The house they lived in was on the third floor—a two-bedroom, one-living-room apartment. A 1990s-era home, not particularly new.
The decor was simple. The yellow light looked especially warm in the winter. In the summer, Lu Wenyuan would switch to an incandescent bulb; the cool white light made things feel cooler.
Sizzling sounds of water and oil spat up from the kitchen, and soon the scent of cooking wafted out.
Having slept the whole car ride, Chen Annan wasn’t sleepy now. He sat in a chair playing with candy wrappers, smoothing out each crinkle. Lu Qingyuan sat across from him reading a book. A table separated them; they didn’t interfere with each other. Not even that smile from earlier had evened the score in Lu Qingyuan’s mind over this kid who stole his dad’s attention.
In the kitchen, Lu Wenyuan instructed both kids to wash their hands before dinner.
The washbasin wasn’t high; Lu Qingyuan could stand and reach it perfectly. Chen Annan had to drag a small stool over and stand on it. It was crowded with the two little ones there. Chen Annan let his big brother wash first.
After adjusting the water temperature, Lu Qingyuan gave his hands a perfunctory rinse, then picked up the soap, quickly lathered twice, and rinsed it off under the running water.
As the hot water gushed, Chen Annan saw his brother was finished and reached his own hands over—only for the water to be shut off.
Confused, he looked back. Lu Qingyuan was drying his hands, saying, “Whoever washes their hands, turns on the water.”
The faucet needed to be twisted to adjust the temperature. Chen Annan didn’t know how. Listening to his brother’s footsteps receding, he opened his mouth, wanting to call him back, but in the end, he obediently kept quiet.
He stood helplessly in front of the sink for a while, then started missing his mom.
His big brother’s temper was too strange. He would give him candy, then be mean to him. He would smile at him, then give him the cold shoulder. Chen Annan couldn’t understand; he’d thought they had made up downstairs just now.
If only Mom were here.
The tap was turned back on; he washed his hands in cold water, his hands aching from the chill. By the time he was finished, his fingers were all red, itching with the pain.
Remembering the auntie’s advice to be likable, he wiped his hands on his clothes twice. By the time he carried the stool back out, he’d reached a conclusion in his heart: he had to make his big brother like him.
So when Lu Wenyuan came out of the kitchen carrying the food, Chen Annan had a little scheme in mind.
The chairs were high. The two kids sat side by side. Lu Qingyuan used chopsticks; Chen Annan used a small spoon. Lu Wenyuan asked him, “Do you need me to feed you?”
Chen Annan swung his legs, one hand steadying his bowl and the other gripping the spoon: “No, no, I can already eat by myself.” He held the spoon in his fist—the posture was wrong—but Auntie had said to be sensible, and he remembered every word of it.
Lu Wenyuan put some food into his bowl and told him to eat slowly. Lu Qingyuan saw it and shot another icy glare over. It chilled Chen Annan, a small fear catching in his chest, but that bit of anxiety wasn’t enough to make him back down.
On the TV, the evening news was broadcasting. Lu Wenyuan looked up occasionally to watch it.
Chen Annan carefully edged closer to Lu Qingyuan. Clutching his little spoon, he seized a moment when no one was paying attention and quietly put the piece of mutton his uncle had given him into Lu Qingyuan’s bowl.
A child’s heart is pure and simple; the way to curry favor is also simple. You share what you think is the best with that person.
Lu Qingyuan had been eating with his head down when this mutton arrived out of nowhere. He looked up and saw Chen Annan bobbing his head around, looking everywhere but at him—though those eyes were darting around, the picture of a guilty thief.
“…” Lu Qingyuan put the mutton back into Chen Annan’s bowl.
Chen Annan understood: big brother doesn’t like this.
When Lu Wenyuan’s attention returned from the TV, he saw Chen Annan’s bowl was empty of food and put in some more for him, then got up to bring the soup from the kitchen.
Being extra attentive, Chen Annan once again transferred the food he’d been given into Lu Qingyuan’s bowl.
Lu Qingyuan stared at him in shock, feeling provoked.
A surge of anger flared up. When Chen Annan tried to give him more again, he finally couldn’t take it. He stood up and shoved Chen Annan, voice low: “If you don’t want to eat it, just throw it away. Can you stop secretly putting your leftovers in my bowl?”
From the shove, Chen Annan’s spoon clattered to the ground, and the food spilled. Terrified, Chen Annan nodded and shook his head in a jumbled mess.
Hearing the noise, Lu Wenyuan immediately poked his head out of the kitchen: “What’s going on here?”
Lu Qingyuan had been about to tattle, but then he saw Chen Annan’s state. A crying kid is the most annoying—acting all pitiful and stealing even more of a parent’s care.
He didn’t want Chen Annan to draw any more of Dad’s attention: “I accidentally knocked his stuff over.” Having lost his appetite, he added, “I’m full. I don’t want to eat anymore.”
“You’ve only had a few bites; how can you be full?” Lu Wenyuan came over and ruffled Lu Qingyuan’s hair from behind, “Eat properly.”
Looking at Chen Annan, the little one’s head hung low, like wilted winter greens. He was silently picking up the spilled food with his hands, ready to put it back into his bowl.
Lu Wenyuan said, “Cub, it’s okay now. If it fell on the table, we don’t eat it anymore.”
Lu Qingyuan stared at the two of them. Chen Annan still hadn’t recovered from his fright. Lu Wenyuan pulled out a tissue, wiped the grain of rice off Chen Annan’s chin, and gathered the spilled food to throw into the trash.
Lu Qingyuan scarfed down the rest of his meal, slammed the door, and went back to his room.
Chen Annan’s sensitive heart was pricked.
He’d only wanted his big brother to like him—he never expected his good intentions would backfire. Now he was hated even more. What was he going to do?
Feeling helpless and wronged, Chen Annan pursed his lips. His head almost dipped into his bowl.
Spoonful by spoonful, he shoveled rice into his mouth, but it seemed to have lost all flavor. He didn’t catch anything Lu Wenyuan said to him after that.
So when Lu Wenyuan took the keys from the entryway, closed the door, and left, Chen Annan was still sitting dazed in the living room, unsure of what to do.
Chen Annan blinked his round eyes—heat moistened the edges. He pulled his hand out of his sleeve and gently wiped them with the back of it.
The city night had lights, not pitch-black. Outside the window, tiny, scattered yellow lights glimmered, softer than the moonlight back in the countryside. Yet the unfamiliar environment was still frightening.
When Lu Qingyuan came out of his room, the living room was already empty.
He took a shower and changed into a clean set of pajamas. Dad had already messaged him that he had something to do this evening and probably couldn’t come back, asking Lu Qingyuan to look after his little brother.
There was milk in the fridge. Lu Qingyuan poured himself a glass, drank it, and then noticed the few candy wrappers on the table. Unbidden, that tear-stained little face popped into his head.
Actually, he knew he’d been too harsh today. A child’s heart is sensitive and delicate. Chen Annan was too young to understand that after his mother left, she wasn’t coming back.
Lu Qingyuan, however, deeply understood that losing a mother was unbearably painful. He could even, in certain moments, empathize with Chen Annan’s feelings. But that didn’t mean he could ungrudgingly accept Chen Annan sharing his dad.
On this matter, he was very selfish.
Lu Qingyuan thought for a moment, then poured another glass of milk. Hesitantly, he walked toward the bedroom. The short distance felt like crossing mountains of blades and seas of flame; his feet seemed glued to the floor, each step taking enormous effort.
The bedroom door was pushed open a crack. The light inside wasn’t on, but by the illumination from outside, one could see the quilt on the bed humped up into a small hill, with faint rustling sounds coming from inside.
A beam of light shone through the quilt. Chen Annan lay curled up into a tiny ball inside that down comforter nook, clutching a flashlight.
This makeshift little nest gave him enough of a sense of security.
Sensing someone approaching, Chen Annan flinched slightly, then carefully lifted a slit in the quilt.
Warm air drifted out from the gap. Lu Qingyuan saw it, but holding the glass of milk, he stood by the bed for ages without making a sound, not knowing how to start. He was the one who’d gotten angry first, and now here he was, coming to see the other person. No matter what he said, it would feel awkward.
Lu Qingyuan almost turned tail.
But before he could, Chen Annan poked his head out from the quilt. His round eyes looked at him, and he softly, lowly called out, “Big brother.”
Lu Qingyuan didn’t answer.
He’d intended to just hand over the milk and swagger off. But then Chen Annan held out his hand, opened it, revealing several pieces of milk-chocolate candies with cream filling.
“?” Lu Qingyuan didn’t get it.
Chen Annan scooted closer to him. The candies had been warmed until they’d started to melt a little. The cheap, colorful wrappers had wrinkled, reflecting fine slivers of light under the lamp.
These were what the neighbor auntie had slipped him before they left. He’d never been willing to eat them.
“Big brother, these are all for you,” Chen Annan said with a tone of trying to please, voice small. “Could you try to like me just a little? I’ll be really good.”
Again, he offered up his most cherished thing, hoping for a bit of softness.
Chen Annan’s voice was very soft, but in the quiet room, it was rather jarring.
The words struck Lu Qingyuan right in the chest; it was as if the sharpest thorns could soften after hearing that.
After a long while without getting an answer, Chen Annan grew anxious. Mustering his courage, he reached out and tugged at Lu Qingyuan’s sleeve, pulling it, his tone plaintive: “Please, I’ll listen to you.”
In Lu Qingyuan’s eyes, the kid had bundled himself up like a creamy white glutinous rice ball, and now he was pulling on his hand, offering goodwill. Even if his insides were twisted into eighteen mountain bends, they seemed to straighten quite a bit in that moment.
“Drink your milk and go to sleep.” Unwilling to say more, Lu Qingyuan gave the chocolates back and said coldly, “I don’t like candy.”
Chen Annan silently put the chocolates away, took the glass, and drank, a milk mustache forming around his mouth.
Once he finished, Lu Qingyuan pulled a tissue and wiped his mouth for him.
That night, Lu Wenyuan didn’t come home. Chen Annan was afraid to sleep alone, so Lu Qingyuan, going against his own conscience, made a decision—then immediately regretted it.
“Big brother, can you please not tell the little rabbit story?” Chen Annan asked.
The uncle’s bed was much wider than the little bed back in the village. The down quilt was light and thin, warm and cozy. Chen Annan lay neatly inside, taking up only a small corner.
Lu Qingyuan rested his head beside him, impatient: “You’re so demanding. I only know a few stories. If you don’t want to listen, then just go to sleep.”
Okay. Chen Annan felt a bit wronged. He’d already been traumatized by that spicy rabbit head story from last time.
Lu Qingyuan cleared his throat and continued, “Once upon a time, there was a little rabbit who was locked up in a castle because she had beautiful long hair…”
He’d quietly swapped the little white rabbit story for the fairy tale of Rapunzel. Chen Annan didn’t notice. Eyelashes fluttering, he snuggled up next to Lu Qingyuan and listened intently as his big brother told the story.
Outside, the snow had stopped at some unknown point. The city night wasn’t pitch black. The yellow streetlamps cast a peaceful glow on the snowy night, making even the passing wind seem hushed.
A small patch of faint light from the window fell on Chen Annan’s eyelids. Before long, his breathing grew slow and even, and his leg came to rest draped over Lu Qingyuan.
The soft, warm quilt cocooned them both, making everything around them toasty. Listening to the small breaths beside his ear, Lu Qingyuan switched off the lamp. In the end, he didn’t push off that little leg draped over him.
