Chapter 16: Returning Home
When he came beside that painting, fear and pain resurfaced in his mind.
Two different emotions surged and intertwined within Zhang Wenda, nearly driving him to desperation.
He knelt on one knee in agony.
Seeing Zhang Wenda like that, the small black cat leaped onto his shoulder, ready to claw and tear the painting apart.
“Wait! I’ll do it, I can…”
Zhang Wenda steadied himself and stood up.
He pinched the torn part of the painting with two fingers, his heart burning with fear.
But he did not stop.
Instead, he increased the force in his hand.
With his eyes wide and unblinking, the painting began to tear apart.
As it ripped, the whole ground trembled violently.
The light flickered dim and bright.
The entire house seemed as though it would collapse.
Fear, despair, and sorrow washed through Zhang Wenda’s heart.
He seemed to recall something.
Just as he was about to tear the painting in two, he suddenly stopped.
He stared at it, trembling, and said, “No—one emotion is missing. Why don’t you hate me?
You should hate me. Why?”
He froze in front of the painting.
Gradually, on that paper, he heard the click‑click of Go stones being placed.
He heard children’s laughter and chatter, smelled the ink from the brushes and the distinct scent of glue and paint.
A new emotion began to rise—one he had never felt before.
He was unfamiliar with it.
Yes.
As he reached out to touch the torn edge, he suddenly felt the fear vanish.
In its place flooded an overwhelming sense of grievance.
He hadn’t done anything, so why was it hurting him?
Scenes of being attacked inexplicably played through his mind.
He could resist every other emotion, but this injustice resonated within him and prevented him from acting.
In that moment, he realized the Youth Center wasn’t some underground monster.
It was himself, with the same experiences!
“Could I have been wrong? Was I wrong again?” Zhang Wenda’s mind swirled with confusion.
He seemed to suspect everyone’s worst intentions again—first Rabbit, then the Youth Center.
He didn’t know if he was right, but he wanted to give it a chance—just as he once wished someone had given him one.
“I… I don’t want to kill you. We want to go home, do you understand? We want to go home.”
Zhang Wenda gently touched the tear in the painting with one hand.
He calmed himself and conveyed the longing of his classmates to return home to the Youth Center.
When he finished speaking, he felt another wave of emotion soften and resonate with him.
At that moment, their emotions began to synchronize—an identical longing.
“We want to go home. Please take us home. Take us home, and then you can go home, too.”
Zhang Wenda repeated.
As he focused entirely on his words, he felt that same longing transfer and gather on his forearm.
Lowering his gaze, he saw a small dot of red.
“You want this?”
No sooner had he spoken than a powerful yearning surged.
“But… how do I give this to myself?” Zhang Wenda paused, then realized something.
He pressed his finger firmly onto the last speck of red.
There was pain.
A drop of red seeped from his arm onto his fingertip.
He lifted that blood‑tinged fingertip and gently pressed it along the tear.
As he traced the rip, the tear miraculously healed bit by bit.
With the tear mended, the uneven floor smoothed once more.
The lighting instantly brightened.
Even the globe, protractor, and plaster statue behind him returned.
“Can it really work like this?” Stunned by the transformation, Zhang Wenda wondered.
Could the Youth Center be revived by the red light from his arm?
It seemed the red glow on his arm not only granted strength, but other abilities too.
The next moment, the Youth Center trembled.
Suddenly it felt like riding an elevator.
Zhang Wenda felt elated—it was rising.
It was lifting!!
“Thank you, thank you!” Zhang Wenda patted the painting, bursting with gratitude.
The protractor, globe, and plaster statue joined him.
They danced around him joyfully.
Zhang Wenda smiled.
He felt its emotion—it wanted to bring them home, and that was real.
Emotions could not lie.
As the ascension continued, the oppressive heat gradually diminished.
It rose so quickly that Zhang Wenda urged the Youth Center to slow to avoid causing decompression sickness for his classmates.
Little Fatty wasn’t beside him.
Zhang Wenda lost track of time.
But when he suddenly breathed deeply and felt refreshment, he realized one part of the
Youth Center had reconnected with the surface.
Outside oxygen was flowing in!
Zhang Wenda hurriedly pushed open the door and stepped out with the black cat, vigorously
shaking the others awake.
“Wake up! Wake up!! We’re back!”
As Zhang Wenda led them into the corridor and saw the familiar wooden door, everyone cheered.
Seeing that they truly were back, Zhang Wenda—survived from the ordeal—stood at the entrance and looked once more at the Youth Center.
“Thank you. Thank you!”
“It doesn’t matter what you are, but thank you. Goodbye—no, I can’t say goodbye. Saying goodbye means you're dead. Bye‑bye.”
After speaking, Zhang Wenda turned and led the others away from the Youth Center.
The thrilling journey was finally over.
When Zhang Wenda and the others emerged, they saw Teacher Rabbit chatting with several plush mole toys as though in discussion.
The others rushed over excitedly, crowding around Teacher Rabbit and chattering nonstop.
Watching the plush rabbit accommodating everyone, Zhang Wenda suddenly felt it wasn’t so frightening after all.
Amid the noisy questions, Rabbit and the moles already understood what had happened.
Teacher Rabbit then approached Zhang Wenda.
“Thank you, child. You saved everyone. You’re a good child.”
But looking at Rabbit, Zhang Wenda frowned.
Was this really the same Teacher Rabbit?
Why did his voice lack the low‑whir of a tape deck?
Rabbit’s next words made Zhang Wenda abandon his doubts altogether.
“You helped the teachers greatly. For a good student like you, the teachers have decided to give you a special reward.”