Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 3

“Huh? Eating bugs?” Fu Kun blinked grogilly, his sleep-addled brain struggling to process Fu Yijie’s completely out-of-nowhere question.

“Picking up insects. To eat,” Fu Yijie murmured.

His voice, already thick with congestion from a cold, carried a slight nasal lilt. Whispered so close, it sent a feather-light tickle skimming over Fu Kun’s ear—like a strand of hair brushing against his skin. A strange, inexplicable itch spread down his side, and before he knew it, he was chuckling, soft and breathless.

He grinned foolishly for a while, lost in the haze of drowsy amusement. Then, like a fog lifting, clarity struck. Picking up insects to eat… Oh. Oh.

His smile froze. He turned onto his side, suddenly wide awake and scoffed, “It was a grasshopper! I wasn’t eating it—I was walking it. Taking it out for fresh air, like a respectable person. Unlike Sun Wei, that reincarnated-from-starvation menace, who actually eats them.”

“Was it good?” Fu Yijie swallowed instinctively, as if just the thought of it had triggered some deep-seated craving.

“Didn’t taste like much. I only ate a leg,” Fu Kun mused, recalling the incident. “Burnt it a little with a match before eating. Sun Wei, though? That guy ate them raw without the slightest tinge of hesitation… Hey, Yijie, I haven’t even asked you yet—why the hell were you gnawing on raw dumplings?”

Fu Yijie stayed silent.

Fu Kun glanced over, still there was no response.

“Why don’t you ever talk much?” Fu Kun pressed.

What followed was even greater silence, the kind that stretched long and heavy.

Fu Kun sighed and gave up, flopped back down, shifting to get comfortable again. Whatever. Sleep was calling, and he was about to answer—

Until Yijie suddenly bolted upright, clutching the blanket with his eyes wide in the dark.

“What the—what’s wrong?” Fu Kun jerked up in alarm.

“I…” Yijie hesitated, then whispered, “….need to fart.”

“…Then fart?” Fu Kun flopped back down, baffled. “Do you really have to sit up for that? Just—just don’t do it under the covers—”

Before he could finish, a distinct, unapologetic pfft cut through the silence.

Fu Kun exhaled through his nose, lifted a foot, and gave the blanket a resigned, half-hearted kick. “Never mind. At this range, there’s no escape. Inside or outside the covers, we are both goners”

A few beats of quietitude follwed. Then—

“Gege.” Fu Yijie’s tiny voice piped up again.

Fu Kun groaned, “What now?”

“….I need to go to the bathroom.”

Fu Kun narrowed his eyes in the dark. “You overate, didn’t you? Is it number one or number two?” Fu Kun debated whether to haul him outside or just use the chamber pot in the room.

“My stomach hurts…” Fu Yijie’s voice grew even softer, and in the dim light, Fu Kun could just make out the small lump he made, curling up and clutching his belly with his fingers pressing into his stomach like he could knead the pain away.

There was no way around it—they had to go to the bathroom. Sure, winter nights were freezing and the cold air outside would be like a slap to the face, but Fu Kun would rather brave the cold than deal with the god-awful task of emptying a chamber pot filled with fresh, steaming disaster. That was not about to become his problem.

With a decisive hop out of bed, he yanked on the light. “Hold it in! We’re heading outside. Get dressed, now.”

Fu Yijie was already curled up like a shrimp, hands pressed against his belly in distress, but he scrambled into his thermal pants and padded jacket with surprising speed. Fu Kun grabbed a handful of toilet paper, then latched onto Yijie’s wrist and bolted for the door. If his arm had any strength left, he might’ve just slung the kid over his back and sprinted straight there.

The second they stepped into the hallway, the cold hit like a bucket of ice water.

The bathroom was pitch black.

Fu Kun clicked his tongue in frustration. Someone had turned off the light, and for the life of him, Fu Kun couldn’t find the damn pull cord. He groped uselessly along the wall  while Yijie shuffled beside him, stamping his feet and letting out tiny, strained whimpers. The urgency in those sounds made Fu Kun’s patience snap—

Just as footsteps sounded behind them.

A beam of light sliced through the darkness.

Fu Kun let out a breath of relief, finally spotting the cord. He gave it a sharp tug, and the bulb flickered to life with a feeble buzz.

“Move, move! Don’t crap your pants!” He grabbed Yijie and practically shoved him onto the squat toilet.

Only when the blessed sound of relief filled the air did Fu Kun let out a breath of his own. He rocked on his heels and started humming under his breath:

“In 1988, I learned to drive, ran over a hundred guys, cops came chasin’ so I ran real quick, ducked into the ladies’ loo—whoops, no lights, fell right into a pit, fought my way through a sea of—”

…Well. No need to finish that verse.

By the time they stepped out of the bathroom with the night air biting at their skin, a familiar voice called out.

“Are you bringing your little brother to the toilet?”

Fu Kun blinked at the flashlight beam dancing in his eyes. He squinted through it and bounced on his toes. “Yup! Xiaofei-ge, you need to go too?”

“Nah,” Xia Fei chuckled, swinging the flashlight away. “Just dropping someone off.”

He swept the beam behind him, illuminating a second figure.

Zhang Qingkai shielded his eyes from the glare. “Don’t bother walking me back. I’ll head up in a sec before I freeze my ass off.”

Xia Fei just shrugged. “No big deal. Been cooped up all day—good excuse to stretch my legs before I rot.”

With that, he turned and started down the stairs. The hallway lights had been busted for god knows how long, and nobody seemed inclined to fix them.

Zhang Qingkai hurried after him, reaching out instinctively to steady him. “Careful.”

Xia Fei batted his hand away with a light smack. “The hell are you doing?”

“Afraid you’ll fall.”

Xia Fei snorted. “Tch, I’m not that fragile. And quit treating the kid like he’sclueless—he understands more than you think.” His voice dropped into a teasing murmur as he turned to Fu Kun with a smirk. “Right, Kunzi?”

Fu Kun blinked, caught completely off guard. “Huh?” He scratched his head and gave a sheepish chuckle.

Understand what?

Hell if he knew what Xia Fei was getting at. All he knew was that Xia Fei and Zhang Qingkai were practically glued together like a chewed-up gum on the bottom of a shoe. Every time Xia Fei walked Zhang Qingkai downstairs, the guy would inevitably trail back up with him, only to repeat the cycle again.

Like a pair of barinless pigeons circling the same damn rooftop. That much, Fu Kun understood perfectly.

Just then, a trembly voice called from inside the bathroom.

“Gege.”

Fu Kun immediately wrinkled his nose. “You done?” He jogged back inside, pinching his nostrils shut like he was marching into a battlefield. Grabbing a few sheets of toilet paper, he handed them over. “Here. You know how to wipe your ass, right?”

Fu yijie nodded and what came out of his mouth was a tiny, embarrased “Yeah”, barely above a whisper.

Fu Kun frowned. Something about his tone- thin and shivery- felt off. “Are you cold?”

“…Mm.”

“Tch, serves you right for rushing out here without layering up first.” Fu Kun clicked his tongue in disapproval. This was something mom definitely didn’t need to hear about, or she’d chew him out for not taking better care of his little brother. “Your stomach, does it still hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

Fu Yijie finished up, tugged his pants back up and stepped out, his small body still curled in on itself, trembling from the lingering chill.

Fu Kun gave him a once-over. “Which hand did you use?”

“Right one.”

Fu Kun promptly grabbed his left hand. “Let’s go.”

Yijie looked down at his own hand like he’d just remembered something. “Left hand helped too.”

Fu Kun froze mid-step. “Huh?”

“Ah—!” Fu Kun flinched like he’d been burned and flung his brother’s hand away. His mouth opened, ready to launch a full-scale verbal assault, but before a single word could escape, he caught sight of something in Yijie’s eyes—shimmering, wobbly, on the verge of spilling over, reflecting the dim light with a suspicious wetness.

Fu Kun’s stomach lurched. Crap. Was he about to cry again?

Panic hit Fu Kun like a freight train. Without thinking, he grabbed Yijie’s “contaminated” left hand back and started marching home. “Fine, whatever! Not like I care! Just- Just don’t start bawling, alright? How do you even turn it on and off like that? You got a damn switch or something? Shut it off, now! Quit leaking all over the place!”

Dragging Fu Yijie back home, Fu Kun had half a mind to heat up some water for a proper hand-washing session, but one look at the kid who was still shivering like a half-drowned kitten, made him drop the idea.

Instead, he shoved his little brother straight into bed.

Once Yijie was bundled up, with a resigned groan, Fu Kun went ahead and did the next best thing—heated up some water, soaked a towel, and scrubbed down the kid’s face and hands himself.

Hygiene had never been his strong suit—he couldn’t be bothered to wash up unless their mom nagged him into it. The only time he ever did so willingly was after taking a dump.

And now, apparently, when dealing with a tiny, sniffly, frozen gremlin of a little brother.

With all that done, he finally crawled back into bed with a long exhale, the exhaustion finally creeping in.Yijie, just like before, curled up into a tiny ball, pressing himself against the cold wall, leaving Fu Kun with plenty of space. The little guy barely took up any room at all.

“Go to sleep.” Fu Kun was starting to feel drowsy. He shut his eyes, ready to drift off.

But just as his mind was beginning to slip into the comforting haze of sleep, a soft voice called out again.

“Gege.”

Fu Kun groaned, cracking one eye open. “Mm? Don’t tell me you need the toilet again!” His whole body stiffened at the thought of having to get up.

“No.”

“Then why are you calling me?”

There was a brief pause, followed by a cautious question. “How do you write your name?”

Fu Kun smirked in the dark, and rolled onto his side, resting his head on his arm. “Easy. It’s the ‘Fu’ from ‘duifu’ (to deal with something) and the ‘Kun’ from ‘qiankun’ (heaven and earth). You know what ‘qiankun’ means?”

Fu Yijie hesitated, then softly admitted, “No.”

He shifted slightly, inching closer like he was trying to soak up some warmth without making it obvious.

Fu Kun thought for a moment, then, in true older brother fashion, decided to wing it. “Qiankun means… uh, something super badass!” He puffed out his chest even though no one could see him, then nodded to himself, pleased with his own explanation. “That’s why my name has ‘Kun’ in it—because I’m destined to be a legend.”

Fu Yijie blinked, his curiosity still unsatisfied. He mulled over it before asking in a whisper, “Then why didn’t they use ‘Qian’ instead?”

Fu Kun snorted. “Qian? ‘Fu Qian’? That sounds like ‘paying money’! Who in their right mind would name themselves ‘Pay Money’? What kind of idiot would—” He stopped himself mid-rant and clicked his tongue. “Ugh, whatever. I’m exhausted. Shut up and go to sleep. If you can’t sleep, count your fingers or something.”

By the time morning rolled around, Fu Kun was still lost in the depths of his dreams—until a rapid series of slaps landed on his face, jolting him awake.

Before he could even muster a groggy protest, his mom’s voice shot off like a machine gun.

“Kunzi! I put your brother’s new toothbrush and towel on the table. Heat up some milk for him later. Breakfast is ready, eat before you leave for school. I’m stopping by work for a bit, but I’ll be back soon to take him for his school transfer—”

“Mmmph—” Fu Kun groaned, eyes still shut and his brain still foggy with sleep. “Got it.”

“Get up.” His mom, not satisfied with that half-hearted response, seeing no movement, didn’t waste another second—she unceremoniously yanked him straight out of bed.

“Aaaagh—!” Fu Kun howled dramatically as he was forcibly dragged into the freezing morning air. “Why don’t you wake up Yijie too?! Why do I have to get up first?!”

“Because you need to get yourself ready first, then wake him up.” His mom deposited him onto a chair by the table like she was dropping off a sack of potatoes. “Also, take some of your comic books with you when you leave. Let your brother read them. I’ll be back in an hour at most.”

Fu Kun sprawled across the table, waving her off with one lazy hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Got it. Just go alreday.”

And just like that, the unfairness of the world came crashing down on Fu Kun like a ton of bricks.

So annoying! Getting out of bed in the freezing cold was already a nightmare, and now he had to warm up milk for Fu Yijie? On top of that, he had to share his own stuff too?!

Could life get any worse?

His mom grabbed her purse and headed out. As soon as the door clicked shut, Fu Kun sighed, rubbing his face as he slowly—grudgingly—started pulling on his clothes, grumbling all the while. His movements were sluggish, weighed down by the injustice of it all. But then, as he finished buttoning his jacket, his gaze landed on the bed.

Fu Yijie was still curled up under the balnket, hugging his pillow, fast asleep like he had no care in the world.

The sheer unfairness of it all made something burn in Fu Kun’s chest.

That was it. That was the final straw.

His eyes narrowed.

His muscles tensed.

And then—he pounced.

Dashing to the bedside, he took a deep breath and let out an earth-shattering roar, “FU YIJIE! GET UP!”

Not bothering to wait for a reaction, he spun on his heels and bolted out of the room at full speed.

Because let’s be real—whatever reaction came next would probably, no definitely involve crying.

After brushing his teeth and washing his face, Fu Kun didn’t go straight back to the room. He hesitated, lingering just outside the door with curiosity tugging at him. Had Fu Yijie started crying yet?

He crept up to the window, careful not to make a sound and peeked inside.

Then, he stopped short.

Fu Yijie was already awake. Not only that, but he was fully dressed, his little hands moving with quiet precision as he carefully squeezed toothpaste onto the brand-new toothbrush their mom had bought him. His face was serious, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, as if brushing his teeth were some kind of delicate operation.

After finishing with the toothpaste, he turned to the thermos on the table, struggling to lift it. The thing was almost as big as he was. He tried to tip it over to pour himself some hot water, but his little arms weren’t strong enough to lift it high enough over the cup.

Fu Yijie didn’t get frustrated. Instead, he silently adjusted his plan. With an almost eerie calmness, he placed the cup on the floor,  crouched down, and steadily poured the water.

Once he was done, he bit down on the toothbrush, balanced the cup carefully in his hands, and—head lowered, steps cautious—walked out like he was carrying a sacred offering.

Something in Fu Kun’s chest stirred. He wasn’t sure why, but watching Fu Yijie like this made him look so…unbearably pitiful.

Without thinking, he reached out and took the cup from him. “Here, let me do it.”

Fu Yijie, however, was proving to be much tougher than Fu Kun had expected. He hadn’t expected the kid to be so independent. Maybe it was because in the orphanage, there was no one to spoil him—he had to rely on himself for everything. He had learned to take care of himself early on, without whining, without waiting for help. Unlike other kids his age who might whine and fumble, or needed constant reminders and supervision, he went through the entire morning routine with remarkable efficiency.

People bustled around the communal sink—workers heading to their jobs, students getting ready for school. As they passed by, more than a few took a second glance at the little boy, eyes lingering with mild surprise.

One man chuckled and said, “Hey Kunzi, your little brother’s pretty capable, huh?”

Fu Kun, who had been stewing in his usual morning grumpiness, suddenly felt a burst of pride.

Of course! Fu Kun’s little brother wasn’t just capable—he was amazingly impressive!

But then, after a moment of thought, he frowned.

Wait… he’s just brushing his teeth. What’s so impressive about that? By the time Fu Kun was Yijie’s age, he’d already been brushing his own teeth for years. Sure, it took him a while to stop eating the toothpaste like it was candy, but still…

——

Because he had waited for Yijie to finish up, Fu Kun was running behind schedule.

Just as he was about to mix the milk powder for Yijie’s breakfast, a loud, drawn-out voice echoed from downstairs.

“FU KUN! FU KUN—FU KUN! FU KUN—”

It was Sun Wei.

And he was shouting Fu Kun’s name like he was trying to summon a ghost.

Fu Kun stuck his head out the window and hollered, irritated, “Shut up! I heard you the first time!”

But Sun Wei, either completely deaf or just obnoxiously persistent, continued his off-key performance at full volume.

Fu Kun groaned. The shouting was making him fumble, and he stood there for a second, awkwardly holding the bag of milk powder, unsure whether to mix it first or just ditch everything and leave.

In the end, he turned to Fu Yijie, who had been quietly watching him, and jerked his chin.

“Yijie, come here.”

Fu Yijie obediently walked over, tilting his head up to look at him with round and expectant eyes.

“Open your mouth.”

Fu Kun scooped up a heaping spoonful of milk powder and shoved it straight into Fu Yijie’s mouth. “One cup of milk takes four scoops. Since we dont have time to mix it, you’ll just eat four scoops instead.”

Fu Yijie sat there, lips parted in confusion, a mouthful of dry milk powder clinging to his tongue like a thick suffocating coat. He didn’t know whether to chew, swallow, or spit it out.

Fu Kun watched him struggle for a second before asking, “Well? Eat it. Feels a bit dry, huh?”

Fu Yijie’s expression was blank as he exhaled—and a puff of fine white powder came billowing out like a tiny smoke signal.

“Dry,” he confirmed solemnly, his voice muffled by the chalky layer coating his mouth.

Fu Kun shoved a cup of water into his hands. “Drink.”

The boy took a big gulp, his throat working hard to wash down the sticky mixture. Just as he thought he was safe, Fu Kun wasted no time, promptly scooped up another spoonful and stuffed it into his mouth.

And so it went—one spoonful of dry milk powder, one desparate gulp of water, another spoonful shoved unceremoniously past his lips—until, somehow, this disastrous excuse for “making a cup of milk” was finally complete.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Sun Wei was still screeching like a possessed rooster.

His voice echoed through the building, shrill and relentless. The sleepy, disgruntled neighbors who didn’t have morning shifts had had enough. Windows creaked open one after another, and a chorus of curses and threats rained down from above.

Fu Kun didn’t stick around to listen. He snatched up two steamed buns and made a run for it.

“Yijie, Mom will be back later. If you get bored, there’s a box of picture books under the bed—go check them out.”

Yijie, his lips still dusted with a white milk powder mustache, gave a serious nod. “Okay.”

Fu Kun smirked, then pointed at his face. “Wipe your mouth, old man. You look like you’ve grown a white beard overnight.”

With that, he yanked the door shut behind him and bolted out the house.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Fu Yijie stood frozen in place, listening intently.

He didn’t move until Fu Kun’s footsteps faded completely.

Then, only then, did he quietly wipe his mouth, turn around, and tiptoe toward the window.

He had to stretch up on his toes, fingers gripping the windowsill for balance, to get a good look outside.

Downstairs, a boy about the same height as Fu Kun was waiting by the curb. Fu Kun wheeled his bicycle over, exchanged a few words and the two of them walked off together.

Fu Yijie watched them disappear before pulling back from the window and returning to the table.

He sat down, grabbed a steamed bun, and without hesitation, began eating—quickly, efficiently, with unwavering focus.

Eating required full concentration. If you were not fast enough, someone else might snatch your food away.

Even though there was no one else here, even though the table was stacked with food—a whole bag of steamed buns, a big bowl of porridge—habit was hard to break.

He ate fast—shoving down one bun after another, barely pausing to breathe—until four large buns and an entire bowl of porridge had disappeared into his stomach.

Only when his stomach felt stuffed to the point of bursting did he finally put down his chopsticks and exhaled.

Outside, footsteps echoed in the corridor. People were walking by, chatting, laughing.

Fu Yijie listened for a while, but the conversations were boring.

So, he gathered himself up and walked into Fu Kun’s small bedroom.

Under the bed, just like Fu Kun had said, was a box.

He crouched down and tugged at it.

It was heavy—far heavier than he had expected. He gritted his teeth, braced his feet against the floor, and yanked it out with all his strength.

With a dull scrape, the box slid out.

When he lifted the lid, a world of colors and lines-a glorious mess-spilled out before him.

Stacks of old picture books and comic books were piled haphazardly on top of one another, along with a few worn notebooks, as if they’d been stuffed in over the years without a second thought.

Curious, he grabbed one of the notebooks and flipped it open.

The pages were filled not with words, but with drawings.

People and animals, sketched in rough but expressive lines—fighters locked in battle, dancers frozen mid-spin, their skirts fanning out in elegant arcs, cats stretching lazily, dogs leaping with wild energy, tiny insects crawling across the margins…

Fu Yijie’s fingers traced over the lines, his breath slowing. He stared at them, entranced.

These were even better than what his art teacher could draw.

Fu Yijie sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through the second notebook, utterly engrossed in the sketches.

The scent of old paper lingered in the air, mixing with the faint chill seeping up from the ground. He was so absorbed in what he was reading that the sudden click of the door latch startled him.

The door creaked open.

His shoulders tensed. He turned his head sharply, only to see the auntie stepping inside.

A sudden, inexplicable panic seized him—like a child caught red-handed rummaging through things he wasn’t supposed to touch.

“You’re reading, huh?” The auntie walked over briskly, her voice carried both warmth and a touch of exasperation. “Why are you sitting on the cold floor? It’ll freeze your little backside!”

Before he could react, she reached down and hoisted him to his feet with practised ease as if he weighed nothing at all.

“Didn’t your brother take the books out for you? That boy, honestly, you can’t rely on him for anything.”

Fu Yijie didn’t say a word. He simply placed the notebook back in the box, and bent down, intending to shove it back under the bed.

At the orphanage, leaving things out was a punishable offense. Even if the toy box was mostly empty, even if it was just books, things had to go back where they belonged, failing to return it to its designated spot meant punishment—usually standing in the hallway as an example to others.

“You don’t have to do that, I’ll take care of it.” the auntie said, nudging the box back under the bed with her foot before pulling him into a gentle side-hug. “Did you eat breakfast?”

He gave a small nod.

“And milk? Did you drink your milk?”

Milk?

His mind flashed back to the four heaping spoonfuls of dry milk powder he had barely, painstakingly managed to swallow and nodded again.

Technically, that counted as drinking milk, right?

Not that it had tasted bad. It wasn’t like he had ever really drunk fresh milk before. But the powder had been sweet, almost addicting. Actually, it had been kind of delicious.

“Good, that’s good.” The auntie ruffled his hair. “Alright then—Mama… I mean, Auntie will take you to school now. Your old school was too far, so from now on, you’ll be attending the same one as your brother. You two can go together every day. How does that sound?”

He hesitated for a beat before softly answering, “Okay.”

School.

The word alone made something twist in his chest.

He didn’t have fond memories of it.

His classmates all knew where he came from, and none of them wanted to play with the “orphanage kid.” They weren’t cruel, not exactly, but they kept their distance. They never invited him to play, never called his name when teams were being picked.

But the auntie didn’t dwell on his silence. She fetched some medicine, made sure he took it, and then bundled him up in layers for the trip.

The bicycle ride was… an experience.

Fu Yijie had never sat on a bike before, much less on the rear seat of one. The moment she lifted him onto it, he stiffened like a plank, his small hands hovering awkwardly in the air, unsure of where to hold on.

“Grab onto my coat,” she said, patting his hands reassuringly before tugging his jacket zipper all the way up and pulling his hood snugly over his head. “And don’t let go.”

He nodded, then gingerly pinched the edge of her coat between his fingers.

The wind was sharp, cutting through the thin gaps of his scarf and mask, nipping at his cheeks. He curled his neck inward, trying to shrink into himself.

But then, after a few moments—curiosity won over cold.

As the bike rattled down the road, he lifted his head and started looking around.

The world moved so fast. It felt strangely thrilling.

Buildings blurred past in streaks of color, the roads stretched endlessly ahead, shifting with every turn of the wheels, and the distant chatter of morning pedestrians mixed with the rhythmic creak of the bicycle.

Then the auntie pointed forward.

“See that gate up ahead? That’s Third Elementary. Your brother’s in fourth grade here.”

She pulled the bike to a stop and lifted him off. “In a bit—”

But before she could finish, they both noticed the scene unfolding near the school gates.

Two figures stood at the entrance facing each other.

One was a young man, his posture stiff and his expression clouded with irritation—likely a teacher. The other, standing with a slouch, was none other than Fu Kun.

“You haven’t done your homework in how many days now?!” The teacher, face tight with frustration, jabbed a finger at Fu Kun’s forehead. “I told you to bring a parent, and you’ve been playing dead instead?”

Fu Kun titled his head slightly, unbothered. “My hand’s broken,” he replied lazily, lifting his arm with exaggerated effort before turning his face away. “Can’t write.”

“Do I lool like an idiot to you?” The teacher smacked his left hand. “You think I don’t know you’re ambidextrous? Your left hand works just fine!”

Fu Kun grinned. “But when my arm hurts, my head hurts too,” he said, voice dripping with mock innocence. “And when my head hurts, I just can’t write.”

The teacher stared at him, his jaw tightened visibly. Incredulous. Seething.

“Fine,” he snapped. “If you can’t write and won’t call your parents, then you can just stand out here and freeze like a popsicle.”

“Alright.”

The word was clear. Crisp. Unfazed.

The teacher blinked. “What did you just say?”

“I said, alright.” Fu Kun repeated, his voice clear and unconcerned.

“You—!”

The teacher’s face darkened, his patience running on fumes. His fingers twitched, as if tempted to knock some sense into the boy.

But just as it lifted—

“FU KUN!”

A voice boomed across the schoolyard.

The sheer force of it startled everyone.

Fu Yijie jumped so hard he lost his balance and fell backward into a snowbank.

Even the teacher flinched, his raised hand suddenly frozen in midair.

The auntie stood there, shoulders squared, eyes burning with the kind of fury that made men think twice about their life choices.

And then, like a storm brewing on the horizon, the auntie marched forward.

“Did you just say you’d hit my son?”

Her voice had dropped to a low, lethal register.

And then—

WHAM.

She kicked Fu Kun square in the ass.

“You little brat! What the hell did you do this time?!”