They had always been different, his little brother and him.
Instead of going to the hospital – which He Tian had flat out refused to do – they are at the lake. Everything is a shade of grey, and the air is heavy with humidity. Just above the calm surface of the lake hangs a mattress of fog, it appears to be still to the naked eye but it's creeping silently towards the shore.
"He reminds me of you, that redhead," he breaks the silence. "They say you've been getting him some odd jobs. You're still rescuing puppies?"
"He's none of your business."
Yes, they were very different. Although to most people who didn't know them, it went unnoticed, which was understandable. Most people were too afraid of them to look closer, but it was there, and once you spotted it, you wondered how you ever missed it. Such a fundamental difference.
"They also say he got you involved in some business with another group. What were you thinking?"
"I was helping a friend."
His feet drag a little when turns to look at his brother sweating and shivering under his jacket, and the grovel scrapes and shoots tiny stones around.
"Is that what he is to you, a friend?"
The eyes won't meat his but remain stubbornly cast down. "I don't see how that is any of your business, either."
The thing is, they were both raised to be strong but somehow, they turned out different. He was a soldier doing as he was told, and fear earned him respect, made him powerful. But he hadn't felt powerful when was vomiting and leaning on the shovel after burying the little dog. He still thinks of that from time to time when he can't sleep and just stares at the ceiling and listens to the quiet night. He has done a lot of bad things in his life but for some reason, it all seems to culminate in that dog. And the way his brother looked at him afterwards.
That look never quite left his eyes once it had found its way in there.
"You were looking for Jian Yi before, weren't you? He's my friend, too, so don't get any ideas."
"I don't know what you're talking about." He turns to look at the horizon, and the fog has sneaked closer, swallowed another strip of the lake. It's coming.
"You don't understand what I'm saying? I said," he pauses like it's a struggle to get the words out, they thicken and melt together, "you become…the type of person I hate the most."
He catches him by the elbow before he loses the battle against the gravity. The skin feels cold and clammy under his grip, and he notices the sweat has dried up the hair into locks and lumps.
"Let's go back," he says. "The wind is too strong."
To protect others you have to become strong. That's what he had told his little brother but he hadn't practiced as he had preached. He had made himself strong for all the wrong reasons, and he never wanted to see his brother go down the same path, to become weak like him. But it might not be in his hands.