Off to the Village Chief's House to Live It Up

Duan Qizhao shoved the electric toothbrush into his mouth, freeing both hands to grab his assistant's shoulders, and sprayed toothpaste foam all over his face. "Are you serious?! Is there a bed to sleep in?!"

The assistant leaned back and nodded with difficulty.

"I'm going!" Duan Qizhao tossed his toothbrush into the enamel cup. Water splashed out and wet the tail of the yellow dog circling him, sending it yelping and bolting away.

"Sign me up! I can move right now!"

With that, he dashed toward the main room, only to stop after two steps and glance warily back at Jiang Xun, who was still focused on gnawing his corn.

"Hey," Duan Qizhao said from the doorway, one hand already on the doorframe. "Didn't you hear? The Village Chief's place has better conditions. Do you want to-"

"No." Jiang Xun did not even look up.

Duan Qizhao froze for a moment.

He had imagined Jiang Xun competing with him for it. He could not win an argument against him, and a fight was even more hopeless, but at least he could trade a few verbal blows before losing with dignity.

He truly had not expected Jiang Xun to have no intention of competing at all, leaving him hanging there.

"At least you know what's good for you." Still refusing to concede verbally, Duan Qizhao ducked into the main room, crouched on the floor, and began packing at lightning speed.

As though he feared someone might change their mind the very next second.

His suitcase lay open on the floor. He stuffed in the T-shirts and jeans he had rummaged through yesterday without bothering to fold them, simply balling them up and pressing them inside.

His hands kept moving, and so did his mouth. "Not leaving? Let him keep sleeping on that lousy bed, eating cornmeal buns and drinking vegetable mush every day. I'm off to the Village Chief's house to live it up-"

Duan Qizhao stood his suitcase upright, extended the handle, and took two steps toward the courtyard gate.

The shadow of the crooked jujube tree by the gate fell right across the threshold. The morning sun had yet to climb halfway up the sky, and the chill of the mountain mist still lingered in the air.

Jiang Xun finished his last bite of corn, set the cob on the low table, and stood up to stretch.

Duan Qizhao whipped his head away.

He did not know where that little twinge of unease had come from.

Perhaps it was because, while stuffing clothes into his suitcase just now, he had suddenly thought that once he left, Jiang Xun would be the only one left gnawing cornmeal buns at the low table in Shen Wangjing's house.

But what did that have to do with him?

Jiang Xun was nobody to him. The bruise from the last time he had been sent flying with a kick had stayed on his stomach for half a month before fading.

Then that spiked glass of Romanée-Conti had practically cost him half his life in the ambulance. The diarrhea had left him dehydrated, and his mother had cried so hard she nearly called the police.

With old grudges piled on top of new ones, he ought to be eager for Jiang Xun to suffer a little more in this impoverished mountain backwater.

So this slight discomfort was probably just because he had not slept well last night.

Once he moved into the Village Chief's house, lay down on a real bed, and slept under a new quilt until he woke naturally, everything would be fine.

The assistant had already left. Only the two of them and a yellow dog wagging its tail remained in the courtyard.

Duan Qizhao stood in the main room's doorway with a hand on his suitcase and cleared his throat.

Jiang Xun did not look up.

He cleared his throat again, twice as loudly as before.

Jiang Xun finally raised his eyes to glance at him. "If your throat's bothering you, go drink some water."

"Who said it was bothering me?!" Duan Qizhao stiffened his neck. "I'm kindly reminding you that if you're starving to death here, the Village Chief's house should still have room to squeeze in one more person."

Jiang Xun rolled his eyes. "Get lost already."

Duan Qizhao dragged his suitcase toward the courtyard gate with an angry huff. At the threshold, a wheel got stuck in a gap and would not come free. He gave it a hard yank, nearly tipping the suitcase over and stumbling a step himself.

Once he steadied himself and looked back, Jiang Xun was already nowhere to be seen. Only the yellow dog sat beneath the jujube tree, watching him with its head tilted and its tail sweeping slowly across the ground.

Zhao Pengfei had gotten out of bed before dawn and rummaged through the cupboards and chests to dig out the new bedsheet his mother had tucked away.

His mother had bought that sheet at the market last year. It had a little floral pattern, and she had never been able to bring herself to use it, keeping it neatly folded on the top shelf of the wardrobe.

He spread the sheet over the wooden plank bed in the guest room, pulled all four corners smooth, then fetched a thick cotton quilt from the cupboard and placed it at the foot of the bed.

The pillow was newly bought too, with a cartoon puppy printed on its case.

Zhao Pengfei thought it looked a little childish, but he could not find another one, so he could only turn it over with the printed side facing down.

"Xiaofei! What are you rummaging around in there for?!" Li Guizhi called at the top of her voice from the kitchen.

"I'm tidying up!" Zhao Pengfei swept the room again, cleared the cobwebs from the corners, and wiped the dust off the windowsill.

Finally, he brought a small electric fan from his room and set it on the bedside table.

Li Guizhi carried a plate of sliced watermelon to the guest room doorway. At the sight of the new sheet, quilt, and pillow, followed by her son crouching on the floor wiping the baseboards with a rag, she froze.

She had never seen Zhao Pengfei do housework in her life.

She had spoiled him since childhood until he could neither do manual work nor tell one grain from another. He stuffed his socks under the sofa after taking them off, and the empty snack bags he tossed on his bedside table could pile up for an entire month without being thrown away.

"Have you lost your mind?" Li Guizhi held the plate of watermelon, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Zhao Pengfei stood up and hid the rag behind his back, the tips of his ears a little red. "What's wrong with tidying up? He's from the city. We should at least make his stay comfortable."

"Mom, don't read into it," Zhao Pengfei explained before she could speak. "I just think our place has good conditions, and we can't let city people look down on our Shiban Village."

Li Guizhi set the watermelon plate on the table, folded her arms, and narrowed her eyes as she studied her son.

She had raised Zhao Pengfei for over a decade. The moment he stuck his backside out, she knew exactly what he was going to shit.

First he had cried and clamored, urging her to ask the production team to send someone over. Now he was cleaning the room as though he were bringing home a bride. She would not believe there was nothing fishy going on even if someone beat her to death.

But Zhao Pengfei gave her no chance to question him further. He simply pushed her out of the guest room and pulled the door shut behind her.

Then he went back and tidied himself up in front of the mirror, smoothing his hair with water three times and straightening his collar neatly. He even picked all the dirt out from beneath his fingernails.

He also polished the motorcycle in the courtyard until it gleamed and moved several pots of nearly dead flowers onto the guest room windowsill.

He did everything distractedly, his eyes constantly darting toward the dirt road outside the courtyard gate.

His house was the biggest in the village, with redbrick walls and aluminum-alloy windows. Compared with Shen Wangjing's drafty mud-brick house, the difference was nothing short of a palace versus a doghouse.

Jiang Xun had spent so many days eating cornmeal buns at the Shen family's place and drinking vegetable mush that his face had grown noticeably thinner. He was not stupid. Who would pass up a good life to squat in some pauper's house gnawing hard cornmeal buns?

At last, a sound came from outside the courtyard gate.

Suitcase wheels rumbled over the dirt road.

Zhao Pengfei sprang off the motorcycle seat, quickly smoothed his hair, and took a deep breath, the corners of his mouth lifting uncontrollably.