Ji Mian thus stayed on, at the cost of getting a buzz cut, but it was a clean and handsome buzz cut.
He worked for Duan Zhuang, or rather, for his “big brother.” Whatever his big brother asked him to do, Ji Mian would do. Most of the time, he was helping out in the shop on the first floor, passing tools and whittling wood.
Ji Mian enjoyed whittling wood, especially watching the wood being shaved into thin yet resilient shavings under the knife. Some were thick, some thin, all piled up into a fluffy mass.
His meals were managed by Duan Zhuang.
Duan Zhuang never cooked, and Ji Mian didn’t know how to either, so their meals were always bought from nearby restaurants. Every meal time, Ji Mian would take a little money from the cash register in the shop—actually just a small wooden box—ask Duan Zhuang what he wanted to eat, and then go buy takeout for both of them.
Sometimes, Duan Zhuang would toss him a stack of money, calling it his “wage.” However, Ji Mian refused to take it; he was already getting free food and lodging from his “big brother,” so how could he shamelessly accept wages?
But once, on a certain day in late autumn, the laundry detergent and paper towels on the third floor ran out. Moreover, Ji Mian’s pair of underwear couldn’t dry overnight anymore and had to be replaced.
So, Ji Mian bashfully accepted a little money.
That time, Duan Zhuang slapped the stack of red bills against Ji Mian’s forehead. For some reason, “big brother” was smiling.
About two weeks after Ji Mian got his hair shaved, his soft hair stubble began to grow out a bit, and it turned out to be a light brown color. His head then became brown as well, and when the sun shone on it, it looked like a golden head.
If he had to praise something, Ji Mian's skull shape was perfect.
In the following month, when Ji Mian walked down the street, passersby would smile at him, laughing that he looked like a platinum-colored soft-boiled egg. His face was white, and his head was golden.
Ji Mian laughed along too because those laughing at him had no malice in their eyes.
He liked it here, so he smiled too.
The people in the neighborhood were inexplicably very nice to Ji Mian, to the point of being a bit excessive. Even Sun Qi felt jealous and sat outside on a small stool during the weekend, glancing at his own boss lounging on a recliner, and sourly said, “That brat Ji, isn’t he a thief? Why does he charm all those old men and women?”
Duan Zhuang squinted in the sun, lazily gesturing, “Tangerine.”
Sun Qi picked a bright yellow tangerine from the fruit basket and handed it to Duan Zhuang, continuing to grumble, “And Sister Mu too, why is she so nice to this kid... she can’t possibly have a crush on him, right?”
With a thud, Duan Zhuang tossed the tangerine at Sun Qi’s head.
“Hey!” Sun Qi yelped.
Ji Mian was inside the shop using a small file to shave wood shavings and couldn’t help but look outside at the sound.
He saw his big brother’s profile tilted toward Sun Qi as he raised an eyebrow and scolded, “Sun Qi, are you an idiot?”
After watching, Ji Mian lowered his head again and continued whittling wood.
The outside fell silent.
Sun Qi covered his forehead and thought about it; he also realized that Ji Mian was seven or eight years younger than Mu Yuman. No matter what, she couldn’t possibly have feelings for a kid who hadn’t even finished growing up.
He then felt more at ease.
Sister Mu was so wonderful; even though he knew he was not worthy of her, as long as she didn’t have someone she liked, he would always have a chance.
…
For Ji Mian, helping out and whittling wood was not a hard life. He seemed to have a bit more patience than others and had never felt anxious or restless.
But after whittling wood shavings for two months, it was inevitable that he would feel a bit restless at times.
At this moment, Duan Zhuang was in the shop, holding a chisel, slowly working on a piece of wood beneath his hands.
Ji Mian sat next to him, watching as a strangely shaped piece of wood gradually took form with each careful stroke of Duan Zhuang’s hand. The rough wood transformed into a vaguely recognizable landscape carving. In just a quarter of an hour, that oddly shaped wood became something unique and artistically designed.
With further time and effort spent refining and embellishing it, it could become a piece worthy of being displayed in a showcase.
He watched, enviously saying, “Brother, you’re amazing! It looks just like the real thing!”
It was merely a sincere compliment, without any flattery intended. Duan Zhuang heard it and glanced at him sideways: “Get lost.”
“Oh, okay.”
At Duan Zhuang's feet were a few slightly larger wood scraps, leftover waste from the initial shaping. They weren’t made of any precious wood.
Ji Mian felt tempted for a long time and finally couldn’t resist picking one up, asking, “Brother, do you not want this piece?”
“Hmm.”
“Then can you... give it to me? I want to try it too.”
Duan Zhuang gave him a sideways glance but didn’t say yes or no.
Ji Mian knew that meant it was an implicit approval.
He cheerfully rummaged through the toolbox for a planer, a chisel, and a small carving knife, finding a stool to sit in the corner.
He turned the palm-sized wood block in his hands a few times before finally making a move. Using the planer, he smoothed out the rough parts of the wood, polishing it until it was smooth, and then used a sander to further refine it. This step was something he did very well since he had been repeating this work every day for the past two months.
He didn’t use the chisel, in fact, he still didn’t know how to shape it with that tool.
As for the carving knife...
Ji Mian looked at the round little wood block he had smoothed in his palm and clenched his fingers around the carving knife.
He carefully carved a few round little indentations on it, a process that took nearly half an hour.
Meanwhile, Duan Zhuang had already tossed aside his chisel, preparing to wrap up for the day.
“Is it not done yet?”
Ji Mian held up his creation and said, “It’s almost done.”
Opening his hand, a rounded wooden piece lay quietly in his palm, gray and dusty, with three or four shallow depressions on its surface.
Duan Zhuang frowned tightly: “What is this?”
Ji Mian felt a bit embarrassed: “It’s a potato.”
“…”
“Really…” Duan Zhuang paused, “It’s quite lifelike.”
Ji Mian silently tucked his potato into his pocket, deciding to continue properly whittling wood shavings from now on.
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