Although Sun Wenqu had spent three years in the mountains, his standards for food hadn’t dropped just because he ate canteen meals with the diggers every day.
Ma Liang had brought him to a restaurant, but he wasn’t satisfied, because the signboard had a chili pepper on it.
“I don’t eat spicy,” Sun Wenqu said.
“It’s not spicy, you… you can handle it,” Ma Liang insisted.
“With a chili that big on the sign?” Sun Wenqu refused to get out of the car. “Any other options?”
“Aw, come on!” Ma Liang helplessly started the engine again. “So picky, so… rustic, rustic, rustic…”
“You’re the rustic one,” Sun Wenqu shot back.
“Rustic? Turkey!” Ma Liang smacked the steering wheel. “Food! You want it or not?”
“I’ll eat,” Sun Wenqu nodded.
Actually, the worksite meals hadn’t been bad, balanced with meat, vegetables, even fruit. But everything was cooked in giant pots, served in giant basins, and if you thought too much about it, life just felt hopeless.
If not for the fact that the cook was from Hunan, meaning three years of peppers every single meal, Sun Wenqu wouldn’t have had such a knee-jerk reaction at the mere sight of a chili pepper on a sign.
To be honest, he kind of admired himself: facing his old man’s tyranny, standing strong and unyielding… and eating peppers for three whole years.
The Turkish place Ma Liang finally dragged him to was new to him. The food was pretty good, and the setting comfortable. Sun Wenqu buried his head and ate.
“B-back now… what plans?” Ma Liang asked as he ate.
“None.” Sun Wenqu answered crisply.
“Want to come to… my place?” Ma Liang offered.
“We’ll see,” Sun Wenqu leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got to enjoy life a few days first.”
Ma Liang, two years older, was his father’s disciple, formally so, having studied pottery under him since his teens. Mediocre talent, but steady and reliable, which made the old man fond of him.
But in the end, when caught between master and friend, he chose his buddy. His father, furious, expelled him. Now he had his own studio, doing decently well.
“Wenqu,” Ma Liang lit a cigarette, “when do you think… you’ll ever shape up?”
“I’m already pretty straightened up,” Sun Wenqu gave him a look. “Healthy, good-looking, child-free.”
“I’m serious,” Ma Liang leaned closer. “You’ve got t-talent…”
Sun Wenqu stayed silent, eating.
“I know you don’t… don’t like pottery,” Ma Liang continued. “But you’re not a kid anymore. You’ve got to… grow up.”
Sun Wenqu still said nothing.
“Don’t tell me you’re still… still planning to waste time with Li Bowen,” Ma Liang frowned.
“Shut up and eat. Don’t eat? Pay the bill.” Sun Wenqu finally spoke.
“Think about it,” Ma Liang waved for the waiter. “What I said.”
After the meal, Sun Wenqu had him tag along to the mall and bought several sets of clothes.
“W-wasteful brat,” Ma Liang muttered while he swiped a card. It was the same card Sun Wenqu had tossed him before leaving three years ago, how much was left, he couldn’t even remember.
When they got back to his neighborhood, they saw Sun Jiayue’s red Mini parked downstairs.
Of course he knew right away it was hers.
“You go on. Take the car with you.” Sun Wenqu said, getting out.
After a couple steps, he saw the car still hadn’t moved. He turned back and flipped Ma Liang the finger. Ma Liang honked, turned around, and drove off.
Sun Jiayue got out, arms crossed against her car: “Well, well. Little brother doesn’t fancy the car I gave him?”
“Don’t need it,” Sun Wenqu said. “If you don’t take it back, I’ll let Liangzi drive it.”
“Let him then.” She smiled, giving him a once-over. “You’ve lost weight.”
“How could anyone not, in that place,” Sun Wenqu said, giving her a look back. Still the same, pretty and flamboyant, nothing like their sister Sun Yao. “You came just to check my weight?”
“Something like that. Just wanted to ask…” She hesitated, lowered her voice. “Are you coming home for New Year?”
“Can you not?” Sun Wenqu immediately felt his chest tighten, irritation in his tone.
“You think I want to ask? I couldn’t care less about that mess at home! Go or don’t, makes no difference to me. I’m asking for Sun Yao,” she frowned. “And look at your mule face, paired with that haircut… ugh, you’d better get it fixed. I know a…”
“Go home already,” Sun Wenqu sighed, patted her shoulder. “Otherwise your husband’ll be bawling again about you not being around.”
“Here, take this.” She pulled out a card tucked in a business card. “He’s my guy, call him, let him fix you up. I can’t stand your dumb-country-bro look.”
He took it, noticed the feel was odd, another card hidden underneath. Before he could ask, she had already jumped back in her car, gunned it in reverse so close to his leg it startled him.
“Hey! Watch it!” Sun Wenqu yelled.
“Big sis gave you that! Take it or don’t, your problem, don’t bug me!” she shouted through the window, then sped off.
He looked at the card in his hand without speaking.
Jiayue’s driving was its own horror show, zigzagging, wheels on sidewalks, then finally disappearing down the street.
Watching her near-death U-turn journey, Sun Wenqu actually felt touched, that she came all the way in just to drop off this card.
So touched he broke out in a sweat, in the chill autumn wind.
Back home, he tossed the card into a drawer.
Most of the time, Sun Yao sided with their father, wouldn’t have handed him money herself. So this must’ve been Mom’s idea.
He yawned. Before ten, he was already sleepy.
On-site nightlife was poker. He liked cards, but not playing with guys who would flip the table and start swinging when they lost. So he usually just slept at ten.
Before bed, though, he dragged out all his old clothes, stuffed them into a bag, then went into the bathroom.
Hadn’t looked closely earlier, but now he noticed, beside the new shampoo and shower gel Ma Liang had bought, the bottom rack still held half-used bottles, lids off, messy.
Already in a bad mood, the sight set him off. He stared for a while, then yanked the whole rack out and dumped it, bottles and all, in the trash downstairs.
After that, he dropped onto the bed and was asleep before he could even check the time.
He rarely dreamed. Nothing to think about in the mountains, just dirt, trees, hills. No material for dreams.
But tonight, he dreamed.
His dad came.
He ran.
His ex-girlfriend came.
He ran.
His son came.
He ran.
And Li Bowen appeared, rolling in his bed, in his closet, in his bathroom with some woman, until he finally snapped, chasing them all around the apartment.
The whole night, just running.
When he woke, it felt like he’d been digging all day again. The dream blurred quickly, but one thing stuck: he’d opened the fridge, and Fang Chi had sneered at him from inside, “Dad.”
So much for sleeping in.
No footsteps, no chatter, no rooster, no one knocking at his door anymore. Still, he lay staring at the ceiling for a while before getting up.
In the kitchen, he opened the fridge, only a few bottles of yogurt Ma Liang had bought.
He drank one. Tasted fine, though the texture was odd, little jelly bits. Aloe.
Wandering the apartment in his pajamas, flipping on the TV, then standing by the window, he suddenly felt restless.
Just three years gone, and he’d already forgotten what his life had even been before, how he’d gotten through his days.
In the mountains, at least he’d had something to look forward to: once the three years were up, he’d be free.
Now he was free. But what next?
He scrolled through his contacts. Friends, all of them, but he didn’t feel like calling a single one.
Just as he was about to toss the phone aside, it rang.
Li Bowen.
Frowning, he answered.
“Well, well! Didn’t think you’d be free to take a call now!” Li Bowen shouted in his ear.
“Woke up early.” Sun Wenqu stood by the window, pulling open the curtains.
“I’ll pick you up tonight,” Li Bowen said. “Got a table booked already.”
“Who’s coming?” Sun Wenqu asked.
“Who else? The usual crew. Been waiting for you. At first they said just come over to mine, but no, this deserves a proper welcome…”
“You make it sound like I’ve been in prison three years,” Sun Wenqu clicked his tongue.
“Might as well have been,” Li Bowen laughed. “Still using the same number? I told them not to call you, figured your old man might still have the phone.”
“Got it back.” Sun Wenqu thought of yesterday’s clothes, those half-used bottles. “Anything you want me to bring over?”
“Bring me what?” Li Bowen paused, then chuckled. “Forget it, toss it.”
“Mm.”
“If I hadn’t been dropping by now and then,” Li Bowen said sourly, “who knows what state Ma Liang would’ve left your place in.”
“Mm.” Sun Wenqu didn’t say more.
“So… I’ll call when I come by this afternoon.”
“Mm.”
“That’s that, then.” Li Bowen hung up.
Sun Wenqu changed clothes, planning to grab breakfast. From the moment he stepped outside, his phone wouldn’t stop ringing, guys, girls, all old friends, all saying the same thing: You’re back? How’s it been? Let’s meet up.
It was probably all Li Bowen spreading the word.
He’d been in the mountains as long as these people hadn’t contacted him.
Back when his dad threw him up there, they’d forcibly confiscated his phone. Manager Zhang gave him some kind of Xiaolingtong or whatever local-only phone it was, once he left the little town near the worksite, there was no signal at all. He was worse off than the diggers.
The only number he could recall by heart without a phonebook was Ma Liang’s.
But later, after Ma Liang somehow managed to get back his confiscated phone, Sun Wenqu hadn’t let him copy over the contacts. His youthful stubbornness against his father had been fired up by that barren backwater.
So into the mountains it was.
Three years meant three years.
Not contacting friends meant not contacting friends.
What, was he supposed to just die of boredom out there?
By the time he’d gone across the street for breakfast and back, he’d fielded over ten calls. That annoyance from Li Bowen earlier had already been smoothed out.
Along with that, the emptiness he’d been feeling was filled again, these familiar people, familiar voices, familiar ways of talking brought him quickly back into his old skin.
None of them were truly close friends, but that didn’t matter. For Sun Wenqu, this was just a return to the life he was used to.
There was a dinner set up that night, with people he hadn’t seen in years. Staring at his reflection, he decided to call the hairstylist Sun Jiayue had recommended.
The business card had been tossed on the table all this time without him checking it. Only when he picked it up to dial did he notice, the hairstylist wasn’t named Tony, Kevin, Andy, or Peter…
But Xiao Ji*.
* pronunciation is like little chicken
A girl?
“Uh, Xiao Ji?” When Sun Wenqu placed the call, he couldn’t help feeling awkward, half-expecting the other person to cluck like a chicken when they answered.
“Yes, who’s speaking?” Xiao Ji turned out to be a man, voice strong and masculine, not clucking in the least.
“Sun Jiayue gave me your number…” Sun Wenqu said.
“Ah, a friend of Sister Jiayue? How should I address you?” Xiao Ji asked warmly, clearly familiar with her.
“Sun Wenqu.”
“Brother Sun, you want your hair done? Today? This afternoon’s the earliest I can make it over.” His words tumbled out with enthusiasm. “Hey, you’re also a Sun Wenqu… Are you Sister Jiayue’s little bro, ”
“Yes,” Sun Wenqu cut him off. “This afternoon’s fine.”
He gave the address and hung up quickly. He couldn’t take people like that, strangers who acted over-familiar and talked too much.
“You lied to me.” Fang Chi sat in the front row of a tour bus, calling Chen Xiang. Behind him, over thirty uncles and aunties chattered noisily, one of them even belting out a song.
“How’d I lie to you?” Chen Xiang chuckled.
“You said it was a rowdy bunch of rascals. It’s clearly an uncle-auntie tour group.”
“I just found out myself. They’re… about my age,” Chen Xiang laughed harder, probably hearing the singing in the background. “What, you only like rascal groups?”
“I never said I liked them. Not like I’m bunking with them.” Fang Chi turned his head to the window. “It’s just noisy.”
“Uncles and aunties are strong, you know. They’re usually out biking, hiking, they’re easier to lead. Next time I’ll line up a younger group for you.”
“After New Year I have to start reviewing. No more…” Before he could finish, an aunt suddenly stood and shouted.
“Little Lin!”
“Holy…” Fang Chi nearly smashed his forehead into the glass. Looking back, he saw she was just calling another aunt up front to sit. He sighed and lowered his voice. “Scared me to death.”
“Scared me too,” Chen Xiang laughed for a while. “Wait, did you just say you’re reviewing?”
“Yeah, I’ve got the college entrance exam next year. Half a year left.”
“When I asked for leave today, my homeroom teacher gave me that look, like he was staring at a guaranteed flunk-out.”
“I forgot you’re a senior already,” Chen Xiang said with some emotion. “I’ve basically watched you grow up.”
“And I’ve basically watched you get old,” Fang Chi shot back, glancing behind him. “Alright, gotta go, we’re almost there.”
He wasn’t a professional guide, just someone who hung around Chen Xiang’s outdoor club long enough to know these routes well. At first they called him along when short-staffed, later they just asked for him directly.
But the work wasn’t fun, tiring, too.
“From here, we’ll be walking.” The bus pulled into a flat, dirt-packed area by the cliffs. The leader bellowed instructions: “First a stretch of mountain road, then we head deeper in. Make sure your gear’s ready, check your shoes again. The path is rough, don’t twist an ankle…”
Fang Chi leaned against a tree, half-listening, his bag at his feet. Compared to the group’s basic gear, his was far more professional. Several aunties circled him, inspecting with curiosity.
“This is our canyon-trail guide, Fang Chi,” the leader introduced. “He knows this section well, at tricky spots, follow his reminders.”
Fang Chi gave the group a nod as greeting. They were alright, looked about forty-ish on average. Not as fun as a young group, but better than a true seniors’ group. Folks that old usually didn’t even attempt overnight treks.
The leader repeated the key reminders again, then everyone strapped on packs and started hiking.
Fang Chi didn’t know this leader, had nothing much to say, so he walked in silence at the head of the group, listening to the chatter behind.
For the first twenty minutes, spirits were lively. After half an hour, silence. The road, though smooth, was steep, draining.
He looked back. Quiet or not, these uncles and aunties had clearly been training regularly; they were holding up well.
After about an hour, he paused.
“Turn this corner and then…” Before he could finish, his phone rang. It was Fang Ying. “At this pace, another fifteen minutes to the trailhead.”
“Come with me tonight to see Sun Wenqu,” Fang Ying said. “He’s got dinner plans today, probably, ”
“I can’t get back to the city today. I’ve taken a group into the mountains.”
“What!” Fang Ying shouted. “Didn’t we say we’d go again in the next couple days?”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He knew she’d yell.
“Tomorrow…” she considered, then said, “Fine. Tomorrow evening. But early, so we can catch him before he goes out.”
“…Okay.” Fang Chi’s mind flashed to Sun Wenqu’s impatient, disdainful face, and he felt irritated again.
