Qi Si remembered that he had once had a real friend.
That had been eleven years ago. A foolish little boy had happened to sit beside him in class, happened to have no friends just like him, and so naturally gravitated toward him, sharing snacks, chatting and joking around, laughing and roughhousing.
Qi Si had only been eleven then. Though he was already far from normal, at least he had never done anything illegal.
He had been used to quietly sitting in a corner, leafing through bloody, dark banned books and imagining the miserable fates of the characters within, until color rose in his pale face and his breathing quickened.
His "friend" could not understand his interests, yet still sat beside him, struggling through the reading and viewing with frightened effort, trying to understand his excitement and joy.
"Qi Si, why do you always read this kind of stuff?" his "friend" had once asked.
"I'm choosing how I'll die," Qi Si said.
He held a book explaining the relationship between lust and appetite, not even looking up. "I've always been curious about how I'll die, and where I'll go after I die."
His "friend" clicked his tongue. "You're only eleven. Why are you thinking about things like that?"
"Because it's boring," Qi Si said. "This world is like something that's been programmed. Everyone and everything has fixed patterns of behavior. Happiness, anger, sorrow, and joy can all be measured precisely, while I have nothing."
"Then how do you know the world after death won't be boring?"
"I don't. But it's like a blind box. At least there's some chance it'll be interesting."
His "friend" stared blankly for a long while, then suddenly began telling a string of nonsensical jokes.
Qi Si knew his "friend" was trying to cheer him up.