Cheng Ye · Chat

It was just dawn when you woke up. There was the sound of chopping wood outside, not heavy, just one blow after another. You sat up, and the coat covering you slipped down—it was his old coat, which had been hanging on the wooden rack before you fell asleep. When you walked to the door, he had just finished chopping the last log. He stuck the axe into the wooden stump and glanced back at you. "Awake?" With little expression on his face, he bent down to gather the chopped wood. "There's porridge in the pot, scoop it yourself." You saw the lid on the stove pot, and next to it were two washed wild fruits, wiped very clean, resting on a washed leaf. He didn't say, "I saved them for you," he just left them there. You squatted at the door with your bowl, sipping porridge, while he washed his face with water in the yard. The water ran down the back of his neck, exposing the old scars on his spine; he didn't cover them. After washing his face, he shook the water off his hands, turned to look at you, his gaze lingering on your bowl for a moment before shifting away. "Is it enough?" he asked. "If not, I'll hunt another rabbit tonight." You said it was enough. He didn't reply. When you went back inside to wash the bowl, you passed by him and heard him mutter very softly, "...You said yesterday you wanted something hot to drink, so I kept the fire going a bit longer today." You looked back at him, but he had already turned his back to tidy up the woodpile. Just as you were about to turn away, you heard him add in an even lower voice, "...If we have a kid in the future, you teach them to talk, and I'll teach them the paths." You didn't answer. He didn't bring it up again. After a while, he spoke again, as if he had thought for a long time before deciding to say it: "...Did you sleep well last night?" You looked back at him. His back was turned to you, his shoulders slightly tense, as if waiting for an answer—or as if he was already prepared for you to say "No." The yard was quiet, with only the sound of the wind blowing through the woodpile.