“Your wound—don’t you need a bandage on it anymore?”
The delivery van drove along the highway, speed picking up considerably. The seals on the windows and doors weren’t great, wind whistling through, cold air always managing to slip through the tiny gaps. Fang Long sat in the passenger seat, asking while rubbing her cold hands together repeatedly.
Zhou Ya took two seconds to react, realizing Fang Long was asking about the cut he’d gotten from broken glass a couple days ago.
“Didn’t need it ages ago.” Zhou Ya held the wheel with one hand, reached back with the other for his leather jacket, and tossed it into Fang Long’s lap. “Cover up.”
“Huh? No need—achoo!” Before she’d finished speaking, Fang Long had already sneezed.
“Don’t be stubborn, told you to wear another layer and you wouldn’t listen.” Zhou Ya thought for a moment, then suddenly said, “After New Year’s, I’m going to buy a new car.”
The leather jacket blocked the wind well; her body warmed up almost instantly. Fang Long rubbed her damp nose and slid her hands into the wide, long sleeves of the jacket, asking, “Another delivery van?”
“Tch, why would I buy another delivery van? I want to buy a proper one, one that can carry passengers.”
“Fair enough, this van’s good for hauling cargo, but if you want to fit another person, you’d need to bring your own folding stool.”
Fang Long looked back—the back of the van was more than half filled with boxes big and small, all gifts Zhou Ya had bought for the kids at the welfare institute.
There were also a few steamers stacked together, holding the “orange” red bean buns they’d just made.
“Yeah, need to get a family car too.” It was still early, not many cars on the highway. Zhou Ya sat more casually than usual, left arm bent and resting on the door. “Also, after New Year’s, you’re learning to drive.”
Fang Long’s eyes widened suddenly. “Learn to drive a car?”
“What else? Learn to ride a bike?”
“…I don’t want to learn, too much trouble.”
“…” Zhou Ya glanced sideways at her. “Might as well be lazy to death then.”
“Hey, riding my scooter around is just fine!”
“Once I get the car, you can drive it too.” Zhou Ya tapped the steering wheel twice. “Oh, and if you want some pink or red car, I’ll just buy you another one.”
Fang Long was stunned. “What’s going on with you? Struck it rich or something?”
Zhou Ya, not holding back at all, said, “Made pretty good money this year.”
“Made money means you have to spend it all? Can’t you save some?” Fang Long turned to look out the window; the weather was nice today, no clouds, sunlight harsh, and she squinted slightly. “You might be getting married next year or the year after, shouldn’t you be saving up for that?”
She waited a moment before hearing Zhou Ya mumble in response, “Worrying over nothing.”
That answer did nothing to ease her heart, which had been left hanging in midair.
Fang Long didn’t say anything more, shifted her position, pulled the jacket up to cover her chin, lowered her eyelids, and let herself sink entirely into that familiar scent.
Actually, she didn’t even know herself what kind of answer she’d been hoping for.
The car grew quiet. A few minutes later, Zhou Ya turned to look over.
The person beside him had her head tilted, leaning against the car seat, back turned to him.
Must have fallen asleep.
He sighed softly, sat up straight, gripped the wheel with both hands, eyes on the road ahead, doing his best to avoid the potholes.
So that the girl could sleep more soundly.
By the time Fang Long woke up, the car had already slowed down.
Actually, the drive from Anzhen Town to the county seat wasn’t long; she hadn’t slept for very long, but the nap had left her feeling much more refreshed. Wrapped in the leather jacket the whole ride, her body had warmed up too. Looking out at the passing street scenery, she asked, “Almost there?”
“Another ten minutes or so.” Zhou Ya had a cigarette in his mouth, unlit, his voice slightly muffled.
“Oh.”
Fang Long had been to the county seat a few times before; though called a “county seat,” it was really just a bigger version of Anzhen Town—a few more people and cars, slightly wider roads, the central district livelier than the small town.
Oh, and also—there was no McDonald’s or KFC here either, but just like in Anzhen Town, there was a “McDeji.”
Fang Long had never been to that welfare institute, but having lived at her aunt’s place these past years, she’d occasionally heard her aunt and Zhou Ya talk about it, and knew quite a bit about it—knew it had moved to a new location a few years back, with much improved conditions.
Besides help from the government and various sectors of society, it also relied on the “giving back” of many children who had once grown up there, like Zhou Ya, like Qin Baile.
Fang Long took off the leather jacket and felt something in her palm as she touched it; she fished it out and handed the lighter over. “Here, this is yours.”
Zhou Ya looked at her strangely. “Why are you giving me this?”
“Aren’t you wanting to smoke?”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
Fang Long was equally confused. “Then why is there a cigarette in your mouth?”
Zhou Ya was silent for a few seconds before taking the cigarette out—he’d actually gotten a craving for a smoke earlier, but didn’t want to smoke in the car today, so he’d just been holding it in his mouth to curb the urge.
He crushed the cigarette in his hand, and with a slight squeeze, it bent in half.
“Not holding it in my mouth is fine too, right?” he said.
Fang Long pursed her lips. “So weird…”
The welfare institute’s new location was on the other side of the county seat, some distance from the central district, but the grounds were considerably larger, and even the entrance looked much grander.
Festive red lanterns hung at both the main gate and the entrance of the main building; the building was brand new, the walls clean, the glass gleaming. A group of children were chasing each other and playing on the open ground. The moment Zhou Ya parked the car, several familiar-looking kids had already run over, shouting excitedly, “A’Ya’s here! A’Ya’s here!”
Fang Long unbuckled her seatbelt and looked at him. “Wow, all the kids here know you?”
“Mm.” Zhou Ya turned off the engine, his voice a bit low. “Honestly, I hope that every year I come here, none of these kids recognize me.”
Fang Long didn’t understand at first, but by the time she got out of the car and walked to the back to help Zhou Ya unload the gifts, she’d figured out what he meant.
—If the kids here all knew Zhou Ya, it meant they’d stayed another year at the welfare institute without being adopted by any family.
The children gathered around the car varied in age, tall and short, boys and girls, and two were seated in wheelchairs, but all their faces carried similarly genuine smiles as they called out warmly, “Uncle A’Ya, happy new year!”
One child asked curiously, “Uncle A’Ya, who’s this older sister?”
Zhou Ya raised an eyebrow and asked the child back, “What did you just call her?”
“Older sister.”
“You call me uncle, but you call her older sister—so I look that much older, huh?”
The quicker-witted kids among them burst out laughing. “Well, you kind of are!”
Zhou Ya’s mouth curved up too, as he introduced her to the kids. “This is Uncle A’Ya’s little sister, Fang Long. You can call her ‘Auntie Long Long.'”
Fang Long quickly waved her hands. “No, no, no, everyone just call me ‘older sister’!”
She shot Zhou Ya a glare. “I’m still young, you know!”
The kids, sweet-talkers all, shouted loudly, “Happy new year, Sister Long Long!”
Fang Long’s chest warmed. “Happy new year.”
Zhou Ya put his hands on his hips, pretending to be stern. “Then you all have to call me ‘big brother.’ Whoever shouts loudest gets my big red envelope later.”
The kids’ eyes lit up instantly, and they rushed to shout at Zhou Ya, competing to be the loudest. “Brother A’Ya!!”
Fang Long was a little surprised—in her impression, Zhou Ya had never mixed so freely and joyfully with children like this before.
She quietly surveyed the group; about half the kids had visible disabilities in body or face.
And then, there were far more girls than boys.
Her heart ached inexplicably, followed by a dull, heavy pain.
Fang Long pressed her lips together; she seemed to be able to see, standing apart from the crowd, a dark-skinned, thin little boy, mouth shut tight, not speaking a word.
That was Zhou Ya as a child. He had once been one of them.