Summer, 1995 — Pingjiang City.
“Are you childhood sweethearts?” Song Xianglin looked at the two children before him, who were the same age as him. The girl had big eyes and fair skin; the boy leaned on a crutch, his left leg apparently inconvenient.
“No! He’s my younger brother, I’m his older sister!” Wen Xi said.
They were in the countryside, over a hundred kilometers from Pingjiang City, at Wen Xi’s maternal grandfather’s house.
The summer vacation was long, with more than a month until the start of their first year in high school.
The city was too hot, so Xiang Qin decided to take the two children to the countryside for the summer, and also to relax with Wen Zhiting.
Song Xianglin was an unexpected joy on this trip for Wen Xi. His mother was the daughter of the neighbor next to her grandfather’s house, a good friend of Wen Xi’s mother, and she had come to the countryside for the summer as well.
Upon arriving at her grandfather’s house, Wen Xi eagerly pulled Zhou Jingchen to see the livestock her grandfather raised: chickens, ducks, pigs, geese—all of them.
She tugged Zhou Jingchen toward the pigpen. The old sow had just given birth, and several pink piglets were nuzzling under her belly, squealing softly—adorably clumsy.
Wen Xi squatted by the pen, while Zhou Jingchen’s gaze swept over the newborn piglets, and he was immediately reminded of Wen Xi as a child.
He vaguely remembered a few scattered images: chubby little Wen Xi, short and plump arms, a round rosy face, wearing crotchless pants and wiggling her little bottom.
“Hey, which one of these piglets looks like what?” Wen Xi asked him.
Like you.
Zhou Jingchen nearly blurted it out instinctively.
He hesitated, shook his head: “I don’t know.”
“You’re silly, of course the piglet looks like the mama pig.”
Wen Xi chuckled, fascinated and excited by everything in the countryside.
Just as they left the yard, they ran into Song Xianglin and his mother.
“Oh, so you’re Little Magpie, huh? Haven’t seen you in years—you’ve grown so tall!” Song Xianglin’s mother ruffled Wen Xi’s hair. She went inside to chat with Xiang Qin, letting the kids play by themselves.
“Little Magpie,” Song Xianglin called her.
“Mm,” Wen Xi replied.
“Are you here at your grandmother’s for the summer too?”
“Yes.”
Song Xianglin glanced at Zhou Jingchen, who didn’t resemble her much, and asked, “Are you together?”
“Yes,” Wen Xi answered again.
“Then… are you childhood sweethearts?”
Wen Xi instinctively objected to words she didn’t understand: “No! He’s my brother, I’m his sister!”
Zhou Jingchen leaned on his crutch, quietly watching Song Xianglin. The boy was half a head shorter than him, with strong, sun-kissed legs.
“Oh~ so you’re siblings,” Song Xianglin said, rolling his eyes, “Then why don’t you look alike?”
Wen Xi pointed to Zhou Jingchen: “He was adopted by Grandpa Zhou.”
Song Xianglin felt a headache coming, worried that asking more questions would make it more confusing, and said: “Want to play together?”
He came to the countryside every year, more familiar with every plant and tree than Wen Xi and Zhou Jingchen.
In the height of summer, everything was lush, teeming with life.
That summer was exceptionally happy for Wen Xi and Song Xianglin—they played everywhere in the village every day.
Zhou Jingchen followed behind them step by step. The countryside roads were uneven; he walked slowly, afraid of falling and embarrassing Wen Xi.
He silently watched Wen Xi and Song Xianglin run through the fields, climb trees to reach bird nests, collect duck eggs by the stream, and explore the hill behind the village.
Wen Xi laughed happily—she really seemed to enjoy playing with Song Xianglin.
Song Xianglin had strong, agile legs. He helped Wen Xi climb tall poplar trees like a monkey, climbing up and down effortlessly.
The three were always together, but more often, Zhou Jingchen sat quietly on the edge of a field or under a tree, waiting for the two of them.
He watched the two, imagining himself as the boy sitting on the tree trunk with Wen Xi, swinging his legs casually.
Song Xianglin wrote his name in the dirt with a small stick.
“Song… Xiang… Lin,” Wen Xi smiled: “Your name sounds so nice.”
Zhou Jingchen’s eyes darkened. She had never said, “Zhou Jingchen, your name sounds nice.”
A blade of grass hung in Wen Xi’s hair. She propped her chin on her hand and grinned at him: “Can I call you Xianglin?”
“Of course,” he said.
After that, Wen Xi often called him: Xianglin, Xianglin, Xianglin…
“Xianglin, look at that butterfly!”“Xianglin, let’s pick wild strawberries!”“Xianglin, wait for me!”
Her voice was bright, a little coquettish, sweet—like a little magpie on a branch—pecking at Zhou Jingchen’s heart, leaving it raw.
Zhou Jingchen slumped his shoulders and sighed. She had never called him “Jingchen” so intimately.
Sometimes she called him by full name, sometimes “Little Dog,” always bossy, always scolding.
The sky was vast, clouds drifting. The wind carried the scent of grass and wildflowers, green stretching endlessly.
Song Xianglin and Wen Xi raced on a hillside, with Zhou Jingchen acting as referee. The thin boy stood alone at the finish line, leaning on his crutch.
He watched Wen Xi sprint, her legs pumping fast—she was even a little faster than Song Xianglin.
The wind lifted her ponytail and scattered stray hairs at her temples. She ran gleefully toward him, not stopping at the finish line, and leaped into Zhou Jingchen’s arms.
They toppled backward onto the soft, thick grass.
“Little Dog, did I run fast?” she asked, chest heaving, eyes sparkling with laughter.
The wilderness was quiet, but the boy’s heartbeat roared in his ears.
Song Xianglin lost the race, so he honored his promise and took Wen Xi and Zhou Jingchen to his secret place.
It was a winding creek behind the village, hidden in a grove, with babbling water and chirping birds.
They rolled up their pant legs to fish. Whenever they caught one, they tossed it onto the shore. Zhou Jingchen gathered the fish, guarding the spoils.
Wen Xi mischievously splashed water on Song Xianglin’s face, who retaliated. Their water fight filled the woods with laughter.
Zhou Jingchen hugged his arms to his chest, sitting by the shore, averting his gaze, watching a little ant by his hand.
The ant had six legs, carrying a seed, moving quickly. Zhou Jingchen blocked its path with a blade of grass—it circumvented it. He placed a big stone in front of it, a mountain before the ant.
The ant didn’t give up, navigating around the stone, moving forward steadily as if nothing could stop it.
When Zhou Jingchen looked up, Wen Xi and Song Xianglin were already walking onto the shore.
He masked his disappointment and quietly gazed at Wen Xi. His usually cold eyes now shimmered like starlight.
The creek stones were slippery, covered with green moss. Wen Xi stumbled, twisted her ankle, and fell into the water with a splash.
“Wen Xi!” Zhou Jingchen’s heart clenched. He stumbled toward her with his crutch but was too slow. Song Xianglin, quick and agile, jumped in and lifted Wen Xi out, helping her safely ashore.
Her ankle swelled badly and turned red.
Without hesitation, Song Xianglin crouched and carried her home. His steps were steady, passing through dense woods, uneven paths, and smoke-twirling villages effortlessly.
Zhou Jingchen followed behind, his crutch slowing him down. He worried about Wen Xi, yet his chest felt congested with a jumble of emotions.
As soon as the three children entered the courtyard, Wen Zhiting and Xiang Qin were terrified, thinking something had happened to their daughter.
The barefoot village doctor checked her and said it was nothing serious.
He poured some white liquor into a small porcelain dish, lit a piece of paper, and then dipped his hand into the blue flame, quickly applying the hot liquor to Wen Xi’s ankle, massaging it.
Wen Xi leaned against Wen Zhiting, clutching her father’s neck, wincing in pain, tears streaming.
Xiang Qin scolded her gently: “The older you get, the more delicate you become.”
Wen Xi sniffled, stuck her tongue out at her mother, tears still on her lashes—pitiful yet cute.
Fortunately, it wasn’t serious. In five days, her ankle swelling subsided, and she was back to hopping and running around the yard.
That night, Wen Xi and Zhou Jingchen shared a room, two small beds arranged for her two college-aged cousins when they visited.
In the countryside, she wasn’t afraid of anything—except rural ghost stories.
Her grandparents often sat under the old locust tree in the yard, telling old tales and ghost stories. She was timid but fascinated. At night, she was too scared to go to the toilet alone.
So many nights, she would wake Zhou Jingchen to turn on the light and accompany her to the bathroom with his little crutch.
On moonless, windy nights, dogs barked in the distance, leaves rustled, and insects chirped—the sounds magnified in the silence, eerie to hear.
Wen Xi clung to Zhou Jingchen, holding his arm as he escorted her.
The rural toilet was a squat-style dry toilet, with a curtain for privacy.
She removed her pants and nervously shouted: “Zhou Jingchen, don’t leave!”
“I’m right here,” he said, standing nearby.
After she finished, they returned to the courtyard together. The dim yellow light at the gate barely illuminated the surroundings. Wen Xi clutched Zhou Jingchen’s arm tightly, scared.
“Wen Xi, why are you so timid?” Zhou Jingchen asked.
She twisted his waist and said through gritted teeth: “I’m not timid—I just… like having someone with me in the bathroom.”
“I do that at school too. I always go with Jiang Xiaoya and the others,” he said.
She snorted, pushed him, “If you don’t want to come, I won’t ask next time.”
Zhou Jingchen quickly explained: “No, I didn’t mean that.”
Wen Xi, proud of her stubbornness, felt a little victorious: “Don’t ever say I’m timid again!”
“Then can you stop pinching and twisting me?” he asked.
Wen Xi glared: “Nope!”
That summer passed in such playful teasing.
On the last day, Song Xianglin came to see them off:“Next summer, bring your brother again, and I’ll take you fishing!”
Wen Xi smiled, eyes curved with joy, nodding: “Yes! It’s a promise!”
Zhou Jingchen stood beside her, quietly watching her radiant smile.
The wind rustled through the locust leaves.
That summer wind carried a hint of sweetness, and a hint of bitterness…