Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Giddy Up!

Morning sun spilled lazily into the courtyard, where Fu Kun stood admiring his brand-new ride—or rather, new to him. He was waiting for Fu Yijie to come down, but in the meantime, he let his gaze linger lovingly on the shiny curves of his freshly acquired bicycle.

To celebrate Fu Kun’s admission into No.1 Middle School, their father had rewarded him with a secondhand Amini mountain bike for 250 yuan. The original plan was to buy a brand-new one, but once the prices started climbing into the high hundreds—some even into the thousands—his mother had flatly refused. In the end, their father compromised and bought a used one. But he didn’t stop there—he meticulously refurbished it himself, down to the smallest chips of missing paint, carefully sanding and repainting until it looked straight out of a showroom.

Fu Kun, despite his vanity, wasn’t someone who craved luxuries beyond his family’s means. All he really wanted was to retire the old feminine Phoenix cruiser his mom used to ride. So this sleek, 18-speed Amini—though secondhand—felt like a dream come true. Shiny as new, powerful underfoot. A glorious upgrade.

Upstairs, Fu Yijie came bounding down the corridor, backpack slung behind him, only to freeze at the sight below.

There, standing under the morning light in a crisp No.1 Middle School uniform, was Fu Kun.

At his request, their mom had taken in the shirt, shortening and tapering it for a better fit. Gone was the baggy, shapeless mess—it now hugged his figure just right. The black slacks, the tie, the nonchalant stance with both hands casually buried in his pockets… it all added up to a look that made Fu Kun seem—

Fu Yijie couldn’t find the right word. Handsome? Dashing? Cool? None of them seemed to do it justice.

“Hurry up! There’s a flag-raising ceremony today!” Fu Kun shouted, spotting him up on the corridor.

Snapping out of his daze, Fu Yijie leapt down the stairs, scampered into the courtyard, and hopped onto the bike’s rear rack. He wrapped his arms tightly around Fu Kun’s waist. “Let’s go!”

“What are you holding on so tight for? You trying to give me heat rash?” Fu Kun pedaled a few strokes. Yeah, this bike was miles better than the rickety old one. Smooth as butter. Shift a gear, give a gentle push—and it flew like the wind.

“Scared of falling,” Fu Yijie replied with a grin. Once they rolled out of the courtyard and into the open street, he loosened his grip, settling for resting just one hand lightly on Fu Kun’s waist.

“When have I ever dropped you?” Fu Kun scoffed, picking up speed. “You go home on your own after school today. We’re out later than you are.”

“Got it.” Fu Yijie nodded, eyes fixed intently on Fu Kun’s back. He stared for a while, then suddenly reached out and lifted the back of Fu Kun’s shirt to peek underneath.

“What the hell are you doing?” Fu Kun’s back prickled as he felt his brother’s breath, warm and inexplicably close.

“Just looking,” Fu Yijie murmured. Something about Fu Kun today felt… different. Maybe it was because he was officially a middle schooler now. Maybe it was the uniform. Or maybe—maybe it was something else he couldn’t name.

“If you want to look, do it at home,” Fu Kun retorted, tugging his shirt back down and giving Fu Yijie’s forehead a flick for good measure. “I’ll strip naked if that’s what it takes to satisfy your curiosity.”

Fu Yijie didn’t say a word.

He’d seen Fu Kun half-naked countless times. The guy practically lived in his underwear at home. Sometimes he even slept stark naked in the summer when it got too hot. It wasn’t anything new.

And yet, for some reason, today—when Fu Kun said that—something stirred in Fu Yijie. A feeling he didn’t recognize. Something unfamiliar and unnameable.

He went quiet for a beat. Then, without warning, he lifted the back of Fu Kun’s shirt again and sank his teeth into his waist.

“AH—!!” Fu Kun let out a yelp that echoed down the street. The bite had come out of nowhere, sharp and sudden. It startled him so badly he nearly swerved into a roadside tree. “Fu Yijie, are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

Fu Yijie didn’t reply. He just wiped his mouth and looked confused—almost dazed.

He didn’t know why he’d done it.

Didn’t know what had possessed him to suddenly want to bite Fu Kun like that.

So he had no idea what to say.

Fu Kun slammed the brakes and brought the bike to a sharp halt, one leg planted firmly on the ground as he twisted around and rubbed at his waist, grimacing. “What the hell was that for?”

“I don’t know,” Fu Yijie answered honestly, head bowed like a kid caught red-handed.

“You already wolfed down four buns and two eggs this morning—are you still hungry or what?” Fu Kun glared at him. “Keep acting nuts and I swear I’ll toss you off this bike, Captain Crazy.”

“Mm.” Fu Yijie kept his gaze down, voice small.

Fu Kun let out a long sigh, more tired than angry, and turned back around. With a grunt, he pushed off again, feet spinning the pedals as the bike rolled forward toward school.

Behind him, Fu Yijie sighed as well. The embarrassment was really starting to sink in. He’d just bitten his own brother. On the street. In public. Like some kind of rabid little animal. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t make sense of himself.

To shake off the awkwardness that clung to him like fog, he suddenly gripped Fu Kun’s shoulders and planted one foot on the back wheel peg, rising up to stand behind him.

“What now?” Fu Kun asked, without turning around.

They were speeding down the street, and the wind whipped around them in fierce little gusts. Fu Kun’s black tie flapped back and smacked Fu Yijie in the face.

“My butt’s sore. Gotta stretch the legs,” Fu Yijie muttered, reaching up and catching the fluttering tie between his fingers. With a playful tug and a flick of the wrist, he called out, “Hyah!”

Fu Kun yanked the brakes hard. The 250-yuan Amini shrieked like a startled cat as the wheels screeched to a stop. Caught off guard, Fu Yijie lost his balance and lurched forward, landing square on his brother’s back in a heap.

“Get off,” Fu Kun said flatly, not even trying to hide his irritation.

Fu Yijie didn’t argue. Without a word, he hopped off the bike and took off running ahead, straight toward Sanxiao Primary, which loomed just up the street. He didn’t even look back.

“Is he possessed or something…?” Fu Kun muttered, straightening his tie with a scowl. Then he lifted his shirt to check the damage. There it was—a perfect red bite mark blooming on his waist, already swelling into a raised circle. “Huh. Kinda round.”

He gave a short snort and dropped his shirt back down.

A lot of students had altered their uniforms. The girls had their shirts taken in at the waist, and their skirts shortened by just a few cheeky centimeters. The boys mostly tapered the legs of their slacks for a sharper fit.

By the time Fu Kun stepped into the classroom, everyone looked noticeably more polished than they had the day the uniforms were first handed out. He took a lazy glance around, noting that the overall visual appeal had definitely leveled up—especially a few girls who caught his eye. Not that he remembered any of their names.

The seating chart had already been arranged. He scanned the labels and located the desk with his name on it. As expected, middle school desks still seated two students. He glanced sideways at the name printed on the other half of the desk.

Chen Li.

The name rang a faint bell. Familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

It wasn’t until a girl plopped into the seat beside him, the legs of her chair scraping noisily against the floor, that it clicked—she was the one who’d asked for his name the other day.

Chen Li had changed into her uniform too. Fu Kun didn’t think she was particularly pretty, but among a group of still-blossoming middle school girls, she definitely… stood out.

Let’s just say—she was noticeably more developed than the rest.

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” Chen Li said with a grin. She reached over and peeled off the name tag taped to his corner of the desk, folding it neatly and tucking it into her drawer like it was some kind of memento.

Fu Kun said nothing. He turned his head and stared out the window instead.

“No need for any silly ‘draw-a-line-down-the-middle’ nonsense,” she continued, pulling out a small cloth and wiping the desk clean with practiced ease. “That’s elementary school stuff. Super childish. You can scoot over a bit—boys are supposed to be bold, right?”

In the row ahead, Gou Sheng and a chubby girl were locked in a heated debate over the precise boundary of their imaginary “no-crossing” line. Both of them clutched rulers like swords, measuring and repositioning with the seriousness of diplomats negotiating a treaty. Compared to that, Chen Li’s attitude suddenly seemed rather mature to Fu Kun. He turned back to her and gave a rare word of acknowledgment.

“Thanks.”

“You look really good in the school uniform,” Chen Li said without missing a beat.

Fu Kun was caught off guard. Her topic shift was so sudden and smooth that his brain stalled for a second, unsure how to respond.

“I think you’re the best-looking one in the whole junior high department,” she added, raising her voice just enough for the surrounding students to hear. “It’s the legs—you’ve got long legs.”

The classroom turned into a fishbowl. Every nearby classmate turned their heads in unison to stare at him. Gou Sheng, sitting right in front, broke into a knowing smirk that practically screamed juicy gossip.

Humiliation surged up Fu Kun’s spine. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to say anything, and so—without a word—he simply stood up and strode out of the classroom.

What the hell is wrong with that girl?

Meanwhile, over at Sanxiao Primary, Fu Yijie found himself unreasonably irritated by the sight of the school uniform. The same watery sky-blue shirt he and Fu Kun used to wear together never used to bother him. He even thought it looked kind of nice once.

But today?

Today he couldn’t stand it.

After the final bell rang, Fu Yijie quietly packed his schoolbag, head lowered. Behind him, Jiang Song kept circling around like a fly in a jar, pacing restlessly in that same suffocating blue that now made Fu Yijie’s skin crawl.

“Can you go do your own thing and stop floating around me like a ghost?” Fu Yijie waved a hand at him, half annoyed, half amused.

“I’m waiting for you,” Jiang Song said, coming to a stop. “I wanna treat you to something.”

Food was Fu Yijie’s one true weakness. Irresistible. Unbeatable. Truth be told, he and Jiang Song got along well enough that even without a snack bribe, he would’ve walked home with him anyway. But if snacks were involved? Then Fu Yijie could force himself to ignore even that obnoxious water-blue uniform.

They took the narrow back street, the one lined with snack vendors. Jiang Song had a craving for cotton candy; Fu Yijie wasn’t picky—anything edible would do.

The street was alive with small, colorful stalls. The air smelled of popped corn and caramelizing sugar. Vendors shouted, spatulas clanged, and plastic bags rustled as Jiang Song made his way down the line, buying a little bit of everything—puffed rice, spun sugar, malt candy, and the sharp, sweet shards of ding ding candy. He drifted stall to stall like a kid in a candy dream, collecting sweets as if stocking up for winter.

“My grandma gave me a bunch of money over the summer. Secretly, so my mom wouldn’t find out,” Jiang Song said proudly, patting the pocket of his shorts like it was a treasure chest. “Let’s come back tomorrow—once it’s all eaten, there’s no evidence.”

Munching and chatting, the two boys wandered toward the quieter end of the street. That stretch was farther from the school, and most of the stalls thinned out there. Which worked out perfectly—they were almost full.

“Thanks,” Fu Yijie said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Why are you thanking me? Don’t be a stranger,” Jiang Song replied, slapping his shoulder with an easy grin.

But on the second pat, his hand suddenly clamped down hard, and his voice dropped to a tense whisper. “Hey… aren’t those guys from Seventh High? Is that… is that Wang Zhiqiang?”

To a Sanxiao student, Seventh High was less a school and more an urban legend—one filled with cigarette smoke, alleyway shakedowns, and older kids who cornered middle schoolers for lunch money. Everyone had heard the stories. Everyone knew to steer clear.

Fu Yijie followed Jiang Song’s gaze.

About ten meters away, lounging by the side of the road, were four or five boys. Some squatted low to the pavement, others leaned back against the wall, but all of them wore Seventh High’s uniform with the cocky disregard of street kings. Cigarettes dangled from their lips. And every single one of them had their eyes locked onto Fu Yijie and Jiang Song.

The boy standing furthest in the back—taller, leaner, with a face like a mean-spirited fox—was unmistakable.

It was Wang Zhiqiang.

Fu Yijie recognized him instantly. Thanks to Fu Kun, that face was burned into his memory.

That said, it had been quite a while since Fu Kun had gotten into a fight with that guy.

Fu Yijie despised Wang Zhiqiang. The guy already had a face that looked like it had been rushed through production—punchable and perpetually annoyed. And now, seeing him decked out in that gaudy white T-shirt from Seventh High, plastered with bright red characters front and back like some kind of reform-through-labor inmate, made him look even worse. The moment that shirt came into view, you didn’t even need to read it—your brain instantly filled in the words: Third Detention Center.

“No idea. Let’s just go,” Fu Yijie muttered, tugging at Jiang Song’s sleeve and trying to steer them across the street to the other side.

But just as they turned, a voice barked from behind.

“Hey, kids!”

Tang Jun flicked his cigarette to the pavement and began striding toward them. Wang Zhiqiang hesitated for a brief second—he hadn’t meant for Tang Jun to actually go after them. He hadn’t realized that one of those two kids was Fu Kun’s younger brother.

Still, after a pause, Wang Zhiqiang chose not to stop him.

Truth be told, it had been over a semester since he’d had any real friction with Fu Kun. Things had been relatively calm.

But ever since Zhang Kexin transferred to Seventh High, something inside him shifted. She had never caught his attention before—but now, he was starting to think she was actually pretty. Different from Xu Jiamei, who was all flash and fuss and who, over time, had simply become annoying.

The problem? Zhang Kexin and Fu Kun were clearly close. Everyone knew it. And she wouldn’t even glance in Wang Zhiqiang’s direction. It’s not like he could just march up to Fu Kun and demand, Hey, give her to me. So, he figured: if he couldn’t go straight at him, maybe he could stir up a little trouble on the side. Maybe send Tang Jun to poke the hornet’s nest.

When it came to gang fights and back-alley brawls, Fu Kun was no match for them. He always acted like a lone wolf—never called for backup. At most, he’d have Sun Wei by his side. If they could win, they fought. If they couldn’t, they ran.

Tang Jun stared at Jiang Song as he approached, having already noticed that during the snacking spree, it was Jiang Song who had been paying the whole time.

“Saw you two having a good time back there,” Tang Jun said, eyes narrowing. “I’m starving too. Why don’t you hand over some cash and treat us to dinner?”

Jiang Song glanced around. Four boys had already encircled them like wolves sizing up their prey. Escape was impossible.

Without a word, he lowered his head, reached into his pocket, and pulled out two yuan, holding it out toward Tang Jun.

Tang Jun didn’t take the money. Instead, he let out a sharp curse.

“The hell is this?”

In one swift movement, the group dragged them into a side alley, pinning them up against the wall like animals at a slaughterhouse. Tang Jun slapped Jiang Song across the face a few times—not hard, more like a warning.

“Don’t make me lose my temper.”

Jiang Song quickly assessed the situation. He had no fighting skills, and Fu Yijie—well, judging by his face, probably even less. If only Fu Kun were here…

Without a word, he reached into his pants pocket and emptied it, holding out everything he had.

“It’s all here.”

Tang Jun grabbed the small wad and flipped through it. About twenty yuan. Not bad.

He patted Jiang Song on the head, mock-gentle. “Now that’s more like it.”

Then he turned to Fu Yijie.

“Your turn.”

Fu Yijie didn’t respond. He stood still as stone, didn’t even raise his head, as if the words hadn’t been addressed to him at all.

“I said your money,” Tang Jun barked, shoving him hard. Fu Yijie stumbled back and slammed into the wall behind him.

“He doesn’t have any!” Jiang Song quickly stepped in front of him, blocking Tang Jun with his arms. “If he did, I wouldn’t have paid for everything just now, would I?”

“Get the hell out of my way!” Tang Jun growled. He grabbed Jiang Song by the strap of his backpack and flung him to the side. Then he seized Fu Yijie by the hair and slammed his head against the wall with a thud.

“I said—hand over the damn money!”

“Don’t hit him!” Jiang Song shouted, panicked now. He scrambled up from the ground and lunged forward to pull Tang Jun away, but before he could get close, Wang Zhiqiang swung an arm and sent him sprawling again.

Fu Yijie frowned, the muscles in his jaw tightening. Slowly, he slipped a hand into his pocket and turned it inside out, letting the lining hang empty. “Go ahead and search me,” he said flatly. “Whatever you can find, you can have.”

Fu Yijie did have money—ten yuan, a sizable amount for a middle schooler. His mom had given it to him just that morning, and he hadn’t touched it yet. In the world of after-school snacks and weekend arcade trips, ten yuan was practically a treasure chest.

But Tang Jun wouldn’t be able to find it. Fu Yijie was meticulous when it came to money—and food. Every coin and bill had its place. That ten yuan note was tucked beneath the false lining at the very bottom of his backpack, hidden under the stiff cardboard base, like a secret stashed in a vault.

It wasn’t about being stingy. He just didn’t want to lose it.

And sure enough, despite digging and yanking and flipping every pocket and zipper, neither Tang Jun nor Wang Zhiqiang managed to uncover a single coin.

Frustrated and fuming, Tang Jun lashed out. With a snap of his wrist, he slapped Fu Yijie across the face—so hard the blow rang out. The skull-shaped ring on his finger caught Fu Yijie’s cheekbone, cutting a thin red gash that burned like fire.

They weren’t done. His books were dumped onto the alley floor, trampled and scuffed beneath their shoes, pages torn and covers smudged, until the bullies finally decided they’d had their fun and sauntered off, slow and smug.

Jiang Song, upon seeing the gash on Fu Yijie’s face and the pitiful mess of books scattered across the ground, was furious. His entire body shook with rage as he bolted forward, ready to chase after them.

But Fu Yijie grabbed his arm and held him back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“They went too far!” Jiang Song’s voice trembled with helpless anger. “Those bastards!”

“Can you beat them?” Fu Yijie asked quietly, crouching down to pick up his books. His voice was flat, as if none of it had happened. As if he were brushing off dust, not blood.

“If Fu Kun were here—”

“He’s not,” Fu Yijie cut in.

Jiang Song watched him, baffled. There was no shouting, no cursing. Just a boy with a stinging cheek, quietly wiping the blood away with a handkerchief.

After a moment, a lightbulb seemed to go off in Jiang Song’s head. He clapped his hands together. “Wait! Let’s go home and tell your brother!”

“If you dare tell my brother,” Fu Yijie said, lifting his gaze just long enough to lock eyes with him, “I’ll never speak to you again.”

Jiang Song froze. “But…”

“It’s fine. Let’s go,” Fu Yijie said, shouldering his half-empty backpack, the spine of a bent textbook jutting out at an odd angle.

This—this absolutely could not reach Fu Kun. If he found out, there was no doubt he’d go straight for Wang Zhiqiang.

And Fu Kun had just started at No.1 High. It was a top-tier school, strict to the core. If he got into a fight… would they expel him?

If they did, everything would be ruined—the tuition their mother scraped together, the nights Fu Kun skipped dinner just to study harder, the weight he’d lost over the past six months just to get in.

All of it… wasted.

Fu Yijie walked home with his head down. As he passed the kitchen on the way to his room, he called out casually, “Mom, I’m back.”

From inside, his mother’s warm voice echoed out, “Ah, baby’s home! Want a soy-braised egg?”

“I’ll do my homework first,” Fu Yijie said quickly, swallowing as the smell wafted past him.

“Aiyo, Yijie is such a hardworking boy,” a neighbor auntie said from the kitchen doorway. “So much more obedient than Kunzi.”

“Oh, of course!” his mom beamed. She was never the modest type when someone complimented her child.

Fu Kun hadn’t come home yet. Fu Yijie dropped his backpack, soaked his handkerchief with water, and stood in front of the mirror.

Carefully, methodically, he wiped away the dried blood from his cheek.

Fortunately, the cut was off to the side—not deep, not long—and it had stopped bleeding.

He stared at his reflection for a moment, then gave the glass a look that was almost unreadable.

Then he turned away, calm as ever.

By the time Fu Kun got home, Fu Yijie was already hunched over his desk, diligently working on his homework.

Now, every time Fu Kun pulled into the courtyard on his bicycle, he made sure to squeeze the brake handle just right—tight and sharp—producing an ear-piercing screech that echoed through the alley like a banshee’s cry.

As always, the moment that familiar “Screeeeeeech—” sliced through the summer air, everyone in the building knew:

Fu Kun was back.

“Yijie!” Fu Kun called out as he stepped into the room, his voice carrying the swagger of a returning hero. He placed a large, brightly wrapped popsicle right in front of his little brother. “Hurry up and eat it. I was racing the clock all the way home so it wouldn’t melt on me…”

Fu Yijie picked up the popsicle and gave it a gentle squeeze. Still frozen solid. He gave it a quick, cautious lick before saying, “Mom said you shouldn’t ride that fast.”

“If I didn’t, you’d be drinking fruit soup right now,” Fu Kun shot back with a grin, stripping off his sweat-drenched shirt and positioning himself in front of the fan like a proud rooster airing out its wings.

As he licked his popsicle, Fu Yijie quietly watched the sweat trickle down his brother’s back. This summer, Fu Kun had gotten a few shades darker under the sun, but the deep tan suited him—like bronze brought to life.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” Fu Kun finally said, still feeling sticky despite the breeze. He ducked into the little room to grab a change of shorts, calling over his shoulder, “You finish your homework yet?”

“Not yet,” Fu Yijie replied, instinctively tilting his head to shield his notebook with his hair and forehead, as if his body could serve as camouflage.

But Fu Kun had already stepped closer. His eyes fell on the desk—and his expression shifted. He reached out and snatched the book right out from under his brother’s arm.

“What the hell happened to your textbook?”

The Chinese textbook had been practically ripped in half—its spine severed cleanly, only a third of the pages still clinging together.

This wasn’t like Fu Yijie at all. He was the kind of kid who could use a book for an entire semester and still make it look brand new.

Something was definitely wrong.

“Tell me what happened,” Fu Kun demanded, voice turning serious. “Who did this to your book?”

“No one. It fell on the ground and I stepped on it by accident,” Fu Yijie mumbled, turning his head away, trying to hide the wounded side of his face in shadow.

But Fu Kun wasn’t buying it. He leaned in, his tone sharp. “Who are you trying to fool? Someone gave you trouble, didn’t they?”

“No.” Fu Yijie turned his head even further, angling the side of his face toward the wall.

“Turn around.” Fu Kun’s fingers clamped firmly around his brother’s chin. “Let me see your face.”

“I’m doing my homework,” Fu Yijie said hastily, slapping his hand away with an edge of frustration.

That did it.

Fu Kun’s gut told him something was off—and now he knew. Without another word, he grabbed Fu Yijie by the shoulders and turned him around with force. And there it was.

The gash.

A red, angry line slashed across his little brother’s cheek. Still raw. Still unmistakably fresh.

“Fuck!” the curse burst from Fu Kun’s mouth before he could stop it. “Who did this to you?!”

“It’s none of your business,” Fu Yijie snapped, the words tumbling out faster than his mind could catch them.

Fu Kun froze.

Did he just hear that right?

His eyebrows drew together, stunned. “What did you just say?”