Chapter 7
As the sun set, the clouds on the horizon were tinged with an orange-red halo. Qiao Xiaoxiao sat by the park’s mottled iron gate, carefully counting the crumpled bills in her hand. Eight yuan and sixty cents. She counted it three times, her fingertips gently caressing the sweat-dampened notes. Finally, the frown she had worn all day relaxed, and a faint smile touched her chapped lips. This amount of money might only be enough for a city kid to buy a cup of bubble tea, perhaps not even a hamburger from a fast-food restaurant. But for Qiao Xiaoxiao, it meant she had saved up enough for another day’s living expenses in high school.
In the twilight, the sweet aroma of popcorn drifted over on the wind, and she couldn’t help but stop. In front of the vendor’s cart, the golden popcorn glistened enticingly under the light. The sign “Only two yuan a bag” made Qiao Xiaoxiao pause. Her throat bobbed a few times. She clutched the money in her hand and turned to disappear into the darkening street.
On the way back, Qiao Xiaoxiao stopped at the entrance of the wet market. The hard, dry steamed bun she had brought from yesterday was gone in a few bites, the rough texture scraping her throat. The price tags on the stalls made her newly relaxed brow furrow again. The vegetables here were more than twice as expensive as back home. In the end, she bought a jin of tomatoes, each one carefully selected, bright red and guaranteed to be juicy and delicious. She couldn’t just live off someone for free.
When she reached Chu Xinrou’s doorstep, Qiao Xiaoxiao paused. She straightened the collar of her faded shirt and then lowered her head to sniff her sleeve. The smell of summer sweat mixed with the greasy fumes of the street, but it was still relatively fresh.
The doorbell rang crisply three times, and the door creaked open. Chu Xinrou stood inside, silhouetted against the afterglow of the sunset, her entire being seemingly plated in a soft golden light. She wore an indigo linen smock, its wide cuffs stained with a few dabs of paint, like accidentally fallen stars. Her long, dark hair was casually draped over her shoulders, the ends still damp with a bit of watercolor. In her right hand, she held a weasel-hair brush, a drop of ink hanging from its tip, a crystalline black pearl suspended in the air.
“You’re back?” Chu Xinrou tilted her head slightly, a gentle smile on her lips.
Qiao Xiaoxiao subconsciously clutched the plastic bag in her hand, the rustling of the plastic making a soft sound. “Yes, I bought some tomatoes.”
She held up the bag. The translucent red fruits were squeezed together in the thin plastic, looking like little lanterns in the setting sun.
Chu Xinrou’s gaze lingered on the bag for a moment, then her eyes suddenly lit up. “Perfect, I was getting thirsty from painting. Oh, right—” She turned and picked up a paper bag from the low cabinet in the entryway. “Want some popcorn? The neighbor just brought it over. It’s sickeningly sweet. I had a few but I’m afraid of gaining weight.” She wrinkled her nose in a look of disgust. “But it feels like a waste to throw it away.”
Qiao Xiaoxiao’s gaze was involuntarily glued to the bag of popcorn.
Golden popcorn was piled up like a small mountain, each kernel coated in a crystalline layer of sugar, shimmering sweetly in the light. She licked her lips. The food she had been craving all day was right in front of her. Desire finally overcame reason. Qiao Xiaoxiao nodded vigorously as she closed the door and walked in.
In the courtyard, the easel stood quietly in the twilight.
The canvas was splashed with intense colors—cobalt blue, deep purple, and gold intertwined and clashed, as if the neon lights of the entire city had been crushed and poured out. And in the center of that dazzling, colorful vortex, a small, pure white figure was curled up, its thin lines outlining a posture of hugging its knees. It was like an undried teardrop suspended above the prosperity, completely out of place with the surrounding splendor.
Qiao Xiaoxiao couldn’t understand the abstract colors, but they stirred up childhood memories. She glanced at it a few times and then ducked into the kitchen. The faucet gushed, the cold water washing over the bright red skin of the tomatoes, and also washing away the inexplicable sourness in her heart.
When she came out with a crystal-clear fruit platter, Chu Xinrou was cleaning her painting tools. Qiao Xiaoxiao naturally went over to help, skillfully sorting the brushes by size and arranging the paint tubes neatly by color.
Chu Xinrou looked at her and asked, “Have you studied painting?”
Qiao Xiaoxiao’s fingers suddenly froze in mid-air. She lowered her eyelids, her lashes casting a faint shadow on her cheeks. “I guess so,” her voice was as soft as a sigh. “I learned when I was very young.”
So young that the memory had faded to near transparency. Qiao Xiaoxiao only remembered the smell of sunlight in the art studio, the crisp sound of paint being squeezed from the tube, and the warmth of her mother’s hand covering hers, teaching her how to hold the brush.
Back then, life had not yet become a long, cold winter.
She still had a home, and parents.
Chu Xinrou’s eyes lit up. “Want to give it a try?”
Qiao Xiaoxiao wanted to refuse, but the lingering sweetness of the popcorn in her mouth made her nod. When Chu Xinrou was about to squeeze out new paint for her, she quickly waved her hand. “No need, these leftovers are fine.”
The brush felt both strange and familiar in her hand. Qiao Xiaoxiao awkwardly adjusted her grip, like a child just learning to write. She subconsciously looked back and saw Chu Xinrou biting into one of the tomatoes she had bought, the juice staining the corner of her lips. She gave her an encouraging smile, a smile like a ray of sunshine, gently enveloping her.
When she turned back, the tip of Qiao Xiaoxiao’s brush trembled slightly above the canvas. At first, every stroke was hesitant, like the trail of a snail on the damp ground after rain. Gradually, the lines became hurried and forceful, the paint flowing freely on the canvas, gray and black intertwining into a repressive, dark cloud.
She had only been humoring Chu Xinrou’s suggestion, but the brush seemed to have a will of its own. The deeply buried pain gushed out from the tip of the brush—the bowls and dishes shattered by her alcoholic father, her mother’s suppressed sobs late at night, her aunt’s violent banging on the door, the villagers’ looks as if she were the plague… fragments of memory transformed into thick paint, covering the canvas layer by layer.
At some point, her eyes grew hot, her vision blurred, and a teardrop fell onto the palette, splashing a tiny spray on the lead-gray paint. Only then did Qiao Xiaoxiao realize her loss of composure. She hurriedly wiped her face with the back of her paint-stained hand, leaving a gray streak.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t paint it well.”
She lowered her head, her voice as soft as a mosquito’s buzz, her nails unconsciously picking at the wooden handle of the brush.
Chu Xinrou stood quietly behind her. On the canvas, in the center of a thick black vortex, a blurry human figure was being entangled and pulled by countless dark lines.
Within those rough brushstrokes, too much unspeakable pain was hidden.
Chu Xinrou’s gaze fell on the redness at the corner of Qiao Xiaoxiao’s eye. Her fingertips twitched slightly, but in the end, she didn’t raise her hand. She just said softly, “It’s okay.” After a pause, she asked again in a low voice, “Have you eaten?”
Qiao Xiaoxiao nodded instinctively. The hard, dry steamed bun still sat heavily in her stomach, and the rough texture seemed to linger in her throat.
Chu Xinrou looked at her tense lips and sighed softly. “I bought some pork belly, but unfortunately…” She spread her hands helplessly. “I really don’t know how to cook these things.”
“I’ll do it!” Qiao Xiaoxiao blurted out, her voice an octave higher than usual. Only after she spoke did she realize her gaffe, and the tips of her ears quietly turned red.
The corners of Chu Xinrou’s lips curved into a gentle arc, the smile in her eyes rippling like spring water. “Okay.” She paused, her gaze sweeping over Qiao Xiaoxiao’s paint-stained fingers. “But, can you take a shower first?”
The moment the hot water showered down on her, Qiao Xiaoxiao was still in a bit of a daze. The rising steam blurred the mirror, and also her vision. She couldn’t remember the last time she had bathed so freely. At her aunt’s house, even using an extra ladle of water required watching someone’s expression. How many late nights had she spent, only able to hastily wipe her body with a cold, wet towel under the moonlight?
When Qiao Xiaoxiao walked into the kitchen, rubbing the ends of her wet hair with a towel, Chu Xinrou pointed to the sofa. “Use that.”
A cream-colored hairdryer lay quietly on the beige sofa cushion, glowing softly in the light. Qiao Xiaoxiao’s steps faltered. She stared at the unfamiliar object, her fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on the towel. “N-no need,” her voice was almost inaudible. “My hair… will dry soon.”
Chu Xinrou was bending down to get meat from the refrigerator. Without looking up, she said, “No, you’ll get the smell of cooking fumes all over you if you go into the kitchen.” She paused, then added, “It’s not good for your hair either.”
Hearing this, Qiao Xiaoxiao was afraid of being disliked, so she obediently picked up the hairdryer and dried her hair. The warm air was very comfortable. Although she was young, she had developed a slight problem with migraines from constantly washing her hair with cold water. After she finished, she eagerly went to the kitchen to get busy.
Chu Xinrou wanted to help, but Qiao Xiaoxiao firmly kept her out of the kitchen. The girl’s slender figure bustled around the stove like a spinning top—cutting meat, preparing ingredients, mixing sauces, her movements as smooth as flowing water. She studied the pressure cooker’s instruction manual for a moment and quickly mastered how to use it. Before long, the rich aroma of meat wafted from the kitchen.
Sitting in the living room, Chu Xinrou looked at the kitchen, which had never been so lively, and a trace of warmth rose in her heart. Under the warm yellow light, the clatter of the spatula, the hissing of the steam—these most ordinary sounds of life were a long-lost warmth to her. She rarely cooked at home, partly because she wasn’t good at it, and partly because she couldn’t be bothered to cook for just one person.
When the braised pork was ready, Qiao Xiaoxiao carefully noted Chu Xinrou’s preference for light food and deliberately added a lot of potatoes. Looking at the glistening pieces of meat and the potatoes that had soaked up the sauce, she served the rice and was about to leave.
Chu Xinrou’s voice came softly, “There’s so much. Let’s eat together.”
Seeing the meat, Qiao Xiaoxiao’s stomach, which had been deprived of oil for so long, almost cramped. In her memory, she could only eat at the table when her uncle was home. She said against her will, “I’m not hungry.”
Chu Xinrou held her bowl, her tone light. “If we can’t finish it, we’ll have to throw it away tomorrow.”
Throw it away? Qiao Xiaoxiao’s fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of her clothes. She had heard from Village Chief Song Qiu that city people were very particular and didn’t eat leftovers, saying that something in them exceeded the standard and was bad for one’s health.
In the moment Qiao Xiaoxiao was dazed, Chu Xinrou had already served her a bowl of rice and pulled out a chair.
The moment the braised pork entered her mouth, Qiao Xiaoxiao’s taste buds seemed to awaken. The piece of meat, with its perfect balance of fat and lean, melted on her tongue, the rich soy sauce flavor and the fragrance of the fat exploding in her mouth. She had been carefully controlling her eating pace, but after the first bite, her long-neglected stomach began to roar wildly.
She started to eat ferociously, shoveling large mouthfuls of rice mixed with meat sauce into her mouth, one after another. When her bowl was empty, Chu Xinrou brought over the bowl she had set aside for herself.
After eating two full bowls of rice, her stomach was full and her body was warm. Qiao Xiaoxiao felt incredibly happy. She rubbed her belly. It was the most relaxed time of the day, and she felt much more cheerful. She promised Chu Xinrou with conviction, “Jiejie, from now on, I’ll take care of all the housework, cooking, and tidying the yard.”
After saying this, she held her breath, secretly observing Chu Xinrou’s reaction, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes, afraid of hearing a refusal.
But Chu Xinrou didn’t refuse. A gentle curve slowly formed on her lips, and faint smile lines appeared at the corners of her eyes. She reached out and gently brushed a grain of rice from the end of Qiao Xiaoxiao’s hair, her voice as soft as a March spring breeze. “Okay, then I’ll have to trouble you.”
【Author’s Note】
After that, Qiao Xiaoxiao’s paintings gradually gained color, and her skills improved;
She painted mountains and rivers, she painted the beautiful scenery of the world;
She filled her paintings with the two of them.
