If not for hearing the word “f*g,” Fang Chi would’ve stepped in even though he didn’t want ties with Xiao Yiming, as a beating was a beating.
But that word was exactly why they were hitting him.
And that made him hesitate.
Before anyone spotted him, Fang Chi turned to leave.
Xiao Yiming wasn’t a troublemaker, he barely fought back as they grabbed his collar and slammed him against the wall.
“Pull his pants off, see what he likes!”
His mouth was bloodied, clothes torn, but he kept silent. Pressed against the wall, he glanced toward the alley mouth.
As Fang Chi turned away, their eyes met.
Fang Chi jerked his head aside, walked on.
But slowly.
His mind clanged with one thought:
If Xiao Yiming called him, he’d go back.
If not, he’d keep walking.
If he called, he’d return.
If silent, then nothing.
If….
Fang Chi gripped the descender tightly, taking slow steps. So call, d*mn it!
Ten steps, still no sound, only curses and ugly laughter behind him.
Fang Chi stopped, scowled hard, then turned back.
The moment he reappeared, someone pointed: “Fang Chi, mind your own business.”
Xiao Yiming was slumped against the wall, disheveled but at least still clothed. Wiping blood from his mouth, he didn’t look up.
Fang Chi said nothing. Just stood there.
“What do you want?” The ones doing the beating all stopped and looked at him.
Fang Chi still didn’t speak. He just stood there silently, looking at them.
Mainly because he didn’t know what to say.
He never knew what to say to people he’s not familiar with.
Hey! Let go of that boy!
Or maybe, What the h*ll are you doing! If you’ve got guts, fight one-on-one!
Though if Xiao Yiming fought one-on-one, he probably wouldn’t get the better end of it either.
If you’ve got something, come at me!
It all sounds stupid as h*ll.
So better not say anything.
Actually, there was no way this fight today would turn into them fighting him. Fang Chi more or less had a sense of that.
The few guys in front of him, even one-on-one, let alone all of them together, they weren’t his match.
Obviously, they knew that too.
So they just stood there, stunned, looking at one another.
“No, Fang Chi, what do you mean?” Someone finally lost patience and asked, “You standing up for this kid?”
Fang Chi glanced at him and only responded after about half a minute: “Ah.”
What exactly that “ah” meant, Fang Chi himself wasn’t sure. The other side probably couldn’t figure it out either.
They stood there a bit longer. Fang Chi was starting to get impatient. The descender that had been tightly wedged between his fingers the whole time was digging painfully into them. He lowered his head, shifted it from between his index and middle fingers to between his middle and ring fingers.
That movement finally made them notice he was holding something.
“Forget it,” someone kicked Xiao Yiming and picked up the backpack that had been thrown aside. “Let’s go.”
They mounted their bikes, stared at Fang Chi a few more times, and rode past him.
“Didn’t realize those two had that kind of relationship…” someone shouted in a weird, mocking tone.
Fang Chi frowned and looked back. It was *—d*mn, his parents had been real farsighted with that name. This guy was probably the biggest loudmouth in Class Six—no, in the entire third year. Forget about starting fights; even when he cursed at people, he’d only open his mouth once he was sure they couldn’t touch him.
Idiot.
Fang Chi turned back to look at Xiao Yiming, who had already stood up. Still not knowing what to say, he stuffed the descender back into his bag and turned to walk out of the alley.
As he put on his headphones, he heard Xiao Yiming’s voice: “Thanks.”
“Ah,” he responded.
What was that “ah” supposed to mean?
No idea.
The weather was cool today. Fang Chi swung his backpack onto his back and started running forward.
He didn’t know why, but he felt uncomfortable, inside and out, from head to toe. Nothing hurt exactly, but nothing felt right either. His chest felt blocked, his body tight, and there was a faint unease underneath it all.
Running was the most effective way for him to ease his emotions.
He turned up the volume on his music, kept his eyes on the clean ground ahead, and let the road get flung behind him step by step.
By the time he got home, he felt a lot better.
After taking a shower, he stuffed Chief Huang into the cat carrier, slung it over his shoulder, and went out again.
He was hurrying to take Chief Huang to the pet hospital Liang Xiaotao had recommended, just to let it get used to the place. If Chief Huang agreed, he’d have it neutered.
Chief Huang was very unhappy about the carrier, rolling around and clawing at it inside. Fang Chi had no choice but to hail a cab.
Once in the car, Chief Huang started meowing nonstop, meowing so much the driver sighed. “This cat’s got quite a temper.”
“…Takes after me,” Fang Chi sighed too.
Halfway there, his phone rang. When he took it out and saw Sun Wenqu’s number, he suddenly remembered, according to that ridiculous contract, he was supposed to cook for Sun Wenqu every day?
“Hello?” he answered, somewhat despairing.
“School out yet?” Sun Wenqu’s voice sounded pretty normal.
“Yeah, but I…” Fang Chi was about to say he needed to neuter the cat first.
“Come cook. I’m starving to death!” Sun Wenqu cut him off. “Nothing complicated, just boil some porridge. My stomach hurts.”
The moment he heard Sun Wenqu say his stomach hurt, even though this guy had said plenty of half-true and fake things just to mess with him before, Fang Chi still hesitated. After a pause he said, “But right now I… I’ve got a cat with me.”
“A cat? What cat?” Sun Wenqu asked.
“Just… a little local stray,” Fang Chi said.
“Bring it over.” Sun Wenqu was decisive. He hung up right after saying that.
Fang Chi thought about it for a long time, then had the driver change direction and head to Sun Wenqu’s place first.
Today he didn’t need to ring the doorbell. As soon as Fang Chi reached the gate, he saw Sun Wenqu standing in the yard watering flowers, holding a hot-water bottle. The gate was open.
“Your stomach really hurts?” Fang Chi pushed the door open and looked at him. Sun Wenqu’s face was a bit pale, though he was always pale to begin with, so it was hard to tell if it was because of the stomach pain.
“Where’s the cat?” Sun Wenqu tossed aside the watering can and peeked into the carrier Fang Chi was holding. “Take it out. Let me play with it.”
“Huh?” Fang Chi froze for a second. He had thought Sun Wenqu probably wouldn’t let the cat into the house and had planned to just leave the carrier in the yard.
“Take it out. Let me play with it,” Sun Wenqu repeated.
Fang Chi found it a bit baffling, but he still opened the carrier and reached in to grab Chief Huang.
Chief Huang had been agitated the whole way. The moment Fang Chi’s hand went in, it raised a paw and smacked the back of his hand.
“Ah!” Fang Chi quickly pulled his hand back.
“I’ll do it.” Without a second thought, Sun Wenqu reached his hand in.
“Careful!” Fang Chi panicked. If Chief Huang scratched the young master, he’d never hear the end of it.
But Sun Wenqu scooped him out easily. No scratches. Chief Huang just dangled, limp except for his tail curling.
“So tiny.” Sun Wenqu carried him inside, hot-water bag in one hand, cat in the other. “How old?”
“…Don’t know,” Fang Chi followed behind him. “I picked him up.”
Sun Wenqu didn’t say anything. He flipped the cat’s ears, then tugged at its face to look at its teeth. “About four or five months.”
“Huh?” Fang Chi was stunned. “I was thinking it might already be a year old.”
“Why are you bringing a cat along when you go out to sell yourself?” Sun Wenqu opened a cabinet, took out a bag of cat food, went into the kitchen to grab a bowl and poured some in, then returned to the living room and set both the bowl and Chief Huang on the coffee table.
“I…” Fang Chi choked on that “sell yourself,” wanting to go over and kick Sun Wenqu, but when he saw Chief Huang crouch by the bowl and start gobbling the food, he was shocked. “It’s eating? What kind of cat food are you feeding it?”
“Why wouldn’t it eat? Just the same cat food I usually feed strays,” Sun Wenqu flopped onto the sofa, propped his legs on the coffee table. After finishing the small handful of kibble in the bowl, Chief Huang climbed up along his leg onto him. Sun Wenqu pulled it close and stuffed it into his clothes. “So well-behaved. Come warm uncle’s stomach… What’s it called?”
“Chief Huang.” Fang Chi found it hard to accept the reality in front of him.
At home, Chief Huang always acted like the whole world owed it two million, and if it was in a bad mood it would swipe someone right across the face without hesitation. Yet now, after Sun Wenqu casually stuffed it into his clothes, it didn’t resist at all, just stayed there quietly.
“That name’s as boring as the nonsense you mother and son cooked up,” Sun Wenqu covered the cat and glanced at him. “Century egg and minced pork congee.”
“Huh?” Fang Chi didn’t react.
“Century egg, minced pork, congee. You cook, I eat,” Sun Wenqu repeated. “And no sliced meat. I like minced.”
When Fang Chi walked into the kitchen, he didn’t even know what he was thinking.
From the living room came Chief Huang’s muffled, coquettish meowing. Fang Chi stood at the counter holding a pot.
He was surprised that Sun Wenqu liked cats so much. He was even more surprised that Chief Huang turned out to be such a sissy…
Oh. Century egg and minced pork congee.
Fang Chi usually cooked for himself. When he went to the county for elementary school, he had already started cooking for himself. His mom was very busy; sometimes he even had to cook and deliver the food to the shop. After going to the city for middle school, everything had to be handled by himself even more.
For him, a pot of century egg and minced pork congee was simple.
The only problem was, at Sun Wenqu’s place, there was neither minced pork nor century eggs…
“You don’t have anything here?” Fang Chi soaked the rice first, then walked out of the kitchen.
“Go buy it. There’s a supermarket across the street.” Sun Wenqu was already lying on the sofa, a hot-water bottle on his stomach. Chief Huang sat on his chest, one paw pressed against the tip of his nose, silently staring at him.
“I…” Fang Chi opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.
“Take the money yourself.” Sun Wenqu pointed at the wallet on the coffee table.
Fang Chi went over silently, pulled out a hundred-yuan bill, took two steps toward the door, then stopped and turned back to look at him. “Where’s the key? I’ll take it so you don’t have to open the door later.”
“Climb over the wall and jump through the window.” Sun Wenqu said.
Fang Chi stared at him for a couple of seconds, said nothing more, and closed the door as he went out.
“So you really were picked up by him?” Sun Wenqu tapped the cat’s nose. “Why’d he give you a name like that? You don’t look like a ‘chief’ at all.”
The cat meowed and wrapped its paw around his finger.
“But you’re washed pretty clean,” Sun Wenqu wiggled his fingers to tease it. “Smell nice too. A con artist picking up a cat to serve it, isn’t he afraid it’ll affect his grand career of scamming? Don’t you think?”
The cat lowered its head and rubbed against his chin.
“Have you eaten the food he cooks? Is it edible? Would he drug me…” Before Sun Wenqu finished speaking, a dull-knife-like pain scraped through his stomach. He frowned. “This is killing me.”
Once the stomach pain started coming in waves, Sun Wenqu lost interest in teasing the cat. Cold sweat covered his temples.
He got up, took two of the medicine Ma Liang bought for him yesterday, then curled up on the sofa with the cat and the hot-water bottle, closing his eyes.
The pain came in waves. He endured it with his eyes shut for a while. After it eased slightly, he let out a long breath.
Just as he was about to rest with his eyes closed again, he suddenly heard a noise in the yard. He had just opened his eyes when the curtain moved, and Fang Chi jumped in through the window carrying supermarket plastic bags.
“Coming and going like no one’s around. That whole move was smooth,” Sun Wenqu closed his eyes again. “You working a night job too?”
“You told me to jump,” Fang Chi said, putting a roll of change onto the coffee table. “I left the unused money here.”
Usually dressed in loose casual clothes with headphones around his neck, Fang Chi didn’t look like someone who could cook. Sun Wenqu pricked up his ears, listening to the sounds from the kitchen.
When the sound of chopping meat came from the kitchen, Sun Wenqu turned his head in surprise and stared at the kitchen door. The sound was very practiced, two knives.
It even felt like he was chopping to a nightclub rhythm.
He got up with the cat in his arms and slowly walked to the kitchen door to take a look. Fang Chi was lowering his head, rapidly chopping meat.
“You went to vocational school, right? Studied cooking?” Sun Wenqu asked.
Fang Chi’s chopping paused. He turned his head to glance at him. “Middle school is nine-year compulsory education. Vocational school is high school.”
“You’re really deep in character,” Sun Wenqu laughed. “How long are you planning to keep up the act?”
“There’s not enough time now, so I’m cooking it all in one pot. In half an hour you just open it yourself. It should’ve been done separately, but your stomach hurts, so this way the meat’ll be softer,” Fang Chi didn’t answer his question. He put the chopped meat into a bowl to marinate and started slicing ginger into shreds. “I have to go to school tonight. No time.”
His ginger-slicing was just as skillful. It felt like he barely looked at the knife, and with a few swift motions he cut a small pile of ginger shreds, tossed them into the bowl, and mixed them with the meat.
“I won’t know how.” Sun Wenqu pinched Chief Huang’s ear.
Fang Chi paused, turned around, and leaned back against the counter, looking at him. “You know how to eat?”
“Yeah.” Sun Wenqu smiled.
“Then open it yourself and eat.” Fang Chi said.
After putting the congee on to cook, Fang Chi didn’t linger. He grabbed his backpack, slung it on, and picked up the cat carrier.
But Sun Wenqu was still leaning by the kitchen door holding Chief Huang, and even when Fang Chi picked up the carrier, he made no move to put the cat down.
“Um…” Fang Chi had to point at Chief Huang, who was curled inside Sun Wenqu’s clothes with only its head sticking out. “I’m leaving. Give me the cat.”
“You’re taking a cat to school?” Sun Wenqu didn’t move, just scratched Chief Huang’s head with his finger. Chief Huang immediately narrowed its eyes in pleasure.
“I’m taking it to the pet hospital.” Fang Chi reached out.
“Sick?” Sun Wenqu lowered his head to look at the cat.
“No, it’s… I’m taking it to be neutered. For sterilization,” Fang Chi said. “Give it to me. I’ve got to go.”
“This cat’s not old enough. At least eight months. It’s too small,” Sun Wenqu glanced at him and went back to the sofa with the cat in his arms, leaning back. “You go. Lend me the cat for two days.”
“What?” Fang Chi froze.
Although in the two or three months since picking Chief Huang up, it had never once given him a good face, he still liked it very much. He served it every day with a smiling face and had never thought of letting it go back out to wander.
And now Sun Wenqu just casually said he’d keep it for two days?
He couldn’t quite accept that.
Mainly he was worried too. With Sun Wenqu’s unpredictable personality, who knew if he’d return the cat after two days.
Considering he’d forced him to sign some service contract, snatching a cat probably wasn’t beyond him either.
“Two days,” Sun Wenqu held the cat. “What? I lent you a hundred thousand, and you won’t even lend me a cat for two days… Hurry up and go. My stomach hurts. You’re annoying me.”
Fang Chi looked at the time. Old Li always lurked in the classroom during the first evening self-study period. He’d promised to go. If he was late again, Old Li would nag him to death.
“I’ll come get it tomorrow.” Fang Chi frowned, set down the carrier, and jogged out.
No time to eat dinner either. Fang Chi bought two buns on the way and ate them. He arrived at school just about on time and ran up toward the fourth-floor classroom.
When he reached the fourth floor and turned into the corridor, a few people were standing at the corner. Fang Chi didn’t look closely, probably hiding there to smoke. At this hour, those teachers who couldn’t drag them back no matter how they pulled basically had given up managing them.
Just as Fang Chi was about to turn toward the classroom, someone at the corner said in a sarcastic tone, “Isn’t that Fang Chi? Walking right before or after your little lover.”
Fang Chi stopped abruptly, took a step back, and looked toward the corner.
Four, five guys stood there, some from Class Five, some from Class Six. Behind two of them leaned Zhang Jian.
Fang Chi took a step down the stairs.
Zhang Jian instantly shrank back.
The others burst into laughter, not clear if they were mocking Zhang Jian’s words, his reaction, or Fang Chi himself for backing Xiao Yiming earlier.
“What the h*ll you doing!” Old Li’s voice roared up from the third floor. “If you’re not at study, get home! Don’t pile up here!”
Fang Chi shot Zhang Jian a hard look, then strode down the hall into his own class. He could still hear laughter trailing after him.
His face must’ve looked bad, people in the front rows fell silent at once.
Inside, he couldn’t name the feeling.
Anger. Irritation. Fury. And unease. Or rather, that inescapable fear you try to avoid but can’t.
Liang Xiaotao lifted a hand, then paused at his expression. “…What happened?”
“Nothing.” Fang Chi sat, pulled test papers from his bag, tossed them onto the desk.
“You sure…” Liang Xiaotao leaned closer, then stopped, and instead slid over a carton of milk. “Want it? Peach flavor.”
Fang Chi took it wordlessly, stabbed in the straw, and sucked it dry in a few gulps.
“D*mn, starved half your life or what,” Liang Xiaotao muttered. “I’ve got dried tofu strips. Want some?”
“No.” Fang Chi bent over his papers.
The whole evening he buried himself in work like a model student, head down, reading and writing, almost moved to tears by his own dedication.
Near the end of last period, the supervising teacher left. Fang Chi swept his books into his bag.
“Heading out?” Liang Xiaotao, talking about late-night snacks with someone else, called over.
“Later.” Fang Chi slung his bag onto the desk, stepped out.
Class Six’s room was unsupervised too, students chatting after a night of cramming.
Fang Chi kicked open their front door. The room fell silent, everyone staring.
He scanned the room, spotted Zhang Jian at the very back by the rear door. Tsk. Should’ve kicked the back door instead.
So he left through the front and circled around.
The back door was ajar. As Fang Chi entered, Zhang Jian already guessed his aim, he shot up, trying to run.
Fang Chi lunged, grabbed his collar, yanked hard. Zhang Jian stumbled backward, nearly falling.
“Fang Chi, you…” someone nearby tried to intervene.
“None of your business.” Fang Chi’s voice was low and cold. He dragged Zhang Jian out into the corridor.
