21 warming up
On the way back, Zhou Daye couldn't help but fall asleep in the back seat, occasionally letting out a few heavy breaths. Yang Xiao sat in the passenger seat, watching Zhou Qi skillfully hold the steering wheel and occasionally grip the gear lever. She asked softly, "Zhou Qi, what does it feel like to drive?" Zhou Qi seemed to think for a moment and replied, "A sense of control."
Zhou Qi remembered his first solo road trip, driving Fang Qiu's new car outside the city. His hands trembled slightly as he fastened his seatbelt. He engaged the car, released the brake, and slowly set off. The initial nervousness and uneasiness gradually dissipated as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Instead, he felt a strong sense of control.
He was no longer disturbed by the outside world and was no longer forced to make compromises or choices, because at this moment, the road was right under his feet.
Yang Xiao nodded, looking thoughtful.
Back in the courtyard, Zhou Qi was tending to the fire while Yang Xiao returned to her swing, swinging back and forth. Zhou Daye emerged from the room, holding up two large red envelopes, and gave one to each of Yang Xiao and Zhou Qi. "This...this is New Year's money." Yang Xiao held the red envelopes and said a series of auspicious words to Zhou Daye. Then, she pulled a colorful string from her bag and tied it around Zhou Daye's and Zhou Qi's wrists.
"My dad and I used to tie one every Chinese New Year, symbolizing prosperity for the coming year," Yang Xiao said, then tied one on her own wrist and waved it. Without a doubt, today was the happiest day of the year for her.
The occasional crackling of the stove, the laughter of children outside, the occasional blast of firecrackers, and the simultaneous laughter of Zhou Daye and Zhou Qi at her jokes all made up Yang Xiao's happy moment. Uncle Zhou, smiling before the flickering fire, seemed to mirror her father, squatting before it years ago, roasting sweet potatoes. Yang Xiao's eyes moistened, and she whispered to herself, "Dad, don't worry about me. I'm doing fine now."
Once the New Year comes, this week passes in the blink of an eye.
After Zhou Daye and Yang Xiao bought some new clothes, Zhou Qi drove her back to school. The week had flown by so quickly that Yang Xiao only realized the passage of time when she noticed a thin layer of dust on her dorm desk. After she finished cleaning her desk, Wang Ruopeng came in wearing a red sweater, carrying a large bag of things. As soon as he put it down, he immediately fed Yang Xiao a piece of homemade fried pork chop.
"Is it delicious? Hehe." Every time Wang Ruopeng brought some delicious food to Yang Xiao, he would ask this question with certainty.
Yang Xiao nodded and took another bite of the bone. "I also brought you some crispy pork that Zhou Qi made." Then she handed the crispy pork that Zhou Qi had fried last night to Wang Ruopeng. At this moment, Wang Ruopeng's mind was full of Zhou Qi's face. He turned the oil pan over and over indifferently, feeling an indescribable weirdness.
"I thought Zhou Qi couldn't cook." Wang Ruopeng took the crispy pork and put it in his mouth. It tasted unexpectedly good.
"Why do you think so? He can also make braised pork, stewed goose, pickled fish, and... I think he can also make steamed spareribs with rice flour." Yang Xiao recalled, enumerating the dishes Zhou Qi could make as if she were reading out the names of the dishes. Wang Ruopeng saw that she was "reciting them like the back of her hand" and still looked unsatisfied, so he cleared his throat and interrupted her: "Okay, stop talking, I'm getting hungry again. But I thought that in novels, characters like Zhou Qi were usually set up as overbearing brothers. There would be a plot where the sister is sick and the brother makes porridge with a cold face. The porridge is completely mushy, and the sister drinks it all up without any disgust."
Yang Xiao laughed heartily. "But wouldn't a mushy porridge be even more uncomfortable for a patient?" Wang Ruopeng waved his hand and said, "Don't worry about it. The plot requires it. After all, a domineering brother like this needs some flaws to be lovable." Then, he leaned closer to Yang Xiao mysteriously and asked, "So, what are Zhou Qi's flaws?"
Yang Xiao fell into deep thought. What were Zhou Qi's shortcomings? He had good grades, was filial, looked good, could drive, cook, and wash dishes, was polite, well-behaved, had a gentle personality, was motivated and hardworking, and loved to read and study. Yang Xiao thought about it and shook her head at Wang Ruopeng: "I haven't found any yet."
Wang Ruopeng stretched out his voice, understanding. "Oh—love really does make people blind." Yang Xiao pretended to roll up her sleeves to punish her, but Wang Ruopeng dodged quickly. "Honestly, Xiaoxiao. If you have any other thoughts about Zhou Qi, you'll suffer." Yang Xiao remained silent, and after a long pause, she replied, "Yeah."
Wang Ruopeng swallowed the words that had been choking her chest. Yang Xiao was determined to stick to her principles, and no amount of persuasion would do her any good. She would wait until Yang Xiao really hit a wall, then she would go up and try to persuade her. Besides, both Yang Xiao and she knew that the most important thing right now was the college entrance examination.
After saying that, the two of them walked hand in hand into the classroom again.
The learning atmosphere in the city is intense. Yang Xiao feels that the friends she's made here are all incredibly motivated. Everyone is competing with each other, and the rankings are very close. Maintaining her rank is a challenge for Yang Xiao, but she's gradually found a learning rhythm that suits her.
As soon as the morning bell rings, she goes to the cafeteria to buy her favorite steamed buns. Then, she carries them to the classroom and eats them while reviewing the knowledge she learned the day before. It seems that chewing makes her mind more active. After her evening intensive classes, she takes a workbook or vocabulary book back to the dormitory to review, studying until no later than 12:30 p.m., repeating the cycle over and over again.
For Yang Xiao, such days were a comfort. All the troubles that had plagued her due to poverty had begun to disappear from her life. All that remained were the exam papers, the weekly calls with Zhou Qi and Uncle Zhou, and the things she left in the security room every Wednesday—sometimes fruit and milk, sometimes daily necessities.
The temperature gradually warmed up, and the number of people who crouched in the corridors after class to watch the sunset grew larger and larger. The difference between each day depended entirely on the improvisation of the sunset. Occasionally, a heavy rainstorm would bring a rainbow slanting across the sky, bringing with it the fresh scent of earth after rain.
In this way, Yang Xiao finished her first year of high school.
Summer vacation was once again spent by the creek in Luzhen and beneath the yellow orchid trees in the courtyard. Zhou Daye, however, once again didn't like going out, and even his beloved chess game had become less frequent. So their daily routine at home was this: Yang Xiao would do her homework at the stone table, while Zhou Daye would sit beside her, occasionally flipping through her composition book and Chinese textbook, lamenting how time had changed and how he no longer recognized many of the characters.
One day, he happened to find Yang Xiao's composition. Just as he was about to read it, the little girl angrily pressed her hand on the composition book and said, "You can't read this." Zhou Daye agreed with a "OK...OK...OK" and, feeling a little itchy, turned to the next page. When Yang Xiao went to bed that night, he quietly opened the composition book she had kept in the main room.
The theme of the composition is life. Yang Xiao wrote an essay titled "Me and My Second Life".
"I was born in a rainy place. Perhaps it's because of the abundant rain and lush vegetation here that I was able to have a second life. My first life was given by my parents. I have no memory of what my mother was like. And my father passed away before I could repay him.
I thought I'd become a street beggar, begging for food and love, when my adoptive father took me home, gave me a second chance at life, and freed me from my shabby state. He was a good man, but more than just a good one. It was simply because, in my limited understanding, good was the best adjective.
I remember the day he brought me home. Standing beneath a lush yellow jasmine tree, he told me this would be my home from now on. I was actually apprehensive, as I no longer dared to dream of having a home. But he used his iron spoon to stir up delicious meals, and with his words, he lit a warm fire, so that my body and soul would no longer be hungry.
He showed me a world I had never seen before. And I also had a new connection with this world, no longer drifting like duckweed...”
Zhou Daye was about to put his workbook back when tears, unnoticed, fell onto his composition book, spreading across it. He frantically fumbled for paper to wipe them away, but the tears, seemingly possessed of legs, continued to roam, becoming irrefutable proof of his reading. He suspected Yang Xiao would see the tear stain tomorrow morning and bring the composition to him again, asking, "Uncle Zhou—did you peek at my composition?" Thinking of this, Zhou Daye smiled like a child again, tears streaming down his face.
The next morning, still lying in bed, he half-heard Yang Xiao clacking away, taking a book from the inner room to the stone table outside to write on. Guilty as a thief, he turned his back and covered his ears tightly with the quilt, fearing he'd hear Yang Xiao yelling at him from outside. Strangely, Yang Xiao didn't ask about the composition again that day.
Zhou Dayebai was scribbling a lot of drafts, such as "The wind blew it down and I picked it up for you and it spilled on your tea," "I accidentally knocked over the cup with the corner of my clothes when I was walking by, so the water splashed on the composition book," etc. Even at dinner time, he looked at Yang Xiao holding the bowl with a calm face and almost gave up, ready to explain to her, but Yang Xiao never mentioned it.
This summer, Zhou Qi occasionally rushed back from the city to visit them, then hurried back to the city again. Zhou Daye's appetite had also decreased significantly, and sometimes Yang Xiao would even chase him for another bite. He would always laugh it off and say it was too hot, forcing Yang Xiao to come up with new appetizers at home.
Sometimes, after dinner, they would stroll to the lotus fields and encounter an old woman selling lotus roots on the roadside, inviting them to buy some fresh ones. Yang Xiao would insist on going down to scoop up one herself, feeling the thick, tender root. Elated, she would climb back up, peel off her waterproof pants, and compliment the woman on her well-preserved lotus roots and the child's obedience. The old woman, delighted, would let her go down and pick several lotus flowers, even breaking off a lotus leaf for her to make porridge with.
She and Zhou Dashe, each holding a small armful of lotus flowers and a piece of plump white lotus root, walked home. Along the way, Yang Xiao wondered whether she should make lotus leaf porridge or lotus root dumplings for Zhou Dashe tomorrow.
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