Nanke Yifu Chapter 15
byFinding Chi Fu (15)
“Jun Lan doesn’t have a body, and he doesn’t know what he was originally supposed to look like. When we were little, only I knew he existed, so he grew up looking like me,” the strange person explained. Seeing Chi Fu’s still somewhat stiff expression, they said without much apology, “Sorry, sorry. Jun Lan and I run a haunted house. Occupational hazard—I habitually wanted to play a little trick on you guys. Speaking of which, if you have time, would you like to visit our haunted house? We’ll give you one free experience.”
That expression, rather than being apologetic, was more like ill-intentioned and mischievous. This so-called “occupational hazard” was likely acquired before they even started the job, or perhaps they took the job precisely because of this “occupational hazard.”
“No, no, no,” Chi Fu quickly shook his head and waved his hands in refusal. After refusing, he looked at Yan Laixi and said, “Do you want to go? If you want to go, I can wait outside for you.”
Yan Laixi actually wanted to ask him what he meant by “waiting outside” if he went to a haunted house. Would he accompany him with his thoughts, encourage him with words, or offer some kind of spiritual support?
For some reason, the phantom disappeared after the prank ended. Yan Laixi felt that ever since this pair of purple-haired siblings appeared, Chi Fu had seemed a little off.
Before leaving, Chi Fu suddenly asked the girl, “You can see phantoms, right? Like, ghosts and souls and things?”
The other party nodded. Chi Fu swallowed and continued to ask, “Then… do those things really exist in the world? Not like your brother, but… real ghosts… or whatever.”
The purple eyes narrowed, and the corner of the mouth curled up, a slightly eerie smile appearing perfectly on that androgynous face. She didn’t say anything, just looked at Chi Fu. No, to be precise, she was looking behind Chi Fu.
Even after walking some distance away, Chi Fu still felt a chill down his spine, with occasional gusts of cold air blowing on the back of his neck.
“Are you afraid of ghosts?” Yan Laixi suddenly leaned in and whispered in his ear.
Chi Fu flinched, shrinking his neck and hugging himself, nodding decisively and firmly.
He always believed that regardless of whether life was suffering or not, saving face depended on the situation. Saving face in a situation like this was extremely inadvisable. Although, according to Chi Fu’s classification, in most situations, if needed, face could be fed to the dogs, cats, fish, ghosts—anything—or simply thrown away if not fed.
So what if he was afraid of ghosts? Who didn’t have something they were afraid of?
“She was just trying to scare you,” Yan Laixi comforted him.
“I know,” Chi Fu said, his expression very serious. “But knowing doesn’t stop me from being afraid. Just like I know that shape-shifting phantom is actually a person, knowing that doesn’t stop me from being afraid either.”
Yan Laixi: “You really are honest…”
“Should we walk around a bit more now? Or go home?” The sky had completely darkened. Yan Laixi felt he was asking a pointless question, but still asked Chi Fu, “Are you afraid of the dark?”
Given the current premise, it wasn’t a pointless question at all.
“Usually no,” Chi Fu continued to display his excellent virtue of honesty and frankness, saying, “But I am now. It’s fine if someone is next to me, but not if I’m alone.”
Chi Fu looked up at Yan Laixi, trying his best to appear small, pitiful, and helpless: “Nanke, please take me in for one more night.”
So, what was the connection between being afraid of the dark, afraid of ghosts, and asking him to take him in…
“You don’t dare go home?” Yan Laixi asked.
“Based on experience,” Chi Fu said, “If I’m alone, not only do I not dare go home, but even if I get home, I won’t dare turn off the lights at night.”
“It’s fine,” Yan Laixi joked, “But you won’t suddenly knock on my door in the middle of the night and say you’re afraid to sleep alone, right?”
Chi Fu: “I’ll try not to.”
“It’s okay if you do. I haven’t slept yet, so I’ll probably see you tomorrow morning,” Yan Laixi said. “As long as you don’t mind the noise or the screen light being too bright. So, are we going home now?”
“We,” “home.”
Chi Fu knew Yan Laixi had just said those two words casually, and he was well aware that he and Yan Laixi were far from that close, but those two words still made a little deer jump into Chi Fu’s chest.
He unconsciously nodded, then quickly shook his head immediately after.
Yan Laixi chuckled and asked, “Are we going back or not?”
“Not going back,” Chi Fu answered decisively. “Not yet. There’s a main river nearby. Let’s go to the riverside to see the night view! And see if there’s a night market or something, look for roadside food stalls.”
“Still hungry?” Yan Laixi asked.
“Yes, I’m hungry,” Chi Fu said. “Cake can’t be eaten as a meal.”
“Not pretending anymore?” Yan Laixi countered.
“I wasn’t pretending in the first place.” The period of honest and frank virtue had expired, now replaced by the glib version. “Isn’t it because you don’t like to say anything and always try to accommodate others? This is just a little trick I used to get you to say where you really want to go.”
Yan Laixi asked himself honestly: he had already allowed Chi Fu to come to his house to cook for him while he hid in the bedroom sleeping. The idea of “accommodating” him, even if it hadn’t happened since the very first time, certainly didn’t apply to his attitude toward Chi Fu recently.
“Why bring up something that happened so long ago?” Yan Laixi pointed to Chi Fu’s abdomen. “And how can you, a person who is currently starving himself to accompany me, have the nerve to say that about me now?”
“That’s why I said mine is strategic; the nature is different.” When you want to “win” an unimportant argument, and your opponent happens to be someone easygoing who doesn’t care much about winning or losing, then the great art of changing the subject is an excellent choice for you. “Alright, alright, let’s go quickly. I didn’t eat lunch, and my stomach is practically touching my back. You probably didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, right? Aren’t you hungry?”
Yan Laixi: “I probably wouldn’t have been hungry before, but you’ve spoiled me recently.”
“As a literary creator, I think you should be very clear that the words ‘spoiled’ and ‘normal’ cannot be equated,” Chi Fu said. “Although the wording was inappropriate, the central meaning that you are also hungry has successfully been conveyed to me, the recipient.”
“Then!” Chi Fu raised his arm, extended a finger, and pointed toward the empty space ahead. “Let us set off together toward the food!”
Yan Laixi grabbed his wrist and turned him around: “This way. That way is toward the transit station.”
The banks of the river were brightly lit, and the dark water reflected the human world’s lights, stealing the stars’ thunder. Chi Fu and Yan Laixi’s eyes, however, only lingered on the more direct human world—the various snack stalls by the roadside.
What if their connection was only through food? What if that was the only relationship they had? People can go without entertainment, they can go without thinking, but they cannot go without eating. Eating is one of the most solid links between people.
For Yan Laixi, the biggest advantage of street food was that his diet was surprisingly highly tolerant of these foods, which were usually considered unhealthy. Of course, this “highly tolerant” was only in comparison to his tolerance for other types of food.
In short, faced with a dazzling array of delicious food, the two people who had been hungry all day wanted to buy a portion of everything they saw. Because the portions of these snacks were generally small, it was easy to misunderstand one’s appetite. In the end, each of them carried two hands full of bags and paper bowls, looking for a place along the river to sit down and eat slowly.
“Let’s go over there. Is there a performance there?” Chi Fu pointed to the waterside platform ahead and asked.
It was a bit far to see clearly, but there were indeed figures moving on the platform, and small groups of people were sitting on the steps behind it.
Yan Laixi and Chi Fu walked over, found a relatively empty spot on the steps, and started eating from their plastic bags.
On the platform, a boy and a girl with black hair and red eyes were presenting an extremely minimalist play.
Minimalist, but brilliant.
The boy lightly lifted the girl, and at the girl’s command, a flock of birds swarmed in, circling the scepter in her hand.
In the final scene, pure white birds engulfed the two, then scattered in an instant, leaving the platform empty, as if everything that had just happened was merely an illusion.
The pedestrian path between the river and the road, used for viewing, was not very wide and was half-occupied by various stalls. It was rare to find a place long, wide, and large enough where people could sit down without worrying about blocking the way or accidentally falling into the water. Many people here, like them, were looking for a place to sit and eat. Applause, smelling of food, rang out. The actors did not return for a curtain call with the applause. Chi Fu leaned close to Yan Laixi’s ear and whispered, “Did they just jump into the river?”
Although it wouldn’t be cold to jump into the river in this weather, this wasn’t a very formal performance… there was no need to be so dedicated, right?
In this kind of venue, mechanisms shouldn’t be possible. Yan Laixi said, “Maybe they relied on an Anomaly?”
“Those were real birds just now,” Chi Fu pointed to a spot slightly to the right of the waterside platform and said, “One second, one was pecking at food thrown by a human child, and the next second, it fluttered its wings and flew over, startling the kid.”
Yan Laixi was surprised: “You were watching the performance and also paying attention to where the birds used in the performance came from?”
“No, I don’t have extra eyes or extra brains; I can’t watch that much at once. It was just that one, I happened to see it,” Chi Fu noticed the topic was starting to drift and pulled it back. “That’s not the point. The point is that one of them must have an Anomaly related to controlling birds. And look at the boy, he’s not particularly tall or strong, and there aren’t any obvious muscles on his arms or legs, but he lifted the girl as easily as if she were a balloon. The other one must have an Anomaly related to that.”
“Maybe both were achieved by the same person’s Anomaly?” Yan Laixi said. “For example, being able to control the behavior of all animals, including humans? The kind that can achieve things that are theoretically possible even if the target couldn’t do them originally? Doesn’t that sound a bit too powerful?”
“Not a bit,” Chi Fu continued to scan the riverbank. “Although such an Anomaly might theoretically exist, if it really did, it would be too enviable and hateful. However, if such an Anomaly truly existed, I feel like they would be taken into custody and monitored even for a small mistake.”
“True. Maybe there are others nearby cooperating with them?” Yan Laixi said, turning Chi Fu’s head, which had been staring at the riverbank, toward himself. “Stop looking. Even if they did jump into the river, they would have to swim far away before coming up. It would be quite embarrassing…”
From the perspective of an uninformed third party, what kind of scene was this?
Night, starlight, lights, riverside. Two people sat side by side on the steps. Everything became their backdrop, like a scene from a movie rehearsed countless times. Yet, the packaging of the roadside snacks beside them brought the scene back to reality. Yan Laixi held Chi Fu’s face, forcing him to look at him. Whether in an idol drama or an art film, the conventional development in this situation is usually one of three things: a heartfelt confession, foreheads touching, or the request or exchange of a kiss.
But this was neither an idol drama nor an art film. None of the subsequent developments were suitable for them. In fact, even without subsequent development, the current scene was already very inappropriate.
Yan Laixi quickly withdrew his hands as if holding a hot pot, and Chi Fu also sat up straight, lowering his head without speaking.
In this suffocating atmosphere, the phone in Chi Fu’s pocket vibrated like a savior.
He casually yet clumsily pulled out his phone, thinking that no matter who sent the message or what it was, he must thank them properly.
Seeing the content of the message, Chi Fu wanted to “thank” them properly.
The person next to him visibly wilted like a frost-bitten eggplant. Yan Laixi also recovered from the awkwardness.
“What’s wrong?”
Chi Fu’s gaze returned to Yan Laixi’s face, looking genuinely wronged this time, not faked.
“A written assignment suddenly needs to be submitted, so I can’t go to your place,” he said listlessly. Chi Fu had actually wanted to invite Yan Laixi to his place, if not for that subtle atmosphere just now. “If only I could travel to the end of next year, graduate instantly, and avoid situations like this.”
“I can come to your place too.”
The suggestion was unexpected from all perspectives. Hearing this, Chi Fu immediately perked up. He looked up and saw that Yan Laixi, who had said this, looked a little stunned, seemingly not having fully realized what he had just said.
This was an opportunity not to be missed. To hell with whether the atmosphere was appropriate or awkward.
“Okay!” Chi Fu agreed instantly, giving Yan Laixi no chance to explain or refuse. “Should we go now? Or play a bit longer? I have a single bed at my place that I usually pile things on. If I tidy it up and put on a sheet, it’s ready to sleep on. Do you need to go back and get anything? It’s just one night. I should have new essential supplies there, or we can buy them on the way back?”
“I, um, I…”
Yan Laixi’s already unclear mind was completely bewildered by Chi Fu’s string of questions. A war raged in his spiritual world. One side was still struggling with the subtle atmosphere just now, another was condemning himself for suggesting staying over at the other person’s house at such an inopportune moment, and yet another was frantically trying to answer Chi Fu’s questions. But too little consciousness was allocated to this side—it was like taking the character for “celestial being” and throwing in only the character for “person”—it was completely insufficient, overloaded. The result was that not only did he fail to answer the questions, but he also essentially poured gasoline onto the chaotic battlefield.
“What’s wrong?” Chi Fu leaned over and tilted his head, waving his hand in front of Yan Laixi’s eyes. “Too many questions, don’t know which one to answer first? Then I’ll ask them one by one. First question: Should we play outside a bit longer before going back to my place?”
Yan Laixi nodded, then asked, “Aren’t you in a hurry with your assignment?”
“Not that urgent,” Chi Fu said, and continued to ask, “Should we go anywhere else? Or just stroll along the riverbank?”
“Let’s stay here,” Yan Laixi gathered the food wrappers and trash. “I want to feel the breeze.”
“Okay, then we’ll stay here.”
After cleaning up, carrying the uneaten food, Yan Laixi and Chi Fu walked side by side along the riverbank. This time, they were separated by a good half meter, like familiar strangers.
Yan Laixi recalled the joke Qiu Ye had made before. This time, he seriously asked himself, was this feeling love?
Was he in love with Chi Fu?
The answer was definitely yes, but love comes in many forms. Was his love for Chi Fu the romantic kind? If so, what kind of feelings did Chi Fu have for him?
Regrettably, the second question was not considered by Yan Laixi at the time, as he stopped at the first question.
The answer Yan Laixi arrived at then was no. After all, how could someone who had never experienced romantic love in reality know what romantic love felt like?
One person was thinking about where their relationship would go in the long term, and the other was thinking about what they would do when they got home later and what they would eat for breakfast tomorrow. The two people walked closer and closer: half a meter, half an arm’s length, half a palm’s width. The plastic bags they switched to the other side, the sleeves and arms that brushed against each other inadvertently. The evening breeze dispersed the inevitable stiffness of the process, leaving only a closer distance and warming feelings.
Perhaps this night was not important. Perhaps the slight closeness was unnoticeable. Perhaps looking back at this night from the future, all one would remember was the awkwardness of their youth. Perhaps this relationship neither began nor blossomed on this night. But one thing, just one thing, is absolutely undeniable.
This night, every night, every day, every minute, every second, was a part of the tapestry of this relationship, an indispensable and most precious memory.