Chapter 16
WHEN JIANG CHENG followed Gu Fei out of the school gate, he was strongly tempted to say, I’m doing this for Gu Miao’s sake, not yours.
But Gu Fei never turned around, so he never had the chance to say it.
When they were finally side by side, he’d missed his moment. Gu Miao was sitting on the railing along the sidewalk with her skateboard in her arms, swinging her legs. Seeing them come out, she jumped straight down and chucked the board in front of herself, then did a running leap onto the skateboard and rolled up to them. She stuck her hand into Gu Fei’s pocket and pulled out a handful of candy. Jiang Cheng watched, astounded, as Gu Miao picked all the fruit-flavored ones out of the bunch.
So the candies Gu Fei carried around every day were for little Gu Miao?
Gu Miao unwrapped one and put it in her mouth, then turned and rolled away on her skateboard. She skirted the edge of the sidewalk, probably wary of running into people.
Jiang Cheng had to keep an eye out from behind—though Gu Miao was agile and skilled, she was just a little kid… Meanwhile, her brother simply left to get his bike, not even giving her a second glance.
Gu Miao scooted ahead a bit and stopped, turning to look at Jiang Cheng.
“What’s up?” Jiang Cheng asked, hurrying over to her side.
Gu Miao jumped off the skateboard and stood aside.
Jiang Cheng wanted to say “I’m sore all over from the fight with your brother yesterday, so I don’t feel like skating,” but with Gu Miao’s round eyes on him, the words wouldn’t come out.
“Fine.”
He sighed and stepped onto the skateboard, slowly rolling onward.
Fortunately, once they turned the corner, they were on a quieter road with fewer people. Gu Miao ran behind him and suddenly clapped. When he turned around, she sped up and raced over to him, gesturing as she ran: She wanted him to get down.
“You sure know how to play…” Understanding Gu Miao, he hopped off the skateboard. Gu Miao reached him and bounced onto the board, shooting forward on momentum; she kicked off a few times before looking back at Jiang Cheng.
“Ah…” Jiang Cheng really did feel tired, but he ran toward her anyway.
“Why don’t you get your brother to do stuff like this with you…?”
Gu Miao jumped off. He rushed to mount the still-rolling skateboard and continued forward. They kept rolling ahead like that, taking turns on the board.
It was pretty fun, to be honest. Gu Miao didn’t say anything, nor did she need him to say anything. He just had to coordinate with her. And most importantly, she was a good skater, so Jiang Cheng didn’t have to worry about her falling.
Gu Fei kept a dozen or so yards behind them the whole time on his bike, one foot on the ground pushing himself forward. He would speed up and slow down at random, his head bowed as he looked at his phone instead of the road or his sister. Jiang Cheng kept waiting for him to slip into some uncovered manhole so he could applaud. But as run-down as this shitty city was, the roads were well-kept; even the bricks in the sidewalk were all whole. Gu Fei made it safely to their street without an issue.
“All right,” Jiang Cheng said as he jumped off the skateboard, his body sweaty from running. “I’m heading that way now.”
With one foot on the skateboard, Gu Miao waved goodbye. Jiang Cheng waved back. Gu Miao put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. Gu Fei looked up at her, then stepped on the pedals—all at once, the bike rushed ahead. When it passed her, she reached out and grabbed the back seat, letting Gu Fei drag her along like a water-skier.
Jiang Cheng watched, stunned. “…Fly away, then.”
Gu Fei didn’t have a father, and his mother probably wasn’t very helpful.
Gu Miao had likely been raised by Gu Fei like a wolf pup. Where Jiang Cheng came from, if his mother saw an older brother raising his sister that way, she’d rant about it for months.
…Some thoughts just surfaced uncontrollably, compulsive.
Jiang Cheng lifted his head to suck in a deep, ice-cold breath, and felt his heartache ease a little.
Back at Li Baoguo’s place, the mahjong players were all gone. The living room was a mess; the unkempt tiles and the filled cans of cigarette ash strewn over the table were a revolting sight.
Jiang Cheng went into the kitchen. He couldn’t keep ordering takeout; he had no allowance now, only expenses, so he had to save. Forget getting pocket money from Li Baoguo—it was a mercy if he didn’t ask Jiang Cheng for money instead.
He felt like smashing things the moment he walked into the kitchen. After making dumplings yesterday, Li Baoguo had simply left everything there, unwashed and untidied. The pot was still half-filled with old noodle water. Jiang Cheng wanted to wash it, but just as he lifted it, he froze solidly in place: A cockroach had drowned in the pot.
He was too shocked to throw up. He simply held the pot and stood there in the kitchen, feeling as if creepy-crawlies were writhing all over his skin, itchy and uncomfortable and utterly disgusting.
He stood for at least two minutes before clenching his jaw and emptying the pot into the toilet. He placed the pot on the floor of the bathroom, blasted it with the hose for a long while, then scrubbed it frantically with dish detergent.
Finally, he filled it with water and boiled it over the stove.
Even when the pot boiled, Jiang Cheng didn’t kill the flame. He stared at the bubbling surface. It wasn’t until he was sure the last vestiges of the cockroach’s shadow had boiled away that he poured out the water and boiled a fresh potful for his noodles.
A funk wafted out of the fridge the instant he opened it. All it contained was a few red chili peppers, which, by the looks of them, had been in there for at least a month. No meat, no eggs—nothing.
Fuck! Did Li Baoguo buy the exact right amount of dumpling mince, down to the last dumpling? Not even an ounce left over?
He stared blankly at the pot of water for a moment, then turned the gas off.
After a tragic mental tussle between going out to eat, ordering takeout, and buying groceries to cook noodles with, he firmly decided to buy groceries. He was powerless to change his environment, so the only thing he could do was adapt. Which was easy enough to say—actually doing it was as hard as growing wings and flying.
Jiang Cheng picked up his wallet and phone, then went out to shop. Going to the local market was the sensible choice, but…after all this time and all his daily walks around the area, he still hadn’t seen any kind of market nearby. He wanted to ask a passerby, but he’d gone all the way down the block without running into a single person. At this time of night, everyone would be cooking at home.
He frowned and glanced at the other street.
Gu Fei’s not-supermarket would surely have some grocery items. Even if they didn’t have green vegetables, there would definitely be sausage or canned fish or something… Maybe he’d been living too hard lately, but the mere thought made him salivate. He was hungry.
Look at the state of yourself, Jiang Cheng!
After admonishing himself, he still turned and walked in the store’s direction.
Pushing apart Gu Fei’s storefront curtains almost gave him war flashbacks now; he’d felt awkward every time he was here. The fact that he was coming here to buy things when they’d barely spoken three sentences to each other since the fight made it worse.
When he opened the curtains, he felt a dense cluster of eyes staring at him.
Instead of awkwardness, Jiang Cheng startled in fright. There were seven people, for a total of fourteen eyes: Gu Fei, Gu Miao, the Fresh Out of Jail quartet, and Li Yan.
A little surprised himself, Gu Fei held his chopsticks in the air as he turned around, staring wordlessly at Jiang Cheng. And because he didn’t speak, neither did Fresh Out of Jail or Li Yan. Gu Miao was the only one who stood and waved at him.
Jiang Cheng smiled at Gu Miao and walked in. “I’m here to buy some stuff.”
“Go ahead,” Gu Fei said.
Jiang Cheng looked around. Gu Fei’s store was rather large; there were several rows of shelves. “Um… Where do you stock your sausages and that kind of thing?”
“Next to the window, at the end of the aisle,” Li Yan said.
“Thanks.” Jiang Cheng glanced at him, then walked over.
They had a good selection, from ham sausages and small cocktail wieners to European-style sliced salami. He took one of each, then grabbed a can of pork belly and some tinned fish.
Jiang Cheng walked two steps toward the counter, paused, then spun around to stock up on condiments too, like oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar. Li Baoguo’s kitchen was terrifying; he was fearful of using anything stocked in it.
“Quite a pantry you got there.” Li Yan stood behind the counter and totaled the bill, saying, “Are you cooking?”
“Mm-hm.” Jiang Cheng hesitated. “Do you have…pots and pans?”
“Pots and pans?” Li Yan was taken aback. He glanced over at Gu Fei. “Do you?”
Gu Fei was surprised, too. He rose to his feet. “What kind?”
“Just…for stir-frying vegetables, or making soup.”
“Yeah,” said Gu Fei. “But you’d get better quality at the mall.”
“It’s fine, I’ll take them,” Jiang Cheng said.
Gu Fei eyed him briefly, then turned and walked into the innermost corner. From a heap of buckets and basins, he pulled out a wok for frying and a pot for soup. He waved them at Jiang Cheng.
“This size okay?”
“Sure.” Jiang Cheng nodded and walked over to take them.
“Why don’t you eat with us?” Li Yan braced his hands against the counter. “It’s just another pair of chopsticks.”
Jiang Cheng pulled out his wallet. Li Yan’s words were friendly, but when he looked over and met his eyes, they were coldly taunting. Unexplained hostility annoyed Jiang Cheng the most. He dug out the bills and tossed them down, then placed a hand onto the counter and stared right back.
“Careful, your eyeballs will fall out,” Gu Fei said to Li Yan as he walked over and sat back on the stool. “Cash him out.”
Li Yan held his gaze a moment longer before looking down to take the money, then stared at him some more before giving him the change.
Jiang Cheng saw that Li Yan wasn’t going to give him a bag, so he glanced around the counter, yanked two bags from the hanging stack, and dumped all his things in them before turning to leave.
Liu Fan looked at Li Yan. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Li Yan sat. He picked up his cup and took a sip of alcohol. “I don’t know why, I just don’t like the look of that guy.”
“You don’t?” Liu Fan said. “It looked more like you fell in love at first sight. You were staring so hard I thought you were going to lick him.”
“Is that any way to talk?” Li Yan glowered at him.
“Yan-ge’s in a funk today,” Luo Yu laughed as he bowed his head and gnawed on a bone.
“Mind your own business.” Li Yan glared at him sidelong. “I made this meal. If you’re not going to behave, go to the backyard and cook your own noodles.”
“Honestly, Li Yan, you bought some really good cuts today,” Liu Fan said. “They’re so fresh.”
“I got my mom to buy them,” Li Yan said. “I just crave meat whenever it gets cold, it calls out to me… Er-Miao, wipe the grease off your mouth. A pretty girl like you should watch her manners.”
Gu Miao took a tissue and wiped her mouth before burying her face in her food again.
“By the way, that guy didn’t come back, did he?” Liu Fan asked.
“Nope.” Gu Fei put some vegetables into Gu Miao’s bowl. Gu Miao picked them up swiftly and tried to drop them in Li Yan’s bowl instead, but Gu Fei held her chopsticks with his own. “Your face is flaking from the dryness.”
Gu Miao was forced to withdraw and stuff the vegetables into her mouth.
“That must be because she isn’t using skincare.” Li Yan leaned in to study Gu Miao’s complexion. “Er-Miao, did you use the face lotion I bought you last time?”
Gu Miao didn’t speak.
“She thinks it’s too much of a hassle,” Gu Fei said.
Li Yan tutted. “Dunno where you get that coarse streak from. Both your mother and your brother—” He stopped midway, stuck. In the end, he simply picked up a yam noodle and stuffed it into his mouth.
“It’s fine.” Gu Fei sipped his soup.
Li Yan had bought the groceries and cooked this meal. The nice thing about having unemployed slobs for friends was that they would at least come over and help out when his mother was next to useless.
When Gu Fei didn’t skip class, his mother was meant to mind the store, but she usually failed to stay for even half the day at least two days out of the week. Li Yan would come over on those days to watch the place and even cook.
His cooking wasn’t great—just a bunch of ingredients thrown together and boiled in one pot, so it all tasted the same—but he’d always buy food in such generous quantities that the pot could barely hold it all; they had to call up help to eat the entire thing.
After they’d eaten, Liu Fan and the others left. Li Yan leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back and rubbing his belly.
“I’ll get the dishes later, Er-Miao. Yan-ge needs to do some digesting—I ate too much.”
Gu Miao picked up her skateboard and looked at Gu Fei.
“…Go ahead,” Gu Fei said, resigned.
Gu Miao’s love for skateboarding bordered on obsession. She all but hugged the skateboard to sleep.
After Gu Miao left, Li Yan opened his eyes and looked at Gu Fei. “Da-Fei, let’s go somewhere fun when it gets warmer.”
“Where?” Gu Fei asked.
“Dunno. Why don’t we ask Xin-jie?” Li Yan said. “We can go traveling with her band.”
“Forget it.” Gu Fei lit a cigarette and put it between his lips. “I’m not going anywhere for a while. I still have a major-offense demerit I haven’t gotten rid of.”
“You care about that kind of thing?” Li Yan laughed.
“I’ll at least need a high school diploma,” said Gu Fei.
Li Yan held his gaze. “If you get any closer to that overachiever, you might even get into a good university.”
Gu Fei gave him a look. “Do you have shit for brains?”
“Honestly…” Li Yan paused, staring at the ceiling. “If that kid weren’t so unbelievably cocky…he’d be pretty fun.”
Gu Fei didn’t respond.
“I’m kinda into that type,” Li Yan added.
“That type would beat you to a pulp,” Gu Fei said. “Dumbass.”
“Your hair’s getting long, huh. The design’s blurring.” Li Yan glanced at his head. “Need a trim?”
“Are you restless from all that time on your hands?” Gu Fei exhaled a cloud of smoke.
Li Yan nodded. “Yep.”
Gu Fei turned his chair so that his back faced him as Li Yan took out a toolbox from under the counter.
“How long are you planning to keep that design? Do you want a new one?”
“No.” Gu Fei leaned his head sideways on the headrest.
“Ding Zhuxin’s your goddess, after all.” Li Yan picked up his tools and carefully trimmed the music rest symbol on the left side of his head.
“My goddess is Gu Miao,” Gu Fei replied. “Stop mentioning me and Xin-jie together all the time, especially to her face.”
“I know.” Li Yan nodded. “You’re not her little devotee anymore, and you don’t look up to her like you used to. You don’t even like women.”
Gu Fei was amused. “Are you on her payroll now?”
“No, I just think she’s pretty silly, knowing that you…and still liking the bastard that you are.” Li Yan sighed. “She even changed her name. Who knows what she was thinking?”
Gu Fei didn’t reply.
Ding Zhuxin’s name used to be Zhuyin, which meant “sound of bamboo”;
she’d later changed it to Zhuxin. Zhuxin—“heart of bamboo.” Except bamboo was hollow. It had no heart.
Yeah. What was she thinking?
When he was little, he worshipped Ding Zhuxin—she was so cool, so self-assured, and in his most lost and helpless years, she was much more supportive than his own mother. Now, he still admired her; he just hadn’t thought so many things would change. Change was always so gradual. It was only when you woke up to it that you realized everything was different.
***
Jiang Cheng spent an hour fiddling with his phone’s GPS navigator before he finally found his way to the warehouse.
When the warehouse worker pushed his delivery out on a flatbed trolley, he flinched in alarm. Several large boxes were stacked into a small hill.
“Here, double check. They’re all numbered.” The worker handed him an inventory list.
After signing, Jiang Cheng rushed out to hire a small truck to haul the boxes back. The driver refused to help him load the boxes, even for money.
Jiang Cheng had to use his own hands—all one and a half of them—to drag and shove the boxes into the cargo hold. He felt unbearably sore all over. Getting into a fight was as bad as running ten miles.
Once he loaded the boxes, the driver asked him to sit in front, but he thought it over and declined, climbing in with the cargo instead. He couldn’t wait to see what his mom had sent. What kind of things would she send him after he left that home? He had a feeling that once he saw, he would better understand what she was thinking.
The boxes were all well-sealed. He grabbed a knife and cut open the heaviest one: It was a box of books.
The novels and comic books he’d bought, as well as magazines he subscribed to, were neatly and tightly packed into the box. Jiang Cheng frowned.
He took a few from the top and looked under them. There, he saw the study material he’d used for his high school entrance exam.
Jiang Cheng shut the cardboard box. She had probably sent him every single book on his shelf. The box underneath was filled with books too. He wasn’t an avid reader, so there wasn’t much, but along with all the study material, it was enough to make the two boxes as heavy as lead—matching his mood.
He hesitated before opening a smaller box beside it. Inside this one, he found all his little odds and ends—trinkets he’d left on his desk and in his drawer, fun little toys, handicrafts, an alarm clock, a pen holder, a small eyeglass frame, even an old empty lighter.
He shut his eyes and scrubbed his face forcefully, then placed his hand on his forehead, not wanting to move anymore. By the looks of it, his mom hadn’t kept any of his belongings. She must’ve sent everything over indiscriminately, except for the piano.
All this time, he’d been miserable, despondent, and unable to understand or accept his situation. He was even angry and resentful. It was only now, laying eyes on these cast-away things, that he felt hurt.
His silent fights with his family, the lectures and rebukes from his parents, being sent back to where he was born…none of that had hurt him. It was only now that he saw the things his mother had mailed over like it was a task to be checked off her list—unsorted, wholly untouched, with no thought spared for whether he actually needed these things or not—that he felt a deep pang of hurt in his chest.
This pain in his heart was more intense and harder to ignore than anything he’d felt in the past weeks. When the vehicle stopped, he almost couldn’t get up.
Jiang Cheng unloaded the heaps of boxes, big and small. After the driver left, he nudged them with his foot and sighed. He leaned against the boxes and spaced out as he stared at the dirty, trampled snow by the road.
A scrap collector came up to him on a cycle rickshaw. He straightened up.
“These two boxes of books.” Jiang Cheng pointed at the boxes.
The man looked at them. “We buy books at the same price as scrap paper now.”
“Fine. Take them,” Jiang Cheng said.
After the man weighed his books, Jiang Cheng opened the box of knick-knacks and took out the only thing he wanted to keep: a large black slingshot.
“What about these?” he asked.
“Let me see.” The man rifled roughly through the box, taking the things out and peering at them. “They’re all pretty useless, and there’s not much we can do with their parts, either… Thirty yuan.”
“Take it,” Jiang Cheng said.
“The one you’re holding is worth something,” the man said. “Twenty?”
“It’s not for sale.” Jiang Cheng put the slingshot in his pocket. This guy sure was a crook, he thought, offering twenty yuan for something that had cost two hundred.
The other two boxes were full of clothes, and the man was interested in taking them, too. “And the clothing?”
“What do you think?” Jiang Cheng retorted.
The man chuckled. He took the money from his pocket and handed it to Jiang Cheng, along with a business card. “Anything else you want to sell, just call me. I live close by, and I can get here quickly.”
“Okay.” Jiang Cheng stuffed the money and the card into his pocket.
As he dragged the boxes of clothes into his room, he felt as if they were made of solid iron. He didn’t know if they were actually that heavy, or if he was just drained. The two boxes of clothes fit in his room, at least. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at them. All those things that he’d wasted so much money and energy moving back here, just to sell to the scrap collector. He couldn’t help laughing out loud.
What a great brain you have, you overachiever.
He pulled the dirty notes out of his pocket. It was all small bills, so together, it looked like a lot of money.
Such big, heavy boxes, now turned into a few little pieces of paper.