Ferocious Dog of Old

Before going to bed that night, two quilts had been symbolically placed on the bed. The half-grown boy wasn’t a well-behaved sleeper, so Tao Xiaodong had worried about the two of them fighting over a quilt and getting cold. When he woke up that morning, the two children were tightly wrapped under one quilt; the other one had been rolled up and left against the wall. And it wasn’t just the quilt—even Tao Huainan’s old blanket had been kicked out from under the quilt. It lay wrinkled by the side.

Tao Xiaodong was at the door, peering inside to look at them. Tao Huainan was sleeping all curled up, half his face inside the quilt and exposing only the top of his head. One of Chi Ku’s arms was stretched outside the quilt and rested on Tao Huainan’s body. He looked like he was encircling him; he also looked like he was pressing Tao Huainan to his chest.

Tao Xiaodong left earlier, and he didn’t wake them up before he left. He needed to visit a law firm that morning; he made an appointment yesterday.

–

Now that Chi Ku was back, Tao Huainan slept truly too comfortably. Every cell in his body felt secure, and no matter how he flipped around, he refused to be away from Chi Ku—he needed at least one part of his body to be next to him. This sense of security let him sleep soundly all night. He didn’t even dream.

Chi Ku woke up a bit earlier. He’d needed to stay vigilant every single moment during this past period of time, his nerves perpetually tense, so it was very difficult for him to sleep deeply. Tao Huainan was stuck to him, soft and warm from sleep, and the pyjamas on his body were also made of a warm and fluffy material. Tao Huainan had twisted his pyjamas up during one random turn, and the shirt was coiled in half, revealing half of his small belly.

Winter pyjamas were thick, so it wouldn’t be comfortable with it twisted like that—it would chafe. Tao Huainan wasn’t sleeping comfortably anymore, faintly wrinkling his brows as he puffed and grunted. The upper half of his body rubbed against the bed, yet he still couldn’t get the shirt down.

Chi Ku reached over to tug down the shirt for him, but his hand was caught under the side of Tao Huainan’s body; he couldn’t tug the shirt. Lightly pressing down on his back, Chi Ku clasped him towards himself. Tao Huainan let out a ‘mm’ in sleep; Chi Ku pulled down his shirt with his hand around him. Once the shirt was even again, Tao Huainan hummed in comfort. Chi Ku moved him back to how he was sleeping before.

Tao Huainan was a pig as soon as he fell asleep—he wouldn’t wake no matter how he was moved. Chi Ku stretched out a hand, lightly scraping the curve of Tao Huainan’s jaw with his index finger.

–

Children grew up very quickly. Upon looking back, the time spent together day after day seemed to have been placed on fast forward—no one knew when the time had turned into today. 

The two of them started school late, and even though they skipped a year in primary school, Chi Ku was still older than the students of their same year. The classmates around them were thirteen, fourteen; Chi Ku was fifteen. If he’d started school at six years old like normal, he would’ve been in third year of junior high. He was sensible and mature to begin with, so with his smart brain, the angle from which Chi Ku thought things, and how thoroughly he thought over them, wasn’t the same as other junior high children.

He hadn’t told Tao Huainan how he’d come back; he deliberately didn’t want to tell him.

Tao Huainan would definitely cry if he knew, and Chi Ku didn’t like seeing him cry. Beautiful children should smile. It didn’t matter if it was a foolish smile or a pouting, mischievous smile—as long as they weren’t crying. They wouldn’t be beautiful anymore if they cried.

–

During this period of time when he’d been back at the village, Chi Ku had been beaten many times. He’d called the police four times in total.

Police didn’t like caring about fathers hitting their sons, and it was especially so when it came to a rural village far away. In traditional views, it was universally accepted for fathers to hit their sons—were they not meant to discipline their children if they were disobedient? 

Chi Ku’s phone had been broken because of that. Every time Chi Zhide beat him, Chi Ku would place his phone on the cabinet and record the beating; Chi Zhide had later broken it. But it didn’t matter that Chi Zhide had broken it: Chi Ku had made many copies of the videos.

The last time Chi Zhide beat him was also the worst one Chi Ku had been given. Chi Ku had kept provoking him—he’d kept provoking a drunkard who would get angry after getting inebriated. In the end, Chi Ku had been beaten until he spat up blood. Granny said he was crazy, said he and Chi Zhide were both crazy. Granny hadn’t wanted Chi Ku to come back; she’d gotten used to the last few years of peaceful living. The old lady was already muddled from age: she thought her current troubled life was because Chi Ku and Chi Zhide had come back. 

Chi Ku couldn’t climb up from the ground from the beating. The old granny numbly watched on with her muddy eyes. After Chi Zhide left, Chi Ku stayed on the cold concrete floor for half an hour before he gathered enough energy. He sat up, knees drawn up, and coughed for several minutes while holding his chest. He coughed out several mouthfuls of blood. Then, he rose slowly—once again, he went to the hospital by himself to get an injury report, to report the beating to the police.

Extensive soft tissue contusions; ruptured bronchial tubes and bleeding; a mild concussion. 

Chi Ku held onto that injury report and utterly refused to give up1. Later, Chi Zhide was detained for fifteen days; Chi Ku was hospitalised. The hospital fees were first paid for by the police station, waiting for Chi Zhide to be released before they asked for the money back.

Chi Ku only came out after he’d mostly recovered and had stopped coughing out blood, or else he might have scared the little blind boy to death with his constant bloody coughs. It was also too bad Tao Huainan was blind, because otherwise, he would’ve been able to see the large swathes of injuries on Chi Ku’s body as soon as he showered or changed clothes. 

Tao Huainan didn’t know these things; Tao Xiaodong knew this. This was also why Tao Xiaodong had been so angry yesterday at Chi Ku smashing chairs and fighting—his anger had started accumulating since Chi Ku had started deliberately inciting beatings. When it came to this, Chi Ku cared about his own life too little. He only wanted the result he’d set his mind on, and throughout the process, he completely didn’t care about himself and ignored the potential consequences. This couldn’t be allowed. 

Tao Xiaodong needed to control him on this, or else he really would get into trouble. 

–

Chi Ku had four police reports, injury reports and videos of him being beaten. With those things in his hands, it didn’t matter whether he could send Chi Zhide into jail for a year or two or not; they were enough for a lawsuit to snatch custody away from him.

Tao Xiaodong and Chi Ku were already in a de facto adoptive relationship2, so theoretically, the lawsuit would be an easy win. The problem was that Tao Xiaodong didn’t have enough conditions to adopt. He had yet to reach thirty-five years old, and he also wasn’t married; it wouldn’t be easy to thoroughly take in Chi Ku.

But this was just a small matter. If Chi Ku couldn’t be given directly to Tao Xiaodong, then he would just go to the orphanage. Then, Tao Xiaodong could get Da Huang and his wife to adopt his little brother out.

This plan of Chi Ku’s simplified things for Tao Xiaodong the most. It was able to forever break off the relationship between him and Chi Zhide, and it would finally give Tao Xiaodong the strength to keep Chi Ku. 

But Tao Xiaodong genuinely didn’t want this kind of plan to save him trouble. It was enough for the Chi Ku of now to dodge Chi Zhide—his brain always went stupid whenever he drank. Chi Ku could completely fool him; if Chi Ku wanted to run, Chi Zhide wouldn’t be able to catch up to him. That was why Tao Xiaodong hadn’t brought Chi Ku back immediately. If he’d known Chi Ku had gone back with such a plan in his mind, Tao Xiaodong wouldn’t have let him do so. Chi Ku was already fifteen. There were only three years to eighteen, so even if Chi Zhide came knocking for money a few times, Tao Xiaodong would’ve only needed to drag things out for those few years. 

Getting beaten so much just to simplify things for him—to Tao Xiaodong, he really didn’t find it worth it. Chi Ku didn’t take himself as a human being; whenever he wanted to do something, he would do it without caring about his own life at all. Tao Xiaodong was frightened, and he was also truly angry.

And so during this period of time, Tao Xiaodong didn’t really speak to him. It was the first time he’d done so over these last few years.

–

The school’s punishment came three days later. Both sides had been placed on academic probation. This was a punishment as light as a feather: it sounded very serious, but in reality, as long as they didn’t cause trouble or commit mistakes in the future, they would be fine. They wouldn’t really be expelled. The school just wanted to patch up the argument. They couldn’t indulge either party in considering which party created a worse mistake, so the school could only give out a moderate punishment equally.

The two brothers once again started going to school. Tao Xiaodong took care of the lawsuit; Chi Ku had nothing to do with it.

After coming back this time, Chi Ku utterly became a celebrity. The way he’d grabbed that chair under everyone’s eyes and his state at that time—it was enough to catch the attention of junior high school students.

During Chi Ku’s fight, many boys in the class had also helped out, the class monitor and the boy sitting behind him leading the crowd as they participated. They were all in the same class, so it didn’t matter whether they usually spoke or not, if their relationship was close or not: people in their own class could not be bullied by other classes. The code of brotherhood and the unexplainable sense of collectivism in the bones of boys made it so they couldn’t stand by the side and watch.

So Chi Ku couldn’t keep ignoring everyone like he used to, with his eyelids lowered and not looking at anyone. Now, whenever he saw anyone, he needed to greet them—even a jerk of the chin and the meeting of eyes could be considered as a greeting. He couldn’t be by himself anymore, outside of everyone else. 

Tao Huainan was happy to see this. He thought xiao-ge had turned gentler; he was happy xiao-ge was getting popular with other people.

–

But Tao Huainan being happy about Chi Ku getting popular was based on the premise that the popularity increase was among guys. 

Getting popular among girls was fine too; Tao Huainan didn’t mind that they kept bringing up Chi Ku—as long as it wasn’t the academic rep.

The teacher told Chi Ku to continue going to the advanced class every afternoon, and when Chi Ku said he didn’t want to, the teacher called Tao Xiaodong. The academic rep also came over to persuade Chi Ku, quietly asking him, “Why aren’t you going?”

Tao Huainan was eating an orange by the side, pretending he wasn’t listening to them talk. In reality, all of his attention was focussed on his right ear. 

Chi Ku said, “No reason.”

The academic rep urged him a few more times. Tao Huainan finished the entire orange, not remembering to leave any for Chi Ku. Once he finished, he plopped down lightly onto his desk; he left one ear exposed to listen to them talk.

Later, after the academic rep left, Chi Ku reached out to flick Tao Huainan’s ear.

Sitting up, Tao Huainan leaned over and said, “She said she still wanted to go to class with you.”

Chi Ku ignored him.

Tao Huainan also thought Chi Ku should go to that class. At the worst, he won’t drink water in the afternoon and won’t go to the bathroom; he’d nail his butt to the chair and won’t lift it at all, only sitting there and waiting just so Chi Ku won’t worry. But when he thought again about Chi Ku going to and from class together with the academic rep—and even having rumours of them dating being spread by the girls in class—Tao Huainan felt a tiny bit of unwillingness.

He even felt more unwilling than before. Ever since Chi Ku came back, the desire to have Chi Ku all to himself became stronger and stronger.

“Why aren’t you going?” Tao Huainan asked, knowing what the answer was.

Chi Ku didn’t even look at him. He carelessly answered, “You tell me.”

“I’m not saying it.” Tao Huainan blinked. “You say it.”

Chi Ku found him annoying, so he pulled the next class’s textbook out from his desk. He stopped talking to Tao Huainan.

Tao Huainan the annoying brat started to fuss again, easing in closely and ceaselessly chattering, determined to ask why.

Unable to handle his blathering, Chi Ku impatiently threw over a “because you’re annoying”. He satisfied Tao Huainan’s small mood only so his ears could obtain peace.

Tao Huainan pretended to not hear the last one and a half words and finally felt comfortable. He’d been so determined to ask why specifically because he wanted to hear that. But once he actually heard it, he felt fairly embarrassed—oddly bashful.

–

It wasn’t right for him to not go to that class. With Chi Ku’s grades, he needed to keep improving himself. The school was putting in all its strength to make him the top scorer in the high school entrance examinations. Later, Chi Ku said he could go to that class, but I need to bring Tao Huainan with me. 

And so every afternoon from then on, during the last two class sessions, Tao Huainan also needed to carry his schoolbag and follow them to the lecture hall. He needed to listen to the lessons the top fifty students in the school needed to listen to—the best students in the school were here.

As a blind boy, Tao Huainan didn’t think much of tagging along; maybe he would be able to get some of that ‘good student’ air. But he honestly couldn’t understand what he was listening to, and neither could he see the detailed steps for solving problems. This was much harder than the usual lessons taught in class.

Sometimes when Tao Huainan truly wasn’t interested anymore, he would sit in the very last row of the lecture hall and sleep, his body covered by Chi Ku’s jacket. The good students had been appointed to sit in the first few rows in the middle; this way, they could see the blackboard clearly and could be closer to the teacher to listen. 

Chi Ku occasionally turned his head around to glance at the sleeping Tao Huainan. He would sweep a look over every so often.

Right now, the entire school knew this pair of brothers. Seeing how Chi Ku kept looking over there, the teacher even joked to Chi Ku, “Stop looking, you won’t lose your di.” 

The students around him all quietly laughed; they knew about how Chi Ku had gotten into a fight because of his brother.

The teacher then said something else: “Anyone else in this room could get lost3 other than him. I’m helping you watch him. Right now, he’s our room’s endangered animal.” 

The students were still sniggering in amusement, all looking in Tao Huainan’s direction.

Since the sound of the teacher lecturing had stopped, the rhythm of the noise entering his ears changed—the endangered animal woke. He sat up and turned his head around blankly, unable to see anything. He squeezed his watch and lifted it up to his ear to hear the time; there was still half an hour more until school finished, so he tugged the jacket on his body up again and lay back down to sleep.

Chi Ku then lowered his head to solve a problem. There wasn’t much of an expression on his face despite being teased by the teacher for so long—except there was a very gentle air about him, the corners of his eyes and the edges of his brows clearly soft.

–

1 A more literal translation of this part here is: Chi Ku held onto that injury report and bit down hard, refusing to open his mouth.
2 Where a child has already been fully integrated into a family, but the relationship between child and family has not yet been recognised legally.
3 The verb used here is the same as the sentence used above: 丢了. It means to lose, to be missing, to leave behind. I had to change it around in this sentence for grammar’s sake!