She exaggeratedly imitated an older woman’s voice, "Jingchu, can’t you just eat properly? What kind of bad habit is this? Your mother might tolerate it, but if you eat like this at your in-laws’ house, your father-in-law won’t stand for it."
Sheng Jingchu looked at her, "Your father-in-law wouldn’t stand for it?"
Cheng Liao was momentarily stunned, realizing he was joking. Embarrassed, she patted her cheeks to hide it.
"Let’s just eat."
After a few bites, Cheng Liao looked at him with a smile, "Let me show you a trick."
She stuck out her tongue, stretching it down until it almost touched her chin, then pulled it back, proudly showing Sheng Jingchu. "Can you do that?"
Cheng Liao’s lower teeth were slightly uneven, with one tooth growing inward a bit. Because of this, the tip of her tongue didn’t have much space, creating a small notch that made it look like a tiny fork. When she stuck her tongue out, it resembled a cartoon snake from a storybook.
Sheng Jingchu shook his head, "No need to try—I definitely can’t do that."
"I couldn’t do it at first either. I learned it from TV. You wouldn’t believe how long I practiced in secret. My dad used to say that if I put this much effort into studying, I’d be at Peking University by now."
She stuck out her tongue again and encouraged Sheng Jingchu, "You should try it too—who knows, you might have a hidden talent!"
Sheng Jingchu found the idea a bit silly, like when Cao Xihe used to challenge him to staring contests as a kid. He hadn’t done anything this childish in years. Feeling a bit awkward, he hesitated, but as he was about to close his mouth, Cheng Liao stuffed a spoonful of fried rice into it.
"No spitting it out," Cheng Liao shook the spoon she was holding, "It’s clean—I got a new one."
Sheng Jingchu hesitated for a moment but then slowly began chewing. It had been a long time since he had experienced the mixed flavors of food. He chewed for what felt like a long time, until the last bit of food slid down his throat.
"Is it good?"
He didn’t answer, but instead, he picked up the spoon, mixed the separated food back together, scooped up a bite, and ate it. Then he repeated the process.
Breaking a habit can leave you feeling uncomfortable, like struggling forward with a heavy burden, only to suddenly let go and feel the relief of fresh air filling your lungs.
Cheng Liao thought he seemed unhappy, but she couldn’t tell for sure from his expression.
She silently scolded herself, thinking she was a bad influence for tempting him to break his habits.
After finishing in silence, he set down his spoon.
He pulled out a napkin and wiped his mouth before standing to pick up the dishes.
Cheng Liao quickly stopped him, "Leave them—I’ll wash."
He didn’t insist.
After cleaning up the kitchen, Cheng Liao wiped her hands on her apron and noticed Sheng Jingchu staring out the window.
The night had deepened, like someone had poured a layer of ink over everything. Through the window, she could only see the faint outlines of trees.
He sat there, his profile blending into the night as if he belonged to it, so lonely it tugged at her heart.
She leaned in, flashing a big smile, "We have a neighbor named Kang who just had a baby boy. The family’s really excited and asked everyone for help with the name. You know how they say girls’ names should come from the Book of Songs and boys’ names from the Songs of Chu? My cousin and I spent days poring over the Songs of Chu, but yesterday we heard the baby’s name is already decided. The family’s thrilled with it. It’s a four-character name, with a touch of Japanese flair and a hint of Korean style. Can you guess what it is?"
Sheng Jingchu knew she didn’t really expect him to guess, so he casually asked, "What’s the name?"
"Kang Samida!"
After saying it, Cheng Liao burst into laughter. When she finished laughing, she mumbled, "I wonder if the kid will grow up hating his parents."
Sheng Jingchu laughed too. He stood up and asked her, "Shall we go?"
Cheng Liao locked the door. The restaurant was less than three miles from Sweetwater Alley, so they walked along the quiet street. The locust flowers had mostly fallen, and the wind carried the scent of camphor trees—a smell that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, somewhere between fragrant and sharp.
She pointed to a nearby wall and said, "I went to middle school at this school."
Recalling her middle school days, her tone carried a hint of nostalgia.
"Our school had two deans. One was bald, so everyone secretly called him ‘Bright Top,’ and the other had a big black tooth, so we called him ‘Black Wood Tooth.’"
The playground was empty, and the lights were still on in the teaching building—probably for the students in their final year preparing for exams.
"Bright Top was in charge of academics, and Black Wood Tooth was in charge of discipline. He was super strict. Girls had to either cut their hair short or tie it up—no letting it hang loose. But there’s always that awkward stage where your hair is too short to tie up properly. If you tie it up, it sticks out like a magpie’s tail; if you don’t, it pokes at your neck."
Cheng Liao demonstrated the length with her hand. Seeing that Sheng Jingchu wasn’t saying anything, she felt a bit self-conscious, "Am I boring you?"
Sheng Jingchu shook his head, "I only attended kindergarten."
And even then, it was only for a few days. At six, he began studying Go with Xie Hanzhou, spending half his day in cultural studies with a tutor and the other half learning Go.
His tone carried a touch of wistfulness, "So this is what school life is like."
Encouraged, Cheng Liao continued, "Back then, I wanted to grow my hair out, but it was just long enough to tie up. I thought it looked ugly tied up, but if I left it loose, Black Wood Tooth would always catch me and give me a lecture. One day, he caught me again and ordered me to fix my hair immediately, or he’d call my parents. I was a rebellious kid, so the more he told me to tie it up, the more I refused. The next day, when I saw Black Wood Tooth patrolling at the gate, I got a wild idea and decided to climb the wall to sneak into school."
Sheng Jingchu roughly estimated the height of the courtyard wall—it was about two meters. He was skeptical, "Could you really climb over it?"
"Don’t underestimate me," Cheng Liao grinned, revealing a row of small white teeth in the dark. "I did manage to get up there, but the problem was getting down. That day was a Monday, and we had a flag-raising ceremony. I ended up perched on the wall for the entire school to admire."
This incident had been one of Cheng Liao’s greatest embarrassments, and she had never told anyone about it. But perhaps because she had already embarrassed herself enough that night, she didn’t mind sharing it now.
"In the end, it was Xu Chi who helped me down."
Xu Chi was two grades ahead of her. When Cheng Liao was in her first year of middle school, Xu Chi was already in his third year.
Because of Grandpa Xu’s words, both Cheng Liao and Xu Chi were often teased by the kids in Sweetwater Alley, and they would bicker whenever they met.
Thirteen-year-old Cheng Liao felt utterly humiliated that day, like her world was collapsing. The more she tried not to cry, the more she couldn’t hold back, until her face was a mess of tears and snot.
"I still remember how Xu Chi looked that day. The school had a rule that we had to wear uniforms on Mondays. Do you know the kind? Black with a row of gold buttons on the front, kind of like Korean-style school uniforms. Don’t be fooled by how polished Xu Chi looks now—he was a total troublemaker back then. His shirt was unbuttoned, his chest exposed, showing the white shirt underneath. He reached out his hand, with a smirk like a little rascal."
"I deliberately avoided his hand and jumped down, landing right on top of him. He let out a yell that could shake the heavens... I thought he’d shove me away like he used to, but instead, he sat up and nervously asked, 'Are you hurt?'"
"Are you hurt?"
It was that one sentence that sparked ten years of unrequited love for Cheng Liao.
The middle school Cheng Liao attended was just across the street from the Go dojo where Sheng Jingchu studied. When he was tired from practicing Go, Sheng Jingchu would sometimes look out the window at the boys and girls running on the playground.
They were too far away for him to make out their faces, but maybe Cheng Liao was among them.
When Sheng Jingchu was fifteen, someone suggested he transfer to the nearby school, but his mentor strongly opposed it, so it never happened.
If he had attended Cheng Liao’s school back then, would he have been the one to offer her a hand on that Monday ten years ago?
Sheng Jingchu wondered if he had missed out on a part of his life.
In that time, there were laughs and tears, a girl with a defiant little face, hair too short to tie properly, dressed in a blue tracksuit and carrying a large backpack.
Maybe she also walked along this path on her way home, humming off-key songs, kicking a small stone with one foot, and eyeing the fried chicken skewers at a roadside stall. She would finally muster the courage to fish out two coins from her pocket and munch on them as she walked.
Perhaps by the time she reached her doorstep, she hadn’t finished eating, so she’d quickly stuff the rest into her mouth to avoid getting scolded by her grandma.
He would have followed her from a distance, turning down a side street at some point. He would have been busy with both Go and school, concerned about his midterm rankings, with ambitions of becoming class president.
Maybe this version of him, so preoccupied, wouldn’t have won the Tianyuan Go Championship at sixteen.
He wouldn’t have had a dazzling Go career, but he would have gone to high school and then university.
Go might have just become a hobby for him.
He would have met Cheng Liao early on, walked her to and from school, celebrated every important holiday with her, and watched the days go by together, witnessing sunsets and sunrises.
Sheng Jingchu stopped walking and looked up at the sky. It was the thirteenth day of the lunar month, and a crescent moon hung in the sky, just shy of being full.
Cheng Liao followed his gaze and pointed to the star next to the moon. "What star is that? The morning star?" She immediately realized how silly that sounded—the morning star wouldn’t appear at this time.
"The morning star is the brightest star, usually visible for about three hours after sunset or before sunrise." He thought for a moment. "You asked a tricky question—the morning star is actually Venus. But there’s also a chance of a phenomenon where Venus or Jupiter appears next to the moon, so that star is either Jupiter or Venus."
Whether it was Venus or Jupiter, from this distance, they looked the same.
After staring up for a while, Cheng Liao felt light-headed from the blood rushing out of her brain. She reached up to rub her neck.
"Sigh, staring up like this is uncomfortable. Maybe that’s why Kant said that the starry sky above and the moral law within fill us with wonder and awe."
){kind=link}
0 Comments