Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Perks of Having a Little Brother

After two sharp turns, Wang Zhiqiang’s gang finally started catching up to Fu Kun and Sun Wei.

Sun Wei could feel a thin sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. Normally, Fu Kun handled a bike like it was an extension of his own body—fast, effortless, smooth. Even on icy roads like this, he could speed through like it was nothing, with Sun Wei riding along without a hitch. But today was different. Fu Kun only had his left hand on the handlebars, his right arm out of commission. No matter how hard he pedaled, they were losing speed. And Wang Zhiqiang’s gang was closing in.

“Kunzi,” Sun Wei stole a glance behind them. Three, maybe four guys were gaining on them, their bikes weaving through the slushy street. “I should get off. You’re too slow like this—if we don’t make it to your block in time, we’re screwed—”

“Shut up,” Fu Kun gritted his teeth and kept pedaling. “You got marbles in your bag?”

“Huh?” Sun Wei blinked. His hand instinctively reached into his backpack, fingers brushing against the cool glass spheres. “Yeah, why?”

“Dump ’em.”

“Wait, what?!” Sun Wei nearly choked. Those marbles weren’t just any marbles—he’d won them, fair and square, after weeks of intense battles. “All of them?”

“All of them. Don’t be stingy. I’ll give you mine later.”

“Tch, like I need yours.” Sun Wei didn’t hesitate for long. He yanked out the bag, turned his head slightly, and—whoosh—scattered them behind them, right in the path of Zhang Yiwei, the closest pursuer.

Zhang Yiwei had been riding cautiously already, trying to avoid the ice patches. The last thing he expected was a shower of treacherous little glass balls bouncing right into his wheel’s path. There was no dodging them.

“I—!” He barely had time to curse before his front tire skidded. The bike wobbled violently, tilting once, twice—then BAM! He went down hard, rolling across the slushy pavement. The guys behind him had no chance to react. One after another, they crashed into the chaos, bodies and bikes toppling into a tangled mess.

Sun Wei cackled. “Kunzi, look!”

Fu Kun stole a quick glance over his shoulder. Seeing Zhang Yiwei and his buddies sprawled out like fallen bowling pins, he let out a loud whoop. “Damn! That had to hurt!”

“Shut up, man!” Sun Wei smacked his arm. “If you rub it in, they’re gonna murder us tomorrow. Just pedal!”

Unfortunately, Wang Zhiqiang had managed to dodge the marble minefield. His bike swerved neatly around the wreckage, and now he was barreling toward them, face grim, eyes locked on Fu Kun like a predator sizing up its prey. He didn’t shout, didn’t threaten—just pedaled harder. And that, somehow, was even more terrifying.

Fu Kun stopped joking. He hunched low over the handlebars, gritted his teeth, and slammed his foot down. His old Phoenix bike may have been second-hand, but when he really pushed it, it could still fly.

—

Meanwhile, on another side of town, Fu Yijie tilted his face up to the sky. The snow was getting heavier.

“Don’t look straight up like that,” the lady beside him chuckled, tugging his hat down a little. “Your face is getting all wet.”

She was taking him out to buy school supplies. Everything in his backpack had been donated to the orphanage—second-hand, worn, used up. His pencils were shaved down to tiny nubs, his eraser was the size of a peanut, and he didn’t even own a pencil case.

“Pick out any pencil case you like,” auntie said gently as they stepped out of the orphanage gates. “And pens, pencils, erasers—whatever you need. Just tell me, and I’ll—”

She stopped abruptly. Her eyes locked onto something in the distance.

Fu Yijie stretched his neck, trying to see what she was looking at. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just the street, snow, people walking—

And then—

“FU KUN!” Auntie’s voice erupted like a thunderclap.

Fu Yijie flinched so hard he lost his balance and plopped straight onto the snowy ground.

“Aiyo! You really drop like a sack of rice when you’re startled, huh?” She quickly pulled him back up, brushing the snow off his coat. “Stay here. Your brother’s up to no good again.”

“FU KUN! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU UP TO THIS TIME? GET YOUR SORRY ASS OVER HERE, NOW!”

The moment Fu Kun heard that voice, his whole body slackened with relief.

Finally. He could gladly believe he was saved.

Behind him, Wang Zhiqiang had been seconds away from ramming their bikes together. If they crashed at this speed, Fu Kun’s still-healing arm would be shattered all over again, and he’d be out of commission for months. But that voice—his mother’s unmistakable battle cry—made Wang Zhiqiang instinctively pull the brakes.

Just like that, Fu Kun shot ahead. Wang Zhiqiang slowed down.

But… was this really salvation? Because if Wang Zhiqiang was bad news, his mom might be worse.

“Get. Off. The. Bike.”

She had already stepped onto the street, finger pointed straight at him like an executioner handing out a sentence.

Fu Kun sighed and swung his leg over the bike, hopping off in defeat. Sun Wei scrambled down right after him, keeping his head low like a guilty accomplice.

They were safe.

For now.

Wang Zhiqiang caught up again, but the moment he saw the situation ahead, he yanked his handlebars, ready to turn tail.

Sixth graders—no matter how tough they acted, no matter how invincible they thought they were—still turned meek in the face of a real adult.

But Mom wasn’t about to give him that chance. She strode over and grabbed his handlebars in one swift motion. “What’s your name?”

“None of your business!” Wang Zhiqiang yanked at his bike, muttering under his breath, his defiance barely holding up.

“Alright then, Big Dummy, were you chasing after Fu Kun? And why?” Mom asked, smoothly slapping a new name on him like it was second nature.

“You’re the dummy!” Wang Zhiqiang snapped, his face darkening.

“Then what’s your name, Big Dummy?” Mom smiled, voice as gentle as a knife being sharpened.

“Wang Zhiqiang!”

“Wang Zhiqiang, why were you chasing Fu Kun and his friend?”

“For no reason! I just felt like it! What’s it to you?” He yanked at the bike again.

Mom let go. “Oh, is it for no reason? Then get going.”

Wang Zhiqiang hesitated. He clearly hadn’t expected an adult to let him off this easily. He stood there, momentarily stunned.

“Get lost!” Mom suddenly barked. “Or do you want me to enjoy smacking you around just because I feel like it?”

That was all it took. Wang Zhiqiang shot off like a bullet, pedaling so hard he practically left a dust trail behind him.

Fu Kun couldn’t help but grin as he watched him disappear.

“What are you laughing at?” Mom shoved his shoulder, then turned to Sun Wei. “And you—get home. You’re a good kid, why are you always following Fu Kun around? You think that’s gonna teach you anything useful?”

“Bye, Auntie.” Sun Wei ducked his head, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and took off running. As he ran, he shouted over his shoulder, “Kunzi, I’ll come get you tomorrow!”

“Got it!” Fu Kun hollered back before lowering his head and following Mom into the courtyard.

“I took Yijie out to buy some school supplies. The food’s on the stove, so make sure it doesn’t burn,” Mom said.

“Mm.” Fu Kun looked up and spotted a certain someone standing stiffly by the roadside, looking a little lost. Grinning, he pushed his bike forward and jogged over. “Yijie!”

“Gege.” The muffled call came from behind a face mask.

“Here,” Fu Kun dug into his pocket and pulled out a bag of Làng Wèi Xiān snacks, handing them over. “Ever had these before?”

Fu Yijie took the bag, turned it over in his hands, and shook his head.

“They’re so good. Try ‘em.” Fu Kun pulled down Yijie’s mask and gave his face a playful squeeze—soft, warm, squishy.

By the time Mom returned home with an armful of notebooks and pens, the food was already done cooking. Fu Kun had just brought the pot inside.

“Your dad’s working late all week.” Mom nodded toward the chair by the table. “Sit down. You and I need to talk.”

“Mom…” Fu Kun reluctantly dropped into the chair. He darted a glance at Fu Yijie, who stood off to the side like a tiny, anxious statue.

“Yijie, go to your room and read for a bit. Your brother’s worried about losing face.”

Mom led Fu Yijie to his room, grabbed a few comic books for him, and then walked back out—this time holding a sketchbook, the one Fu Kun usually used for drawing.

Fu Kun eyed the notebook warily. What was she up to now?

“Draw something for me,” Mom said, placing the sketchbook in front of him. “Draw the kick I gave you earlier.”

Fu Kun hesitated for a moment before picking up a pencil. What kind of game was Mom playing? Did she already know that every time he sat at his desk, he wasn’t doing homework but sketching instead?

Whatever. It was just a drawing of Mom kicking someone—easy enough.

He sketched a few strokes, lowered his head, and focused. Ten minutes later, the drawing was done.

Mom studied it, nodding in approval. “Not bad. I thought your left hand wasn’t as good as your right. Draw another one—this time, your little brother falling on his butt.”

Fu Kun blinked, momentarily confused, but he still followed her instructions. He sketched out a small, round figure—Yijie—plopped down in a heap of snow.

“Nice. Looks pretty accurate.” Mom took the drawing, examined it again, and nodded.

“Mom, what exactly are you doing?” Fu Kun couldn’t hold back any longer.

Mom didn’t answer. Instead, she simply tore both drawings from the sketchbook with a crisp rip.

Before Fu Kun could react, she started shredding them.

One tear. Then another. And another.

She tore the pages into long strips. Then smaller pieces. Then even smaller fragments, scattering them into a tiny snowstorm of paper.

When she was done, she stepped to the center of the room and let the shredded pieces fall to the floor. “Pick them up. Put them back together.”

“Mom—” Fu Kun cried out in disbelief. How was he supposed to piece them back together? One drawing might’ve been doable, but two? And shredded into this many bits?

“I’m making dinner,” Mom said as she tied on her apron. “Don’t come eat until you’re done.” With that, she turned and walked out without a backward glance.

“Mom, wouldn’t it be easier to just smack me and get it over with?” Fu Kun yelled after her.

“That’s too much effort,” she called back from the hallway. “Hurry up and start piecing!”

Fu Kun let out a long sigh and stared at the chaotic mess of paper on the floor. He crouched down, slowly gathering the tiny scraps and placing them on the table.

Where the hell was he even supposed to start?

Just as he was drowning in frustration, Fu Yijie appeared at his side. He had slipped out of his room at some point, pulled a chair up to the table, and climbed on, sitting perfectly upright.

“What are you doing?” Fu Kun asked, eyeing him.

Yijie didn’t answer. He simply reached out, picked up a few scraps, examined them carefully, and set them aside.

Fu Kun watched him for a moment before realizing what he was doing—he was sorting out the blank pieces of paper, separating them from the ones with drawings.

“Man, having a little brother is kinda nice.” A grin spread across Fu Kun’s face.

Yijie remained silent, his head bowed in quiet concentration as he carefully sorted the scraps.

So Fu Kun rolled up his sleeves, leaned over the table, and joined him.

Before long, they had sorted out all the blank pieces.

The next part wasn’t so easy.

Fu Kun picked out the larger, less shredded pieces, trying to make sense of where they fit. He laid them out on the table, squinting at the jigsaw of destruction before him.

But after what felt like an eternity, all he had managed to piece together was half of Mom’s phantom kick.

“Ah…” He let out a long sigh. “Looks like I’m skipping dinner tonight.”

Fu Yijie paused, then slid off his chair and ran back to his room. A moment later, he returned, holding a small snack pack of Lang Wei Xian—the one Fu Kun had given him earlier. He placed it solemnly on the table.

Fu Kun blinked. “Wait… you haven’t eaten this yet?”

“You eat it.” Yijie pushed the pack toward him, then turned on his heel and bolted out of the room.

“Hey! Where are you going?!” Fu Kun called after him.

Yijie didn’t answer. He ran straight to the kitchen, where Auntie was chatting with a few neighbors while cooking.

The kitchen was packed with people. The moment he saw the crowd, Yijie hesitated, gripping the doorframe, suddenly too nervous to step inside.

“Oh, isn’t this your new little one, Shuqin?” one of the neighbors said with a smile.

Auntie turned around and spotted him. “What’s wrong, Yijie?”

He didn’t say a word. He just clung to the doorframe, staring at her with wide, uncertain eyes. Within seconds, his lashes were trembling with unshed tears.

“Uh-oh, looks like someone’s about to cry,” an elderly lady chuckled.

“What happened, sweetheart?!” Auntie abandoned the frying pan and rushed over, scooping him into her arms.

The moment she held him, the tears that had been clinging to his eyes finally spilled over. In a wobbly, tear-choked voice, he sobbed, “Let Gege eat dinner.”

“Oh, baby, baby, don’t cry!” Auntie wiped his tears frantically, cooing as she planted frantic kisses on his forehead. “Of course, we’ll let your brother eat! He can eat! He can eat all he wants!”

Meanwhile, in the other room, Fu Kun was busy piecing together a particularly complex section of his own backside when Mom stormed in, grabbed him by the collar, and demanded, “Spit it out. Did you tell Yijie to come cry to me?”

“Huh?” Fu Kun stared at her blankly, then stiffened, offended. “Of course not! I handle my own messes—I wouldn’t send a little kid to beg for me!”

“So he did that on his own?” Mom clutched her chest dramatically. “God, my heart shattered when I saw him all teary-eyed, pleading for his big brother to have dinner.”

Fu Kun took one look at her theatrics and burst out laughing. “What’s with this over-the-top performance?”

“Alright, enough. You can stop piecing that mess together—it’s hopeless anyway.” Mom waved her hand dismissively and pulled him to her side. “Kunzi, listen. It’s not that I don’t want you to draw. You’re good at it. I like that you love it. But look—homework isn’t much, right? It barely takes an hour to finish. So why not just get it done first and then draw all you want?”

Fu Kun frowned, chewing on his lip. “I just… I just find it annoying.”

“Oh? And having your teachers hound you every day isn’t annoying?” Mom shot him a sharp look. “You think I enjoy getting surrounded by teachers complaining about you?”

Fu Kun opened his mouth but found no words.

“Look, you’ve gotten into fights, daydreamed in class, forged my signature—I didn’t say a word, did I?” Mom let out a long sigh. “I don’t expect you to be some perfect, well-behaved kid. But at the very least, can you just do your homework? I nearly died giving birth to you—can’t you show a little mercy for your poor mother and stop making your teachers hunt me down every other day?”

Fu Kun kept his head down, silent.

“Say something! Is writing a bit of homework really that impossible for your old mother?!” She gave him a shove.

“Fine!” Fu Kun clenched his jaw. “I’ll do it from now on! I was just too lazy ‘cause my hand’s been hurt lately.”

“Oh? So you can draw just fine, but writing a few words is too much effort?” Mom scoffed. “That settles it—homework gets done!”

“Mm.” Fu Kun nodded.

“That’s my boy, loyal and dependable.” She patted his shoulder approvingly.

With that, she spun around and bolted toward the kitchen. “My food—it’s gonna burn!”

Fu Kun stepped out of the room and spotted Fu Yijie kneeling on a chair, carefully piecing together the shredded drawing on his desk. He studied the boy’s face—his eyes weren’t puffy, no trace of tears. Looked like someone had pressed his reset button again.

“Yijie.” Fu Kun strolled over, hooked an arm around him from behind, and lifted him up effortlessly, settling him onto the couch. “Come here—let Gege give you a kiss.”

Yijie had never been kissed before. He had never even heard such a request. He sat stiffly on Fu Kun’s lap, unmoving.

Fu Kun pulled him close and planted a firm, exaggerated kiss on his cheek. “So that’s where you ran off to—begging for me, huh?”

Yijie stayed quiet. It was his first time being kissed, and the warmth lingered on his skin, a ticklish kind of comfort he wasn’t used to.

After a moment, he wrapped his arms around Fu Kun’s neck and pressed a tiny kiss onto his cheek.

“Whoa, that was loud!” Fu Kun laughed for ages, wiping his face. “You covered me in spit—did you lick me just now?”

Yijie didn’t answer. He just stared at Fu Kun for a long moment, then ducked his head, smiling a little in embarrassment.

Fu Kun froze. Then, as if he had just witnessed a miracle, he suddenly bellowed down the hallway, “Mom! Yijie can smile—!”

The shout nearly sent Yijie tumbling off his lap. He had already been a little shy, but now his face was burning. He immediately tried to squirm away.

“Don’t move, don’t move! I won’t shout anymore!” Fu Kun laughed, hugging him tight. “C’mon, give Gege another smile.”

Yijie glared at him, but the brief, fleeting smile was already gone, replaced by that usual blank, hesitant expression.

“Aww, come on…” Fu Kun sighed, pinching his cheek. “Is smiling really that hard?”

Yijie lowered his eyes, staring at the fabric of his sweater without a word.

Fu Kun bounced his leg a little. “Hey, Yijie, let’s make a deal.”

Yijie looked up and nodded.

“From now on, if I make you laugh—you have to laugh. Deal?”

“Mm.” Fu Yijie responded in a barely audible whisper.

Fu Kun blew warm air onto his hands, then slipped them under Yijie’s sweater, pinching his waist. “C’mon, laugh.”

Yijie had never been tickled before. At first, he just froze in confusion—but then, as the sensation registered, he started wriggling like a fish out of water, trying to escape. Within seconds, helpless giggles bubbled out of him.

This laugh was different. This time, it was loud, crisp, and completely unrestrained.

The moment Fu Kun heard it, he doubled down, pinning Yijie against the couch and attacking his stomach and sides with relentless tickles.

Yijie flailed and rolled across the couch, twisting and turning in an attempt to escape, but he was laughing so hard his eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming in sharp gasps between peals of laughter.

Fu Kun finally relented, tapping a finger against his flushed cheek. “Damn, little guy, you’ve got a real set of lungs on you when you laugh.”

Yijie lay sprawled on the couch, panting for air, his face glowing red from laughter.

“Having a big brother—is it nice?” Fu Kun flicked his nose lightly. He’d never actually asked Yijie this question before.

Yijie coughed twice, then nodded. “It’s nice.”