Bamboo, Wood, Wolf, Horse - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Mom

The dormitory complex for the city’s bus company was old—especially the row of tongzilou buildings, the oldest ones on the lot. These weren’t the residences of officials or managers. The people living here were mostly retirees, pensioners, and families like Fu Kun’s, stuck in the endless wait for a proper apartment, hoping year after year for their turn to come.

Fu Kun’s mother often said that environment shapes a person. And if that was true, then the kids growing up in the tongzilou were already at a disadvantage. Most of them weren’t bound for great futures. By the time they reached their teens or twenties, they either ended up following in their parents’ footsteps—taking up the same blue-collar jobs—or they got swept up in the streets, running with the wrong crowd.

The only exception was Xia Fei. He was the closest thing to a success story. Academically gifted, sharp-minded. But with his failing health, no matter how well he did in school, he still spent most of his days cooped up at home, too frail to chase after bigger ambitions.

As for the younger kids—Fu Kun’s age group—none of them looked like they had much of a future in books either.

Fu Kun wasn’t exactly a model student himself, but even so, he rarely played with the other kids from the tongzilou. He thought they were all too rowdy, too senseless—the kind of brats who spent their days tormenting stray animals and running around like headless chickens. No real fun in that.

The worst of the lot was Luo Qi.

Luo Qi was the undisputed leader of the local pack of troublemakers. He was the grandson of Granny Li, and if Fu Kun had to describe him in two words, it would be big and stupid. Dark-skinned, round-faced, and half a head taller than him, Luo Qi was like a lumbering bear—hence, the nickname Fu Kun had privately given him: Big Dumb Bear.

And Fu Kun hated him.

If there was anyone more obnoxious than Wang Zhiqiang, it was Luo Qi.

Most afternoons, right after school, Big Dumb Bear and his gang would tear through the courtyard, running and screaming as if the place was their personal playground. Today was no different. They had already made a few rounds, but with nothing particularly exciting happening, Luo Qi was beginning to grow bored.

Then, just as he was about to call it a day, he heard something—faint, but distinct.

A dog barking.

It was only two short barks, muffled and low, coming from somewhere behind the building. But that was enough to ignite his interest.

With his curiosity piqued, Luo Qi followed the sound, leading his little gang to the back of the tongzilou. There, hidden amidst a messy pile of dried grass and discarded junk, he spotted a small yellow dog.

The poor thing was tied up with a flimsy, frayed rope inside an abandoned storage shed, the door long since gone.

Luo Qi gave the rope a yank.

It was weak—snapped almost instantly in his grip.

Grinning, he reached down, intending to pull the dog out. But the little thing wasn’t having it. It dug its paws into the dirt, pressed its body low to the ground, and refused to budge.

Luo Qi’s grin twitched.

He had an audience. A whole group of kids watching him. And here he was—unable to make a dog listen to him. That wouldn’t do. It was embarrassing.

Irritated, he tightened his grip and yanked harder. The dog resisted, struggling, scrambling backward with all the strength it had. But Luo Qi wasn’t about to lose to a mutt.

Annoyed now, he didn’t just pull—he ran.

With the rope still wrapped around his fist, he bolted forward, dragging the dog behind him as he tore through the courtyard. The other kids chased after him, whooping and laughing, their voices mixing with the frantic scrabbling of paws against the cold pavement.

Around and around they went.

The dog fought at first, its small body jerking and twisting in an effort to free itself. But it was tiring fast. After a few laps, its legs kept giving out, its paws scraping uselessly against the ground as it tripped and fell, over and over again.

Luo Qi quickly grew bored.

This wasn’t fun anymore.

So he stopped running.

Instead, he grabbed the rope with both hands and spun.

He started twirling in place, faster and faster, swinging the dog around him like some kind of demented carnival ride.

“Look!” he shouted, laughing as he spun. “It’s flying—FLYING!”

Luo Qi had only spun a few times before a wave of dizziness hit him, making the world around him tilt and blur. Just as he was about to steady himself, a sharp, startled scream pierced the air, followed almost immediately by a sudden and forceful blow to his ribs. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his body, knocking the wind out of him. Already feeling lightheaded from all the spinning, the unexpected hit completely threw him off balance, and in the next instant, he lost his footing and crashed down onto the ground, landing hard on his backside.

Before he could even think about getting back up, something small and fast slammed into him like a cannonball. A tiny, furious figure launched itself at him with all the force of a wild animal, knocking him back down before clambering on top of him.

Then came the flurry of slaps.

Small hands rained down on his face, striking him in rapid succession. The blows weren’t particularly painful, but they came so fast and relentlessly that for a moment, Luo Qi was too dazed to react. His mind reeled as he tried to make sense of what was happening, and when he finally managed to focus his vision, his confusion turned into sheer, burning rage.

It was that kid.

Fu Kun’s new little brother.

That realization was like pouring gasoline onto a fire. Luo Qi’s face twisted with fury, and without hesitation, he shoved the boy off with one rough, forceful push, sending him sprawling onto the dirt. But he wasn’t done. As soon as the kid hit the ground, Luo Qi lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and pinning him down, one knee pressing against his small chest.

“You crazy little bastard!” Luo Qi spat, his breath ragged with anger. “I swear, I’m gonna beat you to death!”

“My dog—!” Fu Yijie’s voice was hoarse with desperation as he wailed, his body writhing beneath Luo Qi’s weight, tiny arms and legs flailing as he fought to free himself.

Around them, the other kids had formed an uneasy circle, watching in tense silence. None of them dared to step in. Everyone knew that getting caught in a fight meant a guaranteed beating from the adults later. But this—this was something different.

Because Fu Yijie wasn’t just some random kid.

He was Fu Kun’s younger brother.

And everyone knew that Fu Kun was not someone you wanted to mess with.

Even Luo Qi, despite all his bravado, had never been stupid enough to outright challenge Fu Kun.

And yet, in that moment, it was already too late to regret anything.

Because Fu Kun had arrived.

He came tearing across the courtyard like a storm, his eyes locking onto the chaotic scene before him—the limp, trembling dog lying on the ground, his little brother pinned beneath Luo Qi’s bulk, crying and struggling to break free.

Something inside him snapped.

A hot, blinding rage surged through his veins, rushing straight to his head.

Before anyone could react, he was already moving.

His body acted on instinct, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. And without hesitation, he swung his leg forward with full force, his foot connecting squarely with Luo Qi’s face.

The impact was brutal. Luo Qi’s head snapped back, and the sheer force of the kick sent him tumbling sideways, his grip on Fu Yijie breaking instantly as he collapsed onto the dirt with a muffled grunt.

Sun Wei, who had been following close behind, wasted no time. He rushed forward, grabbing Fu Yijie by the arm and pulling him to his feet. He cast a disgusted glance at Luo Qi, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Wow,” he scoffed. “So this is what makes you feel powerful? Picking on a kid half your size? You’re real impressive, man.”

Luo Qi, still dazed from the blow, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his fingers coming away streaked with dirt and spit. His expression darkened.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

With an animalistic growl, he lunged forward again, this time aiming straight for Fu Kun.

Luo Qi had a clear advantage when it came to brute strength. He was built like a walking brick wall—short and thick with solid muscle, whereas Fu Kun, though taller, was leaner, wiry rather than bulky. So when Luo Qi tackled him, throwing all of his weight into the movement, Fu Kun had no choice but to go down.

He hit the ground hard, his back slamming against the dirt with enough force to momentarily knock the breath from his lungs.

But Fu Kun wasn’t the type to stay down for long.

Fights weren’t exactly a daily occurrence for him, but they were definitely a familiar routine—something like an occasional side dish rather than a full meal. And right now, his instincts kicked in before his mind could even catch up.

As soon as his back hit the ground, he jerked his knee up, driving it straight into Luo Qi’s stomach with as much force as he could muster.

The hit landed perfectly.

Luo Qi, who had been pressing forward with all his weight, was thrown completely off balance. The momentum of his own movement worked against him, and with a strangled grunt, he lurched forward, arms flying out to break his fall before his face could slam into the dirt.

It was the perfect opening.

And Sun Wei wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

Without missing a beat, he darted forward and delivered a sharp, well-placed kick to Luo Qi’s side.

The force of it sent him staggering.

And in that exact moment, Fu Kun flipped their positions in an instant.

With a sharp twist of his body, he shoved Luo Qi off of him, rolling them over until he was the one on top. And then, with all the pent-up fury still burning inside him, he raised his arm and slapped Luo Qi across the face.

The sound of the slap echoed sharply through the courtyard.

“You dare lay a hand on my brother?” Fu Kun’s voice was low, seething, his breath coming fast and heavy.

Luo Qi’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow, but when he turned back, his expression was twisted with rage. He snarled, teeth bared like a cornered animal.

“I will!” he spat, shoving back with all his strength.

And just like that, the fight erupted again.

The two boys became a blur of tangled limbs, rolling across the dirt, throwing punches, kicking, clawing—neither willing to give the other even an inch of advantage.

And Sun Wei?

He wasn’t about to sit back and watch.

He had always been on Fu Kun’s side. Always. It was an unspoken rule—if Fu Kun fought, he fought. If Fu Kun ran, he ran. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing.

And right now, Fu Kun was fighting.

Which meant Sun Wei was, too.

Without a second thought, he lunged into the fray, fists flying.

The courtyard was filled with the sounds of scuffling, grunts of pain, the occasional sharp cry as a fist or knee connected. Dust kicked up around them, swirling in the dim evening light.

And finally—finally—somewhere above, the adults, who had been busy preparing dinner, heard the chaos unfolding below.

Doors banged open.

Hurried footsteps pounded down the staircases.

Shouts rang out through the dusk-filled air.

The fight was over.

Xiao Shuqin was the first to come rushing downstairs. The moment she heard such an uproar, she knew—without a shred of doubt—that her precious son, Fu Kun, had to be involved. There was no need to confirm it with her eyes. Instinct took over, and the first thing out of her mouth was a sharp, commanding call.

“Fu Kun!”

But Fu Kun, tangled in a furious brawl with the big oaf, was too caught up in the heat of the fight to hear her. His fists swung wildly, his breath ragged, his mind consumed by nothing but sheer rage. The scuffle had turned into an all-out brawl, and stopping was the last thing on his mind.

Sun Wei, however, did hear her. And more importantly, he saw an opportunity. His hand, which had been mid-swing, froze in the air. His mind switched gears instantly. If an adult was here, then it was time to make his case—to be the first to speak, the first to accuse, the first to control the narrative.

“He hit Fu Yijie first!” Sun Wei shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at the big oaf. Then, for maximum effect, he added the real kicker. “And he killed the dog!”

“The dog?” Xiao Shuqin’s sharp gaze flickered, momentarily caught off guard. Then, her eyes landed on Fu Yijie, crouched a short distance away, his small frame trembling with barely contained sobs. His face was blotched red with tears, and in his arms, he cradled a filthy, unmoving little puppy.

Her brows furrowed. “Whose dog?”

“Yijie’s dog!”

Fu Kun finally registered his mother’s voice. But instead of stepping back, instead of explaining himself, her presence only fueled the fire raging inside him. As if the reminder reignited his fury, he let out a furious roar and swung another brutal punch at the big oaf.

“I’ll beat you to death!”

“Get up!” his mother commanded, her voice slicing through the air.

“No!”

For the first time in his life, Fu Kun openly defied her. No hesitation, no second-guessing—just pure, unfiltered refusal.

Zhang Qingkai, who had been right behind Xiao Shuqin, moved without hesitation. Without a word, he stepped forward, grabbed Fu Kun by the collar, and yanked him up as though he weighed nothing.

The big oaf, seeing an opening, scrambled to his feet, his face twisted with barely restrained fury. He pulled back his arm, fully intending to land a solid punch on Fu Kun now that he was exposed.

But before he could follow through, Zhang Qingkai casually lifted his knee—just enough.

The oaf, already moving forward with all his might, slammed straight into it. His momentum turned against him, and he let out a muffled grunt of pain, staggering slightly.

“You looking for another beating?” Zhang Qingkai asked, his voice low, almost lazy, but carrying a weight that made the oaf hesitate.

For a second, the boy looked like he wanted to lunge again, but reason won out. He stopped. Though his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his mouth kept running, spitting out muttered curses, he didn’t make another move.

Fu Kun, on the other hand, was furious. This was the second time in barely over a month that he’d gotten into a fight, and for the second time, someone had pulled him away before he could finish it. He hadn’t even landed enough hits to feel satisfied! But just as he was about to protest, his eyes met his mother’s.

Xiao Shuqin’s expression was unreadable, her gaze cool and unwavering.

His stomach clenched.

Oh no.

Had he just… talked back to her?

He had, hadn’t he?

A chill ran down his spine.

God only knew what kind of punishment she’d cook up this time. Maybe she’d send him into the middle of a busy intersection and make him single-handedly stop an oncoming bus. And he wouldn’t be allowed to leave until the passengers all applauded his heroic feat.

…Yeah. He was screwed.

Noticing that Fu Kun had finally stopped struggling, Zhang Qingkai loosened his grip and let him drop unceremoniously back onto solid ground.

The moment he was released, Fu Kun wasted no time in rushing to Fu Yijie’s side. The younger boy was still clinging to the dog, his entire body shaking with suppressed sobs. For a brief moment, Fu Kun hesitated, unsure whether to wrap his arms around his little brother. But instead of hugging him, he reached out and clumsily wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” he muttered, his voice gruff but uncharacteristically gentle. “The dog’s okay, right?”

Fu Yijie sniffled, shaking his head miserably. “No…” His voice was thick with sorrow, and no matter how many times he wiped at his face, the tears just wouldn’t stop falling.

Xiao Shuqin didn’t immediately rush to comfort her youngest son. Instead, she turned her attention to the big oaf. Without raising her voice, without a single ounce of hostility, she walked right up to him, leaned in slightly, and asked in an eerily calm tone,

“And why, exactly, were you messing with my son’s dog?”

The big oaf averted his gaze, shifting uncomfortably. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Granny Li rushing over, her expression full of concern. Instantly, he bolted in her direction, calling out desperately,

“Grandma!”

But before he could hide behind her, Xiao Shuqin’s voice cracked through the air like a whip.

“And you think that justifies torturing it?!”

The sheer force of her voice made Granny Li jolt in surprise. “Oh dear, Shuqin, calm down! It’s just a dog—”

But Xiao Shuqin wasn’t finished.

“Then why did you hit my son?” she asked again, her voice slipping back into that unsettling calm.

“He pushed me.”

“And why did he push you?”

“He said it was his dog.” The big oaf’s lips curled into a sullen pout.

Xiao Shuqin’s eyes narrowed. Her next words were sharp, cutting straight to the bone.

“And you still had the nerve to hit him?”

Her voice rose again, carrying the weight of pure, unfiltered rage.

“It’s normal for kids to get into fights,” Granny Li huffed, her face pinched with displeasure. “You’re an adult—why are you getting so worked up over this?” Her heart ached for her precious grandson, scolded so harshly right in front of everyone.

Xiao Shuqin let out a light chuckle, her voice carrying an edge of amusement, yet her words held a quiet warning. “Oh, believe me, I’d rather not get involved. But if I don’t, it’ll be two against one, and boys this age don’t exactly know how to hold back. If someone gets hurt, don’t come crying to me.”

She left it at that, not bothering to argue further. Instead, she turned her attention to Fu Yijie, stepping up to him with an assessing gaze. The little boy was still clutching his small, dirty pup, his tiny hands wrapped protectively around its frail body. After a moment, she leaned slightly toward Fu Kun and, in a voice just low enough for him to hear, murmured, “Good job. But you won’t be eating dinner tonight—I still need to settle the score with you.”

That was that. The matter was closed. Granny Li, still grumbling under her breath, led her sulking grandson away, and the gathered onlookers, now satisfied with their dose of evening entertainment, scattered back to their homes to prepare dinner.

Only then did Xiao Shuqin finally reach out and gently ruffle Fu Yijie’s hair. “What’s the little pup’s name?”

“Diudiu,” he answered softly. His tears had dried, but his eyes remained red-rimmed, his voice holding a lingering note of nervousness.

“Let me take a look.” She carefully lifted the small dog from his arms, turning it over to check its injuries. After a brief examination, she nodded. “A scratched paw. Should be fine—it’ll heal with some rest. Where did you find it?”

“I… picked it up,” Fu Yijie murmured, keeping his head down.

“And how long have you been taking care of it? Where have you been keeping it?”

Fu Yijie’s lips pressed together tightly. He hesitated, his small fingers curling into fists. He had brought Diudiu home, given it a place to sleep, shared his food with it—but now, after everything that had happened, he didn’t know if he would be allowed to keep it anymore.

“About a month, I think,” Fu Kun answered for him. “He’s been giving all his eggs to Diudiu.”

Fu Yijie’s head snapped up, his eyes going wide in shock. He had been so sure he had kept his secret well hidden. He never imagined Fu Kun had known all along!

Xiao Shuqin turned her gaze onto her youngest son, a brow arching slightly. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

Fu Yijie hesitated, struggling to find the words. Before he could answer, Fu Kun scratched the back of his head and muttered, “You said we weren’t keeping pets anymore. He likes it so much… if you sent it away, what would he do?”

Xiao Shuqin studied Fu Yijie for a moment, then, with a faint sigh, placed the small pup gently back into his arms.

“Do you want to keep Diudiu?”

Fu Yijie’s fingers trembled slightly as they tightened around the little dog. He looked up at his mother, then quickly lowered his gaze, his lips pressing together in deep thought. After a long silence, he finally nodded.

“Then keep it,” Xiao Shuqin said simply, patting his small shoulder. “I’ve told you before—you’re my son. Whatever it is, you can talk to me. We can figure things out together.”

“Hey! I’m your son too!” Fu Kun protested. “Why is it that when I wanted a rabbit, you didn’t let me keep one?”

Xiao Shuqin waved a hand dismissively. “Go find yourself a stray rabbit, and I’ll let you keep it.”

Fu Kun opened his mouth, then shut it again. He let out a long sigh. “Forget it.”

“Come on, time for dinner.” Xiao Shuqin turned and began walking toward the house.

Fu Yijie remained standing where he was, still clutching Diudiu tightly to his chest. His head remained bowed, his little figure unmoving.

Fu Kun reached out and gave his sleeve a tug. “Let’s go.”

For a moment, Fu Yijie didn’t react. Then, he slowly lifted his head. He watched his mother’s retreating figure, his small chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths.

And then, just as Xiao Shuqin was about to step into the building, his voice rang out—trembling, raw, filled with emotion.

“Mama—!”

That single word stopped Xiao Shuqin in her tracks, as if an invisible force had locked her in place.

It took Xiao Shuqin a long moment to recover, as if the word had rooted her in place. Then, all at once, she turned back, rushing toward Fu Yijie and sweeping him up in a fierce embrace.

“Oh, my good boy! My sweet, sweet boy!” she cried, hugging him so tightly it was as if she were trying to merge him into her very being.

“Mom…” Fu Yijie squeezed his eyes shut, tilted his little face up, and burst into wailing sobs. His cries came in waves, each one carrying the weight of emotions he had buried deep inside, and between his hiccupping sobs, he kept calling out to her again and again—”Mom! Mom!”—as if making up for all the times he hadn’t said it before.

Fu Kun stood off to the side, stunned. He stared at his mother, blinking in disbelief as he saw tears welling in her eyes.

A strange sense of injustice bloomed in his chest. He had once asked his mother when he had first called her “Mom,” and she hadn’t even remembered! Clearly, it hadn’t been a big deal to her. And yet now, Fu Yijie calling her “Mom” just once was enough to make her cry? That was way too…

He turned, intending to grumble about it to Sun Wei, only to freeze in shock. Sun Wei—who had been standing off to the side like an extra in a play—was actually wiping at his own eyes!

Fu Kun stared at him as if he had grown a second head. He waved a hand in front of Sun Wei’s face. “Hey, hey, hey! She’s my mom. Why are you crying?”

“It’s just… really touching,” Sun Wei sniffled, rubbing his eyes again.

Fu Kun let out an exasperated groan and gave him a shove. “Go home already! What are you even getting emotional for?”

Still, he had to admit—there was one good thing that came out of all this. By the time dinner rolled around, their mother had completely forgotten about punishing him. Not only that, but she had gone all out in the kitchen, making an entire pot of braised pork belly. She had used up nearly a week’s worth of meat, filling the table with steaming, glistening dishes. Even Diudiu got a share.

Fu Kun ate until his stomach was round and heavy, then collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his belly with a satisfied groan.

The only person who didn’t seem thrilled with the night’s events was their father.

Fu Yijie had finally called their mother “Mom”—but when it came to their father, he was still calling him “Uncle.”

Their dad sighed, sitting Fu Yijie down beside him for a heartfelt conversation. “Yijie, calling me ‘Uncle’ isn’t right. Your mom and I are married—shouldn’t you…” He hesitated, then leaned forward earnestly. “Why don’t you try calling me ‘Dad’?”

Fu Yijie didn’t respond. He lowered his head and started fiddling with his fingers, staring intently at them as if deep in thought.

Meanwhile, Fu Kun sat on the side, grinning like a little gremlin. “Uncle Fu,” he teased.

Their dad shot him a look before turning back to Fu Yijie. “Come on, Yijie. Just once. Try calling me ‘Dad.’ I don’t want to be the only one left out.”

Fu Yijie was silent for a long time. Finally, in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper, he murmured, “Dad.”

The reaction was immediate. Their father’s face lit up like the New Year’s fireworks, and he scooped Fu Yijie up, spinning him around in excitement. “Aye! Aye! Aye!” He let out a triumphant laugh, as if he had just won the grand prize in a lottery.

Fu Kun, watching from the couch, decided he might as well try his luck. “Dad.”

Their father turned to him, expression instantly neutral. “What.”

Fu Kun let out a long, suffering sigh. “This difference in treatment… I’m getting nothing out of this.” He stretched lazily and got up. “Fine, I’m off to do my homework.”

Ever since Fu Yijie had finally started calling them Mom and Dad, their household had felt like it had skipped straight to New Year celebrations. There was an undeniable warmth, a feeling of togetherness that hadn’t been there before.

But Fu Kun barely had a few days to enjoy this rare peace before disaster struck—because their mother, at long last, remembered she still had a score to settle with him.

Talking back to a teacher. Skipping school. Getting into fights.

When all those offenses were added up, his punishment was brutal—he had to stand in the bus station parking lot for an hour, side by side with the giant black guard dog that watched over the premises.

By the time the hour was up, Fu Kun was frozen to the bone, his face an alarming shade of purple. The black dog, securely leashed by the gatekeeper, had done nothing but stare at him the entire time. And somehow, each glare had felt like a bite sinking into his soul.

When he finally stumbled home, he was so on edge that even the sight of little Diudiu made him jump, every hair on his body standing on end.

Luckily, their house wasn’t big, so their dad had built a small cage for Diudiu, tucking it neatly behind the door.

Every day after school, Fu Yijie would take Diudiu out to roam the courtyard. And every time he ran into Luo Qi, he would immediately scoop Diudiu up into his arms—because some habits were hard to break.

Luo Qi never touched Diudiu or Fu Yijie again, but that didn’t stop him from throwing menacing glares his way whenever they crossed paths. His expression was always dark, his brows furrowed in a way that made his displeasure all too clear, as if he still had unfinished business and was just waiting for the right moment to settle the score.

Fu Yijie despised him—not just because of their past fight, but because Luo Qi had a cruel habit of reminding him that he was an unwanted child. It wasn’t something he dared to say in front of Fu Kun, of course. No, Luo Qi only whispered those words when no one else was around, when there were no witnesses to hold him accountable. And that was precisely what made Fu Yijie’s blood boil the most.

Today, however, something was different. When Fu Yijie took Diudiu out for a walk in the courtyard, he didn’t see any sign of Luo Qi. It seemed the other boy hadn’t returned home yet.

It wasn’t until he was on his way back, climbing the stairs with Diudiu in his arms, that he finally spotted Luo Qi. The boy had just rounded the corner and was walking toward the building’s entrance.

Fu Yijie stopped on the third-floor balcony, resting his arms on the railing as he peered down, watching Luo Qi move closer. His steps were slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. As he approached the stairwell, Fu Yijie’s gaze flicked to the side, landing on a plastic watering can that someone had carelessly left on the railing.

His fingers reached out almost instinctively, nudging the can forward.

Then, just as he was about to shove it over the edge, a firm hand shot out from behind him, catching him by the wrist.

The sudden contact startled him so much that he let out a sharp breath. His body stiffened, and when he turned his head, his wide eyes were already shimmering with unshed tears.

“You little thing.” A low, amused voice reached his ears.

Xia Fei had loosened his grip, but he remained crouched beside him, watching with a smirk that was neither harsh nor particularly kind. His voice dropped into an almost conspiratorial whisper as he said, “You really know how to act pitiful, don’t you?”

Fu Yijie didn’t say a word. He simply stared at Xia Fei in stunned silence, unsure of what to make of him.

Xia Fei’s gaze flicked briefly to the watering can before returning to the boy. “This thing is full of water. If you had actually dropped it, that would’ve been a real disaster,” he murmured, voice light but deliberate. “If you really want to get back at him… next time, use an empty one. Got it?”

Fu Yijie still didn’t respond. His lips pressed together as he slowly lowered his head, his fingers curling slightly.

Xia Fei reached out and gave him a light pat on the backside. “Go on now, little troublemaker. Get home.”

Fu Yijie didn’t need to be told twice. He scooped up Diudiu and took off, his feet barely touching the ground as he dashed inside.

—

Two days later, Luo Qi was on his way home when—out of nowhere—a heavy bundle of garlic came hurtling down from the upper floors and struck him square on the head.

The impact wasn’t enough to cause any real harm, but it hurt. Badly enough that he immediately clutched his head, groaning as he crouched on the ground. For a good long while, he stayed there, eyes squeezed shut, trying to process what had just happened.

By the time he finally managed to get back on his feet, his face was twisted in pain and confusion.

Every floor in their building had bundles of garlic strung up outside, left to dry in the open air. But Li Dama, their ever-suspicious neighbor, was convinced that Fu Kun was the culprit. She wasted no time grabbing Luo Qi by the arm and marching him straight to Fu Kun’s house, demanding an explanation.

Fu Kun had done plenty of reckless things in his life, but sneak attacks? That wasn’t his style. No matter how much Li Dama pointed fingers, he flat-out refused to admit to something he hadn’t done.

Li Dama, knowing Fu Kun’s personality, hesitated. If even someone as wild as him was denying it this firmly, then maybe—just maybe—he really wasn’t the one responsible this time. So she shifted her suspicions elsewhere and turned to Fu Yijie.

She jabbed a finger toward him and asked, “Was it your little brother?”

Fu Yijie was crouched by Diudiu’s cage, absentmindedly running his fingers along the bars. At her question, he slowly lifted his head and met her gaze. His voice, soft as a whisper, barely more than a breath, was almost too quiet to hear.

“…No.”

His tone was so small, so uncertain, that it was impossible to believe he was lying. Even Luo Qi, who had once pinned him to the ground, couldn’t bring himself to suspect that this timid little thing—who only knew how to cry and struggle—could possibly have the guts to pull off something like that.

In the end, Li Dama took the fallen bundle of garlic home, and just like that, the matter was left unresolved. It became yet another one of the many unsolved “mysteries” among the children of the communal building—one of those whispered-about incidents that no one ever truly got to the bottom of.

As winter break approached, the school held its customary parent-teacher meetings. As always, their parents split up—one attending for Fu Kun, the other for Fu Yijie.

Fu Kun’s meeting played out exactly as expected. His teacher had an entire list of grievances long enough to warrant a separate conference just for him. The criticisms poured in one after another, a relentless wave of all the ways in which he caused trouble, failed to follow rules, and generally made his teachers’ lives difficult.

But perhaps feeling a little sorry for Fu Kun’s mother, Teacher Yang did his best to dig up at least some redeeming qualities. After much deliberation, he managed to scrape together two.

First—Fu Kun was undeniably smart. This was his long-standing, go-to compliment, the only consistent thing he could ever say in the boy’s favor. And second—well, for once, he hadn’t been skipping his homework.

That was it. That was the grand sum of his teacher’s praise.

Fu Kun’s mother took what little she could get.

Meanwhile, Fu Yijie’s meeting was an entirely different story.

His father barely had to sit down before Teacher Yu began singing his praises.

“Smart, obedient, pays full attention in class, writes neatly, scores full marks on every test, never misses an assignment, always polite to teachers and classmates…”

The list went on and on, a glowing report that made Fu Kun’s side of the meeting seem even more tragic by comparison.

That evening, their father stood just outside the small partitioned area in the living room, clearly in high spirits as he made an announcement.

“The new bed we ordered is finally finished! The paint’s dried too. I’ll bring it over in the next couple of days. You two won’t have to squeeze together anymore.”

“Awesome!” Fu Kun cheered. “Hey, Yijie—which one do you want? Top bunk or bottom?”

Before Fu Yijie could answer, their mother interjected, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Your little brother will sleep on the bottom. The top bunk requires climbing.”

“That’s fine, I’ll climb!” Fu Kun said eagerly, as if the very idea of having to scale his way into bed made the whole thing even more exciting. To him, it was just like sleeping in a tree—what could be cooler than that?

Fu Yijie, however, had remained silent through it all. He didn’t say a word as their parents continued chatting, didn’t react to his brother’s enthusiasm.

It wasn’t until their parents had walked away, their voices fading into the background, that he finally spoke.

“…I want the top bunk too.”