"Damn, you really know how to live the good life!" A guy in a loose T-shirt stood at the doorway, his dyed golden middle-parted hair, a trendy yet unconventional style among today's youth, was showing black roots due to lack of care.
Lying lazily on a bamboo rocking chair was Gu Chuhan, sporting the latest fashionable haircut—shaved sides with slightly longer hair on top. He glanced indifferently at Han Lang, his childhood friend, and couldn't help but recall Han's amusing nickname, "Mouse," which stemmed from his late physical development. Han would always fly into a rage whenever someone doubted his claimed height of 172 cm. However, he could still manage to laugh off Gu's teasing, quickly changing the subject.
Seeing that Gu wasn't in the mood to engage, Han didn't mind. He took a look around the small living room and then plopped down on the worn-out black leather sofa. The sofa was in a sorry state, with cracked leather revealing yellowed foam and springs that had long lost their firmness.
The familiar sound of footsteps approached from outside. As Han entered, he saw Gu still lounging lazily on the rocking chair.
"Had breakfast yet?" Han asked.
Without waiting for a response, he continued, "Never mind, you probably haven't. I brought you two meat buns and some soy milk."
Without even opening his eyes, Gu Chuhan lazily murmured, "Just put it by my hand. I don’t feel like moving right now."
"Seriously? You expect me to feed you too?" Han Lang couldn’t help but roll his eyes, his voice dripping with exasperation.
"Lang, my dear Lang, I’ll treat you to lunch," Gu Chuhan said, though he remained motionless, his words lacking any real sincerity.
Han Lang stood up from the worn-out couch and walked over, placing the breakfast in Gu Chuhan’s hand. He then fiddled with the old Diamond brand fan on the TV stand, cranking it up to the highest setting.
The fan whirred to life with a creaky groan, like an elderly man reminiscing about the past. The old house was filled with relics of bygone days, and even Gu Chuhan, lounging on the recliner, seemed like a relic himself.
Though Gu Chuhan looked young, his soul was that of a man in his thirties who had been reborn. As one of the two occupants of this old house, he wasn’t even the legal owner.
The clock showed just past 8:10 in the morning. Gu Chuhan glanced at the time and thought to himself, no wonder the breeze still carried a hint of coolness.
"It’s barely morning. Why are you turning on the fan?"
"Can’t you see I’m practically drowning in sweat?" Han Lang complained, lifting his shirt and leaning closer to the fan.
"The weather's a nightmare. Stepping out early in the morning feels like taking a shower. It's so hot I can't even sleep properly."
The end of August was indeed brutal, with the "autumn tiger" showing no mercy.
This southern town, famous for its coal mining industry, was dotted with mines of all sizes, which had long since destroyed the original vegetation.
Gu Chuhan glanced at Han Lang and noticed a noticeable paunch around his waist.
"Looks like college life's been treating you well. Bet you've been raiding the fridge at midnight a lot," he thought to himself.
Seeing that Gu Chuhan wasn't paying him any attention, Han Lang turned to look at him.
There was Gu Chuhan, lounging lazily on a recliner, holding a palm-leaf fan, giving it a casual wave now and then, looking utterly at ease.
These homemade palm-leaf fans were common in the area. Just a few palm leaves cut and woven together—cheap and practical.
On a small stool next to the recliner sat a large tea jar, still steaming, the kind often used during village meetings.
Next to the ashtray lay a pack of Furongwang cigarettes and a lighter.
Han Lang stared at Gu Chuhan on the recliner, feeling something was off.
This childhood friend of his, who had always been restless, was now spending the entire summer holed up in this old house, lounging on a recliner like an old man.
"Did repeating a year of school really mellow him out that much?" Han Lang wondered.
"Hey, Chuhan, you didn't win the lottery, did you?" Han Lang grabbed the pack of cigarettes, expertly pulled one out, lit it, and took a deep drag, squinting through the smoke. "You've been smoking Furongwang this whole time. Every time I come over, it's the same brand."
