Chapter 2924: One Life 02

He didn't speak, nor did he leave.

Chenshu didn't drive him away.

Chenshu rose, and he was already squatting by the stove, arranging the firewood neatly.

Chenshu cooked porridge, and he sat quietly on the threshold, watching the occasional passerby's silhouette at the lane's mouth.

When Chenshu read, he stayed far away, making no sound.

Half a month later, Chenshu placed an extra chair beside the desk.

He sat on it, and Chenshu taught him to recognize characters.

He still couldn't speak. It wasn't a throat problem; Chenshu had a doctor examine him, and his throat was fine. He preferred to stare at Chenshu with his deep, dark eyes, unblinking.

The days passed like that, one after another.

The war flames still spread in the distance; occasionally refugees passed through the lane, their footsteps hurried.

Rumors of the plague grew more numerous; people in the city began to dare not go out, and the drugstore on the street corner formed long lines.

But he felt that in Chenshu's courtyard, time seemed to move slower than outside.

Chenshu went every morning to the private school west of the city to substitute teach, returning only in the evening.

He waited inside, lighting the stove fire; he couldn't cook, only boil water, so he boiled water before Chenshu returned, then squatted on the threshold, gazing at the lane.

When Chenshu's figure appeared, he stood up, but didn't go to meet him; he just stood, waiting for Chenshu to approach.

Chenshu sometimes glanced at him, sometimes not, and sometimes took his hand.

In these turbulent times, life was harsh, and one couldn't guarantee survival from morning to evening.

That winter, he fell seriously ill.

By day he was still fine, just a slight fever; he didn't pay much attention, even suppressing coughs in front of Chenshu, but at night he began to burn, a heat that seeped from his bone marrow, while his flesh remained icy, as if his whole body were being roasted over a fire again and again.

When Chenshu noticed, he was already burning with delirium.

He only remembered Chenshu squatting beside him, calling him, though he couldn't make out what was said.

Chenshu hesitated not at all, taking all his savings to buy medicine.

He didn't know how long Chenshu had saved those copper coins by copying books for others, nor that they were the money Chenshu had set aside for new winter clothes.

He only remembered bowl after bowl of bitter concoction being poured into his mouth, yet the fever wouldn't subside.

Chenshu kept watch by the bedside, repeatedly wiping his forehead with a rag soaked in cold water, but his complexion worsened, taking on an ominous bluish-gray hue.

Chenshu was very panicked, and also a little afraid.

This picked-up mute little beggar might die.

To die in this desperate winter night, in this leaky, utterly shack of a house, just like those unclaimed corpses at the end of the lane.

Chenshu wasn't doing well either; he always seemed to lose many things, as if fate had decreed it, and he didn't understand why.

"You can't die."

He heard Chenshu's voice, forced his eyes open despite the dim candlelight, but he could see those eyes clearly—so red, so sorrowful.

"You still haven't told me your name." Chenshu gently pressed his forehead against the back of his hand, then closed his eyes.

The candle wick popped, shedding ash.

A long while passed.

"Jin Chen."

Chenshu finally opened his eyes, now even redder, and with his fingertip brushed aside his tangled bangs, saying, "I give you a name—call yourself Jin Chen, all right?"

From now on, you shall be called Jin Chen.

This ought to have been Chenshu's New Year gift to him, so he wouldn't have to be called a little beggar anymore; how could it be spoken under such circumstances?

Yet he was still happy, looking at Chenshu and nodding slightly.

Chenshu lowered his head.

Jin Chen thought Chenshu was about to cry, but Chenshu didn't.

Chenshu gently rubbed his thumb over his dry, cracked lips, then rose and went to the kitchen to pour a bowl of warm water.

But that bowl had already been broken; when Chenshu fed him the water, his fingertip was cut, a drop of blood sliding along his fingertip and falling into the bowl.

Jin Chen gripped his fingertip and still drank that bowl of water.

After that night, Jin Chen came back to life.

——

After escaping death, Jin Chen learned to speak, and was no longer as wooden as before; he became much more lively.

They were very much in sync, never mentioning to anyone that drop of blood that was a yin-yang mishap; it was too strange.

After Jin Chen learned to speak, his first utterance was calling Chenshu's name, and Chenshu was very happy.

Later he learned more characters, writing, and reading.

But Jin Chen never asked Chenshu why he lived alone here, and where his family were.

He didn't ask, and Chenshu never spoke of it.

Chenshu's parents, in the turbulent times, passed away one after another during his youth; the clan had no one willing to take in this taciturn, stubborn orphan who refused to bow his head.

The leaky old house was Chenshu's sole inheritance.

It was as if he had come into this world just to endure these many hardships.

Chenshu never mentioned these things.

——

When spring arrived, the old locust tree in the courtyard sprouted new buds.

Chenshu sat under the eaves reading, while Jin Chen squatted beside him, turning over with a small shovel the patch of soil compacted by last winter's snow.

Jin Chen wanted to plant something in the corner of the wall, though he hadn't decided what yet; he first loosened the soil.

"What are you doing?" Chenshu asked doubtfully.

"Loosen the soil."

"Why loosen the soil?"

"... I haven't figured it out yet."

Chenshu: "..."

Jin Chen let out a soft sigh, closed the book, and said, "Loosen the soil loosely at the wall base; tomorrow we'll go buy some green beans to plant."

"Okay." Jin Chen expanded that patch of soil toward the wall base.

The next day, they bought a small packet of green bean seeds from the end of the alley, carefully buried them in the soil, and watered them.

Chenshu squatted beside him, and together they looked at the patch of soil where nothing had grown yet.

The sunset stretched their shadows long, making it impossible to tell whose shoulder touched whose arm.

That night, Jin Chen gathered the remaining few seeds from the packet into a small pottery jar and placed it on the bedside.

—

Summer came, and the green beans really sprouted.

Summer nights were very hot.

Jin Chen spread an old mat in the courtyard, sleeping outdoors on the ground, but it was still hot.

After a while, Chenshu came out holding a palm-leaf fan, lay down beside him, and fanned slowly.

The breeze was very light, swaying gently.

Jin Chen moved closer, catching the faint scent of the bamboo strips and the faint fragrance on Chenshu's body.

Jin Chen grasped Chenshu's wrist as she fanned, pulled it closer to sniff carefully, his nose brushing the warm inside of her wrist, and he smelled for a long time.

"... What exactly are you smelling?" Chenshu endured, then pulled her wrist away, and the fan lightly tapped Jin Chen's cheek.

Jin Chen consequently closed his eyes, speaking as directly as ever, not knowing how to beat around the bush.

"Smelling you."

"You feel so cool, I want to hold you while I sleep."

Chenshu's eyelashes trembled slightly, her clear gaze fixed on Jin Chen, but she saw no other meaning in his eyes, and helplessly turned her head away.

That night, Jin Chen slept soundly, holding Chenshu, which could pretty much be considered a good dream.

They always had a hard time, but the days passed slowly—so slowly that Jin Chen thought it would go on like this forever.

Until that year, when the world finally became peaceful.