An old fountain pen and unspoken words

Ah Yu squatted on the wooden floor of the guesthouse, her fingertips tracing the zipper of her suitcase when she suddenly heard the rustling sound of fabric. Zhong Hua's black backpack was open, and half of a piece of blue cloth was sticking out of the side pocket. The cloud pattern embroidered at the corner was faded from washing—it was homespun cloth that Lin Wanqing had brought back from her trip to Yunnan last year, which Zhong Hua had been using to wrap his old film camera.

He had originally intended to help Zhong Hua put the charger inside. This man had been busy organizing materials for a charity project since his fever subsided yesterday, and was still flipping through children's sketchbooks at three in the morning; his dark circles were even more pronounced than the night in the mountains. But when Ah Yu reached for the charger, the piece of blue cloth seemed to have an attraction, hooking his fingertips and pulling them inside.

The item wrapped in the cloth bag was much lighter than the film camera, yet its shape was strangely familiar. Ah Yu pinched the corner of the cloth and pulled it out; the metal pen cap bumped against the backpack zipper, making a crisp clinking sound.

It was a Hero brand fountain pen. Two patches of black paint had chipped off the body, revealing the brass underneath. There was also a crooked engraving on the cap clip—it was his initials, which he had carved with a craft knife during a club activity in college. At the time, Zhong Hua jokingly said it looked "like a dog chewed on it."

Ah Yu's breath hitched. He had clearly left the pen in Qinghai.

Last July at Qinghai Lake, the three of them squatted by the lakeside photographing migratory birds. He was busy adjusting the aperture, and casually placed his fountain pen on a rock. When he turned to chase after a bird skimming across the water, the pen disappeared with the rising tide. He felt regretful for a long time, not because the pen was particularly valuable, but because it was a coming-of-age gift from Zhong Hua after his college entrance exams, and there was a small note inside the pen that read "May your future be bright."

"What are you looking for?"

Zhong Hua's voice came from behind, hoarse from just recovering from a fever. Ah Yu turned around abruptly and saw him standing by the bed folding the quilt. The army green quilt was folded neatly, just like the drill instructors taught him during university military training. Sunlight slanted in through the wooden window lattice, gilding the tips of his hair with a layer of gold, but the dark blue-black sclera hidden under his brow bone did not escape Ah Yu's eyes.

Ah Yu held up the pen, its cap gleaming old in the light: "You found it?"

Zhong Hua paused, and a corner of the half-folded blanket drooped down. He didn't look at Ah Yu, but bent down to tuck the blanket in, his voice so soft it was as if he were afraid of startling something: "Mm."

"When did this happen?" Ah Yu pressed. He remembered that when he discovered his pen was missing, Zhong Hua had spent a whole hour searching with him by the lake. Even as the setting sun dyed the lake water orange-red, Zhong Hua was still squatting in the shallows, his fingers digging at the pebbles in the icy water. Later, Lin Wanqing called them back for dinner, and only then did Zhong Hua stand up, his trouser legs dripping wet, and say, "Never mind, I'll buy you another one."

After folding the blankets, Zhong Hua turned to pick up the bucket of water from the corner. His voice, muffled by the sound of water, came through: "I saw it under the bus seat on the way back last time."

Ah Yu stared at his retreating figure. Zhong Hua's shoulders were thinner than last year, his shoulder blades protruding slightly beneath his faded T-shirt. This guy always liked to find something to do when he lied. When he was caught copying his photography assignment in college, he did the same thing, pretending to wipe the lens while saying, "The lighting was too dim, I misread the parameters."

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and a message from Lin Wanqing popped up on the screen: "Keep an eye on him, don't let him put on a brave face anymore." It was followed by a grinning emoji.

Ah Yu smiled and typed "Don't worry" on the screen. When the notification popped up that the message had been sent successfully, he looked up and met Zhong Hua's gaze.

Zhong Hua had just placed the bucket outside the door, still clutching a half-damp rag in his hand. His eyes were bright, like stars in the mountains at night that weren't obscured by clouds, but there was something else shrouded in that light, as if there was half a sentence stuck in his throat, hesitant to speak.

Ah Yu suddenly remembered the scene from yesterday at the old locust tree at the village entrance, where Zhong Hua sat on the doorstep wrapped in a quilt. He had run over, angrily handed him the medicine, and scolded him, "Why are you being so stubborn?" But his heart ached as if something was tearing at it. Zhong Hua looked up at him, his cheeks flushed red, and when he smiled, the lines at the corners of his eyes looked silly, like a child who had finally waited for an adult to come and pick him up.

"What are you standing there for?" Ah Yu waved the pen in her hand, then stuffed it into Zhong Hua's jacket pocket. "Let's go, catch the train."

Zhong Hua's hand instinctively pressed against his pocket, his fingertips brushing against the shape of a pen through the fabric, as if touching something scalding hot. He grunted in response, turned to pick up his luggage, and his steps were lighter than before.

Ah Yu followed behind him, watching the patch of skin on the back of his neck exposed when he bent over. Last year in Qinghai, Zhong Hua helped him hold up a reflector and got sunburned and peeled. At the time, he joked, "Even top student Zhong has his off days." Zhong Hua simply pushed the reflector towards him and said, "Don't block the light."

The guesthouse owner stood in the courtyard saying goodbye to them, holding a bag of wild walnuts: "Eat these on the road, they'll nourish your brain." Zhong Hua took them, said thank you, and pinched a few creases in the walnut bag with his fingers. Ah Yu knew that he didn't actually like eating nuts, always saying that shelling them was too much trouble, but every time Lin Wanqing brought nuts to the studio, he would first pick out the largest ones and put them in Ah Yu's camera bag.

When Ah Yu reached the village entrance, she saw the old locust tree still swaying in the wind. Under the tree, several children were chasing butterflies. One of them, a little girl with pigtails, was holding a colored pencil and squatting on the ground drawing a camera. Her drawing was crooked and uneven, but she deliberately drew the lens to be round.

"Look." Ah Yu nudged Zhong Hua's arm.

Zhong Hua looked in the direction he was pointing, a smile spreading across his eyes: "It looks a bit like yours."

"It's the same camera you fixed for me," Ah Yu corrected. Last month, his camera lens jammed, and Zhong Hua spent three days figuring it out, staying in the studio until late every night. When he finally removed the lens, he even got his hand snapped by a spring, and now there's a faint scar on his thumb.

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