A few days passed with Xueming relatively undisturbed.

  Xueming spent a good portion of those days eating and sleeping, but in between these crucial activities, he would attempt to read some of his old studying material, then throw it in frustration, then clutch his arm in pain from how much even that hurt.

  After throwing a few books across the room, he would idly listen in on some of his mother and Auntie Xinrou’s conversations.

  The woman was over more often than not, and Xueming wondered if she ever spared her own family some quality time.

  Regardless, he was glad that his mother had had a close friend to support her all these years.

  Sometimes, Xiaojun’s wife would also be dragged over to help make something.

  By the third day of what had become his daily routine, Xueming began to wander out of his room and make his presence known. The women were excited to include him in their activities as soon as he appeared.

  “Oh—Ming-er, perfect!” Auntie Xinrou called out upon noticing him at the kitchen entrance. “Come taste this stew—your mom thinks it's too bland, and your brother’s wife thinks it's just right, but we cannot trust her to tell the truth even after all these years.” Auntie Xinrou eyed her daughter-in-law, who was smiling sheepishly. Affectionately, she muttered, “Silly girl, still trying to impress me even now…”

  Xueming approached the ladle Auntie Xinrou was using to vigorously stir the stew within a laughably large pot, and was instantly basked in a compelling aroma of garlic, ginger, and vinegar. With his mouth wide open, he was just about to slurp from the ladle when there was a light knock at the front door.

  Smiling, Xueming backed away from the three women, who all watched him a little too openly, and excused himself with a lame: “I will check… who that is.” His mother looked like she wanted to protest, but she didn’t dare coddle him in front of others, even if they could be considered family.

  Xueming awkwardly turned and walked to the front door, feeling his nerves get the better of him. After convincing himself he would only have to endure a simple interaction, Xueming took a deep breath and opened it.

  Xueming’s voice caught in his throat at the sight of the man on the other side of the door. There was a long stretch of silence as Xueming stared at him, still unpractised in the art of manners. But the man was staring back just as strangely, just as mannerless, as if he too couldn’t believe his eyes.

  The man’s skin was unnaturally pale, as if he hadn’t ever lifted a finger outside his house except to offer up a paper umbrella to the sun. His hair was a deep, shocking red, and his eyes were almost luminous, appearing like some impossible mix of hazel and silver. His nose was strong and pronounced, and his mouth was agape in shock.

  Even more striking were his robes, which were entirely black, like a bad omen. Yet, Xueming found them nice enough.

  Despite his pale skin, Xueming knew he was not so well-off, and instead, just had the natural complexion of a man of the Fox Spirit Clan.

  That same mouth lifted ever so slightly into a smile and those pale eyes brimmed with emotion.

  The man threw his arms over Xueming in a tight embrace and Xueming froze, quite startled to be held so intimately.

  “Ming-er?” His mother called out, her voice a little too close to come from the kitchen. “Who is it?”

  Xueming could hardly reply—he really didn’t know.

  “Ah…” His mother said, just as startled. “Huaian-er…”

  Xueming was a little relieved to hear his mother knew this man, though he was still very uncomfortable to be in the tight grip of a stranger.

  The man pulled away, his hands on Xueming’s shoulders, but his smile fell a little upon seeing Xueming’s face. There was no recognition in his eyes or excitement on his face—Xueming looked at him blankly, as he would anybody.

  “Ah…” Huaian said, his hands faltering. Finally, after a moment’s hesitation, he let his hands fall to his side. “I heard from your older brother…” He paused, looking down. “...I really couldn’t believe it.”

  Xueming felt as though his heart was in his throat.

  A silence fell over the three of them, and his mother tried to recover the situation for them, letting her hand fall on Xueming’s shoulder as she smiled lightly, trying not to cry.

  “Ming-er, this was one of your childhood friends, Hu Huaian.” She choked a little, glancing at the man. “You—You used to play together.”

  After Xueming’s mother’s effort, Huaian seemed to recover a little and looked up smiling.

  “Well, why don’t you come in?” His mother continued, gesturing inside the home.

  Huaian hesitated, looking at Xueming for confirmation; he was currently only a stranger, and didn’t want to make Xueming uncomfortable.

  Xueming nodded a little, and Huaian lowered his head gratefully, then entered the home.

  Huaian had never been one to let things fall to awkwardness, so he spoke as Xueming’s mother hurried back to the kitchen to make some tea.

  “I met your brother in the city by chance and he said you were back, but I wanted to give you a few days to settle in before I intruded.” Huaian said with a playful grin, as if the unbearable moments in the doorway had never happened.

  Xueming led his old friend to the seating area without even a hum in reply.

  “He warned me that you… that you likely wouldn’t remember me, but I don’t mind.” His voice cracked a little, and it sounded very much like he did.

  Xueming took a seat across from him and looked over his appearance once more, then finally spoke.

  “How long… have I known you?”

  “Well…” Huaian thought about it for a little while, smiling sadly. “I would say… we met around five years before you… left…” He quickly recovered, realizing the mistake he had made. “We used to play in Huo Guang Market quite a lot, waiting for our parents to finish work.”

  Xueming’s brows furrowed, straining to remember anything to support Huaian’s claim.

  “My…” Xueming paused. “My father was a teacher.”

  As a matter of fact, in some hazy flash of memory, Xueming could recall the school of his childhood was quite close to the market.

  “That’s right,” Huaian nodded enthusiastically, as though Xueming had remembered him entirely. “My father used to sell hair combs at one of those booths there.” He lifted a shoulder. “It was a pretty common job for a fox spirit.” His smile widened and his eyes shone, as if he wasn’t truly there, but lost in a memory. “It was more uncommon to have a parent as a teacher if your family name was Hu.”

  Xueming thought for a moment, then nodded.

  “Well, yes, I don’t recall any teachers… that were.”

  Huaian’s mouth parted a little and his gaze was piercing as he looked at his old friend, a little confused. Then, he wiped his face clean and fixed a smile on his lips.

  “There were a few,” was all he said.

  Xueming peered at his old friend, feeling quite puzzled. He had childhood memories of his family and his neighbors, but this man, yet Huaian seemed to be absent from all of them. Still, Xueming found no obvious reason to doubt him—his mother remembered him and there was little reason for anyone to lie about this.

  Maybe, he could learn more about himself from this man; it seemed they had been close.

  “How did you… get here?” Xueming wondered, an idea suddenly entering his mind.

  “Ah,” Huaian’s face lit up again. “I rented an ox cart from the city. It’s a little too far to walk from where I live.”

  Xueming’s lips parted, as if to offer some form of compensation, but he soon realized he had nothing to his name. He could hardly even offer his name when someone asked.

  Instead of letting his lips close though, he used the opportunity to propose his idea.

  “Why don’t we… go?”

  Huaian’s face lit up immediately at the suggestion, and he grinned encouragingly, though he soon sat back, remembering himself. He was like a stranger in front of Xueming, even if he carried years of memories with him.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  “Are you sure? I mean,” he paused, looking down the hallway. It was almost as though he wanted to ask if Xueming had permission, but it was quite inappropriate, given he was a middle-aged man.

  Still, Xueming had just recently gotten back and Huaian knew his mother well enough to know she would refuse if given the chance to weigh in.

  But Xueming had suggested it, so Huaian eventually allowed himself to lean forward on the edge of the bench. He swept the long sleeves of his black robe out of the way, then stood up excitedly, beckoning Xueming to stand up.

  A burst of adrenaline shot through Xueming, as if he were once again an adolescent disobeying his parents. He swayed slightly; his legs were not yet strong enough to withstand such sudden movement.

  Huaian quickly latched onto his friend’s arm to support him and they raced to the door like two teenage fugitives.

  “Xiongdi and I will be heading to the market in search of hair combs!” Huaian shouted into the hallway. “See you later, Auntie!”

  Huaian gladly took responsibility for their little escape and the two of them quickly landed in the ox cart before Xueming’s mother could frantically storm out of the house. Thankfully, she had been preoccupied with preparing treats for their newest guest, and could only yelp as she heard the front door slam shut.

  Xueming was wrapped up in a blanket Huaian had left in the cart and despite the icy chill of the air, he was glad to feel the wind on his face. His cheeks reddened and his face soon froze, awkward smile and all. Huaian had to shout over his shoulder whenever he wanted to speak.

  “What… What are you doing now?” Xueming asked, opting for the safest question possible.

  “Well,” Huaian flashed him a grin, delighted to be asked just about anything by Xueming. “I actually have my own company—I know, I know, it is quite prestigious.” He said upon seeing Xueming’s surprise. “Well, not really,” he snorted. “It is one of those construction management companies. You might have seen us out preparing for winter. If you haven’t already noticed, it’s all foxfolk.” He muttered: “Dirty work for lowly people.”

  Surprising both Huaian and even himself, Xueming lightly hit his friend on the back.

  Huaian threw his head back in laughter, and Xueming noticed his entire face was turning red, along with his cheeks and ears. It almost matched his hair.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Huaian said. “I guess the king is gone so that is no longer true.” His eyes flashed to the side. “Well, we’ll see if our position actually changes in society. Or will it continue to be foxfolk on the streets laboring away alone?”

  Xueming shook his head even though his friend couldn't see him.

  Realizing himself, Huaian looked back with a scowl on his face, sounding guilty.

  “I didn’t mean to start complaining like this. It was ignorant of me.”

  Xueming felt a pang in his heart, confused and irritated by the way Huaian spoke, but he remained silent.

  Clearing his throat, Huaian tried and failed to express himself on the topic.

  “Listen, I hear your family doesn’t want to mention anything about what happened… So I won’t mention it. But if you ever want to come down to meet any of us, maybe observe, maybe even work a little—nevermind, how could I make you work? Look, any of my men would love to meet you. Even if they don’t know who they’re really meeting…” Huaian paused, a little uncertain. “Well, your family is at least admitting what happened to you. And I would honestly be livid if they didn’t.”

  Stunned, Xueming leaned onto Huaian’s back, clutching the sides of the ox cart to steady himself.

  It was a little exhilarating to know that right in front of him was a man who knew everything he wanted to know. Really, this man knew young Xueming better than he did. Still, Xueming hesitated, thinking of his brother.

  Lanzhi was adamant on not saying a word about it, and he must have a good reason.

  But Xueming concluded that even if he could remain ignorant for a year or two, eventually, he would want to know what happened.

  He could not die without knowing if he had ever lived.

  A low fire burned in his belly despite the frigid cold. It was something he hadn’t remembered feeling since, well… ever, and he relished in it.

  “You know I don’t even… I didn’t even remember… my own name,” Xueming began, feeling a little out of breath. He was too anxious, his heart pounding uncomfortably, and knew he had to relax if he were to continue. “If you could tell me—tell me what happened then.” He paused, inhaling lightly, the crisp air burning his throat. “Before I was taken.”

  His sentences were hardly smooth, hardly fluent, and he often felt as though the rest was caught in his throat. Like a child who knew all the right things, but couldn’t convey them properly.

  Huaian understood what his friend wanted easily. Xueming expressed more than he gave himself credit for, but it was pointless—Huaian was cautious, despite the appearance of his bubbling personality.

  Clearing his throat, Huaian forced a smile, saying, “I am surprised your brother did not inform you on the way here.” Then, a little guilty, he added: “Perhaps it was too soon.”

  Xueming did not reply and only waited.

  He was not employing any specific conversation tactic on purpose, such as using silence as a weapon to force the other person to speak, but it was working regardless.

  Huaian continued: “When I met you, you were always a very persistent child. We fought often.” With a grin, he had: “I have always been quite headstrong, so we were always at each other’s necks. Eventually, we saw each other nearly everyday for a little bit, while you waited for your father to finish teaching. There was a lot of trust in the community, between us, you know? That much has changed these past few years though.”

  “It will return,” Xueming said encouragingly.

  Huaian only hummed in half-agreement.

  “Honestly,” he cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward. “We didn’t see each other as often when you began studying, but we still hung out.”

  “Only us?” Xueming wondered.

  Huaian was both caught off guard and not. He had expected this; it was hardly avoidable. And yet, somehow he had to avoid it. He promised he would.

  “No,” he muttered, “There were others.”

  Xueming glared at his friend’s back, the black of his robes stark against the white of their surroundings. The shacks were turning into finer buildings now, and the streets were more well-kept, but they were still far from the center of the city.

  “Qingling?” Xueming blurted out, the name feeling unnatural, like his tongue was twisted as he said it. He had repeated it so many times in his head, but hadn’t actually practised saying it out loud.

  Huaian was quiet for a long while, his back stiff, with only his arms moving to control the reins.

  “So you know,” he sighed. “Then why did—”

  “Not much,” Xueming cut him off. “I don’t know… really anything. Just a name.”

  Huaian was silent for another long while, his gaze shining with something Xueming could not decipher.

  “You won’t tell me?” Xueming wondered, his heart pulling in his chest.

  Huaian only shook his head, his own throat feeling as though it was utterly closed. He felt like he was drowning.

  “As my friend,” Xueming pleaded. “I have… waited.”

  “Don’t guilt me,” Huaian pleaded back. “I want to tell you, but I made a promise.”

  Xueming felt as though he was walking in fog.

  His entire life he had spent in the dark. He hardly remembered living beneath light. And now, he was supposedly free, and he could see the light all around, but it did not clear anything up.

  Xueming knew it was likely his own brother who had forced Huaian into silence. To protect him.

  Surely, Lanzhi had used an excuse such as that.

  His heart suddenly flared with hatred, and he wanted to lash out because of it.

  “I will… find out anyways,” Xueming said, his voice icy and determined.

  “I count on that,” Huaian replied back with a half-smile.

  The two fell into silence again.

  The buildings grew stories above them, and Xueming even found himself enjoying the view. The roads were clear despite the light snow, which was so bright, it burned his eyes. He silently thanked the foxfolk for clearing the snow and went on to stare at each building with wonder, trying to erase that hatred from his heart until his chest lightened and he could breathe again.

  “I will work,” Xueming suddenly declared, his voice projecting as though he was announcing something grand on a stage.

  Huaian gave him a puzzled look and immediately shook his head, but Xueming did not relent.

  “How else would… I spend the rest of… this useless life?” Xueming sighed, his forehead hanging so low, it brushed the back of Huaian’s robes. He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. “Let me work… “ Then, as an afterthought, he added: “If I even can.”

  Huaian was distracted by the conversation, by the tension and emotions that it stirred after years of suppression, and absentmindedly drove the ox cart along the route he knew best.

  Huaian was cautious, but not as cautious as Lanzhi.

  He cut straight through the heart of the city to get to Huo Guang Market and both men found themselves stopped in the middle of the road due to all the traffic. It was quite expected that there would be so much traffic, since no one feared to leave their house anymore. Foxfolk poured into the streets like never before.

  And in the centre of the city, just as Doctor Liu had warned, Xueming and Huaian stared at a massive shrine. As expected, the bronze statue of the previous king seated on a throne was stationed in the centre. The king seemed to sit proud and tall over the city, but he was headless now.

  What seemed like hundreds of papers, all with the same two characters written on it, covered the statue's body, the chair, and the large expanse of stone slab beneath it. The people only theorized the word’s meaning, but they remained in solidarity with their hero of the past, refusing to forget what he refused to, holding dear the name that he held dear.

  On the stairs were hundreds of candles and oil lamps and offerings, and below that, what looked like thousands of people.

  The sea of northerners surrounding the shrine was impossibly large and there was little space between each. Some were praying, some kowtowing, and some simply standing in respect. No one took notice of the two stunned men in a line of traffic that easily fit in with the line of lowly ox carts and fine Er Bai carriages.

  Xueming was the first to look away, but Huaian stared as if he couldn’t look away. His brows and mouth were twitching uncontrollably, and Xueming would have laughed, until he realized Huaian may be reliving the past all over again.

  How could he laugh, when he did not know what that felt like?

  Huaian likely avoided remembering their time together, even if he couldn’t forget it entirely. As Xueming had.

  With a twist of his heart and a stone in his stomach, Xueming wondered whether Huaian was envious, or even a little hateful that his friend had the rare privilege of a clean slate, and was unapologetically trying to claw his way back.

  “Qingling,” Xueming read out one of the hundreds of papers, offering his friend one of his awkward sympathetic smiles. His own mouth and eye twitched and he felt a little delirious. “She was with us too… right?”

  怀安 - Huaian

  Buying a hair comb for someone typically expresses deep affection for that person. Huaian was being funny. Finally, Huaian is here :')