Evening self-study, Fang Chi mostly slept, but restlessly. The classroom was quiet, everyone buried in reading, solving problems, or napping, but every few minutes he jerked awake.
Normally he was a good sleeper. No matter the time or place, once he wanted to sleep, he could drop off soundly. But tonight, he kept snapping awake.
Because of what Sun Wenqu had said.
It got under his skin, made him angry, but he couldn’t find a way to argue back.
That feeling of having no outlet for frustration left him unsettled and suffocated.
But all through the night study, Sun Wenqu never contacted him. That, too, nagged at him, especially since when he left, Sun Wenqu had still been running a fever.
Given his habit of raising h*ll over nothing, the fact that he wasn’t raising h*ll when something was actually wrong, that was unexpected.
Maybe when he really felt bad, he just didn’t have the energy to stir trouble.
Fang Chi checked his phone. No call. He jogged home.
Chief Huang was already asleep. At the sound of the door opening and closing, he only flicked his ears, not even lifting his head.
Fang Chi went over, squeezed his ears, rubbed his head. No reaction. He sighed and glanced at the wall.
The painting Sun Wenqu had given him was stuck there. Huge canvas, only a tiny patch painted, with a seal stamped. Every time Fang Chi looked at it, he felt a laugh coming on.
But with Chief Huang behaving like this, he figured maybe the painting was of Chief Huang and Sun Wenqu, or maybe someone else. Either way, Chief Huang had never once curled up on his lap to sleep. Yet on Sun Wenqu’s belly? Perfectly content.
The only time the cat stuck close to him was when he lay down at night. Then Chief Huang would jump onto the bed, claim half the pillow, and sometimes even use his paws to push Fang Chi’s head aside.
Like tonight, especially stubborn.
“Chief Huang,” Fang Chi lay on his side facing the cat, “who spoiled this rotten habit of yours?”
Chief Huang pressed a front paw onto his nose, then after a pause added a hind paw to his chin and shoved.
“You were born a stray, an ugly mongrel cat, who looked more like a rat. What are you acting so high and mighty for?” Fang Chi said softly. “And only with me, too?”
Chief Huang didn’t move.
“Why do you like Sun Wenqu so much?” Fang Chi grabbed him, pulled him under the blanket, held him close. “Is it his smell you like? That coconut scent?”
Chief Huang wriggled free and went back to sprawl on the pillow.
“Tsk,” Fang Chi clicked his tongue. “You probably dream of me giving you away to Sun Wenqu in a fit of anger, don’t you?”
“Keep dreaming.” Fang Chi rolled over, back to the cat. “I’m a masochist, cool like that. Tough luck for you.”
Two days until the school’s centennial celebration. A hundred-year-old school, the administration had been making a huge deal of it, preparing for over a month. Lately there’d been cleaning, organizing, even planting two new rows of trees.
Seniors didn’t have to participate, but they got one perk: no evening self-study tonight or tomorrow.
Fang Chi wasn’t attached to evening study, but he was still glad for the break.
But as soon as he stepped out of the school gate, the thought soured.
He still had to cook for Lord Sun Wenqu.
Although… being able to eat his grandpa’s smoked sausages and dried bamboo shoots wasn’t so bad.
That cheered him up.
Except, Sun Wenqu would be there.
So he sulked again.
He ran the whole way, mood swinging up and down like that.
But when he got to Sun Wenqu’s house, he froze.
A bunch of neighbors were standing outside the yard, peering in.
Something happened to Sun Wenqu?
Fang Chi panicked, rushed forward, shoved through the crowd, and shouted: “Sun Wenqu!”
“What are you doing!” someone stopped him.
Then he saw it: several security guards inside, and on the ground, a man bleeding all over. One guard was pressing tissue to his face to stop the bleeding.
“He’s my friend,” Sun Wenqu’s voice came from behind them.
Fang Chi pushed past to see Sun Wenqu calmly leaning against the doorframe in a bathrobe, holding a steaming cup of something, sipping it unhurriedly.
“What happened?” Fang Chi asked quickly.
“A thief,” Sun Wenqu jerked his chin toward the living room window. “Looks like he tried to climb in, and the window fell on him instead.”
Fang Chi glanced over, breaking into a cold sweat. The frame was empty, glass shattered across the ground. The guy must’ve pulled out the latch Fang Chi had wedged in…
If that glass had slashed his neck, he’d be dead!
“So now…?” Fang Chi looked at the thief.
“We’ll hand him straight to the police station,” one guard said, pointing at the man. “It’s all on the security footage! Broad daylight! Did he think just because everyone was cooking nobody would notice?”
“Evening,” Sun Wenqu corrected him. “Evening.”
After a noisy commotion, the security guards took the thief away, and the neighbors dispersed.
“I’ll help you fix the window first,” Fang Chi said, looking at the yard full of glass shards; two flowerpots had even been smashed down.
“Just call property management and have them send someone to repair it,” Sun Wenqu said, turning back into the house.
“Oh.” Fang Chi didn’t follow, but bent over to look through the glass.
“Looking for this?” Sun Wenqu came over to the living room window, holding something and shaking it at him.
“Mm.” Fang Chi saw it was a hanger plate, took it, and came inside.
“What’s this thing for?” Sun Wenqu dragged a folding screen out from the study and stood it in front of the window to block the wind.
“Hanger plate,” Fang Chi answered.
He was a little surprised that Sun Wenqu even had such a thing in his home, a four-panel screen, each panel with a painting. Fang Chi couldn’t understand them, but guessed they were plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum.
“I asked what it’s for,” Sun Wenqu curled up on the sofa.
Fang Chi didn’t know how to explain: “You drill it into a rock wall with expansion bolts, then you can clip in a quickdraw or attach a sling.”
“Don’t understand,” Sun Wenqu said.
“It’s climbing gear,” Fang Chi said.
“Got it.” Sun Wenqu nodded. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” Fang Chi was actually a bit troubled. He usually ate very simply, noodles, noodles, noodles. He glanced again at the screen. “That one too, did you paint it?”
“Hm?” Sun Wenqu turned his head and glanced over. “No. I don’t have that skill. That’s… Li Bowen’s dad’s work.”
“Ah?” Fang Chi was a bit surprised.
“My dad forced me to learn painting from him,” Sun Wenqu smiled. “His dad normally doesn’t take students.”
Fang Chi thought for a while before asking: “So you’re… considered one of the good ones among his students?”
“Sort of. Compared to Li Bowen,” Sun Wenqu said. “Uncle Li only had two students, Li Bowen and me.”
Fang Chi froze, stared at him without speaking.
“What is it?” Sun Wenqu looked back at him.
“You two have never gotten along, have you?” Fang Chi said.
Sun Wenqu laughed. “Everyone else thinks we get along fine.”
“And you think so too?” Fang Chi frowned.
“Me…” Sun Wenqu lay back on the sofa. “I just often wonder, how much does that kid actually hate me?”
“That day, if you’d slipped from anywhere else,” Fang Chi said, turning into the kitchen, “at the very least you’d have broken a bone.”
He felt Sun Wenqu was a bit incomprehensible. Even after all that, he hadn’t broken off with Li Bowen, just carried on like nothing happened. If it were him, he’d have beaten the cr*p out of him on the spot.
Maybe Sun Wenqu was already so jaded he didn’t even care to fight anymore.
“Still have a fever?” Fang Chi shouted as he chopped vegetables.
“It went down this morning.” Sun Wenqu’s voice came from right behind him.
“Hey!” Fang Chi jumped, turning to see him leaning against the kitchen doorframe, who knew how long he’d been standing there. “Why do you always do that?”
“You’re the one with poor adaptability,” Sun Wenqu drawled. “I’ve already adapted to your cooking being so bad, and you still haven’t adapted to my shifting…”
“Is it really that bad?” Fang Chi quickly cut him off.
Sun Wenqu laughed. “Not quite crossing into ‘inedible,’ but close.”
“…Oh.” Fang Chi turned back and kept chopping. “I thought it was pretty good.”
“Planning to improve your cooking skills then?” Sun Wenqu asked.
“No,” Fang Chi said, piling the chopped vegetables onto a plate. “Eat it and put up with it, or don’t eat and go hungry.”
“Wow.” Sun Wenqu laughed so hard he choked. “That attitude! Awesome. No wonder you’re the guy who set a trap that smashed a thief’s face bloody.”
“Hey, but what if that guy turns it around and claims the window injured him, will that bring me trouble?” Fang Chi suddenly worried.
“If he dares!” Sun Wenqu clicked his tongue.
“And what if he really does dare…” Fang Chi cut into a sausage, thinking aloud.
“Then let him. You worry about weird things,” Sun Wenqu said, heading back to the living room. “Even if it were on purpose, you just pay some compensation and it’s over.”
“…Oh.” Fang Chi answered.
“If you don’t have enough money, I’ll cover you. Then you just sign a…”
Fang Chi hooked the kitchen door shut with his foot.
Because he’d suddenly learned his cooking wasn’t very tasty, Fang Chi cooked more slowly that night, wanting to see if he was making mistakes that ruined the food.
But even with twenty extra minutes, he found no reason.
So it wasn’t his fault. Just had to make do.
“Actually, your noodles are decent,” Sun Wenqu said as he ate. “I’ve praised your noodles before, right?”
“Mm. Then you can eat noodles every day,” Fang Chi replied.
“Sure,” Sun Wenqu chuckled, then checked the time. “Why are you so free today?”
“Our school’s anniversary. No evening self-study for two days,” Fang Chi said, head down over his food.
“Perfect. I’ve got something to give you later,” Sun Wenqu said.
“What thing?” Fang Chi froze. “You don’t need to return gifts for the stuff my grandparents gave you.”
“I know. Even if I wanted to return gifts, I wouldn’t give them to you. I’d just bring something directly when I visit them,” Sun Wenqu smiled. “This is for you.”
For some reason, Fang Chi suddenly recalled what Sun Wenqu had said yesterday. The unease he’d felt all day flared up again, and now he just felt unbearably awkward.
When Sun Wenqu talked during dinner, he felt awkward. When it was silent, he felt even more awkward.
To make matters worse, he finished eating much faster than Sun Wenqu, and had to sit waiting while Sun Wenqu ate like a cat, slowly, just one small bowl, then even licking his “paws.”
Finally Sun Wenqu set down his chopsticks, and Fang Chi rushed to gather the dishes and wash up.
When he came back to the living room, Sun Wenqu was gone.
“Here.” Sun Wenqu’s voice came from the study.
Fang Chi hesitated, then went in.
It was his first time entering Sun Wenqu’s study. From the living room you couldn’t see it fully. Once inside, he realized it was the biggest room of the three.
Aside from the wall of bookshelves and desk visible from the door, the opposite wall was also bookshelves, and the far wall hung four erhus and two framed calligraphy pieces.
“…Still… best shaomai is at Chen Ji by the entrance?” Fang Chi struggled to make out the rough traditional characters.
“Mm,” Sun Wenqu nodded, leaning against the desk. “Really tasty. I could take you tomor…”
“Wait, this you hang on the wall?” Fang Chi stared, then looked at the other piece. This one had more text. “I want this sky to cover… I know this, Wukong’s Biography, right?”
“Mm.” Sun Wenqu nodded again.
“These two are worlds apart…” Fang Chi said, looking them over. “When did you write them?”
No matter what kind of person Sun Wenqu was, Fang Chi had to admit, the brushwork was impressive. Even as an amateur, if someone told him a famous calligrapher had written them, he’d believe it.
“Chen Ji shaomai, I wrote before going into the mountains. The other was back in school, stupid days, liked writing that kind of stuff,” Sun Wenqu said.
“Oh.” Fang Chi couldn’t help carefully studying the “stupid” part.
“I was giving you something, could you pay attention?” Sun Wenqu said, crossing his arms in mock annoyance.
“Oh.” Fang Chi stepped up to the desk.
Sun Wenqu shifted aside, pointing at a long box. “Here. Thanks for carrying me up that day.”
“Didn’t take much effort,” Fang Chi said, opening the box to find a scroll. “A painting?”
“Mm.” Sun Wenqu nodded.
“Another chibi Chief Huang and his owner?” Fang Chi asked.
“I’m very passionate about that theme,” Sun Wenqu smiled. “But no, not chibi.”
Fang Chi hesitated, then slowly unrolled the painting on the desk.
It was already mounted. As it opened, Fang Chi’s surprise matched the first time he’d seen Sun Wenqu’s calligraphy.
This wasn’t a black-and-white chibi sketch, it had soft, relaxing colors, subtle ink tones that were soothing to the eye.
Chief Huang sat on a desk, lazily licking his paw. On the desk was also a vase resembling Chief Huang, holding a few sprigs of foxtail grass. In the lounge chair beside them sat a person.
One glance was enough to recognize himself, wearing his usual sports jacket and casual pants, headphones on.
You couldn’t tell when it was painted, but somehow it radiated the lazy, pleasant ease of an afternoon.
“This was what I meant to give you. But the day I told you, it wasn’t finished yet,” Sun Wenqu said softly beside him. “So I did a chibi one instead.”
“It’s really good,” Fang Chi said. When he turned to look, Sun Wenqu’s face in the side light had a soft golden halo. Maybe from the calligraphy on the wall, or from the painting itself, but suddenly he seemed to have a completely different aura from usual.
“I mounted it myself,” Sun Wenqu smiled. “But I haven’t touched this stuff in a long time. Didn’t come out great.”
“I…” Fang Chi quickly turned back to the painting. The smile on Sun Wenqu’s lips had made him nervous. Once again, awkwardness spread in the small space between them at the desk. “I don’t see anything wrong with it.”
“My stuff works wonders on someone like you,” Sun Wenqu said. “In front of you, passing myself off as a master is no problem.”
“Right,” Fang Chi nodded. “Great Sage Sun…. no, Master.”
“You okay?” Sun Wenqu chuckled.
“I’m fine.” Fang Chi carefully rolled up the painting and placed it back in the box. “Thanks.”
“Fang Chi.” Sun Wenqu suddenly called his name.
“Mm?” Fang Chi reflexively looked up.
Sun Wenqu’s eyes curved slightly, smiling, but he didn’t say anything more.
They stared at each other for several seconds. Fang Chi, flustered, echoed again: “Mm?”
Sun Wenqu suddenly stepped forward, almost right up to him, but before Fang Chi could react, he brushed past his shoulder and out of the study, his coconut-milk scent and a soft laugh brushing across Fang Chi’s face.
Fang Chi instantly had the urge to kick him in the *ss.
“I’m going to say this officially,” Fang Chi said, carrying the box out to the living room.
“Say it,” Sun Wenqu was already curled up on the sofa.
Fang Chi always thought this sofa must’ve been custom-made. He’d never seen a couch like it, like a pit of sand that swallowed you whole, collapsing into a mound the moment you sat down.
“I’m officially telling you,” Fang Chi frowned, “can you not always do that?”
“Do what?” Sun Wenqu’s mouth curled into a smirk.
“Just…” Fang Chi struggled for words. “Just… what you did just now?”
“What did I do just now?” Sun Wenqu’s mouth was still curved, with that faint, unreadable smile.
“You…” Fang Chi suddenly couldn’t say anything.
Because really, what had Sun Wenqu done?
The last few times too, what exactly did he do?
To say he did something, there’s nothing you can really point to. But to say he did nothing, he definitely did something.
Fang Chi froze for a long while, then finally sighed: “I’m going home.”
“Running away?” Sun Wenqu smiled, picking up his phone to play.
“Going home to study.” Fang Chi said.
“Can you study effectively on your own?” Sun Wenqu didn’t look up from his phone. “Yesterday when I looked at your chemistry paper, you got four in a row wrong on the very first page.”
Fang Chi was stunned. Today, when they went over the paper in class, the first page really had four mistakes in a row. Sun Wenqu not only helped him with a few questions, he’d also checked the earlier ones?
“I’ll say something serious too,” Sun Wenqu glanced up at him, “when you’re not going to school, you can review here. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask me.”
“Huh?” Fang Chi looked at him.
“If you don’t want to, then go back,” Sun Wenqu’s eyes dropped back to his phone, “no one’s forcing you.”
Fang Chi didn’t answer. That look from Sun Wenqu made him think again of what he said yesterday, if he refused, it would be like instantly proving him right.
After about a minute of silence, Fang Chi finally spoke: “You… you’re really up to it?”
“Bring a test paper right now, we’ll do it at the same time,” Sun Wenqu clicked his tongue, “I can leave you in the dust by eight hundred and sixty-three streets. By the time the teacher grades yours, she probably won’t even be able to read your awful handwriting. Hey, maybe I should teach you calligraphy too.”
“I still have a pile of papers I haven’t done,” Fang Chi tugged his backpack over. “Why don’t I split half for you to, ”
“Bullsh*t,” Sun Wenqu shot him a glance. “Why don’t you just drop out then.”
Fang Chi slung his backpack over his shoulder: “Where do I work?”
“The study,” said Sun Wenqu. “Ask if you don’t understand something.”
“Mm.” Fang Chi walked into the study.
“Close the door,” Sun Wenqu added.
“Huh?” Fang Chi turned his head.
“Closing the door’s safer.” Sun Wenqu chuckled to himself for half the day.
Fang Chi sighed, closed the study door, and sat down at the desk.
Sun Wenqu’s desk was for writing and painting, so it was huge, black, with a soft matte finish, looking very solid and weighty.
When Fang Chi set his books on the table and lowered his head, he instantly felt himself quiet down, like the whole world outside had been shut out by the black tabletop.
He lifted his head and looked at the brush stand on the desk, with brushes of different sizes stuck in it. He wondered what Sun Wenqu felt like when he stood here writing or painting, what kind of picture that would be.
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