Xie Yan was too soft-hearted and lacked experience handling affairs. He had placed first in the provincial examination, taken top honors, then asked for leave as soon as he enrolled. Before formal classes even began, he had already made a name for himself through selling books.
Wherever there are people, there are disputes. No matter how good the prefectural academy was, not everyone in it would be decent. Lu Yang worried that Xie Yan wouldn’t be able to cope.
Lu Liu told him not to fret so much. He had originally wanted to say that a man out in the world ought to stand tall and weather things on his own, but remembering that Xie Yan’s temperament was nothing like Li Feng’s, he changed tack instead.
“Brother, don’t worry. Remember when we went to the teahouse to listen to storytelling? When he scolded those scholars, he was fierce as anything. At the academy, he won’t be the one at a disadvantage.”
Lu Yang was still worried all the same.
If Xie Yan got entangled in arguments and disputes, trapped in petty interpersonal matters, Lu Yang would grow anxious. He was afraid Xie Yan would anger someone too badly with his sharp tongue and end up being bullied.
But if Xie Yan didn’t argue with anyone at all, Lu Yang would worry just as much—whether Xie Yan was bottling things up inside, letting it fester into something worse.
Lu Liu shifted closer and gently rubbed the spot over Lu Yang’s chest.
“You’re always teaching me to do what needs to be done and not overthink things. Look at you—you’re not exactly a good example.”
Lu Yang laughed and told him to stop rubbing.
“My bones are turning to jelly!”
Lu Liu hurriedly pulled his hand back, putting on a mock look of horror. “Then I really can’t touch you. What if I break you? If brother-in-law comes back and sees that, his heart will break too!”
Lu Yang set the sketchbook down, rolled over, and started tickling him.
“Oh, so now you dare to tease me?”
Lu Liu was too heavy to dodge. He grabbed at Lu Yang’s hands, and Lu Yang didn’t tickle him hard, just here and there, playing around. Before long, the brothers’ laughter filled the room.
Lu Yang sat back down and leaned against the bed again. The two of them caught their breath in small gulps, then brought the sketchbook over to look at it together.
The drawings were so vivid. When Lu Yang told him to pick one, Lu Liu looked with great enjoyment.
“Brother-in-law draws so beautifully. Why is it only you? Isn’t he with you?”
Lu Yang said, “He’s watching me.”
Lu Liu looked left and right, then lowered his head to the drawings. He seemed to understand.
The one doing the painting was watching the person in the painting. Even if they weren’t together, their hearts were connected.
Lu Liu chose a drawing where the figure was looking up and said he wanted that one.
“It’s like he’s looking at the moon.”
Lu Yang made a note of it, then picked a drawing of someone eating a flatbread, planning to alter the bread later.
He intended to make two lanterns. On one, he would paint his younger brother, then, using a likeness for reference, enlarge the proportions and paint a back view, pretending it was Li Feng.
If Li Feng didn’t come back, his brother could carry this lantern to ease his longing.
If he did come back, they could take the lantern back to the mountain stronghold. A married couple using it for light would be amusing in its own way.
As for Lu Yang’s own lantern, he would paste the flatbread-eating picture face to face on both sides. That way, the little figures in the paintings would be looking at each other, separated by a single candle flame—like admiring the moon together.
After chatting for a while, Zhao Peilan called out for them to fetch water and wash up. Lu Yang answered, told Lu Liu not to move, and went out to carry the water.
Hot water took time to boil. After tidying the kitchen, he kept a pot simmering—first for their mother. Once she took her share, she would help boil another pot for them.
Lu Yang carried the water over in two trips: first to wash their faces, then to soak their feet. They would rinse their mouths later.
His brother had a craving. The rib soup was already fragrant; later they could scoop out a few chestnuts and pieces of yam to tide him over.
Lu Liu had been living here for over twenty days and still wasn’t used to it. Whenever he saw his brother fetching water for him, he felt awkward and embarrassed.
Every time, Lu Yang would tease him. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like a bitter gourd? Missing your Da Feng?”
At times like this, Lu Liu wasn’t thinking about that. He just felt like he was being a burden.
Most days were fine—the two brothers stuck together, endless things to talk about.
Lu Yang couldn’t quite figure out his temperament and said to him, “If I were pregnant and asked you to bring me foot-washing water, would you do it?”
Lu Liu nodded repeatedly. “I would. I’d take good care of you.”
Lu Yang helped him down from the kang bed and said, “Exactly. You’re not well, so I’m taking care of you. Don’t overthink it. Even if you were back at the stronghold, someone at home would be looking after you—your brother or your mother-in-law. They’re no different from me.”
Lu Liu was good at comforting people. He knew that being treated as special made all the difference.
He said, “It’s different. You’re my real brother—the closest person I have.”
Lu Yang said he didn’t like hearing that, but he was so thoroughly coaxed that the corners of his mouth lifted despite himself. He tried hard to suppress the smile, only to end up with his lips pouting in a strange, comical way.
Lu Liu didn’t comment. He didn’t even wash his face first—he told his brother to lower his head and look at the reflection in the basin. Lu Yang bent down, took one look, and burst out laughing at his own puckered mouth.
Whenever the two of them were together, the room was always full of laughter.
After soaking their feet, Lu Liu didn’t climb back onto the bed right away. Wearing straw sandals, he followed his brother outside. He couldn’t bend over and wasn’t much help, so he chose not to get in the way and waited obediently while Lu Yang poured out the water.
The brothers wandered into the kitchen, tasted the soup for seasoning, and used a ladle to scoop a chestnut and a piece of yam into a bowl to check if they were cooked.
They had midnight cravings but didn’t eat alone. They filled a small bowl with half a portion for their mother, then woke up Weimeng to gnaw on some ribs.
The dog was still half asleep and took it as a blessing from the beast god—eyes closed, drool pouring from its mouth, soaking the rib completely.
The brothers held their bowls, eating and watching, and burst out laughing again.
Once they’d eaten and rinsed their mouths, they went back to check on Weimeng. It had been tempted awake and had stripped all the meat from the bone.
With the food gone and no danger of choking, the brothers felt at ease and returned to their room to sleep.
They didn’t write letters that night and went to bed early. The next morning, Lu Liu cooked noodles with greens and eggs. They didn’t go out during the day—he wove lantern frames while his brother painted, preparing for the Mid-Autumn Festival lanterns.
Lu Yang didn’t have much free time, and his painting skills weren’t fully honed. He was decent at portraits, but enlarging them proportionally was a disaster. The lines shook, the figure looked short and stocky, nothing like Li Feng at all. Placed next to his brother’s portrait, it was unbearably ugly.
He went to ask their mother for help, asking her to paint a silhouette.
Zhao Peilan had met Li Feng, and she could paint. There was no need to limit it to a back view—she could paint Li Feng from the front.
When she heard that Li Feng was to be painted, Lu Liu’s cheeks flushed red, a mix of anticipation and shyness.
Asked what kind of pose he wanted, he looked to his brother, hoping he’d decide for him.
Lu Yang said, “Think about it carefully. If you really can’t decide, I’ll help you.”
Lu Liu said, “Then let Da Feng look at the moon too.”
The two of them looking at the moon together.
Zhao Peilan didn’t usually talk with the children about romance, but she’d lived through it herself.
On the paper, beside Lu Liu’s portrait, she drew Li Feng—positioned exactly in the direction of Lu Liu’s upturned gaze.
Mid-Autumn moon-gazing, hearts full of longing.
Lu Liu loved it dearly. He held it in both hands, eyes growing damp.
It was the first time he’d ever seen himself and Li Feng together like this.
When he looked at Li Feng in real life, this was always the angle.
Not long ago, when the couple were chatting, he’d even mentioned that when he looked up, he could see a different sky.
Back then they’d talked about stars and the sun, not the moon.
Now, with this unexpected painting in hand, tears fell into Lu Liu’s eyes.
Seeing this, Lu Yang said to Zhao Peilan, “Mother, this won’t do. Why should that stinky man not be looking at my brother? How about this—you paint another one. Liu-ge looks at the moon, and that surnamed Li looks at him.”
Lu Liu immediately laughed. “No need! This one is already perfect. I love it so much I can’t bear to paste it onto a lantern. Brother, can I not paste this one? I want to keep it.”
If he wanted to keep it, then he would. Once the ink dried, Lu Yang pressed paper over it and traced two copies for the lanterns.
One was an exact copy of the original. The other was his modified version—he insisted on making that Li fellow look at his brother.
His painting skills weren’t great; the eyes wandered a bit, but the meaning was there.
Lu Liu laughed again.
He asked, “Square lanterns have four sides. Two sides get paintings—what about the other two?”
Lu Yang told him to write something. “Anything you like.”
Lu Liu had seen lanterns with words before.
Usually, lanterns with writing were for weddings or funerals.
When he said as much, Lu Yang told him that some lanterns also had ladies, landscapes, all kinds of paintings. A lantern you make yourself can be whatever you want it to be.
