Chapter 25: A Friendship Beyond Years

The river surged on, but there were no schoolbags in sight. The boys on the bank were truly stunned—there was no need to think about it; if they went home and said their schoolbags were lost, a beating was inevitable.

Meanwhile, Wen Xiaocheng and Professor Dai were trudging along, hauling more than a dozen schoolbags strung on a stick. Each student’s bag weighed at least five or six pounds, and for those who took their studies seriously, ten pounds or more was nothing unusual. With this many bags, the total weight must have easily exceeded a hundred pounds. Professor Dai, a man of letters, had never done such physical labor before; after just a few steps, he was gasping for breath and ready to give up.

“What on earth was I thinking, getting involved in this nonsense with you? Xiaocheng, did you plan this all along—knew you’d grab these bags and dragged me along as your pack mule?”

That wasn’t exactly the plan, but in Xiaocheng’s calculations, this was one of several possible outcomes.

“No need to complain, Professor. Aren’t we just in it for a bit of fun? When you watch a fight, don’t you get all excited too? Never mind that you’re old enough to be my grandfather—truth is, we’re cut from the same cloth. The things I enjoy, you’re not far behind.”

These words struck a chord with the old man. He’d been lonely for some time, with no one to talk to, and now, having found this mischievous companion, he’d rediscovered some childlike joy. By age they were grandfather and grandson, but in spirit, they were perfect friends across generations.

“My goodness, your schoolbags are really this heavy? These dozen or so must weigh well over a hundred pounds! When have I ever done this kind of thing? I can’t carry them, I can’t!”

With fourteen or fifteen bags, if the old man didn’t help, Wen Xiaocheng couldn’t possibly manage them alone, so he pleaded, “You really are out of practice, Professor. We’ve only walked a few steps and you’re already giving out? I’m just a kid and I’m doing better than you! Life is motion!”

“Nonsense! Any more motion and I’ll have no life left! This load is over a hundred pounds—I barely weigh that much myself! I might not even be heavier than these bags! And you and I are not the same—you’re a growing boy, full of strength. How much did you eat at lunch? If you don’t do it, who will? Here, use this stick as a carrying pole—I’ll steady it for you.”

But the rough wooden stick was nothing like a proper carrying pole; it bit into his shoulders, digging painfully into the bones. It was too short to balance properly, and with all those bags dangling from either end, Wen Xiaocheng looked from a distance like the perfect roommate—if a roommate carried all your books for you. But the weight was overwhelming, and the stick unwieldy. After a hundred meters or so, the stick slipped, and the bags tumbled to the ground in a colorful heap.

“That’s enough, that’s enough. Wait here. I’ll go back and drive the car over. Neither of us can handle this.”

For the sake of these battered bags, Professor Dai walked back to the apartment complex, fetched his Boyue SUV, and loaded the bags into the spacious trunk. With Wen Xiaocheng in the passenger seat, they returned to the Riverside Garden complex.

“Professor, leave the bags at your place for a couple of days. On Monday, I’ll have to trouble you again to help me take them to school; I can’t carry them alone! It’s getting late, so I’ll head home now.”

Hearing this, the old man turned the car around, about to exit the complex. “Come on, where do you live? Since the car’s already out, I’ll give you a ride.”

“No need, really. Gas is expensive, and I don’t live far. Besides, I have to stop by the market for some groceries.”

“Enough, don’t stand on ceremony with me, boy. I’ve nothing else to do, and I’d like to see where you live anyway.”

Professor Dai was sincere, so Xiaocheng didn’t refuse. At the market, he bought some dried tofu, chili peppers, and picked out two cucumbers—dinner was sorted. They got back in the car and headed east. Normally, it took Xiaocheng nearly half an hour to walk home, but by car, it was just a quick drive.

They reached Old Well Village.

The car bumped along the rutted village road, with dogs barking at every house along the way. When they reached the entrance to Xiaocheng’s alley, the car could go no further, so he got out, groceries in hand, and pointed. “It’s the third house down this alley. If you don’t mind the mess, come in and have a seat. My grandmother won’t be home until later.”

From the moment the car entered the village, Professor Dai had fallen silent, his previous levity gone. City dwellers could hardly imagine that remote Dongfeng Town still looked like it had in the late eighties or early nineties. Those living in Dongfeng Town never realized that just a few minutes’ drive away, in the urban-rural fringe, life remained unchanged.

“Alright,” Professor Dai replied, getting out of the car without another word.

They opened the iron gate to the courtyard, which creaked loudly. The chicken coop erupted in a flurry, the chickens squawking at the sound of people returning. Professor Dai followed behind, observing with interest. He’d lived in such a farmhouse as a child; except for electricity and running water, it hadn’t changed much in fifty years.

Inside, Xiaocheng put the groceries on the stove. There wasn’t even any tea in the house, but he rinsed a clean cup and poured a bowl of hot water for the professor. Professor Dai glanced around the house, but soon wandered back into the yard and squatted by the chicken coop, watching the seven or eight chickens. The big rooster at the front, seeing someone crouched in front of its coop but not putting out feed, flapped its wings in protest, crowing incessantly.

Xiaocheng approached with the hot water and teased, “Professor, you’re still interested in chickens at your age?”

The old man didn’t catch the hidden joke, but accepted the cup and said, “Your rooster has quite a temper! Almost like a fighting cock! Look, its feathers are all ruffled just seeing someone approach!”

Xiaocheng burst out laughing. “Those seven hens are all his wives. You, with your white hair, squatting in front of his house staring at his wives—of course he’s upset!”

Professor Dai laughed and stood up, giving Xiaocheng a mock kick. Seeing the old man rise, Xiaocheng invited him into the house—after all, you couldn’t leave your guest standing outside.

“Where are your parents? You’ve only mentioned your grandmother,” Professor Dai asked casually.

While washing the peppers, Xiaocheng replied, “My dad’s serving time at Xiangyang Second People’s Prison. My mom ran off—I don’t know where she is.”

Once, if a stranger had asked about his parents, he might have said they were working out of town, but now he had no mental barriers—admitting and facing the truth is the hallmark of a smart person. To hide, forbid mention, or even set up forbidden words about something so easy to verify—not only is it a sign of guilt, it’s just plain stupid.

Xiaocheng spoke without reservation, but Professor Dai, who’d asked the question, found himself at a loss for words, responding only with a muted “hmm,” feeling awkward.

“My dad’s a minimum-security inmate. I can visit him every month and bring books. It’s kind of funny—he studies in prison, I study in school. You could say we’re a family of scholars!”

———

The river surged on, but there were no schoolbags. These simple, rhyming words sketch both the stunned faces of the boys and their inner expletives. In just eight characters, a world of meaning, leaving endless aftertaste.

I do have a knack for spinning tall tales.