The next day, Wu Jiang waited for Situ Jue along her usual route to school, and the moment he saw her, asked what on earth had happened the night before—standing someone up had never been Situ Jue’s style.
Naturally, Situ Jue poured out her grievances to her best friend, painting a vivid picture of the monstrous newcomer who’d invaded her home and his two-faced, contemptible, ever-shifting nature.
Wu Jiang found the whole thing fascinating, and more than a little funny. Grinning, he teased her. “What do you think your dad’s really up to? Maybe he’s scouting out a child groom for you early, so you won’t end up unmarriageable.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he took off running, and a thoroughly furious Situ Jue chased him for nearly half the length of the street.
It seemed clear that getting her room back anytime soon was now out of the question, and with her parents right there on the second floor, sneaking out had become a luxury she could no longer afford—her evening activities were off the table entirely. Wu Jiang, taking pity on her, generously offered up the crickets he’d caught for her to pick from, and rallied the rest of their friends to move their cricket-fighting sessions to the afternoons right after school instead. The whole group agreed that things just didn’t feel right without Situ Jue around, and so, during that stretch, Situ Jue found herself “kept late by the teacher” after school with increasing frequency.
That evening, in the little park a block from home, the elderly men and women playing chess and cooling off in the shade all heard the commotion from a cluster of kids huddled together—Wu Jiang, Situ Jue, and the rest of their crew, deep in a cricket match.
Since Wu Jiang was willing to share the fruits of his hard-won labor with her, Situ Jue didn’t hold back either, immediately picking Wu Jiang’s most prized specimen, nicknamed “Blackhead General.” Wu Jiang was heartbroken but helpless, and in the end not only lost to Situ Jue but had to watch, powerless, as his own cricket unleashed its full fury under her command, sweeping through one opponent after another without a single defeat.
The group they played with all lived nearby and attended the same school, most of them friends since childhood. The game was mainly for fun, though there was a small “stake” involved—the winner got small perks like being excused from classroom cleaning duty, having others run errands for them, or getting their homework copied.
Situ Jue had spent the past few days getting her first taste of living under the same roof as Yao Qiyun, and after that day when he’d gone back on his word and left her to take a scolding from her parents, her opinion of him had only soured further. But her father always sided with him, her mother wouldn’t let her cause trouble, and Yao Qiyun himself was so cautious in everything he did that it was hard to catch him out. For the time being, Situ Jue could do little more than glare coldly at him, which left her feeling thoroughly suffocated.
This decisive win in the ring, then, was a rare moment of real joy for her, sweeping away much of the resentment she’d been carrying. She was the only girl in the group, and everyone adored her lively, easygoing nature, treating her like a star at the center of it all. Seeing her in low spirits these past few days, the others, catching Wu Jiang’s cues, either made a show of devastated defeat or heaped extravagant praise on her unstoppable “Blackhead General.” Situ Jue basked in it, grinning from ear to ear, thoroughly delighted.
Right at the height of her good mood, someone gently tugged at her backpack from behind. She spun around in surprise, and her smile fell instantly, as if she’d just laid eyes on a plague god.
That “plague god” still looked somewhat ill at ease, but he didn’t retreat under the glare Situ Jue leveled at him—a look that practically screamed get out of my sight. He didn’t so much as glance at anyone else, just said flatly, “Situ Jue, your mother wants you home for dinner.”
Situ Jue looked up and saw the sun was already sinking behind the tall buildings—she’d been having too much fun to notice how fast time had flown, and had missed dinner. But hearing that line delivered so flatly by Yao Qiyun of all people made everyone, Wu Jiang included, struggle to hold back laughter.
Mortified, Situ Jue felt as though she’d lost face entirely. She’d been about to head home anyway, but now there was no way she’d let him have the satisfaction. She tossed her head, resumed her earlier stance, and called out to the others, “What are you all standing around for? Wu Jiang, didn’t you just say you weren’t convinced? Let’s go again!”
Before Wu Jiang could respond, that same voice sounded behind Situ Jue once more.
“Situ Jue, your mother wants you home for dinner.”
His tone never rose or fell in the slightest, nor did he seem the least bit bothered by her attitude—he simply repeated himself flatly, mechanically, as if that single sentence were the only thing he’d ever been born to say.
“Are you done yet?” Situ Jue snapped, snatching back her backpack. “I know the way home myself, I don’t need you to come get me.”
“Auntie Xue already finished cooking. Everyone’s waiting on you.”
Situ Jue still remembered how infuriating he’d been that other day, and thought about firing back something even nastier to embarrass him, but with so many people watching, she held herself back and only said, “This has nothing to do with you. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
In the midst of the standoff, Wu Jiang gathered up his “defeated troops” and clapped Situ Jue on the shoulder. “Let’s call it here—you won today, and I’m starving. I’ll settle the score with you next time.”
The others echoed the sentiment, packing up and heading their separate ways.
As they passed by Yao Qiyun, Wu Jiang, remembering his earlier joke about Situ Jue, couldn’t resist winking at her again—only to glance back and notice that the “villain” Situ Jue always complained about seemed to be sizing him up in turn. It was the first time Wu Jiang and Yao Qiyun had crossed paths, and he thought to himself that since their families were already acquainted, and he and Situ Jue were so close, they’d surely have more contact going forward, so he gave a friendly smile by way of greeting.
Yao Qiyun happened to duck his head slightly right at that moment, and Situ Jue’s opinion of him sank even further. She shot him a sideways glare and hurried a few steps to catch up with Wu Jiang. “Wait for me, I’ll walk with you—Blackhead General’s staying at your place tonight.”
Left trailing behind, Yao Qiyun kept a leisurely pace a few steps back, watching her carry the little bamboo cricket cage as though it were a treasure.
“Situ Jue, you forgot to eat dinner just to play with this thing?”
Situ Jue turned to look at him sidelong. “Got a problem with that?”
Yao Qiyun still avoided her eyes, kicking at loose gravel by the roadside. “Only little kids play this.”
“Sour grapes,” Situ Jue sniffed.
“I’m not lying to you—the kids where I’m from get bored of this by the time they’re little. Besides, what could you possibly catch anything good in these cracks of concrete?” His tone was sincere enough, but to Situ Jue, who’d just swept the field with Blackhead General, the words landed like an insult all the same.
Even though she suspected he might be deliberately provoking her, Situ Jue simply couldn’t let it go. She raised her little bamboo cage high. “If you’re so capable, don’t just talk—go find some good ones and fight me for real.”
Yao Qiyun said, “That’s not what I meant. You’ve only just started playing—it wouldn’t be much of a win if I beat you. You should head back, or Uncle Situ and Auntie Xue will be upset.”
That was the last straw for Situ Jue. She stopped in her tracks and threw down a challenge. “Go ahead and try to beat me then—I’ll give you the chance. Same place tomorrow after school. If you actually beat me, I’ll admit you’re better!”
Wu Jiang glanced at the silent Yao Qiyun, then at the furious Situ Jue, and tried gently to steer her away, urging, “All right, all right, why get so worked up over nothing? Let’s go.”
Wu Jiang pushed her forward a few steps, but she still wasn’t done, turning back to point at Yao Qiyun. “Remember this—whoever doesn’t show up tomorrow is a coward.”
Back home, Situ Jue treated Yao Qiyun with her usual chilly indifference, and went straight upstairs after dinner. She heard Yao Qiyun mention to her father that he wanted to go out for a walk. Situ Jiu’an, treating him so obviously differently, agreed without a moment’s hesitation, only reminding him not to wander too far since he wasn’t yet familiar with the area.
Once she heard the door close, Situ Jue immediately dashed downstairs and called Wu Jiang’s house, instructing him to feed Blackhead General properly that night without fail—there was no room for a slip-up that would boost someone else’s confidence at her own expense.
The next day, word must have gotten around from Wu Jiang, because as soon as school let out, an even bigger crowd than the day before had gathered at “the usual spot” to watch. Wu Jiang, true to his word, had taken good care of Blackhead General, who looked lively and eager in his little cage, raring to go.
Yao Qiyun arrived later than expected, and just as Situ Jue’s friends were starting to conclude he’d merely been talking big and had chickened out, he came strolling unhurriedly from the direction of the Situ house. Up close, he was as quiet as ever, showing no interest whatsoever in chatting with anyone around, betraying neither eagerness for a fight nor any nervousness.
Situ Jue didn’t waste words, just asked if he was ready. Getting a confirming nod, she squared up.
The little clay pot Yao Qiyun had brought to hold his cricket was drab and unimpressive, ugly enough that flakes seemed to be falling off it. Once the two “champions” had been tipped into the fighting basin, Situ Jue realized that Yao Qiyun—who’d stayed out so late the night before that he hadn’t gotten home until nearly eleven, earning himself a scolding from her mother, Xue Shaoping—had gone through all that trouble for a thoroughly unremarkable-looking little cricket. Especially next to the boisterous, combative Blackhead General, it looked a full size smaller, and the moment it landed, it scrambled straight for the edge of the basin.
Situ Jue had always believed in fighting fair and square, winning or losing with a clear conscience, and looking at the sorry creature he’d brought, she couldn’t help but feel some doubt creeping in.
“You’re going up against me with that?”
Yao Qiyun didn’t look at her, just crouched down. “That’s enough.”
It was practically a quiet insult—dismissing her without even bothering to argue. Situ Jue bit her lip, thinking, just wait and see how smug you’ll be in a minute.
By then, someone was already calling out, “Starting, starting!”
She looked down and saw the two crickets touching antennae; a moment later they began flapping their wings and calling, baring their mandibles, locked in combat. She crouched down quickly beside the others, who’d formed a tight, impenetrable circle around the basin, occasional hushed cheers and gasps rippling through the crowd.
Blackhead General fought as fiercely as the day before, throwing itself in without hesitation, while Yao Qiyun’s gray one did nothing but circle and dodge. After a few minutes of this, Situ Jue could already see the furrow deepening on Yao Qiyun’s brow, and she felt a surge of satisfaction. This was exactly what he needed—talking big only works if you can back it up; not every low-key opponent is secretly a master, and not every reserved competitor is hiding a winning hand.
The little cricket kept circling and dodging, and even Blackhead General seemed to be losing patience, following it round and round until the onlookers started jeering. Just then, somehow, the small cricket maneuvered into a powerful position right behind Blackhead General and struck with sudden, cunning ferocity—antennae lashing, head-butting, kicking, every blow aimed at a vital spot.
Even Situ Jue, who’d been watching with cool detachment, felt something was wrong. She clenched her fists without realizing it, her palms damp with sweat. Yao Qiyun remained exactly as impassive as before, his frown never once easing.
After several more exchanges—like a cricket version of a last-ditch counterattack—Blackhead General, who’d held the upper hand at first, began visibly faltering under the small cricket’s sudden, graceless, vicious tactics. Situ Jue watched, helpless, her frustration mounting with nowhere to go; she almost wished she could take her cricket’s place and fight Yao Qiyun herself.
Just past the ten-minute mark, Blackhead General finally hung its head and conceded defeat. The small cricket, which had looked as sickly and listless as its owner at the start, now stood tall, chest puffed out, thoroughly triumphant. In that tiny fighting basin, the outcome was settled.
In the ensuing silence, Situ Jue pressed her lips together, her pretty face a mixture of anger, reluctance, and dejection, though she forced down the resentment building inside her, stood up, lifted her chin, and said coldly to Yao Qiyun, “Fine. You win.”
Yao Qiyun said nothing, carefully placing the cricket back into its unremarkable clay pot.
Situ Jue had lost before, of course, but she’d always shrugged it off with a laugh—she wasn’t someone who couldn’t stand to lose. This was the first time Wu Jiang had ever seen her take it so seriously. And though Yao Qiyun looked like the silent type through and through, something about the tension between him and Situ Jue felt off, charged with an undercurrent neither of them could name.
Wu Jiang, naturally determined to defend his friend, bent down to gather up the battered Blackhead General and said with a laugh, “Honestly, this wasn’t really a fair fight. Situ’s cricket already fought several rounds yesterday—no matter how tough a fighter is, it can’t hold up to that kind of nonstop grinding.”
“Exactly, exactly, I saw Blackhead General’s leg was already hurt yesterday.”
“Yeah, this result shouldn’t even count.”
The whole crowd of onlookers were Situ Jue’s friends, chiming in one after another.
Yao Qiyun clasped the hand holding the cricket pot behind his back and let them say whatever they wanted, offering no argument at all, a faint, barely perceptible smile even touching the corner of his mouth. He watched Situ Jue as if waiting to see how she’d respond.
Situ Jue’s lowered hand was still clenched into a tight fist; she was afraid that in a moment of impulse she might actually hit him—maybe that would improve his face a little.
But that wouldn’t change the facts in front of her.
“Hey, that’s enough. Blackhead was fine yesterday and today. A loss is a loss.”
She took the cage Wu Jiang held out to her, turned, and released the defeated Blackhead General back into the grass.
A cricket that had lost once would never fight with any spirit again—no point keeping it around; better to give it a chance at life. But losing a match was one thing—losing her character was another. Especially in front of someone she looked down on, she refused to let herself sink to his level.
On the walk home, Wu Jiang tried teasing her a few times, but Situ Jue only said “cut it out,” never quite managing a laugh. That night, door shut, doing homework in her room with her earbuds blasting music at full volume, she was writing out her vocabulary words when suddenly her pen turned to furious, aimless scribbling, until the page was an unrecognizable mess—only then did she start to feel a little better.
Winning and losing were common enough in any competition; perhaps what really galled her was simply losing to someone as detestable and beneath her as Yao Qiyun.
She thought back to the moment, right after they’d gotten back from the park, just before dinner, when she’d gone to wash her hands and passed Yao Qiyun in the kitchen doorway, coming and going as he helped Xue Shaoping. She’d walked straight ahead, and Yao Qiyun had actually stepped aside to make way for her—and in that brief moment when they were nearly touching, she’d distinctly heard the humble, hardworking, ever-so-considerate “good boy” murmur softly in her ear.
“A’Jue, are you convinced now?”
She’d glared at him furiously. Her parents were right there, especially her father, seated close enough to catch any evidence of her “bullying” him at any moment. A wise person doesn’t pick fights they can’t win on the spot, so throughout dinner, Situ Jue imagined every piece of meat as a bite taken straight out of Yao Qiyun, and ate with unusual gusto, nearly stuffing herself. Xue Shaoping, not understanding what was going on, remarked in surprise, “Looks like Qiyun’s very first time cooking really suits your taste, Situ Jue.”
Hearing this, Situ Jue very nearly felt the urge to run to the bathroom and make herself throw up.
Thinking back on all this now, having only just calmed down a little, Situ Jue flopped backward onto her bed, clutching her head, writhing miserably against the blankets, silently screaming into the void: God, please, just take him away.
But God, it seemed, was hard of hearing, and often misunderstood people entirely, hearing black when they meant white. So instead of taking Yao Qiyun away, he sent the very same fellow straight to her door. Because right then, cutting through the blare of her music, Situ Jue heard a persistent knock.
It wasn’t her parents. Her mother would give a token knock, then just push the door open. Her father skipped the knocking entirely and simply shouted from the doorway: “Situ Jue, get out here.”
Which meant only one person it could possibly be—the very last person she wanted to see.
Situ Jue pressed a pillow over her head, hoping he’d take the hint and realize on his own how unwelcome he was. But perhaps there was no one in the world more persistent than him; the knocking continued at that same steady, unhurried rhythm, not so much as speeding up out of impatience.
If she simply ignored him forever, without alerting her parents, would he just keep knocking until the end of time?
The thought sent an unexpected chill through her.
She rolled off the bed, jumped up, and yanked the door open with force.
Sure enough, it was Yao Qiyun on the other side, and Situ Jue’s sudden appearance at the door clearly caught him off guard.
He looked at her, dressed in her thoroughly at-home outfit—a loose T-shirt and athletic shorts that left her entire long legs bare, her hair tied up in a fuzzy little bun, feet bare—her expression anything but welcoming.
“Were you asleep?” he asked hesitantly.
“You know I wasn’t, that’s exactly why you came knocking, isn’t it?”
“That’s not it at all. About what happened today… I don’t want things to stay unpleasant between us.”
“If that’s what this is about, fine—I concede, you win. Happy now?” she said.
Yao Qiyun rested a hand on the doorframe. “Actually, you could improve your technique when picking a cricket. For instance—”
Situ Jue cut him off before he could go on, her voice full of exasperation. “I already said I admit I’m not as good as you. Isn’t it enough that I’ve stopped playing? Why do you have to keep dragging this out—does gloating in front of me make your win feel more satisfying?”
Yao Qiyun lowered his head again, apparently unsure what else to say, his fingers tracing the rough surface of the wooden doorframe, as if he’d suddenly remembered the other hand he still had tucked behind his back.
He extended that hand toward Situ Jue, and in it was, unmistakably, the same clay pot he’d used to carry his cricket that day.
“Here, take this. It doesn’t look like much, but it can fight better than the big one you had today.”
He spoke quickly, mumbling.
But Situ Jue heard him clearly enough—and along with his words, she heard, quite distinctly, the chirp of the cricket coming from inside the little pot.
The very cricket that had defeated her in front of everyone.
“What is this supposed to mean?” Situ Jue asked.
If this had been the later Yao Qiyun, the one who came to know Situ Jue far better, he would have stopped himself right there and walked away—or, better yet, he never would have tried to make peace with her through such an absolutely foolish gesture to begin with, one that in practice did nothing but test the very limits of her patience.
Because the man he later became understood all too well just how proud a person Situ Jue was. She would offer the poor and pitiable the greatest kindness and sympathy imaginable, but could never, ever bear to be pitied herself. In the same way, she could accept losing fair and square to someone more skilled, but she despised charity that wasn’t rightfully hers with her whole being.
With her, it was all or nothing—either she wanted no part of it, or her acceptance came absolute and unqualified.
And the man he later became loved this Situ Jue for it, just as much as he came to resent her for it too.
“I already said it’s for you. You can win a lot of matches with it.” But later was always later; the Yao Qiyun of that moment stubbornly refused to lower his outstretched hand.
Situ Jue asked, as if seeking confirmation, “You’re really giving this to me?”
Yao Qiyun nodded slightly.
She took it with one hand, walked a few steps to the window, pushed the glass open, and hurled the entire pot, cricket and all, out with all her strength. The gray clay pot arced through the air and finally vanished from sight, landing with a dull thud somewhere below.
“Since you gave it to me, what I do with it is my business.”
Situ Jue brushed her hands together as if dusting off nonexistent grime, finally cracking a smile, and turned back toward the door, ready to shut it right in his face.
The mask of composure Yao Qiyun had worked so hard to maintain shattered instantly. As if not even seeing the door swinging shut, he reached out and seized Situ Jue’s arm, his eyes carrying not just anger but deep, genuine bewilderment.
Afraid of alerting Situ Jiu’an and his wife, he kept his voice low. “We’re family now—why can’t we just get along?”
Furious as she was, Situ Jue still knew where to draw the line, and the door, on the verge of slamming shut on his arm, stopped just short.
“Family?” she scoffed. “You’re really good at flattering yourself. Since when is anyone in this family with you?”
Yao Qiyun’s breathing quickened, his expression turning utterly cold, his already faintly gloomy eyes now like two frozen pools. It was only then he realized just how effortlessly Situ Jue could humiliate him—one sentence was all it took to make the fragile confidence and hope he’d been so carefully building suddenly seem more laughable than anything else in the world.
“I’m counting to three. If you don’t let go of my door, I’m going to get my parents to come see exactly what you’re doing,” Situ Jue warned him, enunciating every word.
She didn’t need to count to three. The moment the words left her mouth, the grip on the door was already loosening.
Situ Jue turned sharply, wrenching herself free of his grasp as though shaking off something filthy, and slammed the door shut with contempt.
Yao Qiyun stood in the aftermath of that not-quite-slammed door for a long, long moment, unable to gather himself. Almost without thinking, he scrubbed his hand hard against his pant leg, then slowly opened it flat and stared, and began to sink into despair.