Early autumn in the mountains is the season for sleeping. Especially on a morning when fine autumn rain is pattering down, getting out of bed feels like letting heaven down.
Sun Wenqu tugged at the blanket, rolled over, and buried his face in it.
Outside the window came the racket of workers getting ready to start the day. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside his door. He tried hard to recapture a scrap of sleepiness ebbing away. He was a kind man, unwilling to wrong heaven.
But it seemed he failed.
He never slept well. Falling asleep was hard; after lulling himself with lullabies or counting sheep, just when he barely managed to drift off, even if an ant in the room burped he’d wake at once.
Ever since his father dumped him in this godforsaken place, three years had gone by without one good night’s sleep.
At six in the morning he’d be woken by workers. If not them, then Manager Zhang next door. Even if all those people were quiet, the rooster in the courtyard across the way would suddenly go crazy and crow at four in the morning to jolt him awake.
And it crowed as if laughing.
And laughed without stopping.
As usual today, sleep was hopeless. Worse, before he could even drift, his door was knocked.
Bang bang bang—three hard knocks, followed by a thunderous shout: “Manager Sun! Someone’s here for you!”
From the voice alone, Sun Wenqu knew it was Old Liang. The man had been here since the day his father set up this clay-digging site. He spoke like thunder, never even needed to lift a hand in a fight.
“I’m not up yet…” Sun Wenqu answered, dragging out his words.
“Who’s looking for him?” came Manager Zhang’s voice.
“Someone called Ma Liang,” Old Liang replied.
“Ma Liang?” Zhang clearly didn’t recognize the name, sounding puzzled.
Liangzi?
Sun Wenqu yanked his head out of the blanket.
Manager Zhang might not know Ma Liang, but for Sun Wenqu, at this moment, that name meant something different. The kind of meaning that could make a man fling off his blanket, jump out of bed wearing nothing but shorts, and rush to open the door.
“Ma Liang?” Sun Wenqu asked again, looking at Old Liang at the door. The chilly autumn wind rushed in from the corridor, raising goosebumps all over him.
“…Yeah, Ma Liang, he said his name’s Ma Liang.” Old Liang gave him a once-over. “Careful not to catch a cold. Didn’t you just have a fever last month?”
“Where is he?” Sun Wenqu turned back, yanked clothes from the chair by the bed, and pulled them on.
“Engineering office,” said Old Liang.
Without another question, Sun Wenqu grabbed his jacket and ran downstairs while shrugging it on, heading straight for the office across from the dorm building.
That office used to be called the “Command Post.” After he arrived, he changed the name. Digging a bit of china clay and they called it a command post, someone who didn’t know better would think they were digging trenches in a war.
Ma Liang was standing outside the office, wearing sunglasses. Even from afar, his broad smile was visible.
“What are you doing here?” Sun Wenqu strode up, reached out, and plucked the sunglasses off him. “Your tongue already doesn’t work right, and now you’re playing blind man?”
“I came… to get you,” Ma Liang chuckled, then hugged him tight. “You… you’ve gotten thinner.”
Sun Wenqu said nothing. He lifted his hand to check the time, then realized he wasn’t wearing a watch.
“Let’s go.” Ma Liang pulled out a car key and pressed it into his hand.
“Now?” Sun Wenqu slipped the sunglasses back onto Ma Liang’s face, then turned his head. On the second-floor corridor, Manager Zhang was watching him.
“Of… of course now,” Ma Liang glanced that way too. “That guy’s been… been staring forever. If we don’t leave, he’ll… he’ll go tell your old man.”
“I just got up. Haven’t even washed.” Sun Wenqu rubbed his face. “How’d you get here?”
“Drove.” Ma Liang pointed at the keys.
Sun Wenqu looked at them, then back over his shoulder. Manager Zhang was already on the phone, heading for the stairs.
Most likely making that report.
Sun Wenqu frowned, slapped Ma Liang’s shoulder, and said: “Let’s go.”
“Not… not taking your stuff?” Ma Liang asked.
“Don’t need it.”
Though he’d been here three years, his room held almost nothing: a few changes of clothes and a stack of china clay data and maps. He’d leaf through them when bored, until the edges curled like an ancestral genealogy.
He was just parked here, not managing accounts, people, or earth. Manager Zhang would occasionally drag him to the site to stroll around, talking about the soil, the batches, the quality. His father just wanted him stuck here.
Three years was the deal. Today was October 9th, exactly three years.
He’d been thinking of contacting Ma Liang in a few days to ask him to find a way to get him out. Unexpectedly, Ma Liang was even more anxious and showed up right on time.
He glanced at his friend walking beside him. Truly, this was the buddy who’d been kicked out of his father’s “school” for his sake.
But when they stepped out the gate, Sun Wenqu stopped short at the sight of the car parked by the dirt pile.
“What the h*ll is this?”
“A car,” said Ma Liang.
“You drove this thing in here?” Sun Wenqu stared at it in disbelief, then at the key in his hand. He wasn’t mistaken. “You brought a Beetle in here? Amazing! Didn’t rip the bottom out on the way?”
“Couldn’t… couldn’t find any other… car,” Ma Liang muttered.
“I’m not driving that thing.” Sun Wenqu turned back. “It’ll be down to just the shell before we’re halfway. I’m not walking the rest, still raining, too.”
“Wen, Wen, Wen… Sun Wenqu!” Ma Liang panicked, yanking him back. “Don’t be a… young master now. If your old man changes his mind and has someone stop you, it’ll be another three years!”
Sun Wenqu stopped, looked back at the yard, then at the road leading out. Finally he clenched his teeth and got in.
“Why aren’t you driving?” he asked after starting the car.
“You’re the… the veteran driver. You drive.” Ma Liang kept glancing nervously behind them.
“I haven’t touched a car in three years.” Barely ten meters out, the Beetle hit a rut and jolted. Sun Wenqu nearly bit his tongue. “The road’s even worse than when I came.”
“All those dirt trucks… you know, crushed it.” Ma Liang laughed, clutching the seatbelt.
Bumping their way out, they reached the “main road”—half a meter wider than the yard lane, formerly paved with cement but now nothing but mud, rocks, and potholes.
“Did you bring your phone?” Ma Liang suddenly asked, jerking with the bumps.
“Didn’t take anything but myself.” Sun Wenqu checked the rearview mirror. No one was chasing. The mud-stone road stretched empty behind. “Didn’t use it anyway. Doesn’t matter.”
“Your old… old phone’s with me,” Ma Liang said. “The number’s… still active.”
Sun Wenqu glanced at him, said nothing, just patted his shoulder.
For someone like him, leaving a place he’d lived three years so suddenly, there should have been some feelings. But there weren’t, only the thought of getting away fast. Rain spattered as the car jolted forward.
Dust and clay flanked the road, weeds and shrubs coated in white. It had been raining since last night, yet still couldn’t wash their leaves green.
Three years here. He really had endurance.
Only he could fight his own father to this extent.
“Why didn’t you stop him?!” roared Sun Zhengzhi into the phone, slamming the desk.
On the sofa, Sun Yao flinched, nearly dropping her cup. She hurried over and gestured for him to calm down.
He hung up and flung the phone down, glaring at her. “You knew about this?”
“I didn’t,” she frowned. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t let Liangzi go pick him up.”
“Then it must’ve been your little sister!” Sun Zhengzhi’s rage surged.
“Not necessarily Jiayue,” Sun Yao said, pouring him water. “Liangzi’s close with him. Not strange he’d come.”
“Where’d he get a car? Zhang Bing said he drove in a Beetle! Where the h*ll would Ma Liang get a Beetle? He only has that broken secondhand van!” He slammed the desk again.
Sun Yao stayed silent.
“Unbelievable! Each and every one!” Veins bulged at his temples.
“Dad,” Sun Yao came behind him, gently pressing his shoulders. “Why such a temper? You won’t like me saying this, but you’re the one who said three years. Now the time’s up. Isn’t it normal he wants to come back?”
“Don’t side with him!” He shook off her hand and stood. “I said three years. I didn’t say three years was enough to come back! I’ll have him dragged back for another three years! That useless brat, thirty years wouldn’t be too much!”
“Dad…” Sun Yao sighed. “How long will this go on? Wenqu hasn’t been home in three years. New Year’s only two months away… Mom misses him terribly…”
“So what?” He sneered. “You think he’ll come home for New Year?”
She said nothing more. After a silence, she left the office, told the secretary outside to bring ginseng tea, and walked away.
Meanwhile, in the car, Sun Wenqu hadn’t spoken a word. The Beetle’s chassis was too low, two more days of rain and they’d be stuck, then caught by his father’s men and dragged back to trench-digging.
And the jolts were so violent, he was afraid if he opened his mouth, he’d chip a tooth. His perfect teeth… Once, he’d even been approached to film a toothpaste ad.
After over an hour of bouncing, they finally hit flat road. He let out a breath, tugged at the seatbelt, and asked Ma Liang: “Where’d you get the car?”
“Borr, borrowed,” Ma Liang said, tugging at his seatbelt. He pulled out a cigarette, stuck it between his lips, and was about to light it. “Borrowed it for you. You just drive.”
“Don’t give me that.” Sun Wenqu reached over, snatched the cigarette from his mouth, and flicked it out the window. “Tell me, did my second sister give it, or my mom?”
“Neither.” Ma Liang slipped the cigarette pack back into his pocket.
“Liangzi, how many years have I known you?” Sun Wenqu glanced at him. “This must be Sun Jiayue’s car… is it hers or did she buy it for me?”
Ma Liang looked at him, silent for a moment, then finally said: “Bought it… for you.”
“I don’t want it.” Sun Wenqu clicked his tongue. “Feels like sitting inside a shoebox.”
“Wen… Wen, Wen…” Ma Liang sighed, turned toward him.
“Go on, spit it out.” Sun Wenqu shot him a look.
“Qu.” Ma Liang finished the name.
“Can’t you just talk like a normal person?” Sun Wenqu couldn’t help laughing.
“Calling your name makes it sound more… serious,” Ma Liang chuckled too, then quickly sobered. “If you ask me, you should just go admit… admit a mistake to the old man. That’d be best.”
“Admit what mistake?” Sun Wenqu slammed the brakes, stopping the car in the middle of the road. “What did I do wrong? Is it wrong that I like men? Wrong that I don’t want to make pottery? Wrong that I don’t like those bottles, plates, jars? I’ve already sat in that mountain ditch for three years, still wrong?”
“That’s not… not what I meant…” Ma Liang stammered even worse under the barrage.
“I know what you mean.” Sun Wenqu started the car again. “Doesn’t he just think I’m useless? But I can’t be the kind of ware he wants, so what? Is that not allowed?”
Ma Liang sighed, reached for his pocket, then stopped.
“Want a smoke, huh?” Sun Wenqu said. “Go on, open the window.”
“Not to be harsh,” Ma Liang lit one up, “but if you’re not the kind of… ware he wants, you haven’t really become… anything else, either.”
Sun Wenqu fell silent, then turned to look at him seriously. “Lucky for you your mouth doesn’t work right.”
—
The trip that should’ve taken four or five hours dragged into the afternoon with the bad roads. Finally, they reached Sun Wenqu’s own place.
This time, Ma Liang hadn’t told anyone he was picking him up. So, unlike before, there was no noisy crowd waiting to welcome him back.
Sun Wenqu had never liked those drinking-table blowhards anyway. But standing in his own living room now, he suddenly felt a little… empty.
After circling through the rooms, he froze in the living room, unsure what to do.
“I tidied up,” Ma Liang said from the side.
“I can tell, no dust anywhere.” Sun Wenqu ran a finger over the table. Spotless.
“Here are your keys.” Ma Liang placed the set he’d been keeping since Wenqu went “into exile” on the table. “And make sure you get back that other set.”
“Hm?” Sun Wenqu looked at him.
He’d left two sets behind: one with Ma Liang, the other with Li Bowen.
“Get them back,” Ma Liang said. “Otherwise, change the locks.”
“He came by with people?” Sun Wenqu asked as he walked into the bedroom. The sheets and covers had clearly been changed by Ma Liang. He opened the closet, besides the clothes he’d left, there were two women’s dresses. He yanked them out, tossed them onto the sofa. “The h*ll, why didn’t you throw these away?”
“Kept them so you could see,” Ma Liang said.
Sun Wenqu checked the place twice more. Nothing else out of place, whatever there might have been, Ma Liang had already cleaned it up.
“Where’s my old phone?” he asked.
Ma Liang pulled it out of the drawer under the coffee table. It was charged, powered on.
Sun Wenqu took it, ready to dial, but Ma Liang stopped him. “First… eat. My treat.”
“Celebrating my return?” Sun Wenqu laughed, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Just the two of us?”
“If you don’t like just us, I’ll… find you two inflatable dolls,” Ma Liang said. “One on each side.”
“Charming.” Wenqu stretched. “But I’m warning you, I might not have eaten well for three years, but I’m still not going back to those restaurants I used to get sick of.”
“New ones,” Ma Liang nodded.
Sun Wenqu showered, changed, and checked himself in the mirror. He actually felt a little reborn.
In those three years up in the mountains, he hadn’t had the heart to look at himself much.
But this haircut still needed fixing. Done by some village barber when he went into town with Manager Zhangm it carried all the rustic magic of “Master Wang by the village gate.”
“You drive,” he tossed the Beetle keys to Ma Liang as they headed out. “I don’t even know the roads anymore.”
Ma Liang caught them and chuckled.
“Tomorrow, return this to Sun Jiayue. I’m not driving this thing.” Wenqu stepped outside. The first-floor unit had a small courtyard. He’d planted flowers there. Though he’d been gone three years, Ma Liang had tended them, surprisingly lively still.
“You want the motor… motorcycle? Or e… bike?” Ma Liang asked.
“Can’t I just walk?” Sun Wenqu shot back, then thought again, turned to look at him. “Forget it. Don’t return the car. She’ll just tell you to leave it by the roadside. Keep it. You drive.”
Before Ma Liang could answer, Sun Wenqu walked out of the yard. He was heading toward the car when a woman’s voice called out behind him: “Sun Wenqu!”
Back a day and already running into acquaintances?
He turned his head. A woman was sauntering toward him, hips swaying. Behind her, a tall man followed, cap pulled low, big headphones around his neck, face obscured.
“And you are…?” Sun Wenqu squinted at the woman. Sunglasses covered half her face, but the visible half was pretty, though heavily made up. Something familiar about her, though he couldn’t place it.
“Look at this,” the woman stopped in front of him, arms crossed, sneering. She turned slightly, speaking to the man behind her: “How many years has it been, and your dad doesn’t even recognize me?”
Sun Wenqu froze, then spun to look at Ma Liang. “What’s this lady talking about?”
“She says th-that kid…” Ma Liang pointed at the man behind her. “Is your son.”
