Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Steamed Bun
When the black-and-white static from the TV screen clung to his arm like liquid and a numbing sensation shot through his elbow, Zhang Wenda’s mind instantly exploded.
He almost instinctively flung his arm, frantically shaking the things off.
As the black-and-white specks vanished in mid-air like starlight, Zhang Wenda had already stumbled back several steps to the door of the room, ready to flee at a moment’s notice.
When he saw that the back of his hand was perfectly normal, the heart that had leaped into his throat finally settled down a bit.
He pressed his back against the wall and quickly moved to his bedside, skillfully reaching under the bed to pull out an aluminum flashlight—the one he used for late-night trips to the public toilet during the frequent power outages.
It was an old thing, a family heirloom passed down from his grandfather. Back in the day, it was the only home appliance the family owned, and his grandfather had used it as a betrothal gift to marry his grandmother.
The aluminum flashlight felt heavy in his hand, as if he were holding his grandfather’s, and its weight brought a small measure of comfort to his anxious heart.
With a weapon in hand, his nerves settled a little more. He remained vigilant, staring at the familiar yet bizarre television. Standing in the old house he’d lived in for ten years, the sense of ease he once felt was gone, replaced by a scalp-tingling, blood-curdling dread.
In the distance, the television continued its roaring static, the screen a constant flicker of dancing snow, as if everything that had just happened was merely an illusion.
’Was it fake? Did I really see it wrong?’
’What’s going on? Is this my childhood? Where the hell am I?’ Zhang Wenda’s mind was a complete mess. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if the problem was with his surroundings, or with his own head.
He’d read news stories like this before—about some lunatic having a public meltdown, thinking everyone else was the problem, when in reality, it was his own mind that had broken.
Just as he stood there, flashlight in hand, apprehensively battling wits with thin air, a familiar voice called from outside the window. "Haozi! Haozi! We’re gonna be late!"
’Fatty?!’ Hearing that familiar voice, the silhouette of a round figure materialized in his mind. It was his friend, the one he’d grown up with!
He grabbed the flashlight and rushed out the door, onto the corridor. Leaning over the concrete railing, he looked down at the familiar face and trademark round glasses in the courtyard of the red-brick tenement building.
"Haozi, what are you spacing out for? Hurry up and get your school uniform on! We have to go!" Pan Dongzi shouted up at Zhang Wenda on the third floor, his neck craned as he took a bite of a meat bun.
"Don’t you move! Just stay right there!" Zhang Wenda clattered down the stairs, THUMP THUMP THUMP, and hurried over to the Little Fatty, studying him carefully.
It really was him. Even the mole at the corner of his mouth was just as familiar. It had been so long.
They used to be the best of friends, playing together every day as kids. But later, Fatty’s dad struck it rich and sent him off to a big city, and they lost touch.
Seeing the familiar face now, his heart settled a bit more.
"What are you doing? Change into your uniform! Do you see what time it is?!" The Little Fatty raised his right hand, showing Zhang Wenda the plastic digital watch that was digging into his fleshy wrist. "What do you think? Nice watch, right? My dad bought it for me."
’He looks exactly the same, and his personality hasn’t changed a bit. Still has that same smug look. It’s really him,’ Zhang Wenda thought.
"Fatty," he said, staring at his friend. "Fatty, there’s something wrong with my TV, but I’m not sure if the problem is the TV or me. I need you to come take a look."
"The time! Look at the time!" he exclaimed, practically shoving the digital watch in Zhang Wenda’s face.
"Stop showing off that stupid watch and help me look!" With that, he grabbed the guy and dragged him back toward his apartment.
As the door creaked open, he rushed over to the TV, dragging the Little Fatty with him, and slapped it hard again.
With the added force, the black-and-white static inside the screen sloshed out again, like water spilling from a basin.
"Look!" Zhang Wenda pointed excitedly at the black-and-white specks that were quickly vanishing on the floor.
"Look at what? Isn’t that just your TV? What’s there to show off about a black-and-white set? My family has a color TV. You should be looking at my watch! No, wait, look at the time on my watch!" Pan Dongzi didn’t seem the least bit surprised.
"The black-and-white dots! You don’t see anything wrong?" Zhang Wenda slapped the TV hard again, and more static spilled out.
But then, Zhang Wenda watched as his friend, in the most matter-of-fact way, adjusted the two rabbit-ear antennas on top of the television. "Hey, hitting it like that won’t do any good. Today’s the sixth. On the sixth, you have to hang a piece of meat on the TV."
As he spoke, he took a meat bun from his plastic bag, pulled a loose thread from his bag, and tied the bun to the left antenna.
He then glanced up at the time, saw it was almost eight o’clock, and immediately reached out to tap the left side of the TV four times.
With a ZAP, the dancing static flickered, and in the next second, the screen showed two old men in long robes performing crosstalk.
"Well hello there! Eaten yet?"
Zhang Wenda’s jaw dropped as he watched his friend’s god-tier maneuver. "What the fuck?!"
"Wait, eight o’clock?!" At that moment, Pan Dongzi glanced at his watch and panicked. He stuffed the rest of his bun into his mouth and ran out, mumbling incoherently. "You can be late if you want, but I can’t! I’ll be in deep shit if I’m late."
"Hey! Hey, wait! I’m not done asking you questions!" Zhang Wenda chased after him, only to see the kid bolt away in a flash, his green Ultraman backpack bouncing as he sprinted toward the fork in the road.
"How... how did he do that? Why would he even do that?" Utterly bewildered, Zhang Wenda went back to the TV, turning it on and off.
With a meat bun hanging from the antenna, the television was now working perfectly. All four channels came in, crystal clear.
The TV was normal, but Zhang Wenda’s mind was in even greater turmoil. There were just too many things he didn’t understand.
But thanks to Fatty, he had figured out one thing. First, he wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t the only one who could see these things. They were real.
Second, Fatty wasn’t surprised by any of it and even knew how to fix the TV. This meant his family’s TV was the same, and that this was all just a perfectly normal part of this world.
Otherwise, with a personality like his, Fatty would have been bragging to him a thousand times over about discovering something so bizarre.
’Is this common? Is this really common? Is the problem with me? Or is it with the world?’ Zhang Wenda flicked the television on and off again.
At first glance, this place looked exactly like his childhood home, but it was obviously wrong. Yet, to say it was completely different wasn’t quite right either. At least the people seemed the same.
’A parallel world? Another Earth? Did I mess up the landing when I time-traveled back here?’ Zhang Wenda continued to guess wildly.
He sat on the sofa for a while, and his mood finally calmed down a little. Although what had happened was incredibly strange, the silver lining was that, aside from the television, nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.
No monster had popped out to eat him. This world was strange, but it didn’t seem dangerous.
Perhaps this world operated on a different set of rules, but as long as he followed them, life wouldn’t be all that different.
After all, whether the TV needed a meat bun hanging on it or not, it still worked. That was what mattered.
He stared at the meat bun on the television. He kept staring until he realized he’d made himself hungry.
"Damn it, that damned Fatty. Couldn’t even leave me a few more buns. What an unfilial brat."
Zhang Wenda took the now-lukewarm bun from the antenna and put it in his mouth. Rich meat juices instantly burst forth, filling his mouth. The savory broth, infused with the醇香 of pork and the zesty aroma of scallions and ginger, was unbelievably delicious with every bite.
"That damned Fatty sure knows how to eat." He wasn’t in a rush anymore. Things were what they were; panicking was useless.
He mulled things over as he ate the bun. ’When that guy gets out of school, I’m going to have to corner him and ask him exactly what the hell is going on.’
The bun was delicious, but unfortunately, there was only one. It just whetted his appetite, making him even hungrier.
A growing boy has a bottomless stomach, and at this age, such a small snack wasn’t nearly enough.
He started rummaging through drawers and cabinets, looking for money or snacks. "Strange, I remember hiding some cookies in here..."
Just as he was about to bury half his body in the wardrobe, he heard a CRASH behind him. When he turned around, he saw that his pencil case—the one engraved with the multiplication table—had fallen to the floor. Mechanical pencils and lead pencils rolled out, scattering everywhere.
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