Sharp Tongue
After dinner, Tang Yiyi reminded Xu Bin to take his revision materials with him—perhaps after rehearsal, he’d still have a chance to study. Even if it was only an hour a day, the accumulation over time would yield results.
She herself climbed the stairs back to her room at a leisurely pace. As she reached the landing, she spotted a large plastic bag in front of her door. She ran over and opened it, nearly bursting into laughter—inside were so many snacks! Carrying the bag into her room, her heart brimmed with joy.
Munching on snacks while reading, time slipped by quickly.
At half past nine, her phone chimed with a text message. She opened it: “Yiyi, come change the dressing for Ertong.”
It was from Qin Baike. She popped two more chips into her mouth before hopping downstairs.
Following Qin Baike through the kitchen and up the stairs, she gazed dreamily at his tall, straight back, her heart pounding wildly. It was as if she’d returned to those high school days of secretly crushing on an upperclassman—back then, she’d never dared show her feelings, keeping them hidden and tucked away. But now, in this season of love, why should she keep hiding?
She would confess her feelings. Yes! Confess!
Up ahead, Qin Baike suddenly stopped walking. Tang Yiyi halted just in time, but immediately regretted it—wasn’t this the moment in TV dramas when the girl would crash right into the boy?
He turned to look at her, her face a picture of idiotic confusion and regret. Sometimes this girl was so straightforward and easy to read; other times, she was so dazed he had no idea what she was thinking.
He looked at her and pointed to the corner of his mouth. Tang Yiyi blinked. Did he want her to kiss him?
“What is it?” she asked.
“What were you sneaking to eat on your way out?”
She hurriedly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the chip seasoning everywhere. He tore a tissue from the box on the coffee table and handed it to her; she accepted it, blushing.
“Do you need me to be present when you change his dressing?” he asked.
“Why would it make a difference? You wouldn’t know how to do it anyway.”
“If I’m there, I can keep him quiet.”
“No need,” Tang Yiyi said with a smile, though in her heart she thought, Not with you around—I can’t concentrate. “You go ahead. If he starts talking nonsense, I’ll just poke his wound.”
Qin Baike stifled a laugh and rubbed his nose. “Alright, I forgot you have a special talent for making people shut up.”
Qin Baike opened his mother’s bedroom door. Ertong was sprawled on the bed, head tilted, playing with his phone. When he saw Tang Yiyi come in, he jerked away in alarm. “What’s she doing here again?”
“Changing your dressing,” Tang Yiyi replied.
“My wound’s fine. No need,” he said, clutching his shirt over his chest.
Qin Baike fetched the first-aid kit from his own room and set it on the bed. He asked Tang Yiyi, “Are you sure you don’t need help?”
“I’m good. I can manage.”
Qin Baike nodded and left the room.
“Don’t think I’ll listen to you today,” Ertong said coldly.
As Tang Yiyi fished for her phone, she replied, “If you take proper care of a wound, it’ll heal quickly. If not, it can get infected, fester, and never heal—could lead to systemic infection, gas gangrene, tetanus, even death. That’s straight from our textbook, not something I’ve seen myself. Want to see what an infected wound looks like? It’s quite something.”
She held her phone screen up to Ertong’s face. He took a glance, then immediately turned away and dry-heaved.
“If you don’t clean the wound and change the dressing, the infection rate is about eighty percent. You might be the first live case of wound infection I’ve ever seen. Quite an honor, isn’t it?”
“You’re just trying to scare me,” Ertong said viciously.
“Ertong, this is something even elementary schoolers know.”
“What did you call me?”
“Ertong. Why?”
“Nothing,” Ertong’s expression softened a bit.
“You only got one stitch in your side. I’m worried it might tear. If it gets infected, it really will look like this.” Tang Yiyi showed him her phone again.
Ertong raised an arm to shield his eyes. “Take it away! Fine, fine, change the dressing.”
He unbuttoned his shirt, grimacing as he took it off, revealing his back. Tang Yiyi peeled back the gauze on his shoulder—the wound was healing well. She changed the dressing, then unwrapped the gauze on the lower wound. Thankfully, it hadn’t torn open.
Yesterday she’d used bandages to secure the wound on either side of the stitch; it seemed to be holding up. Tomorrow, she’d have Qin Baike buy some adhesive wound closures.
She helped Ertong put his shirt back on, and he flopped back onto the bed.
“Your name is Tang Yiyi?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“My ex-girlfriend was called Tang Shanshan. Do all girls with the surname Tang have names like that? Sounds so dumb.”
“I’ve never heard a name worse than Ertong,” she retorted, not bothering to be polite to someone so rude.
“Is the ‘Yi’ in your name followed by ‘farewell’? Was your mom planning to break up with your dad when you were born?”
“Just how much do your parents love playing mahjong? Was your dad one tile short of a winning hand when you were born, needing a two-dot?”
“What do you know?” Ertong didn’t get angry. “My real name is Ye Zhan—Ye Zhan! People call me Zhan-ge. The nickname Ertong comes from when I was a kid—my eyes were round and pretty, like a pair of two-dot tiles. That’s how I got the name.”
Tang Yiyi looked at his large eyes and long lashes. “You’re not wrong. They’re still beautiful.”
“No one calls me Ertong anymore after we left Magnolia Lane,” he added, looking even more downcast.
“Ertong, what’s that wild beast tattooed on your shoulder? It looks pretty fierce.” Tang Yiyi shifted the topic.
“That’s the point—I got it to look fierce. I don’t even know what animal it is.”
“You tattooed such a big thing on yourself without even knowing what it is? Most people’s tattoos mean something—memorializing someone, loving someone, some grand insight or whatever.”
Ertong shot her a sidelong glance. “Did you rust your brain? Want me to write an essay about wild beasts and summarize the main idea for you?”
“I can’t even have a normal conversation with you,” Tang Yiyi said, getting up to leave.
Just then, Xiao Xie burst in. “Zhan-ge, Yiyi-jie, the boss wants to know if you’d like something to eat?”
Ertong nodded. “Of course. You’re just in time—if you’d come any later, you’d find a starved corpse.”
Tang Yiyi looked at him, speechless. Xiao Xie asked, “What’s a starved corpse?”
“It’s a body that died of hunger,” Tang Yiyi explained tiredly.
Ertong added, “Xiao Xie, you’re not just fat, you’re also ignorant. Do you want to marry a bricklayer or something?”
Tang Yiyi hurriedly pushed Xiao Xie out the door. This guy truly left her at a loss for words.
But Xiao Xie said, “Yiyi-jie, Zhan-ge really makes sense.”
Tang Yiyi opened her mouth to say something, but in the end, said nothing. To Xiao Xie, everyone made sense.
Downstairs, Xiao Xie ordered a bowl of clear noodle soup for Ertong—Tang Yiyi said he couldn’t eat anything greasy, no soy sauce, no spicy food.
“What would you like?” Qin Baike asked Tang Yiyi.
Just looking at Qin Baike’s face, Tang Yiyi found herself distracted. She shook her head. “I had so many snacks while studying just now—I can’t eat anything more.”
“Then just sit here for a bit, and go up to rest.”
“Alright.” Tang Yiyi leaned her chin on her hand, her eyes following Qin Baike as he moved about, busy yet unhurried.
It was just a small, unremarkable noodle shop, but he ran it with contentment, taking pleasure in every part of it, without complaint or impatience. He always seemed so calm and collected—except for his outburst at Ertong yesterday, she’d never seen him lose his temper.
Qin Baike came over and sat opposite Tang Yiyi, pouring her another glass of water. She took a sip—it was just the right temperature.
“Baige, is Ertong really a photographer?”
“What did you call him?”
“Ertong. Why? He was weirded out by it too.”
“There’s only one person in the world who calls him that.”
“Who? Not his girlfriend, I hope?”
“His mother.”
“Why would his mother call him Ertong?”
“He’s the second child and has an older sister, but as a kid, he absolutely refused to call her ‘sister’—only used her name. His mother tried to correct him countless times, but he insisted he wanted to be the big brother, not the little one. So his mom said, ‘Fine, I’ll call you Ertong-ge, and you call her sister, okay?’ And that’s how it stuck. When their family moved to Magnolia Lane, he was eleven. Everyone else called him Ertong or Ye Zhan, but his mom always called him Ertong-ge.”
“Where’s his mother now?”
“She passed away a few years ago.”
“No wonder, when I called him that just now, he let me change his dressing without fuss. But Ertong’s mouth really is infuriating—doesn’t he worry about offending people?”
“Some people are hopelessly lacking in social skills.”
“He really is a photographer?”
“Yeah. He learned from his sister, worked in a studio shooting wedding photos, covering weddings. He’s got a unique style—lots of people seek him out, and he charges high fees. It’s gone to his head.”
“Maybe all artistic types are a little self-important.”
“Not necessarily—he doesn’t really count as an artist.”
Tang Yiyi wondered why Qin Baike was so certain, but the way he said it left no room for doubt. He must know some real artists.
She suddenly thought of that book, The Spirit in Art, on his nightstand. She wondered what was on his mind as he read it.