The Scorching Sun - 12

 Maybe it was sheer exhaustion. After her shower, Fang Zhuo was overcome by an immense drowsiness. She forgot whatever plan she'd had and fell asleep the moment she lay down.

The soft bedding still carried the scent of sunlight. Wrapped in that comfort, Fang Zhuo sank into a long, radiant dream.

She dreamed she had become a windless, waveless sea.

One day, a great ship sailed onto that vast, calm expanse, sounding its horn, flying its banners, announcing its presence with all the fanfare it could muster.

Sailor Yan Lie stood at the prow, waving his arms at her. Captain Ye Yuncheng manned the helm, drifting across the boundless ocean.

The sky was a spotless, brilliant blue.

Ye Yuncheng took off his sun hat and leaned against the railing. He cast a fishing net and hauled it up with Yan Lie's help.

"We've caught something good!" Yan Lie shouted gleefully. "I've fished the sun right out of the water!"

The net broke the surface, but its contents dissolved into golden light, scattering as the waves rolled through it. Across the shimmering water, the light bloomed into one brilliant flower after another.

Yan Lie threw his arms wide and yelled, "It's osmanthus-scented! Fang Zhuo, get over here!"

That shout jolted her awake. She lay there, a cold sweat breaking out over her bizarre, utterly absurd dream.

What the hell was that?

Outside, the sky was already bright. Fang Zhuo sat in bed, collecting herself. She waited until the sunlight shifted its angle and fell through the window onto her headboard. Then she pushed the covers aside and got up.

No sound came from the next room. She didn't know if he was awake yet. Moving quietly, she padded through the house, looking for traces of her mother's past.

Clothes in the wardrobe. Miscellaneous items in the wooden chest. Just as Ye Yuncheng had said, most of the space still bore marks of the person who had lived here.

She stopped in front of the window.

The desk by the window was scarred with knife marks. The carved grooves formed two simple stick figures holding hands, their names written crookedly above their heads. The character "曜 (Yao)" in "叶曜灵(Ye Yaoling)" had been too hard to write, so they'd used pinyin instead.

Fang Zhuo ran her fingers over the surface. The clumsy, childish marks felt startlingly alive. She bent down and opened the drawer underneath.

Inside were used pencil stubs and yellowed homework booklets, thrown together haphazardly, a layer of dust settled on top.

Fang Zhuo straightened the pile. At the very bottom, she found a notebook with a scribbled-over cover. Curious, she opened it. The first pages were filled with painstakingly careful handwriting, though still slightly crooked.

‘I hate yellow pencil cases. I want a double-layer box. I've said it so many times!’

‘Want watercolor pens. No money to buy them.’

‘Mom took my money again to buy groceries. Hate it!’

‘Little brother got into a fight and got beat up. He's so dumb.’

‘I made over two thousand buttons. Why didn't I get paid! Never trusting Mom again!’

‘Bought ice pops, Seven Dwarves kind. Gave Yunyun three. He ate like a total mess.’

Fang Zhuo laughed. She turned and half-leaned against the desk, flipping through more pages.

You could almost picture her: a girl chewing on her pencil, bent over a brightly lit desk, secretly recording all her innocent troubles.

But later, the tones changed.

The light in Fang Zhuo's eyes dimmed.

The pages were covered in chaotic, meaningless scribbles, the only outlet for a fury the writer had nowhere else to vent.

Several pages had been torn out of the middle. Fang Zhuo held the notebook up to the light and managed to make out a few words from the indentations on the next page. All of it was dark, negative. Written with such force that even after decades, the impressions remained clear. Words like "I deserve it," "why," "I might as well die."

This period lasted for a while. Then Ye Yaoling seemed to grow steadier. The notebook became a ledger.

Small sums. Ten cents, twenty cents. Later the amounts grew, but only to a few yuan.

She was saving money.

‘I'm leaving. And I'm never coming back.’ 

That final line was cold. The bottom corner of the page was warped, like it had gotten wet.

Fang Zhuo hesitated, then turned a few more pages.

On the yellowed paper, in black ink, a mature hand had written clearly:

‘I wish I'd never had this child.’

A heavy hammer slammed into Fang Zhuo's skull. Her heart lurched violently. She couldn't let her eyes drift a single word further. She snapped her gaze up and fixed it on the wildflowers blooming thickly outside the window. As her blood pounded in her ears, her world went blank. Then, slowly, it began to rain.

She had returned to this place she'd sworn never to come back to, and this was all she'd left behind.

So what, then?

A short life. Bitter at the first half, full of regret at the end?

Fang Zhuo didn't read any further. She shut the notebook hard and put it back where she'd found it.

She didn't know if there were more entries about herself. Even if there were, they probably wouldn't be kind.

By her name, she was supposed to be someone who burned bright.

But her world saw a lot of rainy seasons. Everywhere seemed cold.

If you asked why, maybe it had been decided a long time ago.

Her mother was Ye Yaoling. Yaoling meant sunlight. When the sun falls too early, how can the leaves ever grow?

Fang Zhuo sat at the desk for a long while, hands clasped, staring blankly into space. She felt like she should do something. She pulled a jacket from her backpack, put it on, shoved her hands in her pockets, and walked out of the room.

The box of chicks from yesterday was still in the corner, quiet for now.

Fang Zhuo poured them some water, then added a bit of last night's leftovers. She tore a few wilted outer leaves off a cabbage, shredded them, and tossed those in too.

Once the chickens grew up, they'd eat a lot. She could collect vegetable scraps from the fields then, mix them with porridge or leftovers, and add some bran or rice husks.

But you couldn't add too much bran or husks. It would affect their egg-laying.

After settling them, Fang Zhuo turned her attention to the chicken coop.

The coop hadn't been cleaned up yet. With Ye Yuncheng's limited mobility, it couldn't have been easy. Stones were scattered everywhere in messy piles, weeds growing up through the gaps.

Fang Zhuo rolled up her sleeves and pant legs. First, she cleared out the trash, then moved the uneven stones against the wall, doing her best to clear a flat space. Then she pulled the weeds.

The yard was only about twenty square meters. It didn't look like much, but after years of neglect, cleaning it up was no small task.

She worked bent over, when she finally came back to herself, the sun was already fierce. Sweat soaked her back. Her stomach and lower back ached. Her bare hands were caked in dirt and stinging painfully.

"Fang Zhuo."

Ye Yuncheng stood at the entrance to the yard, with a man behind him. Both of them stared at her in surprise.

"I thought you were still asleep. How are you up so early?"

Fang Zhuo dropped the weeds in her hand and rubbed her palms together.

"This is Uncle Liu. He does poverty alleviation work," Ye Yuncheng introduced. "It's the Mid-Autumn Festival today. He brought mooncakes and gifts. Come have breakfast."

Despite being called "Uncle Liu," the man had a baby face. He looked quite young. Hard to tell his real age.

Fang Zhuo nodded at him. He smiled back, the man seemed like a good-natured, easygoing person.

Ye Yuncheng had made congee. He set it on the table and cut up the gifted mooncakes.

Seeing it was a five-nut mooncake, Fang Zhuo lost interest. She shook her head and quickly shoveled down a few mouthfuls of congee with yesterday's side dishes.

Uncle Liu and Ye Yuncheng seemed to know each other well. The two sat and chatted. He mentioned a girl in the village who'd been dragged back to school and had just gotten into a vocational college. He was now helping her apply for poverty assistance. As he spoke, his eyes flicked toward Fang Zhuo.

The look was too pointed to miss. Fang Zhuo set her bowl down and met his gaze in silence.

Ye Yuncheng smiled proudly. "Our Zhuozhuo goes to A-High."

Uncle Liu's face immediately brightened. "A-High is excellent! Getting into a good university won't be a problem. Do you have a school in mind?"

Fang Zhuo shook her head.

While they talked, Ye Yuncheng grabbed a pair of clean chopsticks and kept piling meat and vegetables into Fang Zhuo's bowl.

Uncle Liu suggested. "If you're interested, you could consider A University. My alma mater. Good professors, good environment."

Fang Zhuo, in the middle of fending off Ye Yuncheng's food offensive, paused. She glanced at him again.

Ye Yuncheng said cheerfully, "Your Uncle Liu got excellent grades. On the township civil service exam, he outscored second place by dozens of points. He's a local. Wanted to stay in the village and help build things up for a few more years. You can ask him anything if you have questions."

Uncle Liu scratched his head, a little embarrassed. "I graduated years ago now. I might not have the most accurate information. Let me put together some materials for you."

Fang Zhuo ate fast, partly because she was the only one at the table actually focused on eating. Ye Yuncheng's bowl was still full, but Fang Zhuo was already standing up with hers.

Ye Yuncheng hurried to say, "There's more in the pot."

Fang Zhuo put her bowl and chopsticks in the sink. "I'm full."

Seeing her head for the door again, Ye Yuncheng said, "Leave it. I'll come help you later."

"I'm almost done," Fang Zhuo said. "I'm going to do some laundry too."

Fang Zhuo went back to the yard, then remembered she should ask Ye Yuncheng if he had any thick gloves and went back. At the door, she heard voices inside, deliberately hushed.

She leaned against the wall and listened to the unfinished conversation.

"Ye-ge, you might not like what I'm about to say. I know you have your own ideas, but you... you..." Uncle Liu's voice was low, cautious. "In your condition, can you really take proper care of a high school senior? Earlier, I asked you to..."

"Please, Qiaohong."

Ye Yuncheng interrupted him. His voice was quiet, but a slight hoarseness betrayed the turmoil underneath.

His head was bowed. He pressed a hand over his eyes, over that look of sorrow and despair.

"I don't want to see her look like she has no home to go back to again."

Standing there so desolate, her eyes so hollow, as if nothing existed inside them. As if one more question would make her cry.

He understood that feeling. Too many emotions pressing down your chest until your heart becomes a churning whirlpool. The rushing current sharpening into a blade. The slightest movement of the heart, and the cold would cut you.

"She must have come to save me," Ye Yuncheng said.

She needed family too desperately. So did he. That was how it was for him. For so many years, he had nearly drowned in that boundless loneliness.

Silence fell inside and out.

Fang Zhuo thought to herself: They were a boat on a lonely sea, and both of them were drowning.

She won't be afraid anymore.

Not long after, Ye Yuncheng saw Liu Qiaohong out.

Leaning on his cane, he walked him down the stone steps at the door. "Come for dinner tonight? I'll have Zhuozhuo go buy a chicken. It's the Mid-Autumn Festival.”

Liu Qiaohong sighed. "So busy. There's another inspection team coming in a couple of days."

Ye Yuncheng could only smile and didn't press further. Once the figure disappeared from view, he turned and went to the yard to help.

Ye Yuncheng had found some wooden planks from somewhere. He hammered and nailed them into a chicken coop, draped a black cloth over the top, and braced the sides with stones. It fit the small yard perfectly.

By the time they finished tidying the yard, it was already evening.

Ye Yuncheng wanted to point out that no one kept a chicken coop this clean. After all, the chickens would eat, drink, and relieve themselves all over it. It would be dirty again before long.

But looking at the finished work, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction. His heart felt full. It seemed, at last, that this old house was coming back to life.

Fang Zhuo fixed her bright gaze on the empty space in the middle of the yard. "We can bring in some soil later. Plant vegetables in the middle."

Ye Yuncheng laughed in spite of himself. "Alright. Vegetables it is."

He couldn't help asking, "Do you like playing farming games?"

"Farming?" Fang Zhuo said, surprised. "There are games for that?"

She remembered a phrase she'd heard somewhere and asked, "Clubbing?"

Ye Yuncheng: "?"

"Never mind." Ye Yuncheng pulled her over to the sink and told her to wash her hands. "Did this waste your whole day? Look at you, you've been working all day."

Fang Zhuo ran her hands under the water. "It's fine."

Ye Yuncheng said regretfully, "Now you don't have any time to do your homework."

Fang Zhuo: "..."

Ye Yuncheng took a few photos of the little yard and said with emotion, "This is so nice. Zhuozhuo is spending the Mid-Autumn Festival with her uncle this year."

Fang Zhuo listened quietly. She tilted her head up at the clear, bright moon, and a thought suddenly struck her.

As Ye Yuncheng was about to go inside and start cooking, Fang Zhuo asked, "Can I borrow your phone?"

"Of course." He handed it to her. "Go inside to use it. The mosquitoes are out."

Fang Zhuo made a sound of acknowledgement and pulled up Yan Lie's name. She typed out "Happy Mid-Autumn Festival." Before sending it, she decided it was too dull and deleted it.

She held the phone, paced a couple of circles, and thought about sending a photo, but she couldn't figure out the MMS function. Besides, she'd heard MMS was expensive.

So she sent Yan Lie Schrödinger's picture.

Fang Zhuo: Does this moon look familiar?

Yan Lie was watching TV. He waited a moment. No picture came through. Puzzled, he typed back.

Yan Lie: Don't tell me it's the one right over my head? 

Fang Zhuo: No idea.

Yan Lie: That would be way too much of a coincidence!

Fang Zhuo didn't reply.

Yan Lie refused to accept this. What was with this person?!

Yan Lie: When are you coming back to school?

Yan Lie: Why did you suddenly invite me to look at the moon? The moon is really beautiful tonight.

Yan Lie: Two days without your deskmate. Kind of hard to get used to, isn't it?

Back in the bright room now, Fang Zhuo's eyes caught the last message. For some unfathomable reason, she typed out: No. I saw you in my dream yesterday.

Yan Lie nearly launched himself off the sofa. He read the sentence over and over, unsure if he was allowed to read into it. One thing was certain: he felt a certain giddy, floaty delight.

Yan Lie: Thank you for having the spare mental energy to dream about me. Do I have the right to know what I was doing in this dream?

Yan Lie: If it's bad, I can reflect on myself.

Fang Zhuo: Chicken magnate.

Yan Lie: So I'm rolling in cash?

The conversation died again.

She was like a robot whose power had suddenly been cut, disappearing without logic or reason. Yan Lie waited ten minutes, then had no choice but to accept reality. He pulled up his calendar, checked the date for returning to school, let out a long sigh, and flopped backward onto the sofa.

A day and a half left.

---

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