Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Biting the Tongue

Fu Kun didn’t say a word for a long time. He simply stared at Fu Yijie in disbelief, blinking slowly as if trying to process what he’d just heard. It wasn’t until several moments passed that he finally managed to ask, “What did you just say?”

“I said… let’s try kissing,” Fu Yijie repeated in a hushed voice, almost shyly. It was a thought that had been simmering in his mind all afternoon—growing stronger, more curious, refusing to be ignored.

What did it feel like to kiss someone?

“You’re nuts,” Fu Kun scoffed, giving him a light shove. “Two guys kissing? That’s just disgusting…”

Fu Yijie froze, caught off guard. Disgusting?

He hadn’t really thought about it like that. When he’d seen Xia Fei kissing Zhang Qingkai earlier, he hadn’t felt grossed out—just… confused. Intrigued. Boys can kiss too? That had surprised him, sure, but disgust? Not once had that word crossed his mind.

But now Fu Kun had said it.

And suddenly, that one word—disgusting—curled into his chest like a little ball of heat and shame. He rolled over silently, turning his back to Fu Kun, his fingers instinctively finding the corner of his pillowcase and beginning to rub it gently, thoughtfully. Disgusting? Really?

But then… what about all the times he’d kissed Fu Kun’s face? His forehead? His cheeks? The tip of his nose when he was feeling clingy? Why had Fu Kun never called those disgusting?

When Fu Yijie rolled away, the blanket between them puffed up awkwardly, leaving a small gap of cold air that kept sneaking in. Fu Kun shifted, feeling the chill bite at his side. After waiting a while and seeing no sign of Yijie turning back around, he reluctantly scooted closer.

But Yijie shifted again, sliding away.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna fall off the bed,” Fu Kun grumbled, reaching out to tug at his brother.

Without a word, Fu Yijie sat up abruptly. Before Fu Kun could ask what he was doing, he threw the blanket off and climbed down to the lower bunk.

“Hey…” Fu Kun muttered, baffled. What’s with him now?

In the quiet of the night, the soft sound of Yijie rubbing his pillowcase downstairs was unusually clear. But to Fu Kun, it didn’t sound like his usual restless fidgeting—it had a strange, lonely rhythm to it.

Fu Kun stayed still on the upper bunk for a while, staring at the slats above, then finally sighed and gave the wooden bedframe a light tap.

“Yijie.”

No response from below.

He tapped again. “Come back up.”

“What for?” Yijie asked, voice muffled—he was probably buried in the blankets.

“You said you wanted to kiss, didn’t you? Fine. Let’s kiss then. What’re you throwing a tantrum for?”

There was a pause. Then the bed gave a little creak, and Fu Yijie’s head popped up from the bottom bunk, eyes blinking at him.

“But… didn’t you say it was gross?”

Fu Kun looked at him sideways, then rolled his eyes. “Well, you went all quiet and dramatic, didn’t you? Just one kiss, okay? Then go to sleep.”

“Okay!” Yijie instantly brightened, scrambling back up to the top bunk like a cat, practically launching himself onto Fu Kun and wrapping his arms tightly around him.

They lay there, face-to-face, staring at each other in a weird little silence. Yijie looked like he was trying to gauge the right moment to move. Then he asked earnestly, “So… how do you do it?”

“You’re asking how to kiss when you don’t even know how?” Fu Kun laughed, shaking his head. “Seriously?”

“Well, I’m gonna do it.” Yijie leaned down and, with all the careful seriousness of a child about to press a sticker into a scrapbook, placed his lips on Fu Kun’s.

Fu Kun stopped laughing.

They lay there, lips pressed together—not moving, not breathing, just sort of… existing. After a while, Fu Kun noticed his nose felt damp. Yijie’s breath was warm and tickling, puffing right against him.

But to his surprise, it didn’t feel gross. Not even a little. It felt almost the same as when Yijie kissed his cheek or forehead—maybe a little warmer, a little weirder, but not bad.

Yijie pulled away, looking mildly let down. “That’s it? Doesn’t feel like anything special.”

Fu Kun chuckled for a long time, shaking with laughter. “See? Told you. You don’t get it. Now go to sleep.”

“What do you mean I don’t get it? You do?” Yijie pounced again, wrapping around him like an octopus. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Tell me.”

“That’s not how you kiss someone,” Fu Kun muttered, reluctant at first. If Mom heard this, she’d probably skin him alive for “corrupting” his little brother. But at the same time, there was something satisfying—something powerful—about being the one with all the answers.

So he dropped his voice conspiratorially and leaned in.

“When you kiss someone—like, really kiss—you’re supposed to use your tongue.”

“What?!” Yijie’s eyes flew wide.

That reaction was perfect. Fu Kun felt smug satisfaction bubble in his chest and decided to keep going.

“Haven’t you seen it on TV? When people kiss, they don’t just press their lips together—they hold on tight, and their mouths stick together like glue, twisting and turning all over the place. Ever wondered why that is?”

“Ah…” Fu Yijie furrowed his brows and thought hard. Whenever those kissing scenes came on during TV shows, his mom would either start talking loudly over the dialogue or immediately change the channel. But now that he really thought about it—yeah, it did seem like people were all over each other during those scenes.

“So why do they do that?”

“Because their tongues are tangled together!” Fu Kun replied triumphantly, like he’d just solved a riddle and was waiting for applause.

That image hit Yijie like a brick. His eyes widened further. “They… bite each other’s tongues?” he asked, suddenly grabbing Fu Kun’s arm in alarm. “Doesn’t that hurt?!”

“How would I know?” Fu Kun shrugged, puffing up with self-importance. “I’ve never done it with anyone.”

Yijie tried—really tried—to imagine what it must feel like to have someone else’s tongue in his mouth. The mental picture made his stomach lurch. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Well… maybe it’s not that disgusting,” Fu Kun muttered, suddenly unsure of his stance.

“But you just said it was.”

“I said two guys doing it was disgusting,” Fu Kun corrected, tapping his own lips thoughtfully. “But what we did just now wasn’t that bad. Actually… it was fine.”

“So it’s only not disgusting if it’s with a girl?” Yijie frowned. The whole idea still seemed weird to him.

“I guess?”

“You want to bite tongues with a girl?”

“Can we please just go to sleep?” Fu Kun groaned, shutting his eyes tight and pulling Yijie’s hand toward his waistband. “Hurry up and rub, then sleep.”

Yijie complied, rubbing gently, but his mind was still whirring. “Do you want to bite tongues with Zhang Kexin?”

“Fu Yijie!” Fu Kun hissed through clenched teeth. “Will you shut up already?!”

“Oh.” Yijie quieted down and focused on rubbing.

It didn’t take long for him to drift off. His breath evened out quickly, the weight of sleep tugging him under. Fu Kun, on the other hand, tossed and turned for what felt like forever before finally dozing off—and even then, his dreams were all over the place.

It started okay. He dreamt of Zhang Kexin’s hand in his, dreamt of her tugging him along the street to buy roasted sweet potatoes, the scent wafting under his nose like comfort and winter warmth.

But then, just as he was about to enjoy it—bam—the dream shifted.

Suddenly, at the sweet potato stall, out popped Wang Zhiqiang, his face twisted into something grotesque and eager. He lunged for Fu Kun’s hand with the same hungry look one might give to prey. Fu Kun recoiled instantly—disgusted and terrified all at once—and took off running down the street.

But before he could escape, Zhang Kexin suddenly appeared up ahead. Only now, she had a tongue two feet long dangling from her mouth, flopping around like a cursed eel. She chased after him, yelling, “Come on! Just one bite! Let’s bite tongues!”

He shrieked and veered in another direction, heart hammering in panic, but Zhang Kexin wouldn’t let up. She sprinted after him with her tongue wagging and her voice ringing out in a sing-song chant:

Golden carriage, clap-clap-clap!

Fang Jinhua, flap-flap-flap!

The morning arrived like an ambush.

A pillow landed squarely on his face, jolting him awake. He blinked up at the wooden cabinet overhead, completely disoriented, heart still galloping from the dream.

“Ugh…” He groped around for his alarm clock, squinting at it through sleep-crusted eyes. It was only 5:30. Still an entire hour before their official wake-up time.

He groaned, loud and miserable. “What was that for?”

“Get up! Go for a run,” his mother ordered from the side of the bunk bed, already tugging at his arm like it was part of her morning chore list.

“Run… run?” Fu Kun mumbled, still in a fog. She’d half-dragged him out of bed before he even realized something was off. “Where’s Yijie?”

“I said get up!” she snapped. “Yijie already left for his run. You need to go too. I’ve got breakfast to make and no time to babysit him.”

She smacked his bare back a few times for good measure before stomping off toward the kitchen, leaving Fu Kun half-hanging off the bed in a daze, still haunted by dream tongues and sing-song nightmares.

“He’s out running? Him? Running?” Fu Kun froze, unwilling to move a muscle—but since it involved his dear classmate Fu Yijie, he had no choice. He pulled on some clothes and jumped out of bed with a grumble.

“I guess it’s because your dad mentioned yesterday that running helps you grow taller. That kid must’ve taken it to heart and dashed out the door first thing this morning. He hasn’t been gone long—go catch up with him,” his mom urged from the side. “He took Didi with him.”

Fu Kun rushed through his morning routine at lightning speed, threw on a tracksuit, and bolted out the door.

It was a bitterly cold March morning. The kind of cold that bites at your skin and makes your breath fog up in clouds. The moment he stepped outside, Fu Kun couldn’t help but jump around a few times to shake off the chill.

He hadn’t expected Fu Yijie to take growing taller so seriously. Honestly, he’d assumed the kid only had kissing on the brain lately.

Yijie had always been a full two heads shorter than him. When he first came to their home, he barely reached Fu Kun’s chest—and even now, there wasn’t much of a difference. Same height-challenged, wide-eyed little guy.

Fu Kun had never paid much attention to it. To him, Yijie was still that adorable, round-faced kid who looked more like a porcelain doll than a boy. In fact, Fu Kun had occasionally found himself comparing Yijie to the girls in his class—and nine times out of ten, thought the girls didn’t hold a candle to him.

Height? Never crossed his mind.

But now, just because their dad had offhandedly said a few words about running helping you grow, Yijie had hauled himself out of bed at the crack of dawn and gone jogging? Fu Kun sighed dramatically, drawing it out as he ran, “Aiiiii——ya…”

He didn’t need to think twice about which direction to go. Fu Yijie had a very fixed habit: every time he stepped out the door, he’d take a right—never mind where he’d come in from. It was like an unbreakable ritual.

So Fu Kun followed the road to the right and jogged along, breath puffing in the cold. After about ten minutes, he finally spotted a familiar figure ahead—wearing a blue tracksuit, jogging steadily down the sidewalk with a bouncy little yellow dog trotting beside him.

Yijie was running with surprising seriousness, focused and unwavering.

Fu Kun didn’t call out immediately. Instead, he slowed down and just watched from a short distance behind.

He rarely had the chance—or took the time—to observe Yijie like this. And now that he really looked, he suddenly noticed: the kid had grown up. He was no longer the tiny ball of cuteness he used to be. Still short, yes, but leaner, more proportioned, no longer round-faced or babyish. The lines of his body had stretched out, like a sapling slowly learning how to stand tall.

After watching quietly for a while, Fu Kun called out, “Yijie!”

Yijie faltered mid-step, then whipped his head around. When he saw who it was, his whole face lit up. “Ge!” he cried out joyfully.

Didi spun around, tail wagging furiously, barking with excitement as he bolted toward Fu Kun.

Fu Kun yelped and stumbled back a few steps, flailing his arms. “Stop! Stop! Stay there!” he shouted, pointing at the charging fluffball.

Didi obeyed immediately and skidded to a halt.

Laughing and bouncing, Fu Yijie ran over, the morning sun catching the wind in his hair as he barreled into Fu Kun’s open arms.

“You run fast,” Fu Kun said, stretching his arms out to catch him. As Yijie flung himself forward with that wide, beaming grin, Fu Kun realized something else—his face wasn’t as round anymore. His features had opened up, his expression more refined.

“When did you get here?” Yijie asked, his voice crisp and energetic, like a freshly popped bubble.

“Afraid you’d get lost,” Fu Kun said, tousling his hair. “Come on, I’ll run with you.”

“I know the way! I run from home to the market and loop back,” Yijie replied, starting into a light jog again. He was already a bit out of breath from excitement, and now he was panting harder.

“Slow down,” Fu Kun said, matching his pace. “Why’re you even running? You didn’t say a word about this yesterday.”

“I want to be as tall as you,” Yijie said, his tone solemn—like he was stating his life’s mission.

That phrase—I want to be like you—was one Fu Kun had heard a million times over the years.

He wanted the same clothes as his brother, the same pants, the same backpack, the same pens, the same book covers, the same cup, the same toothbrush, the same towel… Now, he even wanted to match his height.

“Then take your time. I’ll slow down my growing so you can catch up,” Fu Kun said with a grin, turning around to jog backward as he spoke.

Unlike Fu Yijie, Fu Kun had always been the wild one—climbing trees, diving into rivers, running around till the sun went down. His body was used to roughhousing and constant movement. Yijie, on the other hand, had always been more of a sit-still-and-study kind of kid. He wasn’t into sports or running around, but he had one trait that was rock solid: once he made up his mind to do something, no matter how trivial—like jogging—he would pour his entire heart into it. He wouldn’t stop until he got it right.

Take this whole “growing taller” thing. From the very first day he’d decided to start running, he hadn’t missed a single morning. Rain or shine, storm or snow, he’d throw on his shoes, leash up Didi, and head out.

A few months in, Fu Kun started to feel like even Didi was starting to look more elegant—slimmer, longer-legged. He wasn’t sure if the dog had grown longer from all the running, or just lost some puppy fat.

As for Yijie… had he actually grown taller?

Fu Kun wasn’t so sure.

He couldn’t really tell.

Fu YiJie didn’t rely on just running to help him grow taller—he added basketball to his daily regimen, too. Zhang Qingkai, who had once been on the school’s basketball team, taught him a few basic moves and footwork. That was all it took. Every afternoon after school, Fuyi Jie would clutch his basketball and head off to the court near the bus company, practicing diligently beneath the open sky.

Fukun liked basketball as well. But with the entrance exams for middle school looming over him like a thundercloud, his workload had piled up to the point where it felt like he was suffocating under its weight. He had even given up running with Fuyi Jie—something that once brought him a sense of camaraderie—because every morning when he opened his eyes, all he felt was dread.

Teachers demanded that students arrive by 6:30 a.m. to copy problems from the blackboard. By the time Fukun stumbled into the classroom, half-asleep and barely functioning, the board would already be crammed with tightly packed lines of questions. Just transcribing them all took an eternity, and even then, he had to move fast. The teacher was merciless with the timer—once she felt they’d had enough time, she’d erase everything and begin writing a new batch.

Fukun often thought that if he really did have hooves like a horse, they’d have been ground down to stumps by now.

Morning exercises, break-time activities—any chance to stretch his legs or breathe fresh air had been ruthlessly cut. The only thing that remained was the eye relaxation routine, which was technically optional. But the blackboard didn’t pause for anyone’s eyeballs, and by the time he finished a round of soothing eye rotations, half the notes might have vanished already.

By district zoning, Fukun was supposed to attend No. 7 Middle School. But after long discussions between his mom and Teacher Yang, it was decided that Fukun would apply for admission to the more prestigious No. 1 Middle School. Teacher Yang’s reasoning was that Fukun was clever, and a better environment would bring out his potential. His mother, on the other hand, had a more practical argument: No. 1 Middle’s internal high school entrance scores were significantly lower for its own students compared to those from other schools.

To his mom, the choice was clear—if not No. 1, then only No. 7 remained, and in her blunt words, that school was “a training ground for future hooligans.” She believed that someone like Fukun, who lacked strong willpower and moral fortitude, would enter No. 7 a normal child and leave it as a menace to society.

Fukun didn’t really care—he figured he’d turn out the same no matter where he went, so why spend extra money just to torture himself for better grades? But in the end, he still gritted his teeth and slogged through the grind, not just because he couldn’t out-argue his mother, but for two very simple, deeply personal reasons: First, Wang Zhiqiang—the one person he couldn’t stand—was going to No. 7. And second, the No. 1 Middle School uniform was cool.

The boys wore crisp Mandarin-collared blazers, and the girls had sleek black skirts that only reached mid-thigh. The whole ensemble had once caused a stir across the city, hailed as fashion-forward amidst the sea of baggy, monk-like tracksuits in every imaginable white-blue-gray combination. Compared to those shapeless, color-coded nightmares, the No. 1 uniform was practically revolutionary.

But earning the right to wear that blazer felt like crawling through hell.

Sun Wei, his closest friend, had chosen to go to No. 7. That meant he wouldn’t be fighting alongside Fukun through the academic battlefield. Sun Wei had said, “Whatever, No. 7 it is. Doesn’t matter. We’ll still be bros.” That sentiment, though heartfelt, left Fukun strangely hollow, like he was the only one left clinging to dreams of tailored uniforms while the rest of the world moved on.

So there he was—waking up at dawn, copying endless questions under the flickering lights, enduring day after day of academic torment for nothing more than a uniform and some vague sense of dignity.

His only comfort came in fleeting, golden moments. Every now and then, when the dismissal bell rang for other grades—grades that still had recess and breathing room—he would lift his head, glance out the window, and spot Fuyi Jie grinning at him from the next building over, chin resting on the windowsill.

Fuyi Jie didn’t cry as easily as he used to. He’d grown out of the phase where he could summon tears like turning on a tap. That said, if the situation called for it, he could still conjure up a glassy-eyed shimmer with terrifying speed, the kind that made people’s hearts melt into puddles. But these days, he laughed more than he cried. His large eyes would arch into bright crescents every time he smiled, and when Fukun saw that smile, the pressure on his chest eased—just a little.

And if nothing else, Fukun took pride in the fact that, for once in his life, he was the “good example.” For years, teachers had praised Fuyi Jie while criticizing him. But now, buried in textbooks and scrawling through blackboards like a man possessed, he had finally started carving out a rare, fleeting image of himself as the responsible older brother. That wasn’t easy—and it meant something.

After one whole semester of this academic purgatory—of nightmares where teachers waved shovels and forced them to copy problems into the dirt, endlessly, hopelessly, until their souls bled—the ordeal finally came to an end.

When Fukun’s mother received the official admission letter from No. 1 Middle School, she was so overwhelmed with excitement that she practically shook Teacher Yang’s hand off, pumping it up and down like a piston, and then turned around to deliver a flurry of celebratory slaps to Fukun’s back—no fewer than ten in a row.

“My good son! My wonderful, wonderful son!” she crowed.

“Ugh…” Fukun choked on his own breath from the barrage, coughing between thumps. He was happy too, though for him, the joy came more from a profound sense of liberation than triumph.

By the time they reached home and were just about to climb the stairs, a voice called down from above—it was Xia Fei.

“Aunt Xiao?”

“Yes!” his mother answered brightly, voice practically skipping with joy.

“No. 1?” Xia Fei asked, already guessing.

“No. 1! Haha! No. 1 Middle School!” she declared triumphantly, her laughter booming like an opera singer belting out a victorious aria.

Xia Fei grinned and gave Fukun a thumbs-up. Fukun rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. The way his mom was carrying on, you’d think he’d just been admitted to Tsinghua or Peking University. And sure enough, it didn’t take long for the news to spread like wildfire throughout the entire apartment block—the mischievous, good-for-nothing Fukun had made it into No. 1 Middle.

Honestly, Fukun didn’t love the way his mom was acting—it felt a little ridiculous to him. But then again, thinking back on all the years when not a single teacher ever had anything nice to say about him, when every parent-teacher meeting ended with his mom hanging her head as she got scolded like a student herself—this was her first real moment of pride. So he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that his main motivation for getting into No. 1 had nothing to do with academic ambition, and everything to do with that sleek uniform and making sure her hard-earned money wasn’t wasted.

“Son,” his father said that evening at dinner, setting a small cup of liquor in front of him. His expression was unusually solemn as he picked up his own cup and looked across the table.

The seriousness in his face startled Fukun a little. He glanced nervously at his mother, then at Fuyi Jie, who was resting his chin on his hands, smiling sweetly at him. Tentatively, Fukun picked up the cup. “Huh?”

“I know,” his father began, “you’re not really cut out for school.”

Fukun blinked, stunned. It was a fair assessment—he’d always known it deep down—but hearing it now, at this moment of celebration, felt like someone dropping a cold rag on his head. Still, he muttered something vague: “You’re… wise as always.”

“No. 1 isn’t the best school out there,” his father continued. “But for you? It’s a miracle. I know you only worked this hard because you didn’t want to let your mother down.”

Fukun didn’t know how to respond. He sat there silently, watching his father as the man sighed and went on.

“But don’t carry that weight on your shoulders. Ever since you were little, we never put much pressure on you. We just wanted you to be happy…”

“Comrade Fu Jianguo, can you get to the point already?” his mother interrupted, unable to bear his meandering tone any longer.

“I am getting to the point,” his father said, mildly annoyed. “I’m saying—don’t be too hard on yourself. We’re not going to pressure you. Forget about the school fee—we’ll handle it. If you can study, study. If you can’t… well, look at yourself. You’ve lost so much weight these past months…”

And finally, Fukun understood. He didn’t know how much weight he’d shed—he hadn’t had the time or energy to even look in a mirror lately—but he heard it, clearly, in his father’s voice: his father felt sorry for him.

He reached forward and clinked his cup against his dad’s. “Got it. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve never been the type to torture myself over this stuff.”

“That’s right,” his mother said with a laugh. “And don’t go thinking we pushed you into No. 1 either. Maybe there’s some little girl you like who’ll be there too, hmm?”

She clapped her hands cheerfully. “Alright, let’s eat!”

His father threw back the shot in one swift tilt of the head, the liquor disappearing with the ease of habit.

Seizing the moment while his mother was distracted, Fukun mimicked the motion, tipping his own cup skyward and downing the alcohol in a single, reckless gulp.

That single drink gave his mother something to fuss over for the rest of the night. It was the first time Fukun had ever had a drink so ceremoniously, and he couldn’t quite tell whether the warmth blooming in his chest was from the alcohol or the strange sense of joy pulsing quietly through him. Either way, he spent the next hour draped across the sofa like a contented cat, chuckling foolishly at the television without really watching it.

Fuyi Jie sat on the floor, leaning against Fukun’s leg, arms wrapped around their little dog, Diu Diu, and laughed along with him for no reason at all.

Then, just past eight o’clock, a sudden knock sounded at the door.

His mother went to answer it and found Sun Wei standing there with a silly grin plastered across his face like he’d just wandered out of a dream.

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “What is it with today? Did the whole neighborhood drink dumb juice or something?”

“Good evening, Auntie,” Sun Wei greeted with a cheerful lilt, half-stepping into the doorway. “Fukun, come out here for a sec.”

“What for?” Fukun called back, too lazy to move. “Just come in.”

“No, you come out. Quick.” Sun Wei glanced around like a petty thief about to commit a minor crime, then turned and scampered off down the corridor without another word.

With a grunt, Fukun reluctantly peeled himself off the sofa and trudged out the door, his limbs heavy and loose with leftover laughter.

Sun Wei was waiting behind the building. As soon as Fukun stepped into the shadowy alleyway, Sun Wei slapped him on the back—hard. “Congrats on getting into No. 1, man!”

Before Fukun could respond, Sun Wei reached under his shirt and pulled out a battered book, shoving it into his hands like it was contraband.

“What’s this? A book?” Fukun eyed it with immediate disinterest. Reading had never been his thing, and lately, even looking at text gave him a headache. The book looked like it had been dragged through a war zone—torn, grimy, and held together by the stubborn will of forgotten glue. “Give it to Yijie if you’re so desperate to share. He’s the one who reads all the time.”

“No! Absolutely not!” Sun Wei panicked the moment he heard that, waving his hands like Fukun had just threatened to detonate a bomb. “Whatever you do, don’t let him see it! I’m serious!”

Fukun frowned, eyebrows pinching together as he flipped the book open, more out of suspicion than curiosity. Under the glow of the streetlamp, the first line of text jumped out at him with such force that his breath caught mid-inhale. Without a word, he snapped the book shut and shoved it under his shirt like he was smuggling a weapon.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Where the hell did you get this?”