The holiday spirit in the market was even stronger than in the village, red everywhere.
Although he’d always thought following his grandparents around the market was boring, going around the market with Sun Wenqu, or more accurately, going around the pots-and-jars section, Fang Chi actually found it… interesting.
Because Sun Wenqu didn’t stroll at all. He stopped at two rows of jar sellers and just stood there. After a while, feeling uncomfortable, he sat down on the back of a vegetable cart parked by the roadside.
And sat for nearly an hour.
Even Xiaozi couldn’t take it anymore, whining at their feet.
“I’m going to get something to drink.” Fang Chi said. “Just nearby.”
“Mm.” Sun Wenqu nodded. “Bring me a hot chocolate.”
“Dreaming?” Fang Chi waved a hand in front of his eyes. “This is a town. If you find a cup of hot soy milk, that already counts as keeping up with the times.”
“Then hot soy milk,” Sun Wenqu glanced at him, “hot milk works too. If there’re jianbing guozi, even better, get me a set…”
Fang Chi ignored him, turned with Xiaozi, and walked off.
There was plenty to eat at the market, all kinds of things, especially before New Year. As a kid, this had been heaven for Fang Chi. Even now, sometimes he still dreamed about it.
But as for eating… he could handle it. Just always felt that, with hygiene being what it was, someone with a stomach like Sun Wenqu’s would probably end up with diarrhea.
He went into a bakery, bought a carton of milk and a bottle of water, and asked for a few freshly baked rolls. He gave two to Xiaozi, and another two to Sun Wenqu.
“Your town’s bread-making skills aren’t bad,” Sun Wenqu said between bites of milk and bread. “I really like this kind of plain bread without filling.”
“I just bought it at random. This is the cheapest one, one and a half yuan for four,” Fang Chi said honestly.
“There were two more, weren’t there?” Sun Wenqu looked at him.
“Xiaozi ate them.” Fang Chi pointed at Xiaozi wagging his tail, still begging for food.
“It’s not even as tall as my thigh and it eats the same amount as me?” Sun Wenqu clicked his tongue.
“Because it had to wait so long for you,” Fang Chi looked at the stacks of bowls and jars nearby. “I just want to ask, how much longer are you going to stare at these things?”
“Almost done.” Sun Wenqu licked his fingers. “Got a tissue?”
“Nope.” Fang Chi looked at him. “I usually just wipe it on my pants, ”
Before he could finish, Sun Wenqu had already reached over and rubbed his fingers on Fang Chi’s pants. “Don’t you feel anything looking at this stuff?”
“…Not really.” Fang Chi slapped at his pants. “When I was little, our house used these rustic bowls and things. Later we switched to nicer ones.”
“I don’t mean each piece.” Sun Wenqu said. “I mean, all of them piled up together, as a whole. Doesn’t that give you any feeling?”
“Yeah. A lot.” Fang Chi said. “Like, how long will it take to sell them all.”
“Let’s go.” Sun Wenqu stood. “Find your grandparents.”
“You mean, like what feeling it gives me?” Fang Chi followed him, asking.
“Mm.” Sun Wenqu spoke unhurriedly. “You grew up seeing them. As a kid you used them to eat, to drink. You squatted by the pickle jars waiting for your grandma to give you a bowl of pickles.”
“Put that way, I get it,” Fang Chi said. “Compared to these, I like the prettier bowls and plates we switched to later. But seeing these makes me remember childhood, remember the past… kind of, how to say it…”
“Nostalgia.” Sun Wenqu turned back and smiled at him.
“…Right, nostalgia.” Fang Chi nodded. “You stared half the day just for that?”
“Not for nostalgia. I wanted to see what nostalgia looks like.” Sun Wenqu patted his shoulder.
Truth be told, Fang Chi didn’t quite understand what he meant. But he didn’t plan on figuring it out either.
His grandparents’ two favorite parts of the market were the fresh meat stalls and the tool stalls.
They checked the meat market first, didn’t see them. Fang Chi was about to circle around again when Sun Wenqu suddenly grabbed Xiaozi’s leash from his hand, turned and pulled the dog away.
Fang Chi hurried after, baffled, and heard Sun Wenqu muttering: “Scared me to death. They’re about to slaughter a sheep over there, we better hurry before Xiaozi freaks out and bolts into the hills…”
Fang Chi half wanted to laugh, half had the urge to reach over and ruffle Sun Wenqu’s hair.
As they strolled near the tool section, Fang Chi noticed a row of stalls selling couplets and window decorations. Suddenly, he remembered the pair pasted outside their courtyard gate.
“Did you write those couplets?” he asked Sun Wenqu.
“Hm? Oh, yeah, I did,” Sun Wenqu said. “Wrote a bunch, actually.”
“A bunch?” Fang Chi blinked. “Isn’t it just the one outside the yard?”
“Yeah, your family only had that one.” Sun Wenqu chuckled. “But I helped other families in the village too. Must be around ten sets.”
“No way…” Fang Chi was shocked. “Everyone asked you to write them?”
“Your grandpa went around bragging, said our Spring Festival couplets this year were custom! One of a kind! Written by a calligrapher! And not just any calligrapher, a young calligrapher who can play the erhu.” Sun Wenqu laughed. “So a whole crowd came. Oh, and your grandpa’s rival, Old Jiang, he came too.”
“Huh? Really?” Fang Chi perked up. “Did they fight? I’m telling you, those two fighting is hilarious! If they do, don’t try to break it up, they’ve got a routine. They can fight for an hour without a scratch. If someone interferes, it breaks the spell and someone might get hurt.”
Sun Wenqu burst out laughing: “No fight. They were pretty friendly. But your grandpa charged him ten yuan, everyone else got theirs free.”
“That old man, honestly.” Fang Chi clicked his tongue.
“He gave the money to me,” Sun Wenqu said. “So later I’ll treat you to something better than one-yuan-fifty-for-four bread. Maybe grilled fish?”
“Grilled fish, huh.” Fang Chi grinned. “From plain old steamed buns and steamer dumplings to grilled fish, just like that. And you know the grilled fish here in town? It’s only half a fish…”
“I’m drifting right now,” Sun Wenqu cut him off. “Can’t you be a little understanding?”
“You… why, though?” Fang Chi still couldn’t figure out what had gotten into him this time. “Drifting.”
“No why.” Sun Wenqu stretched lazily. “That’s just who I am. Do what I want when I want. Today I felt like coming, so I came. Tomorrow, if I feel like leaving, I’ll leave.”
“You…” Fang Chi started but didn’t know what to say, so he shut his mouth.
It seemed Sun Wenqu didn’t want to talk about it. For someone like him to suddenly run off to the countryside, rent a place at the home of two old folks he’d only met twice, if it wasn’t because his medication hadn’t kept up, then there had to be some reason he couldn’t say.
At the tool stalls, his grandparents were already loaded down with things. Fang Chi took the bags from them, weighed them in his hands, and frowned: “Again with so much? How long will this last?”
“If it’s there, buy it,” Grandma said. “It’s not like you’re the one cooking, you don’t need to fuss.”
“Well, I’m the one carrying it.” Fang Chi laughed. “What’s Grandpa looking at?”
“Who knows. Been staring forever. Annoying!” Grandma said, exasperated.
Grandpa’s hobby was collecting all sorts of tools, the stranger, the better. Ordinary wrenches and hammers didn’t interest him. So every time at the market, he lingered ages.
But this time, he didn’t find anything to his liking.
Instead, Sun Wenqu bought a couple of things: a woodcutter’s sheath bag for a hatchet, and a freshly made leather wineskin.
“What’re you buying that for?” Fang Chi couldn’t help asking on the ride back in Uncle Zhang’s vehicle. These weren’t handicrafts, but things farmers actually used, designs and workmanship both rough.
“Haven’t thought about it,” Sun Wenqu said, looking at them. “Just felt interesting.”
“When you’re drifting and run into danger, whipping out an empty knife bag could scare people,” Fang Chi said. “Just don’t let them see it’s empty.”
Sun Wenqu just smiled, didn’t answer.
The bag wasn’t empty for long. As soon as they got home, Grandpa handed him a new hatchet: “This is a good blade, much better than what they sell at the market. Splits bone in one stroke.”
“Thanks, Grandpa.” Sun Wenqu slid it into the sheath. “Fits perfectly.”
“You’re giving him that?” Fang Chi worried. With how Sun Wenqu leaned against things wherever he went, Fang Chi felt this blade was bound to end up on his foot someday.
“You want one too? I’ve got another,” Grandpa said.
“I don’t.” Fang Chi shook his head. Stuff he’d grown up seeing every day, only Sun Wenqu would find it interesting.
As always, once Sun Wenqu went upstairs with his things, he didn’t come back down.
Fang Chi stayed in the living room chatting with his parents. Mostly, they asked questions, he answered. Review going okay? How’s school? Daily life?
“Pretty good.” Fang Chi used the same answer for everything.
His parents, unlike Grandma, didn’t think going to college was useless, but they didn’t have much hope for him either. As long as he lived steadily, without trouble, that was enough.
If he wandered the market instead of studying, they didn’t complain.
At noon, Mom made noodles with soybean paste. Grandma filled a bowl for Sun Wenqu and called downstairs: “Shuiqu, ”
“Yeah, coming, ” Sun Wenqu answered from upstairs and ran down.
Fang Chi had thought to bring it up to him himself, not as if he were being overly attentive, but because he was curious about what Sun Wenqu was tinkering with in that room.
If it was pottery, aside from Handsome and Monkey, he hadn’t seen him make anything else. If it wasn’t, then why hole up all day?
Sun Wenqu carried his noodles back upstairs. Fang Chi picked up his own bowl and followed a couple of steps, then stopped.
“Come chat a bit?” Sun Wenqu looked back at him.
“Oh.” Fang Chi hesitated, then went up with him.
“Your noodle-cooking skills must be inherited from your mom,” Sun Wenqu sat on the bed, eating while talking. “Smells great.”
“My grandpa makes the paste well.” Fang Chi looked around, then sat on a chair.
“You grew up with your grandparents, right?” Sun Wenqu asked, slurping noodles.
“Mm. Pretty much. Only went to live in the county town in middle school.” Fang Chi noticed a large sketchbook on the table, full of penciled jars and bottles. Too far to see clearly, but he didn’t feel right walking closer. “My parents are in the county.”
“Run a shop?” Sun Wenqu asked.
“A farm machinery shop,” Fang Chi said. “What, are you checking my household registration now?”
“Just checking when I’ve got nothing to do. Seeing if you’ll answer.” Sun Wenqu smiled. “Didn’t you used to hate talking? Even the climbing club, you wouldn’t say a word.”
“Even if I don’t say, you’d ask my grandparents,” Fang Chi clicked his tongue. “Bet you already did.”
“I didn’t.” Sun Wenqu grinned. “Your grandpa told me himself. Like how you once lost your shorts while swimming in the river as a kid, came back naked, that was him too.”
Fang Chi jerked his head up, nearly sprayed out his noodles. Muffled, he cried: “Why does that old man tell everything?!”
“Let him.” Sun Wenqu ate slowly. “Usually it’s just the two of them at home. With another person around, it’s new, so they talk more.”
Fang Chi didn’t reply, just lowered his head and ate. Those words made his heart ache a little. His dad and uncles didn’t live in the village anymore, so it was just the two old folks at home.
That was probably why it was so easy for Sun Wenqu to rent a room there, and why they cared about him so much.
After eating, Fang Chi took his bowl to wash. Sun Wenqu didn’t refuse, handed it over, then sat at the desk and picked up the sketchbook.
Designs?
Fang Chi paused at the doorway, watching his back.
Does pottery require drawing first?
Probably. Back when Grandma’s eyesight was good, she’d always sketch before working.
But why had this person suddenly run off to the countryside to sketch?
While he was still puzzling, Sun Wenqu turned his head suddenly. Looked at him silently, with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Uh, so…” Fang Chi got embarrassed, scratched his head. “You… still got mice biting you?”
“Not yet,” Sun Wenqu said.
“Oh, then keep at it.” Fang Chi closed the door, bowl in hand, and ran downstairs.
The noon sun was nice. Grandma caught Xiaozi in the yard to check if it had fleas, and Fang Chi pulled over a stool to sit nearby and bask in the sun with them.
Didn’t take long before he got drowsy.
Once his back was all warm, he got up and went inside, planning to nap.
Passing by Sun Wenqu’s room, he stopped. The door had a new lock, sure, but the panel was still old, if you leaned close to one of the cracks you could see inside…
Fang Chi clicked his tongue softly.
Not looking.
Back in his room, he meant to sleep, but once he saw the pile of books on the desk, he ended up sitting down instead.
Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve. Then it would be the first, second, and third day of the New Year. Already the whole village was filled with the sound of firecrackers, and it would only get noisier after that. Plus with visits to relatives and neighbors dropping by, reviewing would be next to impossible.
As the only one in the family who still believed in himself, Fang Chi decided he should study for a bit.
And with Sun Wenqu right next door, if he got stuck on a problem, he could just ask him to explain.
The test paper this time was really hard.
Fang Chi had only done a few questions before he flopped down on the desk, tapping his nose with the end of his pen again and again. One thought filled his head: So hard.
And then he fell asleep.
When he woke up again, it was to the sound of someone knocking rhythmically on his window.
He lifted his head and saw Sun Wenqu standing outside on the balcony, holding Chief Huang in his arms.
“Hey.” Fang Chi rubbed his eyes, a little embarrassed, and got up to open the balcony door. He’d made such a big show of “reviewing,” only to fall asleep in under half an hour.
“Sleep well?” Sun Wenqu came inside and tossed Chief Huang onto his bed.
Fang Chi picked up his phone and checked the time. Already past three in the afternoon. He whispered in shock: “D*mn, I slept that long?”
“I’m resting now,” Sun Wenqu collapsed onto the bed, arms spread. “Got anything you don’t understand? I’ll explain it.”
He was wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt. When he lifted his arms and lay back, a strip of his waist showed.
Fang Chi glanced twice, then quickly turned away and grabbed the test paper: “This whole section, I can’t do it.”
“Bring it here,” Sun Wenqu waved a hand without sitting up, “let your dad take a look.”
Fang Chi carried the paper over. Sun Wenqu studied it while lying down, then rolled over onto his stomach, pulling Chief Huang closer to him to pet while he kept reading.
“You got this one wrong too,” Sun Wenqu clicked his tongue.
“No way.” Fang Chi was surprised, he thought those first few problems, though tough, he’d done pretty well.
“I’ll check it over and explain in a bit,” Sun Wenqu said.
Fang Chi didn’t reply, just stood by.
Sun Wenqu always wore his sweatpants carelessly, like pulling them properly up would kill him. Now the whole of his lower back was exposed.
The tattoo there was right in Fang Chi’s line of sight.
Sun Wenqu had three tattoos, behind his ear, inside his ankle, and this one on his lower back. As for the rumored one at his thigh root, who knew if it was real. But these three, Fang Chi had never gotten a good look at any of them.
“This tattoo…” Fang Chi bent a knee on the edge of the bed, leaning closer. “What is it… a pig?”
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Sun Wenqu clicked his tongue and tugged his waistband down a bit. “Your family’s pigs look like this?”
Fang Chi lowered his head for a better look. Turned out it was the back view of a cat, cocking its head while scratching itself with a hind leg.
And up close, the tattoo was incredibly detailed, almost three-dimensional.
“It’s a cat? Looks real,” Fang Chi said. “You like cats that much?”
“Mm. Cost a fortune. It’s 3D, raised,” Sun Wenqu turned back to grin at him. “Got an implant under there.”
“Bull.” Fang Chi stared again, it really did look lifelike, though, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure.
“If you don’t believe me, poke it.” Sun Wenqu said.
Fang Chi had never seen a tattoo with implants under it. Curiosity got the better of him. He reached out and brushed Sun Wenqu’s lower back lightly.
His skin was… smooth.
At the sound of Sun Wenqu’s laughter, Fang Chi yanked his hand back.
“You actually believed that?” Sun Wenqu was cracking up, face buried in the bed. “You sure you’re eighteen?”
That fine, smooth feel still lingered on Fang Chi’s fingertips, along with the warmth of skin-to-skin touch. And now seeing him laugh like that, it annoyed him.
Without thinking, he smacked Sun Wenqu’s lower back. “You sure you’re thirty?”
“Really not,” Sun Wenqu tugged at his shirt and sat up. “Who said I was thirty? Not there yet.”
“…You don’t even look thirteen, you know.” Fang Chi gave him a look, then turned back to his desk and sat down.
Sun Wenqu chuckled, got off the bed, and dropped the test paper in front of him. “Alright then, let’s get to it.”
Fang Chi’s desk was small, so Sun Wenqu couldn’t sprawl out on it like before. He dragged over a stool, resting his chin on his arm.
“Same as always. I talk, you listen. If you don’t get it, stop me.” He took a sheet of paper and wrote the date in the corner.
“You even write that?” Fang Chi asked.
“Oh,” Sun Wenqu smiled, “just a habit.”
Fang Chi didn’t press. It must’ve been the same habit from when he sketched every day for his pottery, each drawing marked with the date.
That kind of seriousness made Fang Chi very curious.
Watching Sun Wenqu explain the problems, Fang Chi suddenly felt a strong urge, he wanted to see what Sun Wenqu looked like when he worked on pottery with the same focus.
