Qin Ziheng asked him, “How many years have you lived alone?” One look told him Mao Xiaoshu wasn’t someone who could get by without others, he couldn’t even build the most basic firewood stove. He couldn’t fathom what Mao Xiaoshu’s family had been thinking, to leave him alone in a stone cave.
But on second thought, it didn’t seem so strange after all. He himself was sound in body and mind, yet had still been treated as a burden. Was Mao Xiaoshu perhaps the same as him? Was that why he’d been left behind?
Mao Xiaoshu didn’t know how many years, only that it had been a long, long time.
In that instant Qin Ziheng suddenly understood why Mao Xiaoshu had been so happy when he woke, and why he was so eager to please him.
Perhaps he’d been lonely too long, and it was a rare thing to have another person in the house, he was happy, which was why he was chattering away now, unable to stop, waving his hands about like a chatterbox, as if he had a great many, many things he wanted to say.
Qin Ziheng listened quietly, never interrupting, only asking a couple of questions now and then to show he was listening attentively. Seeing this, Mao Xiaoshu, without a trace of impatience, talked all the more eagerly.
From his endless stream of words, Qin Ziheng learned what sort of place he’d “washed up” in, and that Mao Xiaoshu now lived alone, a few years back he’d lived with his sister, and two years ago he’d moved out. On ordinary days he went out to find a bit of wild fruit himself, and had scraped by like this for two years, barely avoiding starvation.
Qin Ziheng also came to a rough understanding of what beasts lived in the tribe.
He understood, too, why they were called beastmen: because these people all bore some trait of a wild beast, as though their evolution weren’t quite complete.
There was plenty of dry bamboo fallen in the grove, and gathering a little while yielded a great deal.
Some of the bamboo had grown old, withered beyond recognition. Seeing this, Qin Ziheng simply pushed it over, meaning to drag it back later, big bamboo burned longer.
Mao Xiaoshu was crouched on the ground gathering bamboo twigs when he heard a great crash, a bamboo that seemed snapped through, yet was still very tall, came thundering down to the ground. It gave him such a fright that the armful of twigs he held all dropped, and he stared wide-eyed.
Qin Ziheng said apologetically, “Did I scare you?”
Mao Xiaoshu nodded, then looked around, saw another dry bamboo not far off, ran over, and, imitating Qin Ziheng, kicked it over with one foot. Then he turned around and stared fixedly at Qin Ziheng, saying nothing, as if waiting for something.
Qin Ziheng had rarely dealt with people like Mao Xiaoshu, one could even say never, but meeting Mao Xiaoshu’s gaze just then, he strangely read what was on his mind.
Qin Ziheng shook his head with a helpless smile and said, half in earnest and half to humor him, “Xiaoshu is really impressive.”
Mao Xiaoshu immediately smiled bashfully, overjoyed.
Just to cook a pot of meat soup, how much firewood could it take, half a bamboo would do. But seeing Mao Xiaoshu, baring his teeth in effort and eagerly trying to drag the bamboo over, Qin Ziheng said nothing and didn’t stop him.
On the way back Qin Ziheng carried a bundle of small bamboo twigs, while Mao Xiaoshu dragged two whole bamboos, following close on his heels, the smile never leaving his face.
He’d just been running back and forth in the grove, and this side was a slope, so merely climbing up took no small effort. Sweat covered Mao Xiaoshu’s forehead, his little curls damp and plastered to it, he must be tired. Qin Ziheng couldn’t help asking, “Tired?”
Mao Xiaoshu nodded again. “Tired.”
“Then why are you still so happy?” Qin Ziheng asked.
Mao Xiaoshu looked at him and said, panting, “We worked together. Working together, Xiaoshu is happy.”
Qin Ziheng supposed he meant that he was happy to have someone to keep him company.
He was inevitably a bit moved. He’d known Mao Xiaoshu only this short while, yet it was as though he saw in him the shape of his own childhood.
Back then Grandpa had still been alive, so however he toiled, baked by the sun, worn out, he’d felt so happy.
But now, however much he earned, however comfortable his days, the one he wanted was no longer here, so no matter what, it was hard for him to feel the contentment he had as a child.
Back outside the cave, Mao Xiaoshu ran into trouble again.
Qin Ziheng watched him snap the bamboo twigs and stuff them all into the firewood stove. Once done, it was time to light the fire, but he didn’t move, as though suddenly frozen in place, his brows starting to knit again.
There was no lighter, and he didn’t know how to make a fire, yet he wouldn’t ask anyone, only crouched there fixedly, brows knit, looking thoroughly stuck, staring hard into the stove, as if trying to set the bamboo alight with what he fancied was a fierce glare.
His reaction really made Qin Ziheng want to laugh. He asked, “Is it that there’s no fire?”
Half a beat late, Mao Xiaoshu nodded. “Mm.”
Qin Ziheng knew how to make fire by twirling wood, but there was no need to take the hard road when an easy one was at hand. Dry bamboo was very brittle, he stamped one to pieces and pulled out a strip, then had Mao Xiaoshu go to the bamboo grove and fetch two vines, he’d seen grass vines over there, and pick up some bamboo leaves on the way.
Mao Xiaoshu didn’t know what he was up to, but he obediently went.
Qin Ziheng grabbed a handful of bamboo twigs and bound them to the bamboo strip with the grass vine, making a simple torch, and handed it to Mao Xiaoshu, telling him to go borrow fire from another beast.
Mao Xiaoshu was very obedient. Shouldering the torch, he set off. Watching him scamper like a monkey, Qin Ziheng couldn’t help shaking his head with a rueful smile.
The fire was soon borrowed back. By the time it went into the stove the flame had grown a bit small, dry bamboo twigs did burn fast.
Mao Xiaoshu’s cave was at the very edge of the tribe, far from the other beasts’ stone houses. Even though he’d hurried the whole way at a trot, the torch had mostly burned down, only the part Qin Ziheng had bound tightly still smoked, probably from lack of air. Qin Ziheng untied the grass vine, stuffed in some more easily-ignited dry bamboo leaves, blew into the stove a couple of times, and the fire flared up at once. Mao Xiaoshu picked up the bamboo strips beside him and fed them into the stove.
There was very little meat in the pot and a great deal of water, no oil or salt at all, so of course the meat soup that came out wasn’t very tasty, nor did it look appetizing, a bit of scum floating on top, but there was no spoon, so Qin Ziheng had no way to skim it off.
Not tasty to look at, and worse still, there were no bowls or chopsticks. Qin Ziheng picked out a few thicker bamboo twigs to serve as chopsticks, but when he handed them to Mao Xiaoshu, Mao Xiaoshu waved his hands again and again.
Qin Ziheng was puzzled. “What’s wrong? Don’t you know how to use chopsticks?” Some people in African tribes didn’t use chopsticks, they ate with their hands.
Whether the Fluffy Tribe was the same, he wasn’t sure.
Mao Xiaoshu shook his head. “I know how.”
Qin Ziheng looked at him and held out the chopsticks again.
Mao Xiaoshu swept a glance into the pot, then immediately looked away, swallowed, and said, “You drink it. Xiaoshu won’t.”
Qin Ziheng asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”
Mao Xiaoshu said loudly that he wasn’t, but his stomach growled inopportunely.
He wasn’t the least embarrassed, only rolled his eyes about, looking left, then right, and then slowly his gaze fell longingly back into the pot.
The meat soup in the pot had just finished cooking, still steaming, but there was very little meat, so the broth wasn’t rich or especially fragrant. Qin Ziheng smelled nothing much, but to keen-nosed Mao Xiaoshu it was fragrant to the point of torment.
That morning, facing the pucker-fruit, he’d still been able to resist the temptation, but facing meat soup he hadn’t had in ages, he was more or less unable to help craving it.
Qin Ziheng, brows and eyes gentle, asked, though he knew the answer, “Are you really not hungry?”
Mao Xiaoshu nodded hard. “Mm, Xiaoshu isn’t hungry at all.”
“Then what was that sound just now?” Qin Ziheng asked him.
Mao Xiaoshu clapped both hands over his stomach and said earnestly, “That was Xiaoshu passing gas.”
Qin Ziheng: “…”
Qin Ziheng nearly laughed out loud. Mao Xiaoshu looked as though his head didn’t work well, so did he think Qin Ziheng’s didn’t either?
“Is that so? But if you passed gas, how did the sound come from your stomach?”
Mao Xiaoshu fell silent a moment, then thought of an answer he considered perfect. “Because Xiaoshu is different. Xiaoshu passes gas with his stomach.”
“…Xiaoshu is so impressive.” Qin Ziheng asked, holding back laughter.
He didn’t expose him, and even played along, praising Mao Xiaoshu in a tone all but doting and admiring. His reaction was unlike any of the other beasts’, and that made Mao Xiaoshu very happy, his cheeks even flushed. So he nodded again. “Mm, Xiaoshu is the most impressive.”
Qin Ziheng laughed. “You’re not hungry, then could you keep me company and eat a little? I don’t have much appetite, and this whole big pot, I can’t finish it. It would be such a waste to pour it out. We worked so long to cook up this pot, that’s hard work, isn’t it?”
The “big pot” was really just a pretext, there were only two or three scraps of meat in it and the rest was water, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat alone while another watched.
“Can’t pour it out, can’t pour it out.” Mao Xiaoshu took it for truth and grew terribly anxious, waving his hands again and again. “Meat soup is delicious, can’t pour it out. Then… then Xiaoshu will eat just a tiny bit.”
In the end, of the whole big pot, Qin Ziheng drank only a few mouthfuls of soup and ate a few bites of meat, all the rest went into Mao Xiaoshu’s belly.
Qin Ziheng watched him lift the pot and drink the soup, gulping so loudly he feared he’d drink too much and throw up, yet Mao Xiaoshu finished the entire pot of soup, and even licked his lips, looking as if he could go for more.
In that instant, Qin Ziheng regarded him with newfound respect.
Did all beastmen eat and drink this much?
Half full, Mao Xiaoshu said he was going to cut grass, and told Qin Ziheng to rest at home.