That felt good.
Sun Wenqu flopped back onto the sofa, turned up the TV volume, stretched out his legs, and waited for the food delivery.
Should’ve just ordered one portion.
The extra one, he’d feed to the stray cats later.
He yawned. Tiring, this doing-nothing-all-day lifestyle.
Honestly, he wasn’t that surprised Fang Chi stormed out. With his thick skin, he thought he’d at least haggle a bit before Sun Wenqu shut him down… but judging from that expression when “gay” was brought up, he probably wasn’t going to agree anyway.
Would’ve been fun if he had though. A one-off squabble doesn’t compare to having someone around to mess with whenever you’re bored.
Ten minutes of news later, the doorbell rang.
This time it had to be the food. Sun Wenqu got up, opened the gate and the front door.
He froze.
One man in uniform with two stacked meal boxes. And behind him… Fang Chi.
“You…” Sun Wenqu clicked his tongue.
Fang Chi said nothing, ducked his head, and slipped past him into the house.
“Your order, sir?” the delivery guy held out the receipt for payment.
After paying and shutting the door, Sun Wenqu set the boxes on the table. Fang Chi went right back to standing where he had stood before.
“Eat then leave?” Sun Wenqu asked, opening a box, sniffing, already losing his appetite.
“Why does it have to be me writing the IOU and all that… nonsense?” Fang Chi said.
“Because I don’t trust your mom,” Sun Wenqu closed the box and sat back. “Whatever IOU, whatever terms, she’d agree to anything, and then that’d be the end of it.”
“I could do the same,” Fang Chi looked at him.
“Go ahead, walk out then.” Sun Wenqu chuckled, eyes on the TV.
The state Fang Ying was in didn’t need explaining. But Fang Chi was different, you could tell his life was a lot more normal. Why the two were tangled up together, Sun Wenqu couldn’t be bothered to think through.
Now that Fang Chi had come back on Fang Ying’s behalf… maybe it was filial duty. Or maybe, if Fang Chi hadn’t walked out and returned, Sun Wenqu wouldn’t have been sure. But now he could pretty much guess: if he didn’t get the money, Fang Chi might be in trouble too.
“Those conditions,” Fang Chi hesitated, then asked again, “why?”
“No reason.” Sun Wenqu’s smile vanished, voice cold. “Teaching you how to be a person.”
Noticing Fang Chi’s unhappy stare, he grinned again: “Doing heaven’s work, ridding society of pests. Fang Ying’s beyond saving. Maybe you, with some tough medicine, might get a chance at revival.”
Fang Chi’s brows pulled tight.
“What, not convinced?” Sun Wenqu stretched lazily. “I’m just that upright and selfless.”
“What if I take the money and don’t pay back?” Fang Chi asked.
“You can try.” Sun Wenqu smiled.
They both went quiet, only the TV filling the room.
Ignoring him, Sun Wenqu fetched chopsticks, ready to choke down a few bites. That’s when Fang Chi finally spoke: “Fine.”
“You’re agreeing?” Sun Wenqu asked.
“Yeah. But you… can’t go too far.”
“No promises.” Sun Wenqu said crisply.
Fang Chi shifted, eyes flashing like he wanted to swing at him again, but after holding back, all he said was: “When can I get the money?”
Sun Wenqu tossed paper and pen onto the table. “Write the IOU.”
—
Leaving Sun Wenqu’s place, Fang Chi’s anger had nowhere to go. He kicked over four or five trash bins, and still couldn’t get that suffocating fury out of his chest.
If those guys hadn’t shown up at his school gate spitting out his home address the moment they couldn’t find Fang Ying, if he wasn’t afraid of the trouble spreading to his already sick grandma, if Fang Ying hadn’t begged him, saying she had a way to scrape the money together but needed three months, he’d never have come to Sun Wenqu.
That smug look on Sun Wenqu’s face made him want to grab a stick and smash it into him a hundred thousand times.
His phone rang just as he kicked another trash can.
“Little Chi…” Fang Ying’s voice came through as soon as he answered.
“I’ll bring you the money tomorrow. IOU’s ready.” Fang Chi ground his teeth. “Three months. If you don’t pay it back, you’re going to jail.”
“You got it?” Fang Ying cried out in joy. “I knew you’d figure it out! Who did you borrow from?”
“None of your business.” Fang Chi’s voice was tight. “Just remember what I said.”
“Got it, got it,” Fang Ying rushed to say. “I’ll write the IOU right away. Tomorrow I’ll bring it to you, no, I’ll deliver it to you…”
“I’ll come get it. Three months, or jail. And if you try to run, take Little Guo with you. Otherwise, I…”
Little Guo was her one soft spot. She cut in immediately: “I’ll pay it back, I swear! Little Chi, thank you! Your sister’s trash, but I’ve never cheated family. I’ll…”
“Good.” Fang Chi hung up.
—
Next morning, before seven, Fang Chi went to Sun Wenqu’s place. He had to sign that d*mned “cleaning, cooking, laundry” cr*p before getting the money.
It was early. He held the doorbell for nearly ten minutes, the neighbor’s dog barking itself hoarse, before Sun Wenqu finally appeared, bare-chested in pajama shorts, clearly annoyed.
“What time d’you call this?” His voice was thick with sleep. “So eager to sign a slave contract…”
“I’ve got class,” Fang Chi said.
“Class?” Sun Wenqu’s mouth curled. He tossed out casually, “What grade?”
“Second.” Fang Chi answered without thinking.
“Oh?” Sun Wenqu turned back, eyebrow raised. “Quick reflex.”
Fang Chi stayed silent.
As Sun Wenqu walked, Fang Chi noticed a tattoo peeking from the waistband of his shorts. Couldn’t make out what it was, but against his pale skin it stood out sharply. He quickly looked away.
On the coffee table lay a sheet of paper. Fang Chi picked it up, so this was it. “Service Contract,” it read.
Bullsh*t contract.
But what surprised him: the handwriting. Smooth, powerful, like straight from a calligraphy copybook.
So Fang Ying hadn’t been lying when she said the school had him write things.
This b*stard, wasting such good penmanship.
“That’s it,” Sun Wenqu came out in a robe, paper bag in hand. “Sign it.”
“The money?” Fang Chi asked.
Sun Wenqu tossed the bag at him. “Hurry. I need more sleep.”
Fang Chi sat, opened it. Bundles of cash inside, ten neat stacks. He counted. Exactly right. Then he picked up the “Service Contract” to read.
Not much text. Mostly what Sun Wenqu had said yesterday. But in parentheses: “services subject to increase if needed.” Fang Chi frowned. Skipped down, terms, duration.
The last line made him pause. He looked up: “There’s… a salary?”
“Contract, after all.” Sun Wenqu drank from a cup. “Otherwise we’d have to call it a slave deed. Want me to change it?”
Fang Chi hesitated a few seconds, then signed his name and handed it back.
“Wow, this handwriting,” Sun Wenqu glanced. “Not even brave enough to look twice.”
“Then don’t look.” Fang Chi said.
Sun Wenqu signed, then went into the study. Fang Chi peered in, two walls lined with books, a desk with brush holders, framed calligraphy on the wall. So he really did write with a brush too.
“I’ll keep the original, you take the copy.” Sun Wenqu handed over a photocopy.
“Don’t care either way.” Just seeing “Service Contract” on the page made Fang Chi’s chest tighten. He didn’t want to touch it.
“Don’t say that.” Sun Wenqu flopped onto the sofa beside him with a grin. “What if I secretly tweak the terms, throw in a ‘bed service’ clause, you’d follow it?”
Fang Chi jumped up like stabbed, snatched the paper, and stormed toward the door.
“Hey, leave me your number,” Sun Wenqu pointed at the phone on the table.
Fang Chi came back, punched in his number. “Start tomorrow. Today I’ve got things to do.”
“Maybe. Depends on my mood.” Sun Wenqu yawned.
Fang Chi gave him a look, then left.
“Study hard, make me proud, son, !” Sun Wenqu called after him with a laugh. “Do your daddy proud!”
—
Once the money was sorted, Fang Chi couldn’t care less about Fang Ying’s bandaged hand. He headed straight to school.
By the time he scaled the wall, first period was long over. Ten minutes into second, homeroom teacher Old Li’s class.
He lingered at the back door, slipped in when Old Li turned to the blackboard.
“Fang Chi, see me in my office later,” Old Li said without looking back.
“…Got it.” Fang Chi deflated, trudged to his seat.
“Oversleep?” Liang Xiaotao whispered beside him.
Fang Chi turned. “Why’re you sitting here?”
“Switched seats,” Liang Xiaotao smiled, then pouted. “Had a fight with Lin Wei… Hey, I’ll walk you through that test from the other day during study period, okay?”
“Okay.” Fang Chi nodded. He’d been in the same class as Liang Xiaotao for three years; they got along well. She was the only girl he could have a bit of private friendship with.
In class, though, Fang Chi was a little distracted, always thinking about that so-called contract stuffed in his pocket, and how he had so weirdly, so unwillingly, taken on a hundred thousand yuan of debt.
Unbelievable.
And if three months later Fang Ying didn’t pay it back, his life would get even more unbelievable.
After class, Old Li packed up his things, cast a glance his way.
“Hey. You.”
Fang Chi helplessly stood up, followed Old Li out. He’d half hoped the man would’ve forgotten after teaching the lesson.
“How’d you get in?” Old Li asked as they walked.
“Just… came in.” Fang Chi said.
“That rock-climbing skill of yours, you use it the most climbing the school wall, huh?” Old Li looked at him.
The school only had one gate; three sides were teaching buildings, the wall was high. Apart from a few cracks and protruding bricks, no real footholds. For ordinary students, climbing it was hard. For Fang Chi, it was nothing.
“Not just that,” Fang Chi said. “Sometimes I climb the park wall too.”
“Feels like an accomplishment?” Old Li shot him a look. “Want to share climbing tips with the whole school at Monday assembly?”
“I left home late today,” Fang Chi muttered, head down.
“What have you been up to these days? Didn’t you say no more evening training? Haven’t seen you in night study either.” Old Li sighed. “Your state right now… next year’s college entrance exam, how’s that supposed to work?”
“I’ll come tonight.” Fang Chi said.
“If something’s going on, tell me. Your parents aren’t around, and I promised your dad I’d keep an eye on you,” Old Li said. “If you could calm down, you’d still raise your grades a bit.”
“Got it.” Fang Chi nodded.
Old Li didn’t have much more to say. By the time they reached the office, their chat was over. He waved him off: “Alright, get back to class.”
Normally, Old Li’s words wouldn’t leave much impression. But today, back in class, Fang Chi drifted a little.
His grades weren’t good, but not terrible, easy to slip, easy to kick back up. He’d been planning to buckle down, take the exam next year, then go back to guiding work at the club.
Now it just felt heavy. Sun Wenqu’s so-called “sell-yourself”… no, “contract,” and that smug attitude of his, it made Fang Chi feel like the next three months wouldn’t be easy.
He’d thought about just ignoring those conditions when the time came, but after two encounters, that didn’t feel workable. One, Sun Wenqu had money. Two, he had nothing but time. A guy like that, if he wanted to make trouble, Fang Chi might not be able to take it.
“You’ve been absent-minded all day,” during evening study Liang Xiaotao finally said while explaining the test to him. “Did you even hear what I just said?”
“I heard.” Fang Chi replied.
“Yeah right. I didn’t say anything.” She clicked her tongue.
“I’m hungry.” Fang Chi rubbed his stomach.
“Serves you right.” Liang Xiaotao glanced toward the door. “Xiao Yiming just went out to buy late-night snacks. Asked if you wanted some, but you were off daydreaming.”
“I’ll eat when I get home.” Fang Chi said.
A few minutes before class ended, Xiao Yiming came back with two steaming bags of dumplings.
“Finally!” someone said.
The group who’d been waiting swarmed over, each grabbing their own box.
When they dispersed, two boxes were left in Xiao Yiming’s bag. He glanced at Fang Chi: “You…”
Fang Chi stood, shoved his things into his bag, slung it over his shoulder. “I’m heading home.”
Xiao Yiming swallowed the rest of his words.
“Extra box, huh? Give it to me then. I wasn’t hungry before, but now I smell it, I am.” Liang Xiaotao said.
By the time Fang Chi walked out of the school gates, he was debating what to eat. He wandered the street outside, finally decided on a bowl of noodles, filling, hot.
Inside the noodle shop were a few classmates, also grabbing food after study.
He’d just set down his steaming bowl when his phone rang.
Digging it out while tossing seasoning in, he saw a strange number. First thought: Sun Wenqu.
Annoyed, but he picked up. “Hello?”
“Son…” sure enough, it was Sun Wenqu’s voice, thick with drink, slurred. “Good evening.”
“…Good evening.” Fang Chi was speechless.
“Can you drive?” Sun Wenqu asked. In the background, music, voices, maybe even a fight.
“I can,” Fang Chi stirred noodles, took a bite. “But I don’t have a license.”
“How could you not?” Sun Wenqu sounded like he took a sip of water.
“I’m fourteen.” Fang Chi reminded him.
Silence for two seconds, then Sun Wenqu burst out laughing, uncontrollably, gasping.
“I’m hanging up.” Fang Chi said.
“Come pick me up. Now. At Gravity. Red Beetle.” Sun Wenqu stopped laughing, rattled off an address. Someone called him in the background, he snapped, “Don’t bother me, okay…”
Fang Chi was about to ask again, the line went dead.
He stared at the barely touched noodles, sighed, then bent his head to finish eating.
This “Gravity,” no idea. But from the address, it had to be that strip of bars and KTVs. He’d only been there three times, for classmates’ birthdays. For someone like Sun Wenqu, though, it was probably home turf.
After finishing, he hailed a cab.
He really, really did not want to pick Sun Wenqu up. But whatever, he’d signed that ridiculous contract. He didn’t want Sun Wenqu tacking on “dishonorable” to his list of accusations.
Funny. A swindler accusing someone of being dishonorable.
The driver blinked at “Gravity.” “Never heard of it.”
“It’s in English…” Fang Chi frowned.
“No such place,” the driver rattled off a string of Chinglish club names. “Sabway… Miaozeik Anter… Under Grand La-wo… nothing with Grawi-tee!”
Fang Chi’s English was bad. But hearing that string of nonsense, he actually felt superior. Not the time, though.
“In Chinese… maybe ‘Earth’s Gravity’?” Fang Chi translated.
“Ohhh! Gravity!” the driver brightened. “Why not say Gravity in Chinese? Saying English all bad like that!”
When Fang Chi got out and saw the sign, he almost stormed in to beat Sun Wenqu up. Four giant characters on the bar’s front: Di Xin Yin Li*.
* gravity in chinese
And he’d tossed him “Gravity,” in English!
But the red Beetle was easy to spot. Small, only one of its kind, parked twenty meters down.
The bar was noisy. Police car out front, someone drunk making trouble, probably.
He didn’t stop to look, walked straight toward the Beetle. Only when he got close did he see someone standing there, bent over, talking into the passenger window.
“W-what… someone’s coming for you? Couldn’t you just… get a cab?” The man lifted his head, spotted Fang Chi, froze. Stared a moment, then ducked back down toward the window. “F-F-F… sh*t. Her son?”
“He’s my son,” the passenger door opened. Sun Wenqu got out, leaned on the car, gave Fang Chi a look, then tossed him something. “Get in.”
