Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Sleepless

“Yijie?” Zhang Qingkai’s expression shifted the moment he realized who it was standing at the door. He quickly squeezed out a smile, then turned back and asked Xia Fei in a low voice, “You didn’t close the door?”

“Maybe not. I must’ve forgotten,” Xia Fei replied casually, then raised his hand and waved at Fu Yijie with a grin. “Yijie, came over to read again?”

“Mm.” Fu Yijie trotted over to Xia Fei’s side, his voice a little sullen. “My brother went out to play. He didn’t take me.”

“Left you behind again, huh?” Xia Fei chuckled and reached for the copy of Romance of the Three Kingdoms on his bookshelf—the same one Yijie had been slowly working his way through. “Your brother’s all grown up now. Grown-ups don’t bring little kids along anymore.”

Zhang Qingkai stood there awkwardly, glancing at Yijie before turning back to Xia Fei. “I’ll get going then. I didn’t ask for leave today, so…”

“It’s fine.” Xia Fei leaned back casually against the edge of the bed.

“I’ll drop by after work,” Zhang Qingkai said quietly, biting his lower lip almost imperceptibly. He shot one last glance at Fu Yijie, then turned and left without another word.

Fu Yijie lay sprawled across the bed, nose buried in the book. He had already finished reading all the fairy tale books on Xia Fei’s shelf—flipped through them so many times he could practically recite them backwards. Now, he was tackling the heavier stuff, like the Three Kingdoms, but it was slow going. There were always tricky words he didn’t recognize, so he’d half-read, half-guess, and when he couldn’t guess, he’d simply ask Xia Fei.

But today, after flipping through a few pages, he quietly closed the book and turned his head. Propping his chin up with one hand, he stared intently at Xia Fei.

Xia Fei was holding a glass of water, sipping slowly. When he noticed Yijie’s gaze lingering on him without blinking, he raised the glass in front of him and asked, “Thirsty?”

Fu Yijie shook his head.

“What’s up?” Xia Fei put the glass down and lay down beside him, resting on his stomach so they were side by side.

“You and Zhang Qingkai were kissing?” Fu Yijie asked, his voice soft, almost tentative, as if unsure whether he should even be asking.

Xia Fei blinked, stunned for a heartbeat, but then a smile curved the corner of his lips. “Mm,” he admitted without hesitation, as if the secret had already slipped between them the moment the door creaked open. “You caught us.”

“But why?” Yijie frowned, brows knitted tight, confusion and curiosity tangled together on his face. “You’re both boys… Isn’t that weird? Why not get a girlfriend to kiss instead?”

At that, Xia Fei let out a laugh—sharp at first, then rolling into something breathless and uncontrollable. He flopped onto the bed, shoulders shaking, one hand pressed against his stomach as if Yijie’s question had knocked the wind out of him. It took him a while to settle, and when he finally wiped the smile from his face, he reached over and rubbed Yijie’s head, his palm warm and heavy. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“How old?” Yijie propped his chin in his hand, clearly unconvinced.

“How old, huh…” Xia Fei’s voice trailed off as he lifted an arm over his eyes, lying there for a beat like he was measuring something in his head. After a moment, he spoke again, quieter this time. “Maybe when you’ve got someone you really like.”

“Someone I like…” Yijie repeated, lips brushing the words like they were something foreign, something he hadn’t thought too hard about before. His chin nudged against the edge of his book. “Does Fu Kun count?”

Xia Fei huffed a laugh. “Liking your brother isn’t the same thing.”

“Then I don’t,” Yijie said seriously, after a moment’s thought, frowning as if trying to search his mind for anyone else who might fit.

Xia Fei looked at him, his eyes still soft with amusement, and grinned. “You little troublemaker. You’re good-looking, you’re smart—bet there’s no shortage of girls in your class who like you.”

Yijie wrinkled his nose, thinking. “Not that many. Only Lü Xiaoling and Chen Fei said something. They bring me milk in the morning sometimes, but I don’t feel anything. It’s kind of annoying. More people like Fu Kun anyway.”

“Let’s talk about this again when you’re a little older.” Xia Fei chuckled, reaching out to tap his cheek lightly, as if Yijie were still too young to even begin understanding.

Yijie didn’t respond. He ducked his head back toward his book, pretending to read, though the words barely stuck. He didn’t fully understand what Xia Fei meant, but there was one thing he was sure of—he liked Fu Kun. Always had.

For a while, the room settled into quiet. Then Xia Fei, lying beside him, eyes half-closed as if on the verge of sleep, spoke again, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Yijie… can I ask you something?”

Yijie turned his head. “What?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Xia Fei murmured, the words almost dissolving into the space between them. “About me and Zhang Qingkai.”

Yijie nodded without thinking, this request needing no explanation. He understood. At school, even if someone so much as hinted who liked who, it would become gossip, teasing, something that could get you scolded or laughed at. And this… this was even bigger than that. Two boys kissing—that wasn’t something people would forgive so easily. “I won’t tell,” he promised, voice steady.

“Thanks.” Xia Fei smiled faintly.

Truth be told, climbing a mountain in March wasn’t all that exciting. The snow hadn’t fully melted yet, and aside from a few stubborn patches of frost clinging to the shadows, there wasn’t much to see. The trees were still bare, the fresh buds barely daring to poke their heads out. The whole mountain looked half-asleep, caught somewhere between winter’s end and spring’s beginning.

But when you were surrounded by a rowdy group of classmates, hollering and laughing and shoving each other along the trail, it wasn’t so bad. The only thing Fu Kun found remotely exhausting about the whole trip wasn’t the hike itself—it was Zhang Kexin.

She had barely climbed for ten minutes before she started complaining that she was tired. When Fu Kun offered to stop and rest, she shook her head. When he told her they could turn back, she refused. She wouldn’t sit, wouldn’t quit—no, she insisted that Fu Kun pull her along, like some princess who refused to take a step without someone leading the way.

People had been teasing them for a while now, calling her his “wife” since back in the second half of fifth grade. But today… today was the first time Fu Kun had actually, properly held her hand.

Her hand was small—so small—and when she slipped it into his, soft and warm, he felt his heart give a wild, uncontrollable jolt in his chest. To make matters worse, a bunch of their classmates instantly started whooping and jeering at them like a pack of hyenas, egging them on.

Sun Wei pointed straight at him and hollered, “Don’t you dare let go! Letting go means you’re not a man!”

“Get lost!” Fu Kun muttered under his breath, lowering his head to hide the flush creeping up his neck. But he tightened his grip on Zhang Kexin’s hand and kept walking.

Zhang Kexin, on the other hand, was much more at ease. She didn’t laugh out loud like the others; instead, she just smiled quietly, her hand light in his, trailing behind him with a lazy sway like she had all the time in the world.

Fu Kun was strong, and pulling someone up a mountain wasn’t exactly hard for him. The real problem was that Zhang Kexin, the moment she latched onto his hand, suddenly went limp, as if her entire body had forgotten how to walk. It felt like she threw all her weight onto him, forcing him to haul her up one slow, torturous step at a time.

By the time they neared the summit, the initial thudding of his heartbeat had mostly calmed down, and the awkward, fluttery feeling had faded, replaced by a single desperate thought: Let me get her to the top already so I can let go. It was exhausting.

“Hey! We’re here!” Jiang Bin, who had been leading the pack, shouted triumphantly from the front.

That one call sent a surge of energy through the group. All the kids who’d been dragging their feet seconds ago suddenly sprang to life, cheering and scrambling toward the top like a swarm of ants.

Fu Kun used the commotion to quietly release Zhang Kexin’s hand without looking back and bolted toward the pavilion at the summit. He climbed onto the bench by the railing in one leap, faced the vast expanse of mountains rolling beneath him, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Ahhh—I’m your granddaddy, Fu Kun!”

Sun Wei immediately hopped up beside him and roared back, “Ahhh—I’m your gra—”

Before he could finish, Fu Kun swiftly cut him off, voice sharp as a whip: “Exactly! You’re my grandson!”

Sun Wei lunged at him, laughing and cursing, and shoved his ice-cold fingers straight into Fu Kun’s jacket. Fu Kun yelled, half-laughing, half-struggling, and the two of them wrestled like a pair of puppies on the bench.

In the middle of their scuffle, Fu Kun’s gaze accidentally flicked toward the long bench across from them—and in that instant, his whole body stiffened.

Zhang Kexin was sitting there, chin propped lazily on her palm, a soft, knowing smile playing on her lips as she quietly watched him.

That one glance made Fu Kun’s stomach flip. He flinched, heart lurching back into overdrive, and in that moment of distraction, Sun Wei seized the chance—shoved his freezing hand inside Fu Kun’s jacket, gave him a good pinch, and darted away.

“Sun Wei! You’re dead meat!” Fu Kun roared, springing to his feet and charging after him without hesitation.

Normally, if he and Sun Wei messed around like this and Sun Wei ran off, Fu Kun couldn’t be bothered to chase him. But today was different. Today, Zhang Kexin had been watching him the whole time, smiling like she saw right through him, and somehow that made his legs move faster, like he had something to prove.

They tore off into the small forest beside the trail, dodging trees and tripping over roots. When they finally stopped, panting, Sun Wei turned, a wicked grin plastered across his face.

“So?” he asked, voice lowered, conspiratorial. “How did it feel?”

Fu Kun blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Holding hands!” Sun Wei snickered, eyes glinting with mischief. “Was her hand nice to hold?”

“Shit,” Fu Kun couldn’t help but curse under his breath, glancing sidelong at Sun Wei. “Why don’t you try holding her hand yourself and see how it feels.”

Sun Wei grinned wickedly, inching closer like a nosy little devil, nudging Fu Kun’s arm with his elbow. “If only someone would let me! You know no one wants me to touch them. Come on, spill.”

Fu Kun’s ears burned hot, and after a beat, he muttered, “It’s… soft. That’s it. Nothing special. I nearly broke my back dragging her up the mountain.”

“Oh please, you’re complaining now? Some people would kill just to hold a girl’s hand,” Sun Wei clicked his tongue, shaking his head as though Fu Kun didn’t know how good he had it.

“You try it sometime,” Fu Kun shot back, frowning. “She wasn’t helping at all, deadweight the whole way.”

“That’s just how girls are,” Sun Wei replied matter-of-factly, like some worldly expert. “Zhang Kexin’s already better than most. If it were Xu Jiamei, I swear she’d make you carry her all the way up like a princess.”

He tsked again, voice full of mock pity. “But look at Wang Zhiqiang—he puts up with it just fine.”

“Xu Jiamei, huh…” Fu Kun echoed, clicking his tongue in turn.

Wang Zhiqiang was practically a legend among them—after graduating, he’d managed to win Xu Jiamei over. The girls always said it was impressive to have an older boyfriend, especially when that boyfriend pulled up to the school gates every day on a sleek racing bike, waiting like some knight in shining armor. Every time Xu Jiamei walked out of the school, her chin would be raised so high, like she ruled the whole world.

“They’ve definitely…” Sun Wei trailed off dramatically, wearing an expression that screamed he was holding back something juicy.

Fu Kun squinted at him. “What?”

“You know…” Sun Wei waggled his brows meaningfully. “Done it.”

Fu Kun blinked, blank for a second. “Done what?”

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me!” Sun Wei gave him a shove with his foot. “You know what I mean.”

The moment Fu Kun realized what Sun Wei was implying, something fluttered low in his stomach, like a faint scratch of something electric crawling up his spine and bursting across his limbs. He bounced on his feet, restless. “You saw it?”

“Didn’t have to,” Sun Wei replied smugly. “They’re glued to each other every day after school, Wang Zhiqiang’s hand practically glued to her ass. What else do you think’s going on?”

He gave Fu Kun a hard pat on the shoulder. “You’d better step up your game.”

“Why don’t you find someone first?” Fu Kun shot back, rolling his eyes before bolting out of the woods.

By the time they were halfway down the mountain, the afternoon sun had already begun to dip, casting long shadows over the trail. It wasn’t even four o’clock yet, but after all the climbing and fooling around, everyone was ready to call it a day.

As they reached the bottom, Zhang Kexin slid onto the backseat of Fu Kun’s bike and leaned forward, voice soft. “Fu Kun, can you drop me off at home?”

Fu Kun didn’t answer right away. Normally, he wouldn’t even hesitate—he was used to it by now, their houses weren’t in the same direction, but it wasn’t a big deal to make a small detour.

But today…

Today was different.

Old Zhang’s roasted sweet potatoes would be sold out by sundown. He never made too many, always just enough, and when they were gone, he packed up and went home. If Fu Kun rode all the way to Zhang Kexin’s place and then doubled back, there was no way he’d make it in time.

“What’s wrong?” Zhang Kexin tapped gently on his back, voice light.

That tiny nudge made Fu Kun’s mind instantly flash back to how soft her hand had felt in his just now, and he instinctively straightened up, trying to shake off the awkward heat creeping up his neck. “Sun Wei, you send her back.”

“Huh?” Sun Wei froze like he’d just been hit in the face, eyes wide with shock, clearly on the verge of blurting, Are you out of your mind?

“I’ve got something to take care of later—can’t afford to waste time,” Fu Kun slapped the handlebars of his bike casually, then turned his head and tossed Zhang Kexin a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sun Wei’ll see you home.”

“What could you possibly have to do?” Zhang Kexin’s face visibly dimmed, her shoulders stiffening as she remained motionless on the backseat.

“Need to buy something. It’s a bit out of the way.”

“What’s so important that you can’t drop me off first? Can’t you go after?”

“Won’t make it in time,” Fu Kun replied, his voice tightening slightly, as though every extra second they spent talking was slipping through his fingers like sand. He tipped his chin in Sun Wei’s direction, a subtle nudge for her to move over to his bike. “Once I’ve dropped you off, it’ll be too late. I’ll miss it.”

In truth, what gnawed at him wasn’t the distance, but the thought of Fu Yijie waiting at home all afternoon, staring at the door, hoping he’d bring back a little something sweet. If he didn’t return with Old Zhang’s roasted sweet potatoes, he wouldn’t even have the face to walk through that door.

“If you don’t want Sun Wei, then fine—pick someone else. Anyone,” he added, voice clipped.

“I don’t want anyone else. I want you to take me.” Zhang Kexin’s voice sank lower, weighed down by something brittle and sour. After all, this was the same Fu Kun who had held her hand the entire way up the mountain just earlier, yet now he was suddenly brushing her off like she didn’t matter. It stung.

“I told you, I don’t have time.” His patience, already fraying at the edges, was beginning to snap thread by thread.

“So what if you don’t have time?” she muttered, lips pressed tightly together, eyes stubborn.

“Just get off already!” The words shot out of Fu Kun’s mouth sharper than he intended, slicing the air between them.

Zhang Kexin flinched, visibly startled by the sudden bite in his voice. But the shock quickly burned into anger. She jumped off the bike in one swift motion, glaring at him like he’d grown horns. “Fu Kun, are you insane?!”

“Sun Wei’ll take you,” Fu Kun barked over his shoulder without looking back, then stomped hard on the pedals and shot off like an arrow, the wind swallowing up anything else he might’ve said.

When he finally skidded to a stop at Old Zhang’s cart, the old man had exactly three roasted sweet potatoes left, still nestled in the warm coals. Without even thinking, Fu Kun bought them all in one breathless moment, not quite sure why he felt the need to clean out the last of the stock—only knowing that if he left one behind, it’d feel like leaving something unfinished.

He stuffed the warm, fragrant sweet potatoes into the inside of his jacket and pedaled all the way home like the devil was at his heels, the heat of the sweet potatoes pressing against his stomach until it almost burned.

“Yijie!” he hollered the moment he thundered up to the third floor, voice echoing down the stairwell.

Fu Yijie poked his head out of their neighbor Xiaofei’s apartment, face lit up in a wide, toothy grin. “Ge!”

“Didn’t stay home playing video games, huh?” Fu Kun asked, grinning as he fished inside his jacket like he was about to pull out a rabbit from a hat.

“That game card was fake—just like those knockoff consoles you used to have. So I went over to Xiaofei ge’s place to read instead,” Fu Yijie replied, but his eyes never left Fu Kun’s hands, laser-focused.

“Here.” Fu Kun finally pulled out a roasted sweet potato and dangled it in front of him like a magician revealing the prize.

Yijie’s eyes lit up instantly, practically glowing. “Is it from Old Zhang’s?”

“Yeah. The last three he had,” Fu Kun replied, strangely satisfied by how excited his little brother looked. “Bring one over to Xiaofei ge too.”

“Okay!”

Old Zhang’s roasted sweet potatoes really lived up to their reputation—each one hefty and golden, the caramelized skin cracking open to reveal steaming soft flesh inside. Fu Kun and Fu Yijie devoured one each, then collapsed side by side on the living room sofa, hands cradling their full bellies like two overfed cats.

By the time their mom finished preparing dinner, Fu Kun could barely manage to lift his chopsticks. He shoveled down a few absent-minded mouthfuls before pushing the bowl away, earning himself a sharp look from their mother. “I spent all that time cooking, and you take two bites then quit?”

“You’ve still got me and Yijie eating, don’t you?” Their dad chimed in from across the table, chuckling as he swirled his glass. On days when he didn’t have a night shift, he liked to sneak in a drink or two.

Fu Yijie, despite the sweet potato weighing heavy in his stomach, still managed to polish off a full bowl of rice like a champ.

“Give him two more steamed buns and he’ll probably scarf those down too,” Fu Kun laughed, slouching back in his chair. Ever since Yijie was a kid, he’d had an iron stomach—never picky, always hungry, able to eat his way through anything you put in front of him.

“But he still isn’t growing any taller,” their mom remarked, scooping a piece of braised pork rib into Fu Yijie’s bowl with her chopsticks. “Back when Kunzi was in third grade, he was already the tallest in his class. You should eat more.”

“He’s eating plenty as it is,” their dad chimed in, offering his unsolicited wisdom as he poured himself another sip of liquor. “If he keeps going at this rate, he’ll just get fat. What he needs is more bone broth and exercise. You simmer some soup for him every now and then—pork bones aren’t expensive—and have him move around a bit more. He’ll shoot up in no time.”

Bone broth. Exercise.

Fu Yijie chewed in silence, quietly filing those two prescriptions away in the back of his mind like homework he wasn’t sure he wanted to do.

“Dad, let me try,” Fu Kun suddenly leaned over toward their father, eyes squinting mischievously as he sniffed at the liquor in his cup. “Is this that so-called ‘ancestral tomb-raider wine’ Grandpa brought over last time?”

“The very one,” their dad replied with a snort, holding the cup out to him. “Your grandpa swore it was some priceless hooch dug up from the family tomb. Probably thinks the dinosaurs brewed it themselves.”

“There he goes again!” Their mother slapped the table, shaking her head at both of them.

Fu Kun had always been curious about alcohol. When he was younger, their dad used to dip the tip of his chopsticks into his drink and let Kunzi lick it off, laughing at the way his face scrunched up at the taste. Over the years, that curiosity had turned into something more—these days, he could take a sip and tell you if a liquor was worth its weight.

“It’s just one sip, not like I’m letting him down a whole cup,” their dad chuckled, clearly enjoying the little ritual.

Fu Kun took a careful sip, letting the burn spread across his tongue, then chased it with a gulp of soup before giving his verdict. “Tastes about the same as that stuff Mom sneaks home from the distillery—just a bit stronger.”

“See that? He’s learning,” their dad laughed, pleased. “Give him another couple of years and he’ll be drinking at the table with me.”

“There’s no saving him,” their mom muttered, shooting the pair of them a sideways glance full of exasperation. “Fine, let him turn into you. But Yijie, you better not even think about following in their footsteps.”

“Of course not. Yijie’s nothing like his brother—he’s got class,” their dad said, ruffling Yijie’s hair with a grin. “My youngest is destined for big things.”

That night, when it was finally time to sleep, Fu Yijie climbed up to the top bunk as usual. Fu Kun had already shoved his blanket over to leave half the bed empty, like he always did.

Ever since their dad had built that bunk bed, the bottom bunk had become more of a decorative piece than anything else—a showroom model collecting dust. At this point, it’d probably have to wait until the top bunk gave out from exhaustion before it ever got a chance to be used.

“Ge…” Yijie’s voice drifted down as he slung one leg lazily over Fu Kun’s stomach. “Where’d you guys go today?”

“Hiking,” Fu Kun replied, patting Yijie’s leg absentmindedly. “That little hill behind the park—you know, the one we always went to during school field trips.”

“Oh… Was it fun?” Yijie asked, a hint of envy threading through his voice.

“Exhausting.” Fu Kun let out a long, heavy sigh, thinking back to Zhang Kexin’s soft, small hand in his, the way she’d looked at him when she got angry. She probably wouldn’t even bother talking to him for a few days now.

“I can give you a massage,” Yijie offered eagerly, already sitting up.

“Forget it,” Fu Kun snorted, tugging him back down by the collar. “You’re all bones. That little strength of yours wouldn’t even scratch an itch. Go to sleep. And if you’re gonna fart, make sure you stick your butt out first.”

“Mm.”

Yijie made a small sound of agreement, settling back down. But even then, he kept up the little habit he’d had since he was small—fidgeting with the hem of Fu Kun’s shorts, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric between his fingers like a worry stone.

Fu Kun had gotten so used to it over the years that now, on the rare nights when Yijie fell asleep fast and didn’t do it, he’d actually find himself lying there, wide-eyed, struggling to drift off.

But tonight, no matter how long Yijie fidgeted, Fu Kun couldn’t fall asleep.

His mind kept spinning in circles, stuck on the feeling of Zhang Kexin’s hand in his, and on that other image he couldn’t shake—the sight of Wang Zhiqiang’s hand casually resting on Xu Jiamei’s backside.

It seemed like Fu Yijie wasn’t asleep either. His fingers kept moving faintly, rubbing and rolling the hem of Fu Kun’s shorts between them, the motion so light it was almost like a tickle, but persistent—restless.

“Yijie?” Fu Kun called out softly into the dark, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Yeah, ge,” Yijie replied right next to his ear, his breath warm against Fu Kun’s cheek.

“You’re not asleep yet?”

“No. Thinking about stuff.”

Fu Kun chuckled quietly, the sound low in his chest. “Oh? Our little guy’s got thoughts weighing on his mind now? What’s gotten you all tangled up?”

There was a pause, the kind of pause that made the room feel bigger and quieter than it actually was. Then Yijie spoke again, his voice small and hesitant, almost shy.

“Ge… Have you ever kissed anyone?”

The question landed like a spark in the dark. Fu Kun, who’d already been lying there tossing and turning, thoughts looping endlessly around Zhang Kexin and the way she’d walked away, suddenly felt his body heat spike. His skin prickled uncomfortably, his chest tight.

“What?” He blinked at the ceiling, momentarily wondering if he’d heard wrong.

“Kissed someone,” Yijie repeated, even quieter this time.

Fu Kun cleared his throat, pretending to sound casual, but it came out rough. “No. Why’re you asking that?”

“What’s it like… kissing someone?” Yijie asked, almost like he was afraid the question itself might float away if he didn’t whisper it.

Fu Kun shifted, turning his head to look at the dim outline of Yijie beside him. “How the hell would I know? I’ve never kissed anyone. What’s with you tonight? Where’s this coming from?”

Yijie’s fingers never stopped their absentminded fidgeting, rubbing the soft fabric like he was trying to knead the question into it. “Just wondering.”

The silence stretched again, long enough that Fu Kun thought maybe Yijie had finally drifted off.

But then, after a while, Yijie’s voice came again, softer than before, almost buried under the weight of the dark.

“Ge… Why don’t we kiss?”