Chen Annan couldn’t figure out what was going on. Whenever there was something he couldn’t figure out, it would twist into a knot in his heart, and before long, it would become a little lump.
Brother was deliberately avoiding him.
When he asked Lu Wenyuan once again if Brother wasn’t coming home that night, this answer took root inside him.
Chen Annan didn’t understand why Brother would avoid him. He ran an analysis through his head and finally froze on the moment before Lu Qingyuan left, when he had kissed him.
Everything, everything had started from there. From that day on, Brother hadn’t come home.
Chen Annan felt like his brain was no longer under his control. His mouth opened and closed slightly. He sat there dumbly, a wave of coldness washing through his heart, as if a bucket of well water had been poured over him from head to toe, penetratingly cold.
Lu Wenyuan sometimes couldn’t quite grasp the complicated twists and turns inside a child’s mind. In his eyes, if there was a problem, you should talk about it. There was no issue that couldn’t be resolved by speaking face to face.
As soon as he got home from work, he saw Chen Annan sitting miserably on the sofa, head drooped low, fingers subconsciously picking at the sofa cushion. He’d had this habit since he was small. Whenever he was in a bad mood, he’d pick at things. If there was nothing nearby, he’d pick at the hem of his shirt. He still hadn’t grown out of it.
Lu Wenyuan didn’t even need to ask what was wrong; the child’s inner thoughts were already sufficiently clear from this desolate posture.
As an elder, he thought he could see right through a kid’s heart, figuring these two just had occasional little tiffs. But no matter the conflict, it shouldn’t result in one of them not coming home for over a week.
Lu Wenyuan figured he should mediate this time after all.
So, he came up behind Chen Annan, crossed his arms over the back of the sofa, and pretended to wonder aloud: “It suddenly occurred to me—Auntie isn’t coming tonight. I have to meet an old friend at Nanjing University later. Seems like no one’s around to cook. Now, what are we going to do with the one little kid left at home?”
Chen Annan didn’t speak. A hand suddenly landed on his head, messing his hair completely. “Would this little friend like to come with me?”
“No,” Chen Annan refused cleanly. “I still have to study.” After saying this, he slowly stood up on his own and returned to his room.
Mediation failed. This was completely different from before—they’d fought so badly they weren’t even seeing each other. Lu Wenyuan was surprised. Ultimately, he couldn’t figure out how big a fight this must have been.
Two nights in a row, Chen Annan didn’t go to Lu Qingyuan’s room anymore, nor did he wait for him to come home. He dutifully finished his homework in his own room, then dutifully returned to his own bed, spread out the covers, and lay down.
There was a knot of resentment stuck in his chest; it wouldn’t go up or come down.
Faint light reflected in Chen Annan’s eyes. He turned on his phone several times and logged onto QQ. The chats were just messages from his good friends, icons continuously bouncing. He only replied to a few urgent ones. Then he flipped through his fixed contact groups repeatedly, finally couldn’t resist opening the family group, and saw Lu Qingyuan’s avatar was still gray. Maybe he was invisible, or maybe truly offline.
Chen Annan’s gaze froze on the timestamp of his last sent message—already three days ago.
Lu Qingyuan still hadn’t replied to him. Chen Annan’s fingers tapped noisily over the keyboard but ultimately deleted it all.
Fine, don’t come home if you’re not coming home. Fine, don’t see me if you don’t want to see me. What’s the big deal? Was it as if he couldn’t live his life without him or something?
Was it as if without Lu Qingyuan, he’d stop going to school? Wouldn’t pick a school?
What’s the big deal? He didn’t even care.
Chen Annan turned off his phone and placed it on the nightstand. He yanked his little blanket over himself, wrapping himself like a mummy. Finally burying his head inside too. The May temperature had already risen, and the blanket was fuzzy. Draped like this, holding his breath in the stuffiness, the stifling feeling made his heart ache.
He was never talking to him again.
This time he was serious.
He Hanming noticed his deskmate Chen Annan had been a bit off lately. Not only was he zoning out in class, but he was also always doodling in a little notebook, no one knew what. A light tap of He Hanming’s finger against the desk would startle Chen Annan severely—his daydreaming was indeed intense.
“Is something going on at home?” He Hanming asked him.
Surprised, Chen Annan said, “Nothing’s going on. Why do you ask?”
“If you keep zoning out, your grades will immediately slip again. Your score just barely reached that one art high school’s cutoff, right?” He Hanming reminded him. “Doesn’t the school practice selective admission now?”
“I know,” Chen Annan said, head hanging. “I haven’t really decided which school to go to yet, either.”
He Hanming asked, puzzled, “Didn’t you say a few days ago you were going home to ask your brother?”
Chen Annan let out a faint “Ah” and turned his face away. “Did I? You must have misheard.”
“…” He Hanming pushed his glasses up his nose with a knuckle and said, “At a time like this, you two aren’t still fighting, are you? Even if you have to fight, maybe decide on the school first?”
As his deskmate, He Hanming was no stranger to grievances poured out. Chen Annan, this kid, talked way too much. He was practically a weathervane swaying with every breeze. If He Hanming annoyed him at school, he’d go home and complain to Brother. If Lu Qingyuan annoyed him at home, he’d come to school and complain to He Hanming.
Seeing the little notebook pressed under Chen Annan’s hand, He Hanming added, “Let me see what you were writing in class.”
Chen Annan hurriedly stashed the notebook away and changed the subject. “Then I’ll go back and ask Uncle about the school thing again later.”
Lu Wenyuan had never had high demands for Chen Annan’s studies. The three art high schools were all within reach, but Chen Annan’s score was just one point shy of the best one. He feared that if something went wrong or Chen Annan didn’t perform steadily, he might not get in. Thus, he felt the one with the slightly lower cutoff was more suitable for Chen Annan.
Chen Annan sat there thinking for a long time, then nodded anyway.
He thought Uncle’s reasoning made a lot of sense. Chen Annan was very afraid of an inconsistent performance. If his results slipped, he might not even make the lowest-ranked school.
That weekend, classmates arranged to hang out together. Chen Annan packed up early in the morning and left. Lu Qingyuan came home not long after him.
Lu Wenyuan was loosening the soil for his plants. Wearing a straw hat, his face half-hidden in the dappled light of half-bright, half-dark, he didn’t even raise his head at the sound of footsteps, still steadily clanking his little trowel into the dirt.
Lu Qingyuan didn’t speak either. He crouched beside Lu Wenyuan, picked up another little trowel, and began burying seeds in the soil with his head lowered.
“Remember when you were little, the chrysanthemum green seeds I planted on the balcony?” Lu Wenyuan suddenly said.
“Mm.”
“Back then, you and Little Nan were only this tall, so tiny. You two would always get overheated in the summer, so I’d scatter some chrysanthemum green seeds and make soup for you. After a while, Little Nan got sick of it and wouldn’t drink. You’d secretly help him finish his soup. Even though you didn’t like it either, you always helped him drink it. In the end, you couldn’t hold it in and threw up all over the floor. From then on, just the sight of chrysanthemum greens made you nauseous.”
“But if I hadn’t found out, you would have kept drinking it for him.” Lu Wenyuan seemed to be reminiscing, one hand resting on his knee as he pushed his straw hat up a bit, revealing his eyes.
Lu Qingyuan met his father’s gaze. He could clearly see his pupils were light brown in the sunlight.
“Today I’m asking you for the first time: why did you choose your university to be in Nanjing?”
“…” Lu Qingyuan didn’t answer. The little trowel flipped back and forth in his palm.
Lu Wenyuan continued tending his plants, his tone easy and relaxed, as if they were just friends of the same generation. “Dad knows your personality. You, well, you’ve always been a kid who likes quiet. Having a noisy one around every day isn’t exactly peaceful. Actually, these past few days, I’ve been wondering—was what I said to you back then wrong?”
“If you’d chosen Beijing, you two wouldn’t have fought to this point. Out of sight, out of mind—you’d miss each other to death, where’s the time for fighting?” Lu Wenyuan continued. “And you wouldn’t be stuck in a dorm room now, refusing to go home, leaving me like a lonely old man. Dad almost believed Nanjing University was far from home!”
At this, he even shot a sidelong glance at Lu Qingyuan. “What ‘group project’? You take your dad for a fool?”
Lu Qingyuan’s movements slowly came to a halt. He pulled the trowel out of the soil and set it down casually. Clumps of black dirt shook off it.
“We didn’t fight,” he finally said flatly. “I’m just… having trouble figuring some things out.”
Hearing this, Lu Wenyuan lifted his eyes to seriously look at the son before him.
Sunlight spilled over Lu Qingyuan’s body, highlighting the angles of his face. The youth’s features were more relaxed than before, no longer as tightly drawn as in childhood. Crouching there, his loose short-sleeve shirt revealed narrow shoulders and a lean waist.
His black hair looked fuzzy in the sunlight. In this instant, he seemed, again, like the child from memory.
“What kind of things can’t you figure out?” Lu Wenyuan slowed his tone and laughed carelessly. “Tell your dad, let me advise you, ah. I guarantee I won’t tell a soul.”
Lu Qingyuan looked at his father. “…” Forget it. The moment I tell you, you’ll say you’re too old for this, your heart can’t take it.
Lu Wenyuan had no clue what his son was mulling over. He tossed the trowel into the toolbox and said earnestly, “Sometimes, when you can’t figure out a relationship or a matter, it’s because you’re too close. When people interact, they do need to maintain a suitable distance—leave some space for the other person and for yourself.”
Just like looking at these flowers: too close, and you’ll see their flaws; too far, and they blur. Only by maintaining a proper distance can you see their true nature.
Lu Qingyuan didn’t respond. He fetched the watering can and watered the flowers. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves on the trees in waves. The shifting shadows fell upon them, dappled and unsteady.
As Lu Wenyuan packed up the tools, he suddenly heard his son’s low voice come from behind him: “Where did Chen Annan go?”
