Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 2

“Fu Yijie?”

“Fu?”

A new name?

His name had always been something fragile, something that could be given, taken, reshaped. Now, all of a sudden, it had a family name attached to it—their family name.

Yijie stared at the outstretched hand in front of him, fingers slightly curled, palm open in quiet expectation. He hesitated. He didn’t move.

But Fu Kun didn’t pull his hand back. He just stood there, arm extended, as if waiting was the most natural thing in the world. Only after a long moment of silence did he finally speak:

“Come on, hurry up. Aren’t you hungry?”

Yijie bit his lip. The warmth of his fingers curled against his own palm, as if uncertain as to what to do. Then, instead of reaching out, he shoved both hands deep into his pockets and stayed put.

He had seen hands like this before—outstretched, inviting, full of promises. Every time, he had reached out with his heart full of hope, every time those hands had let go.

He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“Come on, why are you so stubborn?” Fu Kun huffed, his grand ambitions of being a patient, responsible older brother already starting to fray at the edges. This little brother of his was just too uncooperative!

Losing what little patience he had left, Fu Kun strode over and grabbed Yijie’s wrist, yanking his hand straight out of his pocket. “You’re making dough with me. And don’t you dare start crying—if you do, I’ll slap a handful of flour on your face.”

Fu Kun’s grip was firm, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, almost too tight—enough that Yijie felt the pressure sink into his bones. But he didn’t pull away.

That hand—though rough and a little forceful—was warm, solid and steady.

It had been a long time since Fu Yijie had felt warmth like this.

“What, is that backpack glued to your stomach?” Fu Kun raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the way Yijie was clutching his bag like a lifeline. “Just toss it on the couch already.”

Yijie hesitated for a second before finally loosening his grip, placing the bag carefully on the sofa.

“Are you feeling cold?” Fu Kun asked next, giving him a quick once-over.

Yijie shook his head.

“Then why keep the hat on?” Fu Kun tried again, eyeing the oversized woolen thing practically swallowing his head.

Yijie blinked, then gave a small nod. Before he could react, Fu Kun had already grabbed the fuzzy pompom on top and tugged the hat right off. Then, without missing a beat, he took Yijie’s hand and started leading him through the hallway toward the kitchen.

“Do you like dumplings?”

“No.” Yijie’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Fu Kun turned his head, eyebrows shooting up. “Huh?”

Yijie swallowed. “I do.”

Fu Kun squinted at him, suspicious. “…Are you sure?”

Yijie gave the tiniest nod.

Fu Kun smirked. “Good. ‘Cause you’re making ‘em with me.”

“Wow, that was fast. Guess dumplings are the only thing you don’t like now, huh?” Fu Kun chuckled, clearly amused. “But don’t worry—my mom’s dumplings have always been legendary. One bite, and you’ll be hooked.”

The kitchen was buzzing with activity, the air thick with the scent of sizzling oil and freshly chopped vegetables. His mom had already dumped a pile of flour into the mixing bowl, ready to be kneaded into dough. When she spotted the two of them lingering in the doorway, she pointed at the bowl without looking up.

“Take it to the other room.”

“Oh ho! Even with one arm out of commission, you’re still making him do the kneading?” Grandma Yu, who was busy stir-frying, chimed in with a laugh.

“Boys aren’t that delicate. He can take his time with it,” Fu Kun’s mom replied, her knife rhythmically thudding against the cutting board as she minced the meat. “Besides, it’s his own fault for being dumb enough to break his arm jumping a wall.”

“Goodness gracious.What a caring mother you are,” Grandma Yu tsk-tsked, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Fu Kun let go of Yijie’s hand, grabbed the mixing bowl, and turned to leave.

But he had barely taken two steps when he felt a sudden tug on his sweater.

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder—only to see Yijie gripping the fabric with a white-knuckled fist, his head bowed, eyes locked onto the floor like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

Fu Kun blinked.

This kid… looked like a cornered rabbit.

For a second, he considered shifting the bowl to his splinted right arm so he could reach out with his left, maybe give Yijie’s hand a reassuring squeeze. But after a few failed attempts, he realized his broken arm wasn’t up for the task. So instead, he just kept walking, speaking over his shoulder as casually as he could:

“Just follow me. You’ll be fine.”

Somewhere behind them, a voice piped up:

“Hey, Kunzi, who’s that kid?”

“My little brother.” Fu Kun answered without hesitation, his voice booming with pride, like he’d just declared himself the ruler of an empire. My little brother! How freaking cool was that?!

But a second later, doubt crept in.

So what if he had a little brother? Is it that big of a deal? Every other family in this building had kids stacked like dumplings—brothers, sisters, cousins, the whole lot. It wasn’t that special.

His excitement deflated like a punctured balloon. With a sigh, he adjusted his grip on the mixing bowl and trudged out of the kitchen.

As he passed Aunt Xu’s doorway, someone suddenly stepped out. Fu Kun, lost in thought, barely had time to react—he nearly rammed his entire head into the person’s chest.

“What, you driving a tank now?” The guy laughed, steadying Fu Kun with a firm hand on his head.

Fu Kun looked up, instantly breaking into a grin. “Xiaofei-ge!”

The one who had nearly suffered a headbutt was Xia Fei, Aunt Xu’s son. He had finished high school a while back but never left home—his health was terrible, like he spent his days marinating in herbal medicine. Every time Fu Kun passed by, the bitter scent of medicinal decoctions clung to the air, thick and inescapable.

But unlike most people who were sick all the time—mopey, miserable, faces permanently overcast like a storm brewing—Xia Fei was always smiling. Always. Like the world could fall apart around him, and he’d still crack a joke about it.

“Kneading dough, huh?” Xia Fei raised an eyebrow, lifting a glass filled with murky brown liquid. The scent of herbs drifted between them, pungent and unmistakable.

“Yeah. You drinking that stuff again?” Fu Kun wrinkled his nose at the smell. Just one whiff made his tongue curl in phantom bitterness.

“Want a sip?” Xia Fei waggled the glass in front of Fu Kun’s face, the dark liquid swirling ominously. “Let me enlighten you if u are not aware of what it is. Its Miracle cure. One gulp, and you’ll be reborn.”

“Absolutely not.” Fu Kun recoiled like a cat dunked in water, shaking his head so hard it nearly rattled loose.

“Come on in, I’ll help you knead the dough. With that busted arm of yours, you’ll be at it till sunrise.” Xia Fei grinned, beckoning him inside with an easy wave.

“No, really, I got it—”

“I said get in here.” Xia Fei snatched the bowl straight out of Fu Kun’s hands and strolled into the room, calling out as he went, “Zhang Qingkai, get your ass over here! You’re kneading!”

The second that name rang out, Fu Kun hesitated no more.

Zhang Qingkai—Xia Fei’s old classmate, practically a piece of furniture in this house. Out of seven days a week, he spent at least five parked here like he paid rent. If he was handling the dough, then problem solved.

“Zhang Qingkai’s kneading for me!” Fu Kun echoed triumphantly.

But just as he took his first step forward, something yanked him back.

Something latched onto his hand.

Fu Kun turned his head and found a small, pale grip wrapped around his fingers. Only then did he remember—he had a little tag-along.

He had almost forgotten.

If Yijie hadn’t grabbed him, he would have forgotten.

Man, this whole big brother thing was gonna take some getting used to.

Fu Kun sighed, shaking his head again. Every time he came up to Aunt Xu’s place, his mom would hammer it into his brain—Don’t mess around with your Xiaofei-ge. He’s not like you, his body isn’t strong.

If she ever found out that he made Xia Fei knead dough of all things, he’d be getting an earful for the next month.

Fu Kun sighed, then shifted his grip, taking hold of Yijie’s hand properly this time, fingers curling around the smaller ones. He gave it a firm squeeze, then pulled him along into the room.

“Whose kid is that?” Zhang Qingkai asked, shaking water from his hands before setting the bowl down on the table, already sinking his fingers into the dough.

“My little brother!” Fu Kun announced, chest puffed out, his voice bursting with pride. Gone was the indifference from earlier—now, having a brother was the coolest thing ever. He turned to Yijie with a big grin. “Come on, Yijie, say hi to your ge.”

Yijie peeked up at the two older boys, eyes darting between Xia Fei and Zhang Qingkai—then immediately looked down again, lips pressed tight, and shoulders hunched.

“Yijie?” Xia Fei chuckled.

“Full name’s Fu Yijie. ‘Yijie’ rolls off the tongue better.” Fu Kun explained, then sighed internally. Man, if this kid stayed this quiet forever, life was gonna be real dull.

By the time their mother started wrapping dumplings, Fu Kun dragged Yijie over to the table and plopped him down on the bench beside him.

“Know how to wrap dumplings? It’s fun, I’ll teach you.”

Yijie’s gaze locked onto the bowl of dumpling filling. His throat bobbed. He swallowed hard—then nodded.

“Watch closely!” Fu Kun perked up, suddenly full of energy. It wasn’t every day he got to teach someone something. Usually, the only lessons he gave involved throwing punches or making a quick getaway.

This, at least, was something new.

“Wash your hands first,” Mom smacked his reaching hand away without even looking up. Then her gaze landed on Fu Yijie. “Yijie, aren’t you hot? It’s warm in here. Let’s take off your coat, okay?”

Yijie hesitated for a moment before giving a small nod.

“Help your brother take off his coat. My hands are covered in oil,” Mom ordered, fingers moving deftly as she wrapped dumplings with practiced speed.

Fu Kun reached out automatically—but before he could even touch the thick cotton fabric, Yijie dodged. He dipped his head and started unbuttoning the coat himself, small fingers fumbling slightly but determined.

As soon as the coat came off, Fu Kun’s eyes landed on the threadbare sweater underneath.

It was old. Faded at places. The kind of thing cobbled together from whatever scraps were lying around—heck, it was scraps. He could tell from the uneven stitching and the rough patches that this thing had been stitched together from repurposed labor gloves.

Fu Kun felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

It wasn’t like he was swimming in riches himself. The sweater on his own back had once belonged to his dad—until Mom unraveled it, reknitted it, and made it his. But at least it was thick. At least it was warm.

No wonder Yijie had been clinging to his coat like a lifeline.

“Kunzi,” Mom’s voice broke through his thoughts, still focused on her dumplings. “Inside the bedroom, in the cabinet where your dad and I keep our clothes, there’s a new sweater for Yijie. Go grab it for him—he’ll freeze in that thing.”

Fu Kun blinked. “New sweater?”

That was news to him. He never got new clothes unless it was a birthday or New Year’s.

“When did you buy that? How come I didn’t know?”

Mom snorted. “What’s the use of you knowing? It’s not for you. Now hurry up and get it.”

Fu Kun rummaged through the big bag he had pulled out of the cabinet. It was stuffed with little sweaters and tiny cotton-padded jackets, all neatly folded. He grabbed a yellow sweater and held it up against himself, squinting at it.

“Huh. Guess it really ain’t mine,” he muttered under his breath.

By the time Fu Yijie had changed into the sweater, Fu Kun finally got a good look at him without all those layers. The soft yellow knit made his skin look even paler, almost porcelain-like. But what stood out more was how thin he was. Wrapped up in that thick winter coat, he hadn’t seemed that scrawny. Now? He looked like a gust of wind could knock him over.

Fu Kun frowned but didn’t say anything. Instead, he grabbed the kettle from the stove, carried it over, and started pouring steaming water into the washbasin. “Yijie, where’s all your meat, huh?” he mused aloud. “Your face is round as a bun, but take off the coat and you’re all bones. Did you glue all your meat to your cheeks or something?”

Fu Yijie stepped forward and dipped his hands into the basin, focusing on washing up like it was the most important task in the world. He didn’t react to Fu Kun’s teasing—just scrubbed away in silence.

Fu Kun crouched beside him, watching his hands with growing curiosity.

Soft. Plump. His hands were just like his face—round and a little chubby. The first time Fu Kun held them, he had noticed how warm and squishy they felt. Now, up close, he couldn’t resist the urge to poke them again. He reached out and gave a gentle squeeze.

“Man, these are fun to squish,” he chuckled.

“Seems like having a little brother means you don’t have to do anything else—you’re just busy watching him all day,” Mom teased, glancing over from the table, hands still expertly folding dumplings.

“Nah, I got work to do,” Fu Kun smirked. “I still gotta teach him how to wrap dumplings.”

He dunked his left hand into the warm water, swishing it around lazily before grinning at Yijie. “Hey, Yijie, help me scrub my hand, will ya?”

Fu Yijie nodded obediently, took Fu Kun’s hand, and started rubbing his palm with his small fingers, careful and serious like he was polishing a rare treasure.

“Oi—hey, hey, hey!” Fu Kun barely lasted two seconds before yanking his hand back with a snort. “Are you tickling me or scrubbing me clean? Alright, alright, it’s good enough.” He shook off the water droplets and wiped his hands on his pants, grinning.

Now, it was time for the real lesson.

Fu Kun squared his shoulders, stood tall beside the table, and adopted the air of an experienced dumpling master. Meanwhile, Fu Yijie stood next to him, barely reaching the tabletop. His little head just peeked over the edge, his eyes round and attentive.

“Alright, first—grab a wrapper,” Fu Kun instructed, voice low and serious, like he was passing down a martial arts technique.

Fu Yijie stretched his arms as far as they could go, pinched a dumpling wrapper between his fingers, and carefully placed it in his palm. Then he lifted his head and stared at Fu Kun, waiting for the next step.

“Now, put the filling—” Fu Kun started, then hesitated. His eyes darted to Yijie’s tiny hands. The kid had no sense of proportion—he’d probably dump a whole mountain of filling on that thin wrapper and end up with an exploded mess.

“You know what? I’ll handle the filling part,” Fu Kun decided, grabbing the chopsticks. He carefully scooped up just the right amount of stuffing and dropped it onto Yijie’s wrapper.

Fu Yijie stared at the meat sitting in his palm. Then he stared back up at Fu Kun. His eyes practically said, “Okay, now what?”

Fu Kun huffed a laugh. “What’re you looking at me for? You think the dumpling’s gonna wrap itself?”

“Wrap it!” Fu Kun jabbed a finger at the delicate dumpling skin lying in Fu Yijie’s palm, his tone full of authority. “First, fold it in half—pinch the middle—yeah, like that. Now, push the sides in toward the center—gently—good, good. Now, pinch! Pinch tight!”

Fu Yijie followed his instructions with the intense focus of a surgeon performing his first operation. His tiny fingers pressed and folded, slow and a little clumsy, but miraculously, the end result actually resembled a dumpling—plump, round, almost symmetrical.

Fu Kun stared at it, wide-eyed. He hadn’t expected his disciple to achieve dumpling enlightenment so fast. Overwhelmed with pride, he smacked the table with both hands. “Mom! LOOK! He did it! My teaching skills are off the charts!”

His mother glanced over, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Not bad,” she chuckled, nodding approvingly. “Yijie’s got talent—his dumpling’s even prettier than yours.”

Ordinarily, Fu Kun wouldn’t care about his mom praising someone else—after all, in his world, not getting scolded was already a rare luxury. But this? Watching his little apprentice produce a passable dumpling under his divine guidance? This was pure, unfiltered joy.

Meanwhile, Fu Yijie just stood there, head bowed, staring at his creation with an unreadable expression. He didn’t say anything, didn’t react to the praise. Just… looked.

Fu Kun tilted his head. Huh. Kid must be admiring his craftsmanship.

“So? Pretty fun, right? You think dumpling-makin’ is—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Fu Yijie calmly lifted the dumpling—this freshly folded, still raw dumpling—opened his mouth, and stuffed the whole thing inside.

Fu Kun’s brain short-circuited.

For a full three seconds, he just stood there, frozen, staring at Yijie’s puffed-up cheeks in abject horror.

Then—

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!—” He practically exploded, his voice shaking the entire kitchen.

Fu Yijie was so startled by the roar that he jolted like a spooked rabbit, eyes widening in panic. With the dumpling still clamped between his teeth, he stumbled backward in a desperate retreat, his little feet scuffling against the floor until his back hit the wall with a soft thud.

“Aiyoo, my little dumpling, why are you eating it raw?!” Mom’s voice shot up an octave, her half-wrapped dumpling abandoned as she wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron and rushed over. She crouched down, wrapping her arms around Fu Yijie’s tiny, trembling frame. “It’s not cooked yet, sweetheart! Spit it out, quick, or you’ll get a stomachache!”

Fu Yijie froze, his round cheeks puffed out like a hamster caught mid-heist. His gaze flickered to Mom’s outstretched hand, hesitating. He didn’t dare spit it out—but after being yelled at, swallowing felt just as risky. And so, he simply stood there, paralyzed, dumpling still lodged firmly in his mouth.

“Why the hell did you scream like that? Scared him half to death!” Mom snapped, shooting Fu Kun a glare as sharp as a cleaver. She lowered her voice, but the authority in it was undeniable. “Always making a fuss! You think this is bad? When you were his age, you were out there eating bugs off the ground, and I didn’t scream then!”

Fu Kun’s face twisted in betrayal. “I did NOT eat bugs!” he hissed back, equally quiet but thoroughly offended. “And excuse me for being a little shocked! Who the hell eats raw dumplings like it’s candy?!”

Mom ignored him, too focused on prying the dumpling from Yijie’s mouth. She reached out, tapping his ballooned cheek with a gentle finger. “Yijie, sweetheart, can you spit it out? Let’s go outside and get rid of it, okay?”

Fu Yijie’s lips twitched. His little hands gripped the hem of his sweater, his wide eyes darting between Mom and Fu Kun. He was still frozen in place, still clutching that poor, half-chewed dumpling like it was some kind of treasure he wasn’t ready to part with.

As Mom led Fu Yijie to the door to spit out the ill-fated dumpling, the front door creaked open. Heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, accompanied by the rustle of plastic bags.

“Dad!” Fu Kun’s ears perked up at the familiar sound. He bolted toward the door and skidded to a stop, eyes immediately locking onto something peeking out of the bag in Dad’s hand. A sleek, silver wing.

“You bought a plane?!” His voice shot up in excitement.

Dad let out a low chuckle, shifting the bag higher. “And an electric train,” he added, his eyes softening as he crouched beside Fu Yijie. “Yijie, do you remember me?”

Fu Yijie stiffened. His little shoulders curled inward, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the wood grain suddenly held the secrets of the universe. Without a word, he shrank back, quiet as a shadow.

Mom sighed and tugged Dad’s sleeve. “Come inside, Lao Fu. The whole neighborhood is watching.”

Inside, Dad tried everything. Airplane? No reaction. Electric train? Not a flicker. A mechanical dog that barked and flipped over? Nothing. Fu Yijie just sat there, silent as a stone, head bowed, hands fiddling with the hem of his sweater. The word Dad never even came close to escaping his lips.

“You’re wasting your breath,” Mom said, briskly wrapping the last bit of filling into two overlapping dumpling skins. With a few practiced pinches, she shaped it into a tiny mouse and placed it on the tray. “Take it slow. He’s shy. If he wants to call you something, he will. If not, then he won’t. Let him be.”

Fu Kun, sprawled across a chair with his chin in his palm, smirked. “Xiao Shu Qin,” he drawled, using Mom’s full name with exaggerated familiarity. “Hurry up with those dumplings. I’m starving to death over here.”

Mom shot him a glare so sharp it could peel a potato. “Fu Little Dog, you looking for a beating?” she huffed before whisking the tray away to the kitchen.

Fu Kun turned back to his dad, flipping around to kneel on his chair, gripping the backrest and rocking back and forth. “Dad, I don’t think Yijie likes those toys.”

Fu Yijie hadn’t spared a single glance at the treasures Dad had pulled out one by one, arranging them around him like a colorful shrine. He just sat there, head bowed, fingers tracing invisible patterns on his palm.

“And that concerns you… how?” Dad shot him a sideways look. “You’re too old to care about this.”

Fu Kun kept rocking, testing the chair’s limits.

Dad gave him a flat stare. “Go ahead, keep rocking. If you tip over, I’ll wrap your left arm in a cast to match your right. It would be a perfect symmetry.”

“How old am I, huh? I’m only in fourth grade!” Fu Kun huffed, gripping the chair tighter. “I was just saying, if he doesn’t like toys, I can help—”

CRACK.

The chair, as if hearing Dad’s prophecy and deciding to be extra cooperative, tilted back and gave up on life.

Fu Kun yelped, arms flailing. At the very last second, he shot out his left hand, smacking it against the floor to stop himself from executing a full-fledged face-plant of doom. He froze in place, blinking, absorbing the fact that he was still intact. Then, like a triumphant hero returning from battle, he lifted his chin and flashed Dad a cocky grin.

“See? Didn’t break anything!”

Dad clicked his tongue, eyes brimming with fake disappointment. “Damn. What a shame.” Then, narrowing his gaze, he crossed his arms. “You’re an older brother now. Act like one.”

Oh. Right. Older brother.

Fu Kun had always dreamed of having a little sister. A cute one who would follow him around, chanting “Gege! Gege!” like a tiny, adoring disciple. Just like Sun Wei’s little sister. Man, that guy had it good.

But now? No sister. Instead, a very pretty little brother. A brother who got all the new clothes. A brother who got all the new toys. A brother who got all the special treatment.

And worst of all? Now he had to act like an older brother.

Fu Kun’s expression soured. He kicked at the chair leg and muttered, “I don’t even wanna be a brother.”

THWACK.

A sudden, sharp flick landed right on his forehead.

“Ow—!” Fu Kun’s hands flew to his head as he yowled dramatically. “Dad! You cracked my skull!”

Dad, unbothered, dusted off his hands. “Stop talking nonsense.”

Fu Kun, still clutching his forehead like he’d been mortally wounded, glanced up—only to freeze.

Fu Yijie was staring at him.

Not just staring—his dark eyes were glossy, the faint shimmer of unshed tears clinging to his lashes, on the verge of slipping down his cheeks.

Fu Kun’s throat dried up. His hands slowly dropped from his forehead.

“Uh—” His brain scrambled. Damage control. Damage control!

He took a step forward, rubbing his head and forcing a wide, reassuring grin. “What I meant was—being a big brother is amazing! Absolutely amazing. So amazing, I can’t even put it into words…”

Fu Yijie’s tears slipped down the curve of his round cheeks, tracing two gleaming trails down his soft face. Fu Kun saw them and panicked. Crap.

He didn’t spare any time to think. He lunged forward and wrapped the kid up in a bear hug, shoving that tear-streaked little face straight into his chest. No way was he letting Dad see this. If he did, Fu Kun could probably kiss his skull goodbye—one more smack was definitely incoming.

“Yijie is the best, the absolute best!” Fu Kun blurted, patting his back in a rushed, haphazard manner. “Come on, let’s go watch the dumplings cook! It’s super fun! I know you’ll love it!”

With that, he grabbed onto Fu Yijie’s head and practically dragged him toward the kitchen. The kid stumbled, half-tripping over his own feet, but Fu Kun didn’t slow down. Mission: Escape Dad’s Line of Sight—underway.

“Walk properly!” Dad’s voice snapped at them from behind.

“Mm!” Fu Kun barked out a response but didn’t let go. He only loosened his grip when they made it past the door, out of sight, then finally exhaled in relief.

Lowering his voice, he whispered, “Why are you always crying? I didn’t even hit you! So stop already!”

He thought maybe he should soften up a little, say something nicer—but before he could, Fu Yijie tilted his head up, round eyes clear and sparkling like the tears had never even existed.

And then, in the softest, most serious voice—

“Dumplings.”

Fu Kun froze.

“Huh?”

The kid had just been crying his eyes out, and now, just like that—he was fine?!

Mom’s dumplings were just as delicious as always—warm, juicy, bursting with flavor. Fu Kun ate a ton. But then, his dumpling mouse—the special little one Mom always made for him—got picked up by her chopsticks and placed right into Fu Yijie’s bowl.

His dumpling was now another’s property. He had been robbed.

Fu Yijie must’ve been starving. The kid practically had his face buried in the bowl, inhaling the dumplings like they were disappearing off the planet tomorrow. He didn’t even lift his head, just kept stuffing his cheeks, tiny forehead and nose glistening with a fine layer of sweat from the heat.

And just like that, the joy of being a big brother—a brand-new sibling, someone to teach, to boss around—slowly started crumbling. New clothes? Not his. New toys? Not his. Dumpling mouse? Also not his.

But Fu Kun didn’t dare say anything.

One, because he knew Dad and Mom would roast him alive if he complained. Two, because—God forbid—one wrong word and Fu Yijie’s waterworks would start again.

“Yijie,” Mom reached over and gently ruffled his hair, her voice as soft as the dumplings, “Slow down, okay? I’ll make you good food every day from now on.”

Fu Yijie kept his head down, stuffing the last dumpling into his mouth, chewing with single-minded focus. After he swallowed, he finally lifted his head, his round eyes flickering with hesitation.

Then, in the tiniest, most careful voice—

“Thank you, Auntie.”

Not the Mom she was expecting. But it was the first real sentence he’d spoken to her since arriving. And that was enough to make her smile.

“No need to thank me, silly,” she said, beaming. “You and your brother are the same. You see your brother thanking me?”

Fu Kun, halfway through licking his lips, casually wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Can’t thank you every time, it’d take all day.” Then, as if nothing had happened, he tossed out, “Let’s have zhajiangmian tomorrow.”

Mom’s smile twitched.

“Wipe your hands properly!” She frowned.

Fu Kun, quick as lightning, wiped both hands on his pants.

“There. It’s crystal clean.”

The house was small, tight, packed like a dumpling with no extra filling—just two rooms, no hallways, nowhere to hide. Dad had hammered together a wooden partition to carve out a tiny sliver of space for Fu Kun’s bedroom.

Tiny, but entirely his.

Sure, it was bare-bones basic—just a bed and a small desk, barely enough room to stretch his arms out—but compared to the other kids in the communal apartments who still squeezed into one bed with their parents, this was practically luxury.

But as of today, that luxury was over.

Dad had ordered a bunk bed, but it would take a while to arrive. Which meant, for now, Fu Kun’s already-cramped space had to fit one extra human.

Fu Kun sank onto his bed like a man mourning his freedom, staring at the ceiling. Past him—the fool—had wanted a younger sister. A cute, clingy little sister who’d call him “gege” in a sweet voice and listen to all his wisdom.

But Past Him had been a complete idiot.

Because what did “being an older brother” actually mean? It meant splitting. Splitting everything. His bed, his tiny space, his sense of ownership—half of everything he had, was gone, just like that.

He watched as Mom tucked Fu Yijie in like he was some fragile little prince, first giving him cold medicine, then helping him out of his clothes, then pulling the blanket snug around him like a protective cocoon.

And there Fu Yijie lay—small, warm, completely at home in Fu Kun’s bed.

Fu Kun felt an itch in his chest that he couldn’t scratch.

It wasn’t exactly anger.

But it sure wasn’t happiness either.

“Kunzi, come here.”

Mom called him into the back room after settling Fu Yijie in, her voice warm but firm.

Fu Kun stood by the window, arms crossed, scowling at the night outside. A deep, dramatic, world-ending frown.

“What?”

“Feeling a little off, aren’t you?” Mom smiled knowingly and pulled open the cabinet. The holy grail emerged. A bag of Maltose Balls.

A whole bag. That even at night. All for himself? He really could smell bribery.

Fu Kun’s scowl twitched. Was this a trick? Mom never let him have candy this late. She barely let him eat it during the day.

“I’m giving you special permission to sneak a bag,” she said, shaking it slightly, tempting fate itself.

“Pfft. Not eating.” Fu Kun jerked his chin up like an indignant little rooster, but his eyes? They darted. A quick, sneaky glance at her hands.

Mom smirked when she saw that.

“Oh? The whole bag, you sure?” She crinkled open the packet, releasing the sweet, chocolatey scent straight into the air. Then, ever so casually, she held it out.

Fu Kun squinted at her.

“Favoritism,” he muttered. “You’re so obvious about it. And now you’re trying to bribe me?”

Mom sighed, amused. “Use that brain of yours. You’re ten now.” She pushed the bag into his hands.

“He’s six, Kunzi. Just a first grader.”

Fu Kun gripped the bag tightly, feeling the weight of both the candy and the words.

“He’s in first grade?” Fu Kun’s eyes widened. He tossed a few chocolate-covered malt balls into his mouth, crunching down with exaggerated crisp, snappy bites.

“He’s so tiny. I thought he was still in kindergarten.”

Mom sighed, patient as ever. “He just got here. Even if I want to treat you both exactly the same, that has to come later, right? First, he needs to feel safe. He needs time to get used to our home.”

Fu Kun only half-listened, but his mouth was full, and his stomach was happy, so he nodded. “Got it. So, basically, you and Dad are playing favorites for now, but you’ll stop later. Right now, he’s the real son, and I’m on probation. I’ll be fully reinstated in a few months.”

Mom clicked her tongue, then smacked him lightly upside the head. “You’re so annoying. Go brush your teeth and sleep! And don’t sleep on your arm again!”

Fu Kun, mouth still packed with candy, grumbled as he trudged toward the door. “I won’t, but who knows if someone else will sleep on me.”

There wasn’t enough space on the bed for two blankets, so tonight, he and Fu Yijie would have to share one.

When Fu Kun climbed into bed, he noticed that Fu Yijie had curled up right against the wall, leaving him a huge space.

“You sure don’t take up much room,” Fu Kun muttered, struggling to yank off his clothes before burrowing under the blanket. His arm brushed against the hard wooden plank reinforcing the old bed frame, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Ugh, this stupid board is so annoying.”

Fu Yijie didn’t respond. He lay perfectly still, eyes shut tight, breathing slow and even—too even.

Fu Kun squinted in the dim light, watching those tiny fluttering eyelashes betray him. “Yijie, you’re faking, aren’t you?”

Still no response, but the trembling only got worse.

Fu Kun grinned. This little guy was really bad at pretending. He reached out and gently poked a fingertip against those long, delicate lashes. “Hey, these are pretty long.”

Fu Yijie flinched like he’d been shocked, then rolled over so fast it was almost a blur, curling into a tight ball against the wall.

Fu Kun snorted. He’d wanted to mess with him a little more, but since the kid was no fun, he let it go. He switched off the light and flopped onto his pillow.

The room fell into deep darkness.

Fu Kun’s breathing slowed. He was already drifting, half-asleep, when a small, hesitant voice broke the silence.

“Gege.”

A soft call. Tentative. Like a thread of sound tugged out of the dark.

“Mm?” Fu Kun barely managed a reply, his mind already sinking into sleep.

A tiny pause. Then, in an even quieter voice—

“Why did you eat bugs?”