Chapter 76

The next day was Saturday. No tutoring, but Fei Bolin still had to go out for deliveries.

Usually his delivery partner would leave their shared e-bike at the agreed spot, and Fei Bolin would pick it up around seven-thirty.

But he'd slept too late the night before, and when he opened his eyes today it was already eight-thirty.

His internal clock almost never failed him. This was one of those rare times.

He grabbed his phone in a rush. His partner had sent the photo of where the e-bike was parked right at seven, and starting at eight, since he hadn't logged into the delivery app, the station manager had blown up his phone with over a dozen calls.

Wen Fu was curled up against Fei Bolin's chest, having kicked his pillow away in his sleep. His forehead pressed against Fei Bolin's chest, hair a mess, covering his forehead and eyes. Most of his face was buried against him, only the tip of his nose and his lips showing.

Fei Bolin lifted the blanket off himself as quietly as he could, slipped out of bed, went into the bathroom and shut the door, then called the station manager back while he washed up.

Luckily the manager saw he was new and didn't scold him—just told him to get online and take orders fast, reminded him not to let it happen again, and hung up.

Fei Bolin finished up quickly and was about to head to the kitchen to boil a couple of eggs for Wen Fu. The moment he opened the bathroom door, he found Wen Fu standing there, half-awake, staring at him.

'You haven't even opened your eyes and you're already here.' Fei Bolin acted like he was annoyed, but wiped Wen Fu's eyes with his still-damp hand. 'Not sleeping anymore?'

Wen Fu shook his head.

Last night Fei Bolin had come home and still had to do laundry and shower, busy until late before sleeping. Wen Fu had been dozing off next to him, stubbornly staying up until two-thirty just so they could go to bed together.

They'd slept maybe six hours at most. Wen Fu's class was in the afternoon—he could've slept through till lunch.

'Not sleeping.' Wen Fu yawned. 'I'm going with Bo-ge to do deliveries.'

Fei Bolin figured he was being silly. 'No class?'

'My teacher's got family stuff going on,' Wen Fu said. 'Day off today.'

To prove it, he started patting himself down looking for his phone, front and back, couldn't find it anywhere. Fei Bolin couldn't help but point out: 'Your pants don't have pockets.'

'...Oh.'

Wen Fu stopped, still half-asleep, and wandered toward the living room.

Fei Bolin stood with his arms folded. 'Your jacket and bag are in the bedroom.'

Wen Fu turned around and sleepwalked his way to the bedroom.

Fei Bolin shook his head and went to the kitchen to boil eggs.

Once the pot was on and the water heating, he went to the bedroom to change.

The moment he stepped through the door, he saw Wen Fu half-collapsed on the bed, legs stubbornly still on the floor, the whole person half-sprawled, half-standing, asleep.

He couldn't help laughing. He went over and rubbed Wen Fu's head.

Wen Fu woke up right away, tilted his head to look at him, and mumbled: 'Bo-ge?'

'Go sleep on the bed,' Fei Bolin said. 'No class today, just rest properly.'

Wen Fu rubbed his eyes and stood up. 'I'm not tired.'

Then yawned again.

'Sleep.' Fei Bolin smoothed down his bird's-nest hair. 'I'll be back early today.'

Wen Fu dug in. 'I'm really not tired.'

Fei Bolin ignored him.

He tried again: 'Once I eat breakfast I won't be tired.'

Fei Bolin still didn't bite.

Wen Fu pressed up close to Fei Bolin. 'I'm going with Bo-ge.'

Fei Bolin sighed. 'Delivering isn't fun. It's exhausting.'

A beat of silence. Fei Bolin caught himself and backtracked: 'Not that exhausting. Just... kinda pointless.'

Great. Now Wen Fu was absolutely going no matter what.

'Bo-ge drives, I deliver.' Wen Fu sat on the back of the e-bike, helmet Fei Bolin had put on him, eating eggs one after another. The bike hummed along, wind blasting his face as he ate. 'I run fast. I'll get there in no time.'

Fei Bolin smiled. 'Okay.'

Let Wen Fu tag along for one day, let him get a taste of the grind, and he'd never pester him to come out again.

That was Fei Bolin's plan.

He had a good memory and learned routes fast. Just his second week of delivering and he already had the whole area's road network down. Once he took an order, he'd run between the restaurant and the customer.

A lot of the time one office building had multiple orders, each going to a different floor and unit number. They'd usually split up, each taking half.

Wen Fu was like a little hunting dog. The moment Fei Bolin stopped the bike and told him the floor and room number, he'd grab the food and shoot off, back in a few minutes, not even winded. Speed of lightning.

After a few runs, whenever the same building had multiple orders, Wen Fu started demanding Fei Bolin give him most of them—otherwise he'd finish his half, then just lean against the bike waiting, which was boring.

Even so, he was still faster than Fei Bolin.

Years of weaving through crowds had built up the habit. Wen Fu's frame was narrower than Fei Bolin's, lighter on his feet—when he dove into a crowd he moved like a fish through water, quick at everything. He always squeezed into elevators first, and when he couldn't fit, he'd take the fire stairs.

He asked Fei Bolin to give him even more orders. Fei Bolin said no.

So Wen Fu, with nothing to do, would come back down after delivering and lean against the e-bike watching this singing competition show he'd been following.

The show was called Our New Voice. The production team was dedicated to finding young, promising new faces from all over. The competition channels and selection methods were transparent—the Program Team filmed everything from the auditions onward. There were six judges, each with twenty 'civilian screeners' under them. At auditions, contestants went through a first round with the screeners, then advanced to a second round in front of the judges.

Five rounds of auditions total. The six judges were spread across different provinces, municipalities, and autonomous regions—one region per round, each judge responsible for at least five regions.

They were currently in the second round. Wen Fu was watching the Qinghai second-tier auditions.

One contestant in this round had trended on Weibo the moment he stepped on stage. His incredible high-note pitch and unique songwriting ability made him stand out from a sea of forgettable competitors. The night the episode aired, his original song topped every clip platform for a full day.

Wen Fu was watching that very performance.

Halfway through, Fei Bolin appeared beside him without a sound.

No orders on the phone right then. The two of them huddled together, taking advantage of these few minutes of breathing room to watch quietly.

Fei Bolin had never followed this kind of show. This was his first time watching, so he felt a bit lost—just saw that everyone on screen was hyped up and asked: 'This guy's really good?'

Wen Fu nodded.

Fei Bolin said: 'Compared to the others, who sings better?'

Wen Fu said: 'He does.'

Fei Bolin asked: 'Compared to you?'

This time Wen Fu thought about it—though not for long, just two seconds—then made his call: 'I'm better.'

Fei Bolin smiled, was about to say he'd take him there too, when an order alert came through. The two of them had to jump on the bike and race to the restaurant.

They ran like this all morning. By lunchtime Fei Bolin stopped taking orders—he normally wouldn't, he'd just grab a boxed meal from a street stall, eat while leaning against the bike, and if an order came in, he'd stick the box in the delivery bag, deliver first, then pull it back out and eat during the three or five minutes between orders.

Most riders worked like that—resting off-peak. Lunch and dinner rushes were the busiest times; nobody stopped making money just to rest.

But today he had Wen Fu with him. Wen Fu needed a proper meal.

They found a little roadside restaurant that looked busy. Wen Fu got off, walked in, and immediately chugged two pots of tea. Fei Bolin took his cup away. 'Drink too much and you won't be able to eat later.'

Wen Fu said: 'I can eat.'

No need to worry about his appetite. As long as Fei Bolin was fine, Wen Fu could eat two bowls of rice even if the sky fell.

Fei Bolin figured that was true, so he took Wen Fu's helmet off first.

'Order first. Whatever you want, get three or four dishes.' Fei Bolin figured Wen Fu had to be starving—portions out here were small, too few dishes wouldn't be enough for him. He gave the instructions while carrying Wen Fu's helmet out the door. 'I'm going to find parking.'

It was Saturday. Traffic was heavy, parking was tight, and parking enforcement was everywhere. The spot they'd found didn't allow random parking, so Fei Bolin had to go a kilometer away to a plaza in front of an office building.

The restaurant's menu was a big red sheet of adhesive paper stuck on the wall by the kitchen door—you could see all the dishes the moment you walked in.

Wen Fu's eyes were busy scanning the menu, but his body was already leaning in the direction Fei Bolin had gone. 'How long till you're back?'

Fei Bolin was already outside, on the bike. 'Fifteen minutes!'

The words barely left his mouth before he gunned the e-bike and was gone.

Wen Fu's eyes went back and forth across the menu twice. He really didn't know what to order.

Not because he couldn't find anything he wanted, but because everything felt too expensive.

Shredded potatoes, twelve yuan. Shredded pork with green peppers, twenty-two. Even the simplest cabbage and tofu soup was fifteen.

Fei Bolin earned five yuan per order running all over the district. Any one or two dishes here added up to what he made in two hours of deliveries.

The owner came over with a pen and little notepad, standing by his table. 'Handsome, picked anything yet?'

Wen Fu swallowed. Still hadn't decided what to order, when he suddenly noticed the tea table outside the kitchen had a big free basket of pickled radish and a big basket of pickled vegetables.

He decided on the spot. Ordered just two light stir-fries that Fei Bolin usually liked, then asked the owner: 'Is the rice unlimited?'

The owner beamed. 'Of course.'

He pointed at the pickled radish. 'What about the pickled stuff?'

'That too!' the owner said. 'It's sitting right there, help yourself. Just those two dishes is enough?'

Wen Fu nodded. 'Enough.'

'That's not enough for two people.'

'It's enough.'

The owner laughed and headed for the kitchen. 'Rice is over there, just let me know if you want more dishes.'

Wen Fu nodded.

He went to the rice pot and scooped himself a big bowl, then walked over to the basket of pickled radish, used one of the little dishes the restaurant provided for pickled veggies to scoop up a plate of radish, and carried both back to the table.

Then he buried his head and chowed down, radish and plain rice, finishing a whole big bowl.

Sichuan hole-in-the-wall restaurants used small sanitized bowls—a bowl packed tight with rice was only half a bowl's worth at home. Wen Fu looked left, looked right, ran out the door to peer in the direction Fei Bolin had gone, then ran back to his seat. In the five minutes before Fei Bolin returned, he ate another big bowl of plain rice with pickled vegetables.

He'd done this kind of thing before, back when he was with his adoptive father. Those were times when he was so hungry he couldn't stand it—he'd go to a restaurant and buy a yuan's worth of plain rice from the owner. Basically just buying himself a seat at the table. The rice was unlimited refills, so he'd pay his yuan, grab some of the free pickled stuff, keep eating rice until he was full, then leave—didn't care what the owner or other customers thought.

Now Fei Bolin was back. Wen Fu had already finished his two bowls of plain rice. Fei Bolin saw only two dishes on the table and naturally assumed the rest hadn't come out yet. 'What else did you order?'

Wen Fu said: 'Nothing else.'

Fei Bolin was surprised. 'Two dishes is enough?' He was about to call someone over to order another.

Wen Fu stopped him. 'I'm not hungry anymore.'

Fei Bolin didn't buy it. 'Ran all morning and you're not hungry?'

At home, Wen Fu could slurp down two big bowls of sauced noodles right about now.

Wen Fu said: 'The water filled me up. Not hungry.'

Fei Bolin stared at him, speechless. The look on his face said: 'What did I just tell you? Who's the one who doesn't listen?'

'Then if you're hungry this afternoon, tell me.' Fei Bolin picked up his chopsticks and put food in Wen Fu's bowl. 'We can grab something on the road anytime.'

Backed by two bowls of rice, Wen Fu spoke with confidence. 'Won't be hungry.'

Fei Bolin didn't bother arguing with a cat who had no self-awareness. 'Eat first.'

Given Wen Fu's appetite, the restaurant's little bowls were nowhere near enough. Fei Bolin figured Wen Fu would eat at least four bowls, maybe five.

But who would've thought—when Wen Fu said he wasn't hungry, he really wasn't. He barely managed three bowls before putting down his chopsticks, leaving most of the dishes for Fei Bolin.

Fei Bolin's face didn't show it, but inside he was shocked.

He reminded Wen Fu again: 'If you're hungry this afternoon, you have to tell me.'

Wen Fu nodded, not bothering to argue with an ignorant adult. 'Got it.'

After lunch, the two of them sped off on the bike again to deliver.

With Wen Fu handling half the legwork, Fei Bolin had earned by six PM what he used to make in a full day. When he suggested going to a restaurant for dinner, Wen Fu flat-out refused to eat, insisting he could wait till they got home.

Fei Bolin figured Wen Fu was probably worried about the money. He couldn't bear to let Wen Fu keep running around with him, so he found a shady spot in a park, bought Wen Fu a grilled sausage and a milk tea, told him to wait there, and said he'd do one more hour of orders before heading home.

Wen Fu obediently watched Fei Bolin's bike drive off. The moment it was out of sight, he ducked his head and wolfed down the sausage and milk tea, barely filling his stomach.

Around seven-thirty, he was spacing out watching the aunties do square dancing when an e-bike horn honked behind him.

Wen Fu turned around. Fei Bolin had already bought groceries and was waiting for him on the front seat.

He looked at Fei Bolin for a couple of beats, then ran over, hopped on, put his helmet on, and wrapped his arms around Fei Bolin's waist.

The bike was moving, wind whistling past their ears every now and then. Fei Bolin, through his helmet, eyes on the road, asked Wen Fu: 'What were you looking at just now?'

Wen Fu's voice came thin through the wind. 'Looking at Bo-ge.'

'At me?' Fei Bolin slowed down so he could hear Wen Fu properly. 'What's there to look at?'

He was wearing a delivery driver's uniform, a delivery driver's helmet. Anyone who spent all day zipping around on an e-bike was bound to look dusty and worn—what was there to see?

'Good-looking.' To make his words more convincing, Wen Fu threw in some body language, nodding vigorously—except he forgot they were both wearing helmets. The moment he moved, their heads knocked together with a buzz.

Wen Fu let out a small 'ow.' Fei Bolin laughed, lifted one hand to steady his own helmet, then reached back to feel Wen Fu's. 'Did that hurt? Stop moving around.'

Before Wen Fu could finish explaining, having learned his lesson, he kept his head a little further from Fei Bolin's on his own. But he was afraid the wind was too loud for Fei Bolin to hear him, so he quickly and carefully leaned his head back in: 'Bo-ge looks good no matter what. Even in the delivery uniform, you look the best.'

Then he immediately leaned back fast, to avoid bumping Fei Bolin.

Something flickered in Fei Bolin's eyes, like some string inside him had been plucked by the wind carrying Wen Fu's words.

The sunset was wedged between the distant outlines of the city's buildings. They sat in the fiery afterglow, stopped at a red light amid the endless flow of traffic.

Neon flickered. The world was loud.

Only he and Wen Fu were quiet.

This moment was like a single grain of cinnabar slipping through their fingers into the long river of years. So it was true—there really are moments in a person's life that get gilded, as if blessed by heaven itself.

The light turned green. Time started moving again.

Fei Bolin gunned the e-bike, forcibly shoving that flutter aside, and out of nowhere asked: 'Last night when I got home, what were you writing?'

Wen Fu was silent for a beat. He knew he couldn't hide it from Fei Bolin, so he came clean: 'Homework.'

'Homework?' Fei Bolin said. 'What kind?'

'Music Academy homework.' Wen Fu explained. 'Their teacher had everyone write a piece in 2/4 time after class. Due Monday.'

He said 'their'—not including himself. Fei Bolin caught on immediately. 'You're writing it for them?'

Wen Fu was about to nod, glanced up at Fei Bolin's helmet, and held back. 'Eighty yuan per person.'

Doing business, as expected.

Fei Bolin couldn't help laughing. 'How many people are you writing for?'

'Three.' Wen Fu said. 'They said if mine's good, they'll bring more people next time.'

'More people?' Fei Bolin didn't even know what to say. 'You're going to scale up?'

Wen Fu didn't answer.

Silence meant he had a bellyful of plans.

'Three people is fine,' Fei Bolin set a limit. 'No more than that.'

The arms around Fei Bolin's waist loosened a little.

Fei Bolin wasn't negotiating on this one. 'Xiao Fu, creative work isn't like other side jobs.'

A person's inspiration is finite. Even if Wen Fu was still young, he couldn't just burn through it.

And nobody could say what would happen down the road. A little melody someone dashed off at eighteen in a flash of inspiration might, years later, suddenly connect with who they were back then and become something extraordinary.

If that fuse got snipped and handed off for a few hundred yuan now, then the treasure at the other end of it—those works not yet born—would stay buried forever, never to be unearthed.

Fei Bolin believed in Wen Fu. Precisely because he believed, he knew every single note that came from Wen Fu's hands was a precious seed.

Writing a piece or two occasionally was fine—practice for the teacher's assignment. Writing more was squeezing Wen Fu's talent and inspiration dry.

And Wen Fu's talent and inspiration were worth far more than eighty yuan.

Fei Bolin repeated once more: 'You hear me?'

Wen Fu's hands went from hugging Fei Bolin's waist tight to loosely pinching the hem of his jacket. He mumbled: 'Got it.'

The little cat lowered his head.

'...'

'...'

Fei Bolin was quiet for two seconds, then said: 'Tonight we're having squirrel mandarin fish.'

Wen Fu: ?

The little cat raised his head.

The little cat hugged the chef in the front seat tight.