Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: A Boy’s Worries

 

Fu Yijie sat stiffly in his chair, feeling lost in the whirlwind of lessons that moved far faster than he was used to. No matter how hard he tried to focus, the words seemed to slip past him, like water rushing through his fingers. Some of it made sense, but most of it felt like a blur, and the more he struggled to catch up, the more he felt himself falling behind.

But the worst part of the day—the part that made his stomach twist into anxious knots—was that every time a new teacher stepped into the classroom, they would pause, scan the students, and ask, “Which one of you is the new student, Fu Yijie?”

And then, without fail, they would make him stand up.

All eyes would turn to him.

He could feel their gazes pressing in from every direction, curious, indifferent, or amused. His ears would burn, his hands would tighten into fists beneath his desk, and all he wanted in those moments was to shrink into himself, to curl into the smallest possible space and disappear.

The other students weren’t outright mean to him, at least not the way they had been at his last school. They didn’t keep their distance as if he carried something contagious. But the boy sitting directly behind him, a kid named Jiang Song, had a particularly irritating habit—he kept tugging at the fuzzy yarn pom-pom on top of Fu Yijie’s hat.

The first few times, Fu Yijie had turned around, hoping that a glance would be enough to make him stop. But Jiang Song would just grin, unfazed, and do it again a few minutes later. After a while, Fu Yijie gave up. He lowered his head and let the little pom-pom dangle over his forehead, shielding his eyes as if that could somehow make the day pass faster.

—

More than anything, he wanted the school day to end. He wanted to see Fu Kun.

Ever since moving here, everything had felt strange—his classroom, his teachers, even his own house. It was as if his entire world had been shaken up and rearranged into something unfamiliar, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to settle into it.

But when Fu Kun was around, none of that mattered.

As long as he had his brother—his warmth, his steady presence, the way his hand always felt strong and reassuring—then the rest of the world didn’t seem so scary.

—

Every recess, as soon as the teacher let them out, Fu Yijie would dash toward the hallway and crane his neck, searching through the sea of students, hoping to catch a glimpse of Fu Kun among the upper grades.

But no matter how many times he looked, his brother was never there.

Even during the morning exercises, when the entire school gathered outside, he kept scanning the crowd, waiting to see that familiar figure.

Still he found no one, nothing.

With every passing period, his disappointment grew heavier, sitting in his chest like a stone.

—

But when the final bell rang, hope flared up again.

Fu Kun had promised to wait for him after school.

That meant he would be there.

—

At dismissal, the teacher organized the students into walking groups based on their home addresses. Fu Yijie was placed second in his line, right behind a small girl with dark pigtails, who kept glancing back at him with open curiosity.

The older students from the upper floors soon came pouring out, rushing down the staircases in loud, eager waves.

Fu Yijie stood on his toes, peering past the moving figures, scanning every face.

That was when he spotted Sun Wei dragging his bag behind him, lazily kicking at the ground as he made his way toward the gate.

But there was still no sign of Fu Kun.

—

His heart began to sink, an uneasy feeling creeping up his spine.

Where was his brother?

He wanted to let go of the little girl’s backpack strap, to push through the crowd, to run ahead and check every corridor, every stairwell. Maybe Fu Kun had just gotten stuck in a classroom. Maybe he was waiting somewhere just out of sight.

But the teacher had been very clear—students had to hold onto the strap of the person in front of them.

So he did.

But his eyes kept darting left and right, his small hands gripping the strap a little too tightly. He kept glancing beyond the gates, checking every direction, searching for that one familiar figure.

Still not a sight of him.

Fu Kun was nowhere to be seen.

At first, his mood had been light, his spirits lifted by the thought of seeing his brother, but as the minutes stretched on, that feeling slowly drained away.

Still, he kept turning his head, looking in every direction, scanning the sea of faces, refusing to give up just yet.

Maybe Fu Kun wasn’t inside the school. Maybe he was waiting just outside the gates.

But when he stepped out, Fu Kun wasn’t there.

That was fine. Maybe he was up ahead at the street corner.

He hurried forward, weaving through the thinning crowd, heart pounding with anticipation.

But when he reached the corner, Fu Kun still wasn’t there.

Maybe he’s just a little further ahead, waiting by the roadside.

With that thought in mind, he stretched his gaze as far as it could go, scanning every figure, every bicycle, every moving shape in the distance.

His eyes darted over each person, searching, hoping, willing his brother’s familiar silhouette to appear—Fu Kun riding up on his bicycle, calling out his name like always.

But no matter how hard he looked, Fu Kun was nowhere to be found.

—

“Attention!”

The sharp command snapped through the air, cutting through his frantic thoughts. The line leader at the front of the group had stopped, standing straight as he called out the final word—

“Dismissed!”

Fu Yijie froze.

Just like that, the students around him began peeling away, scattering down different streets, heading home in small clusters or alone.

And before he knew it, he was the only one left standing there.

—

He turned in a slow, uncertain circle, his small frame stiff with hesitation.

The world around him kept moving, oblivious. Office workers, store clerks, and parents on their way home from work passed by without sparing him a glance. Students who had already met up with their friends and siblings laughed and chattered as they rushed past, one of them bumping into him without so much as a backward glance.

He stumbled, nearly losing his balance, catching himself at the last moment.

But his chest felt tight.

Fu Kun wasn’t here.

Fu Kun was always here.

So why wasn’t he now?

—

He stood there for a long moment, mind racing in a thousand different directions.

He could get home on his own. Remembering his way back was a skill he had taught himself long ago—just in case. He never wanted to be stranded in an unfamiliar place again, never wanted to feel that awful sense of being lost and forgotten.

But right now…

Should he wait here?

Or should he go home on his own?

Why wasn’t Fu Kun here?

Did something happen?

Maybe he had forgotten to pick him up?

Or… did Fu Kun not want to take him home anymore?

That thought pressed down on him like a weight, cold and heavy, making his limbs feel numb. He crouched down on the side of the road, wrapping his arms around his knees.

It was getting colder. And he was hungry.

—

He reached into his pocket and felt the familiar smoothness of an egg beneath his fingers.

His aunt had given it to him that morning, tucking it into his pocket with a smile, telling him to keep it just in case he got hungry. He hadn’t eaten it yet. He had a habit of saving good things for later, of keeping them as long as possible before finally letting himself enjoy them.

That habit had been with him for as long as he could remember.

His fingers tightened around the egg. He hesitated for a moment, then started pulling it out, ready to eat—

But before he could, a sharp burst of laughter broke through the air behind him.

Mixed in with it was a strange, pitiful whimpering sound.

—

He turned his head.

A short distance away, two boys—both a little taller than him—were standing near a pile of snow. They were laughing, their faces alight with mean-spirited amusement, as they took turns tossing small rocks at something on the ground.

Fu Yijie’s gaze shifted downward.

Nestled in the snow, curled up into a tight, trembling ball, was a small, scruffy-looking yellow dog.

Its fur was dirty and matted, its thin body shivering violently from cold and fear. But it didn’t run. It didn’t even try. It just huddled there, enduring the constant pelting of stones, letting out soft, miserable whimpers with every hit.

—

For a long moment, Fu Yijie simply stared.

His fingers went slack around the egg.

Then, without thinking, he suddenly sprang to his feet and charged straight toward the two boys.

—

His hands shot out, shoving one of them with all the force he could muster.

“Hey!”

The boy staggered back, nearly losing his balance. His face twisted with anger, and before Fu Yijie could brace himself, a sharp pain shot through his arm as a rock was thrown at him in retaliation.

“What the hell?! Are you crazy?!” the boy yelled.

Before he could respond, the other boy shoved him—hard.

Fu Yijie was small. Too small to withstand the force behind the push.

His feet slipped. The world tilted. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, the cold seeping through his clothes as snowflakes clung to his skin.

—

But he didn’t stay down.

His palms stung as he pushed himself back up, his breath coming in fast, short bursts.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t hesitate.

He simply reached for the nearest thing within his grasp—a broken chunk of brick lying inside a tree pit.

—

By the time the two boys realized what was happening, it was too late.

Fu Yijie had already swung.

The brick smacked against the face of the boy who had pushed him.

It wasn’t a hard hit—he was small, his strength limited—but the shock alone was enough.

For two long seconds, the boy stood frozen, his mouth slightly open in stunned disbelief.

Then, all at once, he burst into loud, choking sobs.

—

“You psycho! You wanna die?!”

The other boy wasted no time.

With an angry snarl, he lunged forward, swinging his hand.

A sharp crack rang out as his palm struck Fu Yijie’s cheek.

Pain exploded across his face. His vision blurred for a moment, his head snapping to the side from the force of the blow.

For a few long seconds, the world swayed.

His ears rang.

And for the first time since he had stepped out of the school gates, Fu Yijie felt truly, completely lost.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. His fingers tightened around the rough edges, and in a split second, before fear or reason could catch up to him, he swung.

The brick slammed into the other boy’s forehead with a dull, sickening thud.

For a brief moment, everything seemed to freeze. The boy staggered backward, his hands instinctively flying up to his head. His face twisted in shock, pain, and something almost like disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite process what had just happened to him.

But Fu Yijie didn’t stay to watch.

He had already turned on his heel and bolted.

His heart pounded violently against his ribs as he sprinted across the icy pavement, clutching the trembling little dog tightly in his arms. The cold wind bit at his face, making his eyes water, but he barely felt it. His only thought was running.

He didn’t know if those boys were chasing him. He didn’t dare turn around to check.

He ran past darkened alleyways, past rows of old brick buildings, past flickering streetlights casting long, eerie shadows on the ground.

It wasn’t until he had put a considerable distance between himself and the scene of the fight that he finally allowed himself to slow down.

His lungs burned. His legs ached. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he staggered to a stop near a worn stone staircase on the side of the road. He nearly collapsed onto the steps, his entire body shaking with exhaustion.

His hat had been knocked askew during the chase, hanging loosely on his head.

For a long moment, he just sat there, breathing hard, clutching the little dog against his chest.

The tiny creature was still trembling, its fur cold and dirty against his hands, but at least now, it was safe.

—

After a while, Fu Yijie gently placed the dog on the ground.

The little thing hesitated, its dark eyes watching him warily, as if uncertain whether it could trust him.

Fu Yijie hesitated too. Then, as if making a silent decision, he reached into the pocket of his thin, worn-out jacket and pulled out something small and round.

An egg.

He had been carrying it all day. His aunt had given it to him in the morning, telling him to keep it in his pocket in case he got hungry. But he never ate it. Over the years, he had developed the habit of saving good things, keeping them for later, as if stretching out their value could somehow make them last longer.

But now…

He peeled off the shell quickly, his fingers working with practiced ease. Then, without hesitating, he dropped the whole thing onto the ground in front of the dog.

—

For a second, the little creature simply stared at it.

Then, as if realizing this was food, it lunged forward and began devouring it with frantic, desperate bites.

It didn’t chew. It barely even paused.

It simply tore into the egg, swallowing it as fast as its tiny mouth could manage, as though terrified that if it didn’t eat quickly enough, someone might come and take it away.

Fu Yijie sat still, watching it.

The entire time, he kept swallowing, forcing down the instinctive urge to grab back half of the egg for himself.

He hadn’t eaten since morning. He was cold. He was hungry. His stomach ached with emptiness, and the smell of food, even something as simple as a boiled egg, made his mouth water painfully.

But still—

He clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to sit there.

The dog needed it more.

—

When the last crumb of egg was gone, the little dog lifted its head and looked up at him.

Its tail began to wag—hesitantly at first, then faster, shaking its entire tiny body.

Fu Yijie let out a small breath and dusted off his hands. “That’s all I had,” he muttered, holding up his empty palms as if to prove it.

The dog clearly didn’t understand his words, but it seemed to understand something.

It licked its lips, then sat down.

Fu Yijie sat there for a while longer, staring at it. Eventually, the cold started creeping into his bones again, making him shiver. He rubbed his arms, then sighed and pushed himself to his feet.

It was time to go home.

He turned and started walking.

But the moment he took a step—

A soft patter, patter, patter of tiny paws followed right behind him.

—

He stopped.

Slowly, he turned his head.

The little dog had stood up and was following him, trotting along on unsteady legs.

Fu Yijie sighed. “I really don’t have anything else,” he said again, spreading his hands.

The dog wagged its tail and sat down.

Fu Yijie pressed his lips together. He turned and started walking again.

The dog stood up and followed.

Every time he stopped, it stopped. Every time he moved, it moved.

Step by step, it trailed after him, through dimly lit streets and past silent storefronts, its tiny paws leaving faint imprints in the dusting of snow on the pavement.

By the time Fu Yijie reached the entrance of the bus depot—the place he had been calling home for the past two days—the dog was still there.

—

He turned fully, crouching down so he was at eye level with it.

For a long time, he just stared at the little creature.

Then, finally, he let out another long breath and sighed.

“…Alright,” he murmured at last, reaching out and lifting the tiny body into his arms. “I’ll hide you somewhere.”

—

He couldn’t take it inside.

Not when he had only just moved in.

The people in this house had been kind to him so far, but he knew better than to take that kindness for granted.

He had seen too many kids in the orphanage come and go.

Too many kids who had been adopted—only to be sent back when their new families decided they were too much trouble.

He didn’t want that to happen to him.

He didn’t want to go back.

He wanted a home.

And if he wanted to keep it, then he had to be good.

—

Meanwhile—

—

Fu Kun was racing through the streets like a bullet.

His bicycle cut through the freezing wind, but he barely felt the chill.

His forehead was damp with sweat.

His breath came in short, panicked bursts.

He had been searching for Fu Yijie this entire time, but no matter how many streets he sped down, he hadn’t seen him anywhere.

Where was he?!

—

With a sharp pull of the brakes, Fu Kun skidded to a stop in front of his building.

The sudden halt sent his bicycle crashing into the wall with a loud, rattling clang, but he didn’t even look back.

He threw himself off the seat and bolted inside.

—

The moment he stepped into the stairwell, the warm scent of home-cooked food hit him.

It was thick in the air—savory, familiar, comforting.

But Fu Kun had no time to care.

He was already bounding up the stairs, three steps at a time.

Before he even reached the landing, his voice was ringing out—loud, breathless, and frantic:

“YIJIE!”

At the far end of the dimly lit corridor, a small figure suddenly burst out from behind the doorway of their home.

The moment Fu Kun’s eyes landed on the boy’s face—saw, with absolute certainty, that it was Fu Yijie—his entire body sagged with relief. The tight knot in his chest unraveled in an instant, and all the adrenaline that had been keeping him going finally ran out.

His legs gave up on him.

He couldn’t run anymore.

He stumbled to a halt, bracing his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. Between ragged inhales, he lifted a trembling finger and pointed at Fu Yijie, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was—?!”

“You were scared?!”

A sharp voice cut through the air before Fu Kun even had a chance to straighten up.

His stomach dropped.

His mother’s voice.

He barely had time to flinch before—BAM.

A powerful kick landed square in the middle of his back. The force sent him crashing to his knees.

Fu Kun let out a strangled yelp, but before he could even think about getting up, something huge and heavy slammed onto his head.

A cabbage.

A whole cabbage.

“You are the most unreliable person I have ever seen in my life!” his mother fumed, towering over him like an executioner about to pass judgment. “Didn’t you just complain this morning about how I nag too much?! Well?! Was I really nagging too much, or did you still end up leaving your little brother to come home alone?! Where the hell did you run off to?!”

“Ah—” Fu Kun yelped, throwing up his hands to shield himself as another THUD landed on his head. “I was—I was just playing cards in the classroom—”

“Playing cards?! Playing cards?!”

That was the last straw.

His mother rained down a series of brutal cabbage slams on his head, each hit punctuated by her furious words.

“You know what? Don’t eat lunch today! Go play cards instead! Let’s see if a deck of cards can fill your stomach!”

“Alright, alright! He’s back safe, that’s all that matters!”

A few neighbors had gathered by now, rushing over to intervene before the poor boy was buried alive under a mountain of vegetables.

Fu Kun, wisely, didn’t move an inch.

Under normal circumstances, he would have bolted the second he got the chance—dodging, weaving, waiting for his mother’s temper to die down before sneaking back in through the back door.

But today…

Today, even if she whipped out a whole cutting board and smacked him with it, he still wouldn’t dare move.

—

His mother stood over him, hands on her hips, still seething.

“Listen to me, Fu Kun.” She jabbed a finger at his forehead, her voice sharp as a blade. “I let a lot of things slide with you. You’ve grown up like a wild boar, running around without a care in the world, and I haven’t said a word. But today—today is different.”

Her voice dropped lower, more serious than before.

“This is responsibility. Do you understand?”

She stepped closer, looking him dead in the eye.

“You were the one who took your brother out. You were the one who promised to bring him back. And then what happened?”

Fu Kun swallowed hard, lowering his head.

“I was wrong,” he muttered. “I won’t do it again. I swear.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re a man,” she said, her voice firm. “Even if you’re still young, you’re a man. And a man—keeps his word.”

Fu Kun clenched his jaw and nodded. “I will.”

“Good.”

She turned sharply, arms crossed.

“Now—go stand outside.”

—

Lunch was served.

Fu Kun was not invited.

Instead, he stood at the entrance of their home, back pressed against the wall just beneath the window. His mother hadn’t beaten him half to death like she usually threatened, nor had she made him scrub the floors until they shone.

No.

Today, she had given him one simple punishment—

Stand there.

Think.

Think about responsibility.

Think about what it meant.

Think until it was time to go back to school in the afternoon.

—

At first, it wasn’t so bad.

The cold nipped at his skin, but he could handle that. He was used to running around in winter without a coat, used to climbing rooftops and sneaking around alleys, used to scraping his knees and bruising his elbows without flinching.

But standing completely still…

That was different.

After half an hour, his legs started to go numb.

The chill seeped into his bones. His toes curled inside his shoes, stiff and aching.

And then—

Tap, tap.

A soft knock against the window behind him.

Fu Kun turned his head.

Through the glass, a familiar little face was pressed against the windowpane, staring out at him with wide, curious eyes.

Fu Yijie.

—

“Gege.”

His little brother’s voice was muffled through the glass, but clear enough to hear.

Their mother had gone out to bring food to their father. Afraid that Fu Yijie might try to sneak food out for his brother, she had locked the door from the outside before leaving.

Fu Yijie was trapped inside.

Fu Kun, meanwhile, was trapped outside.

—

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I ended up here?” he said, grinning.

But Fu Yijie had a different question in mind.

“Gege…” he hesitated. “How did you get back home?”

Fu Kun blinked. “Huh?”

“You found your way back by yourself?”

Fu Yijie nodded.

“You weren’t scared?”

“…No.”

“Did you wait for a long time?”

Fu Yijie didn’t answer immediately.

He simply blinked, then tilted his head.

And after a long, quiet moment—

He nodded.

Fu Yijie nodded.

Then, after a brief pause, he shook his head.

—

Fu Kun frowned, about to say something else, but before he could get a word out, a mouthwatering aroma drifted through the cold air and hit him straight in the face.

His stomach lurched.

His throat tightened.

Saliva pooled in his mouth so fast that he had to slap a hand over his lips to keep himself from outright drooling.

His head snapped to the side, searching for the source of the delicious scent—

And sure enough, there stood Xia Fei, who had somehow appeared without him noticing.

In one hand, he held a golden, crispy chicken drumstick.

And in the next second, he lifted it—waved it slowly in front of Fu Kun’s face—and then just as quickly pulled it away.

Fu Kun exhaled sharply and turned his head away, forcing himself to ignore the temptation.

“Still standing here, huh?” Xia Fei drawled, twirling the drumstick between his fingers with deliberate ease.

Fu Kun didn’t answer, keeping his gaze averted. He had known Xia Fei long enough to be familiar with his antics. The guy loved messing with people.

Xia Fei took a step closer.

The rich, savory smell of fried chicken intensified.

“You cold?” he asked casually, waving the drumstick right under Fu Kun’s nose this time, so close that the warmth of it seeped into his frozen skin.

Fu Kun’s patience snapped.

“Xia Fei!” he growled through gritted teeth. “You’re a cruel, cruel man.”

Xia Fei burst into laughter, so amused that he actually doubled over, still clutching the chicken. He laughed for a good while, shaking his head in delight.

Then, finally—

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small handwarmer, and shoved it straight into Fu Kun’s arms.

“Alright, alright,” he said, still grinning. “ Are you hungry?”

Fu Kun kept his head down. “I don’t want it.”

The small handwarmer nestled snugly in his palms, radiating a comforting heat. It was the kind filled with tiny charcoal sticks—the kind that stayed warm for hours. He used to have one just like this. Actually, he’d had three. But after losing them all in mysterious and inexplicable ways, his mother had flat-out refused to buy him another.

Xia Fei raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Really don’t want it?”

He lifted the drumstick closer to his face and inhaled deeply. “Damn, this smells amazing. Too bad, though—if you don’t eat it now, it’s gonna get cold.”

Fu Kun clenched his fists. He could already taste the crispy skin, the tender meat, the juices bursting with flavor—

But he gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not eating.”

He was starving. Absolutely famished. He wanted nothing more than to snatch that drumstick and devour it whole.

But—

He was being punished.

And he was a man.

A man had principles.

Xia Fei smirked. He turned to the window, tapping on the glass with his knuckle.

Inside, Fu Yijie had his face squished flat against the windowpane, his nose smushed up like a little dumpling. The moment Xia Fei looked at him, he blinked up with wide, shining eyes.

Xia Fei grinned.

“Yijie, tell your brother to eat the chicken. He’s about to starve to death out here.”

“I said I’m not eating!” Fu Kun snapped, holding his breath. If he couldn’t smell the chicken, maybe he wouldn’t crave it so much.

But then—

A small, soft voice drifted from behind the glass.

“Gege…”

Fu Kun stilled.

“Gege,” Fu Yijie called again.

Fu Kun turned, brows furrowing. “What?”

And then—he saw it.

Fu Yijie’s tiny hands were pressed against the glass. Even through two layers of it, Fu Kun could see the way his brother’s eyes were glistening. The way his lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

The way his tears threatened to spill over.

Fu Kun’s chest tightened. A strange, suffocating feeling twisted in his gut.

Was this what Yijie looked like when he had been standing alone on that street corner?

Waiting for him.

“Why are you crying again?” Fu Kun muttered, throat dry. “I—”

“Gege, please eat something,” Fu Yijie sniffled, rubbing a tiny fist over his eyes. His voice was so gentle, so soft, like a feather brushing against Fu Kun’s ribs. “Please?”

Xia Fei chuckled. “See? If you don’t eat, he’s gonna cry.”

Fu Kun’s resolve cracked.

He had been so hungry. Even a whole roast chicken wouldn’t have been enough to fill him at this point.

And now—

Now his little brother was pleading for him to eat. Looking at him with those big, watery eyes. Sniffling. Begging.

Fu Kun caved.

With a swift motion, he grabbed the drumstick right out of Xia Fei’s hand—and took a massive, unapologetic bite.

Be a man after you eat.

Fu Kun sank his teeth into the drumstick, tearing off a juicy bite. “Damn, this is good,” he mumbled around a mouthful. “Aunt Xu’s cooking is top-notch.”

Xia Fei snorted. “Yeah, you sure eat like a man.” With a chuckle, he turned and headed back inside.

—

After the lesson he’d learned at noon, Fu Kun wasn’t taking any chances.

When school let out in the afternoon, he dragged Sun Wei along, both of them pushing their bikes, sticking close to the first-grade line as the kids were escorted home. If he got any closer, he might as well be marching with them in formation.

Sun Wei, perched lazily on the backseat of his bike, scuffed his foot against the pavement and gave him a side-eye. “Dude, my little sister doesn’t even get this much attention.”

“It’s different,” Fu Kun muttered, lowering his voice. “Yijie’s gonna be staying at my place for a while. My mom’s already washed her hands of him. And he just got here—hasn’t even settled in yet. He used to cry over every little thing, like a freaking leaky faucet. If he starts thinking we don’t want him anymore, he’ll flood the whole damn house.”

Sun Wei smirked. “Let’s see how long you last.” He knew Fu Kun too well—not a patient guy, hot-tempered as hell. Acting like some overprotective mother cow today? Yeah, there was no way that was gonna last.

—

Fu Kun’s mother was a woman of her word.

She had declared, “No dinner for you today.”

And just like that—there was no dinner.

The only thing he had eaten all day was that single drumstick at noon. After school, he had picked up some snacks, but that wasn’t real food. So now, as the family gathered for dinner inside, Fu Kun squatted outside the door, sulking.

His stomach growled.

His dad, bowl in hand, even came over to lecture him for a solid ten minutes.

The scolding? Whatever. Fu Kun was used to getting chewed out. Didn’t even faze him anymore.

The real torture was the food.

The scent of freshly cooked dishes drifted from his father’s bowl, curling through the air, slithering straight into his nose like some cruel, invisible beast.

He held his breath—once, twice, three times.

Barely survived.

It wasn’t until dinner was finally over that he went back inside.

—

Fu Yijie was clutching his stomach, heading toward the door.

Fu Kun blinked. “You got diarrhea again?”

“Mm.” Fu Yijie nodded, his head bowed as he hurried past.

“Man, you eat and it just falls right through? Your intestines don’t even twist or turn a little?” Fu Kun muttered, following after him. A man sticks with his little brother—even for bathroom trips.

“You need me to come with you?”

“No,” Fu Yijie stopped, glancing back at him. “Go back inside.”

“Oh.” Fu Kun hesitated but didn’t press. He turned, heading back into the room.

Then—he frowned.

Something felt…off.

The way Yijie had been holding his stomach, the way he ran out…didn’t quite add up.

His instincts—honed from years of causing trouble—kicked in.

Silently, Fu Kun crept toward the door and peeked outside.

Yijie was sprinting toward the restrooms.

Fu Kun was about to pull back when—

Yijie suddenly stopped at the stairwell.

Fu Kun froze.

Then, in a blink, Yijie was gone.

Fu Kun bolted to the restroom and hollered, “Yijie!”

“Agh—damn, man!” someone inside yelped. “Yell any louder, and I’ll piss on my shoes!”

A moment later, Zhang Qingkai walked out, shaking off his hands.

“You again?” Fu Kun frowned.

“Yep. Dropped by after work,” Zhang Qingkai grinned. “Looking for your brother? Haven’t seen him come in.”

Knew it!

Fu Kun spun on his heel and tore down the stairs. Yijie wasn’t here to use the restroom—he was up to something.

Probably hiding something under his shirt.

—

Sure enough, the moment Fu Kun reached the bottom floor, he spotted Yijie hunched over, clutching his stomach, sneaking toward the back of the building.

Silent as a shadow, Fu Kun followed.

What the hell was this kid up to?

Behind the building lay a stretch of abandoned land, overgrown with weeds in summer, reduced to a muddy wasteland when the snow melted in winter. A row of rickety storage sheds lined the edge, long condemned as unsafe. Even Fu Kun, who loved poking his nose into forbidden places, rarely came here.

Yijie stopped just past the corner.

Fu Kun pressed himself against the wall, listening.

“Diudiu,” Yijie called softly. “Come out.”

Diudiu?

Fu Kun frowned. Who the hell was Diudiu?

A few seconds later, something stirred in the dried grass.

Then—a small, filthy, yellow dog wriggled out, tail wagging furiously as it trotted straight to Yijie’s feet.

A dog?

A DOG!

Instinctively, Fu Kun shrank back, his entire body tensing.

He hated dogs.

He’d been bitten. Twice. By that damn black monster from the bus company lot.

To this day, he had no idea why that dog had it out for him. The second it laid eyes on him, it would charge. He ran? It chased. He couldn’t outrun it, so he got bitten.

After the second attack, his mom had given him some brilliant wisdom:

“If you don’t run, it won’t chase you. The more you run, the more it bites.”

So, the next time the dog came after him, Fu Kun stood his ground. Didn’t move a muscle.

The dog? Didn’t even bother chasing.

Just walked right up and bit him.

After that, Fu Kun made a solemn vow: stay the hell away from dogs.

He wasn’t getting another rabies shot. Getting jabbed twice a year was ruining his growth rate. That year, even his new teeth had come in crooked.

—

Meanwhile, Yijie had lowered his hands.

From beneath his jacket, he pulled out two eggs.

What the—?!

Fu Kun’s eyes went wide in disbelief.

At dinner, each of them got one egg. But since he hadn’t been allowed to eat tonight, his mom had given his portion to Yijie instead. And this little brat—this ungrateful, sneaky, unbelievable little brat—hadn’t even eaten it.

He’d fed it to a dog?!

Fu Kun had no idea how Yijie had managed to smuggle the eggs past their mom without eating them, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, if he’d saved them, shouldn’t he at least share one with his own brother?!

Instead, he’d given everything to the damn dog.

If not for the fact that a furry menace stood between them, Fu Kun would’ve stormed out right then and there to demand an explanation.

—

“Is it good?” Yijie murmured, crouching as he crumbled the eggs onto the ground. He watched quietly as the little yellow mutt gobbled up every last piece.

Only after the dog had finished did Yijie straighten up and pat the dust off his knees.

“I have to go now,” he whispered. “Stay here, okay? Don’t run off.”

—

Hidden behind the corner, Fu Kun slowly backed away.

So Yijie was planning to keep the dog here?

Should he tell their mom?

She would never allow a dog in the house—not even if Fu Kun wanted one himself. And he didn’t. Not after being bitten twice.

But even if he had, she would’ve said no.

The woman had shut down his rabbit idea without a second thought, saying: “You can barely take care of yourself, and you want to raise an animal?”

Fu Kun still hadn’t figured out how his parents—who apparently couldn’t even be trusted to raise pets—had decided to bring Yijie home and raise him.

But that wasn’t important right now.

What mattered was—Yijie was secretly keeping a dog.

And Fu Kun had to decide what to do about it.

—

He climbed the stairs slowly, step by step, turning the situation over in his head. By the time he reached the third floor, he had made up his mind.

He wouldn’t tell.

As a man, he couldn’t bear to see Yijie upset.

And he didn’t want to put their mom in a tough spot either.

So he’d just keep quiet.

They’d hide it together.