Xiang Xi didn’t go back to Dawa; at the moment, he and Mantou were staying at Da Jian’s place.

With the New Year approaching, Uncle Ping’s wife, children, and elderly mother would all return home. Uncle Ping’s son was attending high school in the neighbouring city and was said to be doing well academically. His wife and mother were with the son most of the time, but they would all come back to Dawa for the New Year.

At such times, someone like Xiang Xi—who essentially symbolized Uncle Ping’s less-than-decent activities—didn’t feel it was appropriate to stay around.

Da Jian, a die-hard follower of Uncle Ping, was the kind of person who would cheerfully wave a flag wherever Uncle Ping went. Having Xiang Xi and Mantou stay at his place gave Uncle Ping peace of mind.

In truth, Xiang Xi wasn’t keen on staying in Dawa for the New Year anyway.

Normally, even though the area was chaotic and full of abnormal characters, at least it felt lively. But during the New Year, when most of the tenants left, Dawa—and even the surrounding Zhao Jiayao district—would become eerily empty and desolate.

It was unsettling.

“Who was the guy who brought you back today?” Da Jian asked, lying on the bed with a cigarette in his mouth.

“Just someone,” Xiang Xi replied, sitting on the sofa and shifting uncomfortably. The broken sofa’s uneven springs made it hard to sit still, and he couldn’t find a suitable spot to relax. After twisting around for a while, he worried the springs might burst through the fabric, so he got up and moved to a wooden stool nearby and sat down.

“That guy drove a pretty decent car,” Da Jian remarked, looking at him. “When did you start hanging out with people like that?”

Xiang Xi glanced at Da Jian without responding. A “decent car” in Da Jian’s eyes probably meant anything that wasn’t an electric scooter.

“You—” Da Jian began to say something more but didn’t finish.

Xiang Xi abruptly got up and slammed the door behind him as he left.

Outside, he lit a cigarette. Mantou followed him out, shuffling awkwardly. Xiang Xi glanced at Mantou and held the cigarette out to him.

“Why bother,” Mantou said, taking the cigarette and putting it in his mouth. “We’re staying at Da Jian’s place. Let him ask his questions—it might even be Uncle Ping who told him to keep an eye on you.”

“Da Jian’s nothing but a lackey,” Xiang Xi said, lighting another cigarette for himself and exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I don’t have the time to analyse his intentions. If Uncle Ping wants to know something, he’ll ask me himself. Who does Da Jian think he is to poke around?”

In a life as dark as this, this was Xiang Xi’s only way of asserting his pride.

Uncle Ping had raised him, so Xiang Xi gave Uncle Ping face and respected him. But beyond Uncle Ping, everyone else was a nobody to him.

When he was in a bad mood, he’d even sulk in front of Uncle Ping.

This was his last act of rebellion, his way of proving that he hadn’t been completely consumed by the darkness.

“My point is,” Mantou said with a frown, “nobody else dares to question you like this, but Da Jian does. If he’s doing it, it’s probably because Uncle Ping gave him the green light…”

“Uncle Ping has been fed up with me for ages,” Xiang Xi replied, biting the cigarette between his teeth and tilting his head to look at the sky. It was pitch black—no stars, no moon—just the promise of more snow.

“Xiao Zhan, what’s going on with you lately?” Mantou sighed, squatting on the ground.

“My rebellious phase finally hit and I am illiterate,” Xiang Xi shot back.

“You’re not illiterate. You know more characters than I do!” Mantou sighed again. “I just feel uneasy, like something bad’s about to happen. If Erpan dares to make a move on you, I think that guy’s …”

“You’re the one planning to elope—worry about yourself. You sure Little Limp can handle it?” Xiang Xi exhaled a puff of smoke down at Mantou’s head.

“You’re the one who brought it up!” Mantou immediately pointed at him and yelled.

“Yeah, I brought it up. So what?” Xiang Xi smirked, turning to head back inside. In a low voice, he added, “I’m just waiting to see how you look for death. ”

When Xiang Xi returned to the room, Da Jian was already lying on his bed, holding a phone and flirting with some woman.

After taking a shower, Xiang Xi went into the other room. This room had a bed he shared with Mantou. The bedding was complete, but the mattress was hard. Xiang Xi had been struggling to sleep well for several nights.

Mantou also came into the room and sat in a chair with his phone, but his eyes weren’t on the screen. Instead, he stared blankly at the floor.

Since the day Mantou mentioned leaving, he often ended up in this kind of trance, zoning out as he stared at nothing. Xiang Xi didn’t know what Mantou was thinking, but judging by his demeanour, it was clear he hadn’t given up the idea of leaving.

Lying on the bed with his arm under his head, Xiang Xi gazed at the ceiling. While he felt that Mantou was courting disaster, he could still understand the desire—to hope for a change, to escape the present circumstances.

For Xiang Xi, however, there was no comparison. From the moment he could remember, his life had been like this: scamming, lying, stealing, fighting—this was the life Uncle Ping had given him.

He didn’t know what another kind of life would even look like if he ever left this one.

For instance…a life like Cheng Boyan’s?

Xiang Xi chuckled softly to himself, unsure why Cheng Boyan had come to mind. They were worlds apart. Even if he escaped his current life, at best, he might end up doing odd jobs on the street or pushing a cart selling breakfast.

“Ugh…” Xiang Xi let out a long, exaggerated sigh, closing his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Mantou asked.

“Sleepy,” Xiang Xi replied.

On New Year’s Eve, Da Jian came back with a pile of fireworks and firecrackers, along with a woman. She was flashy and tacky, which irritated Xiang Xi, though he didn’t show it.

The woman was a waitress at a small restaurant, which was a step above their current situation—at least she had a proper job she could explain to others. For people like them, whenever asked about their occupation, they had to make up lies on the spot.

The group spent the afternoon nested indoors making dumplings. The woman also cooked a few dishes, though her cooking was mediocre, reminiscent of leftovers salvaged from a restaurant kitchen.

That evening, as they prepared to set off firecrackers, Xiang Xi put on his coat and stepped outside, wandering aimlessly through the streets. When the sounds of firecrackers grew louder around him, he spotted a dog curled up near a garbage can. It seemed to be experiencing its first Lunar New Year, terrified by the explosive noises.

For a moment, Xiang Xi thought of his own dog. During past New Years, he would set it up in the backyard with a cardboard box as shelter—but this year, there wasn’t even that chance.

He felt the candy in his pocket and took a couple of steps toward the trash can but then stopped. Ultimately, he crouched down opposite the dog and listened to the firecrackers for a while before turning to leave. He didn’t want the dog following him.

Right now, he couldn’t protect anything—not even a dog. That much had already been proven.

*

In the living room of Cheng Boyan’s grandmother’s house, there were two tables: one for adults and a smaller one for children. This year, the family gathering was particularly large, including his family, his second and third uncles, two aunts, and their families, spanning generations.

Cheng Boyan sat beside his grandmother, surrounded by lively conversations and the sharp, high-pitched cries of children. Across the table, his aunts were chatting loudly with his mother. When his grandmother spoke to him, he had to lean in to hear her over the noise.

“Did your dad give you New Year’s money?” his grandmother asked.

Cheng Boyan chuckled, “I’m too old for that! No, he didn’t.”

“I gave your dad New Year’s money all the way until you were born!” she turned to scold his father, who was sitting nearby. “Why are you so stingy?”

“What do you mean stingy?” his father asked, confused.

“Where’s the money?” she demanded, holding out her hand.

“Yours? I gave it to you as soon as I walked in the door!” his father replied.

“For Boyan!” she said, nudging him.

“Grandma,” Cheng Boyan leaned back in his chair, laughing, “Stop harassing my dad. He just came off the operating table yesterday—he’s probably still recovering. Don’t confuse him any further!”

“True,” she clicked her tongue a few times, shaking her head. “At this age, he should take better care of his health.”

“I’m not that old yet,” his father protested, holding up his chopsticks. “Still steady as ever.”

“Can’t see it. I’m too old,” his grandmother replied, swatting his hand away.

“After the New Year, you should get that cataract surgery,” his mother chimed in. “It’s a simple procedure—don’t delay.”

“I won’t do it. What if something goes wrong?” his grandmother said, suddenly standing up and moving over to sit at the children’s table. “I’ll chat with my grandkids instead.”

“Are you on duty tomorrow?” his father asked Cheng Boyan.

“On the second day of the New Year,” Cheng Boyan replied. “But I’m planning to drop by the hospital tomorrow anyway. They might be short-handed.”

“These next few days…your mother and I are going to…” his father started, hesitating slightly. “Are you coming this year?”

“No,” Cheng Boyan said, without looking at his father. He picked up some food with his chopsticks and placed it in his bowl. “I’m not going.”

“Don’t worry about him,” his mother cut in, nudging his father and handing her glass to Cheng Boyan. “Son, pour me some red wine.”

“Me too,” his second aunt said, holding out her glass. “By the way, this wine you brought is excellent, sister-in-law!”

“If you like it, I’ll bring you a couple more bottles,” his mother replied with a smile. “It’s a good wine to have occasionally.”

After pouring the wine for them, Cheng Boyan heard his grandmother calling out that there were more dishes in the kitchen. He set the wine bottle down. “I’ll get them,” he said.

Just as Cheng Boyan was about to stand up, he felt his waistband being tugged. Reflexively, he assumed it was that annoying little troublemaker Cheng Xuanyu. Reaching back, he grabbed what he thought was the culprit, only to find a soft, tiny hand.

"Huh? Xiaoxi?" He turned around and saw his two-year-old niece standing behind him, clutching his belt. He gently tapped her nose and said, "Want Uncle to take you to the kitchen for some sneaky snacks?"

Xiaoxi nodded, and Cheng Boyan crouched down, scooped her up with one arm, and headed to the kitchen.

"Boyan," his cousin called after him, laughing, "How are you still so bad at carrying kids after all these years? Seriously, can you even manage?"

"Your daughter’s wild," he replied with a grin, glancing down at Xiaoxi. "Having fun?"

Xiaoxi did not speak, but giggled uncontrollably, swinging her arms.

In the kitchen, two large bowls of braised pork belly with preserved vegetables were still steaming in the pot. The sight made Cheng Boyan chuckle—his grandmother's favorite dish. On the counter sat two large bowls of taro braised pork, yet somehow she’d still steamed extra portions.

He cut a small piece of the pork for Xiaoxi to hold and eat, then transferred the braised pork belly onto a plate.

“Brother,” Xiaoxi tugged at his pants, her eyes fixed on him. “More.”

“...Call me Uncle. Why do you always call me Brother?” he corrected her, cutting another small piece for her. “Here, eat this. Finish it before we head back, or your mom’s going to scold me.”

Xiaoxi took a bite, then stretched her hand toward him, offering the food. “Brother, eat.”

“Call me Uncle,” Cheng Boyan said again. Ever since Xiaoxi first started talking, she’d mistakenly called him “Brother” once and never corrected herself.

Hearing the soft, childlike “Brother” always gave him a strange pang in his chest.

“Uncle, eat,” Xiaoxi finally said, correcting herself.

Seeing her greasy hand and mouth, Cheng Boyan felt no appetite for the half-eaten piece of meat, but he took it from her anyway. Pretending to take a bite, he quickly turned his head and threw it away.

After cleaning Xiaoxi’s hands and face, he carried the plate of braised pork with one hand and tucked her under his other arm to return to the living room.

Everyone was eating happily. As soon as he set the dish down, it was met with enthusiastic praise. Everyone adored the dishes their grandmother made, complimenting them while digging in eagerly.

“There’s still another bowl!” his grandmother said, grinning proudly.

“I’ll go grab it,” Cheng Boyan said, carrying Xiaoxi back to the kitchen.

“This girl goes nuts whenever she’s with you!” his grandmother said, pointing at Xiaoxi. “Put her down; she’s laughing so hard she can’t breathe!”

Cheng Boyan set Xiaoxi down just as they reached the kitchen. He heard hurried footsteps behind him as someone ran in.

“I’ll take it!” Cheng Xuanyu burst into the kitchen, shouting.

Cheng Boyan glanced at him, seing that he was quite decent today. Before the boy could yell again, he handed over the plate. “Don’t drop it. Hold it steady. No running.”

Cheng Xuanyu, unusually obedient for once, carefully held the plate, cast a quick look at Cheng Boyan, and then ran off yelling, “I’m running, I’m running, I’m running!”

Cheng Boyan didn’t say anything. At least the kid hadn’t dropped it.

The kitchen was still filled with the aroma of the dishes. Standing by the window, he looked out at the misty night. The glow of countless household lights stretched into the distance, radiating warmth yet tinged with solitude.

Last Lunar New Year’s Eve, he hadn’t been home. He was on duty at the hospital and had even sung two songs in the ward. Initially, he planned to sing just one, but a middle-aged man, who couldn’t go home and had no family visiting him, asked for another. So, he obliged.

The memory of that man suddenly brought to mind Zhan Hongtu and his father...

*

For two days straight, Xiang Xi and Mantou had been hanging out in an internet café—a new one that had a New Year’s promotion: recharge 100 yuan, and you’d get another 100 for free.

The café was busier than usual. During holidays, the teenagers who were still in school flocked to the café to compete with dropouts like them for computers.

“I’m hungry,” Xiang Xi said, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Instant noodles?” Mantou glanced at him, knowing Xiang Xi didn’t like them much, so he added, “But you can’t really buy anything else to eat now.”

“The supermarket has beef meatballs,” Xiang Xi said, tossing aside his mouse and standing up. “You want some?”

“Yeah!” Mantou nodded enthusiastically, then added after a pause, “But it’s a bit far—let’s take my scooter.”

“No need. That thing’s slower than me on foot,” Xiang Xi retorted. “I’ll just take a walk while I’m at it.”

As soon as Xiang Xi stepped out of the café, he realized it was snowing again. This year, it felt like it had snowed enough for an entire winter. He was wearing an old puffer jacket with only a thin sweater underneath and felt the chill.

He thought about going back inside to grab one of Mantou’s jackets but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. Instead, he pulled up his collar, crossed his arms, and hopped down the steps to the street to warm up a little.

Across the street, a man was slowly making his way over. Xiang Xi glanced at him briefly, then looked away. He couldn’t help but marvel at the guy’s composure—it was freezing, and the warm internet café entrance was just steps away, yet he wasn’t rushing in. If it were Xiang Xi, he would have dived through the doors by now.

Xiang Xi had only walked a couple of steps toward the distant supermarket when he heard hurried footsteps behind him. The sound wasn’t normal—someone was running, and fast.

Instinctively, Xiang Xi turned to look, his back hunched in a defensive posture. It was a habit born of years spent in scuffles—hunching protected his head and shoulders in case of a sneak attack.

But this time, the move didn’t help. Something slammed into his arm.

Without even seeing his pursuer’s face clearly, Xiang Xi turned his head and ran away.

As he ran, he cursed himself for coming to the café for discounted internet time. He couldn’t understand why anyone would chase him—it wasn’t broad daylight, and the lighting wasn’t great. He’d even been skulking around like a thief when he left, yet somehow someone had still zeroed in on him. It made no sense.

Eventually, he decided it had to be his hairstyle. He’d just gotten it done today, had the sides trimmed shorter, and used some hair gel to style the top.

Too handsome—he was getting beaten up for it.

In all his years of running for his life, he’d rarely encountered anyone as persistent as the person chasing him now. Five minutes in, they were still hot on his heels, not losing any ground.

Running on an empty stomach, Xiang Xi was starting to feel the strain. Besides, Dr. Cheng had warned him not to overdo it—his leg had only just healed from being in a plaster.

He was almost tempted to turn around and ask, What is your deal? Are you in love with me or something? Why won’t you stop?

The person chasing him might have been the donkey-faced man or someone desperate to earn points with him—it didn’t matter. Whoever it was, they were relentless.

Just as Xiang Xi was on the verge of giving up and deciding to turn around and fight, even if it meant breaking his leg again, a parked black car caught his eye.

The car was familiar. The license plate—no doubt about it.

Then he saw Cheng Boyan on the other side, phone in hand, opening the driver’s door to get in. Xiang Xi felt like he’d just been thrown a lifeline.

He sprinted over, yanked open the passenger door, and got in at almost the same time as Cheng Boyan. Turning around, he slammed the door shut behind him.

Cheng Boyan, startled, froze with his hand still on his own door. He stared at Xiang Xi, seemingly forgetting to close it.

“Close the door! Close the door!” Xiang Xi shouted in a rush, glancing back. “Drive, drive, drive!”

“Being chased by debt collectors again?” Cheng Boyan asked as he shut the door and locked it.

"What debt collectors? I just stepped out of an internet café and ran into this!" Xiang Xi urged, "Hurry up and drive!"

"Aren't you supposed to be at the hospital taking care of your dad?" Cheng Boyan glanced at him and then turned to check behind them.

"My dad? What dad? I don't have—" Xiang Xi started but then abruptly stopped. He turned his head to stare at Cheng Boyan.

Cheng Boyan held his gaze for a few seconds before lightly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and calmly saying, "Get out."

 

Translator : DarNan