I was Julian Thorne's companion for three years. He set many rules for me. No touching him. No crossing the line. He was afraid his "white moonlight"—his childhood sweetheart—would misunderstand. I was cautious, terrified of being thrown back to the poverty-stricken mountains I came from. The day his sweetheart became single again, perhaps to avoid suspicion or simply because I disgusted him, he told his grandfather, Mr. Thorne: "I don't want Autumn to be my companion anymore." Terrified of losing my chance at an education, I swore a solemn oath: "I swear, I, Autumn Reed, will never fall in love with Julian Thorne in this lifetime. If I do, may I die a horrible death. Are you satisfied?" Later, that oath trapped him for a lifetime. 1 The Thorne family wanted to pick a companion for Julian from the underprivileged students they sponsored. Mr. Thorne chose me at first glance. At that time, Mr. Thorne was visiting the countryside, and his car got stuck in the mud. I was catching mudfish nearby and went up to help push. Despite my small frame, I was incredibly strong. After we got the car out, I cheekily asked if they wanted to buy my mudfish. Just like that, I was chosen. The day I was brought to the Thorne estate, Julian immediately put me in my place. He pushed a test paper in front of me. "If your IQ isn't high enough, you don't deserve to be my companion." That day, I took a Math Olympiad test for the first time. The questions were interesting, the difficulty average. Seeing me finish in under an hour, Julian was surprised. Sitting in his wheelchair, he started laying down the rules. "I only have three requirements. First, no touching me." Pushing a wheelchair didn't require touching him, so that seemed easy enough. "Second, no pitying me." Looking at his empty pant leg, I nodded solemnly. The Thorne family controlled 40% of the nation's shipbuilding industry. To say they could turn clouds into rain with a wave of their hand was no exaggeration. Born into such a prominent family, who was I to pity him? "Third, we have an employment relationship. I hope our relationship remains purely professional. Don't get any funny ideas." I looked at his sculpted profile in the dappled light, then at my own dusty reflection in the glass cabinet. I understood. He meant a toad shouldn't dream of eating swan meat. 2 Being a companion meant accompanying Julian through three years of high school. Mr. Thorne said as long as I stayed with Julian, helped him around school, and looked out for him, the Thorne family would cover my future education—whether it was a master's, a doctorate, or studying abroad. To me, this wasn't a transaction, but a blessing. The Thorne family gave me clean clothes, a spacious room, and ample time to study. All I had to do was fetch water, run errands, and push Julian's wheelchair between classes. It was a luxury work-study program. At school, Julian was an eye-catcher. He was exceptionally handsome and the only student in a wheelchair. Even though he dressed and traveled low-key, gazes followed him everywhere. Naturally, classmates were curious about our relationship. One day, after I politely asked Julian for the seventh time if he needed fresh air, the student in front of us turned around. "What exactly is your relationship? You seem close but distant. You can't be master and servant, right?" Without looking up, Julian replied, "None of your business." He was always like this—withdrawn, cold, seemingly uninterested in making friends. Oh, wait, not always. Every weekend when he made international video calls, his mood would turn from cloudy to sunny. I didn't know who made him so happy. 3 At school, besides taking care of Julian, I buried my head in books. I didn't socialize much. Gradually, Julian and I became known as the odd duo. Some called us "The Crippled Prince and his Country Bumpkin Follower." Yes, my accent, my sun-darkened skin, my whole aura screamed "rural." It didn't matter. I didn't care. But the "Crippled Prince" remark led to a fight between me and the strongest guy in the sports class. That day, I was pushing Julian out of school. A jock holding a basketball sneered, "Yo, isn't that the crippled prince and his bumpkin sidekick?" I stopped and glared at him coldly. Julian didn't even look at the guy. He just said to me, "Ignore him. Let's go." The jock laughed loudly. "Keep pretending, you little coward." Julian reminded me again, "Let's go." I didn't leave. Instead, I walked straight up to the guy and punched him. Yes, a punch, not a slap. I jumped up and hit him on the right cheek. I was strong. He stumbled back several steps, clutching his face, stunned. I dropped a threat: "Keep running your mouth and I'll hit you every time I see you!" The driver, waiting in the distance, said he finally understood why Mr. Thorne chose me. However, Julian wasn't grateful. His evaluation was: "Reckless, impulsive, stupid." He said arguing with low-class people lowered one's status; using physical violence against verbal violence invited trouble. But what civilization can you discuss with uncivilized people? I retorted, "He insulted you, he deserved it." In the car, Julian was silent for a long time before speaking slowly: "Autumn, we have an employment relationship. Don't bring personal emotions into it." I knew what he was reminding me of. 4 There were many such reminders and warnings later. Two instances left the deepest impression. Once, I went to his study to borrow an Agatha Christie collection. There, I saw a photo of him surfing. Spirited, smiling brightly. Involuntarily, I looked at where his right leg should be. Strong, powerful, tanned. When Julian coughed behind me, I jumped and hurriedly put the photo back. He looked at me, his voice cold. "Whatever you're thinking, stop. I said, no pity." That time, I nodded furiously. Another time was accompanying him to a music festival. Usually, he was gloomy and silent, locking himself in his room or the music studio. But at that festival, he transformed. Seeing him DJing on stage in his wheelchair completely overturned my perception. The powerful electronic beats, synced with his finger movements, pounded against my heart. He raised his arms confidently to welcome the cheers. The breath of youth, the vigor of life. Hot and passionate; broken yet resilient. I admit, my heart skipped a beat. But—I knew my place. The Little Prince says: "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed." And that "One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets oneself be tamed." I didn't want to weep. Besides, he set the rule: no funny ideas. I promised him. As I was giving myself a pep talk, he came off stage. Taking the water bottle I handed him, his fingers brushed mine. The warm touch made my face heat up uncontrollably. Julian keenly caught my reaction. This time, he was blunt: "Why are you blushing? Don't get any ideas about me. I have someone I like, and she's coming back soon."
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