Chapter 2

When kids wake up, they tend to get a little whiny. Without his mom around, that sense of grievance also tends to surface.

But a young boy wouldn’t understand that. Just pee, the boy thought to himself. Crying even when he needs to pee—how spoiled.

Chen Annan’s cheeks were flushed from the heat, and his eyes still shimmered with a layer of tears. He glanced outside the window several times. It was pitch-dark out there; the window reflected only the scene inside the room.

The boy finally cottoned on. He hopped off the bed first, picked up a pair of padded shoes from underneath, and handed them to Chen Annan.

Chen Annan fished the shoes on. Since no one was carrying him, he turned over and carefully climbed down from the bed by himself. Out of habit, he wanted to take the other’s hand, but the fierce way the big brother had just looked at him made him too scared to try.

The boy walked ahead. The thick door curtain lifted slightly, letting cold wind pour back in, sweeping away what little warmth remained on their bodies.

Outside, the moonlight was surprisingly clear, casting faint shadows on the surrounding clutter.

But they were only shadows. In the places the light didn’t reach, it was pitch-black—as if some clawing monster could leap out at any moment. A child’s inner world is rich; imagined colors can fill those unseen spaces.

In the end, Chen Annan was still scared. From behind, he secretly reached out and noiselessly clutched a tiny corner of the boy’s clothing in front of him, following step by step, thinking his big brother didn’t notice.

Tonight, all the adults had gone to eat. The two kids found a random wall in the empty courtyard and hurriedly took care of their business.

On the way back, Chen Annan was still quietly gripping a small corner of his big brother’s clothes. The tungsten filament bulb hanging under the porch was ancient; its flickering light barely reached this far.

Chen Annan walked by stepping on shadows. His big brother’s shadow was like a mountain, sheltering him within its safe darkness.

Chen Annan shuffled along behind, huffing and puffing. For some reason, his shoes were uncomfortable today, and he walked slowly, clattering over the uneven concrete.

The boy was walking normally up ahead when his clothes were suddenly pulled downward by a force. Before he could react, there was a loud thud. In that instant, he thought a real monster had dashed out of the darkness to grab them.

Startled, he spun around and saw that it was the kid who had fallen.

Chen Annan’s knee had hit the ground, and his palms pressed into gravel, stinging with pain. He himself didn’t quite process what happened. After a few seconds of dazed blinking, the pain slowly climbed up from his palms.

He whimpered twice but didn’t cry, only looked up at his big brother in confusion.

“You okay?” the boy asked.

Chen Annan’s eyes were red from pain, and he nodded in a fluster.

“Get up first.” This time, the boy actually extended his hand. Chen Annan grasped it and slowly let himself be pulled up.

Both his hands and knees hurt terribly, but Chen Annan didn’t make a sound. He only pursed his lips and said a soft “thank you,” a tremor caught in the tail end of his voice.

The boy had no knack for comforting people. Squinting under the distant light from the porch, he looked down and discovered that this little dummy had put his shoes on backwards. No wonder he’d been walking so loudly and tripped.

The little dummy’s eyes were brimming with two pools of hot tears, struggling to hold them back.

“Does it hurt?” the boy asked.

Chen Annan nodded.

“If it hurts, then say so. You’re not mute,” the boy said. “If you don’t make a sound, who’s supposed to know?”

The harsh scolding made Chen Annan’s mouth pout even more, his face a picture of post-fright grievance. One more word and those tears would definitely fall.

The boy was really at a loss. This kid hadn’t even cried when his mom was buried—how come two sentences from him nearly brought on tears?

Utterly baffling. The boy couldn’t figure it out. He simply let go of their clasped hands and walked a few steps ahead. Chen Annan thought his big brother was mad. Helpless, he blinked—a tear the size of a bean rolled down.

But the boy just stopped in front of him, crouched down, and said, “Get on.”

He meant to carry him. But Chen Annan, full of his own anxious thoughts, dawdled and didn’t move.

“Hurry up,” the boy urged. “Are you getting on or not? If not, I’m leaving on my own.” As he spoke, he started to rise.

Chen Annan wavered. Auntie told him to be a good boy. How could a good boy make his big brother carry him?

The boy had no inkling of these little thoughts. He turned his head and saw Chen Annan still rooted in place. Impatiently, he said, “Fine, then go back by yourself in the dark.” He made as if to get up.

Chen Annan let out a tiny, anxious sound. Frightened, he immediately scrambled onto his big brother’s back. The boy’s thin lips pressed into a line as he hooked his hands under the kid’s thighs and straightened up, giving him a small bounce to adjust.

With tears still on his face and afraid of falling, Chen Annan quickly wrapped his arms tightly around his big brother’s neck.

The older boy was much taller than him, but carrying him was still a bit of a strain. Lying on his back, Chen Annan could hear his clear, heavy breaths, the white puffs of air misting by his face before quickly dissipating.

Winter clothes were thick and layered. The boy walked slowly. Chen Annan’s little face pressed into his neck, puffing warm breaths that seemed to push away the cold of the wintry night.

Chen Annan’s small legs swung idly the whole way. By the time they entered the room and the boy lowered him onto the bed, they realized one of his little padded shoes had been lost along the way.

The boy had no energy left to go back and fetch it. Propping his hands on the edge of the bed, he climbed up to rest. Chen Annan didn’t forget to scoot over beside him and whisper, “Thank you.”

After saying it, he thought to himself, maybe big brother isn’t really that fierce after all.

The boy accepted his thanks. His gaze drifted sideways and caught the little dummy crawling to the inside of the bed, quietly pulling the quilt up and burrowing in.

Neither of them had anything more to say after that. The boy leaned crookedly against the headboard, his mind wandering a thousand miles away. Chen Annan lay under the quilt, using his finger to trace the Snoopy pattern on the bedsheet, drawing pictures.

His bruised knee had stopped hurting. Winter clothes were thick; in the end, the only thing truly injured was his padded pants.

The courtyard light was switched on, the bulb flaring to life suddenly. It caught Chen Annan’s attention. But before he could make out the figure outside through the window, the uncle had already lifted the curtain and come in.

He came in carrying a chill on his overcoat, and in his hand was the little padded shoe.

The boy immediately jumped down at the sight of him and called out, “Dad.”

The uncle set the shoe down, a smile spreading from the corners of his eyes and brows. He patted the boy’s back lightly and said with a laugh, “Dad’s covered in cold. You go play with your little brother for a bit. In a while, Dad has something to say to both of you.”

Obediently, the boy left. The uncle crouched by the charcoal brazier and warmed his hands for a while. The charcoal had been burning endlessly, vivid red glowing within the blackened ash.

Once most of the cold had dissipated, he approached the two boys and squatted down in front of Chen Annan: “Nannan, your mom went on a long trip and was worried no one would look after you, so she’s left you with me for now. From now on, how about you stay with me?” The man’s voice was low, soft, and slightly hoarse.

Auntie had already told him all this. Chen Annan nodded.

The man continued: “Your dad and I were equals in seniority. My surname is Lu, and my name is Lu Wenyuan. From now on, just call me Uncle Lu.”

Chen Annan blinked. In those big, liquid eyes reflected the image of Lu Wenyuan. He nodded again.

Lu Wenyuan was different from any other uncles he’d met. His words were pleasant and gentle, and even behind his glasses, his eyes always hid a smile.

Little kids’ likes are simple and easy. Whoever looks nice, whoever speaks nicely—those are reasons they like them. Chen Annan was no different. The uncle’s way of talking was just too lovely!

His cooperation even surprised Lu Wenyuan. There was no resistance he’d expected; instead, the child was so obedient it was almost unbelievable. All the coaxing words he’d prepared along the way—not a single one was needed. This kid was even easier to take care of than he’d imagined.

“Our Nannan is four this year, right?” Lu Wenyuan added.

Chen Annan nodded but held up five fingers to add, “Mama said after the New Year I’ll be five.”

Lu Wenyuan chuckled, resting his palm on the child’s head and ruffling his hair: “And next to you here is your big brother. He’s four years older than Nannan—he’s nine this year.” He pulled the boy over and introduced him, “Your big brother’s name is Lu Qingyuan. Tell big brother, what’s our Nannan’s full name?”

Chen Annan, very well-behaved, softly and lowly called out, “Big brother,” and then said, “My name is Chen Annan.”

The boy lifted his thin eyelids and merely glanced at him, then drew his gaze back as if too lazy to bother.

Little kids can’t read minds, but they can read faces. Chen Annan’s heart trembled—he felt he was being disliked.

As if to confirm his thought, Lu Qingyuan said coldly, “Dad, our home only has two beds. If he comes, where will he sleep? Glued to the wall with paste?”

Lu Wenyuan laughed: “He can sleep with me. After a few days, when I buy a double bed, he can move into your room.”

“Got it.” Clearly, Lu Qingyuan was unwilling, but he ultimately fell silent. Only the corner of his eye lifted, and he shot Chen Annan a quiet, resentful glance.

Chen Annan didn’t understand why his big brother hated him. He stared at Lu Qingyuan’s profile for a long time, but the moment Lu Qingyuan noticed, Chen Annan would quickly turn away, afraid of being caught looking.

The last rites of the funeral concluded that night. Once the ashes were laid to rest, everything was settled. Tomorrow morning, they would return to the city.

Lu Wenyuan used an enamel basin to wash the two kids up, then coaxed them into bed.

The bunk bed was narrow. The top bunk was piled with junk, covered in layers of dust and impossible to clear out. The two kids could only sleep on the bottom bunk, one at each end, sharing one quilt. Lu Wenyuan just took up the edge, resting his head on his arm and lying on his side.

The rural nights were freezing. In the latter half of the night, the wind rose outside, sweeping in from the empty fields, moaning like wild beasts; the sound was infinitely amplified within the quiet room.

Chen Annan curled up under the quilt, unable to sleep, like a frightened little rabbit. Before, when his mom was here, she would hold him, tell him stories, and soothe him into sleeping. Lu Wenyuan noticed and patted him a couple of times, silently comforting him.

Lu Qingyuan was squeezed beside them, eyes closed, his lids occasionally fluttering, occasionally frowning—it was hard to tell if he was actually asleep.

“Uncle, is big brother sleeping?” Chen Annan asked softly.

“He’s asleep,” Lu Wenyuan said. “At this hour, all good kids are asleep. You’re the only one still awake.”

“I’m scared,” Chen Annan whispered. “Before, my mama would always tell me stories.”

Lu Wenyuan smiled. “Then Uncle will tell you a story, too. Once you hear it, you have to be a good boy and go to sleep.”

Chen Annan made a sound of agreement, his small hand curving around Uncle Lu’s waist to hold him dependently.

“Mama Rabbit had three little ones. One day, Mama Rabbit said to the children, ‘Mama has to go to the field to pull up radishes. You all watch the house and make sure to shut the door tight. Don’t open it until Mama comes back.’” As Lu Wenyuan spoke, he kept patting Chen Annan’s back.

“Mama Rabbit left a secret code for the children. If she sang, ‘Little bunnies, be good, open up the door,’ they’d know Mama was back.”

“Mama Rabbit went away. After a while, the Big Bad Wolf came. He tried to mimic Mama Rabbit’s voice and started singing, ‘Little bunnies, be good, open up the door…’” Lu Wenyuan’s voice grew very low at this point.

He’d been so busy these past few days, running here and there, that he hadn’t had a proper sleep. His bones felt heavy with exhaustion. As soon as he hit the bed, drowsiness surged up and he couldn’t hold out.

Chen Annan waited for ages but didn’t hear the next part. Unable to resist, he poked his head out and asked, “Uncle, did the little bunnies open the door?”

Lu Wenyuan didn’t respond. Chen Annan was about to ask again when a cold remark was thrown from the other side: “The bunnies got eaten. The Big Bad Wolf braised them in soy sauce.”

Chen Annan’s mouth fell open in a soft “Ah,” and then he heard the voice continue: “The eldest got braised, the second got steamed, and for the third, they sprinkled cumin and made spicy rabbit heads…”

Chen Annan’s lashes trembled. He immediately ducked back under the quilt, covered his ears, squeezed his eyes shut, and refused to listen anymore.

This big brother was way too mean!