The Scorching Sun - 6

 Fang Zhuo stepped off the bus and stood at the street corner, staring at the smoothly paved concrete road ahead. For a moment, she felt completely lost.

There were no clear road signs in either direction. The houses and buildings all looked much the same.

She continued walking, following the direction she'd come from. Before long, she saw a group of men sitting under a large tree, chatting.

One of them spotted her from a distance. He shaded his eyes with his fan and called out, "Who you looking for, girl?"

The speaker wore a baggy, dark-red undershirt. He looked to be in his sixties or seventies. Unshaved stubble shadowed his face, his hair a wild tangle, giving him a look that wasn't exactly gentle or welcoming.

Fang Zhuo hesitated, then gave the name. "Ye Yuncheng.”

"Ye what?" The man rattled off in a thick local accent, his rapid speech laced with dialect. "Where's he live? What's his family name? How old? What's he to you?"

Fang Zhuo caught about half of it. She pulled the delivery slip from her bag, about to read the address aloud. But the man blurted out, "Oh, you can read, and you write! I know who you mean now! Ye Yuncheng! What's your relation to him? Never heard he had any family left."

Fang Zhuo was completely thrown by his barrage.

Seeing her struggling to understand, he repeated himself. In the end, he waved his palm-leaf fan in defeat. "Never mind. Follow me. I'll take you to him. He lives just back there."

The man led the way, glancing back every few steps to make sure she was following, flashing her a simple, honest smile.

But Fang Zhuo's steps grew slower and slower. Her head hung low, her mind a complete blank.

They walked in silence until they stopped in front of an old, weathered wooden house.

The man circled around to the side of the building. There was a dark wooden door there, fitted with an old-fashioned lock. It looked like it could be kicked in with a single blow; only held shut by a loose iron latch.

The man pounded on the door. "Wake up, Xiao Ye! You've got family coming to see you!"

A vague response came from inside. The man pushed the door open and walked straight in.

Fang Zhuo stayed where she was, peering inside through the gap.

The interior was dim. Curtains drawn tight, blocking out even the daytime sun. Bare cement stretched across the floor, and the air drifting out carried a faint scent of mildew.

The man went over and yanked the curtains open, then came back and pulled the door wide, letting the two inside and out get a clear look at each other.

"Look! You know her, Xiao Ye?"

It was like a burst of dazzling sunlight pouring into a dark box. Tiny dust motes drifted through the air, catching the light, shimmering with faint flecks of gold. 

Opposite the door, set against the wall, was a bed. The person Fang Zhuo was looking for was lying in it.

He was wearing pale blue pajamas. His hair was thick but a little dry and dull. He didn't look well. But his features were fine and handsome, his skin so pale it looked sickly pale. Frailty clung to his entire body. The moment he saw Fang Zhuo, he froze. Instinctively, he straightened his back, pulling himself upright.

Fang Zhuo's gaze swept over his face, then drifted to an metal box beside his bed before moving on to the rest of the room.

A few books were stacked at the foot of the bed. There was almost nothing of any value in the entire house.

Her eyes wandered a while longer before focusing back on Ye Yuncheng. He was studying her just as intently.

The looks they gave each other were deep, complex, unreadable.

They clearly had no memory of ever meeting before, yet Fang Zhuo felt none of the unfamiliarity she had expected. Perhaps it was because the two of them truly did resemble each other.

A rustling came from the bed. Ye Yuncheng looked like he wanted to get up. He adjusted his clothes, but ultimately stayed under the covers.

His hands rested on top of the blanket. Against the red fabric, they looked even paler, the blue veins starkly visible. He probably didn't go out in the sun much.

"Fang Zhuo?" His voice was clear, with a slight hoarseness from a dry throat. "What brings you here at this time?"

Fang Zhuo faltered a moment, then stepped into the room, pulling the paper from her bag.

"Grandmother passed away," she said quietly. "My father sold the house. The person who handled mail in the village forwarded it to my school. I only got it last week.”

Ye Yuncheng went still. He leaned forward slightly, carefully studying the clothes Fang Zhuo wore, trying to gauge what kind of life she was living. But the standard issued school uniform and new white sneakers revealed little. If anything, he was the one who looked worse off right now.

He coughed once. The corners of his mouth pulled into what might have been a bitter smile. "So... did you have something in mind, coming here? I... I might not have much saved up."

Fang Zhuo's reactions had grown sluggish, her thoughts moved like rusted chain links. A moment later, she said, "No. That's not… I just wanted to transfer my household registration out of my father's family."

In this day and age, as long as a family registry book existed, there was a bureaucratic ties that could never be fully severed. That household registration made her feel a crushing lack of freedom.

Before she came, she hadn't really figured out what she wanted to do.

Maybe visit Ye Yaoling's grave, pay her respects as a kind of closure. Meet this relative she'd never known and thank him for his concern over the years. She'd received the letter, after all. She was a little curious.

It was only on the walk over, following the kind villager, that it occurred to her: maybe she could transfer her registration here.

She didn't hold any special expectations. After Fang Yiming, she learned that most so-called blood ties could be more distant than anything else.

The man who'd been watching from the sidelines suddenly cut in. "You can't transfer it back here. He's got a rural household registration. They don't let you move registrations to the rural areas these days."

Both of them turned to look at him.

Realizing he was in the way, the man grinned and waved a hand. "I'm off. You two take your time talking."

With just the two of them left in the room, an awkward atmosphere began to spread.

Fang Zhuo realized her visit had been presumptuous. The stifling air made it hard to breathe. She was just searching for an excuse to leave when Ye Yuncheng, after fumbling for words, asked, "Your father... doesn't treat you well?"

Fang Zhuo didn't answer. No change crossed her face, as if she hadn't heard.

But Ye Yuncheng could guess. Though they'd exchanged only a few brief words, though they'd only just met, he felt he could read a great deal from this cold, quiet child standing in front of him.

"Wait here a moment," Ye Yuncheng said. "I'll just go tidy up. Sit wherever you like."

He pushed the covers aside, found the cane propped at the head of the bed, and forced himself to his feet.

Below his left knee, there was nothing but empty space.

Fang Zhuo's eyelid trembled. Before he could look her way, she'd already shifted her gaze, letting it wander aimlessly near the window.

Ye Yuncheng walked toward the inner bathroom, then paused to glance back. "Just sit anywhere. I'll be out soon."

He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. The mirror showed him a sorry sight of a face.

That haggard reflection made him realize just how long he'd been living in a fog.

He didn't know what expression he'd been wearing out there, whether his slovenly state might make Fang Zhuo dislike him. Twisting the faucet, he splashed two handfuls of cold water onto his face.

The cold liquid soaked his cheeks. Some of it rushed into his eyes, stinging faintly.

He bent over a little awkwardly, stretching his arm to rummage through the cabinet below and found an old, worn-out razor.

Maybe it was the numbness from lying in bed so long, or maybe his emotions had been so chaotic for his hands to stay steady. Halfway through shaving, the razor slipped. By the time he jerked back, a bloody cut had already opened across his chin.

Ye Yuncheng panicked. He quickly rinsed it with water. But the blood from the wound just wouldn't stop.

He could only let go of his cane and brace himself against the sink. With one hand pressed to the wound, he stubbornly continued shaving with the other.

When he'd finally cleaned up the stubble on his lower face, he quickly washed his hands and the wound. Then he pushed the door open, walking as quietly as he could into the inner room.

This was also a bedroom, but it had been unoccupied for so long it now mainly served as storage. Even so, traces of life still lingered.

Posters on the walls. Folded bedding stored neatly beside the bed. Two pairs of faded shoes rested on the floor. As if the person who lived here might return at any moment.

Relying on memory, Ye Yuncheng searched through the wooden cabinet drawers for a band-aid.

His movements knocked over a framed photo on the counter. Ye Yuncheng hurried set it upright. 

He hadn't rummaged long before the photo toppled again.

He picked it up this time, brushing the dust from the glass with his finger. But the figure in the picture stayed blurry no matter how he looked at it. Like it was shrouded in mist.

His eyes were going hazy.

All his composure drained away in that single moment. He pressed a hand over his face, let the tears choke out, carefully muffling his sobs, letting this wave of churning emotion finally find some release.

Fang Zhuo had come back.

After all these years, a second person had appeared in this house.

Did she need him?

Ye Yuncheng felt himself suspended in that hazy space between light and dark. His withered soul felt like it might start blooming again.

He needed, so desperately, for someone to need him.

A man like him.

He steadied himself, eventually managed to unearth a box of band-aids. God knew how old they were. He stuck one over the gash on his chin, covering the wound.

He hastily straightened his clothes and, bracing himself on the cane, headed back out.

"Fang Zhuo! Fang Zhuo!"

He called out twice, excited. When he reached the outer room, he found it empty. The wooden door had been pulled shut.

Ye Yuncheng hurried over and yanked it open, gazing out toward where the small path ended.

Fang Zhuo's figure was already gone.

Desolate, he turned back around. Only then did he see the stack of money and a note left on the table. The note said she had to head back to school. It didn't say whether she'd come back.

***

Fang Zhuo had no idea how often the minivans passed by. She waited by the roadside for over an hour before she managed to flag one down.

By then, the sky had been dyed pitch black.

Her route back was the same as the way there. Arrive under the bridge, walk a stretch, board the county-town bus back to school.

The transfers had took so long, the bus she caught was the last one of the night. Few passengers were on board.

She hugged her backpack to her chest and took a seat in the farthest corner.

At first, she watched the bright lights flashing past the window. But soon exhaustion crept in. Her eyelids drooped. When she came to her senses again, the bus was parked in an unfamiliar place.

The sound of the engine cutting off jolted her awake. Fang Zhuo shot to her feet and walked to the front.

The driver, who'd just pulled out his key, started in surprise when he saw her. "There's still someone on board?"

Fang Zhuo opened her mouth, her face still blank with the haze of someone newly awake. “Where is this?”

"The last stop!" The driver noticed her uniform. "You're headed to A-High, right? You went way past your stop. If you'd said something when you got on, I could've reminded you. I thought you got off a while back."

Fang Zhuo made a wooden sound of acknowledgment. She slung her bag onto her back and stepped down through the rear door.

The driver, a little worried, followed. "You alright, kid? You should call your parents to come pick you up. There are no more buses now."

Fang Zhuo shook her head, gave a non-answer of "Thank you," and used the dim streetlamps to find her way to the main road.

Fang Zhuo hated getting lost, because she knew that if she ever went missing, no one would come looking for her. Yet her sense of direction was poor. In the woods, or in an unfamiliar place, it always took her a long time to find her way.

It was the middle of the night now. There weren't many pedestrians around for her to ask.

She trudged along, hoping to find somewhere to take shelter for a while like last time.

But tonight, luck was especially unkind. She walked a long, long way and didn't find a single hospital or 24/7 fast-food restaurant.

She sat down by the side of the street, planning to rest for a while. Emptying her mind, she stayed there in a daze until a warm orange beam of light swept over from nearby. It circled her once, then pulled back, illuminating the face of the person holding it.

"Fang Zhuo?"

Yan Lie clicked off the flashlight and walked out of the murky darkness into the glow of a streetlamp.

The two of them, one standing, one sitting, one high, one low, stared at each other, a two-meter distance between them.

After a long silence, Fang Zhuo said, rather dryly, "What a coincidence.” 

---

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