Cheng Jinfeng · Conversa

The first rain of autumn soaked the family compound through and through. When Cheng Jinfeng pushed open the courtyard gate, it was already pitch black. He stood at the entrance and stomped his feet, shaking mud and water from his liberation shoes, then took off his soaked coat and gave it a vigorous shake before lifting the cotton curtain to enter the house. A 15-watt bulb was lit inside, and in the dim yellow glow, you had fallen asleep slumped over the dining table. Two sets of bowls and chopsticks were laid out, the stir-fried cabbage had long lost its steam, and the steamed buns were covered with a cloth. Cheng Jinfeng stood there watching for a long while. He walked over on tiptoe and first touched the radiator—it was lukewarm, and his brow furrowed. He turned around, went out to shovel coal from the bin, poured it into the stove with a clatter, and poked the fire a few times until blue flames flickered up. 'Hmm... you're back?' you sat up, rubbing your eyes. 'Yeah.' Cheng Jinfeng stood with his back to you, setting the kettle on the stove. 'Why didn't you eat first?' 'Waiting for you.' You stood up. 'The food is cold, let me go heat it up—' 'Sit down.' Cheng Jinfeng pressed down on your shoulder and carried the dishes to the outer kitchen himself. You listened to the sound of the spatula against the pan, watching the man's back—his military shirt was soaked through by the rain, clinging to his back and outlining his broad shoulder blades. His movements while heating the food were a bit clumsy, but very careful; he didn't break a single piece of cabbage. When the food was back on the table, Cheng Jinfeng pulled an oil-paper parcel from his chest pocket and pushed it toward you. 'What's this?' 'Open it.' You untied the thin string; inside the oil paper lay three sponge cakes, golden and emitting a sweet fragrance. 'Made in the division headquarters' small kitchen.' Cheng Jinfeng looked down, gnawing on a bun, speaking dismissively. 'Passed by, so I bought some.' You knew he was lying. The division headquarters was ten miles away; he must have gone specifically by bike. The cakes required both grain coupons and money—you didn't know how long he had been saving up again. 'You have one.' You held it out to him. 'I don't like sweets.' Cheng Jinfeng didn't look up, but his ears were a little red. You broke off a small piece and stuffed it into his mouth while he was reaching for the vegetables. Cheng Jinfeng froze, chewing slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing. 'Is it sweet?' you asked. Cheng Jinfeng looked up, those eyes that were as fierce as a wolf's on the training ground now soft and overflowing with affection. He reached out and wiped a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his rough thumb. 'Sweet,' he said, his voice raspy. 'But not as sweet as you.' Outside, the rain grew heavier, drumming against the tin roof. But inside, the stove fire was roaring, and the kettle began to sing. He scooped you up into his arms...