The midsummer sun hung glaringly overhead, its scorching light baking the flagstones in the small courtyard until they were burning hot—hot enough to sting the soles of one's feet.
The air itself seemed to have thickened, sticky and stifling, not a hint of breeze to be found.
A few sparrows under the eaves, wilted from the heat, chirped weakly, their calls carrying a languid tone.
In the middle of the courtyard, the old locust tree spread its dense branches, not a leaf stirring in the still air. Only now and then, a few sun-scorched leaves, curled at the edges, drifted soundlessly to the ground.
Qin Yu lay sprawled on his back under the rare patch of shade beneath the veranda, arms pillowed behind his head, one leg propped lazily over the other, his bare foot swaying idly to some unseen rhythm.
A blade of spirit grass—plucked casually from the courtyard—hung from the corner of his mouth. He chewed it with relish, eyes half-lidded as he gazed at the blindingly bright clouds drifting lazily across the sky.
Sunlight slanted down, casting dappled shadows across his young, handsome face. His long lashes quivered faintly; the corners of his lips held a faint, teasing smile. Every inch of him radiated that fearless, cocky, devil-may-care energy of a mischievous youth.
"Hey—this damn brat—!"
A low, irritable growl, simmering with anger, rolled through the half-open gate like a sudden clap of thunder.
Feng Yu was back.
Though it was nearly evening, the heat still shimmered in the air. He looked travel-worn, a sheen of fine sweat on his brow, a bundle of old, faded paper signs in his hand—each one hand-painted years ago with crooked characters reading: Ghost Catching, Fortune Reading, Face Reading, Date Selection. The ink had long been blurred by sun and rain.
The moment he stepped through the familiar gate, his eyes fell on his precious grandson sprawled under the veranda like a limp rag, utterly boneless, looking every bit the picture of lazy disorder.
That slouching, careless, image-be-damned attitude instantly ignited the fire that had been smoldering in Feng Yu's chest all the way home—it flared straight to the top of his head!
Unpleasant memories flashed through his mind—how, years ago, because of internal trouble in the Astronomical Bureau, he'd had no choice but to leave Qingliu Village for a time, entrusting young Qin Yu to his junior brother, Feng Yang.
But when he finally returned, having solved those wretched affairs and eager to see his pupil again, he was stunned.
The child he had raised with such care—every word and gesture once calm, refined, and dignified, with more than a few traces of his own younger self—had turned into… into a smooth-talking, grinning, irreverent scoundrel!
Just thinking of it made Feng Yu's blood pressure spike. He regretted it so much his intestines twisted in knots. If he'd known it would turn out like this, he would have sent that unreliable Feng Yang back to the Bureau himself and stayed behind to personally guard this once-promising seedling!
"Qin Yu!"
Feng Yu's face darkened as he barked the name, his voice so loud and commanding it echoed through the silent courtyard, startling the drowsy sparrows under the eaves into a frantic flutter of wings.
"Get up this instant! Look at yourself! No manners lying there like that—no proper bearing whether sitting or standing! What do you think you look like?!"
He strode across the courtyard in long, furious steps, slamming the bundle of paper signs down on the stone table with a heavy thud.
"You're about to head to the capital for university! You're going there to study, not to loiter like some street punk! And yet here you are, sprawled out like an abandoned vagrant! What a disgrace!"
The instant Qin Yu heard that familiar voice—gruff, explosive, and seconds from detonation—his ears perked up like a startled cat's.
His body reacted faster than his brain. Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, he sprang up from the ground with a perfectly smooth, acrobatic flip, rising to his feet in one motion as fluid as running water.
The grass stem still in his mouth flew loose, half of it landing on his shirt, but he didn't dare brush it off.
"Oh my heavens—Grandpa!"
His face lit up with a dazzling, ingratiating grin, teeth flashing white as he rushed over in two quick bounds, hand already reaching to take the worn cloth bag from Feng Yu's shoulder.
"You're back! You must be exhausted! Look at you—all sweaty! Quick, come in, sit down, rest a bit! I'll brew your favorite pre-rain Longjing tea right away!"
Chattering eagerly, he deftly gathered up the paper signs and set them neatly in their usual corner, then reached out again, trying to take his grandfather's arm with all the practiced ease of someone who'd done this a hundred times before.
"Get away from me! Don't give me that fake nonsense!"
Feng Yu brushed his hand aside with a scowl and a sharp snort.
Face still stern, he strode into the cooler room.
The faint coolness inside swept away some of the heat and irritation clinging to him from outside.
His gaze drifted, as it always did, to the living-room wall—nearly covered from top to bottom with awards and certificates. Seeing all that gleaming gold and red, a flicker of softness and pride passed through his eyes, but it lasted only a moment before his expression hardened again.
He raised a finger and pointed at the wall.
"Take a good look! What's written there?!"
Qin Yu obediently turned his head to look.
The entire wall was packed—award certificates from primary school through high school, all neatly arranged. Physics Olympiad First Prize. Provincial Calligraphy Competition Gold Medal. National Youth Science and Innovation Silver Award. Model Student. Outstanding Youth. The list went on and on, stacked so tightly there was hardly space left.
Under the evening sun streaming in through the window, the golden borders and bright red stamps glowed with a warm, proud luster.
He chuckled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, and started mumbling under his breath:
"First Prize, National Physics Olympiad... Gold in the Provincial Calligraphy Competition... Silver in the National Youth Innovation Contest..."
"Uh… Model of Etiquette Nationwide… One of the Top 100 Outstanding Youths…"
"Ha!" Feng Yu snorted, cutting him off. "So you can still read! Then look down at yourself now! Where's that 'Model of Etiquette' I see on the wall?!"
"Standing like a slouch, sitting like a slob—what happened to your manners?!"
"Now, now, senior brother, calm down! Why get so worked up the moment you get back?"
A hearty, booming laugh carried from the kitchen.
Moments later, Feng Yang emerged, still wearing a grease-stained apron and holding a steaming bowl of winter melon and pork rib soup.
The instant he saw poor Qin Yu standing there with his head down, shoulders hunched, trying hard not to laugh, Feng Yang burst out laughing and stepped in to smooth things over.
"Come now, he's at home! Let the boy relax! Outside, he's perfectly proper—polite, well-spoken, helpful to everyone. The whole village praises him! What's the harm in lounging a bit when he's with family?"
"Ha! All thanks to you, you incorrigible fool!"
Feng Yu immediately redirected his glare toward his junior brother, eyes narrowing as anger flared anew.
"I raised a straight, upright little pine tree! And in just a few years, you've managed to turn him into a floppy, rootless stalk of dogtail grass!"
"Hey now, brother, that's unfair!"
Feng Yang set the soup down with a loud clack, splashing a few drops onto the table as he puffed up indignantly.
"What's wrong with dogtail grass, huh? It's tough! It's down-to-earth! I'd say the boy's doing great! Cheerful, lively, easy to like! Better than being all stiff and old-fashioned like you were at his age—walking and talking like some little old man! Where's the fun in that?"
As he spoke, he shot Qin Yu an exaggerated wink, his eyes signaling help me out here!
"Right, Yu'er?"
"Uh-huh! Yep, yep! Second Grandpa's absolutely right!"
Qin Yu nodded eagerly like a pecking chick, face bright with exaggerated sincerity, fully backing his second grandfather's "wise judgment."
Watching the pair—one old, one young—grinning, winking, and playing off each other so shamelessly, Feng Yu felt the vein in his temple start to throb again.
He inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled, the breath escaping as a long, helpless sigh.
"Forget it," he muttered, shaking his head. There was no winning against these two who had clearly joined forces long ago.
He picked up the cup of tea Qin Yu had poured earlier—already cold—and took a long gulp. Then, as if remembering something important, his expression shifted.
His gaze sharpened once more, turning back toward Qin Yu.