Gu Zhuoyan brought the large dog and the little girl back in and slowly shuffled off to sleep.
In the dark and quiet, it was easy for a child to miss home. Gu Baoyan yawned and asked, in rather low spirits, "Gege, when are we going home?"
Gu Zhuoyan replied, "Whenever you want, just call Mum and she'll send someone to pick you up."
"I said we," Gu Baoyan emphasised. "What about you?"
"I'm not going home," answered Gu Zhuoyan.
Brother and sister climbed up the stairs. Ms Hu was waiting to give Gu Baoyan a bath, so Gu Zhuoyan handed her over. He bid them good night and returned to his bedroom. Too lazy to unpack the trunk he had chucked on the floor, he reached in and pulled out a pair of shorts.
After a shower, he lay in bed, switched the lights off and tucked himself in. Gu Zhuoyan closed his eyes.
On his first night in Rongcheng, after two hours, he determined that he had insomnia.
Gu Zhuoyan rose. His sheets were wrinkled from his tossing and turning, and one of the pillows had fallen off the bed. He opened the French windows and walked out to the balcony. As before, the night breeze was very warm, and some ill-mannered bird had left its droppings on the rattan chair.
Gu Zhuoyan returned to his room, feeling irritable. Everything rubbed him the wrong way, from the colour of his bedsheets and duvet, to the patterns on the curtains, to all the room's furnishings—none of it pleased him.
Helpless, he lay back down on the bed and took out his phone to look for a film to watch. It was an old habit of his; watching films made him sleepy, normally putting him to sleep within a quarter of an hour. Because of his poor mood today, it took half an hour for him to fall asleep.
The next day, Xue Maochen was downstairs when he heard loud banging above. Thinking the two siblings were fighting, he gave them a moment to determine the winner before going up for a look.
When he reached his grandson's room, his vision was filled with complete disorder. Xue Maochen asked, shocked, "Are you taking my house apart?"
Gu Zhuoyan stood amidst the mess in the room. He pointed at the curtains, the decor, and the furniture, saying, "Grandpa, I don't like these things. Let's replace them all."
Xue Maochen breathed a sigh of relief. All that would take was a bit of spending. He gave the room a rough once-over. What a kid! He didn't care for any of the souvenirs that his grandfather had collected from Africa, the Americas, and Oceania. Age truly could not understand the tastes of youth. Oh well, leave it to the child, he thought.
Xue Maochen called his driver over, deciding to spend his day fishing—out of sight, out of mind. All packed, he prepared to leave, but stopped for a moment outside Zhuang Fanxin's gate.
Zhuang Fanxin was pushing his bicycle out the gate, a school bag slung over his shoulder. "Were you looking for me, Grandpa Xue?"
"Xiao Zhuang, I have a favour to ask," said Xue Maochen. Fully understanding his grandson's temper, he continued, "Zhuoyan's a bit frustrated with his room. Take a look if you have the time, help him decorate. He's in a funk. You're about the same age, maybe he'll feel better after chatting with you for a while."
Zhuang Fanxin wondered why Gu Zhaoyan was in a funk. He did feel that the boy's personality was overly cold when they interacted yesterday, but it didn't seem polite to ask too many questions when they weren't familiar with each other.
"Alright," he promised, "I'll go see him after class."
Zhuang Fanxin was an art student. His mother Zhao Jianqiu was a nationally renowned interior designer, while his father Zhuang Xianyang was a lecturer in an art college; his whole family carried the art gene. He and Zhuang Xianyang had designed their house together.
After making his promise, Zhuang Fanxin went to class. At noon, two remedial maths lessons later, he came back.
He rode his bike and turned down the small street, his takeaway beef noodles dangling from the handlebar. Instead of heading home, he cycled straight down to the end of the street. He rang his bell when he reached the front gate. The sound attracted the attention of the German Shepherd, tapping into its guard-dog instincts.
Gu Baoyan followed the dog out. Seeing Zhuang Fanxin at the door, she opened the gate. Zhuang Fanxin parked and asked, "Have you eaten, xiao mei?"
"I have, but my brother hasn't," said Gu Baoyan. "He says Ms. Hu's cooking doesn't suit his taste."
Did it not suit him, or was it because he was in a bad mood? Zhuang Fanxin found no one on the ground floor, so he climbed up the stairs to the next. The bedroom door was wide open, but there was no clear floor space for him to step on. It looked like it'd been burgled.
He knocked. "Can I come in?"
Gu Zhuoyan looked up at his voice. "Whatever you like," he said dully.
Zhuang Fanxin stepped in, examining the walls and floors as he said, with feigned ignorance, "Nobody's at home, and I didn't want to eat alone, so I came over for a bit. Are you… decorating?"
"Mm," replied Gu Zhuoyan. He pulled a painting of a totem down from the wall, and then stood still. Zhuang Fanxin flushed with embarrassment. Maybe it's better not to talk. He crossed his legs and sat on the carpet, deciding to fill his belly with beef noodles before anything else.
The fragrance of four meatballs and fresh noodles brought the German Shepherd over in five seconds.
Zhuang Fanxin slurped his noodles seriously. As he bit into a meatball, Gu Baoyan appeared, having followed her nose as well. He fed her a meatball, and gave one to the German Shepherd as well, leaving him with the last meatball.
At that instant, Gu Zhuoyan's stomach let out a distinct growl.
Zhuang Fanxin looked at the bed. Gu Zhuoyan sat playing with his phone, his head lowered and his brows slightly wrinkled. He raised his chopsticks. "You can have this one."
"I'm not eating," said Gu Zhuoyan.
Zhuang Fanxin was not one to insist. He turned back and ate it himself. Wiping his mouth, he drew a sketchpad from his bag and began to sketch.
The air in the room was silent. Occasionally, Gu Zhuoyan glanced at Zhuang Fanxin, slightly curious as to what he was sketching, but he could see nothing but the curls falling over Zhuang Fanxin's forehead.
Skritch. Zhuang Fanxin finished the first sheet, and began to sketch on a second one.
At last, Gu Zhuoyan gave in. "What are you drawing?" he asked.
"Wait," said Zhuang Fanxin. He did not speak after this. When he finished sketching, he rose and sat next to Gu Zhuoyan. "Well, my client, have a look. Are you satisfied?"
Gu Zhuoyan took the sketches. The two sheets depicted plans for the bedroom and the balcony, with clean and smooth lines and a design much simpler than the one before. The spatial arrangement looked exceptionally pleasing.
"This space will be empty," Zhuang Fanxin said, pointing. "You can put some of your own things there. If it seems too empty, you can add a dog bed too."
Gu Zhuoyan looked at the drawings, then turned to look at Zhuang Fanxin. From his ironed curls and tattoo and the way he ate pizza, his inability to remember five digits, and his mixing up two out of three characters in a name, he had supposed that Zhuang Fanxin was no more than a pretty face.
…he was wrong.
Zhuang Fanxin observed Gu Zhuoyan's reaction. He could tell that Gu Zhuoyan liked his design, but knew that someone so icy probably wouldn't be able to accept it just like that.
So he did the opposite, reaching out to pinch the corner of the paper as he said, "I don't help for free."
Gu Zhuoyan looked up. "How much?"
Zhuang Fanxin was taken aback. "What a great client you are…" Naturally, he didn't want money, but he couldn't think of anything else. Finally, he pulled two worksheets out of his bag. "Help me do these."
Gu Zhuoyan didn't like to owe anyone a debt of gratitude, so this was a good thing for him, especially since it helped him to kill time. But Zhuang Fanxin was no slacker when it came to schoolwork; letting someone else do it for him for the first time made him somewhat uneasy. "How many marks can you get?" he asked.
"As many as you want," said Gu Zhuoyan.
Zhuang Fanxin widened his eyes at these boastful words, but he couldn't tell whether Gu Zhuoyan was being serious. At any rate, a boy in his youth would always be a bit sceptical. "I want full marks," he said deliberately.
"Understood," said Gu Zhuoyan.
Zhuang Fanxin opened his mouth, wanting to explain further, but one look at the time told him not to linger. It was almost two-thirty. He swiftly packed his bag, realising he would be late to the studio.
"I'll be going, then." He hurried out anxiously, but then turned back and added, "Jokes aside, just leave the problems blank when you can't solve them."
"I'll make it up if I have to," said Gu Zhuoyan.
No way! "Don't write nonsense!" yelled Zhuang Fanxin.
"Go," Gu Zhuoyan replied impatiently.
Thump thump thump, went footsteps down the stairs, like a rabbit hopping down. When the sounds had completely faded away, Gu Zhuoyan found his mood inexplicably improved.
He brought the worksheets downstairs with him and asked Ms Hu for food, then sat at the dining table eating as he worked through the exercises.
By the time Zhuang Fanxin left the studio, the sky had darkened. In the stuffy warm night, his bicycle appeared at the junction. Under the evening light, his shadow grew tall, along with those of the street lamps, the banyan trees and the telephone poles.
In the distance he saw the majestic pose of a German Shepherd.
Behind this grand pose stood Gu Zhuoyan, hands in his pockets, looking rather cool.
Zhuang Fanxin stopped at his front gate. "It's a bit late to be dog-walking."
Gu Zhuoyan sniffed. He had been pacing about this quarter-acre for half an hour. He handed the maths worksheets over. "I've finished them. Here."
Zhuang Fanxin put the papers away. "Thanks. That was fast," he said, smiling. He parked his bicycle and took the German Shepherd for a stroll. As the dog panted with his tongue out, he stifled back a yawn.
Blinking, Zhuang Fanxin tried his best to stay alert. After a full day, he was undeniably tired, almost drunk. Under the streetlamps and the moonlight, he gazed at Gu Zhuoyan, disoriented. It felt as if he had gone back in time to Spring Festival three years ago.
It was this gate that he had rushed out of, that Gu Zhuoyan had passed like the wind. Here was where they banged into each other, then stared at each other, each thinking the other too hasty.
"How long will you be here? Will it be worth redecorating the whole room?" asked Zhuang Fanxin.
"A year," said Gu Zhuoyan.
"What about school?" Zhuang Fanxin asked, surprised.
"I'll transfer," replied Gu Zhuoyan.
Zhuang Fanxin did not expect this. A year without parents and classmates and friends sounded quite depressing. But if all had been well, he wouldn't have left home at all– there had to be some reason.
He didn't want to intrude, simply giving Gu Zhuoyan a sympathetic look and saying considerately, "Since you don't know this place well, you can ask me if you need anything."
But after he spoke he realised that they hadn't exchanged contact details. Was he to come running by whenever he needed to? Zhuang Fanxin pulled out his phone and handed it over. "Save your number," he said.
Gu Zhuoyan saved it, then waved goodbye, taking the German Shepherd home with a slightly cool air.
The road was pitch black. After a few metres, his phone screen lit up. A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen, reading two words: good night.
In the darkness, he felt a bit of warmth.
Suddenly, Zhuang Fanxin shouted out, bursting that bubble of warmth: "Oi, rude! Reply!"
Gu Zhuoyan started, then his fingers moved. But his response read: "Thank you".
—
1. Xianyang is pronounced roughly like the English words "she-en-young".