Zhao Buxi hurriedly backed out and switched to the QR code for adding a contact. “This one.”
He had it right this time. Just now, his finger had slipped and opened the payment QR code instead.
Fang Peizhi raised his phone and scanned again, finally adding Zhao as a friend. When the avatar appeared, he saw two little calves, a perfect match for Zhao’s nickname, Erniu (‘Two Oxen’).
Fang Peizhi simply used his own name on WeChat.
Looking at the WeChat notification that he’d received a hundred yuan, Zhao Buxi rubbed his nose. Fang must have mistaken him for someone selling sweets. He had transferred the money without even asking, despite Zhao having said the candy was for him.
“You’re way too trusting. Someone shows you a QR code and you send money straightaway? Why didn’t you ask me first?” Zhao Buxi opened their chat to send the money back. “I’ll transfer it back to you.”
Fang Peizhi refused. “Teachers don’t accept transfers of any kind online.”
He’d handed over the money and taken the candy, so neither of them owed the other anything.
“Keep the money,” Fang Peizhi said.
He was really getting a hundred yuan for nothing? Zhao Buxi warned him, “You’d better be careful when you go out from now on.”
Fang Peizhi was puzzled by this sudden concern for his safety. “Why?”
Zhao Buxi said, “I’m worried someone will chop you.”
As he spoke, he changed Fang Peizhi’s contact name to Bing Duoduo.
Fang Peizhi was easier to ‘chop’ than Pinduoduo. One tap and he handed over a hundred yuan. On Pinduoduo, people could make over a hundred cuts and still not have enough participants to cash out a hundred yuan.
Elio’s Notes: Bing Duoduo (饼多多) is Zhao Buxi’s nickname for Fang, playing on Pinduoduo (拼多多), a shopping app known for asking people to help ‘chop’ a price down to unlock a reward. Fang just handed him a hundred yuan much more easily.
“Oh, right. What did you call me in here for?” When Zhao had changed shoes at the entrance, Fang had told him to drop by when he had time. He had been in the room for ages, but Fang still hadn’t brought up the real reason.
Surely Fang wasn’t going to discuss a proper gift this time? Zhao finally had steady work and a regular monthly income, and people who dropped hints about gifts always seemed to take you into a little private room.
Zhao Buxi was from the north. When he was younger, he had accompanied his parents to hospitals for surgery, and gifts had always been expected.
Some doctors hinted openly or subtly that they wanted red envelopes. You paid the surgeon, paid the anesthesiologist, and sometimes even paid the nurses.
It made no difference if the words “No Red Envelopes” were written in huge letters on the hospital ward’s walls. The rotten practice had never truly been stamped out.
People accepted the envelopes all the same.
Before asking for one, doctors would call you into their office, supposedly to explain the patient’s condition. In reality, they were just making sure their pockets were empty and ready, then rubbing their fingers together to demand money.
Zhao had little money in hand right now. His company paid salaries at the beginning of the month; since he’d only joined near the end of this one, he’d probably receive just a thousand yuan in a few days.
Add the two thousand yuan he’d earned earlier by taking photos for Old Jiang, and even spending every bit of it would only buy something worth around three thousand yuan. Fang Peizhi probably wouldn’t be impressed.
Zhao Buxi planned to negotiate for a little more time. “Well, the thing is, I’m a bit short on money lately…”
Before he could finish, Fang Peizhi pulled a colorful talking educational wall chart, about half a meter long, out of a paper bag on the floor. It even had a little figure with braided hair on it.
“What’s that?” Zhao Buxi asked.
Instead of answering, Fang searched the room for a suitable spot, lifted his arm, and hung the chart on a wall.
He reached out and pressed one of the pictures at random to see whether it worked.
The chart announced in a forceful voice, “Grass!”
Elio’s Notes: The chart says cǎo (草), ‘grass.’ The same sound, in a different tone, is also used as a swear in Mandarin. Here the talking chart really is teaching a basic word.
It worked.
Fang Peizhi turned to him. “From now on, come to my room for half an hour after work every day to study.”
Zhao Buxi looked as dumbfounded as the “grass” the chart had just pronounced. “Study what?”
It had been ages since he graduated from junior high.
With the chart prominently displayed, Fang thought his intention was obvious enough. “You don’t know?”
Zhao Buxi looked at the chart. “Learn to read.” Deep down he resisted the idea and felt awkward about it, but he stubbornly said, “I don’t really want to study. I can read enough characters to get by.”
Besides, learning basic characters at his age was rather embarrassing. Zhao didn’t say that out loud, but the discomfort was there.
That was why he’d secretly bought a dictionary and tried to study on his own, without letting anyone know. So far, it hadn’t helped much.
Without realizing it, Fang slipped into the strict tone he used with his students. “How many characters can you actually read?”
He got eight out of ten wrong, even turning The Three Little Pigs into The Three Little Gents. Seeing his refusal to learn, Fang gave him no room to maneuver. “I don’t want someone who can’t read living around me.”
His words were sharp and blunt.
Zhao Buxi clenched his teeth, indignant.
When he was little, illiteracy hadn’t seemed like a big deal. Plenty of people never studied or learned to read. Most of the older generation in his village couldn’t read, yet they still married, raised families, and lived into old age. Back then, he had only wanted to escape school and earn money. As he grew older, however, shame about his illiteracy quietly took root in his heart.
Especially after coming to the big city, he’d discovered that not being able to read made almost everything difficult. He couldn’t even decipher the station names on the subway.
He used to love showing off when he was younger. Learning his letters now felt like admitting that younger self had been wrong.
“Then I’ll move out,” Zhao Buxi said stiffly.
Once his thousand yuan came in a few days, he’d find a room in a shared apartment, move all his things, and stop living here.
Fang Peizhi turned toward him. “Did I tell you to move out?”
He had told Zhao to learn to read. Which word had told him to leave?
What was the difference? Nobody liked offering warmth only to be met with a cold shoulder. If Fang despised him, why should he stay?
Zhao Buxi met his eyes. “Yeah.”
Fang was baffled. “Which sentence of mine told you to move out?”
Zhao ground out, “The one you said earlier.”
Fang Peizhi said, “The part where I said I don’t want to live around someone who can’t read?”
Hearing it again made Zhao even angrier. “Yeah!”
Zhao even had the nerve to answer “yeah.” Fang glared at him so fiercely that he looked ready to swallow him whole. “Did I say the word ‘move’ anywhere? Did I tell you to ‘go’?”
“Is there a difference? Isn’t that what you meant?”
“What did I mean?” Annoyed at being misunderstood, Fang Peizhi actually laughed. He said deliberately, “If you can’t read, I suppose your comprehension isn’t much better.”
“You!” Zhao Buxi shot back. “You’ve got some nerve criticizing other people. Why don’t you mention your terrible temper and how greedy you are?”
This time it was Fang’s turn to freeze. “What did you say?”
Never in his life had he imagined someone would see him that way.
“I said you’ve got a terrible temper and you’re greedy!” Zhao Buxi was furious. “So what if I can’t read? Did I ask you to teach me? Who do you think you are, some kind of supreme ruler? What gives you the right to lecture me?”
His literacy was his own business. Nobody else had the right to lecture him about it.
Fang Peizhi grew angry too. He rummaged noisily around his room and dug out his teaching qualification certificate.
He slapped it onto the table.
Zhao Buxi: “…”
To Fang, how he looked in Zhao Buxi’s eyes was secondary. But Zhao refusing to learn to read? That was not negotiable.
Fang was frustrated by his wasted potential. “Are you planning to be illiterate all your life?”
Did it really feel so wonderful to look at characters he couldn’t read and have to guess what they meant? Fang didn’t believe Zhao genuinely had no desire to learn.
“I’ve hung the chart in my room for you to learn, and you don’t want to. Would you rather I hang it in the living room, where your little brother can watch and listen every day?”
The faculty apartment assigned by the university was more than spacious enough for one person. It had two bedrooms and a living room. When Fang had lived here alone, one room had been his bedroom and the other his study.
After hearing about the incident that forced the students out of their dormitory, he had bought a bed and temporarily turned the study into a second bedroom.
Now that he no longer had a study, the only suitable place to hang the chart was his own room.
Fang knew that even someone who put on a brave face about not being able to read must, deep down, be aware of the difficulties it caused in daily life. In an age of rapidly advancing technology, not knowing written characters made almost everything harder.
He didn’t need to spell that out. Zhao Buxi knew it better than anyone.
Fang had his reasons for putting the chart in his own room.
Now it was Zhao Buxi’s turn to fall silent.
He hadn’t expected Fang to take that into consideration. He really didn’t want people around him to know he was learning to read. Otherwise, why would he have bought a dictionary he couldn’t even understand and tried to study secretly?
By putting the talking chart in his bedroom, Fang was protecting Zhao’s pride.
No wonder, when he’d invited Zhao into his room at the door earlier, he’d lowered his voice as though the police were staking out a thief.
So that Little Tiger wouldn’t overhear.
Realizing how thoughtful Fang had been, Zhao Buxi was stunned. He hadn’t known this man could be so considerate. He swallowed, clenched his fist, and glared at the floor like a stubborn donkey. “Couldn’t you have just told me properly?”
Starting off by saying he didn’t want an illiterate person around him? How was Zhao supposed to take that as anything other than contempt?
Anyone would have read more into it.
Of course, part of it was Zhao’s own insecurity about not being able to read. Fang hadn’t actually intended to look down on him.
Fang Peizhi looked at him. “So it’s my fault?”
“Whose fault would it be if not yours? What you said really hurt me.” Zhao Buxi laid it all out honestly, without an ounce of pretense. “I’m not some little bug living inside your heart. How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?”
His tone and even his expression showed little grievance, but the words I’m not some little bug living inside your heart carried a wave of hurt as enormous as the English Channel in a storm, ready to wash right over someone.
The room fell quiet.
Fang hadn’t expected such straightforwardness. Zhao had put his feelings on the table without hesitation, and Fang realized that he himself had been arrogant. After all, he was the one who had insisted on teaching Zhao to read; Zhao had never asked him to.
Just because Fang offered to teach him, did that mean Zhao had to be grateful and accept? Why should he?
Fang Peizhi asked, “What would you like me to do?”
“Apologize to me,” Zhao Buxi said with a grave expression.
“I’m sorry,” Fang Peizhi replied, just as gravely.
“…”
Zhao Buxi was left speechless. He hadn’t expected the apology to come so easily. He’d assumed that a great professor like Fang would never agree to apologize, but here he was, owning his mistake without hesitation. It had been the same when Fang was ill: if he was wrong, he admitted it at once, made no excuses, and dealt with the problem.
Well, this was awkward. Fang’s words might have been unpleasant, but he genuinely wanted to teach him and had even bought the materials. Zhao had been stubborn from the beginning and refused to appreciate the gesture.
So embarrassing.
When Zhao said nothing, Fang came closer and said seriously once more, “I’m sorry.”
Zhao had never met someone who pursued him with apologies. Keeping a straight face, he forced himself to say, “Fine. It’s okay.” Then he added with deliberately reluctant emphasis, “I’ll study a little each day. I’m very busy at work.”
Watching his painfully obvious attempt to save face, Fang laughed.
Disagreements between them were unavoidable. They had grown up in different circumstances and thought differently.
One thought the other refused to learn and was frustrated that he was wasting his potential. The other thought he was being looked down on by an arrogant man and flew into a rage.
In truth, neither had meant what the other assumed. Their personalities and ways of expressing themselves were different, so the same words carried different meanings to the person listening.
Nobody could read another person’s mind. Getting along with someone always required a little adjustment on both sides.
Fang’s laugh made Zhao Buxi’s ears burn. “When I get paid, I’ll give you tuition money.”
Fang Peizhi asked, “How much do you earn?”
“Six thousand,” Zhao Buxi answered.
“Keep it,” Fang said.
Six thousand yuan was barely enough to survive on in Beijing.
He should keep his money. Then perhaps he wouldn’t have to keep bleeding his younger brother dry to buy designer labels.
Hearing him refuse the money, Zhao Buxi wondered whether Fang wanted him to save it up and give him a much bigger sum later.
It had been years since he’d last attended classes. Back in junior high, he’d often skipped school to earn more money and bring Little Tiger home from the welfare institution as soon as possible. Some months he hadn’t spent even a week at school, and that wasn’t counting weekends.
Now that he was going to have lessons again, Zhao resolved to make sure he learned every last character this time.
Even obscure characters would be so familiar he could recite them backward.
The wall with the talking chart faced the bed, and Zhao Buxi and Fang Peizhi stood in the narrow space between them.
“Tap a picture. The chart will say the word, and you repeat it.” Fang demonstrated.
Zhao nodded. “Okay.”
“Go ahead.” Fang moved aside to make room.
Zhao stepped up and pressed the first word on the chart.
The chart said, “Dad.”
Zhao Buxi replied, “Hello.”
Standing beside him, Fang Peizhi said coldly, “Be serious.”
Fang had changed almost instantaneously, radiating the intimidating authority of a teacher. Zhao Buxi said, “Okay,” and began taking it seriously.
The chart said, “Dad.”
Zhao Buxi repeated clearly, “Dad.”
Fang Peizhi responded, “What?”
Zhao looked at him. “You’re the one who needs to be serious.”
Fang cleared his throat. He hadn’t been able to resist. “Continue.”
Zhao Buxi wasn’t short. In fact, he was exceptionally well proportioned, tall and long-legged. But standing in front of the chart, tapping each picture and obediently repeating whatever it said, he looked endearingly silly.
While Zhao practiced aloud, Fang left the room to find a pen and some paper.
Writing as he read would help the characters stick in his memory.
The most important things in learning characters were knowing how to pronounce them and how to write them.
Fang set a target of twenty words a day. Zhao also had to be able to write every character from those words from memory, even when they were presented in a different order.
When Fang returned with pen and paper, Zhao was still standing in front of the chart reading along.
The chart said, “Auntie.”
Zhao repeated, “Auntie.”
“Older brother.”
“Older brother.”
“Younger brother.”
Hearing Fang return, Zhao looked at him. “Younger brother.”
Fang knew Zhao was doing it on purpose.
It wasn’t even certain which of them was older.
When the reading was done, Fang called him over to the desk. “Come here.”
There was a desk in Fang’s bedroom. The large desk from his former study was still in what was now the second bedroom, so he’d bought another one to avoid disrupting his work.
The desk was some distance from the chart, about as far as the second row of desks in a classroom was from the blackboard.
“Copy the characters from the chart onto the paper. Say each one while you write it. I’ll test you tomorrow night.”
Zhao Buxi asked, “Every day we learn new characters, you’re going to test me the next day?”
Fang folded his arms. “Of course.”
How could it be studying if there was no pressure? Twenty words a day wasn’t much anyway.
Students preparing for postgraduate entrance exams tackled at least a hundred new English words as soon as they woke up each day.
Hearing that he would have to study and take a test every single day, Zhao wilted like a frostbitten eggplant. He sat miserably in the chair, picked up the pen, and began copying words onto the paper.
As he copied them, he read them aloud:
“Dad.”
“Mom.”
“Grandpa.”
“Grandma.”
Never mind how attractive his handwriting was. Fang noticed that even his stroke order and the way he held the pen were wrong.
“…”
How on earth had his parents and teachers taught him when he was little?
“You’re holding the pen incorrectly.” Fang took the gel pen from his hand and demonstrated with his own elegant, slender fingers.
“Hold it like this.” Fang rotated the pen to show him from every angle. “See?”
“Got it.” At least, Zhao thought he had.
But when Fang gave the pen back and Zhao tried to copy him, he still got it wrong.
Standing behind Zhao, Fang braced one hand on the desk and wrapped the other around Zhao’s hand. “Like this. Your index finger and thumb should be on opposite sides of the pen.”
Zhao Buxi’s face was set in concentration. He tended to go expressionless when he was serious, which made him look very wise indeed.
“Like this?” Zhao adjusted his fingers.
“Yes.”
The moment Fang let go, Zhao’s grip reverted to its original position.
Fang Peizhi: “…”
Fang Peizhi was accustomed to demonstrations that seemed to have no effect. Sometimes, while teaching, he thought his students might as well have pigs’ heads, complete with floppy ears that would slap their faces when they shook them.
This time, he closed his hand more firmly around Zhao’s, so tightly that it was almost painful. It felt as if three enormous octopuses had latched onto Zhao’s hand.
“Hold it this way.” He began guiding Zhao through today’s twenty words. “Every character has a specific stroke order. Watch carefully.”
Zhao pursed his lips, lowered his head, and concentrated as Fang guided his hand across the paper.
Neat characters appeared on the clean white sheet, their strokes crisp and precise, infinitely more attractive than the scrawls Zhao had produced while fumbling around on his own.
Zhao didn’t understand stroke order. With Fang guiding him, he often didn’t know where to apply pressure, and sometimes pushed in the opposite direction. Fang silently corrected the movements of his hand.
For twenty words, they painstakingly traced stroke after stroke for a full half hour. By the end, their joined hands were sweaty.
Two grown men holding hands until they sweated.
Fang Peizhi and Zhao Buxi: “…” This is so weird.
When they finished, they exchanged a look and immediately let go.
“Practice on your own,” Fang said. “I’ll test you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Zhao replied.
With his student left to study independently, Fang paid him no further attention. He took his pajamas from the wardrobe and went into the bathroom.
When he emerged, Zhao had finished studying, tidied the desk, and left.
After practicing, Zhao folded his sheet of paper into a square about the size of his palm, slipped it into his trouser pocket, and went out.
Now that he had started learning characters, a small sense of happiness was growing inside him. After just one lesson, he was already imagining a future when he’d be able to recognize and read everything, without struggling to guess what a sign or word might say.
Good things had been happening lately. If the company’s project succeeded, he could receive a share of the profits, and now he was beginning to learn to read every day.
A smile played at the corner of Zhao Buxi’s mouth as he returned to the other room.
Zhao Sheng was seated at the desk. Seeing his brother return, he asked, “Ge, what did Professor Fang want to see you about?”
He had been gone quite a while, a full hour by Zhao Sheng’s reckoning.
Zhao Buxi quickly wet his lips with his tongue. His eyes darted around as he stammered, “Nothing much. We just had a chat. I’m going to take a shower.”
With that, he hurried into the bathroom.
Looking at the closed bathroom door, Zhao Sheng thought his brother seemed perfectly fine. They probably really had just been chatting.
His cup happened to be empty, so he carried it out to get some water.
As soon as he reached the living room, he saw Fang Peizhi with wet hair and a towel draped over his head, looking as though he’d only just showered.
Seeing Zhao Sheng, Fang asked, “Getting some water?”
“Yeah.”
Fang had the water jug in his hand and conveniently poured Zhao Sheng a glass.
Zhao Sheng had a vague feeling that something wasn’t quite right, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.
He gathered his courage. “Professor Fang, you and my brother just now…”
Fang guessed what he wanted to ask. Before Zhao Sheng could finish, Fang filled his own glass and walked away. “Nothing happened. We just talked.”
“Oh, and I noticed a few errors in the figures in your paper. I’ve marked them and sent it back. Remember to correct them.”
What?
Zhao Sheng hurriedly pulled out his phone to check his inbox.
The sky had fallen.