Xueming was unsure how he made it back to Huaian’s stall alive.

  By the time he made it back to the stall, his cheeks were pink from a mix of panic and cold, his eyes were wild and unfocused, and his breath came short and quick. Still, he kept away from the stall and off to the side as though he had never left.

  “Xiongdi,” Huaian called out with a grin. “Good timing—I just finished up with the customer.” Noticing Xueming’s disturbed expression, he drew closer, brows furrowed, and wrapped his arm around Xueming’s shoulder. “Is something the matter?”

  Xueming shut down his concern with a shake of his head, wanting to forget ever wandering in that swarm of people. Wanting to forget that man and that tall stack of papers. He would be careful not to step out into that crowd alone again.

  “Come on,” Huaian clapped him on the back, shooting a look back at Huanfeng, then stepping out into that mass of people again. “Let’s leave before Huanfeng pushes me into dealing with another customer.” He sighed dramatically, wiping at his forehead, though the temperature really allowed for no sweat even if he had been doing something arduous.

  Huanfeng shot his boss a glare, but his gaze relaxed when he caught Xueming’s eye.

  “Just remember, Huanfeng,” Huaian said, enunciating each syllable as though he were speaking to a child. Xueming was beginning to notice how agitating Huaian could be. “Customer first.” With a sigh, he looked up at the sky, as though his wisdom was beyond the mortal realm. “Times are tough for the nation’s citizens—if we have to go out of our way a little, is it not within our capacity?”

  “And employees last,” Huanfeng muttered beneath his breath, but his boss was lost in the heavens and could hardly hear him.

  Xueming was carefully observing the two men, surprised by the way they bluntly communicated. But he was even more surprised when Huanfeng shot him a shameless grin, as though he were proud of his own attitude. As if he were utterly confident Xueming would not say a single word against him to his boss.

  He wouldn’t.

  Huaian led Xueming back into the crowd, making sure to hold onto his wrist as they waded through the mass of people. It was a little darker now, and the vibrant lights were all around them, their edges even more blurred than before. Xueming followed the string of lights as though they were his official guide, trying to ignore all of the bumps and jostles his body received from the crowd.

  The two men seemed to walk diagonally through the crowd, back towards the entrance they had come from. Huaian soon stopped in front of a stall amidst a number of interested observers, and Xueming had no choice but to stop as well.

  Huaian easily pushed his way through to the front as though he were this stall’s most important customer and Xueming stumbled after him, helplessly bumping into the people Huaian had already pushed aside.

  “Hair combs for your special someone!” the peddler yelled, his tone shrill and piercing.

  Upon closer inspection, Xueming recalled this same little boy in an oversized fur hat selling hair combs when he and Lanzhi had come to the market for the first time since his return to Chongqing.

  Huaian laughed loudly, throwing his head back in front of the little boy as though it was the funniest thing in the world. But his laughter sounded a little forced.

  “Give it a rest already,” Huaian huffed, his mouth twisting from a large grin to a mocking scowl. “This generation is alone and miserable. You won’t make any sales.”

  The little boy turned a haughty gaze on Huaian, which Xueming found surprisingly viscous. It was as if the boy had no shame, despite the crowd of customers around them.

  “Just because you are alone and miserable, doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

  Huaian feigned shock, slamming a hand down on the stall and dispersing some of the crowd—who, quite frankly, weren’t that interested in the hair combs to begin with.

  “Did even this younger cousin beat me to a wife at the ripe age of ten?” Huaian bellowed out, causing the little boy to flush a cherry red.

  But it only took him a few moments to recover.

  “Get out of here!” the little boy shouted, looking as though something popped in his head and he had already lost any control. “I’ve lost all my customers!”

  Huaian turned to Xueming as though they weren’t disrupting the stall’s business and the little boy hadn’t said a word. He lifted his free hand to gesture to his cousin like he was something on display, still gripping Xueming with his other hand.

  “This is my shushu’s son, Xiao Nai. Since I refused to take over the business, my father had no choice but to turn to the… less skilled side of the family for someone to replace him. His brother worked here with this little brat until he was old enough to haggle back.”

  Though the little boy was already impossibly red, his face darkened even more, and Huaian’s grin didn’t seem to help.

  Huaian idly picked up a red hair comb decorated with tiny golden flowers as though he weren’t being glared at and turned it over in his fingers. Xueming found the comb to be quite beautiful and was mesmerized looking at it.

  “Here, take this.”

  Huaian shoved the comb into the hand he had been holding, then released Xueming and turned back to his cousin.

  “Hey—” his cousin protested. “Who are you to take this? You left the business!” Nai’s shining eyes landed on Xueming, who was lost in thought looking at the comb. “And who is this that you are giving a hair comb to? Your man?”

  The boy spat out the words, though Xueming hardly understood the implications.

  Huaian only laughed, not affected in the slightest.

  “Ah, yes, well… then I can’t hide it any longer.” He gazed at his cousin intently. “I have beat you to finding a wife.”

  Xueming finally glanced up at his friend, a little puzzled.

  With a face of disgust, the little boy snarled, “You are unfit to be in public.”

  Huaian only gently laughed and continued to pick through the hair combs, messing with their careful arrangement, leaving many lying crooked or even on top of another comb. The little boy even began to wrestle Huaian for one.

  “Ha!” the boy said quite loudly. “We all know why you’ve spent your miserable life alone!” Huaian actually briefly paused, a little startled, his fingers stiffening on the comb. Xueming watched them carefully, gripping that red hair comb like his life depended on it. “What was her name… Mingming? No…”

  Huaian pulled his arm back sharply, the motion so swift and fierce that if someone had actually been directly behind him, they would have been severely injured. His fingers wrapped around a blue and orange hair comb and Xueming wondered if it would be able to withstand his frigid grip.

  “Who did you hear that from?” Huaian snapped, his voice almost like a bark.

  Nai’s confidence faltered a little, his cruel smile falling. He even seemed a little frightened at his cousin’s sudden change. As if they were no longer bantering and he didn’t know why.

  “Who?” Huaian growled, his arm still drawn back like he was about to throw a punch.

  A little startled, Xueming gingerly reached out to hold onto Huaian’s arm, trying to bring him back down to earth. He felt as though his friend were quickly floating away.

  “My… My mother,” the little boy squeaked out, wincing as he realized he had betrayed his own mother.

  Huaian remained frozen for only a moment longer, then seemed to sigh, his arm slowly lowering to his side in defeat. Xueming hoped Huaian would realize there wasn’t anything malicious behind his cousin’s words; he had probably overheard his mother gossiping with some other women. This was nothing new.

  Huaian glared at the ground, and Xueming thought he was still burning with anger—until he noticed a pink blush creeping up his friend’s neck, up his jaw, all the way to his ears. The surrounding crowd had been frozen in silence, watching the scene in horror, but they soon shuffled away and began to whisper, unable to endure the tension in the air any longer.

  Nai, sounding a little guilty and even more frightened, murmured, “Uncle…”

  Huaian gently tossed the hair comb back onto the stall, glancing at the makeshift wall behind his cousin. After a few deep breaths, he seemed to recover and his usual smile fell into place.

  “Well, it’s alright if we take this hair comb, no?” He raised Xueming’s hand as if he were nothing more than a doll. The red comb shone brightly beneath the overhead lights and nearby lanterns.

  The little boy nodded like his life depended on it.

  “What am I… going to do with… this?” Xueming protested, not wanting the little boy to suffer even this small loss.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Huaian responded, his smile genuine.

  Xueming exhaled in relief.

  “Uncle,” the little boy blurted out. “I am—”

  “Xiaozi,” Huaian said gently, even reaching over to pull down that oversized hat so it covered his eyes in a teasing gesture. “Tell your mother to buy you a smaller hat.”

  The little boy was quiet a moment, then his voice came in uneven waves—sometimes loud and sometimes soft—like he was choked up.

  “Why doesn’t… Why doesn’t uncle buy it for me?”

  Xueming felt like his heart was going to break with how gentle this cruel boy suddenly became, but Huaian only rolled his eyes.

  “How greedy can this little cousin of mine be?” He scowled, shooting Xueming a quick grin. Nai lifted the hat up from his face, revealing pale hazel eyes. Then, softer, Huaian said: “Fine, don’t tell your mother—this uncle of yours will provide.”

  Just as Huaian began to turn away, Xueming murmured out a small, “Thank you.”

  Then, with a small smile, he followed Huaian away from the stall.

  As Xueming turned, his gaze flashed across the table and the hair combs blurred together into a dazzling cascade of colors. His head suddenly pounded, as if something long buried was forcing its way out. The explosion of colors invaded his vision, like several brushstrokes across a canvas.

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  The pounding grew faster and louder until he could no longer think, until it became unbearable. He squeezed his eyes shut, hunching over in agony. His lips parted and he huffed out softly, but didn’t dare make a sound.

  He never dared make a sound.

  His frail body was hunched over and he clawed at his chest, reaching all the way up to his head, until suddenly, the pounding in his head stopped.

  Xueming held his breath, wary that the pain would return.

  He waited, and waited, but there was no trace of pain, almost as if it had never been there. Instead, his head felt as light as air, as if it could drift even above the clouds. Something in his mind had bent and snapped, but there was no sound—like a flash of lightning without the rumble of thunder.

  He imagined himself to be floating, until that long-buried memory finally clawed its way out, tethering him to the ground. He inhaled softly and slowly opened his eyes.

  He was still in the same place, in the same market, and yet, he wasn’t.

  His line of vision settled just above the stalls, which was quite different from what he was used to. It seemed he only had to slightly bend over to touch the grass. It was much warmer here, wherever here was, and the grass was free of frost.

  A cool breeze glided over him like a gentle embrace.

  Almost instinctively, Xueming knew he was in Huo Guang Market in late spring, waiting for someone. He tilted his head back, loving the warmth of the sun on his face and the breeze fluttering his lashes, tickling his nose. He could smell dew and earth and fresh leaves, and felt the itch of a fly trying to land on his arm.

  He peeked over at it, but was too relaxed to swat it away.

  Every day, he waited like this for the same person.

  Xueming had just been released from the very same school his father worked at and came to the market to wait for him to finish. He was always done with his lectures earlier—his father taught older students, and older students stayed later.

  He didn’t remember the first time he wandered off school grounds after he finished his classes, but it hadn’t taken more than a few days before he grew too bored to wait in that building—a place he associated with too much sitting and too little fun.

  Huo Guang Market was just a short walk away from the school he attended and was only beginning to open for the evening. Still, only a few stalls were set up this early, since the only customers at this hour were women and the elderly.

  Xueming lazily walked around on his stubby little legs, seeing the market stretch out far beyond what his eyes could see. He figured it would be impossible for him to ever reach the end of the market—if there even was one. The stalls seemed to go on for several li and vanish into the horizon.

  He wandered from stall to stall, not daring to go so close as to be called over by any of the peddlers, but close enough to see what they sold. He had already come here several times and saw only what he expected: summer clothing at one, leftover winter clothing at another. He proceeded to spot the stall with women’s shoes, a stall with jewelry he knew was fake, an empty stall, and a stall covered with a sheet he knew would open up to be a candy stall later that night.

  He walked at the fastest pace his little legs would take him, sniffing and looking and listening—whatever was most appropriate for each stall. He usually liked to admire the lights, but knew they wouldn’t come on until later. The lanterns from the spring festival had been taken down, but the all-year lanterns were hanging on the market’s fencing, waiting to be lit.

  The memory of this year’s spring festival lingered in his mind; he could still taste those crisp rice cakes his mother had made and those few coins his father had spared him, his tongue overwhelmed by the sweetness of the treats and tangy metal of the memory.

  Of course, he didn’t eat the coins themselves, but what they could buy him.

  Xueming had impulsively spent all of the money he collected at this very market, buying hard candy and sesame treats and devouring them all in the same night. Gege had spent his New Year’s money on some books about… well, Xueming could hardly list the topics, but Lanzhi was always speaking about it.

  He abruptly stopped at a stall that had only recently opened up—Xueming would know, since he was always here.

  Behind the stall was a man carefully setting out hair combs to sell, and for some reason, Xueming approached closer than he had planned. He drew near enough to see even the smallest details on the combs and was overwhelmed by their beauty.

  The man smiled at him warmly, and Xueming carefully looked over the man’s appearance. His bright red hair was loosely tied back into something that resembled a horse’s tail, and his soft, pale eyes quickly returned to inspecting the hair combs after just a single glance at Xueming.

  His hands were large and steady, perfectly aligning each hair comb in an orderly fashion. He was in no rush, but didn’t drag the task out either.

  Xueming found himself standing there on the grass, content to just watch the man.

  He hadn’t really ever bothered to look at the table before, only noticing that across from the stall selling maps, there was a new stall selling small objects.

  “Er,” the man beckoned out softly. “My own son is quite stubborn. Want to help me set up for the night?”

  Xueming hesitated a little, peering left and right, before he slowly looked at the man again.

  “Why only for the night?” Xueming asked with the unrestrained, unfiltered speech of a child.

  The man smiled and held out a shiny red hair comb for the child to take.

  “It only makes sense, given the customers,” the man said plainly, then peered over at the boy with a serious gaze. “Is something wrong?”

  “Well, aren’t there customers out all day?” Xueming challenged half-heartedly, blowing his lips together quite idly. He was simply gazing at that hair comb in wonder—he didn’t dare take it.

  But the man seemed just as unwilling to relent; he very patiently held out that hair comb, as if he were willing to do so for the rest of the night.

  “Yes, er, but who buys hair combs?” the man asked.

  The little boy thought about the question for a while, nervously twisting his hands behind his back. His body tensed with the same panic he felt during oral examinations at school—except this was different.

  At school, he didn’t care to impress the teacher, but this man seemed quite friendly, and Xueming wanted to help.

  “Well, anyone can,” Xueming muttered, feeling unsatisfied with the same. He had thought for a long time, but couldn’t come up with anything else.

  “Well, yes,” the man spoke patiently. “But they are mostly purchased by men, and men cannot shop until later at night.”

  Xueming carefully considered the man’s words and, having nothing of value to say, only nodded curtly, deciding the man must know best.

  “Come, help me set up,” the man called him over again, nonchalantly—as if Xueming had been working for him for years.

  Xueming took a step closer, and then another, until he was directly in front of that hair comb the man so patiently held out. He felt apprehension building up in his chest, as if something would happen when he took it—as if it was bait, and touching it would entrap him.

  Gingerly, he placed his stubby fingers around the comb, his gaze flickering between the object and the man’s face. The man’s expression didn’t twist into one of evil giddiness, but he still drew his arm back with the quickness of someone spearing a fish.

  The man busied himself with grabbing another hair comb, hiding his amusement as he bent down.

  Xueming flushed with embarrassment but still shamelessly lifted himself onto his toes to peer over the stall, surprised to see a little boy about his age pouting on the ground beside the man.

  “Who is that, Mister?” Xueming wondered, sounding as if he were the son, and that little boy the stranger.

  “This is my son,” the man replied carefully, tapping a free spot in a lineup of hair combs, and Xueming carefully placed the one he was holding down. “He refuses to try in case he fails.”

  Xueming nearly burst into a fit of laughter but quickly decided against it. He bit down on his lip, not wanting to offend the man.

  “Don’t bother with ‘Mister’,” the man spoke again. “I have no education or social standing. I am just a man selling hair combs.”

  Xueming was quiet for a moment, surprised to be handed another hair comb. This one was a dark blue, but there were white flowers painted on it. This one was notably beautiful too.

  “Well, the hair combs aren’t too bad, Uncle,” Xueming said cheerfully.

  The man smiled brightly, seeming to genuinely appreciate the compliment.

  “Thank you, er. They are made by my wife.”

  Xueming nodded again respectfully, carefully placing the comb to start another row on the table. His father would scold him if he broke one and they had to pay for it, so he was extra diligent.

  “What is your name?” Xueming asked the man’s son, and feeling a little embarrassed, added: “I am Jian Xueming.”

  The little boy, with strange eyes of silver and hazel, only stared at Xueming with a jutted lower lip—like even that question would make him cry.

  His father sighed as the silence bore down on them, but only continued placing those hair combs, quickly finishing up the next row. Xueming noticed each row had its own color theme, finding it quite satisfying to look at.

  Xueming tried again, not liking how uncomfortable he felt under the little boy’s gaze.

  “Do you attend school?” Xueming asked.

  The little boy shook his head, now looking at Xueming with curious eyes.

  “Ah, well I do,” Xueming continued in a hurry, accepting another hair comb from the man. This one was the light cream color of milk candy. “I am waiting for my father to finish work. He works at the school.”

  The man smiled and nodded.

  “I was wondering why there were so many children here running around unsupervised.”

  Xueming pursed his lips, starting a new row of hair combs before the man could instruct him to. A sense of pride washed over him.

  “We aren’t unsupervised, Uncle,” Xueming said in a low voice, a little embarrassed to be arguing back. “My father said there are many adults here to watch over me.”

  The man looked down thoughtfully and continued placing white and cream hair combs in the row Xueming had started.

  The little boy suddenly stood up, almost knocking his nose into the stall.

  He wore plain clothes and his red hair was unruly, but his expression was bright and clear. He opened his mouth wide and his voice came in a bellow, like he was making some mighty declaration.

  “I am Hu Huaian!”

  Abruptly, the scene around Xueming warped and fizzled away, and he lost all sense of stability.

  Xueming stumbled into the crowd, feeling Huaian catch him again, and he whipped his head around, feeling too tall and too awkward in his own body. Huaian’s baby face flashed in his mind, but his eyes settled on a mature man of many years.

  Xueming felt a little pang in his heart as he realized that bright smile was still the same. He really had inherited a lot from his father.

  “Is something the matter?” Huaian wondered with furrowed brows, raising his voice so he was heard over the bustle of the crowd.

  They had been jostled around until they were rather far apart, their connected arms fully straightened, but Huaian appeared by Xueming’s side in an instant.

  Xueming smiled back, but for once, he did not care or feel that his smile was awkward or clumsy and did not suit his face. Huaian’s smile naturally widened, though he didn’t know why his friend was suddenly so pleased—he was just happy that Xueming was.

  “I remembered something,” Xueming said in a whisper, as though he was afraid the memory would be taken away if he said it too loudly, too proudly.

  But the images of the memory flashed through his mind and he latched onto it, vowing to never let it go again.

  “Well, what is it?” Huaian asked, immediately holding out his free arm to block anyone from bumping into them. He kept his eyes on Xueming, his lips hesitantly smiling, unsure whether this was good or bad news.

  Xueming was almost certain that Huaian didn’t even know how he moved to protect him—it was all instinctual, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Xueming beamed, overwhelmed by the fact that his friend had been there for him all along.

  Huaian expected nothing of him—not even remembering. Huaian had done that all these years for the both of them.

  Xueming had been freed of that cell months ago, but only now did he feel that he was ready to stand up and walk out.

  “I remembered something!” Xueming declared, a little more giddily. He began to shake Huaian’s arm up and down, and soon they were both jumping in excitement.

  He was so ecstatic, he didn’t even feel the protest in his legs.

  It must have been a sight to see two middle-aged men jumping around like little children playing a game, but neither of the men thought of it—or cared.

  Xueming stumbled, but Huaian carefully caught him and pulled him closer, shielding him from the push and pull of the crowd.

  Xueming beamed at his friend with a wide smile, shouting over the crowd even though he was close enough to Huaian to be heard.

  “I remembered you.”

  While writing, I was smiling with Xueming. So happy to give this poor guy a little happiness.

  While editing, I was not smiling. This took so long to edit.

  Terms:

  叔叔 - shushu or father’s younger brother

  小耐 - Xiao Nai (Huaian’s cousin’s name is Nai but he’s placing Xiao in front to show affection)

  小子 - xiaozi or kid (affectionate)