27: Chapter 27 The "Bulkies" in the Backpack

The shadows of the plane trees in the Old neighborhood danced like shattered gold on the concrete ground. Chen Jie was squatting behind Wang Lei's braised food stall, his wrench battling with a rusty screw at the bottom of a freezer.

With a crisp "click," the screw finally loosened. He leaned back against the wall, the patched knees of his work pants grazing the gravel on the ground and kicking up tiny specks of dust.

"Can't you get a lighter bag?" Zhao Kai kicked the canvas backpack at Chen Jie's feet, a piece of suede visible through the zipper seam. "You're carrying a rock around just to fix a freezer—aren't you tired?"

He squatted down and poked at the raised outline on the side of the backpack. "This lousy rock caused enough trouble in the mountains; it's just a burden back in the city—remember yesterday when Grandma Zhang asked you to fix her radio, and you almost hurt your waist on it when you pulled out your screwdriver?"

Chen Jie touched the backpack, his fingertips pressing against the jade stone through the canvas. The ink-green stone was as heavy as cast iron. Since returning to the Old neighborhood the day before yesterday, it hadn't emitted any light, nor did it have the ability to absorb smoke like it did while camping; at this moment, it had truly become just an ordinary, stubborn rock.

He suddenly remembered that moment in the creek at Suiyu Slope—when Zhao Kai had slipped on the moss and fallen into the water, and when Chen Jie pulled him up, his knee had slammed hard against a rock, making him see stars from the pain.

When he looked down, the ink-green stone surface was glowing with a faint blue light, and the straight, vertical lines seemed to have been brought to life by the creek water, flickering in the sunlight. He reached out to pick at it, a half-withered leaf still stuck in the crevices of the stone. The moment his fingertips touched those lines, the stone suddenly grew slightly warm, like a freshly peeled chestnut tucked away.

Later, when he fished it out of the creek, that wisp of blue smoke, almost invisible to the eye, had snaked up his wrist and into his sleeve, and the thin callous on the web of his hand felt like it had been lightly stung by something. Thinking about it now, that sensation still seemed to be hiding beneath his skin.

"It's something I picked up in the mountains; it would be a shame to throw it away." He tugged at the zipper, and the wrench inside clinked against the jade stone, as if complaining about the extra weight.

"A shame?" Zhao Kai scoffed, picking up a gnawed-on braised chicken foot bone from the stall and tapping it against the backpack. "Can it be used as a wrench or an anvil? Last time you helped Brother Li fix his bike, this rock rolled out and almost smashed the tire—have you forgotten?"

He suddenly lowered his voice, glancing in Wang Lei's direction. "Tell me the truth, were you brainwashed by Old Liu's myths in the mountains? Do you really think it's some treasure left behind by the Jade God?"

Chen Jie didn't respond, bending down to stuff the removed freezer parts into his tool bag. The thin callous on his fingertip grazed the surface of the jade stone; those straight, vertical lines were obscured by dust, and even the outline of the wrench that had performed miracles at Auntie Wang's house was becoming hard to see.

He suddenly remembered the scorching temperature when the stone first heated up in the creek at Suiyu Slope, and comparing it to its coldness now, he felt a strange sense of emptiness.

"Jie-zi, I can't twist the lid off this braised seasoning jar!" Wang Lei shouted from the front of the stall, oil splatters from his apron landing on the wild grapes in the bamboo basket. "Come take a look for me, if I can't open it, I'll have to hack it open with a kitchen knife."

As Chen Jie stood up with the backpack, the jade stone inside suddenly swayed gently, as if bumped by something. His heart skipped a beat; he placed the backpack on the freezer and reached out to take the seasoning jar.

The rust on the rim of the jar was stained with brown braising liquid. Just as he gripped the lid, the jade stone inside the backpack moved again, even more noticeably this time, as if someone had scratched the stone surface with a fingernail.

"That's spooky—does your bag move on its own?" Zhao Kai leaned in, his eyes wide. "Could a mouse have gotten in there?"

Chen Jie ignored him, smearing a bit of machine oil on the threads of the seasoning jar lid, then gave his wrist a sharp twist. "Click," the lid opened, and the aroma of the brown braising liquid instantly spread. When he turned back, he saw the canvas of the backpack rising and falling slightly, as if the stone inside were breathing.

"What are you looking at?" Wang Lei poured the seasoning over the pork knuckle. "This jar lid has been with me for five years, and you're the only one who can twist it open—oh right, Grandma Zhang came by earlier to ask how her radio repair is coming along."

"I'll go check on it this afternoon." Chen Jie slung the backpack over his shoulder, the weight of the jade stone pressing down slightly on his shoulder.

He suddenly felt that this "burden" might not be so simple—much like the old grandfather clock he had repaired; sometimes, it stopped not because it was broken, but because it was waiting for the moment to be wound up.

Zhao Kai was still muttering about how it would be "less of a headache to just throw it away," but Chen Jie just touched the backpack strap. The canvas was still stained with soil from the mountains, mixed with the smell of cooking oil from the Old neighborhood, as if it had entwined the atmosphere of two worlds together.

He looked down and smiled, walking in the direction of Grandma Zhang's house—regardless of whether it was a burden, he would carry it for now; besides, his tool bag was never lacking in weight anyway.