wenzhe pressed stubbornly forward.

The long, narrow coop stretched endlessly into the depths, layers upon layers of cold metal cages densely packed, their end nowhere in sight. Above, only a row of narrow, pale lights emitted a faint glow.

Thousands upon thousands of chickens were confined in cramped cages, jostling and trampling one another. Some had been cruelly pushed to the edges, their bodies squeezed and crushed into misshapen lumps against the cold wire.

Jiang Wenzhe's gaze swept over each one, then he turned his head and asked, "Why is the light here so dim?"

Even with her mask on, Sister Luo pinched her nose as she said, "Hens can't stand bright light. A dim environment keeps them calmer and better at laying eggs."

From somewhere, a shout rang out: "The chickens over here are starting to fight! Brother Wang, come quick!"

Jiang Wenzhe followed the sound and drew closer. At the spot where the worker stood, inside a wire cage, a hen had been bullied mercilessly—every feather on her back had been pecked clean, and several deep bloody gashes split her exposed skin, bright red blood seeping steadily from the wounds.

In the dim, foul air, she let out low, mournful cries.

The workers pulled out all the fighting chickens from the cage, pinned down the hens that had already developed stereotyped behaviors, and used electric debeakers to grind away their beaks bit by bit.

The scorching blade shaved off the sharp beaks. Now the hens would only be able to eat quietly.

Good.

Sister Luo spoke up from the side: "Our farm is still one of the better ones. We intervene in situations like this, but a lot of chicken coops don't bother at all."

"Why not?"

Did they just let the chickens fight themselves to death like that?

"We don't use the chicken feathers anyway—they're all going to be plucked off in the end. And losing feathers doesn't affect egg production. Debeaking adds work, which drives up labor costs. Naturally, a lot of farms don't want to do it," Sister Luo said. "We're still pretty humane here."

Was debeaking considered humane, too?

Maybe.

Jiang Wenzhe looked up and saw a small window near the top of the coop wall, letting in a sliver of weak sunlight that illuminated the filthy dust floating in the air.

It reminded him of the window in his father's study back at the old estate.

"Sister Luo, let's go." Jiang Wenzhe tugged at the hem of her clothes.

"Let's go, let's go." Sister Luo was equally relieved to leave, quickly leading him out of the coop. The smell was unbearable.

"I'll take you to the pig shed instead. There are newborn piglets today. Young master, you can even adopt one—I heard from Uncle Xie that you'll be staying here for the entire winter break."

The pig shed was at least a little better than the chicken coop—at least the lighting was bright.

Jiang Wenzhe saw a sow lying on the ground, surrounded by a row of piglets arranged in an arc around her belly, nursing.

"Pick one," Sister Luo said softly.

Jiang Wenzhe's gaze landed on the piglet at the outermost edge. It seemed a bit unsteady, wobbling on its legs. It couldn't even squeeze in to nurse—it just stood by the sow's tail, staring blankly at its siblings.

A little pitiful.

"I'll take this one."

Sister Luo scooped up the piglet, and Jiang Wenzhe gently touched it. The piglet's pink skin was smooth and fine, carrying a slight warmth.

It was amazing. Besides humans, there were so many other species on this blue-and-white planet, nurturing generation after generation through the alternating cycles of day and night.

And so, Jiang Wenzhe began his daily routine of raising his little pig.

Before actually coming into contact with them, most people might associate pigs with words like dirty, smelly, and ugly. But in truth, pigs are naturally clean animals. Wild boars or free-range pigs deliberately separate their sleeping, eating, and excreting areas, keeping their resting spots as dry as possible. After bathing themselves in the wild, they'd rub against tree bark to scrape off the mud clinging to their bodies.

It was only artificial confinement—cramming them into narrow gestation crates where eating, sleeping, and defecating all happened in the same cramped space—that forced them to live amid filth. Fed fattening feed all day and never allowed to exercise, they were only made dirty and fat against their nature.

Humans made animals filthy, then turned around and despised them for it, arbitrarily deciding life and death, sprinkling seasoning, putting them on the table, and swallowing them whole—forgetting all their earlier disgust.

Every day, Jiang Wenzhe came to the pig shed early, scrubbing the gestation crate where his piglet stayed until it was spotless, and regularly wiping the piglet down to keep it clean.

His little pig seemed a bit frail and sickly, never able to get a single sip of its mother's milk.

But that was fine—patience was the one thing Jiang Wenzhe never lacked. He came up with a solution: he mixed piglet milk replacer into a plastic bottle, sat inside the pen, placed the piglet on his lap, and fed it bit by bit, patiently, like a mother nursing her child.

The piglet was well-behaved too. Every time, it would nestle obediently in his lap, drinking eagerly until it finished, then rub its wet nose softly against Jiang Wenzhe's palm.

Aside from the scheduled feeding and inspection rounds, no one usually came to the pig shed.

In the quiet pen, a small patch of stillness became a private little world for Jiang Wenzhe and the piglet—just the two of them, no one else to disturb them.

Jiang Wenzhe named the piglet Fuzzy Ball, because the short hair on its body was so soft and fluffy, and when it curled up in his lap, it looked just like a little ball.

Jiang Wenzhe felt that Fuzzy Ball had come to think of him as its mother. Every time he pushed open the iron gate of the pen, Fuzzy Ball would always wobble step by step toward him.

As for his own feelings—well, Jiang Wenzhe considered Fuzzy Ball his good friend.

He didn't have any friends. Fuzzy Ball was his only one.

Jiang Wenzhe would share all his worries with it—his father's cold gaze, his mother's coquettish charm in someone else's arms, the sycophancy of classmates and the rumors swirling around. None of this could he confide in anyone else. Only when he was with Fuzzy Ball could he pour it all out.

It didn't make noise, it didn't throw tantrums—it just pressed quietly against Jiang Wenzhe, the most qualified listener in the world.

He felt that Fuzzy Ball was just like him—someone who could never snatch the warmest milk. Perhaps this was a kind of mutual empathy between different species on this planet.

See? Little animals were so cute.

But one day, a group of people suddenly arrived, surrounding the narrow gestation crate, looking down from above at the boy and the pig huddled in the corner.

His childish arms held the even more fragile piglet close. Jiang Wenzhe looked up at the group.

The man at the front said, "Young master, this pig is too weak—congenitally underdeveloped. Winter break is almost over, and you're leaving soon. No one can take care of it anymore. The farm can't raise a sick pig like this."

Seeking profit, minimizing losses—that was the creed of today's profit-driven society. The farm wasn't willing to spend an ounce more of cost to raise a weak, sickly pig to maturity. They would evaluate animals in their infancy: the strong were kept, and the weak or sick were killed without mercy.

Jiang Wenzhe asked blankly, "Then... then what should be done?"

"Smash it to death." An indifferent voice hung overhead.

Smashing the pig was simple and crude—it saved costs, and for the piglet, it was also a quick death, a "blessing" without too much suffering.

"What?!" Jiang Wenzhe stood frozen, his fingertips curling in instinctive fear. The piglet in his arms seemed to sense something too—its body gave a sudden tremor, then burrowed deeper into Jiang Wenzhe's chest.

"Go on, young master. Remember to use plenty of force—one clean kill is best. Spare your piglet the suffering. If you have to smash it ten or more times without killing it, that little pig will really be in for some pain." The crowd spoke words of encouragement.

"No... I won't... smash—"

He stopped mid-sentence, because through the gaps between the crowd, he saw his father sitting at the back.

Jiang Yaoting.

His gaze was heavy, his posture arrogant, taking in every absurd action of Jiang Wenzhe with a look of disdain and contempt.

"Dad..." Jiang Wenzhe's voice trembled as he cast a pleading look at Jiang Yaoting.

"Who would raise a sick pig? Do you need me to do it myself?" Jiang Yaoting's words carried no warmth at all.

Jiang Wenzhe lowered his head and took a long, deep look at the Fuzzy Ball in his arms. The winter cold froze his gaze.

After a few silent seconds, his legs were trembling slightly, but in the end, he stood up, still holding Fuzzy Ball.

It really was so frail and thin—a tiny ball curled up in his arms. He had fed it so well every day, so why wouldn't it put on weight? Jiang Wenzhe's hand touched Fuzzy Ball's clean skin one last time.

Everyone's eyes were on him.

Thud—

Jiang Wenzhe hardened his heart and let go. Fuzzy Ball fell from his arms without warning.

Fuzzy Ball let out a shriek, its limbs flailing wildly in the air, its whole body convulsing and twitching. It was hard to tell exactly where it had hit, but glaring blood began to flow from its cute, wet nose.

"Ah, damn. Didn't kill it in one hit."

"Well, we'll just have to smash it again."

"Poor thing."

Jiang Wenzhe glanced through the gaps in the crowd at his father's expression. It seemed his lips were pressed even lower, his face even colder.

He really was useless, wasn't he?

Fuzzy Ball suddenly stopped struggling, as if it had recovered. Dragging a long trail of blood behind it, it crawled slowly toward Jiang Wenzhe, just as it did every morning to greet him when he came to feed it.

Before, it couldn't walk steadily. Now, it couldn't even crawl steadily—every few steps, its body would tremble twice.

When it finally reached the edge of his shoe, Jiang Wenzhe bent down and picked Fuzzy Ball up again. His clean hands quickly became stained with blood. The foolish little thing actually used its nose—bleeding so painfully—to nuzzle against Jiang Wenzhe.

Was this its attachment to its mother?

Thud—

Jiang Wenzhe took a deep breath, raised both hands above his head, and with all the strength an eleven-year-old boy could muster, smashed Fuzzy Ball hard against the ground.

Dead. Finally dead.

Scattered applause rang out in the cramped sow's gestation crate.

Jiang Wenzhe stared blankly at Fuzzy Ball lying motionless on the ground, blood still seeping from its body. He was cold all over, his blood seeming to stop flowing.

The fierce wind outside the pig shed rattled the glass windows, sending fallen leaves spinning wildly through the air.

Oh, that's right. Jiang Wenzhe had promised Fuzzy Ball yesterday that in two days he'd be leaving, and tomorrow he'd bring it out to see the falling leaves.

Jiang Wenzhe raised his head again. The father behind the crowd had vanished at some point.

But the applause in the pig shed was still ringing.

*

Jiang Wenzhe jolted awake, his chest heaving violently, coarse gasps spilling from his throat. A fine sheen of cold sweat had already spread across his forehead.

He lowered his head, dazed and at a loss, staring at his hands—bloodless now.

"You're awake. Did you have a nightmare?" Lin Sangyu, who had been leaning over the head of the bed, said worriedly.

Jiang Wenzhe turned his head mechanically.

On a night as clear as water under the moonlight, a pair of limpid, sparkling eyes were gazing at him without blinking.

In the long passage of years, countless winter winds converged with the humid southeast monsoon of this midsummer.

Ding—

Fate aligned.