Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Lost Little Brother

After getting an earful from his mom, the ever-loyal Fu Kun, true to his word, plopped himself down at his desk the moment dinner was over and dutifully began his homework. Meanwhile, his parents lounged in the living room, chatting while the TV droned on in the background.

The homework wasn’t much—just copying passages, filling in blanks, stringing together sentences, and tackling a few arithmetic problems. Simple enough. But writing with his left hand? That was a different story. The letters came out all wrong, the angles felt unnatural, and the frustration of not being able to write right-to-left like some ancient scholar made him loathe the whole ordeal even more.

Before, he’d skip an assignment every now and then. But ever since he hurt his hand, he’d just stopped doing them altogether.

Fu Yijie sat quietly beside the desk, watching him work. He didn’t say a word. Even when their mom called him to watch TV, he didn’t budge.

Fu Kun, on the other hand, was dying to watch. “The Legend of the Condor Heroes” was on tonight, and they’d just gotten to the ‘East Heretic, West Venom’ arc. His fingers itched to grab the remote. But he gritted his teeth and held firm—he’d made a big, bold promise to his mom, after all. And with finals around the corner, she wouldn’t let him binge-watch anyway.

Still, it was infuriating. Every time the TV station aired this show, it just had to be during exam season. This was the third rerun now, and he still hadn’t watched the whole thing from start to finish!

“Yijie,” Fu Kun set down his pen and stretched lazily. “You really don’t wanna watch TV?”

“Nope.” Yijie stayed glued to the desk, chin resting on his hands, eyes locked onto Fu Kun’s every move. However long Fu Kun had been writing, Yijie had been watching.

Fu Kun sighed dramatically. “Man, some people would kill to watch, but they can’t. And then there’s you, who can watch but doesn’t even want to.” He smirked suddenly. “Lucky for me, though… I’ve got a secret weapon.”

He slid open the drawer, reached inside, and pulled out a periscope.

Fu Yijie finally moved, shifting his posture as he leaned in to get a better look at the object in Fu Kun’s hands.

“A periscope,” Fu Kun whispered conspiratorially. “Lets you see around corners. Made it in shop class. Watch this…”

Keeping his voice low, he snuck the periscope past the doorway and angled it toward the TV. Then, with a smug tilt of his chin, he gestured for Fu Yijie to take a look.

Fu Yijie peered through the makeshift scope, his eyes going wide with surprise. He turned back to Fu Kun, excitement flickering across his usually impassive face. “I can see it.”

“Cool, huh?” Fu Kun grinned and handed him the periscope. “Here, you play with it.”

Fu Yijie was eerily quiet—whether he was watching Fu Kun or the TV, he never made a sound.

As Fu Kun scribbled away at his homework, he couldn’t help but think—his mom would probably love this kind of kid. She was always complaining that he was too rowdy, that he made her head feel like a pot of boiling soup.

But if he ignored the fact that Fu Yijie had stolen his toys, invaded his space, and even claimed his pet dumpling rat, Fu Kun had to admit—the kid was kinda cute. Especially since he’d actually gone to their mom earlier to plead on his behalf.

“Yijie,” Fu Kun tossed his pen aside, turning to give the kid a well-earned compliment—only to nearly jump out of his skin.

The cardboard tube of the periscope was right up in his face.

“What the hell?!” Fu Kun swatted it away. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at you,” Fu Yijie replied, squinting through one eye.

“You can just look at me, you know. What is this, sniper training?” Fu Kun muttered, pushing the periscope aside with an exasperated huff.

Fu Yijie blinked at him, voice soft as he explained, “This way, I can only see your face.”

“Huh?” Fu Kun took the periscope and peered through it at Fu Yijie. Since they were so close, the tiny mirror only reflected Fu Yijie’s face. “Hey, you’re right.”

For a kid who barely had any toys, this periscope was a treasure. He clutched it all night, even after climbing into bed, fingers still wrapped tightly around it.

“You like it that much?” Fu Kun chuckled, resting his head on his arm. Seeing his slapdash shop class project treated like a prized possession gave him an odd sense of accomplishment. “I’ll make you a better one next time. This one’s just cardboard—it won’t last long. I’ll use toothpaste tube metal for the next one.”

“Mm.” Fu Yijie, eyes already closed, hugged the periscope to his chest.

“Go to sleep. I’m exhausted.” Fu Kun shut his eyes.

For a while, everything was quiet.

Then, just a few minutes later, Fu Kun felt a small hand reach over and pinch the waistband of his shorts.

He didn’t move. What was this kid up to?

Fu Yijie pinched the fabric for a bit, then gathered both layers between his fingers and started rubbing them together, slow and rhythmic.

“What are you doing?” Fu Kun murmured.

“Xiao Mo.” Fu Yijie’s voice was just as soft.

“Xiao Mo? Sounds more like Xiao Thief.”

Fu Yijie said nothing, just retracted his hand and started rubbing the edge of the pillowcase instead.

Fu Kun thought about it for a moment. So Xiao Mo must be his personal name for fabric-rubbing.

“Why do you do it?” Fu Kun reached over and brushed his fingers against the boy’s hand.

“Can’t fall asleep without it.” Fu Yijie’s fingers kept moving, slowly working the fabric between them.

“I’ll recite a nursery rhyme for you. Listen to it, and you’ll be out in no time.”

“Mm.”

Fu Kun thought for a second before beginning, voice low and lulling:

“A first-grader’s a little bean bun, punch him once, he jumps real high.
A second-grader’s a tiny water bowl, poke it once, and it leaks a hole…”

Fu Yijie didn’t respond, just kept rubbing the pillowcase.

Fu Kun switched it up.

“A little fool sits on the doorstep, crying, wailing for a wife.
Why do you want a wife? Light the lamp, chat a bit, blow it out, sleep together,
Tomorrow morning, she’ll braid your little hair—”

Fu Yijie blinked. “Your wife braids your hair?”

“…Forget it.” Fu Kun sighed. “Just keep rubbing.”

“Mm.” Fu Yijie hummed, fingers gliding over the fabric with a soft, steady scritch scritch.

Fu Kun couldn’t help but laugh. “What kind of habit is this? So, what’s better? My shorts or the pillowcase?”

“Your shorts.”

“Ah, even picky about the fabric, huh?” Fu Kun snickered and grabbed Fu Yijie’s hand, placing it back on his waistband. “Fine, then. Go ahead, rub my shorts.”

“Mm.” Fu Yijie pinched the hem of Fu Kun’s shorts again, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. But it didn’t last long—his hand gradually stilled, and soon, he drifted off to sleep.

—

Morning arrived with the usual routine: Fu Kun being yanked out of bed by his mother. But today, he didn’t resist—because for once, he wasn’t the only victim.

Fu Yijie, still half-asleep, was dragged out in the exact same manner.

“It’s Yijie’s first day of school…” their mother announced as she set breakfast on the table.

“Where’s Dad?” Fu Kun craned his neck to peek into the other room.

“Morning shift. Left at five-thirty.” Their mother was about to help Fu Yijie get dressed, but before she could, he had already slipped into his clothes with practiced efficiency. Meanwhile, Fu Kun, with his still-clumsy injured arm, wrestled with his sweater for a full minute before managing to get it halfway on. Sighing, his mother stepped in to tug it down properly.

“You’re taking your little brother to school. Make sure he gets to his classroom, got it?”

“Mm.”

“If you have time between classes, check on him. See if he needs anything.”

“Mm.”

“And after school—”

“Agh, I get it!” Fu Kun groaned, toothbrush in hand as he stalked toward the door. “I walked myself to and from kindergarten every day. Why does he get all this special treatment?”

“Less talking, more listening!” his mother shot back.

—

By the time he returned from washing up, she was making milk. She scooped powdered milk into a cup and turned away to grab the thermos.

That was when Fu Yijie, eyes gleaming, reached for the cup. Without hesitation, he scooped up a spoonful of dry milk powder and popped it straight into his mouth.

Fu Kun saw it happen and, sensing disaster, spun around to leave—but his mother snagged the back of his collar before he could escape.

“Fu Kun!”

“What?!” he struggled.

“Explain. Right now. How did you give Yijie his milk last night?”

“Straight-up powdered milk, what else?” Fu Kun muttered. “I was in a rush, so I didn’t mix it.”

Across the table, Fu Yijie had frozen mid-scoop, slowly looking up at him. He seemed to realize, just then, that this might not be the proper way to consume milk.

Fu Kun sighed and added, “I eat malted milk powder dry all the time, don’t I?”

“That is not the same thing!” his mother scolded. “Eating powdered milk like this messes with digestion! The nutrients don’t absorb properly! And it can cause heatiness!” She sighed and poured hot water into the cup. “Yijie, from now on, you should drink milk properly, okay? I’m subscribing to milk deliveries next month—then you’ll have the real thing. Your brother is not a reliable role model, so don’t pick up his bad habits.”

—

On a normal school day, Fu Kun rode with Sun Wei—just the two of them, one bike, perfectly balanced. But today, with Fu Yijie in the picture, things got complicated.

Sun Wei’s bike was a women’s model, which meant the front bar sloped down—no way to seat an extra passenger there. That meant both of them would have to squeeze onto the back.

Problem was, Sun Wei wasn’t exactly an expert cyclist. If Fu Kun’s arm wasn’t injured, he wouldn’t even let Sun Wei be the one pedaling, much less carrying passengers. And riding with two extra people? Absolutely not happening.

So that left the other option: Fu Kun riding, with both Sun Wei and Fu Yijie on the back.

Sun Wei was fine with it. But Fu Yijie? Not so much. He hovered close to Fu Kun, visibly unwilling to sit near Sun Wei.

“What now?” Sun Wei groaned. His own little sister was never this much trouble—Sun Xiao always walked to school on her own without a fuss.

“You run.” Fu Kun waved him off and half-lifted Fu Yijie onto the back seat.

“What? You can’t do this to me!” Sun Wei was outraged. “How many years have we been friends? And now, just because of some little brother who showed up at your house two days ago, you’re making me run behind the bike?”

“We’ll take turns. Five minutes each,” Fu Kun said as he swung a leg over the bike. “You’ve got a watch, don’t you? Time it. I’ll run after you switch.”

And that was how their grand plan for escorting Fu Yijie to school began—one of them pedaling, the other running, swapping every five minutes.

Fu Yijie, meanwhile, had the best seat in the house. Perched on the back, he sat comfortably, swinging his legs and curiously taking in the sights along the way.

By the time they reached school, Sun Wei was out of breath, barely able to form words. “We… we need… a better plan… This… this is…”

“He’s just not used to people yet,” Fu Kun, on the other hand, was barely fazed. Years of climbing walls, brawling, and outrunning teachers had built up his endurance. This little jog was practically nothing for him to endure. “Give him some time. He’ll warm up. Or I’ll run a bit more tomorrow—you’re seriously out of shape.”

“How long is that gonna take? He hasn’t even called me ‘big brother’ once.” Sun Wei didn’t hold much hope for his future as an unpaid, unwilling sprinter.

“Big brother.”

Fu Yijie slid off the bike seat and turned to look at him, calling out in a small, polite voice.

“Hey! He said it! He said it!” Sun Wei wiped his nose, suddenly cheered up. “Hello to you too!”

—

Fu Kun walked Fu Yijie to the doorway of Class 1-2, where Teacher Yu was already waiting.

“Go on,” he said, turning to leave.

But before he could take a step, a small hand grabbed his.

Fu Kun looked down. “What is it?”

Fu Yijie didn’t answer. He just clung to his hand, refusing to let go.

With a sigh, Fu Kun crouched down, lowering his voice as he murmured into his brother’s ear, “It’s fine. I’m just upstairs. I’ll come check on you after class. If anyone picks on you, I’ll beat them up.”

He felt pretty damn cool saying that. Like a real boss.

Reluctantly, Fu Yijie loosened his grip, allowing Teacher Yu to take his hand and lead him inside.

—

When the first class ended, Fu Kun was all set to head downstairs and check on him—except he’d been caught doodling little stick figures fighting in his textbook. And unfortunately for him, the teacher who caught him was none other than Li Yama, the terror of the school.

So instead of being a responsible big brother, he was stuck standing in the hallway, listening to an endless lecture. Five minutes passed, and Li Yama showed no sign of stopping.

Fu Kun was getting impatient. This wasn’t just about checking on Fu Yijie anymore—this was a matter of credibility. A boss had to keep his word.

Leaning against the railing, he craned his neck and scanned the lower floor. It didn’t take long to spot him.

The entire school was dressed in matching blue uniforms—except for one tiny figure in a bright red padded jacket.

Fu Yijie stood at the bottom of the stairs, head tilted back, looking up at him. His hat was barely hanging onto his head.

Something about that sight made Fu Kun feel off. A little guilty.

He raised his hand, about to wave—

But before he could, Li Yama shoved him. “What are you looking at? You can’t focus in class, and now you won’t even listen when I’m trying to educate you? What, you think you’re too good for this?!”

“I know I was wrong.”

Fu Kun didn’t like Li Yama. She was a snob. If a kid came from money or had a parent in the government, she acted all smiles and warmth, like they were family. But for everyone else, she was downright vicious. Kids in the class went out of their way to avoid her. Some burst into tears at just the mention of being called to her office.

That’s why they called her Li Yama, the Hell King.

On any other day, Fu Kun wouldn’t have backed down so easily. But today, he just wanted to get out of there.

He had a promise to keep.

“Wrong? What do you mean wrong? Don’t think you can just brush this off! Tell me—exactly what you did wrong!”

Li Yama wasn’t letting this go.

A spark of irritation flared in Fu Kun’s chest. Honestly, talking back to teachers was nothing new for him, but his mom had just sat him down for a serious talk yesterday. He’d planned to behave for at least a few days.

But with this Li Yama? He just couldn’t hold it in.

“You’re asking me? You’re the one dragging me out here to yell at me—shouldn’t you be telling me what I did wrong?”

Li Yama’s eyes went wide, round as saucers. In the whole grade, there weren’t many kids who dared talk back like this. And among the usual troublemakers, there was only one repeat offender with this level of audacity.

Fu Kun.

Her finger jabbed dangerously close to his face. “Why are you even in school?! Get out! Go sell vegetables on the street! That’s all you’re good for!”

“Fine by me!” Fu Kun didn’t even hesitate. He spun around and stalked toward the staircase. “And don’t look down on vegetable sellers! You eat vegetables, don’t you?”

The moment he hit the stairs, he tuned out whatever else she was shrieking behind him, skipping two steps at a time as he leapt his way down.

Fu Yijie was still standing in the exact same spot, his little head craned so far back that his hat was barely clinging on.

“Still looking?” Fu Kun waved a hand in front of his face.

The second Fu Yijie saw him, his entire face lit up. “Big brother!”

The words came out loud, clear, and full of joy.

“You’re not cold? What are you doing standing out here?” Fu Kun tugged at his collar.

Fu Yijie just smiled, not saying a word.

Fu Kun studied him for a few seconds. “What’s so funny? Is there something to laugh about? Go inside. When school’s over, just line up with your class—I’ll wait for you.”

“Mm.” Fu Yijie nodded obediently.

He turned and shuffled back into the classroom at his usual unhurried pace. Fu Kun lingered outside the door for a couple of minutes before the bell rang for the next period.

But he didn’t go back to class.

Instead, he ducked into the stairwell, hunched his shoulders, and waited. Once the hall-monitor teacher walked past, he slipped out like a shadow, bolted across the small practice field behind the teaching building, and made a beeline for the old school wall.

The wall, built from faded red bricks, was about two meters high. To most kids, it was an obstacle. To Fu Kun, it might as well have been a step stool. He was tall for his age, already matching some of the fifth and sixth graders. A few well-placed kicks, and he was up.

At least, that was before he hurt his hand.

But in his present state, getting over the wall with one working hand was a bit more challenging. He had to use his chin to push himself up—twice—before he finally scrambled over. The rough bricks scraped at his skin, leaving a dull ache on his jaw.

“Who the hell wants to sit in class?” He muttered under his breath, rubbing his chin as he made his way down the narrow alley.

Fu Kun didn’t skip school often. He wasn’t like Wang Zhiqiang and his gang, who practically lived outside the classroom.

But on the rare occasions he did sneak out, there was only one place he ever went.

The arcade at the street corner.

—

The owner of the arcade was a middle-aged man with a massive, jet-black dragon tattoo curling around his arm like a sleeve. It looked fierce as hell. But despite his intimidating appearance, he wasn’t actually that scary.

Fu Kun had no idea what his real name was. Everyone just called him ‘Uncle Long’.

The moment Uncle Long saw him walk in, his face twisted into something halfway between exasperation and resignation.

“Kunzi… you skipped school again?”

Uncle Long sat behind the counter, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his expression pained like he was physically suffering from this knowledge.

“Yeah, just for a bit.”

Fu Kun fished a crumpled one-yuan note from his pocket and slapped it onto the table.

Uncle Long let out a long sigh, stubbed out his cigarette, and tapped a finger against the single yuan note.

“How many tokens?”

“One,” Fu Kun replied.

“One again?” Uncle Long looked thoroughly exasperated.

“What, are you not selling?” Fu Kun leaned against the counter, eyebrows raised. “Hurry up.”

Uncle Long sighed, shook his head, and tossed him a token before fishing out eighty cents in change.

Honestly, he didn’t want to sell Fu Kun tokens. The kid gave him a headache just by existing. About other elementary schoolers, he welcomed them with open arms—they were walking piggy banks. A single token lasted them a few minutes, maybe ten at most.

But Fu Kun?

One damn token and he’d be parked in front of a machine for half the afternoon. If he was in a good mood, he could clear an entire game on just one.

Uncle Long’s arcade only had eight machines total. Every time Fu Kun strolled in, two measly dimes were enough to claim one for ages. It was maddening. And the worst part was that he couldn’t even kick him out.

Because if he did, Fu Kun would just come back four times a day to chuck rocks at the arcade windows before bolting like a greased rat.

—

Fu Kun pocketed his token, found an open machine, and settled in. Normally, he’d go straight for Street Fighter, but his injured hand made things tricky today.

He should go with something easier, then.

Uncle Long glanced over and sighed again when he saw the familiar starry-blue glow of Nebula Squadron.

Well. At least the place wasn’t busy right now.

The moment Fu Kun started playing, the rest of the world faded away. He was locked in, fingers moving on instinct, navigating the tiny pixelated spacecraft with sharp, precise movements.

It wasn’t until he reached the final stage that reality came crashing back in.

Somewhere nearby, someone casually remarked, “Let’s go eat. It’s past noon.”

Fu Kun blinked.

The second of distraction cost him. His on-screen ship took a direct hit and exploded in a fiery mess.

He didn’t even flinch. His brain was already scrambling elsewhere.

“What time is it, Uncle Long?!” he hollered over his shoulder.

Uncle Long glanced at his watch. “Twelve twenty.”

“Aahhh—!”

Fu Kun let out a strangled yell, shot up from his stool like it was spring-loaded, and bolted for the door.

School had let out at eleven thirty!

He was an hour late!

By the time Fu Kun was sprinting back to school, his legs were already turning to jelly. Every time he pictured Fu Yijie standing there, face upturned, waiting—waiting—his knees nearly buckled.

It was his first day of school. He didn’t know a single soul. He’d only walked the route from home to here twice.

If something had happened—

If something had happened, Fu Kun might as well not bother going home. His parents would grind him into mincemeat and stuff him into dumplings.

—

He reached the school gates, chest heaving, eyes darting frantically.

What welcomed him was an empty sight.

Everyone was gone.

Even the main gates had been locked, leaving only a side door open. The old gatekeeper was sweeping snow off the steps.

Wait. Snow?

When the hell did it start snowing?

Just as he was about to charge in, the old man caught sight of him and immediately stepped in his way.

“What do you think you’re doing?! School’s still out, no one’s allowed in!”

Fu Kun barely heard him. His throat felt like sandpaper, but he still shouted toward the courtyard, “Yijie!”

The old man waved a hand dismissively. “No one’s left. They all went home ages ago. I checked the classrooms myself—look at the time…”

—

Fu Kun didn’t wait to hear the rest. He bolted straight for the bike shed, grabbed his bicycle, and took off.

An hour.

It had been a whole hour, god damn it.

Maybe Yijie had already made it home. The route took the students all the way to a spot just two streets away from their house before breaking up. If Yijie remembered the way, he could’ve made it back in ten minutes.

But did he?

What if he didn’t?

What if he was still standing there, waiting?

What if—

Fu Kun’s mind was a whirlwind of terrifying images. Strange men with candy. Dark alleys. Snatchers lurking behind corners.

Fu Kun, your mom was absolutely right about you.

You’re a goddamn disaster.

You lost your own brother on his first day of school.