As for talk of special classes, or physics and math, she didn’t understand it, nor did she need to.
"It’s not that big of a deal, Grandma Zhang. I’m just continuing my studies in a different place."
Chen Zhuo smiled, his tone casual.
"This kid... always so mature."
Granny Zhang picked up a piece of golden-brown fried hairtail fish with a pair of long chopsticks and offered it to him.
"Here, it’s fresh out of the pan. Have a piece."
"Thanks, Grandma Zhang, but my mom just made fried meatballs. I’m already full from eating before I came down."
Chen Zhuo waved a hand in refusal.
"Go on, then. Don’t hold up your mom’s cooking."
Chen Zhuo continued down the stairs.
Even though it was afternoon, the sun was still blinding. The snow on the ground had long since been trampled solid. In some spots, it had melted and refrozen, making it rock-hard and a little slippery underfoot.
The air was thick with the heavy scent of firecrackers.
At the time, the city hadn’t yet completely banned fireworks. Shredded red paper from exploded firecrackers was scattered everywhere, looking like a sparse red carpet laid out over the snow.
In an open area of the residential compound, a few young boys were playing with friction firecrackers.
They were bundled in thick, padded winter jackets, the cuffs shiny from constantly wiping their runny noses on them.
One boy, holding a box of Black Tiger friction firecrackers, struck one forcefully against the side of a matchbox.
The fuse immediately began to HISS, letting out a plume of white smoke.
Gauging the timing, the boy waited for the plume of smoke to thicken before forcefully throwing the firecracker at a battered tin can in the middle of the clearing.
"BANG!"
The tin can was blasted into the air, flipping over before it landed on the snow with a CLANG.
The boys whooped and jumped in excitement.
Chen Zhuo slowly walked by, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his down jacket.
The boy who had thrown the firecracker turned and saw Chen Zhuo.
The kids in the compound pretty much all knew one another. They were always running around downstairs, so everyone knew everyone.
"Brother Zhuo, you wanna play?"
The boy sniffled, generously pulling a firecracker from the box and offering it to him along with the matches.
Chen Zhuo stopped.
He glanced at the red-paper-wrapped firecracker in the boy’s hand but didn’t take it. Instead, he smiled and raised his own hand, flashing the two yuan and twenty cents he had been clutching in his palm.
"Can’t play."
Chen Zhuo spread his hands, his tone filled with helpless resignation.
"I’m carrying an urgent imperial edict from the Empress Dowager."
The young boys stared at him, confused for a moment.
"My mom’s got oil heating in the wok. She’s making braised pork and is waiting for me to bring back the dark soy sauce for the coloring."
Chen Zhuo hooked a thumb toward his apartment building.
"If I’m even one minute late with this soy sauce, the pork will be ruined, and my mom will light me up like one of those firecrackers. You guys have fun. Just watch where you’re throwing those things."
Hearing this, the boys all broke into wide grins.
In their world, it didn’t matter if you were in middle school or away at college—the universal truth of the compound was that you were still afraid of your mom getting angry and chasing you with a broom.
The faint sense of distance they had felt just a moment ago vanished completely.
The boy who had offered the firecracker grinned and pulled his hand back, lowering his head to strike a match for himself.
Chen Zhuo turned to leave, but after half a step, he suddenly stopped again.
He casually lifted his head, as if by chance, and glanced at the second-floor balcony of the apartment building behind the boys.
"Oh, right. Huzi."
Chen Zhuo looked at the boy, who was bent over striking a match. His voice was gentle, carrying the concerned tone of a friendly neighborhood big brother.
"When I was coming downstairs just now, I saw your family’s balcony window was open. Looked like your dad was leaning out, looking for you. He was holding a feather duster, too."
The boy’s hand jerked violently.
The freshly lit firecracker suddenly felt like a hot potato. He yelped in fright and threw the whole lot—smoking firecracker and matchbox—into a nearby snowdrift.
"Holy crap! Isn’t my dad supposed to be on duty at the factory?"
His face a mask of terror, the boy scrambled backward a few steps. He craned his neck to stare at his own empty balcony, not even daring to breathe too loudly.
His friends jumped in fright, quickly stuffing their own firecrackers into their jacket pockets. They hunched their shoulders and glanced around nervously, afraid of getting caught in the crossfire.
"THUMP."
A muffled explosion sounded from the snowdrift, kicking up a small spray of snow and dirt.
Chen Zhuo didn’t look back.
He slipped the hand clutching the change back into his pocket. A leisurely smile played on his lips as he faced the dry, cold afternoon wind and continued his unhurried stroll toward the mouth of the alley.
He left the group of terrified kids behind, still staring up at the empty second-floor balcony, their hearts pounding in the cold wind.
The street at the mouth of the alley was much livelier than the compound.
Stalls selling Spring Festival couplets and red lanterns lined the sidewalk in a long, brilliant red streak. A tanghulu seller’s bicycle was parked on the roadside, its glass case bristling with skewers of hawthorn berries coated in a clear, sugary glaze.
Bicycles and three-wheeled carts bustled back and forth, their handlebars mostly laden with freshly bought New Year’s goods.
Old Li’s little shop was right on the street corner.
A freshly pasted "Fu" character for good fortune adorned the sliding glass door. A few crates of loose tangerines and boxed apples were stacked by the entrance.
He slid the door open, and a small bell above the frame JINGLED.
Behind the counter, directly opposite the door, sat an old, bulky television. It was showing a rerun of a past Spring Festival Gala. Zhao Benshan and Little Shen Yang weren’t on yet; instead, a singer in a red outfit was performing.
The owner, Old Li, stood behind the counter ringing up a customer. He wore a black leather jacket that was shiny with age.
Three or four people were crowded in front of the counter.
An older woman in a floral headscarf was picking through a plastic basket of loose sunflower seeds, while a middle-aged man in a jacket was buying cigarettes.

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