After the Secrets of the Passerby Were Leaked, He Was Cherished by the Entire Family of Antagonists

The first time Song Zhehan saw Xiang Yang, he wasn’t a chubby boy.

Back in middle school, even the smallest news could be a hot topic among all the students for days. When a new transfer student arrived a month after school had already started, it became the talk of the entire school, even reaching the eighth graders.

During one of the breaks, Song Zhehan’s friends, who loved excitement, dragged him along to check out the class where Xiang Yang had been placed.

It was break time, and the hallway was packed with students. Amid the chatter of his friends, Song Zhehan caught a glimpse of Xiang Yang, who didn’t once look their way.

The boy sat quietly by the window, his soft hair covering his eyebrows and eyes, showing only the graceful curve of his side profile. Yet, the tear-shaped mole under his left eye was particularly striking, leaving a deep impression on Song Zhehan.

He only glanced at him briefly before his friends pulled him away, back to their classroom.

That was their first meeting.

The second time Song Zhehan saw Xiang Yang was during the school's sports day.

Song Zhehan had always disliked participating in such group activities and usually avoided them whenever possible. But he had a group of friends who loved being in the thick of things, and as it happened, the sports monitor of his class was part of that group.

Whenever the school needed participants for events, the sports monitor would put down their names. This year, the sports monitor had signed Song Zhehan up for the 800-meter race.

Although he wasn’t thrilled about it, Song Zhehan kept his feelings to himself and even joked around with his friends during the warm-up. Some girls from his class came over to cheer them on, and one even brought a bouquet of flowers for Song Zhehan.

The crowd around them started teasing, and Song Zhehan glanced at the bouquet with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The girl, pushed forward by her friends, blushed deeply. “Song... I, uh...”

Song Zhehan smiled down at her. “I haven’t even raced yet. How about you give me the flowers when I win first place?”

The girl nodded in agreement, and so did the other students, thinking it was a reasonable suggestion.

Soon, the referee arrived, and the race was about to begin.

Once they left, Song Zhehan’s smile faded completely, and he walked over to the starting line. It was then that he noticed the boy standing next to him.

The boy’s smooth side profile had rounded a bit, and his long hair had been cut short, revealing delicate brows and eyes.

Song Zhehan thought he looked familiar but couldn’t immediately place him. Then, his gaze landed on the tear-shaped mole under the boy's left eye, and he suddenly recalled the transfer student he had seen a few days ago.

He glanced at the boy’s number tag, which read "Xiang Yang."

Song Zhehan sized him up but quickly looked away when Xiang Yang turned to meet his gaze.

That was their second meeting.

Song Zhehan remembered that race well—he finished dead last.

Xiang Yang came in second to last.

In truth, Song Zhehan had the stamina to win first place if he had wanted to. But whether it was because he didn’t want to accept the flowers from that girl or because he found himself distracted by the boy running in the lane next to him, he slowed his pace and let himself finish last.

His friends were furious when he crossed the finish line, and even the girl with the flowers looked disappointed.

As Song Zhehan leisurely crossed the finish line, his friends surrounded him, demanding to know why he had performed so poorly.

The girl with the bouquet, clearly worried, asked if he wasn’t feeling well, which might explain why he hadn’t come in first.

With a gentle smile, Song Zhehan went along with her assumption, saying that he hadn’t been feeling his best, which had affected his performance.

Hearing this, his friends couldn't press him any further and instead comforted him, saying he could win next time.

Though disappointed, the girl still smiled and offered him the flowers.

But Song Zhehan kept his polite smile, saying, "I didn’t win this time, so I can’t accept your flowers."

The girl hesitated. "But—"

"No, really. Give them to me next time when I win," he said, walking away with his friends without waiting for her response.

After that day, Song Zhehan never saw that girl again. Clearly, she had understood his message, and he felt relieved.

However, his decision to slack off in the race came with consequences—his mother signed him up for a fitness training program, taking up all his spare time.

Now, between school and training, Song Zhehan no longer had time to wander around the school with his friends.

Still, since the first- and second-year classes shared the same building, Song Zhehan occasionally ran into Xiang Yang.

Each time he saw him, Song Zhehan’s gaze would first fall on the tear-shaped mole under Xiang Yang’s eye, and then he would size him up. Over time, the two things that stood out to him were Xiang Yang’s increasingly round face and his habit of keeping his head bowed lower and lower.

But Song Zhehan didn’t give it much thought. After all, he didn’t know the boy at all, much less care about him.

That was until the last Friday of December.

Song Zhehan remembered it clearly because it was the first time he ever got into a fight.

Song Zhehan’s mother came from a scholarly family and was a perfectionist to the core. Ever since he was young, she had been meticulous about his education, determined to mold him into a model student excelling in every aspect, from academics to sports and the arts.

When she heard about him coming in last during the sports event, she immediately signed him up for the track and field team, which was why he had been training so hard lately.

The training had its benefits. At fourteen, Song Zhehan had already grown to 1.75 meters tall, with a layer of lean muscle forming over his frame.

But physical capability didn’t mean Song Zhehan enjoyed meddling in other people’s affairs.

If there was one thing he despised, it was interfering in other people's business.

He hated how his relatives always had opinions about his life and studies. He hated his mother’s obsession with perfection.

When relatives criticized him, it meant he wasn’t perfect, and that led to his mother pushing him even harder to fix those "imperfections."

Those were things Song Zhehan loathed.

But the thing he hated the most? It was those scumbags who used their power to bully their classmates.

Song Zhehan knew he shouldn’t act impulsively. He could have followed his mother’s teachings—notify a teacher and then help the bullied student, earning praise and even a commendation from the school.

But in that moment, a thought flashed through Song Zhehan’s mind—an unstoppable urge:

He wanted to be imperfect.

No one is born perfect.

His mother’s relentless pursuit of perfection had weighed him down for years, suffocating him.

At fourteen, Song Zhehan was no longer the obedient child he once was.

After years of being forced to be perfect, rebellion flared within him, and he embraced it.

Without hesitation, Song Zhehan pulled the ringleader of the bullies aside and threw a punch at his face before he even got a good look at the guy.

The other boys, shocked, shouted, "Are you looking for trouble?"

Song Zhehan grabbed a nearby mop and shoved the wet mop head into the bully’s mouth. When the others charged at him, he kicked one away and started punching and kicking without hesitation.

Thanks to his recent physical training, none of the three boys stood a chance against him, and they were soon crying in pain.

Song Zhehan’s strikes were fierce and unrelenting.

When he finished, he grabbed the leader by the collar, dragged him in front of the trembling boy they had been bullying, and said, "Apologize to him."

The boy spat out a curse, "F*** you—"

*Wham!*

Song Zhehan punched him again.

The boy yelped in pain, but continued cursing, "You f******—"

*Smack!*

Song Zhehan slapped him across the face.

The boy cried out louder, "You son of a—"

Song Zhehan threw him to the ground and took out his phone.

The boy finally fell silent, fear creeping into his voice. "Wh-what are you going to do?"

Surprised, Song Zhehan glanced at him, noticing the boy was trembling all over. It was then that he looked up at the boy they had bullied, who was soaking wet and terrified.

He realized then that the boy’s clothes weren’t just wet—they had been thrown on him, soaking through.

A dangerous glint flashed in Song Zhehan’s eyes as he grabbed the bully by the collar again. "Where’s your phone?"

The bully stammered, "Don’t… don’t record me. I’ll just—"

"You either hand over your phone, or I send you straight to the police," Song Zhehan said coldly.

The boy quickly handed over his phone.

Song Zhehan opened the photo gallery and froze when he saw the first image.

His gaze shifted to the boy’s face, where the tear-shaped mole under his left eye stood out vividly.

Instinctively, Song Zhehan glanced at the trembling boy still sitting on the ground, his head lowered, face hidden.

Pressing his lips

 into a thin line, Song Zhehan flipped through a few more photos.

The bully, now terrified, started babbling, "I—I only took a few. They’re just of his face. I haven’t even—"

*Wham!*

Song Zhehan shoved his head down to the ground again, his voice icy. "You can explain it to the police."

Without waiting for a response, Song Zhehan dialed the police.

The other two bullies lying on the ground scrambled to their feet and ran off in fear.

Still sitting on the leader, Song Zhehan shrugged off his coat and handed it to Xiang Yang, who was cowering in the corner. "Put this on before you catch a cold."

It wasn’t until a clean, warm coat was offered to him that Xiang Yang seemed to snap out of his daze. His body trembling, he slowly lifted his head.

His hair was wet, and his eyes were swollen from crying. Despite the fear in his expression, Song Zhehan couldn’t help but think how beautiful his eyes were.

"Put it on. We’re going to the police station in a bit," Song Zhehan said.

Xiang Yang stared at him for a while before hesitantly whispering, "I’ll get it dirty…"

That was the first time Song Zhehan heard Xiang Yang speak.

His voice, to his surprise, was quite pleasant.

For once, Song Zhehan felt a rare twinge of patience. "Just wear it."

Xiang Yang lowered his head again. After a long pause, he finally reached out and took the coat, murmuring a quiet, "Thank you."

Not long after, the sound of police sirens broke the stillness of the campus, shattering the silence.

That call had set off a chain of events, drawing the attention of not just the school but even the local TV station.

Even after so many years, Song Zhehan still vividly remembers the surprise he felt at the time.

He had gotten into that fight with the intention of making his mother angry. But to his shock, when his mother rushed to the police station, not only was she not mad, but she even wore a faint smile of pride.

After they finished making their statements and returned home, Song's mother actually encouraged him, saying that helping classmates was a good thing, and she praised him for being a brave and upright child.

Song Zhehan could hardly believe his ears. He had been expecting her anger.

Helping others? What a joke!

He had only wanted to upset her and make her give up on controlling him. But now, everything had backfired spectacularly.

Still, when he recalled Xiang Yang’s small and hesitant "thank you," Song Zhehan couldn't help but smile to himself. 

He didn’t regret it.

The incident ended up becoming quite a big deal.

During the police investigation, it was discovered that the phone not only had photos of Xiang Yang being bullied but also pictures of several other victims. 

Although Xiang Yang’s parents were divorced, they still cared deeply for him. With their connections and influence, they made sure to escalate the issue. Other parents of bullied students also joined in, and they collectively sued the parents of the bullies.

Song Zhehan didn’t follow the case much after that, though. He was too caught up in his own problems.

It wasn’t school or his mother that bothered him—it was the fact that he now had a new tag-along in the form of Xiang Yang.

Every break between classes, Xiang Yang would peek his head into Song Zhehan’s classroom, always on time. If he didn’t show up, it was because his teacher had kept him late.

Every Friday, Xiang Yang was there after each class, and of course, after school as well.

Song Zhehan’s friends found it amusing and would tease him, saying that he had gained a little follower for his act of heroism.

The story of Song Zhehan taking down three bullies by himself spread like wildfire. Soon, not only did more girls start to take notice of him, but even his friends were proud to be associated with him.

The sports monitor even promised that next year, he wouldn’t forcefully sign up Song Zhehan for any events again.

With a polite but insincere smile, Song Zhehan thanked him.

The sports monitor, clueless as ever, walked away happily.

During that period, it wasn’t just Xiang Yang who followed Song Zhehan around. A lot of other students also wanted to be close to him—some because they admired him and others because they genuinely wanted to be friends.

But Song Zhehan had no interest in any of them.

In fact, if they got too close, he would immediately put on a cold face.

After enough rejections, the others finally got the message.

Before long, Song Zhehan overheard people saying that he had a bad temper.

In the past, hearing such rumors would have made him anxious, worried that they might reach his mother’s ears.

But now, Song Zhehan didn’t care in the slightest.

Since helping Xiang Yang, his mother had surprisingly loosened her grip on him.

Song Zhehan had noticed the shift and even asked his father about it.

His father, a university professor, had chuckled and said, “Your mother was just overly eager to see you succeed. Now that she knows you’re not a bad kid, she’s more relaxed and won’t be as strict.”

At the time, Song Zhehan didn’t fully understand his mother’s change of heart, but he certainly appreciated it.

In fact, he even thought that the next time he saw Xiang Yang, he might say a few words to him.

After all, it was partly thanks to Xiang Yang that he now enjoyed such newfound freedom.

What stood out even more was the fact that, unlike others who only stuck around for a week or two, Xiang Yang had persistently followed him for over a month, still trying to strike up conversations. 

Even though Song Zhehan mostly ignored him, Xiang Yang always found a way to chat.

Over the course of that month, Song Zhehan learned that Xiang Yang came from a broken family—his parents had divorced, leaving him a bit of a "pitiful child."

So, one day after school, Song Zhehan waited for Xiang Yang to come find him.

But to his surprise, as the classroom slowly emptied, Xiang Yang never showed up at the door.

Song Zhehan’s mood soured, and as the sky darkened outside, he scowled and headed downstairs.

Just as he reached a corner, he heard a familiar voice.

“That’s not true! Song Zhehan isn’t the kind of person you’re saying he is!”

“Then what kind of person is he?” a sharp voice retorted.

Someone else chimed in, “He’s so fake. What’s there to defend?”

“Yeah, and his temper is terrible. You’ve been following him around for so long, has he even acknowledged you? Fatso?”

The words were harsh and direct.

Xiang Yang opened his mouth, but he wasn’t good with words, and his self-esteem made him especially sensitive to people’s judgment of him. Hearing those blunt words, his face flushed hotly, and his eyes filled with tears.

But to Song Zhehan’s surprise, Xiang Yang didn’t defend himself. Instead, he repeated in a tearful voice, “Song Zhehan isn’t… He isn’t like that…”

Song Zhehan felt as if a tiny brush had gently scratched the most tender part of his heart.

Without hesitation, he stepped out.

The leader of the girls had more to say, but she suddenly felt a shadow cast over her.

Seeing Song Zhehan, the group was startled and quickly scattered without so much as an explanation, heads bowed as they fled.

Song Zhehan stopped in front of Xiang Yang, looking him over from head to toe.

Xiang Yang hadn’t expected Song Zhehan to appear, and his face flushed even deeper. After a long pause, he stammered, “I... I know you’re not…”

A mischievous thought crossed Song Zhehan’s mind. Leaning in close to Xiang Yang’s ear, he whispered, “Who said I’m not? Do you really know me that well?”

Xiang Yang’s head shot up, his wide, tear-filled eyes looking directly at him.

For some reason, Song Zhehan was suddenly reminded of the puppy he had adopted. When he first brought the dog home, it had looked at him with the same wet, pleading eyes.

Straightening up, Song Zhehan asked, “Why do you cry so much?”

Xiang Yang bit his lip, nervous that Song Zhehan was finally talking to him. After a long silence, he quietly said, “I… I don’t cry that much…”

“But your tears are about to fall,” Song Zhehan pointed out.

Immediately, Xiang Yang covered his face with his hands.

But it was too late—his tears were already flowing uncontrollably, dripping down like broken strings of pearls.

Even as he cried, Xiang Yang tried to explain, “I-I didn’t mean to… It’s just that… the tears, I can’t control them… I’m sorry… Song Zhehan, I just… I just wanted to thank you…”

Song Zhehan had never been a particularly patient person, but for some reason, he found himself feeling surprisingly tolerant of Xiang Yang.

Maybe it was because Xiang Yang was crying so pitifully, or maybe it was because his tearful face reminded him of his puppy at home.

In any case, from that day on, Song Zhehan and Xiang Yang officially became friends.

Everyone around them found it curious, even Song’s mother.

Previously, she had always been very particular about Song Zhehan’s friendships, as she was about everything else in his life.

But this time, she didn’t say anything negative about Xiang Yang. 

In fact, she praised him.

She said that Xiang Yang was resilient, hardworking, well-mannered, and had good grades. She even said she liked him.

Hearing this, Song Zhehan couldn’t help himself and blurted out, “Mom, are you really my mother?”

His mother gave him an exasperated look. 

“Just be nice to Xiang Yang and don’t bully him!” she said.

Song Zhehan chuckled. “How could I? You said it yourself—I’m a brave and kind boy.”

His mother simply shook her head with a long sigh and said nothing more.

At the time, Song Zhehan didn’t understand why his mother had looked at him that way.

It wasn’t until he grew up and decided to stop pretending to be a perfect son that he received a call from his father, and everything clicked into place.

It turned out that when Song Zhehan was only three years old, his mother had already noticed his sharp tongue.

Back then, Song Zhehan was just learning to talk, and like most families, they had relatives who enjoyed teasing children.

One day, in front of little Song Zhehan, one of those relatives repeated the old trick of telling him, “Your mom doesn’t want you anymore.”

To a three-year-old, the idea of their mother abandoning them was a huge deal.

The relative watched eagerly, expecting Song Zhehan to burst into tears.

But instead, little Song Zhehan opened his mouth and innocently replied, “Well, your mom’s dead, so of course she doesn’t want you anymore

.”

Though his words were spoken with the innocence of a child, they stung with extra venom.

That relative turned red with anger and nearly passed out on the spot.

After that, they cut ties with the Song family.

But that wasn’t the important part. What mattered was that Song’s mother had been deeply concerned.

She couldn’t understand why her three-year-old son had developed such a sharp tongue, and it made her worry for his future.

That incident was what prompted her to adopt such a strict, perfectionist approach to raising him. 

She was determined to correct this flaw and ensure he grew up to be a kind and good person.

Song Zhehan grew up outwardly obedient, presenting himself as the polite, well-mannered boy his mother had hoped for, but inside, he remained the sharp-tongued kid who didn’t take crap from anyone.

Despite his best efforts to hide it, his parents knew him too well to be fooled.

When Song Zhehan stood up to those bullies in his second year of middle school, his mother’s long-held worries finally eased.

Her son might be sharp-tongued, but he wasn’t a bad kid. He was a good boy.

That’s why she had walked into the police station with a smile.

Of course, back then, middle school-aged Song Zhehan had no idea what his mother was thinking.

He just felt more relaxed, and coincidentally, Xiang Yang wasn’t a bad kid either. He even brought Song Zhehan a goat’s milk cake from home, knowing how much he liked it.

Song Zhehan happily ate the entire cake by himself.

Seeing this, Xiang Yang asked, “Do you like cake?”

Song Zhehan smiled. “Of course.”

Xiang Yang smiled too, his eyes curving adorably. “Then I’ll bring you cake more often, okay?”

Song Zhehan was delighted and nodded. “Sure.”

Childhood promises were so easy to make.

But neither boy knew it would take nine years for them to fulfill that simple promise.