Chapter 24 Part 3

The countryside weather was cool. Chen Annan wore a thick coat, a wool scarf his mom had knitted for him initially wrapped around his neck. The scarf was old now, with several hand-sewn patches, embroidered with cartoon puppies—all Lu Wenyuan’s needlework.

Lu Wenyuan took the two children through quite a few twists and turns before finding the place.

The old doctor lived in a small farming village courtyard house. A pomegranate tree grew in the yard. Plump little pomegranates, some burst open, dangled on their small branches, drooping limply against the earthen wall.

Held in his uncle’s arms, Chen Annan reached out to grab one.

The old doctor came out of the house. His skin was dry and withered. His eyes were no longer very clear, but his spirit was hale and hearty. The vicissitudes of time were etched into his brows, lending him an air of imposing solemnity.

He first fetched his stethoscope, wanting to listen to the child’s heartbeat. Chen Annan, seeing those emaciated hands reaching toward him, immediately started squirming restlessly.

The old doctor told him not to move around.

Children are naturally wary of unfamiliar environments. The old man’s appearance before him also frightened Chen Annan. Chen Annan couldn’t listen at all. Frightened, he buried his face in his uncle’s shoulder, only peeking out his eyes, refusing to let the other look.

Lu Wenyuan patted his back, wanting to comfort him. Before he could speak, the old doctor picked a plump, round pomegranate, dangled it in front of him, and asked, “Do you like this?”

Chen Annan’s gaze shifted. Sure enough, he reached out and took the pomegranate.

Lu Wenyuan carried him over to a wooden stool under the tree. The old doctor warmed the stethoscope and placed it near Chen Annan’s heart. Through the thin woolen shirt, he listened to the heartbeat for a while. “This little friend has no major physical problems.”

Lu Wenyuan said, “We saw that at the city hospital before too. It’s not a physical problem, it’s psychological. The doctor said it’s autism. Could you take a look?”

The old doctor, however, shook his head. “It’s not autism.” He put down the stethoscope and went back inside to bring out a birdcage.

A thrush hopped and pecked inside the cage. Chen Annan’s attention was immediately diverted. He tentatively reached out a finger, slipping it through the gaps of the cage to gently stroke the little bird.

“See, a sick child wouldn’t have emotional reactions to outside things,” the old doctor said. “What he has is temporary panic caused by accumulated emotions. It hasn’t reached the stage of shutting down.”

“Is it serious?” Lu Qingyuan hurriedly asked.

“Not serious. Having emotions is normal,” the old doctor said. “Has he cried? Children just need a good, loud cry and they’ll be fine.”

“He cried last night.” Lu Qingyuan watched as Chen Annan sat obediently on the stool. The thrush in the cage hopped onto his finger. Its tiny claws grasped the side of his finger steadily, its head dipping to peck lightly a few times.

In this sensation that was neither painful nor itchy, Chen Annan squinted comfortably.

The old doctor gently laid his hand on the top of the child’s head. “Little one, are you afraid?”

The old man’s palm was broad and rough. Thick calluses were yellowed with age, but resting on his head, it felt dry and warm.

Chen Annan lifted his face, looked at him for a long while, and then shook his head.

The old doctor smiled, rubbing Chen Annan’s hair. His tone was very relaxed. “Little fellow, you’re lucky. Your dad and brother both love you very much.”

Chen Annan blinked and corrected him, “That’s Uncle.”

“Oh—it’s Uncle,” the old doctor drawled. His weathered face softened with hearty laughter. “Uncle, Dad, it doesn’t matter. His love for you won’t be wrong. I can see it. You can feel it too, can’t you?”

Otherwise, who would travel such a great distance just for this?

Chen Annan hesitated for a moment, then nodded firmly.

The hearts that Lu Wenyuan and Lu Qingyuan had been holding suspended for nearly a month finally landed solidly amidst this laughter.

The old doctor seemed to be sighing with emotion. “It’s all fate. Little one, the road ahead of you is still very long. You must cherish it well!”

Chen Annan’s mood seemed infected by this laughter too. He grinned. Lu Qingyuan, finally at ease, picked him up. Lying on his brother’s shoulder, Chen Annan lifted the pomegranate high with his small hand.

He loved them too, truly, truly loved them.

In the warm amber glow of twilight, Chen Annan showed the happiest smile he’d had in all these days.

The smile was scattered by the patches of tree shadows outside the window. When the train plunged into a tunnel again, the sunlight that had been shining directly on his eyelids was blocked. The glass window once again reflected Chen Annan’s pretty, youthful face.

Emerging from the tunnel, beneath the familiar distant blue-green sky stretched the endless southern landscape.

Chen Annan returned to school. But this time, his brother accompanied him.

Every day, Lu Qingyuan walked him to his seat inside the classroom. He came by even more frequently. Almost every break between classes, he waited at the door of Chen Annan’s classroom—to fill his water, or to accompany him to the restroom.

At noon, heading to the cafeteria, he would also take the initiative to bring his tray and sit next to Chen Annan, not joining his own class. He still helped Chen Annan pick out the food he didn’t like and replaced it with his favorite ribs.

Lu Qingyuan communicated with the teachers privately. After Chen Annan’s classes ended, he would bring him to his own classroom and have him sit beside him for the final period.

Chen Annan couldn’t understand the upper-grade material. He often propped his head up and stared blankly into space, like a little mushroom—incongruous, yet very endearing.

Over time, all the second graders knew Chen Annan had a brother who doted on him. The sixth graders initially found it hilarious and teased, saying Lu Qingyuan was acting like a little dad.

Lu Qingyuan never responded. Later, they all came to feel that Lu Qingyuan’s little brother was just too adorable. So tiny, always sticking behind his brother like a little snowball. Whenever they ran into him, they’d offer him snacks.

Chen Annan would tilt his head up and say thank you. They’d pinch his cheeks, and Chen Annan would put on a sweet, pitiful pout.

That winter, Lu Wenyuan returned from a business trip out of town and brought Chen Annan a brand new, officially licensed, complete Snoopy Family set. As Lu Wenyuan watched the kid beam with happiness, clinging to his neck and acting cute for ages in the evening, Chen Annan softly murmured a low “Ba Ya” towards him.

Lu Wenyuan didn’t catch what he’d said at the time. It wasn’t until one night, with Chen Annan sleeping soundly on top of him, rising and falling with his breath, muttering “Ba Ya, Ba Ya” indistinctly, that he suddenly realized—Chen Annan had been saying “Ba Ya”—trying to say “Ba a,” or “Dad.”

Those two simple syllables overlapped with Lu Wenyuan’s steady heartbeat, slowly seeping into his chest, dissolving years of accumulated dust and hardship, leaving only infinite tenderness.

Time truly flowed fast. In the new year, Chen Annan welcomed his ninth birthday.

He had been about this old when Lu Qingyuan first met him.

It seemed this age was destined to be an unhappy year. Starting in March, a strange term burst into everyone’s awareness—SARS, Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome.

Actually, this had first started in Guangzhou the previous year. But the common people, toiling for their livelihoods, paid no mind to such matters. They assumed it was like the seasonal flu—there was always a high season for viruses. Life had to go on as usual; they wouldn’t stop for this. Daily trivialities and family matters were the center of their world.

When Lu Wenyuan heard the news, he was reviewing a student’s thesis. For some reason, he felt vaguely uneasy.

As April arrived, the steady voice of the TV anchor announced—Beijing officially confirmed China’s first SARS case. From that day on, this seemingly unremarkable virus, in a terrifying and astonishing manner, stirred up a monstrous tidal wave in everyone’s lives.

Signs declaring “White Vinegar: In Stock” were constantly hung outside supermarkets. The price of Isatis Root in pharmacies was repeatedly raised.

Streets, malls, office buildings—everywhere reeked of disinfectant. Schools eventually announced a complete suspension of classes and a lockdown of campuses.

Life seemed trapped in a quagmire, moving forward with painful slowness.

Every day, Lu Wenyuan made sure the two cubs followed protective measures. He had towels stuffed into ventilation gaps. Even the housekeeper who came to do chores was given plenty of face masks and hand sanitizer by Lu Wenyuan. He required her to go over every corner of the rooms daily with a UV sterilization lamp, just in case.

Even though he was already being so meticulous, he never imagined this thunderbolt would strike their household. And the first to be affected was Lu Qingyuan.

Lu Qingyuan had always had a fairly robust constitution. In Lu Wenyuan’s memory, the times he’d been sick were few and far between.

That night, after the two kids had washed up and gone to bed, everything was fine before sleep. But when Lu Wenyuan came to check on them again, he first heard several coughs.

At a time like this, even the most ordinary cold could cause excessive worry. Lu Wenyuan hurriedly turned on the light to look. Lu Qingyuan’s face was flushed bright red, eyes tightly shut, brows furrowed in a knot, exhaling with visible effort.

He reached out to feel him—and his brain exploded with a deafening roar.

Lu Qingyuan had a fever.

Chen Annan, completely oblivious, was still curled up next to his brother, a chubby little leg draped over him, mumbling sweetly in his sleep.

Without a word, Lu Wenyuan woke the housekeeper sleeping on the sofa to watch over Chen Annan. The housekeeper, unable to return home because her own complex was under quarantine, had been staying with them these past few days.

Lu Wenyuan drove frantically, taking Lu Qingyuan to the hospital.

Lu Qingyuan opened his eyes faintly. The night scenery outside the window retreated at high speed. He couldn’t see anything clearly, because his head and face were wrapped up extremely tightly.

Lu Wenyuan drove while asking him, “Where do you feel uncomfortable?”

Lu Qingyuan couldn’t speak. Sitting up, his breathing was blocked. All the muscles in his body ached. Nausea kept rising to his throat, impossible to suppress.