FQ chapter 39

He could probably understand Luan Ye’s feeling—that pressure from people being kind to you, and the subconscious urge to repay them just to ease your own unease.

He didn’t know where that feeling came from—maybe from the illness, or maybe from what Luan Ye had said earlier—that people in his past kept telling him no one would be kind to you without a reason, that everyone has their own conditions…

What kind of messed-up, ridiculous thinking was that?

He had wanted to say it out loud earlier but stopped, guessing it might’ve been said by someone close to Luan Ye.

He just wanted Luan Ye to know—

“I, and the others too—we’re kind to you for no reason. Just because we’re happy to know you.”

“Even if I don’t take this,” Fan Qing pointed at the jacket, “it’s still the same.”

“Really?” Luan Ye looked at him.

“At least from me.”

“I never thought you were annoying. Not because I’m… so great.”

Fan Qing’s voice was low and warm, his eyes resting on Luan Ye’s face.

“It’s because you already are… the best.”

The room was quiet. They sat on the floor surrounded by opened packages. Luan Ye looked at him.

“…Person,” Fan Qing added.

Wow, that was a surprise “the good person” card.

“…You’ve got great taste,” Luan Ye smiled. “Alright, I’ll keep the jacket for now.”

Fan Qing nodded.

“What about the rest?” Luan Ye glanced at the boxes. “Should I still give them out?”

After what Fan Qing had said, that feeling that he had to give back something had lightened. But he still hesitated a little.

“Give them,” Fan Qing smiled. “Don’t treat it like repayment or a burden. Just think of it as giving friends a gift. They’ll be happy.”

“Even giving you one gift is a struggle,” Luan Ye clicked his tongue. “Can I even manage the rest?”

“I already got a painting last time,” Fan Qing couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ll manage. At least Laifu’s will be a hit.”

That uncultured little chubby dog.

“Don’t push it,” Luan Ye gave him a look, though not really angry.

It was rare to be refused so directly and still stay calm about it.

“Let’s pick a holiday. We’ll give them out during the Torch Festival,” Fan Qing suggested after thinking for a moment.

“It’s coming up soon.”

The Torch Festival.

Luan Ye had heard of it before, but only in passing. This was his first time actually experiencing it—and it felt a bit magical.

There was still a little over a week until the festival, but the entire village was already preparing. In the village square, it took three or four days to build an enormous torch that required four or five adults to wrap their arms around. It was layered tightly, decorated with colorful paper flags, pine branches, fruit, and fresh flowers, all beautifully arranged.

Every household had a few smaller torches outside their doors—smaller than the square’s, just big enough for a person to lift. They were strung with rings of fragrant pears and small apples, various flowers, and, on the fancier ones, small hand-painted paper lanterns at the top. At the entrance of the mountain trail, several wind chimes made from beer bottle caps hung around a torch, creating a bright clinking sound whenever the wind blew.

It looked a bit like an ethnic minority version of a Christmas tree, but compared to the refined elegance of a Christmas tree, it had more of the rustic wildness unique to the Southwest.

“Some families make their own,” Fan Qing explained as he walked around the village with Luan Ye. “Others find it too much trouble, so they just buy one from the town and decorate it.”

Lately, Fan Qing seemed to be staying in the village and hadn’t been heading up the mountain much. Luan Ye often bumped into him while hanging around the village or going to Li Ge’s café.

“There are fewer people going up the mountain—most want to stay and celebrate the festival together,” Fan Qing said. “There’s a big Torch Festival event being held in the ancient city area, so it’s pretty crowded over there.”

The ancient town he referred to was in the urban district, but even the village had seen a lot of foot traffic these days. Besides tourists, many villagers were returning from market trips in town, carrying armfuls of bags and heavy bamboo baskets strapped to their backs.

Pine branches, chickens, ducks, fish, pastries, torches… and many things Luan Ye couldn’t even name. Most rode the local buses, and when they bought too much, they even asked Fan Qing to help haul things back.

As they turned a corner, they saw an elderly woman, presumably just back from town, sitting on stone steps to rest. Her heavy basket was leaned against the steps, packed full.

Luan Ye happened to look up and lock eyes with her, so he gave a polite smile.

She stared at him for a moment, then waved him over.

Luan Ye paused and looked at Fan Qing. “She’s calling me?”

“Mhm,” Fan Qing said, “She probably—”

Before he could finish, the old woman had already called out.

“Xiao Lan, you’re Xiao Lan from Mu Yueying’s family, right? The one who takes pictures.”

“…The one who took photos last time,” Fan Qing said with a suppressed laugh.

Apparently, Granny Mu hadn’t yet had a chance to correct that misunderstanding during mahjong.

Luan Ye sighed and walked over. “Yes, just call me Xiao Ye.”

It wasn’t clear whether the old woman heard him or not. She turned around, rummaged through her basket, and handed Luan Ye a pack of dried papaya, followed by two small plastic bags filled with powder.

“Here you go.”

She moved so fast that Luan Ye didn’t even react in time. Just as he was about to speak up, she was already on her feet.

“No, I—” he tried to say.

“Take it! Take it!”

By the time she shouted that, she was already several steps away—walking more swiftly than either of them did when strolling through the village.

Luan Ye and Fan Qing stood there, exchanging bewildered glances, unsure whether they should chase after her.

“…Should I start learning from that?” Luan Ye said first. “Just shove the gift into someone’s hand and be done with it, instead of talking so much.”

They both laughed. Luan Ye looked down at the two little bags of powder.

“What is this?”

“Rosin powder,” Fan Qing answered. “Sprinkle it on a lit torch, and the flame will flare up higher. The higher the flame, the more good fortune the person holding it will have in the coming year.”

That sounded quite auspicious. But—

“I don’t have a torch,” Luan Ye said.

“You can buy one in town. Or make one yourself.”

Luan Ye looked at him.

“I’ll make it for you,” Fan Qing offered.

Luan Ye originally wanted to ask if Fan Qing would be going home for the holiday, but remembered he was Han Chinese and probably wouldn’t be celebrating this particular festival.

It was a minority celebration in this region.

“Okay,” Luan Ye smiled. “Just don’t make it too big—bring it over when it’s done.”

“Alright,” Fan Qing said.

He agreed easily, but making the torch took several days. It wasn’t until two days before the festival that he brought it over to Luan Ye.

It was well-crafted. Not only was the handle strong, but all the barbs and rough patches on the branches had been trimmed smooth and bound tightly with dried vines. It was a bit heavy but felt solid in hand.

The only thing—

“Isn’t it a bit small?” Luan Ye asked. “Why does it look different from the ones outside everyone’s houses?”

Granny Mu, who was washing pine branches in the yard, laughed heartily. “Ay, that one’s for kids to play with.”

“Really?” Luan Ye turned to Fan Qing with a smile.

“It’s a bit bigger than a kid’s torch,” Fan Qing replied with a faint smile in his eyes. “Since it’s your first time, I made one that’s safer.”

Luan Ye smiled and didn’t argue.

Although Granny Mu had laughed at it being a kid’s torch, she still helped him decorate it before the festival—adding colorful flags, hanging small apples, and even clipping a few bougainvillea branches to stick on.

It looked flashy and festive.

After some mental preparation, Luan Ye finally delivered all the gifts the day before the Torch Festival. From that day on, he earned the title of VIP customer at the cafe and at the Go See the mountains bar. Qiao Feibai was so moved he almost hugged him and cried. Only Granny Mu worried about how much he spent, but she still smiled happily.

Even Laifu now strutted through the streets daily with its little kerchief, totally unaware of why no one was feeding it sausages anymore.

Just like Fan Qing said—a good friend giving you a small gift during a festival didn’t have to be such a heavy burden.

…..

On the day of the Torch Festival, the sound of firecrackers never stopped from morning till night. That was the signal that every household had begun their ancestral offerings. Qiao Feibai was in charge of setting them off and lit a string of 200 firecrackers at the entrance—so loud it yanked Luan Ye straight out of bed.

Granny Mu had prepared a mountain of offerings and called the two of them to help carry everything out into the courtyard. Then she started burning paper and chanting prayers before dragging the two over to kneel.

“I told the Bodhisattva,” Granny Mu said solemnly, “to bless you both—peaceful and healthy while wandering the world.”

Luan Ye and Qiao Feibai followed her lead and bowed three times with serious expressions.

After the offerings, the village held a communal prayer. Granny Mu, dressed in her new festival clothes, rushed out the door again, leaving only Luan Ye and Qiao Feibai behind.

Luan Ye was just about to text Fan Qing to ask what he was up to when Qiao Feibai shouted, “Qu Jie said the photo crew needs to meet at the bar later!”

…What photo crew? That sounded like paparazzi.

“Today?” Luan Ye asked.

“It’s the holiday!” Qiao Feibai was buzzing with excitement. “Come on, come on—there’s an event at the bar!”

Luan Ye sighed and messaged Fan Qing.

After dinner, when they went out, the village center was already packed. The bar hadn’t closed that night due to the festival, and there were a lot of people, but they still reserved a table just for them. Everyone in the bar was smiling—the atmosphere was vibrant.

As part of the “photo crew,” even though the name sounded ridiculous, they were treated like VIPs. Drinks were free-flowing, and Qu Jie mixed them a new seasonal cocktail—sweet and sour, unclear how strong.

Luan Ye turned and reminded Fan Qing, “Don’t drink too much.”

Fan Qing looked up. They made eye contact for a few seconds before Luan Ye smiled. “It’s bad for your health if you overdo it. That’s all I meant.”

Fan Qing quickly turned away. “Got it.”

Neither of them drank much that night. Qu Jie and Da Yao were busy working, so they only sat and chatted briefly. Only Qiao Feibai, up on stage, drank several rounds, hopping from table to table, greeting people, and even singing—completely hyped up.

“Anyone who didn’t know would think he’s a local—so fiery and youthful,” Luan Ye said, glancing at the much calmer Fan Qing. “Which one of you is eighteen again?”

“Him,” Fan Qing replied.

Qu Jie laughed. “Aiyo, his mom even called him yesterday, said she’s planning to visit him soon.”

“Oh.” The hand holding Luan Ye’s glass paused slightly, and he smiled. “No wonder.”

Fan Qing noticed that split-second daze and looked at him.

Although reconciling with his parents was a good thing, Luan Ye, not wanting to be the one dragging a drunk home, tried to step in gently.

“Drink less,” he said, tapping the table as another glass was emptied. “Otherwise, I’ll have to carry you back later.”

“No worries,” Da Yao laughed. “He can sleep here.”

“Relax! I’m not drunk!”

Qiao Feibai thumped his chest. “I still have to sing later!”

“Oh? You’re still gonna sing?” Qu Jie teased.

“Of course!” Qiao Feibai jumped up. “I wrote a new song just for tonight! Exclusive premiere!”

With that, he bolted to the stage, adjusted his guitar, and looked up with a wide grin. Amid the noise and chatter, he strummed the first chord.

Always meeting a bit too late
Got rained on along the way
Took a few turns here and there
Dreams that led nowhere
Time says, let everything happen
He’s not dumb, just used to climbing higher
Even if no one applauds
He still won’t always be brave
…
But what can I do?
Even lost, I won’t turn back
If I fail 10,000 times to reach the shore
I’ll raise my sail the 10,001st time
…

The song ended. Qiao Feibai raised his hand in a dramatic knight’s salute—twirling it in the air before placing it on his chest—and smiled brightly at the audience. His eyes were slightly red, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the lights. But even now, his voice and expression remained proud and full of spirit.

“My new song, 10,001st Time Raising the Sail—thank you all! Happy Festival!”

His thanks were accompanied by the sound of fireworks outside and a chorus of cheers and laughter pouring in with the flashing lights.

The festival had begun.