Chapter 12: A Scandalous Story
Chapter 12: A Scandalous Story
Chapter 12: A Racy Story
The two returned home to find dinner already prepared and kept warm on the edge of the kang. Washing hands, removing shoes, climbing onto the kang—a series of motions Mother Cheng executed in one smooth, fluid sequence.
The mung bean and pumpkin porridge had simmered into a thick, sticky consistency, studded with tender pumpkin pieces, split mung beans, and golden millet grains. One spoonful warmed you from mouth to stomach—and soon, your whole body felt pleasantly toasty.
Cheng Miao’s stomach growled loudly at the sight of the steaming meal. Everything else vanished from his mind—except eating.
He grabbed a crispy baked flatbread, tore it cleanly in half, then scooped up a chopstickful of pickled cucumbers and spread them evenly across one half. Then he paused mid-motion, smiling at Lu Yu: “Can you handle spicy? What about fatty meat—can you take it?”
Lu Yu, puzzled but compliant, nodded.
Cheng Miao promptly added a small portion of stir-fried chili peppers and several thin slices of marbled pork—layers of fat and lean alternating perfectly—then topped it all with the other half of the flatbread. He handed it to Lu Yu with an eager gesture: “Try it now!”
Lu Yu hesitated, feeling slightly shy, and was about to decline—when Cheng Miao leaned in close and whispered, “It’s seriously good. The flatbread is freshly baked, rich with wheat aroma, and lightly dusted with fennel inside—crispy, fragrant, irresistible. The pork is smoked over fruitwood, giving it a unique depth of flavor. And the pickled cucumbers and chilies? Stir-fried by my mom—tangy and fiery, perfect for cutting through the richness!”
As he spoke, he swallowed hard, urging, “Hurry—eat it! I’ll make another right away.”
Lu Yu sensed the person beside him growing more and more ravenous—and couldn’t help but smile. He picked up the wrapped flatbread—it was so large that one hand could barely hold it, so he carefully cradled it with both. Inside, the meat and vegetables were evenly distributed. With the first bite, the crisp flatbread and savory pork each held their own distinct character, harmonized by the sharp tang and heat—making his mouth instantly water. It truly was delicious.
As he ate, he watched Cheng Miao add fillings to his own flatbread with near-reverent care. When selecting meat, he was unusually particular—carefully avoiding the fatty parts—only to be scolded by Mother Cheng.
“Cheng Miao! If you don’t want to eat it, just say so. You’re picking off all the fatty bits—who’s supposed to eat them?”
Cheng Miao whined softly, “I just don’t eat fatty meat. I’ll give it to Dad.” And with that, he dropped the trimmed fat into Father Cheng’s bowl—where Father Cheng cheerfully devoured it.
Cheng Miao held his filled flatbread and took big, satisfied bites.
After finishing one, he felt nearly full—but still slowly sipped his porridge, reluctant to stop. He nudged Lu Yu and asked, “Are you full? Want another flatbread?”
Lu Yu shook his head. He, too, was full—almost uncomfortably so. Yet there remained a full bowl of porridge before him, untouched—and he felt a twinge of guilt.
Mother Cheng watched the two dawdle over their bowls and guessed they were satiated. She reached out and gently pressed her palm against Lu Yu’s stomach, feeling how round and taut it was.
Lu Yu flinched—startled by the sudden touch. No one had ever touched his stomach before. Instinctively, he sucked in his abdomen and leaned back.
Mother Cheng laughed. “What are you hiding, kid?” She waved her hand and added, “Xiao Yu, can you finish it? If not, let Miaomiao split it with you.”
Lu Yu obediently nodded—he truly couldn’t drink another drop.
Mother Cheng handed Cheng Miao’s bowl to Father Cheng, then took a small bowl, poured half of Lu Yu’s porridge into it, and gave it to Cheng Miao. That way, neither child would overeat.
After dinner, Mother Cheng quickly washed the two boys. Dressed in their long underwear, they lay face-down on the kang. Cheng Miao, thoroughly sated, gently rubbed his belly and sighed softly, “It’s been ages since I’ve had such a delicious meal. I’d originally planned to go home for National Day—but here I am anyway. That’s fine too.” He chuckled.
“But at least I can call this home. It must be tough for you, though. By the way—where *is* your original home? Should we go look for it? Maybe your parents exist in this world too?” Cheng Miao suddenly brightened—if Lu Yu could reunite with his own parents, it wouldn’t matter whether they ever returned or not.
Lu Yu’s relaxed expression froze. His voice turned icy: “No need.”
“But—” Cheng Miao began—only to receive a sharp slap on the buttocks.
“What are you mumbling about?! Have you finished your homework yet?”
Cheng Miao shrank back, silenced. Reluctantly, he pulled his homework from his backpack and lay sprawled on the kang table, writing with visible reluctance.
The more he wrote, the more confident he grew. Sure enough—elementary school homework was a breeze. After finishing math, he moved on to English, growing steadily more fluent. But that smug satisfaction came to an abrupt halt when he reached the Chinese section.
First question:
Imitation exercise—the example given was *Xi Yangyang* (Happy Sheep).
Two blanks followed. Cheng Miao racked his brain—but all he could summon were *Mei Yangyang* (Pretty Sheep), *Nuan Yangyang* (Warm Sheep), *Lan Yangyang* (Lazy Sheep). What else was there? He definitely couldn’t write those. Cheng Miao couldn’t believe it—where had all those years of vocabulary gone?!
Skip it. Next question: Write the characters corresponding to the pinyin.
“Fēng shōu”—both syllables in the first tone. Without thinking, Cheng Miao wrote *fēn shǒu* (break up). Then he realized—writing “break up” for a third-grader was wildly inappropriate. He scooted over to peek at Lu Yu’s paper and quietly corrected it to *fēng shōu* (bountiful harvest).
And so—dawdling, half-copying, second-guessing—he finally finished his homework.
Mother Cheng laid out their bedding, switched off the light, and retired to sleep in the next room.
Lu Yu lay in bed, curious. “Don’t your parents sleep with you?”
Cheng Miao smiled knowingly. “The next room doesn’t have a kang—so it’s cold. But sometimes they go over there to sleep.”
Lu Yu frowned. “Wouldn’t it be warmer here?”
Cheng Miao grinned. “They warm up with a bit of exercise.”
Lu Yu blinked. “Exercise… in the middle of the night?”
Cheng Miao smirked mischievously and reached out to gently lift Lu Yu’s chin. “Bro—I know you look like a third-grader, but your brain’s fully grown. You *can’t* tell me you don’t get it.”
Lu Yu suddenly understood. He flushed faintly and slapped Cheng Miao’s hand away with disdain.
Cheng Miao continued, “They’re off doing something naughty! Maybe in a few days, they’ll have a little girl—and she can be your wife!”
Lu Yu recalled Father Cheng’s earlier remark about a little girl and asked, “So—you really *do* have a sister?”
Cheng Miao chuckled. “Maybe someday—but not in the next twenty years. Ah, my dad might not be up for it anymore. Or maybe it’s because I scared him when I was little.”
Lu Yu felt nothing—not even a flicker of emotion. He paused, then said flatly, “Let’s sleep.”
Cheng Miao pressed on. “Don’t you want to know *how* I scared him?”
Lu Yu replied, “No.”
Cheng Miao sighed, feigning regret. “Fine. But to make sure you don’t miss out on a racy story—I’ve decided to tell you anyway. I saw my dad without pants on—and then…”
Lu Yu suddenly let out a cold laugh, cutting him off. He spoke slowly, deliberately: “Like that day at the dorm when school started?”
Cheng Miao instantly flushed, flustered and embarrassed. He stammered, “That day my clothes were dirty—I took a shower but forgot to grab clean ones, so I just came out like that.”
Lu Yu blinked innocently. “Mm. Very racy. The moment I walked in…”
“Lu Yu—shut up!” Cheng Miao flipped over, sat up abruptly, and clapped his hand over Lu Yu’s mouth. “Not another word!”
“Then—are we sleeping?” Lu Yu asked, calm and casual.
“Sleep, sleep—sleeping *right now*.” Cheng Miao whined and burrowed back under his own blanket.