The hallways of the Sunshine Family Courtyard were perpetually filled with the lingering smell of coal smoke, mixed with the fragrance of scallions, ginger, and garlic sizzling in the woks of every household at dinnertime.
On the stairs, Chen Jianguo walked ahead.
He was wrapped in a worn army greatcoat and carried Chen Zhuo’s suitcase. He walked with a steady gait, his broad back blocking most of the cold wind that poured in from the stairwell entrance.
Chen Zhuo carried only a lightweight backpack, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he quietly followed his father up the stairs.
Aunt Wang from the second floor was standing at her doorway, trimming celery from a shallow basket. When she saw the father and son approaching, she paused and a wide smile immediately spread across her face.
"Oh, Jianguo, you’ve picked up your Xiaozhuo!"
Aunt Wang wiped her hands on her apron and leaned forward to get a better look at Chen Zhuo.
"Haven’t seen him in half a year! He looks so sharp, a proper university student. Has he shot up again?"
"The train was almost an hour late, and the station was an absolute sea of people. We could barely squeeze our way out."
Chen Jianguo hoisted the suitcase higher on his shoulder and replied with a smile, a hint of unconcealable pride in his voice.
"Making dumplings, Aunt Wang? We’ll head on up, it’s pretty drafty in this hallway."
"Aunt Wang," Chen Zhuo greeted her as well.
"Yes! Go on, go on. Your mother was just talking about you in the courtyard this morning."
They reached the fourth floor.
The security door on the left wasn’t shut properly, leaving it cracked open.
The loud roar of the range hood and the rhythmic THUD of a cleaver on a cutting board echoed from the kitchen.
Chen Jianguo pushed the door open, set the heavy suitcase down on the living room floor, and let out a long sigh.
He took off his hat and called toward the kitchen:
"Xiuying, I’ve brought him home!"
A billow of warm, white steam, thick with the rich aroma of braised pork ribs, rushed out to greet them.
Chen Zhuo changed into slippers at the entrance.
The chopping stopped.
Without even taking the time to untie her apron, Liu Xiuying hurried out of the kitchen.
She walked right past Chen Jianguo, who was taking off his greatcoat, her gaze locking onto Chen Zhuo. She looked him up and down, and her brow immediately furrowed.
"Why are you wearing so little? Weren’t you freezing at the station exit?"
As she spoke, Liu Xiuying reached for the backpack on Chen Zhuo’s shoulders.
"I wasn’t cold. Dad took off his greatcoat and draped it over me as we walked out."
Chen Zhuo stood still, obediently letting Liu Xiuying take his bag and set it aside.
"Your hands are all wet and oily. Now the bag will have to be washed."
"You’ve gotten thinner."
Liu Xiuying paid him no mind. With her hands still damp, she squeezed Chen Zhuo’s arm, her face etched with concern.
"Is the cafeteria at Keda too stingy to serve meat? Or has studying so hard tired you out completely?"
Chen Zhuo smiled and quipped back.
"Oh, there’s meat. I just figure all the nutrients I’ve consumed this past semester went straight to my neurons. There wasn’t any left for putting on weight."
Liu Xiuying shot him a look.
"Enough of your clever remarks. Go put your things in your room. There’s hot water in the thermos; have your dad pour you a cup. The ribs will be ready any minute."
With that, she hurried back into the kitchen, and the roar of the range hood started up again.
Chen Jianguo walked over with an enamel mug and handed Chen Zhuo a cup of lukewarm water he had just mixed.
"Have a drink of water, then go get settled in your room."
Chen Zhuo dragged his suitcase into his bedroom.
The room was spotless, not a speck of dust on the desk. His old textbooks and exam papers were all stacked neatly on the top shelf of the bookcase.
Crouching on the floor, Chen Zhuo took a few changes of clothes out of his suitcase and tossed them onto the bed. Then, from the very bottom, he lifted out three massive tomes, each as thick as a brick.
Their covers were filled with the looping letters of the Russian alphabet.
Chen Jianguo glanced at the books.
"Textbooks from school?"
"No."
Chen Zhuo moved the books to his desk and patted the dust from their covers.
"Just some outside reading I borrowed from the library. Figured I’d flip through them over the New Year break when I have free time."
Chen Jianguo nodded.
He didn’t interfere with Chen Zhuo’s studies; it wasn’t like he could understand them anyway.
"Alright, come out to eat when you’re done unpacking." Chen Jianguo straightened up. "Your mom has been planning what to cook for you for the past two days."
"Okay."
After dinner, the sky outside had grown completely dark.
The crisp crackle of an occasional firecracker echoed through the courtyard.
Chen Zhuo was sitting at his desk, having opened one of the Russian books he’d brought back.
A thunderous banging erupted at the security door.
He didn’t need to guess who it was.
Liu Xiuying went to open the door. The second it was cracked open, a round figure squeezed inside.
Zhang Qiang had shot up in height, but his horizontal growth hadn’t slowed in the slightest.
He wore a bulky, dark blue down jacket and a wool hat, and was sucking in sharp breaths from the cold.
"Hello, Auntie!"
Zhang Qiang yelled, his voice full of energy, then craned his neck to look inside.
"Where’s Chen Zhuo? Is he back yet?"
"He’s in his room. What’s the rush, you? Come in and have some hot water."
"No thanks, Auntie!"
Zhang Qiang pushed open Chen Zhuo’s bedroom door as if he owned the place and darted inside.
Hearing the commotion, Chen Zhuo swiveled his chair around.
"Look at you, Brother Zhuo!"
Zhang Qiang slapped Chen Zhuo on the shoulder, his eyes sparkling.
"Haven’t seen you in six months! You been living the good life in Huizhou? You look much better than when you left."
"Not as well as you, apparently."
Chen Zhuo glanced at Zhang Qiang’s stomach.
"You can barely zip up that jacket of yours."
"This means I’m well-fed, alright? My dad says it’s a sign of good fortune."
Zhang Qiang nonchalantly tossed his hat onto the bed and sidled up to Chen Zhuo’s desk.
His eyes immediately fell on the massive, all-Russian book open on the desk.
Zhang Qiang stared at the pages, filled with endless formulas and utterly incomprehensible letters, his brow slowly knitting in confusion.
"What’s this?" Zhang Qiang pointed. "English? Doesn’t look like it. It looks like a bunch of scribbles."
"Russian."
"And you can read it?"
Zhang Qiang gasped, staring at Chen Zhuo as if he were an alien.
"More or less," Chen Zhuo said casually. "I mostly just read the formulas. The text is just there for support."
Zhang Qiang shook his head, pulled over a nearby stool, and sat down.
"You’re a freak."
It was Zhang Qiang’s short, honest assessment.
"I have a hard enough time telling the twenty-six English letters apart. When you put them together into words, I’m completely lost. And you’re over here messing with Russian."
Chen Zhuo closed the Russian book and pushed it to the corner of his desk.
He turned to face his childhood friend, whom he hadn’t seen in six months, and rested his clasped hands on his knees.
Zhang Qiang was in his first year of junior high now.
His voice was starting to change, cracking like a typical teenage boy’s.
"So, how’s junior high?" Chen Zhuo asked.
"It’s the usual. Up before the chickens, in bed after the dogs. Our homeroom teacher, Old Zhao, his math lectures are like a monk chanting sutras. And for some reason, he loves calling on me and always stares at me. It’s not like I did anything to him..."
Zhang Qiang launched into a long rant about the trivialities of school life: which boys got called out for fighting, which girl’s parents were called in after she received a love letter.
Chen Zhuo listened quietly, nodding from time to time.
When Zhang Qiang had finally wound down, he grabbed the cup from Chen Zhuo’s desk and took a huge gulp of water.
"Your final exams for the first semester of seventh grade were last week, right?"
Chen Zhuo looked at him and asked a perfectly normal question.
"How’d you do?"
The words had barely left his lips.
Zhang Qiang, who had been on an excited roll, suddenly froze as if someone had grabbed him by the throat.
The cup in his hand stopped halfway to his lips.
The smile on his face instantly vanished. His eyes darted to the ceiling, the floor, the dark corners under the bed—anywhere but at Chen Zhuo.
He went completely silent.
The room was silent for a few seconds.
"Um... well..."
Zhang Qiang stammered, scratching the back of his head, his gaze shifting evasively.
"Ah, let’s not talk about that!"
Zhang Qiang changed the subject abruptly, slamming the cup down.
He glanced furtively toward the door to make sure Liu Xiuying wasn’t around, then unzipped his jacket with an air of mystery. From an inner pocket, he pulled out an object wrapped in layer after layer of plastic.
"Check this out."
Zhang Qiang undid the tight knot of the plastic bag.
Inside were seven or eight full boxes of red and green Black Spider firecrackers, with several Thunder Kings—each as thick as half a carrot—tucked underneath.
"Just got the good stuff from Old Li’s convenience store."
Zhang Qiang’s eyes lit up again, the crisis over his grades instantly forgotten.
"Let’s go, let’s go! While it’s still dark, let’s go down to the flowerbeds and blow up some tin cans. I swear, today I’m gonna blast that stupid soda can all the way up to the third floor."
Zhang Qiang stood up and, without another word, started pulling Chen Zhuo’s arm.
Chen Zhuo looked at Zhang Qiang’s eager expression, like he couldn’t wait to rush downstairs.
He didn’t press for the score on the report card, nor did he put on airs and lecture Zhang Qiang about the importance of studying hard or the folly of being distracted by trivial amusements.
Chen Zhuo just smiled resignedly. With a flick of his wrist, he accurately tossed the pencil in his hand into the pen holder on the corner of his desk.
"Alright, let’s go."
Chen Zhuo let Zhang Qiang pull him to his feet.
"But let’s get one thing straight."
Chen Zhuo grabbed his padded jacket from the back of the door and looked at Zhang Qiang as he put it on.
"If you mess up your throw again like last year, light it, and drop it into a manhole, splashing mud all over yourself, I’m not lending you a pair of pants this time."
"Bullshit! You’ve got to be kidding me!"
Zhang Qiang, as if deeply insulted, dragged Chen Zhuo toward the door.
"My current throwing accuracy and explosive timing have been rigorously calculated! I can hit whatever I aim at, guaranteed!"
"Auntie, Chen Zhuo and I are going downstairs to play for a bit!"
Zhang Qiang shouted toward the kitchen, pushed open the security door, and bolted out.
Chen Zhuo followed behind, pulling the door shut.
The cold wind whipped against their faces. The streetlights in the family courtyard cast a dim, yellow glow.
Zhang Qiang ran ahead, boisterously searching for a suitable target, a Thunder King clutched in his hand as he looked for bricks and soda cans.
With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his padded jacket, Chen Zhuo ambled along behind him.
Above them was the Zeyang night sky, where only a few stars were visible.
In the distance, someone set off an early firework. With a BANG, it exploded into a shower of red and green sparks in the night sky.
「Across the ocean.」
At the Princeton Institute for Advanced Study, the storm sparked by a two-page PDF—a storm that was powerful enough to shake all of Hua Country—was gathering intensity.
The gasps of awe from professors and scholars staring at their screens, the solemnly worded email sitting on a server, awaiting a reply...
All of it was a world away from the simple, earthy scene unfolding before him.
Chen Zhuo stepped on the dry leaves littering the ground, listening to the sound of Zhang Qiang’s retreating footsteps as he ran away, ears covered, after lighting a firecracker.
A muffled BANG!
Chen Zhuo watched the flecks of mud splash up from the flowerbed and slowly exhaled a puff of white breath.

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