Chapter 176 Wooden Thoughts
The afternoon sun slanted into the living room, casting shadows of the window panes on the floor.
Si Zhui and Lin Yan lay on a low table covered with coarse cloth, with half a piece of peach wood spread out in front of them, and carving knives, sandpaper, and pencil shavings scattered like a handful of stars.
Sizhui's hand trembled slightly as he gripped the carving knife. He wanted to carve the kite's tail into a floating shape, but the wood was too hard, and the tip of the knife slipped against the grain, leaving a crooked notch on the edge. He pursed his lips in frustration, a thin layer of sweat seeping from the tip of his nose, stained with sawdust, like a squirrel that had just crawled into a pile of firewood.
"Don't worry." Lin Yan's voice came from the side. He put down the carving knife and picked up Si Zhui's piece of wood, running his fingertips along the wood grain. "The grain of peach wood grows diagonally. When carving, the knife should follow it, just like... when you chase a kite, you should run in the direction of the wind."
Si Zhui leaned over to take a look and saw Lin Yan's fingertips gently leaving marks on the wood: "Here, first carve a shallow groove to set the shape, and then slowly go deeper. Look, like this--" He picked up a small carving knife, turned his wrist lightly, and sawdust fell down. The gap just now was rounded off, like a small cloud.
"Wow!" Si Zhui's eyes lit up, and he quickly adjusted his knife-holding posture, imitating him.
The carving knife was still a little unruly in his hand, occasionally making crooked lines, but he didn't frown as anxiously as before. Instead, he whispered to the wood, "Wood, wood, be good. I'm going to turn you into a flying kite."
Lin Yan chuckled quietly. He knew Si Zhui must not have slept well last night—he saw a faint dark shadow under his eyes this morning, yet he still went to the kitchen early to stew medicinal food.
But at this moment, the stubbornness and tension in the boy's eyes disappeared, leaving only the concentration on the wood under the carving knife, like a blue grass stretched by the sun.
The door to the second-floor bedroom was ajar, and Wei Wuxian was leaning against the doorframe, lost in thought. Lan Wangji approached, medicine bowl in hand, and following his gaze, he saw Sizhui picking up a broken piece of wood and carefully placing it in the small bamboo basket beside the table, where a number of such "junk" pieces were already piled.
"When he damaged wood before, he would always hide it secretly, afraid that we would say it was a waste." Wei Wuxian's voice was soft and tinged with emotion. "Now he's open about it."
Lan Wangji handed him the medicine bowl and touched his cheek with his fingertips. "It's better to admit your mistakes and correct them than to hide them." He paused and added, "When Lin Yan was teaching him, he deliberately put the rabbit he had carved, which he had ruined, into the basket."
Wei Wuxian then noticed that there was a wooden rabbit with a missing ear in the bamboo basket. It was clearly Lin Yan's work. He suddenly smiled - this child was so thoughtful that he knew how to use his own "imperfections" to give Sizhui a way out.
As he watched, a soft cry of "Ah!" came from downstairs. Si Zhui abruptly withdrew his hand, a drop of blood seeping from his fingertips—he hadn't held the carving knife firmly and had cut his fingertips.
"What's wrong?" Wei Wuxian subconsciously wanted to go downstairs, but was held down by Lan Wangji.
"Let them handle it themselves." Lan Wangji's voice was steady.
Downstairs, Lin Yan had already dug out a Band-Aid from his schoolbag. Instead of applying it directly, he first pulled out the small bottle of iodine he carried with him, dipped a cotton swab in it, and gently pressed it against Si Zhui's wound. "It's a little painful, bear with it."
Si Zhui bit his lip and said nothing. After he put on the Band-Aid, he whispered, "Thank you. It's all my fault for being clumsy."
"The first time I carved, I cut my finger and it bled a lot." Lin Yan pointed to the base of his left hand, where there was a shallow scar. "Grandpa said that carving wood is like making friends with it. You have to 'get to know' it before you can carve good things."
Si Zhui looked at the scar on his palm and suddenly felt that the pain in his fingertips was not so obvious. He picked up the half-carved kite and said seriously, "Then I will make friends with it for a while."
The sunlight crept onto the low table, stretching the two children's shadows long. Sizhui's carving knife was still slow, but much steadier. He paused after each stroke, as if whispering to the wood. Lin Yan didn't take up the task again, but simply sat beside him, stroking a small piece of wood with his hands, occasionally reminding him, "This could be a little rounder."
Wei Wuxian leaned on Lan Wangji's shoulder, smelling the faint woody scent wafting up from downstairs, and suddenly felt something filling his heart.
He remembered the cold night at the mass grave, when he held Wen Yuan, who had a high fever, in his arms, in the thatched hut, counting the starlight that seeped in; he remembered the early morning in the Cloud Recesses, when Si Zhui, wearing the Lan family's school uniform, read the "Ya Zheng Ji" in the corridor with a book in his hand, his voice timid; he also remembered this moment, when the young man was lying on the table, struggling with a piece of wood, his face covered with sawdust, but his eyes were bright as fallen stars.
"Look, he's really grown up." Wei Wuxian's voice was a little hoarse.
Lan Wangji took his hand, his fingertips gently stroking the thin calluses on the back of his hand—marks left by years of gripping Chen Qing and paintbrushes. “We’re all growing up,” he whispered.
Yes, we're all growing up. He's learned to stop hiding his guilt behind jokes, Lan Wangji has learned to incorporate worry into his daily porridge, Sizhui has learned to find freedom in gratitude, and even the young boy Lin Yan has learned to protect his friends with clumsy tenderness.
Downstairs, the sound of carving knives began again, more rhythmic than before. Wei Wuxian looked down to see Lan Wangji gazing at the medicine bowl in his hand. The liquid inside was warm, with a faint hint of heat rising from it. He didn't frown as usual, but tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp, unexpectedly tasting a faint sweetness on the tip of his tongue.
"Is it bitter?" Lan Wangji handed over the candied fruit.
“It’s not bitter.” Wei Wuxian smiled as he held the candied fruit in his mouth. “It’s much sweeter than the medicine I drank in Lotus Pier when I was a kid.”
Back then, Jiang Yanli would always slip him a piece of candy after he took his medicine, saying, "After the bitterness comes the sweetness." He didn't understand it before, always thinking it was just a comforting remark.
Until this moment, watching the child downstairs carefully carving wood and holding the warm hands of the people around him, I suddenly understood -
Sweetness never comes out of thin air. It's the sweetness after bitterness, the sunny day after a storm, the pain of a carving knife scratching wood, the warmth wrapped in a Band-Aid, and all the small, real, and warm moments, slowly brewed.
As the sun set, Sizhui ran upstairs, holding the carved kite. The wooden kite's tail was indeed carved and fluttering. Four tiny figures were painted on it in red paint, holding hands. Though the lines were crooked, the smiles between their faces were clearly visible.
“Daddy, look!” Sizhui held the kite in front of Wei Wuxian, the Band-Aid on his fingertips particularly conspicuous. “I drew Lin Yan on it too!”
Wei Wuxian took the kite, his fingertips touching the warmth of the wood, and suddenly felt his eyes warm. He looked out the window, where the sunset glowed the sky red, like a painting unfolding.
Downstairs, Lin Yan was saying goodbye to Lan Wangji with his schoolbag on his back. Lan Wangji bent down, as if saying something to him. The boy smiled and nodded, his dimples deeply sunken.
“That’s great.” Wei Wuxian said softly.
That’s great.
In such days, there is pain, warmth, clumsy growth, and steady happiness.
Just like this wooden kite that has been carved, repaired, scratched and patched, it is not perfect, but it carries the warmth of the hands and the weight of the heart, and can fly very far against the wind.
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