APR 13

Life on the island proved more monotonous than Zhong Su had imagined, while the weather grew hotter each day.

On this rare overcast day, Zhong Su, bored and restless, began tinkering with the small color television in the room.

He turned it on, fiddling with the antenna as he flipped through channels, muttering, “Why’s there so much static? This damn antenna needs replacing.”

Chen Huan sat sprawled on the sofa, one arm casually draped over the armrest, watching Zhong Su work while leisurely smoking. “Then let’s check the convenience store tomorrow for a new antenna,” he suggested.

“Sure, the rice in the kitchen’s almost gone, and we’re running low on cigarettes anyway. We can restock while we’re out,” Zhong Su replied, slapping the TV casing hard. The static on the screen flickered violently, and though the picture remained grainy, it finally became marginally clearer.

On the screen, the voice of a popular drama actor, punctuated by crackling static, drifted out in fits and starts, his exaggerated expressions adding to the lighthearted, comedic effect.

Zhong Su squeezed onto the sofa next to Chen Huan. The narrow space left their shoulders pressed tightly together. “While we’re out tomorrow, let’s see if there’s a video store on the island,” he said. “Maybe we can find some new releases.”

During his impoverished years at the orphanage, Zhong Su found his only joy in the films screened during holidays.

This habit naturally evolved into a lifelong passion for movies, and as an adult, he embraced films of all genres without hesitation.

Chen Huan easily saw through Zhong Su’s psychology. He cupped the back of Zhong Su’s head, his fingertips gently stroking along the hairline like soothing a rain-soaked kitten. A smile played on his lips as he murmured, “Poor little thing. Be good and call me ‘Brother.’ I’ll buy you anything you want.”

“Wh- Chen Huan, you’re really asking for it,” Zhong Su’s temple throbbed. Chen Huan knew perfectly well how much he hated being spoken to in such a teasing tone.

He lunged forward, pinning Chen Huan’s hand and straddling the black-leather-clad youth. Leaning down, he glared with a cold smile, “Brother? Hmm? I didn’t realize you were missing a little brother.”

“I wasn’t missing one before, but now that I’ve met you, I am,” Chen Huan retorted, tightening his grip on Zhong Su’s hand, utterly unrepentant.

As the two were playfully bickering, they accidentally pressed the remote, switching the TV to the weather channel. The female anchor, seated before a cloud map, solemnly announced: “We interrupt our regular programming with a special typhoon bulletin. The Observatory has officially issued Storm Signal No. 9—”

“Tropical Storm Scorpio is steadily approaching our region and is expected to pass within 30 kilometers south of the city by evening. Residents are urged to take typhoon precautions, avoid windows, coastal areas, and other hazardous locations…”

Shortly after the news bulletin ended, a crashing sound erupted outside the cabin’s window.

Zhong Su and Chen Huan exchanged glances and rose simultaneously. Zhong Su hurried to the window and peered down—a dozen roof tiles had been torn loose by the wind and shattered on the ground.

“Chen Huan, come take a look,” Zhong Su said, pointing to the roof. Several green tiles were missing, leaving a narrow gap.

“Looks like we’ll have to repair the roof.”

“At a time like this?” Chen Huan glanced at the gap. Sunlight streamed through the opening, casting a clear patch of light on the floor.

With the typhoon imminent, rainwater would undoubtedly pour directly into the cabin through this gap.

He rubbed the back of his neck and conceded, “Alright. Is there anything in the house we can use to patch the roof?”

Zhong Su replied, “If I remember correctly, there’s a large plastic sheet covering the water tank in the corner of the yard. We can use that to temporarily cover the hole.”

“We should be able to finish before the typhoon hits if we work quickly.”

Both men were action-oriented, and they immediately set to work.

Zhong Su yanked the plastic sheet off the water tank, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He glanced at the tank, which had been unused for so long that it was now covered in a thick layer of dark green moss.

Chen Huan, meanwhile, had brought over a ladder. Though some of the rungs were rusty, they held firm when he tested them, allowing him to climb steadily.

“I’ll go up and spread the plastic sheet. You hold the ladder steady,” Chen Huan instructed Zhong Su. Without waiting for a response, he began climbing.

Zhong Su quickly steadied the ladder and called out, “Be careful.”

The sky darkened in an instant as the typhoon arrived, unleashing a fierce wind and torrential rain that lashed down relentlessly.

On the roof, a dozen dislodged tiles flapped pitifully, revealing gaping black holes through which rainwater poured into the house.

Chen Huan abruptly unfurled the plastic sheet, covering the gap and securing the edges with several broken tiles. Rain pounded against the plastic, creating a cacophony like an untamed beast refusing to submit.

“Damn it!” Chen Huan cursed under his breath, his brow furrowed. He gripped the remaining plastic sheet tightly, wrapping it around the horizontal beam seven or eight times in rapid succession.

The torrential rain choked the air, making it hard to breathe. He twisted the ends of the plastic sheet into a makeshift rope, binding them securely to anchor the makeshift patch against the raging wind tearing across the roof.

The ladder slipped on the muddy ground, swaying violently with each movement of the man above. Zhong Su tilted his head back, the bean-sized raindrops stinging his cheeks so fiercely he could barely keep his eyes open.

He shouted upward, “Chen Huan, can you manage? If not, come down now! The wind’s too strong—it’s too dangerous!”

Chen Huan’s figure was blurred by the rain and mist. He seemed to hear Zhong Su’s words, paused, then bent down as if preparing to descend the ladder.

Suddenly, a hurricane-force gust ripped through, lifting two loosened tiles from the roof.

Zhong Su watched in horror as the shattered tiles, as if hurled by an invisible hand, crashed heavily onto Chen Huan’s shoulder—

Chen Huan jolted violently, his grip loosening as he plummeted to the ground like a kite with a severed string.

“Chen Huan!”

“Ugh—” Chen Huan landed with a muffled groan of pain.

“Damn it, where did you fall?” Zhong Su rushed forward to check on Chen Huan, but before his outstretched hand could touch Chen Huan’s arm, it was suddenly seized.

The next moment, he found himself staring into a pair of smiling eyes.

Chen Huan’s mischievous grin filled his vision, shark-like teeth glinting as he asked, “Scared you?”

He tightened his grip on Zhong Su’s wrist, playfully squeezing the bone to feel his pulse, as if silently declaring, “I’ve got you now.”

Zhong Su froze for a moment before realizing the soft, rain-soaked earth beneath Chen Huan had cushioned his fall like a sponge. His heart, which had just plummeted, now surged with anger.

“How old are you?” Zhong Su’s lips pressed into a cold, hard line as he yanked Chen Huan to his feet, his voice icy enough to shatter glass. “Still playing these childish tricks?”

He clamped his hand around Chen Huan’s arm and dragged him toward the house without another word. “We’ll talk inside. I need to check your head for injuries.”

The wooden door slammed shut, sealing out the raging storm. Zhong Su closed all the windows, and the room suddenly became much quieter, making their heavy, wet breaths and the soft patter of raindrops all the more noticeable.

“Sit up straight. Lift your head.” Zhong Su pressed Chen Huan into a chair and, without another word, lifted the hair at the back of his head. The short, stiff strands brushed against his fingertips, creating a slightly itchy sensation.

He carefully examined every inch of Chen Huan’s scalp, finding no swelling or injuries.

Chen Huan half-closed his eyes, like a black panther being groomed into a lazy doze. Only when Zhong Su’s hand stopped did he tilt his head, his voice tinged with lingering pleasure. “Finished checking? Su’er, your fingers are so cool and scratch so nicely.”

Zhong Su’s expression remained grim, his voice tight with concern. “Chen Huan, why didn’t you listen and come down? You were lucky to escape injury this time. But what about next time? You’re my closest friend. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“…Closest?” Chen Huan’s voice rose at the end, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Chen Huan bared his sharp teeth in a dangerous yet restrained smile. “Su’er,” he said, “your words are so pleasing to hear. If I’d known, I would have bought a recorder to play them on repeat.”

“Or you could just repeat them to me every day—in fact, that would be even better.”

Faced with Chen Huan’s stubborn refusal to take things seriously, Zhong Su laughed in exasperation and punched his shoulder. “I’m being serious here. Stop changing the subject.”

“Since you’re not busy, come help me catch the water in basins. At this rate, the house will be flooded like a water curtain cave.”

The plastic sheeting blocked most of the rain, but water still seeped through the edges in a steady stream.

Zhong Su placed a large plastic basin under the worst leak, and the continuous drips immediately began drumming a rapid rhythm against the bottom.

Several areas of the living room were leaking badly, making the room too damp to stay in. They retreated to the bedroom, sat on the bed, and huddled together, listening to the relentless drumming of the rain and the howling wind throughout the night.

---

The next morning, the sky was as clear as a mirror, and the air was refreshingly cool, as if the storm had swept away all the stifling, humid air.

Zhong Su carried a heavy basin half-filled with rainwater he had collected overnight and stepped outside. He found the courtyard in disarray, debris scattered everywhere, and a pile of trash blown in by the typhoon.

The moss-covered water vat in the corner was overflowing, its murky surface littered with plastic bags.

A sharp pain throbbed in Zhong Su’s temples. He rubbed his aching forehead and muttered, “What a mess.”

He emptied the basin and walked over to the vat, intending to scrub away the moss before tackling the courtyard cleanup.

Suddenly, a splash of water erupted from the vat, drenching his face.

“Huh? What was that?” Zhong Su wiped the water from his face and peered into the vat. A drab, gray grass carp was swimming at the bottom.

“Chen Huan, come look! There’s a fish in the courtyard’s water vat—it must have been blown in by the typhoon!”

Chen Huan heard the shout and came outside. “A fish fell from the sky? What the hell?”

When Chen Huan saw the fish swimming leisurely at the bottom of the tank, he was momentarily speechless.

Chen Huan raised an eyebrow and glanced casually at Zhong Su. “It probably got swept over from a nearby fishpond by the wind. What should we do with it? Steam it?”

“Do you know how to kill a fish?” Zhong Su asked.

“No,” Chen Huan replied.

Zhong Su was speechless. He looked at the fish, still blissfully unaware that its life was teetering on the brink between a cleaver and a steamer, still leisurely blowing bubbles.

“I don’t know how to kill a fish either,” Zhong Su said. “Forget it. We don’t need the extra bite. Let’s just keep it for now.”

Neither of them knew what to do with the fish, so they eventually named it “Hanzi” (Silly Boy) and decided to keep it as a pet.

“From a fishpond to this water tank—not exactly a leap in life,” Chen Huan chuckled. “Truly a silly boy.”

After all, they wouldn’t be staying here forever. Once they left, the fish likely wouldn’t survive long.

Zhong Su stirred the water, creating ripples on the once-still surface. The little grass carp, Hanzi, remained oblivious, its tail swaying leisurely as it disappeared into the depths of the shimmering water.