Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: One Egg

That night, as Fu Kun lay sprawled across his bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, he found himself unable to shake off the thought of that little mutt—Diu Diu.

Several times, he almost turned over to ask Fu Yijie what the deal was with that dog. Where had it come from? How long had he been hiding it? What exactly did he plan to do with it?

But each time, he stopped himself.

Because the moment the question formed in his mind, another thought immediately followed: What if Yijie begged him to talk to their mother about keeping the dog at home?

Now that was a real problem.

He had no idea how to handle that conversation, and frankly, he didn’t want to deal with it at all.

So in the end, he chose to keep quiet.

Besides, he had far bigger concerns at the moment.

His stomach, empty and neglected, felt as hollow as a sun-bleached skull left to rot in the desert. It was beyond hunger at this point—it was an aching void, gnawing away at his insides.

His whole body felt weak, his mind sluggish, like his thoughts were slogging through knee-deep mud. All he could think about was food—hot, fragrant, piping fresh food.

The thought alone was enough to drive him mad.

“Gege.”

A small, hesitant voice broke through the silence.

Fu Yijie had inched closer, his fingers nervously twisting and tugging at the hem of Fu Kun’s underwear.

“Mm?” Fu Kun responded, though at that very moment, his stomach let out an earth-shaking growl, loud enough to rattle his bones.

It was so ridiculously loud that his response was nearly drowned out by the sound.

“Are you hungry?” Yijie asked cautiously.

Fu Kun let out a sharp, incredulous snort.

“What kind of question is that?” he muttered, exasperation dripping from every word. “I haven’t eaten in two meals—of course I’m hungry! Didn’t you just hear that unholy noise?”

For a brief second, he almost snapped at Yijie for not even thinking to save him an egg earlier, but then, he remembered exactly why he hadn’t eaten in the first place.

And just like that, his anger fizzled out.

With a deep sigh, he flopped back onto his pillow, eyes shutting.

“Forget it,” he muttered, voice low and tired. “Just go to sleep. If I can sleep, then at least I won’t have to think about being hungry.”

A small nudge against his arm.

“Here,” Yijie whispered.

Fu Kun instinctively reached out, his fingers closing around something small, cool, and smooth.

His eyes blinked open in the dim light. He lifted his hand, turning the object over carefully between his fingers, feeling its weight, the faint grainy texture of the shell.

It was an egg.

A real, actual, honest-to-god egg.

His mind took a full second to process what he was looking at.

Then, slowly, his head turned toward Yijie, eyes narrowing.

“Where did this come from?” he demanded, his voice low and suspicious.

“The kitchen,” Yijie replied, as if that explained everything.

Fu Kun froze in place.

Wait. The kitchen?

That didn’t make sense.

Their family never kept raw eggs in the kitchen. Every time they bought eggs, their mother stored them inside the house, carefully portioning out exactly how many to cook per meal.

She never left extras lying around.

Which meant there was absolutely no way this egg had just been sitting in the kitchen, waiting to be found.

A strange suspicion began to creep up his spine.

His gaze sharpened as he stared at Yijie.

He dropped his voice into a harsh, cutting whisper.

“Fu Yijie, my dear little classmate—” he hissed, leaning in, his breath warm against the boy’s ear.

“Where exactly in the kitchen did you get this egg?”

Fu Yijie’s voice was surprisingly calm, almost too steady, as he answered, “From a pot.”

Fu Kun nearly choked on his own tongue. His brain stalled for a second before it caught up with what he had just heard. He had always been the kind of kid who could stir up trouble like a whirlwind—restless, mischievous, an expert at testing limits. But stealing? That was a whole different territory, a line he had never dared to cross. His stomach twisted slightly, not just from hunger now, but from something else—something uneasy.

“You—” The word barely left his lips before he caught himself and clamped his mouth shut. His hands clenched instinctively, the egg sitting warm and fragile in his palm. He felt its weight, its smooth shell pressing into his skin, and for some reason, the sensation made his hunger even more unbearable. His stomach let out another long, pitiful groan, loud enough that even if he wanted to continue scolding Yijie, it would have been drowned out by the embarrassing sound.

“Forget it,” he muttered at last, exhaling slowly through his nose. With careful fingers, he tapped the egg against the edge of the bed, cracking the shell with a soft pop. The thin fragments crumbled beneath his fingertips as he peeled them away, revealing the pale, smooth surface of the boiled egg underneath. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking a bite. The familiar taste spread across his tongue—warm, slightly salted, comforting in its simplicity.

“You remember where that pot was?” he asked, chewing thoughtfully.

“On the rack, next to the counter,” Yijie answered in a hushed voice.

Fu Kun nodded slowly, taking another bite, chewing in silence for a few moments before speaking again. “Mmm… It’s probably from Aunt Liu’s house. I’ll go talk to her tomorrow.”

Yijie blinked at him, his expression unreadable. “…It’s not yours?”

Fu Kun let out a short, breathy laugh, rolling his eyes. “What do you mean yours? It’s ours,” he corrected, popping the rest of the egg into his mouth and swallowing. Then, after a quick sigh, he reached out and gave Yijie’s shoulder a light, absentminded pat.

“Listen, kid, I don’t think you get it yet,” he said, stretching his legs out under the thin blanket. “That kitchen isn’t just ours—it’s shared. People from other houses store their food there too. We’re not the only ones who boil eggs. So this egg? It doesn’t belong to us. It’s probably someone else’s.”

Yijie made a small noise in response, something between understanding and quiet acknowledgment.

Fu Kun smirked. “Yeah, ‘oh.’” Then, as if all the energy had drained out of him, he flopped back onto his pillow with a heavy sigh. “Alright, sleep. Eating just makes me hungrier,” he muttered, rubbing his stomach absently. After a moment, he reached out again and flicked Yijie lightly on the cheek with his fingers, his tone turning teasing. “Still, thanks. At least you know how to stash food for me.”

Yijie didn’t respond. He simply closed his eyes, his breathing slow and steady, but his thoughts were far from still.

Hiding food was second nature to him. It wasn’t something he had to think about—it was just instinct. He wasn’t clueless either. He knew that kitchen wasn’t just theirs, that not everything in there was up for grabs. But he had never really thought about it that way before. All he had ever known was that when he saw food lying around, when no one was looking, he would tuck a little away. Just in case. Just to be safe. Just to make sure there was something left when hunger came crawling back, gnawing at his ribs like a desperate, unseen creature.

He had meant to keep that egg for himself. He didn’t need to—these days, he ate well. Three full meals a day, never going to bed on an empty stomach. But old habits die hard, and the urge to stash away food hadn’t left him yet. He wasn’t sure if it ever would.

And yet, when Fu Kun said he was starving… Yijie had understood exactly what that felt like.

The twisting pain, the hollow tightness in his gut, the way the world felt slower, like everything was happening underwater. It was the kind of hunger that made you desperate, that made your thoughts turn strange, that made you see things differently.

He had never shared his food before. Not once. Not with anyone.

But this time, he had.

Because Fu Kun was good to him.

Not in a way he could fully explain. Not in a way he could put into words.

But in a way that mattered.

On the way to school the next morning, Fu Kun led Fu Yijie out the door, walking at a steady pace as they waited for Sun Wei outside the gate. Just as they were standing there, they happened to run into Aunt Liu, who was on her way to buy groceries.

“Aunt Liu,” Fu Kun called out, his voice even. “Did you boil eggs yesterday?”

He wasn’t particularly eager to talk to her. Aunt Liu was the kind of person who was perpetually sour-faced, as if the world had wronged her in some profound way. She didn’t have a kind word for anyone and was the type to start an argument just for the sake of it.

“I did,” she answered sharply, eyeing him with suspicion. “Why?”

Before Fu Kun could respond, her expression suddenly shifted. Her face twisted, her brows furrowing, and her mouth opened as if she had just uncovered some grand conspiracy.

“Wait a minute—was it you who stole my egg?!” Her voice shot up an octave. “I boiled ten yesterday, and this morning, there were only nine! I was wondering who took it!”

Fu Kun’s stomach sank. He took a quick glance at Fu Yijie, who was peeking out nervously from behind his back, his small fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve. Maybe he should’ve just said he was the one who took it.

“My little brother didn’t know it wasn’t ours,” he began, his tone carefully measured. “He just took—”

But Aunt Liu wasn’t interested in explanations. She cut him off before he could finish.

“Oh, your little brother, huh? Oh wow,” she sneered, drawing out her words with exaggerated mockery. Then, as if addressing the entire neighborhood, she practically shouted, “A kid this young already knows how to steal—what a fine upbringing!”

Fu Kun’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled into fists.

He took another glance at Yijie, who had shrunk even further behind him, his small face half-hidden, his single visible eye wide with guilt and uncertainty. Something twisted in Fu Kun’s chest—regret, frustration, and something dangerously close to anger. He should’ve just taken the blame himself.

“Aunt Liu, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling Yijie along as he turned to leave. “My brother really didn’t do it on purpose. When my mom gets back, we’ll replace the egg—”

“Oh no, don’t bother,” Aunt Liu cut in, waving a dismissive hand. “Let your mom keep the egg. She has enough misfortunes as it is.”

She gave a pointed tsk before turning away, muttering under her breath, but loud enough for them to hear.

“Poor woman… Can’t even have a child of her own, so she goes and picks one up off the streets. And what does she get? A little thief—”

Fu Kun stopped in his tracks. His head snapped up.

“What the hell did you just say?” His voice dropped low, sharp and edged with fury.

He didn’t fully grasp the meaning of her words, but the implication was clear enough. And it wasn’t something he could ignore. His grip on Yijie’s hand tightened as he turned back around, his blood running hot in his veins.

Aunt Liu scoffed. “Oh, don’t act dumb. Ask your mother. Ask her why she had to settle for taking in a stray—”

Fu Kun saw red. His hands trembled. His breath came in short bursts, like a bull ready to charge.

Then, without another thought, he did charge.

With one swift, forceful motion, he lowered his head and slammed straight into Aunt Liu’s stomach.

A sharp, startled gasp tore from her throat as the impact sent her stumbling backward. She lost her balance, her feet skidding against the uneven ground, and with a graceless thud, she collapsed onto the dirt. The wicker basket she had been holding slipped from her hands, its contents spilling out in a chaotic scatter—vegetables rolling across the pavement, eggs cracking open on the ground, a bundle of greens landing in a tangled heap.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Aunt Liu lay there, momentarily stunned, her mouth opening and closing as if she couldn’t quite process what had just happened. The neighbors, drawn by the commotion, stood frozen in place, their eyes darting between the two of them, unsure whether to interfere or just watch the scene unfold.

Fu Kun didn’t care.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath ragged with fury. He pointed a shaking finger at her, his voice coming out in a low, dangerous growl.

“Say that shit again,” he spat through clenched teeth, “and I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

Fu Kun wasn’t the type to curse often—mostly because every time he did, his mother would slap a medicinal plaster over his mouth and leave it there for at least half an hour. But right now, he couldn’t hold back if his life depended on it.

“Oh? Go on, then! Hit me! Let’s see you do it!” Aunt Liu shrieked from where she sat sprawled on the ground, making no attempt to get up. Instead, she tilted her chin up and hollered loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear. “My, my! What a fine son the Fu family has raised! I always knew nothing good would come from that household! A kid this young already throwing punches—what’s next? Murder?!”

Fu Kun exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience already threadbare.

“Fine,” he said, voice dangerously calm.

Then, without hesitation, he surged forward and lifted his leg, aiming a brutal kick straight at her.

But just as his foot was about to land, it hit nothing but air. His body jerked back as strong arms yanked him off the ground.

“Kun! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Uncle Xia’s gruff voice rang out as he held Fu Kun back, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

“Let me go!” Fu Kun snarled, twisting violently in his grip. His legs flailed, his hands clenched into fists as he glared daggers at Aunt Liu. His voice was raw, seething with unchecked rage. “She insulted my mom! She insulted my brother!”

Aunt Liu let out a sharp, scornful laugh. “Ha! As if your mother doesn’t deserve it! That foul-mouthed shrew has a habit of picking fights with everyone! No wonder your father ran off—he probably couldn’t stand another second of—”

“Fuck you!” The words exploded out of Fu Kun before he could stop them. His entire body tensed, his breath coming fast and ragged. “You wanna talk about people running away? The only reason your husband left was because he couldn’t take your nasty mouth any longer! You think you can just insult anyone you want? No wonder you’re alone—you drove him away! Good fucking riddance!”

Aunt Liu’s face went completely still for a split second—then it contorted into something feral.

“You little bastard! Say that again, I dare you! I’ll tear your filthy mouth right off your face!” She shot up from the ground like an angry bull, her entire body vibrating with fury.

The second she lunged forward, the surrounding neighbors rushed in, arms outstretched, voices clashing as they tried to hold her back.

“You little shit! I’ll skin you alive!” she screeched, struggling against the men holding her back, her plump body twisting with rage.

“Go ahead! Bring your husband back first, if you can!” Fu Kun shot back, eyes blazing.

Before he could say anything worse, Uncle Xia slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling his words into furious, incomprehensible grunts.

The entire street was in chaos. People were shouting over each other—some cursing, some trying to mediate, others just standing back to watch the spectacle unfold.

On the sidelines, Fu Yijie stood frozen, small and helpless, shrinking further into himself as the scene unfolded before him. He had been scolded plenty of times at the orphanage, made to stand against the wall when he got caught sneaking extra food. But never in his wildest imagination had he thought that taking a single egg could turn into this.

His wide, frightened eyes darted to Fu Kun, who was thrashing wildly in Uncle Xia’s grip, his entire face red with fury. For a moment, Yijie couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.

Aunt Liu, fueled by rage, kept trying to break free, her chubby hands clawing at the air, desperate to land a slap across Fu Kun’s face. It took several men to hold her back, their grips slipping as she writhed like a furious beast.

Meanwhile, Uncle Xia refused to loosen his hold on Fu Kun. The boy might have looked somewhat obedient on the surface, always polite when greeting the neighbors, but everyone in the building knew he was wild at heart. If no one restrained him now, there was no telling what he’d do next.

Just as the chaos reached its peak—shouting, flailing, accusations flying—someone, somewhere, must have gone to fetch her.

Because suddenly, like a force of nature cutting through the madness, Fu Kun’s mother, Xiao Shuqin, appeared.

She stood at the edge of the crowd, her sharp eyes scanning the mess in front of her.

The moment Fu Kun spotted her, his throat tightened, his chest seized, and before he could stop it, a lump rose in his throat. His vision blurred slightly. He hated crying, had always prided himself on being tough, but right now, standing there, feeling utterly cornered, the sight of his mother hit him like a breaking dam.

Like a wounded animal finally seeing its pack leader, he almost collapsed into himself.

Aunt Liu, however, wasted no time. She jabbed a finger toward Xiao Shuqin, her voice shrill with rage.

“Xiao Shuqin! If you don’t give me a damn explanation today, I swear I’ll make your whole family’s life a living hell!”

But Xiao Shuqin barely spared her a glance. Instead, she strode straight to Uncle Xia and plucked Fu Kun away from his grip, dragging him to the side with practiced ease.

“Talk,” she said simply, her voice calm but firm. “What happened?”

Fu Kun exhaled shakily, his head bowed, trying to keep his mother from seeing the unspilled tears in his eyes. He forced himself to recount the events, his voice quiet but steady.

When he was done, Xiao Shuqin turned toward Aunt Liu and said, her voice level, “Liu-jie, I admit my boys were in the wrong. I’ll replace the egg.”

Then, without hesitation, she beckoned both of them over.

“Come here,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Apologize to Aunt Liu.”

“Apologize? You think an apology is enough?” Aunt Liu spat on the ground again, her voice sharp with indignation. “Your precious son hit me! Called me a shrew! And you think a simple ‘sorry’ is going to cut it?”

“You insulted my mom first! You called my little brother a thief!” Fu Kun had been prepared to obey his mother, to swallow his pride and apologize, but hearing Aunt Liu twist the story made his blood boil all over again.

“Shut up!” His mother shot him a glare that could freeze the sun in place.

“Let it go, Sister Liu,” one of the neighbors tried to mediate. “Kunzi is just a ten-year-old kid… We’ve all lived together for so many years—”

“Ten? So what? Kids start stealing at six!” Aunt Liu snapped, refusing to be placated.

“Then what do you want?” His mother’s voice, usually calm and composed, suddenly surged in volume, cracking through the courtyard like a whip. “Yes! He’s not my biological son! I adopted him from the orphanage! So what? He’s never lived in anyone else’s home—he doesn’t even understand what he did wrong! And you—stop holding her back! Let her go! Let’s see what she plans to do! I dare her!”

Aunt Liu hesitated. For a moment, she opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Fu Kun’s mother turned and pulled Fu Yijie to her side, positioning him right in front of Aunt Liu. “Come on! You don’t want an apology? Fine! Then what do you want? Listen carefully—he is my son, my own flesh and blood! You lay a single finger on him, and I swear, I’ll show you what a real shrew looks like!”

“And you call yourself a union leader?” Aunt Liu shot back, though her voice had lost some of its earlier fire.

“A union leader can’t be a mother?” His mother roared, louder than before.

Aunt Liu hadn’t expected this. The woman who was always polite, always wore a pleasant smile, now stood before her like a lioness with her cubs behind her, ready to bare her fangs and fight. The neighbors took advantage of her hesitation, seizing their chance to drag her away, pushing and pulling until they managed to get her back inside her home.

As Aunt Liu’s curses faded into the distance, Fu Kun’s mother closed her eyes, exhaled, then crouched down in front of Fu Yijie, pulling him into a hug. “Yijie, you must never take things that don’t belong to you. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded, still shaken by the chaos.

“And you—” she lifted her gaze to Fu Kun, her voice softer but no less firm. “No more cursing. No more hitting. No matter what, Aunt Liu is an elder.”

Fu Kun lowered his head and mumbled, “Got it.”

His mother reached out, ruffling Fu Yijie’s hair. “No matter what anyone says, you are my son—just like your brother. Remember that.”

Fu Yijie lifted his head to look at her, his lips trembling slightly. Then, he nodded.

“Alright, enough of this. Go to school, both of you. Tonight, we’ll go to Aunt Liu’s house and apologize properly. No matter what, we did take her egg first, and your brother lost his temper.” She checked her watch and waved them off. “Hurry up now.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going,” Fu Kun muttered, grabbing his bicycle. He glanced around but saw no sign of Sun Wei—probably overslept again. “Bye, Mom.”

Fu Yijie hesitated, glancing back. He opened his mouth, but the words ‘Goodbye, Auntie’ never made it out. Instead, he simply turned away, gripping the hem of Fu Kun’s shirt and following him onto the street.

In the end, the matter was resolved when their mother took ten eggs and marched them over to Aunt Liu’s house, where they apologized properly.

Fu Kun didn’t agree with any of this. He couldn’t understand why his mother insisted on apologizing. Aunt Liu had spewed such nasty words over a single egg—why should they be the ones to bow their heads?

“Apologizing is necessary. When you’re in the wrong, you own up to it,” his mother declared, standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. “We compensate where we should, we apologize where we must. Once we’ve done everything right, if she keeps dragging this out, then we’ll have every right to make a scene!”

“Twisted logic,” his father muttered from the side.

“It’s the right logic,” his mother shot him a glare. “Unlike you, who’d rather storm over and start swinging. No matter how justified we are, once fists fly, we lose the upper hand.”

“I just can’t stand watching you and Yijie get treated like this,” his father sighed. The whole thing had left him simmering with anger.

“And I?” Fu Kun looked at him expectantly. “Don’t you feel bad for me?”

His father snorted. “What’s there to feel bad about? This whole mess started because of you. Tell me, where do you get the guts to throw punches at an adult when your arm’s still in a splint?” He frowned. “If you don’t learn to rein in that temper, you’re going to land yourself in real trouble someday.”

Fu Yijie stayed silent the entire evening. Aside from excusing himself after dinner—claiming he needed the bathroom but actually sneaking off to feed the stray dog—he barely uttered a word.

Before bed, their mother, as always, pulled the door shut behind her and said, “Goodnight, my little treasures.”

“Goodnight, old treasure,” Fu Kun grinned and closed his eyes.

Curled up beneath the blankets, Fu Yijie clutched the hem of Fu Kun’s shorts without making a sound.

Fu Kun figured the kid was still shaken from earlier. He regretted losing his temper so badly.

“Yijie,” he called softly.

Fu Yijie rubbed the fabric between his fingers but said nothing.

Fu Kun sighed. “Alright, sleep.”

Over the next month, Fu Yijie clung to him more than ever, yet spoke less and less. No matter how much Fu Kun tried to get him to talk, he never explained why. Maybe it was because of Aunt Liu’s words—thief. Or maybe it was because every day, he saved his egg from breakfast, saying he’d eat it later, only to secretly feed it to Diudiu, the stray dog. Maybe he was too malnourished to have the energy to talk.

A quiet little brother was no fun. So Fu Kun started doing the same—pretending he was too full, pushing his egg toward Fu Yijie. But he made sure to watch him eat it. If he didn’t, the little brat would just sneak it to Diudiu again.

Even so, Fu Yijie’s words remained scarce. He followed Fu Kun to school without a fuss, ate, slept, and did his homework like a perfectly behaved child. The only thing that gave Fu Kun a sliver of comfort was that he no longer resisted when Sun Wei lifted him onto the back seat of his bicycle.

But aside from the very first time, when he had called him “Big Brother Sun Wei,” he never said it again. From that day forward, it was just—Sun Wei.

Sun Wei took great offense to this. He huffed and protested, “Fu Kun is ‘Ge’! That means I’m ‘Ge’ too!”

Fu Yijie would just blink those wide eyes at him. Then, when he finally opened his mouth, it was always the same.

“Sun Wei.”

“Stop squirming,” Fu Kun said with a chuckle, his mood unusually bright today. The reason was simple—his arm was finally free from its splint. The sheer relief of being able to move it again filled him with a strange, inexplicable giddiness, as if he’d been unshackled after weeks of captivity. Even sitting on the cold metal railing by the roadside, he didn’t feel the winter chill at all. He just wanted to laugh.

“Where are you spending winter break?” he asked, still grinning.

Sun Wei let out a long, weary sigh. “Back at my grandma’s place. At least, that’s the plan. If I don’t score a ninety or higher on my finals, I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s rough.” Fu Kun snickered, shaking his head in mock sympathy.

Unlike Sun Wei, he had nothing to worry about. He had never been the type to bury himself in books, but getting a ninety wasn’t exactly a challenge for him. And even if he didn’t, it wasn’t like his parents would care. Their only demand had always been one thing—just pass. As long as he wasn’t failing, they wouldn’t make a fuss.

His mind, however, was already drifting far beyond exams. The New Year was just around the corner. That meant winter break, and winter break meant only one thing—celebration. There would be delicious food, thick padded jackets that smelled like new fabric, the crisp rustle of red envelopes, and the warmth of festive cheer. Just the thought of it made him feel lighter.

He turned his head slightly and called out, “Yijie.”

Fu Yijie, who had been quietly following along, lifted his head.

Fu Kun hopped off the railing and slung his backpack forward, rummaging inside for a moment before pulling out a small, brightly colored packet. He held it up with a sly smile. “Ever had Devil’s Candy before?”

Fu Yijie’s gaze fell on the candy. He stared at it for a second, then shook his head.

“Open up,” Fu Kun said, still grinning as he unwrapped a piece.

Something about the way he smiled made Fu Yijie hesitate for a brief moment. But his wariness was fleeting—when it came to food, he had never been one to resist. Without a second thought, he obediently opened his mouth.

Fu Kun placed the small candy on his tongue.

The initial taste was sweet. Perfectly normal. No weird bitterness, no unexpected spiciness, no odd textures. It melted pleasantly in his mouth, dissolving into a sugary aftertaste.

Fu Yijie was just starting to think it was actually pretty good when he noticed something strange.

Fu Kun and Sun Wei were staring at him.

Then, out of nowhere, both of them burst into laughter.

“Look at this little blue-tongued monster!” Fu Kun flicked him lightly on the forehead, his voice full of amusement. “Stick your tongue out. Let Gege see.”

Fu Yijie blinked in confusion, his brows furrowing slightly.

Seeing his uncomprehending expression, Fu Kun reached into his backpack again, this time pulling out his pencil case. With a quick motion, he flipped it open, revealing the small mirror inside. He held it up in front of Fu Yijie’s face.

“See for yourself.”

Fu Yijie hesitated, then leaned in and obediently opened his mouth.

The moment he caught sight of his reflection, he froze.

Sun Wei chuckled from the side. “Fu Blue-Tongue,” he teased.

Fu Yijie’s eyes widened in shock. His tongue—his entire mouth, in fact—was stained an unnatural, splotchy shade of blue-green, neither one color nor the other. He was so stunned that he forgot to close his mouth, staring at the mirror like he had just seen something incomprehensible.

Fu Kun laughed for a few more seconds, thoroughly enjoying his little brother’s dumbfounded reaction. But then he realized something was off.

Fu Yijie wasn’t reacting.

He hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked, hadn’t even made a sound. His expression was completely blank.

“Hey, relax,” Fu Kun said, hurriedly snapping the pencil case shut and reaching out to cover Yijie’s mouth with his hand. “It’s just food coloring. It’ll fade in a bit. No big deal.”

Still, Fu Yijie remained motionless, his face unreadable.

Sun Wei’s amusement quickly turned into concern. “Wait… is he actually scared?” He gave Fu Kun a light kick. “You idiot, you know he scares easy. Why’d you mess with him?”

“How was I supposed to know he’d react like this?” Fu Kun shot back, suddenly feeling a little guilty. He dropped his backpack to the ground and crouched in front of Fu Yijie, peering closely at him. “Yijie? Hey, come on, don’t just stand there like that—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Fu Yijie suddenly lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Fu Kun’s neck, catching him completely off guard.

And before Fu Kun could even process what was happening—

Something warm. Something wet.

A long, deliberate lick dragged right across his cheek.

Fu Kun recoiled instantly. “What the hell?!”

Fu Yijie stared at Fu Kun’s face for a long moment, his eyes full of anticipation, waiting for something—anything—to happen. But as the seconds ticked by, and Fu Kun’s face remained stubbornly unchanged, his shoulders slowly drooped with visible disappointment. His lips pursed slightly, and he exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed.

“You were messing with me!” Fu Kun finally reacted, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand as if trying to erase the sticky aftermath of Yijie’s impromptu experiment. Then, after a brief pause, he couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “Idiot. Licking me won’t do anything.”

“Kissing might,” Sun Wei interjected lazily, his tone casual, as if he were stating a well-known fact.

Fu Yijie usually didn’t pay much attention to Sun Wei’s comments—he had long learned to filter out most of the nonsense that spilled from his mouth. But this time, he barely hesitated before leaning in again. Without warning, he pressed another quick, wet kiss against Fu Kun’s cheek, pulling back just as fast to examine the results.

Still nothing.

His brows furrowed, his mouth twisted into an unhappy pout, and with a quiet huff of frustration, he crouched down in the snow, stabbing at the icy ground with his index finger as if punishing it for his failed experiment.

Fu Kun turned and kicked Sun Wei lightly in the shin, glaring at him. “What the hell, man? Next time, I’m making your sister kiss me instead.”

“Shameless.” Sun Wei snorted, swinging his backpack off his shoulder and tossing it onto the ground. “Wanna play some card flips?”

“In this freezing weather?” Fu Kun hesitated, glancing at the snow-covered pavement.

But the more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. Ever since he injured his arm, he hadn’t been able to play properly. Instead, he had spent his days hanging around Fu Yijie, watching from the sidelines as everyone else had their fun. But now? His arm was healed, his body felt lighter than it had in weeks, and they were practically at their doorstep anyway. A little game wouldn’t hurt.

He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up, and finally nodded. “Alright. If I win twenty of your cards, we call it a day.”

He turned to Fu Yijie and gave him a small pat on the shoulder. “Yijie, head home first. It’s too cold to stand around. I’ll be back soon—just gotta win enough to make this guy cry.”

“Okay.” Fu Yijie didn’t argue. He simply nodded and turned around, walking off without hesitation.

Fu Kun watched his small figure retreat into the distance, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. That quick, no-nonsense departure—it was obvious. The kid was in a hurry to sneak off and check on Diudiu.

Chuckling to himself, Fu Kun crouched down beside Sun Wei near a patch of cleared concrete by the courtyard gate. The two of them pulled out their stacks of playing cards, flipping through them as they prepared for the game. The cold air stung their fingers, but for now, neither of them paid it any mind.

Just as Fu Kun was carefully selecting his cards, a sharp, piercing scream suddenly cut through the evening air.

His head snapped up.

“Was that your brother?” Sun Wei asked, his voice tense, the amusement in his tone instantly replaced with concern.

Before Fu Kun could even respond, another sound followed—a much clearer, much more gut-wrenching noise.

Fu Yijie’s voice, raw and trembling with fear, crying out in distress.

Fu Kun’s body moved before his mind could catch up.

The cards in his hands slipped from his fingers, scattering to the ground, forgotten. His backpack lay abandoned as he shot to his feet and took off in a dead sprint toward the source of the sound. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, an icy dread creeping into his veins.