Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Brother

A few days later, Fu Kun’s tiny bed was dismantled and replaced with a rather decent-looking wooden bunk bed. It was a nice upgrade, but it wasn’t exactly what he had envisioned.

In his mind, the top bunk was supposed to be a grand vantage point, a place where he could stand tall and survey his domain like a king on his throne, looking down upon the world below. But reality was much less satisfying—thanks to the overhead storage cabinet his dad had installed ages ago, there was barely any room to stand upright. The only way he could fit up there was by kneeling.

Still, there were some unexpected surprises. The head of the top bunk lined up perfectly with the small ventilation window, giving him a direct view of the outside world. Of course, the view itself wasn’t exactly picturesque—just the abandoned junk shed behind their building, which, under the dim glow of night, looked eerie enough to be the perfect setting for a ghost story. But to Fu Kun, that only made it all the more thrilling.

As the night deepened, he lay sprawled across the top bunk, elbows propped up as he stared out through the little window. The only light outside came from the pale moon reflecting off the snow-covered ground, casting long, distorted shadows across the yard. Gripping a pair of binoculars, he imagined himself as a master ghost hunter, lying in wait for supernatural entities to emerge so he could strike at the perfect moment.

The more he thought about it, the deeper he fell into his own imagination. His mind drifted to scenes from The Three Mountains Mystery, a novel he had read recently—visions of the golden carriage rolling through the night, the ominous sound of footsteps echoing in the dark, the eerie presence of Fang Jinhua creeping ever closer… Before he knew it, a shiver ran down his spine, and every hair on his body stood on end. The more he thought about it, the more the darkness around him seemed to shift and stir, as if something unseen was lurking just beyond his field of vision, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Then, just as his unease reached its peak, the bed beneath him suddenly trembled.

Before he could react, an icy grip clamped around his ankle.

“AHHHHHH—!”

His scream shot straight into a high-pitched wail, his voice cracking in sheer terror as he flailed backward in a blind panic. His legs kicked out wildly as he scrambled forward, his head smacking against the glass of the window again and again before he finally came to a shaky halt.

“What the hell is going on?!”

His father, who had been peacefully watching TV in the other room, burst in like a storm, clearly startled by the sheer horror in his son’s voice.

“I—I—” Fu Kun stammered, still gasping for breath. His first instinct was to leap off the top bunk and bolt out of the room, but as he turned his head, he caught sight of something—or rather, someone—who had somehow made it up to the top bunk without him noticing.

It was Fu Yijie, his older brother.

Perched on the ladder, his hand still outstretched from where he had grabbed Fu Kun’s ankle, Fu Yijie was staring at him with wide eyes, looking just as startled as he was.

For a second, Fu Kun was too stunned to react. Then the sheer absurdity of the situation hit him. His heart was still pounding, his breath was still caught in his throat—and this idiot had been the cause of all of it?!

His first instinct was to kick him straight off the bunk.

“Why the hell didn’t you say something when you climbed up?!” he roared, furious beyond words.

“I called you,” Fu Yijie said, eyes wide, his hand still raised mid-air.

“You called me, and I didn’t hear you—so you just gave up? You couldn’t call me again?!” Fu Kun snapped, his voice laced with lingering frustration. The sheer humiliation of being scared out of his wits was almost unbearable.

He had spent so much time trying to cultivate the image of a strong, fearless, all-powerful big brother in front of Fu Yijie. He wanted to be seen as tall, mighty, and utterly badass—someone who could protect, intimidate, and inspire awe all at once. And yet, all it took was a single grab at his ankle to shatter that illusion completely. Gone. Wasted.

Every fight they had, every attempt to establish dominance—it was all for nothing!

“I heard him calling you for ages,” their dad chimed in, effortlessly hoisting Fu Yijie onto the top bunk by the seat of his pants before turning to Fu Kun with a raised brow. “What were you so lost in thought about?”

“…The Three Mountains Mystery,” Fu Kun muttered under his breath as he begrudgingly pulled his legs in, making space for Fu Yijie beside him.

The second the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

His parents immediately burst into laughter. His mom, who had been in the other room, was howling—her laughter spilling through the walls, relentless and uncontrollable.

Fu Kun let out a long, weary sigh before flopping down on his side, using his arm as a pillow.

This was beyond embarrassing.

The night he had finished The Three Mountains Mystery had been a disaster. He had lain in bed, replaying every eerie detail in his mind over and over, unable to stop himself. The more he tried to shake off the fear, the deeper he sank into it, like quicksand. His imagination ran wild—twisting the shadows in the room, amplifying every tiny creak of the house—until finally, he snapped.

He had let out a shriek, bolted straight out of bed, and launched himself into his parents’ room, diving under their blankets like a terrified child. He spent the entire night trembling and wide-eyed, unable to sleep a wink.

And now his mom was laughing.

Great. Just great.

“What’s The Three Mountains Mystery?” Fu Yijie asked as he plopped down beside him, resting on his stomach with his arms folded under his chin.

Fu Kun saw his chance.

If he had been scared, Fu Yijie had to be scared too. That was the only way to salvage his dignity.

He rolled onto his side to face his younger brother, lowering his voice to a whisper, letting the tension seep into every word.

“It was late at night,” he began, his tone dripping with ominous suspense. “There was a village girl walking alone down a dark road. In her hands, she carried a basket. And inside that basket was…” He paused dramatically, eyes narrowing.

“Guess what was inside?”

Fu Yijie blinked. “Eggs.”

“Eggs?! Are you serious?!” Fu Kun nearly choked on his own frustration. “Do you only ever think about eggs?!”

Fu Yijie just stared at him, unbothered.

Fu Kun took a deep breath, then leaned in closer, his face twisting into something dark and sinister.

“It was a skull.”

“Oh,” Fu Yijie said, nodding, completely unfazed.

Fu Kun frowned. That didn’t get a reaction? Fine. He’d up the ante.

“There was also an old man,” he continued, his voice sinking even lower, practically slithering in the air between them. “And every single night, he would sing.”

Fu Yijie perked up. “Sing what?”

Fu Kun’s mouth curled into a sly grin. He let the tension build, then whisper-sang the eerie tune, voice hushed but haunting:

“Golden carriage… gua-da-da… Fang Jinhua… gua-da-da…”

The moment the melody left his lips, a wave of goosebumps erupted across his skin.

Then, just as the atmosphere turned suffocatingly eerie—

Fu Yijie suddenly reached out and clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Brother,” he whispered, eyes serious.

Fu Kun was absolutely ecstatic.

Finally! He had managed to scare Fu Yijie! The moment he had been waiting for was here—sweet, undeniable victory!

Just as he was about to bask in his triumph, savoring the glory of his prank, Fu Yijie, still staring at him with wide, unreadable eyes, simply said, “Your singing is terrible.”

Fu Kun’s smug expression crumbled in an instant.

His lips parted, then closed, then parted again. It took him a second to process the sheer audacity of that response. Of all the possible things Fu Yijie could’ve said, this was what he went with?! Not a shriek of terror? Not a frantic scramble for safety? Not even a nervous gulp?!

And worst of all—he actually looked serious.

“You—” Fu Kun’s face twisted with sheer indignation. “GET OFF MY BED!”

Fu Yijie, looking only slightly bewildered by his brother’s outburst, calmly turned around and began climbing down the ladder, step by step, as if he were descending from a royal carriage rather than being unceremoniously kicked out. When he reached the bottom bunk, he sat down and looked up at Fu Kun with that same unruffled expression.

Fu Kun let out a long, dramatic sigh.

Now that he thought about it, what was the point of scaring someone if they didn’t react properly? His whole plan had been to establish dominance, to prove once and for all that he was the fearsome, cunning older brother while Fu Yijie was the helpless, easily frightened younger sibling. But if Fu Yijie wasn’t even remotely fazed, then where was the fun in that?

Feeling suddenly dissatisfied with how the whole situation had played out, he leaned forward until his upper body was hanging upside down over the edge of the top bunk, his head nearly brushing against Fu Yijie’s.

“Yijie—”

Fu Yijie tilted his head up to look at him. Then, as if struck by some amusing thought, he reached out and ran his fingers through Fu Kun’s disheveled hair, which, thanks to gravity, was now standing completely on end.

Fu Kun swatted at his hand with a huff. “You really weren’t scared? That movie was terrifying, you know.”

“You didn’t make it sound scary at all,” Fu Yijie replied, his tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather.

Fu Kun squinted at him. No way. No way was this kid completely fearless. He had to be scared of something. “Alright then, tell me—what are you scared of?” He needed to gather intelligence. That way, next time, he’d know exactly how to strike.

Fu Yijie blinked, then fell silent, as if deeply contemplating the question. His brows furrowed slightly, and after a long pause, he finally answered in complete sincerity:

“Being hungry.”

Fu Kun stared at him.

For a moment, he was too stunned to speak. Then, with an exaggerated groan, he flopped dramatically onto his back. “That’s not what I meant!” he said, flinging an arm over his eyes. “And besides, when are you ever hungry? It’s not like we starve you.” He sat back up and flicked Fu Yijie’s forehead lightly. “I’m the one who always gets punished and misses meals, and you don’t see me complaining!”

Fu Yijie rubbed his forehead where he’d been flicked, then lowered his head, looking almost hesitant. After a brief moment of silence, he finally mumbled, “I’m scared of not being wanted anymore.”

Fu Kun felt his breath catch in his throat.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say. He had expected an answer like ghosts, monsters, or the dark—something silly and harmless, something he could tease Fu Yijie about. But this? This was something else entirely.

“…I was asking if you were scared of ghosts or something,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. But his voice had lost its teasing edge. With a sigh, he swung himself over the railing and landed beside Fu Yijie on the bottom bunk. Without a word, he pulled his little brother into a loose hug, resting his chin on top of his head.

“Listen, you little thing,” he said, ruffling Fu Yijie’s hair. “No one’s ever gonna stop wanting you. Even if they don’t want me, they’ll still want you. So don’t go worrying about stuff like that, alright?”

Fu Yijie stayed quiet for a moment, then snuggled closer and whispered, “I want to sleep up top tonight.”

Fu Kun chuckled, giving him a light pat on the back. “Sure, sure. You can sleep up there—or on top of me, for all I care.”

Fu Yijie grinned, looking genuinely happy.

Then—he farted.

The melancholy of the moment shattered instantly.

Fu Kun jerked back, eyes wide with betrayal. “Yijie! What the hell—” He gagged, waving a hand frantically under his nose. “You—You little demon! You almost made me cry just now, and this is how you repay me?!” But he was already laughing too hard to be truly angry.

Fu Yijie, completely unbothered, simply rubbed his stomach. “I was too full.”

Fu Kun, still half-laughing, half-choking, shook his head. “Honestly, you eat more than I do. You’re like a bottomless pit.” He reached out and helped rub Fu Yijie’s stomach. “Hey, did you know that farts come in different categories?”

Fu Yijie’s eyes immediately lit up with curiosity. “Farts have categories?”

“Of course!” Fu Kun smirked, straightening up. “For example, the one you just let out—it was dry, right? That’s called a ‘Drought Thunder.’”

Fu Yijie’s face lit up with interest. “Are there more?”

“Obviously!” Fu Kun grinned, warming up to the topic. “Remember that time you had diarrhea and your fart sounded like a bubbling swamp monster? That one’s called ‘Water Melody.’”

Fu Yijie burst into laughter. “What else?!”

“There’s more, there’s more!” Fu Kun announced, grinning from ear to ear as if he had just stumbled upon the greatest revelation of mankind. “Sometimes, when you’re too embarrassed to let a fart out, you hold it in. You clench, and clench, and clench until it has no choice but to retreat back up. And then—after a while, when you least expect it—” he paused dramatically, eyes gleaming with mischief, “it sneaks its way up your intestines and comes out as a burp! That, my dear brother, is called a ‘Recycled Burp.’”

Fu Kun was so amused by his own explanation that he collapsed onto Fu Yijie’s pillow, shaking with laughter.

Fu Yijie, meanwhile, was listening with an expression of pure academic fascination, as if this newfound knowledge had opened the doors to an entirely unexplored realm of science. His little round face was serious, intrigued.

Seeing his brother so eager to learn only made Fu Kun want to laugh even harder. But just as he opened his mouth to make another joke—

BURP.

A loud, unmistakable burp escaped before he could stop it.

Fu Yijie’s eyes immediately lit up like fireworks. “A Recycled Burp!” he declared.

“Get lost!” Fu Kun roared, face burning with humiliation.

Ever since that fight with Big Dumb Bear (as Fu Kun had so eloquently dubbed him), Fu Yijie had become even clingier than before. If he had been mildly attached before, he was now practically glued to Fu Kun’s side.

At night, he refused to sleep unless he had a firm grip on Fu Kun’s pajama pants. And if that wasn’t enough, he insisted on throwing a leg over Fu Kun’s stomach, as if afraid he’d float away in his sleep.

“Can’t… breathe…” Fu Kun groaned, attempting to push the chubby leg off his abdomen.

Fu Yijie was round-faced and soft-limbed, his arms and cheeks plush with childhood chubbiness. Everything about him was warm and pillowy—except his actual body, which was still as scrawny as ever.

Feeling the push, Fu Yijie wordlessly adjusted his position, shifting his leg slightly downward.

Right onto Fu Kun’s crotch.

Fu Kun let out a strangled sound. “Not there!”

Without a word, Fu Yijie silently moved his leg back to Fu Kun’s stomach.

Fu Kun let out a deep, weary sigh. “You do realize that we can’t sleep like this in the summer, right? We’ll suffocate to death.”

“Mm.” Fu Yijie made a small sound of acknowledgment.

“Maybe we should sleep outside in the courtyard when it gets hot.”

“There’ll be mosquitoes.”

Fu Kun waved a hand dismissively. “No problem. We’ll bring Xiao Fei-ge with us. The mosquitoes love him. The moment he walks outside, they’ll all flock to him like he’s their long-lost father.”

“I get boils in the summer,” Fu Yijie mumbled. “They hurt.”

“I get them too! Plus heat rashes. My mom loves pinching them—presses down like she’s trying to exorcise a demon or something. The neighbors probably think she’s beating me.”

“I know how to pinch them,” Fu Yijie offered helpfully. “I’ll do it for you. It won’t hurt.”

Fu Kun raised an eyebrow. “Oh? But I don’t get them anymore.”

“Ah…” Fu Yijie’s excitement dimmed slightly.

Seeing his little brother’s disappointed expression, Fu Kun chuckled. “Tell you what—maybe I’ll try growing some for you this summer. Give you something to practice on.”

Fu Yijie nodded seriously. “Mm.”

The end-of-term assembly before winter break was always short and to the point. The teachers simply reminded the students to behave over the New Year, handed out a few printed notices for their parents, and sent them on their way.

After the brief ceremony, Fu Kun and Sun Wei dragged their small stools over to the slide in front of Class 1-2’s door, plopping down as they waited for Fu Yijie.

Today, there was no need to line up in dismissal queues, but first graders were slow at everything. Even something as simple as handing out certificates somehow took forever.

Sun Wei nudged Fu Kun with his elbow. “Kun, you heading straight home later?”

Fu Kun glanced at him sideways. He could tell from Sun Wei’s tone—and the slight shiftiness in his expression—that what he really meant was, “Let’s not go home just yet.”

Fu Kun smirked. “Where do you wanna go?”

Sun Wei rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Let’s pick up Sun Xiao first, then head to the bridge for a bit.”

Fu Kun pulled his gloves up over his nose and grumbled, “It’s freezing.”

But after a pause, he sighed and stretched his arms. “Fine, fine. Let’s go.”

The so-called “bridge” wasn’t much of a bridge at all—just a narrow strip of weathered concrete stretched over a shallow, half-dried river ditch not far from their school. If you sprinted back and forth across it three times, you still wouldn’t be out of breath. Beside it stood a desolate old factory, its doors and windows nailed shut with warped wooden planks, as though someone had tried to lock away its past and forget it ever existed.

But Fu Kun and Sun Wei had long since discovered a gap in the barricade, a narrow opening just wide enough for a couple of kids to squeeze through. What lay inside was a forgotten graveyard of machinery—rusting cement mixers, dust-covered bulldozers, and skeletal remains of long-abandoned equipment, all left to gather cobwebs in the gloom.

To most people, it was just an abandoned factory.

But to them, it was a treasure trove of adventure.

Fu Yijie came barreling out of the classroom, his little legs moving as fast as they could carry him. In one hand, he clutched a tiny wooden stool, and in the other, he gripped a crisp, freshly printed certificate, the corners still stiff from the printer. His face was practically glowing with excitement.

Fu Kun reached out and took the paper, giving it a once-over. A Good Child Award.

The certificate, written in bold, official-looking font, praised a certain First Grade, Class Two student, Fu Yijie, for his exemplary behavior throughout the first semester.

Fu Kun stared at the award for a long moment, his fingers brushing over the glossy surface.

Certificates like this? He had never really had one.

It wasn’t that he was a bad student. His grades weren’t terrible. But in a teacher’s eyes, virtue, intelligence, physical ability, artistic talent, and labor skills were all the markers of a “model student.” And Fu Kun? He never quite fit the mold.

Even something as basic as joining the Young Pioneers had been delayed until the second semester of second grade. By then, he had been in the very last batch—one of the final five recruits, and even then, only because it was mandatory.

So when he saw Fu Yijie’s certificate, he felt an odd sense of pride bubbling up inside him.

Grinning, he held it up and patted Fu Yijie’s head. “Not bad! Let’s go celebrate—I’ll take you somewhere fun!”

“Where?” Fu Yijie tilted his head up at him, eyes round with curiosity.

“An adventure.” Fu Kun balanced the tiny stool on his head like a makeshift hat and started striding toward the school gates. “But first, we have to pick up Sun Xiao.”

Sun Xiao was in the third grade, but she didn’t go to their school. Instead, she attended Sunlight Elementary, a more prestigious school a few streets away.

Sun Wei’s uncle, having no children of his own, had practically adopted Sun Xiao as his own daughter. He had pulled some strings and managed to enroll her in Sunlight Elementary, claiming its academic standards were far superior to those of Third Elementary. Their own school, Third Elementary, had a reputation for being filled with “kids from the streets”—a little rowdy, a little unpolished, and not exactly known for churning out scholars.

By the time they arrived at Sunlight Elementary, Sun Xiao was standing near a popcorn vendor’s stall, surrounded by a small cluster of classmates. Her tiny hands were cupped tightly over her ears, her posture tense with anticipation as she waited for the popcorn machine to explode.

“You want some?” Fu Kun asked casually, already fishing into his pocket for money.

Fu Yijie had absolutely no idea what Fu Kun was offering, but when it came to food-related questions, his answer was always the same.

“Yes!” he replied instinctively.

The moment the words left his mouth, the popcorn machine let out an ear-splitting bang.

BOOM!

Fu Yijie practically jumped out of his skin, his entire body jolting as he let out a startled shriek. “AAAH!”

Fu Kun had been expecting the noise, so he wasn’t fazed in the slightest.

But Fu Yijie’s dramatic reaction? That caught him completely off guard.

He burst into laughter, slapping his knee. “Wow, real bravery there.”

Sun Xiao turned around at the sound, clutching a freshly filled paper bag of popcorn in both hands. The moment she saw Fu Kun, her face flushed a delicate shade of pink.

Lowering her gaze, she murmured softly, “Fu Kun-gege.”

Fu Kun acted as though he hadn’t noticed the change in her expression. Without missing a beat, he simply turned on his heel and gestured for them to leave. “Let’s go.”

Sun Xiao wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she had a kind of quiet elegance about her. She was soft-spoken, rarely raising her voice, and always seemed to carry herself with a certain gentle restraint.

To Fu Kun, she didn’t look much like Sun Wei’s sister at all.

Aside from their eyes, they shared almost no resemblance.

But the one thing Fu Kun could never quite understand was why she blushed so easily.

It wasn’t as though they were strangers.

They had known each other for years, had spoken countless times, had long since passed the point of formalities.

And yet, every single time she saw him—without fail—her face would turn red.

Meanwhile, Fu Yijie sat perched on the back of the cart, popping pieces of popcorn into his mouth one by one. But his eyes never left Sun Xiao.

He watched her intently, chewing thoughtfully.

Sun Wei had called her his sister, but she looked nothing like him.

Was she adopted, too?

As if sensing his gaze, Sun Xiao suddenly turned toward him with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Fu Yijie.”

“My name is Sun Xiao,” she said gently. “You’re Fu Kun-gege’s little brother, right?”

Fu Yijie didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he simply gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.

But something about the way she had said “Fu Kun-gege” didn’t sit right with him.

Fu Kun was his big brother.

Not hers.

His little hands clenched around the fabric of Fu Kun’s jacket, and with a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, he gave it a firm pull.

“Gege.”

“Hm?” Fu Kun turned his head.

“Gege!” Fu Yijie called out again, his voice louder this time.

“Huh?”

“Gege—” He stretched out the word, drawing it long and insistent.

Fu Kun chuckled, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “What is it? Does yelling my name feel that good?”

“Mm.” Fu Yijie nodded seriously, stuffing another handful of popcorn into his mouth as if that was all the explanation needed.

Fu Kun wheeled his bicycle over to a sturdy-looking tree near the bridge, locking it in place before tossing the key into his pocket.

Sun Wei, however, wasn’t as careless. He glanced around uneasily. With school out for the holidays, there were bound to be kids wandering around—plenty of students who had nowhere better to go. Leaving a bike out in the open like that? Not a great idea.

So, without a word, he grabbed the bicycle and dragged it into the scraggly bushes nearby, pushing it deep into the undergrowth before dusting off his hands.

Meanwhile, Fu Yijie had scrambled up onto the bridge’s railing, peering down at the shallow, murky river below. His small hands gripped the stone ledge as he squinted into the water. “Are there any fish down there?”

“Fish? My ass,” Sun Wei snorted. “They got electrocuted ages ago. Even if they weren’t, it’s so damn cold right now, half the water’s frozen over. Where the hell would the fish come from?”

Fu Yijie turned to Fu Kun, eyes bright with curiosity. “Can we go down?”

Fu Kun didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Come on.”

He led the way, stepping carefully down the steep, dirt-covered slope beside the bridge.

Sun Wei, on the other hand, had zero interest in caution. He took two bouncy steps forward—and immediately lost control, tumbling the rest of the way down in a series of ungraceful rolls before landing at the bottom, grinning up at them like a fool.

Fu Yijie and Sun Xiao followed behind Fu Kun, stepping precisely into his footprints as they made their way down.

The ground was uneven and loose, and it wasn’t long before Sun Xiao misjudged a step. Her foot slipped, and with a startled gasp, she toppled forward, landing hard on the dirt.

Fu Kun reacted instantly, spinning around to grab her by the wrist and pulling her upright. “Careful,” he murmured.

Fu Yijie watched their hands, still clasped together, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Then, without a second’s hesitation, he flopped straight onto the ground himself.

“Hey!” Fu Kun quickly let go of Sun Xiao and rushed over to yank him up. At the same time, he snapped at Sun Wei, “Are you just gonna stand there and watch?!”

Finally, all four of them made it to the edge of the riverbank. The terrain was rough—slippery rocks, uneven patches of dirt, and puddles of stagnant water—but they moved forward anyway, picking their way along the shoreline. Every so often, they’d stop to pick up small, jagged stones, flicking them into the water just to watch the ripples spread.

Truth be told, there wasn’t anything remotely fun about this place.

The river was shallow and filthy, half-dried in some places and frozen in others. The bank was a mess of broken stones, the kind that would send you skidding if you so much as stepped wrong. But this wasn’t their final destination—this was just the path they had to take.

To get inside the old factory, they needed to follow the riverbank until they could slip in through the back.

They had only been walking for a short while when suddenly—

CRASH.

A loud, scraping clatter echoed behind them—the unmistakable sound of someone slipping and hitting the ground hard.

Sun Wei, who had been leading the way, turned his head, blinked in surprise, and then muttered under his breath, “Well, shit.”

Fu Kun looked back as well, and there, sprawled in the dirt, were two familiar figures—Wang Zhiqiang and his ever-present lackey, Chen Yue.

They had clearly taken a nasty fall, their clothes streaked with mud and dust. The two of them were still in the process of untangling themselves from the mess, groaning as they struggled to sit up.

Fu Kun let out a low chuckle, raising an eyebrow. “Damn. Looks like you two could use some balance training.”

Sun Wei nudged the two smaller figures standing beside him—Sun Xiao and Fu Yijie. His voice dropped to a low murmur.

“You two—get back up top.”

Wang Zhiqiang wasn’t here to play.

Fu Kun and Sun Wei had come to this place countless times, and not once had they ever run into Wang Zhiqiang before. Not even by accident.

That meant only one thing—he had followed them here, deliberately, in secret.

He still hadn’t gotten over what happened the other day. The fact that Fu Kun and Sun Wei had slipped right through his fingers must have been eating away at him, gnawing at his pride like a splinter he couldn’t dig out.

Wang Zhiqiang was here for a fight.

Fu Kun absentmindedly ran a hand over his right arm. If it came down to that, so be it.

He had already told his mom he broke it jumping a wall, even had Sun Wei back up his story. But in truth? Wang Zhiqiang had smashed it with a wooden club, and Fu Kun had yet to return the favor.

His fingers curled slightly. Maybe today was the day.

He glanced toward the slope and saw that Fu Yijie and Sun Xiao had already climbed back up. Good. He turned to Sun Wei and murmured under his breath, “Pick one.”

Sun Wei’s expression didn’t change. He simply stepped forward, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Fu Kun.

They had never fought separately.

It didn’t matter how many people the other side brought—they only ever focused on one.

And today? That one was Wang Zhiqiang.

The lackeys? Collateral.

Wang Zhiqiang didn’t hesitate. He wasn’t like the usual punks who strutted around hiding behind their goons, waiting for backup before making a move.

No, he was the kind who threw the first punch himself.

He lunged forward, boots skidding over the loose gravel, arm raised high to strike—

Fast. Too fast.

Fu Kun had barely crouched to grab a rock before Wang Zhiqiang was already in front of him, momentum carrying him forward like a runaway train.

And then—

His foot slipped.

His swinging arm clipped Fu Kun’s shoulder before his balance completely gave out, sending him crashing to the ground.

But even as he fell, his fingers latched onto Fu Kun’s jacket, gripping it with a death grip as he thrashed and kicked, desperately trying to get back on his feet.

Fu Kun had seen a lot of ugly fights, but this? This was something else.

The way Wang Zhiqiang clung to him, yanking and pulling—he looked less like a street fighter and more like a market hag trying to rip clothes off a rival vendor.

Fu Kun shoved at him, stepping backward, making sure he had no leverage to get up.

Sun Wei took his chance. His fists came down hard. One, two, three—each punch landing squarely against Wang Zhiqiang’s face.

Chen Yue, the ever-loyal lackey, saw what was happening and panicked. With zero strategy and even less hesitation, he hurled himself forward, throwing his full weight into Wang Zhiqiang’s back.

The sudden impact was too much.

Fu Kun couldn’t hold his ground. His foot skidded out from under him—and just like that, he was plunging backward into the river.

The water was shallow, barely reaching his calves, but it was freezing.

Ice-cold water rushed into his sleeves and collar, biting at his skin with a sharp, frigid sting.

Wang Zhiqiang may have looked ridiculous a second ago, but he had one advantage—size. He was heavier, and the moment Fu Kun went down, he threw his weight forward, using Fu Kun as support to haul himself upright.

Sun Wei saw the tables turn and immediately lost it.

Without a second thought, he lunged, fully prepared to tackle Wang Zhiqiang into the water—even if it meant going down with him.

But just as he was about to reach him—

A round stone came rolling down from behind.

It bumped against Wang Zhiqiang’s boot at just the right moment.

His stance had already been unsteady, his footing precarious.

The second his heel landed on that stone—he went down.

Hard.

A full-body splat into the river.

Sun Wei’s eyes lit up.

Perfect.

He dived forward.

Chen Yue, too, threw himself into the fray, and in an instant—

Four bodies collided.

Limbs tangled, fists swung wildly, and water splashed in all directions.

Within seconds, it was impossible to tell who was who—just a flailing mass of soaked bodies rolling around in the freezing river, fighting like a pack of stray dogs thrown into a pit.

Fu Yijie crouched at the top of the slope, his small fingers wrapped tightly around a sizable, smooth-edged stone. From his vantage point, he had an unbroken view of Wang Zhiqiang, who was currently dripping wet and furious, hauling himself upright with awkward, sluggish movements. The boy had barely gotten his footing when Fu Yijie, eyes gleaming with quiet mischief, gave the stone a deliberate shove.

It tumbled down the slope, bouncing off jagged rocks, gaining speed as it went. The uneven terrain sent it rolling in unpredictable directions, but luck—or perhaps fate—was on Fu Yijie’s side this time. The stone landed precisely where it needed to, coming to a stop just as Wang Zhiqiang was about to take a step forward.

His foot caught on the rock, his balance wavered for a fraction of a second—and that was all the opportunity Fu Kun needed.

Still soaked from his earlier fall into the river, Fu Kun lunged forward like a coiled spring suddenly released. With one quick, decisive movement, he leapt onto Wang Zhiqiang’s back, locking his arms around his opponent’s shoulders and driving him back down into the freezing water with a loud splash.

For a moment, the riverside erupted into sheer chaos. The fight had lost all sense of structure—it was no longer about winning, just about refusing to lose. They rolled, they struggled, limbs tangling, water splashing everywhere, grunts and curses lost beneath the sharp winter air. Every time one of them managed to scramble upright, another body would come crashing down, sending them all back into the icy depths.

Then, suddenly—the unmistakable trill of a bicycle bell rang out.

Fu Yijie’s head jerked up in alarm.

Not far from the riverbank, two adults had appeared, their postures stiff with authority. They had already dismounted their bicycles, their faces darkened by long hours of labor, sweat still clinging to their collars despite the cold. Without hesitation, they broke into a run, their heavy boots crunching against gravel as they charged toward the scene.

One of them, his voice sharp with irritation, let out a thunderous shout:

“What the hell do you kids think you’re doing?!”