Li Feng chatted with them for a bit and told everyone to eat the crabs.
Chen Guizhi asked about Lu Liu, and Li Feng said he had gotten drunk.
Chen Guizhi scolded him a couple of times. “That is your husband, not your brother. Why are you always dragging him off to drink with you? Did you boil some hangover soup? Make him drink a bowl of it so he will not wake up with a headache tomorrow.”
Li Feng naturally lowered his head and admitted his mistake.
The group sat around the table together, lively for a while, commenting on how round and bright the moon was. They divided up the remaining mooncakes and took them home as snacks. With that, the Mid-Autumn Festival was considered finished.
They did not eat chicken that night. Li Feng fed Lu Liu a little hangover soup and carried the two little babies into their room to sleep.
Early the next morning, Lu Liu was still groggy when he heard someone shouting, “Dad, Dad!” A rough voice mixed with the call, and at the same time there was a baby’s tender little voice calling along with it.
Lu Liu opened his eyes, confused for a moment. Li Feng carried Xiao Mai over and held him in front of him, urging him to call “Daddy” again.
Amid Xiao Mai’s babbling were two slightly unclear but unmistakable sounds of “Daddy.”
Lu Liu’s heart suddenly felt sore and swollen. It was a strange feeling, as if that single word—Daddy—had tugged at something deep inside him. After the sting of emotion passed, what remained was an overwhelming sense of satisfaction and tenderness.
Their Xiao Mai could call him Daddy now!
Inside the kang bed, Zhuang Zhuang was crawling toward them. He had a strong instinct to imitate—whatever his older brother did, he wanted to do the same.
He babbled noisily. Lu Liu and Li Feng gathered around him, guiding him, asking Xiao Mai to say it again a few times so he could teach Zhuang Zhuang. Zhuang Zhuang tried very hard and finally shouted out, “Daddy!”
On the sixteenth day of the eighth month, both of their little babies learned to call him Daddy.
………………………………….
Every examination was a comprehensive test. Ability, mental strength, physical condition—and a bit of luck. Not one of these could be missing.
As time passed, the pressure on the examinees inside the compound grew heavier. The cramped examination stalls felt like boxes that were slowly shrinking, squeezing and draining both flesh and soul.
The black ink at the tip of the brush condensed their effort and spirit. When it fell upon the paper, it was like blood and gold; once dry, it became nothing but black.
Those black traces of ink dragged them back to reality. They could hear cries and wails echoing through the examination compound, near and far.
After one round ended, everyone’s spirit had already weakened somewhat.
Some endured the examination during the day, only to scream in terror at night—and from that moment onward, they lost their sanity.
Like the other examinees in his row, Xie Yan suddenly jolted awake with a start. Still shaken, he climbed down from the wooden plank, stepped out of his stall, and followed the sound of someone shouting, “I passed the provincial exam!”
It was not from their examination alley. It was some distance away, and he could not tell who it was.
That single shout left many people unable to fall back asleep. Small groups talked quietly, though no one dared to speak too deeply. A few casual remarks would be exchanged, followed by another stretch of silence.
Xie Yan returned to his stall to sleep. Being tall had its disadvantages—his legs were longer than the plank. Either they hung outside or he had to curl them up tightly.
With his head toward the inner side, the smell was unbearable. The stalls were packed closely together. Whenever someone on either side shifted even slightly, the boards creaked and groaned. For the moment no one was snoring, but the stench of feet had grown stronger. It seemed that after someone went out and came back, they had dragged the outside odors in with them.
Xie Yan held a small box of mint balm and brought it close to his nose. The cool scent eased the stifling feeling in his chest. He closed his eyes and continued trying to sleep. Even if he could not fall asleep, he forced himself to lie there.
The exams were held once every three days. Beginning the next day, the longer they waited, the heavier and more oppressive the atmosphere became. Everyone in the examination compound grew irritable. At the slightest dissatisfaction, arguments would break out.
Xie Yan did not speak with them, nor did he intervene when disputes occurred. He sat on his examination basket and stared blankly at the alley.
If someone passing by asked him a question, he would answer as if he knew nothing at all, looking slow and foolish. After being laughed at a couple of times, people left him alone, and things remained peaceful.
After the second round of examinations, Xie Yan did the same as before—eating, drinking, sleeping, and staring into space.
More people had begun staring blankly like him. The atmosphere was still heavy, but everyone tried to avoid conflict with one another.
The third round fell on the Mid-Autumn Festival. It was both the end of the examinations and a holiday, which made the waiting feel especially unbearable.
Xie Yan wanted very much to write something, and he also wanted to draw something. But he did not dare.
Inside the examination compound, both activities required extreme caution. When there was no test in progress, he did not even dare touch a brush.
His mind felt crowded. In the past, he would write down stray thoughts. Once they were written down, his mind would become empty again, leaving space to remember his studies.
Now he could not do that, and he felt suffocated. This suffocation was harder to endure than the smell here.
This would not do.
After entering the examination compound, this was the first time Xie Yan lit the small stove.
He took out the flour he had brought and began kneading the dough with all his strength, exhausting his entire body. As he did so, many memories came to mind.
When his father was still alive, he would never enter the kitchen.
Back then, whenever he had free time he would read books, and neither his father nor his mother ever complained.
After his father fell ill, he went into the kitchen a few times, usually just to check whether the food was ready. Occasionally he helped decoct medicine.
People all said a medicine stove was unlucky, so medicine should always be boiled outside. At that time he did not understand such social customs. He never chatted with people about the trivialities of daily life and did not know this rule. Every time he prepared medicine, he took fire from the stove and lit the medicine furnace.
After several doses of medicine, his father’s illness did not improve. Only later did he hear that medicine stoves were not supposed to be brought inside the house, and he felt deeply guilty. But he did not know how to start a fire. At the time he tried using grass leaves, small twigs, straw, and wood shavings to kindle it. He even burned scraps of draft paper. Toward the end he felt as if he might as well burn his books, yet he still could not get the fire going.
That was the last time his father taught him something.
His father said that if you wanted a fire to burn strongly, you could not pack the firewood too tightly. There had to be some empty space underneath.
If you wanted a fire to burn well and last long, the firewood had to be arranged properly. You could not burn a few sticks and then throw in another stick that collapsed the entire structure. If the bottom became packed full, the fire would be smothered. Then when you tried to start again, you would be flustered and scrambling. From the very beginning, you had to think about how you would add wood and how the fire would burn.
After his father passed away, Xie Yan and his mother depended on each other for survival. He helped with every household chore he could and gradually learned them all. Of those skills, he became best at tending the fire.
For a period of time he lived in a daze. He could not remember the hours or count the days. Many scenes mixed together in his mind, and he could not tell whether they came from books, from his own experiences, or from his imagination.
His father had told him that the medicine stove existed to cure illness. People only burned medicine when they were sick; there was nothing unlucky about bringing it inside. If it were unlucky, then the sick person would be the unlucky one. He told him not to blame himself.
His father also said that studying was like tending a fire. If you filled it too full, it would not burn well. You had to leave some space.
Those words felt as though he had heard them countless times, yet he only understood them after he began tending the fire himself.
When he was very young, his father had already taught him to “change the way he used his mind.”
Whenever he became absorbed in reading, his father would deliberately call him away to do other things. That was when he learned to draw. At the time he found it irritating.
Later, after entering school, he also learned to play chess and gradually discovered some enjoyment in it. He no longer resented doing other activities besides studying.
Then later, after his father passed away, he could no longer study with the same calm focus. He became restless and began reading with a purpose, hoping books would give him answers and lead him out of his difficulties.
He could not find them. For a while he barely read at all. But when he finally picked up books again, he realized things were not as difficult as he had imagined.
Xie Yan also thought of his mother. Many times he could not keep going. He did not know why he had to live this kind of life. His mother said that even though people might be the same, their fates were different. Everyone had their own way of living.
At that time, what tormented Xie Yan most was the fact that although both he and his father were scholars, the difference between them was like heaven and earth.
His father could support the household, yet he himself could not even take proper care of his mother.
What was his fate? What was his way of living?
No one gave him an answer.
He walked around the village, sitting wherever people gathered in groups, listening and watching, trying to see how others lived their lives. The villagers all said there was something wrong with his mind.
Later, he met Lu Yang.
Such a vibrant life—completely different from everyone he had ever seen.
The family conditions were terrible, the relationships with the villagers were extremely strained, and there were endless messy problems. His mother was timid and weak, and there was also a useless man who could not be relied upon. The weather was cold, the grain was scarce, and there was little money.
Yet after marrying into such a family, Lu Yang did not complain even once. Whenever something happened, he dealt with the matter. When someone caused trouble, he dealt with the person. If a problem was difficult, he would break it apart and deal with it slowly. People could not spend their lives trapped in such rotten affairs. They needed to earn money, save money, and move toward the county town. The first goal Lu Yang set was to pay for Xie Yan’s tuition.
Lu Yang often asked him why he liked to secretly cling to the doorframe and watch.
He never answered.
At first, he watched with the mentality of an observer, curious about what Lu Yang was doing and why he seemed to possess such strength. Yet he was also afraid of losing him. Whenever he saw him, his heart would finally feel at ease.
