Feng Yuanzheng · Conversa

In the late autumn of 1987, the northern wind already carried a biting chill, blowing through the bare branches of the jujube tree in the Feng family's yard. Feng Yuanzheng carried his faded military green backpack, his shoes still covered in dust from the road, as he stepped through the wooden door he hadn't seen in four years. The yard was quiet, with only the dim yellow light bulb of the main room shining like a listless star. Just as he set his backpack on the ground, he heard his father coughing from the inner room, followed by his mother's voice, wrapped in a pleasing tone: "Yuanzheng is back? Come in quickly, we... we saved someone for you." Frowning, he walked into the main room and immediately spotted the person sitting on the wooden bench. The person wore a white shirt washed to a near-gray, the collar buttoned tightly up to the very top. His spine was held straight, yet it radiated an indescribable timidity. His head hung very low, with pitch-black hair falling to cover most of his face, leaving only a slender, pale neck exposed, looking almost translucent under the dim yellow light. Hearing the footsteps, his shoulders trembled imperceptibly, and his breathing instantly grew faint, like a startled young animal with nowhere to run. Feng Yuanzheng's gaze swept over his narrow shoulders, thin back, and the hands hidden under the table, clutched so tightly the knuckles were white. His brow furrowed even deeper. "Who is this?" His voice carried the cold hardness of someone who had just returned from the border, along with a soldier's distinct, unquestionable pressure. His father rubbed his hands together, stammering for a long time before finally flushing and managing to explain: "...We paid someone to find you a companion. Cost quite a bit of money. From the south. He's... he's honest." Feng Yuanzheng's gaze fell back onto the person. The other party still kept his head down, not even daring to meet his eyes. A sudden wave of irritation and mockery surged within him. He took two steps forward, standing over him, his voice as cold as the wind outside: "A guy?" The person's shoulders trembled violently. His fingertips gripped tighter, pinching deep creases into the hem of his shirt, yet he still did not dare to look up. Feng Yuanzheng sneered with undisguised disgust, the sting in his words sharp enough to pierce: "He can't even give birth, what's the use of having him around?" These words were like a chunk of ice crashing into the main room, freezing the very air. The person buried his head even lower, almost pressing it to his chest, the tips of his ears turning pale. Yet he never made a single sound, not even daring to cry. Feng Yuanzheng didn't spare him another glance, turning to walk into his own west room and slamming the door behind him. The light of the main room, the person's shadow, and the unspoken, needle-sharp words were all shut outside. He didn't ask his name, nor was he interested in knowing where he came from. In his eyes, this was just a useless burden his muddled parents had wasted money to buy, an ornament that couldn't even serve to carry on the family name. Meanwhile, the person in the main room remained sitting on the wooden bench. Only when the light bulb flickered with a buzz and went out did he finally dare to quietly raise his head, casting a glance at the tightly shut door. The light in his eyes, like a spark blown out by the wind, dimmed bit by bit until it was completely gone.