The next morning, the sound of clanging outside the tent awoke me. The sun wasn't yet very strong, but a fiery crimson hue shone through the eastern mountains. Everyone in the camp was busy with their own affairs. Of course, my father had already retired to the largest tent, which he and several teachers from the town used as their studio and headquarters. He would likely spend the next day there, figuring out how to repair the decaying bridge. He hadn't forgotten to assign me a task, though. Beside my bed was a small note from my father, asking me to go with Will to the market in the village center to buy new supplies.
The person in charge of purchasing was sent by his father to the village to borrow carpentry tools. It seemed he planned to repair the bridge with wood. Since there was no steel in the village, this was probably the only solution.
I looked around. The Walker family's tent was in the southeast corner of the camp. Mrs. Walker was standing outside, boiling water, but there was no sign of Will. I figured he probably hadn't gotten up yet. Honestly, I wanted to turn around and go to the market alone. But Will would probably come looking for me when he woke up. If he saw I'd left him alone, he might go find my father. That would cause even more trouble. The thought of this gave me a chill. My father had assumed Will was a big kid who could take care of me, just because he was a year older. Making such a hasty judgment without careful investigation was a mistake on my part.
Perhaps because of his busy schedule, he couldn't devote much time to my relationships, which allowed a fool like Will to swoop in. In every way, he wasn't an ideal childhood playmate. White steam spurted animatedly from the kettle, accompanied by plumes of black smoke from the red brick stove. I walked over to Mrs. Walker and coughed softly. Since we'll have to face it sooner or later, it's better to take the initiative. This is especially true with Will. If I could see him frantically leaping out of bed, I might be able to seize the initiative. Dealing with people like him is simple: finding a delicate balance between shame and anger, controlling your steps like walking a tightrope. I've never failed to use this tactic on him.
In a few years, or even when we're adults, this relationship will seem ridiculous, reminiscent of the classic idiot duo from a comedy movie. The country farmer brothers who mess everything up. I have a feeling I'll be free of him one day, when I can lead the townspeople like my father did. He'll just have to take over Colin Walker's job and continue running that humble grocery store. Only then will I be able to express my opinions freely. This is a power I've gained through the coercion of status, not through my own strength. I admit that. My father once told me that playing to your strengths and targeting your enemy's weaknesses is the wisdom of victory, the rational choice. This is how people in the world practice the way of survival passed down from primitive times, a pure head-on confrontation that only happens in the arena and the movie theater. I won't fight Will. It's pointless.
Hearing my cough, Mrs. Walker whirled around, her reaction as swift as a wise vixen. It was her quick wit that saved the Walker family's small shop from bankruptcy. She wasn't dressed like a grocery store owner, but rather like a farmer busy in the fields. She wore denim overalls, a plaid shirt, and beige sleeves, her hair neatly tied back. The moment she saw me, she smiled warmly, the wrinkles of her cheeks curved upwards with joy.
"Are you here to see Will?" Although it was a question, her tone was full of affirmation. She always spoke in this style, and I guess it was some kind of business talk.
I nodded. She picked up the kettle, walked to the tent and opened the curtain.
"Will!" The loud shout startled even me.
Will, of course, was even more panicked. I saw an irregular ball bounce up from the bed, the covers sliding down, revealing a fat, red face. He was shirtless, and I immediately put on a face trying to stifle laughter. The tightrope game began now.
As I'd expected, he found himself in the same awkward position he'd always been in. His clothes were folded next to his pillow, but he blushed and searched for them for a long time. It wasn't until I reminded him that he hurriedly put on his shirt. Mrs. Walker lowered the curtains and poured the boiling water from the kettle into the tub. I squatted by the tent, waiting for Will to put on his pants. When he emerged, his face still flushed with anger, his eyes fixed on me. I remained silent, pretending not to notice, fiddling with the pebbles on the ground. With Mrs. Walker beside him, he didn't even dare to make a discordant sound.
It was a long moment before I heard him utter a word through gritted teeth. "Let's go!" he said, and he strode forward recklessly, completely unaware that he had no idea where he was going. Mrs. Walker, holding the basin, was about to call him back, but I trotted after him. It didn't matter to him whether he washed his face or not; the heat would soon have him sweating profusely. Calling him back now might cause him to lose control later. I followed him toward the camp exit, kicking more than a dozen stones along the way—childish gestures like these when he's frustrated and has nowhere to vent his anger. Before leaving the camp, I sped up and passed him. Will was still furious, and speaking at this moment seemed inappropriate. I could only walk ahead to lead the way, showing him the way through my actions.
This was my first time visiting the village market. We took a narrow path outside the camp, wedged between the houses. After two or three turns, we came to a wide, flat expanse where the market stood. The paths leading to the market from other directions were similar: gray stone-paved paths snaked deep into the square houses, forming an anthill-like structure. Like industrious ants, the villagers carried goods daily to tend their small shops. Isolated and without external resources, the villagers exchanged what they needed, naturally developing a small, sophisticated commercial system. A few small trees grew solitary on the flat ground, drawing nourishment from the muddy ground surrounded by bricks. Probably with these trees at the apex, stalls displaying goods on wooden shelves were neatly arranged in a cross-shaped formation, with ample aisles in the middle. The fresh vegetables and fruits must have come from the farmland I saw yesterday, piled high and filling up many of the shipping containers. The land behind the mill didn't seem large enough to produce so much produce; perhaps there were even larger areas of cultivation hidden from view. Shops on the other side, displaying cakes of all shapes and sizes, huddled together with grocery stores selling pots, pans, and utensils. Occasionally, a few craftsmen sat between adjacent shelves, scattered throughout the market, holding various tools and waiting for customers.
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