The Du parents went back to their room for an afternoon nap, so the four of them crowded into Du Man's room—the only one upstairs with air conditioning.
They wanted to play cards but were afraid of disturbing the elders, so Jing Qichi suggested a quieter game. But what kind of game was quiet? Song Cong, recalling how he had been writing characters at the dinner table earlier, had a sudden idea. "One person says a pinyin syllable without tones, and everyone takes turns writing the corresponding Chinese characters. The winner gets a red envelope. The first to drop out pays fifteen, the middle one ten, and the last five."
Huan'er, who was the weakest in Chinese, immediately vetoed it. "You're just setting me up."
"Setting both of us up," Jing Qichi said, glancing at the two across from them. "How can people who use computers every day compete with those who write medical records?"
"Let's try it. I often forget how to write characters these days too," Du Man said with a smile, pulling out a stack of A4 paper from the bookshelf. "At worst, the winner buys drinks tonight—no refunds, no extra charges."
"Deal." Huan'er brightened, nudging Jing Qichi. "You can handle the drinks anyway."
"I'll go first as an example," Song Cong said. Looking up, he spotted the People's Medical Publishing House Blue Book on the shelf and grinned. "Let's go with 'XUE." He then wrote the character "学" (learn) on the paper.
"We don’t have to stick to syllables, right?Huan'er said, writing "snow".
Jing Qichi followed with "blood."
Du Man confidently wrote "Xue" (a surname).
"See? It's not that hard," Song Cong chuckled, adding "boots."
"Cave, as in '洞穴' (cave)," Huan'er continued.
The later rounds grew tougher as common characters were exhausted, and Jing Qichi was the first to bow out. He tossed his pen in surrender. "Lao Song, how can you call this a game? It's practically a Chinese exam."
Song Cong grinned. "Go reflect on your knowledge base."
Unsurprisingly, Song Cong dominated the first round.
No matter who set the prompt or what syllable was chosen, he was like a walking dictionary, effortlessly producing characters. By the time the others were scraping the bottom of the barrel, he would still be spinning his pen leisurely before writing an obscure character that required verification. In one round, Du Man deliberately picked a harder syllable, "SUO." Thanks to the turn order, Huan'er managed to go head-to-head with Song Cong. She finally came up with "carboxyl", but struggled with the radical on the right, unsure if it was correct. After scribbling and erasing, she slammed her pen down and wrote "COOH." "There, that's it—International Carboxyl."
The absurdity of resorting to a chemical formula had everyone in stitches. Song Cong laughed and stopped writing. "Fine, I'll let you win this round."
His expression clearly said, "Whatever, I’ll give you this one," which was even more infuriating than if he had written it.
When it was Huan'er's turn to set the prompt, she decided to play dirty. "MAN," she said, writing "slow" on the paper.
Jing Qichi wrote "full", Du Man wrote "conceal", and Song Cong wrote "vine". They all tacitly avoided one character—Du Man's "overflow."
Including the person it belonged to.
Huan'er dropped out. Jing Qichi dropped out. Only two players remained.
Du Man still hadn’t written it.
Even though nearly all the common characters for that syllable had been used.
Even though they knew Song Cong might have another character ready, or that the game might end before the word even appeared.
It was obvious—Du Man had run out of characters to write.
Now it was Song Cong's turn. One more, and he would win.
The sun had long lost its midday intensity, and the air-conditioned room had grown chilly.
The pen rested between Song Cong's index and middle fingers before his thumb gripped it firmly. "Man.""Not finished yet. Right next to that character, Song Cong continued writing.
What he wrote was: Manman.
The handwriting remained as neat and forceful as ever.
"Did I win?" Song Cong put down the pen and smiled at Du Man.
Manman.
The girl's heart skipped a beat.
"You won." Du Man felt her accelerating heartbeat as she told him.
It was a kind of test—half genuine, half playful—both in process and outcome.
The wingman duo secretly high-fived under the table at the scene. Song Cong twirled his pen and smiled with his head lowered, while Du Man gathered the written papers as if to hide them. Seeing neither intended to continue, Huan'er quickly interjected, "No need to tally the results. Song Cong, you're treating everyone to drinks tonight."
Let those gradually surfacing feelings remain between the parties involved.
"No problem," Song Cong readily agreed.
As evening approached, Du Man had planned to take her friends to the fields, but coincidentally, wholesale buyers came to the village to purchase melons. Huan'er suggested postponing the visit until after dinner. After all, while the fields might be a novelty for them, for Du Man's parents, it was serious business—their livelihood. Tagging along would only cause trouble.
"Would you like to see the chicken farm?" Du Man pointed ahead. "Aunt Li has over a thousand chickens. It's quite a sight."
"I do!" Huan'er raised her hand enthusiastically.
Jing Qichi ruffled her hair. "Don't even think about stealing chickens for your experiments."
"Pfft." The medical trio responded in unison, with Song Cong adding, "Amateurs."
Jing Qichi rolled his eyes. By this logic, he was indeed the odd one out in the group.
What terrible friends.
For the three visitors, a chicken farm of this scale was a first-time experience. Under the greenhouse, the orderly rows resembled supermarket shelves, each tier filled with the sounds of clucking chickens, stretching as far as the eye could see. Du Man noticed their wide-eyed amazement and said with a hint of pride, "Eye-opening, huh?"
Aunt Li teased her, "Look who's talking. You were just like them the first time you came."
Du Man had grown up in Tianhe. If not for her parents moving to the countryside, she wouldn't have had the chance to experience this kind of life.
"Been here long enough to get used to it," Du Man replied with a smile.
"You're the exception. What other kid would willingly move to the countryside?" Aunt Li said. "You all have fun. I'll go check on things over there."
Once the host left, Huan'er whispered to Du Man, "Can we steal an egg?"
One probably wouldn't matter. At worst, they could return a melon to Aunt Li.
Du Man chuckled. "Why?"
"Qi Chi! Jing Qichi!" Huan'er waved at the man standing far away. "Come here."Too noisy," Jing Qichi called back from the greenhouse entrance. It wasn't exactly fear—he just hadn't expected such a grand scene. The incessant clucking and sharp beaks made his skin crawl.
Ah, so that's where "chicken skin" (goosebumps) comes from.
Huan'er went over to pull him along. "Try grabbing an egg."
"No. Bad idea."
"Come on." Huan'er tugged his arm, thoroughly amused. So the fearless one had a weakness after all.
"Lao Song, save me!" Jing Qichi wailed.
"Good luck." Song Cong exchanged a glance with Du Man, and the two shared a laugh before quickly moving to another row.
"You heartless jerks!"Jing Qichi's cries echoed through the greenhouse."
After putting some distance between them, Song Cong stopped and looked at the girl beside him. "I didn't expect you to adapt so well here."
"You mean this place?"
"Yeah."She didn't mind any of it—not the unpaved streets, the shopping malls only accessible by car, or hearing her friends talk about how their parents were thrilled over this year's slight increase in melon prices. Moving from the countryside to a city of towering buildings was easy, but returning truly took courage.
Du Man paused briefly. "If it had been a few years earlier, like during high school or my first year of college, I might have felt... you know, if my parents said we were moving here."
Song Cong nodded. "Resistant."
"Yeah." Du Man sniffled, lowering her voice. "Stinks, huh?"
"A little." Song Cong smiled, telling the truth.
A chicken farm—of course it smelled.
Du Man laughed too. "Luckily, it's not back then. Song Cong, you know what? When my dad was in the hospital, I only had one thought: as long as he got better, I'd give up anything for it. Anything at all."
Song Cong looked at her profile, thinking to himself, I know.
Because I've had moments like that too—helpless and lost, willing to sacrifice everything for someone's well-being.
Du Man turned to him, her deep brown eyes glimmering behind her glasses.
"Hey," she tugged at his sleeve. "What are you thinking about?"
Those eyes were smiling.
Life always had this absurd kind of romance.
In this high-ceilinged chicken farm, Song Cong realized he had fallen for someone.
The kind of love where you'd throw caution to the wind just to make her happy—it had arrived at this very moment.
Jing Qichi returned to the Du household, holding Huan'er's hand in one and two eggs in the other.
Du Ma burst into laughter at the sight. "Perfect timing—we have some scallions. We'll add another dish for dinner."
"Auntie, you have no idea how funny it was." Huan'er pointed at the still-terrified boy. "A guy over six feet tall, and his face turned pale the moment he stepped into the chicken coop."
"I wasn't scared, just annoyed by the noise," Jing Qichi insisted. Those two eggs had been hard-won—the first one was retrieved only with Huan'er guiding his hand, and the second was a blind, desperate gamble.
He couldn't even explain why he was sweating so much.
"Wow." Du Ma cracked the eggs into a bowl, then looked at them in surprise and delight. "Both are double yolks."
Du Man leaned over to look and gasped. "Huan'er, your luck is insane!"The meritorious one waved it off casually." "No big deal. Stick with me, and you'll live the good life."
Du Ma noticed Song Cong's silence as she whisked the eggs. "Xiao Song, are you not used to it here?"
"No," Song Cong replied hastily, distracted by other thoughts. "I'm used to it. It's really nice here."
Du Ma chuckled. "Oh, come on. The countryside isn't that nice."
Song Cong didn't know how to respond.
"Mom," Du Man glanced at him, her cheeks flushing. "Stop asking him."
"Right," Song Cong quickly added. "Mom, please stop asking."
The atmosphere froze instantly.
Du Ma stopped whisking. Huan'er and Qi Chi stared blankly, while Du Man gaped at the man in question.
The clever Song Cong had just made the dumbest move possible.
Even dumber was how, under everyone's scrutiny, his ears turned red and he fumbled awkwardly.
Jing Qichi was the first to laugh, patting his friend's shoulder like he was an idiot. "Noted."
"Auntie, I'm sorry," Song Cong stammered, his palms sweaty as he corrected himself, his face burning.
Du Ma first glanced at her bashful daughter, understanding dawning, then turned to the one who had "misspoken," her expression unusually gentle. "Alright, you all go set the table. Dinner's almost ready.""Okay." Song Cong hurried away. Huan'er and Qi Chi exchanged a glance before following him.
Only the Du mother and daughter remained by the large wok.
Du Man asked, "Where's Dad?"
"Still packing up. He'll be back soon." Du Ma winked at her daughter. "Him?"
"Mhm."
"A grown daughter belongs to another's family now." Du Ma poured oil into the wok. "Be good, you hear?"
"Don't worry." Du Man hugged her mother amidst the rising steam, repeating those words. "Don't worry."
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