Chapter 12

Perhaps she really was exhausted—after taking a shower, Fang Zhuo felt an overwhelming drowsiness. She forgot her original plans and fell asleep the moment she lay down on the bed.

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

She dreamt that she had turned into a vast sea without any waves or storms.  

On this day, a large ship suddenly sailed in on the calm and boundless sea, blowing a horn, flying banners, trying its best to announce its presence.  

The sailor, Yan Lei, stood at the bow, waving his arms at her. The captain was Ye Yuncheng, hands on the wheel, drifting on the vast ocean.

The sky was an immaculate blue, clear without the slightest blemish.

Ye Yuncheng took off his sunhat, leaned against the railing, and cast a fishing net, working together with Yan Lei to pull it up.

“We caught something great!” Yan Lei shouted happily. “I caught the sun!”

The net rose from the water, but the thing inside turned into golden light and scattered, rippling swiftly with the waves, blooming into gorgeous flowers across the shimmering water surface.

Yan Lei spread his arms and shouted, “It smells like osmanthus! Fang Zhuo, come quick!”

It was this shout that snapped Fang Zhuo awake. She broke out in a cold sweat from such a strange and fantastical dream.  

…What the hell was all that?

By then, the sky outside had already brightened. Fang Zhuo sat on the bed to collect herself. 

When the sunlight shifted and shone through the window onto her bedhead, she finally lifted the quilt and got up.

There was still no movement from the room next door; she wasn’t sure if anyone was awake yet. Fang Zhuo tiptoed around the room, wanting to uncover something about her mother’s past.

There were clothes in the wardrobe, odds and ends in the wooden cabinet—just as Ye Yuncheng had said, most of the space still bore traces of the person who had lived there.

She paused in front of the window.

On the desk by the window were knife marks—carved into the surface was a pair of stick figures holding hands. Above their heads were their names, scribbled in a crooked manner.  

Because the character “曜(yao)” in “Ye Yaoling” was too difficult, it was written in pinyin instead.

Fang Zhuo ran her fingers over the desk, the childish strokes feeling strangely vivid. She bent down slightly and pulled open the drawer beneath.

Inside were used pencil stubs, and beneath those, yellowed exercise books tossed in disarray, their surfaces layered in dust.  

Fang Zhuo tidied them a little, and at the very bottom, she found a notebook with a 

scribbled-over cover. Curiously, she flipped it open, and saw lines of neat yet slightly uneven handwriting:

“I hate the yellow pencil case. I want a double-layered box. I’ve said it so, so many times!”  

“I want watercolor pens. No money to buy them.”  

“Mom took my money again to buy groceries. I hate it!”  

“My little brother got beat up in a fight. So dumb.”  

“I made over two thousand buttons, so why didn’t I get paid?! I’ll never trust Mom again!”  

“Bought popsicles, Seven Dwarfs. Gave Yun Yun three. He eats so messily.”

Fang Zhuo laughed out loud, turned around, and leaned against the desk as she kept reading.

You could almost picture it—a girl biting the end of her pen, sitting at a brightly lit desk, quietly jotting down all her innocent little complaints.

But later, things changed.  

Fang Zhuo’s expression dimmed.

The pages were filled with chaotic, meaningless lines, as if trying to record the owner’s uncontainable irritability.  

Several pages in the middle were torn out. Fang Zhuo held the notebook up to the light and could barely make out some words from the indentations on the next page, all dark and negative. The writing was forceful—so strong that even after decades, the marks still remained clear.  

They were probably things like “I deserve this,” “Why,” and “Might as well die.”

That state went on for a while. Then, Ye Yaoling began to calm down—the notebook became a ledger.  

All sorts of small entries: one dime, two dimes—gradually more, but still just a few yuan.  

She was saving money.

“I’m leaving. I’m never coming back.”

The final line was cold and stiff, with water stains at the bottom of the page.

Fang Zhuo hesitated, flipping a few more pages.

On the yellowed paper, in matured handwriting written with a black pen, it read clearly:

“I’d rather never have given birth to this child.”

Fang Zhuo felt as if her mind had been struck with a heavy hammer. Her heart suddenly raced, and she didn’t dare let her gaze drift another inch lower. She yanked it upward, staring blankly out the window at the wildflowers in full bloom. As her blood began to rush rapidly, her world turned blank—and then the tears quietly began to fall.

She had returned to this place that claimed it would never be returned to, only to find this one sentence left behind.  

So what now?  

Her short life—was the first half full of hardship, and the second full of regret?

Fang Zhuo didn’t read any further. She closed the notebook with force and put it back in its place.

She didn’t know if there were more notes about her after that. But even if there were, they probably weren’t kind.

Judging from her name, she should have been a very passionate person.  

But her world often entered a rainy season, as if everywhere was cold. 

As for why—that might have been decided long ago.

Her mother’s name was Ye Yaoling. “Yaoling” means “sun.”  

But the sun had fallen too early—how could the plants ever grow leaves?

Fang Zhuo sat at the desk for a long time, fingers intertwined, staring blankly.  

She felt like she had to do something. So she took a jacket out of her bag, put it on, shoved her hands in the pockets, and walked out of the room.

The chicks from yesterday were still in a cardboard box in the corner, now quiet.  

Fang Zhuo poured some water for them, added some leftover rice from last night, tore off a wilted outer cabbage leaf and shredded it in.

Once chickens grow up, they eat a lot.  

By then, she could collect leaves from the fields, mix them with porridge or leftovers, add a bit of wheat bran and rice husks to feed them.

But wheat bran and rice husks shouldn’t be added in large amounts—they could affect egg production.

After arranging things for them, Fang Zhuo turned and went to the chicken coop.

The chicken coop hadn’t been cleaned yet. With Ye Yuncheng’s physical condition, it really wasn’t convenient for him. Many stones were piled up messily inside, and weeds were everywhere.

Fang Zhuo rolled up her sleeves and pant legs, first roughly cleared out the trash inside, placed the uneven stones along the wall to free up as much space as possible. Then she pulled out the weeds.

A small courtyard was about twenty square meters. It didn’t look big, but because it had been abandoned for a long time, cleaning it up wasn’t easy.

Fang Zhuo bent over, and by the time she came back to her senses, the sun was already scorching. She was drenched in sweat, her lower back and abdomen sore, and her unprotected hands were covered in mud, burning with pain.

“Fang Zhuo.”  

Ye Yuncheng stood at the entrance of the courtyard, with a man behind him. The two of them were looking at her in surprise.  

“I thought you were still sleeping, how come you’re up so early?”  

Fang Zhuo threw down the weeds in her hand and rubbed her palms.

“This is Uncle Liu, he works in poverty alleviation,” Ye Yuncheng introduced. “It’s Mid-Autumn today, he brought mooncakes and gifts. Come eat breakfast.”

Although he was called Uncle Liu, the man had a baby face and looked quite young, making it hard to tell his age.

Fang Zhuo nodded to him. He smiled in response, looking simple and kind.

Ye Yuncheng cooked congee and brought it to the table, then cut the mooncakes that had been gifted.

Fang Zhuo saw that they were five-nut mooncakes, which she didn’t like, so she shook her head and politely declined, then quickly ate a few bites of yesterday’s side dishes.

Uncle Liu seemed quite familiar with Ye Yuncheng. He sat with him and chatted idly, mentioning that a girl from the village who had been brought back to attend school had gotten into a junior college, and that he was now helping her apply for financial aid. As he spoke, he glanced at Fang Zhuo.

The meaning in that glance was too obvious. Fang Zhuo set down her bowl and silently met his gaze.

Ye Yuncheng said with a proud smile, “Zhuo Zhuo is a student at A High.”

Uncle Liu immediately smiled brightly, “A High is great! You’ll definitely get into a good university. Do you have any dream schools?”

Fang Zhuo shook her head.

While they talked, Ye Yuncheng took clean chopsticks from the side and kept putting meat and vegetables into Fang Zhuo’s bowl.

Uncle Liu recommended, “If you’re interested, you can try for A University. That’s my alma mater. The teachers and campus atmosphere are both great.”

Fang Zhuo, who was in the middle of stopping Ye Yuncheng from feeding her, paused and glanced at him a couple more times upon hearing this.

Ye Yuncheng said with a smile, “Your Uncle Liu had really good grades. Back when he took the exam to become a township civil servant, his score was several dozen points higher than the second place. He’s a local, just wants to stay in the village and help build it for a few more years. If you have any questions, you can ask him.”

Uncle Liu scratched his head, a bit embarrassed. “I’ve been out of school for a few years too, so I’m not sure anymore. I’ll gather some materials for you.”

Fang Zhuo ate quickly, mainly because she was the only one at the table actually focusing on eating. Ye Yuncheng’s bowl was still full, while Fang Zhuo was already standing with her bowl.

Ye Yuncheng hurriedly said, “There’s more in the pot.”

Fang Zhuo put her bowl and chopsticks in the sink and replied, “I’m full.”

Ye Yuncheng saw that she was heading out again and said, “Don’t do it anymore, I’ll come help you later.”

“I’m almost done,” Fang Zhuo said. “I’ll wash some clothes while I’m at it.”

Fang Zhuo returned to the courtyard, then remembered she should ask Ye Yuncheng if he had thick gloves. As she walked to the door, she heard intentionally hushed voices from inside.

She leaned against the wall, listening to the conversation that hadn’t ended yet.

“Ye Gee, what I’m going to say might upset you. I know you have your own thoughts, but you, you…” Uncle Liu was advising in a low voice, “Are you really in any shape to take care of a third-year high school student? Before, I asked you to…”

“Please, Qiaohong.”

Ye Yuncheng cut him off. His voice was calm, but the slight hoarseness revealed the surging emotion hidden beneath.

He lowered his head and raised his hand to cover those melancholy, sorrowful eyes.

“I don’t want to see her looking like she has no home again.”

He stood there desolately, his eyes empty like he had nothing, yet as if with just a few more questions, he might cry.

He understood that feeling. There were too many emotions stuffed in his chest—his heart had turned into a swirling vortex of turbid waves, the rapid currents forming a blade that would cut coldly with any stir of emotion.

“She must’ve come to save me,” Ye Yuncheng said.

She needed family too, and so did he. That’s just how it was. All these years, he had nearly drowned in endless loneliness.

Silence filled both inside and outside the house.

Fang Zhuo thought, They were boats in a lonely sea, and they were both people who had fallen into the water.  

She wouldn’t be afraid anymore.  

Not long after, Ye Yuncheng saw Liu Qiaohong out.  

He walked down the stone steps at the door with his crutch, and invited, “Want to come over for dinner tonight? I’ll have Zhuo Zhuo go buy a chicken. It’s the Mid-Autumn Festival.”  

Liu Qiaohong sighed, “So busy, so busy. In a couple of days there’ll be a leadership inspection again.”  

Ye Yuncheng could only smile and didn’t try to keep him. After the figure disappeared, he turned and went to the courtyard to help.  

Ye Yuncheng had somehow found a few wooden boards, nailed them together, and built a chicken coop. On top he laid a piece of black cloth, reinforced the sides with stones, and placed it in the courtyard—it fit just right.  

By the time they finished cleaning up the courtyard, it was already evening.  

Ye Yuncheng had actually wanted to say that no chicken coop was cleaned this thoroughly. 

After all, chickens ate, drank, and pooped in there—give it a little time and it’d get messy again for sure.  

But when he saw the completed result, he still felt very comforted, his heart full—this old house finally felt lively again.  

Fang Zhuo stared intently at the open space in the middle and said, “When the time comes, we can bring in some soil. The middle area can be used to grow vegetables.”  

Ye Yuncheng laughed and said, “Okay, then let’s grow vegetables.”  

He couldn’t help but ask, “Do you really like playing farm games or something?”  

“Farm?” Fang Zhuo looked surprised. “There are games you can play?”  

She remembered a word someone had said before and asked, “Is it… clubbing?”  

Ye Yuncheng: “?”  

“Nothing.” Ye Yuncheng pulled her over to the water basin and told her to quickly wash her hands. “Did we waste your time? Look at you, you’ve been working all day.”  

Fang Zhuo washed her hands under the water and said, “It’s fine.”  

Ye Yuncheng said regretfully, “Look, now you don’t even have time to do your homework.”  

Fang Zhuo: “……”  

Ye Yuncheng took a few photos of the little courtyard and sighed emotionally, “How nice, Zhuo Zhuo is spending the Mid-Autumn Festival with her uncle this year.”  

Fang Zhuo listened quietly. She looked up at the moonlight shining clearly above and suddenly thought of something.  

Just as Ye Yuncheng was about to go make dinner, Fang Zhuo asked, “Can I borrow your phone?”  

“Of course.” Ye Yuncheng handed it to her. “Play inside the house, there are mosquitoes outside.”  

Fang Zhuo responded, then pulled up Yan Lie’s name and typed “Happy Mid-Autumn Festival” into the text box. Before she sent it, she felt it was kind of boring, so she deleted it.  

She held the phone and paced a couple circles, wanting to send a photo, but she didn’t know how to use the MMS function on this phone. Plus, she’d heard that sending picture messages cost a lot.  

So, she sent Yan Lie a picture of Schrödinger’s cat.  

Fang Zhuo: Does this moon look familiar to you?  

Yan Lie was watching TV. After waiting a while and not receiving the picture, he was completely confused.  

Yan Lie: Don’t tell me it’s the one right above my head?  

Fang Zhuo: Don’t know.  

Yan Lie: Then that’s way too much of a coincidence!  

Fang Zhuo didn’t respond again.  

Yan Lie didn’t believe it—what’s up with this person?!  

Yan Lie: When are you coming back to school?  

Yan Lie: Why’d you suddenly invite me to moon-gaze? The moon does look really nice tonight.  

Yan Lie: Two days without your deskmate—feels kind of weird, huh?  

Fang Zhuo returned to the brightly lit house, glanced at the last message, and—almost as if under a spell—typed: No. I even saw you in my dream yesterday.  

Yan Lie nearly jumped off the couch. He stared at that sentence several times, not sure if he should overthink it. Either way, his heart was a little floaty with joy.  

Yan Lie: Thank you, still had the mind to dream about me. Do I have the right to know what I was doing in your dream?  

Yan Lie: If it wasn’t good, I can reflect and improve.  

Fang Zhuo: Chicken farmer tycoon.  

Yan Lie: That must be super profitable then?  

The conversation stopped again.  

The other person seemed like a robot that had suddenly lost power—vanished without reason. 

Yan Lie waited ten minutes and could only helplessly accept reality.  

He pulled out the calendar to check the date of returning to school, let out a long sigh, and flopped back onto the couch.  

A day and a half left.

Author’s Note:

Zhuo Zhuo: Ten cents, twenty cents… I spent forty cents on Yan Lie today. 【Serious frown】  

Lie Lie: Our friendship appreciated by ten cents today.  

Ye Yuncheng: ? I clearly have a data plan.