The old tube-style apartment building from the 1960s still retained its cast-iron security door. The lock was slightly rusted. Zhou Ruo An twisted the key three times, then slammed heavily against the door before finally hearing the grating creak of the hinges.
Dust rose into the slanting sunset light, weaving a golden net through the air. The old apartment carried the musty smell of damp teak flooring aged by the years. Half a bottle of mineral water from two months ago still sat on the coffee table, and the cat food piled on the entryway cabinet had gathered a layer of dust.
Zhou Ruo An had bought the cat food two years ago, back when Zhang Jin was still alive. Whenever he saw Zhou Ruo An carrying cat food to feed the stray cats catching mice around the urban village, he would snort lightly and curse in his weak voice, “Liars really do have too much money.”
Zhou Ruo An never spared anyone with his words. His voice drifted out along with the scattered cat food. “Liars do have money. This cat food doesn’t just feed cats—it feeds thieves too.”
Zhang Jin choked on his reply, completely speechless. He really had secretly eaten a few handfuls of cat food in the middle of the night when he got hungry and could not find anything else to eat. Honestly, it tasted better than leftovers.
After that, he stole a handful every night, the crunching noises echoing from beneath the blankets.
The stray cats always ate and ran. Zhou Ruo An never managed to touch even a single strand of fur. He stood up and dusted off his hands. “Wild cats and thieves can’t be tamed. Feeding you is pointless.”
Zhang Jin coughed so hard he nearly died from it.
Now Zhang Jin’s memorial photo hung in the living room. Zhou Ruo An found an iron basin and filled it with cat food beneath the picture. “Doesn’t count as stealing anymore. Eat as much as you want.”
Then he poured the rest of the cat food into the bushes downstairs before returning inside. He walked straight into what used to be his bedroom and began searching for his high school diploma. Zhou Ruo An planned to pursue a degree. Whether he actually learned anything was another matter, but at least the next time someone deliberately mocked his educational background to his face, he would not have to secretly flick cigarette ash into their drink just to vent his frustration.
When knuckles knocked against the door, Zhou Ruo An was kneeling on the floor, pulling open the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. His movements paused slightly at the sudden sound. Then he frowned, irritation appearing on his face. Rising to his feet and brushing off his pants, he walked to the door and pulled open the old wooden panel. The hinges dragged stiffly, the door sliding open painfully slowly, almost in slow motion, as Lin Yi’s face gradually entered Zhou Ruo An’s field of vision.
The man outside held a bag of pork ribs in his hand. His buzz cut and black clothes clashed strangely with the bright red plastic grocery bag printed with the supermarket’s name.
The moment Zhou Ruo An saw him, his expression instantly cooled, and his tone turned icy as well. “What are you doing here?”
Lin Yi ignored Zhou Ruo An’s attitude and walked straight inside. As he brushed past him sideways, he tossed out a sentence. “Didn’t you say you wanted sweet and sour pork ribs?”
As he spoke, he headed toward the kitchen with practiced familiarity. The bloody smell of raw ribs mixed with the rustling of the plastic bag drifted out. “Should I use rock sugar or white sugar for the sauce?”
With his back turned, Zhou Ruo An silently cursed before shutting the door and stuffing his high school diploma into his briefcase.
The roar of the range hood mixed with the dull thuds of a cleaver chopping bone. Zhou Ruo An dug out a cigarette, stuck it between his lips, and leaned lazily against the doorframe. “Didn’t you always use white sugar before?”
The reply was concise. “I can afford rock sugar now.”
Zhou Ruo An laughed as he lit the cigarette. There really was no way to argue with that.
Washing the meat, chopping the ribs, dropping them into the pot—the movements flowed together seamlessly. Lin Yi rolled up his shirt sleeves, exposing the muscles of his forearms as he poured the ribs into boiling water to blanch them. “Is it true the Pentagon in America really lost one of its corners?”
“Where the hell did you hear that?” Zhou Ruo An deliberately flicked ash into the trash can beside the gas stove, a few sparks landing on Lin Yi’s suit pants. “That’s complete bullshit.”
Foam from the blanched ribs floated to the surface of the pot. Lin Yi skimmed it off carefully with a strainer ladle. “Heard some brothers talking about it while drinking.”
“Among your crowd, having a middle school diploma already makes you a hen standing among quails.”
“You could’ve just said ‘a crane among chickens.’ I’d understand that.” Lin Yi scooped the blanched ribs out and set them aside before reheating the wok. With a steady wrist, he scattered a handful of rock sugar into the hot oil. Amid the crackling sounds of frying sugar, he asked again, “Do Americans really eat KFC every day?”
Zhou Ruo An laughed softly, cigarette between his lips as he twisted lazily against the doorframe. “Then American chickens must live tragic lives.”
The cut ribs rolled in the hot oil, and the kitchen gradually filled with an enticing fragrance. Under the kitchen lights, the contours of Lin Yi’s side profile became even sharper. Through the faint smoke, Zhou Ruo An’s gaze slowly traveled downward from that face until it finally settled on the man’s exposed forearm.
The skin there was dark and mottled, layers of marks overlapping like Old Ding’s patch-covered pants patched over again and again.
The cigarette burned between his fingers. A chunk of ash suddenly collapsed and fell in a shower, this time burning Zhou Ruo An’s own suit pants.
After a moment of silence, he suddenly asked in a quiet voice, “What does getting bitten by mosquitoes feel like?”
Lin Yi never stopped stir-frying, not even bothering to turn his head. “It’s not like you’ve never been bitten before.”
Zhou Ruo An’s eyes dimmed slightly. He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray beside him. “Bai Ban sent me a photo before. You were lying in the hospital bed swollen all over.”
Looking at the ribs in the wok, Lin Yi cursed with a laugh. “Fuck.”
Then he turned his head and looked at Zhou Ruo An seriously. “Zhang Xu Yao probably won’t trouble you anymore. He said that as long as you stop causing problems, this matter ends here.”
Then he asked, “What’s Zhou Ran Ming’s attitude now?”
Zhou Ruo An’s gaze unconsciously drifted back to that forearm again. “I’ve stabilized things for now. But I’m not actually his son. He can replace me anytime in the future.”
Lin Yi tasted the sauce and mocked him with a smile. “You should’ve just acknowledged Zhou Ran Ming as your dad back then. Would’ve saved a lot of trouble.”
“Fuck off.” Zhou Ruo An cursed from the doorway. Then his gaze suddenly sharpened as he stared at the man’s back. “Lin Yi, I couldn’t reach you for two whole months. That day you even had me act with you in front of Bai Ban.”
Lowering his voice, Zhou Ruo An stepped closer. “What exactly have you been doing lately?”
The iron spatula scraped harshly against the edge of the wok. Lin Yi lowered the heat, steam blurring the side of his face. “What could I be doing? Watching venues, fighting, risking my life for Bai Ban.”
He said it as casually as if they were discussing the tragic fate of American chickens.
Zhou Ruo An laughed softly, feeling like he was meddling unnecessarily. He did not press further. Picking up the suit jacket draped over the dining chair, he turned toward the door. “I’ve got things to do. Eat the ribs yourself. Wash the dishes afterward.”
“Zhou Ruo An.”
Amid the screeching scrape of the security door, Lin Yi’s voice chased after him alongside the smell of meat. “Were you jealous that night?”
Zhou Ruo An’s footsteps paused. He turned around, replacing his cold expression with mockery as the corners of his lips curved upward into a smile. “Lin Yi, what screw in your brain came loose?”
“My intuition.”
Zhou Ruo An grabbed a handful of cat food from beneath Zhang Jin’s memorial photo and slowly crushed it between his fingers. His eyes curved as he smiled, even forming a faint dimple in his right cheek. “Did your intuition get farted out?”
Lin Yi turned back to continue stir-frying. “Doesn’t matter where it came from. My intuition’s always pretty accurate.”
Holding the cat food, Zhou Ruo An looked at Zhang Jin’s memorial photo. Somehow, he read two words from the face that seemed to be enjoying the show:
Fuck////him.
Throwing away the cat food, Zhou Ruo An strode back over. The toe of his handmade leather shoe pressed against the heel of Lin Yi’s ordinary leather shoe. Raising his foot slightly, he practically shoved the words directly into Lin Yi’s ear. “You’re right. I did feel a little uncomfortable. It’s like a dog that’s always wagged its tail at me suddenly running off to lick someone else’s shoes instead. Do you think that counts as jealousy? At most, it just disgusted me.”
The heat carried by his words had not even faded when Lin Yi suddenly turned around. His lips accidentally brushed the corner of Zhou Ruo An’s mouth. Smiling, he said, “Shoe soles are filthy. I still prefer wagging my tail at you.”
Zhou Ruo An abruptly stepped back, his gaze trembling slightly as he cursed, “I fucking hate dogs the most. Even kicking one would dirty my shoes.”
He smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles on his cuffs, turned, and headed for the door. As he pushed it open, the metal clasp of his briefcase clanged loudly against the doorframe.
Lin Yi’s words slipped through the final crack of the closing door. “Zhou Ruo An, behave yourself for the next six months. Don’t make me keep reminding you.”
Outside the door, Zhou Ruo An quietly clenched his fists. He paused at the entrance for a moment before finally leaving without turning back.
“Worry about yourself instead.”
……
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