Chapter 4: Friend
Fu Heqing looked at the skull head by his feet, while the timid voice behind him grew even more guilty, its tone faltering, even carrying a slight tremble at the end.
“D-did I mess something up again…?”
Hearing this, Fu Heqing turned his head and, amid his precariously overloaded bookshelves, saw a little skeleton toy that had lost its head.
Where the missing head should have been, there ought to have been nothing at all—yet at this moment, he could see in the air a face of exquisite, breathtaking beauty, like the Creator’s most perfect masterpiece.
It was as if a mischievous boy had been wearing a Halloween costume, accidentally caused trouble, then taken off the headpiece to reveal his true appearance—pitiful and aggrieved, his lovely brows and eyes filled with cautious, ingratiating pleading.
That innocent, harmless look was something no one could resist.
Fu Heqing stared fixedly at Mu Mu’s brows and eyes, as though he intended to measure and trace them inch by inch with his gaze, engraving the person before him into memory.
Mu Mu was made a little afraid by that stare and couldn’t help shrinking his neck. But when he thought about how he’d come here to make friends, and that although there had been a small accident, the painter still seemed perfectly calm and composed, he gathered his courage and softly tested the waters.
“…Mr. Painter?”
Seeing no reaction from Fu Heqing, Mu Mu grew even more uncertain. He quickly pulled himself together, picked up his friendship letter and flower wreath, and, before Fu Heqing could react, hurriedly said:
“Hello, Mr. Painter. I’m very sorry for living in your house for a month without your permission, and I’m also very sorry for frightening away your servants, but I really didn’t mean to.”
“Although I’m not human, I truly don’t mean any harm. I just wanted to be friends with you, but it seems I’ve messed everything up again. It’s fine if you don’t agree—”
Mu Mu drooped his head, not daring to look at the painter at all, speaking at a rapid pace, afraid that before he finished he would cause some misunderstanding.
Suddenly, he heard a click. The painter picked up the head that had fallen to the ground and, with great kindness, helped him put it back on.
“Want to be friends? Sure.”
Mu Mu’s eyes flew wide open at once. His whole body radiated disbelief and overwhelming joy. For a moment he didn’t know what to say and could only keep asking, again and again, to make sure.
“Really?”
“You really said yes?”
“Did I really make a new friend?”
Fu Heqing didn’t answer the little skeleton’s rapid-fire questions. He simply lifted him up, moved him from the bookshelf to the flat, open surface of the desk, tapped the tabletop lightly with his fingers, and continued, “Three conditions.”
Mu Mu nodded almost without thinking.
“Mhm, mhm, mhm—go ahead.”
Watching the little skeleton’s eager expression—like someone who’d been sold off and would still help count the money—Fu Heqing raised an eyebrow slightly and went on.
“First—”
He had only just begun when Mu Mu hurriedly blurted out, “P-please wait a moment!”
“C-can I record this?”
The little skeleton on the desk looked a bit awkward as he spoke, clearly embarrassed. “There’s a recorder in the storage room. May I go get it?”
Fu Heqing lowered his gaze to the little skeleton on the desk, a hint of amusement seeming to color his expression as he asked back, “What, are you afraid I’ll go back on my word?”
For some reason, hearing those words from Fu Heqing made Mu Mu feel especially guilty, even though he clearly hadn’t meant it that way.
“It’s my first time making a human friend, and I wanted to keep a record—”
“Sure.”
Mu Mu started to explain, but before he could finish, two voices sounded at the same time.
“Okay!” Hearing the painter’s permission, Mu Mu didn’t care whether he’d finished speaking or not and immediately agreed, his manner making it obvious he was afraid the other might change his mind.
“Then I’ll go get it.”
Mu Mu jumped down from the desk at once and, on his two short little legs, ran madly toward the door.
He struggled all the way to the doorway and was just about to reach out to push it open when, before he even touched it, the door opened by itself. Immediately after, a long leg stepped past him.
“Let’s go.”
Mu Mu heard the painter’s voice from above his head; it sounded rather cheerful. “With those little short legs of yours, you’d be climbing the stairs until the year of the monkey.”
Mu Mu froze, then protested indignantly, “That’s not true at all. It’s just because all my limbs are short—if I were as tall as you, Mr. Painter, I’d definitely have long legs too.”
To keep up with Fu Heqing, he pumped his two little legs as fast as he could. The bell at his waist jingled with ding-ling-ling sounds, and at last he managed, with great effort, to enter the elevator together with Fu Heqing.
At first, Mu Mu stood face-to-face with the painter in the middle of the elevator. Then, copying what humans do, he turned around to face the elevator doors, standing side by side with the painter.
It was obvious he didn’t really understand why one should stand that way—he was simply imitating.
Fu Heqing observed the little skeleton by his feet, while Mu Mu was also observing the painter beside him. Seeing that the elevator was rather quiet, he wanted to start a conversation. “Hello, Mr. Painter, my name is Mu Mu—”
The elevator started moving. At the moment he felt the sudden weightlessness, Mu Mu’s voice lifted several pitches, filled with both novelty and a bit of fear.
He shuffled closer, wanting to grab at the painter’s pant leg to keep his balance.
Hesitating, Mu Mu reached out and tentatively tugged on the painter’s trousers. When he saw that the painter merely glanced at him without objecting, he gripped on more tightly.
When they reached the storage room, Mu Mu, clearly very familiar with the place, rummaged through cabinet number 331 and pulled out a recorder that still had a full battery.
It was an old model from years ago, with a small digital screen. When Fu Heqing turned it on and checked, he discovered there were actually over a thousand recordings saved inside.
Listening briefly, he found that the contents included, but were not limited to, all kinds of birdsong and insect chirps, the sound of rain, wind rustling through leaves, and even some accidentally recorded private gossip from the servants.
But the most frequent recordings were Mu Mu’s own monologues.
He talked to a teddy bear, talked to fallen leaves, talked to every single object in this storage room.
And the word that appeared most often, again and again, was—
Friend.
“I’m very sorry for using Mr. Painter’s recorder without permission.” Mu Mu looked a little nervous. “If you mind, Mr. Painter…”
Halfway through, Mu Mu suddenly fell silent, confusion and helplessness creeping in. After quite a while, he continued:
“But I don’t want to delete them.”
Seeing the little skeleton toy so dejected, Fu Heqing handed the recorder in his grasp over to him.
“It’s yours.”
As he spoke, Fu Heqing watched every single reaction from the little skeleton, not missing even the tiniest detail.
Hearing those words, Mu Mu froze. It took him several seconds to process them. Then his gloom instantly cleared, and he grew so excited he could barely speak. In one swift motion, he lunged forward, hugging the recorder—and Fu Heqing’s fingers along with it—tight against his chest.
“Is this… is this a gift for a new friend?”
Fu Heqing didn’t answer, but Mu Mu didn’t mind in the slightest. He pressed the recorder’s button and recorded everything being said right now.
“Thank you, Mr. Painter!”
“This is the first gift I’ve ever received, and also the best gift. I like it super, super, super much!”
“I’m so happy right now!”
Hugging the recorder, Mu Mu held it out toward Fu Heqing, his eyes full of anticipation as he asked, “Mr. Painter, would you like to say a few words?”
Fu Heqing curved his lips slightly and said, “My name is Fu Heqing.”
The first step to making friends was exchanging names. Hearing this, Mu Mu’s eyes immediately widened.
On the return trip in the elevator, Mu Mu held the recorder in one hand and, with complete openness, clutched onto Fu Heqing’s pant leg with the other, feeling as though his entire little skeleton body was still a bit dizzy.
He realized that the painter—now a prospective friend—seemed different from the painter he’d known before.
The painter from before had seemed somewhat inarticulate, not fond of smiling, and had never even spoken to the servants. It was as if the servants, too, were wandering spirits—he acted as though he couldn’t see them at all.
During that first week after arriving at the villa, Mu Mu had seriously wondered whether this Mr. Painter might be unable to speak—and whether there might be something wrong with his eyesight, too.
But now, Mr. Painter was way too nice.
Was this what being treated as a friend was like?!
Mu Mu stood on the desk, his thoughts running wild. As he switched on his recorder, he excitedly asked Fu Heqing, “When Mr. Painter makes a new friend, do you also feel happy and full of anticipation?”
“Making friends is naturally a happy thing.” Fu Heqing paused, his tone turning somewhat inscrutable. “But accidentally making friends with someone harboring ill intentions, that can be troublesome.”
“Ah… th-that would be troublesome.”
Mu Mu thought about it and realized he couldn’t come up with a solution, so he continued, “But Mr. Painter definitely isn’t a bad person!”
“So certain?”
“Yes! Even if Mr. Painter has a few small flaws, you’re still the best person.”
“The books say that every human might have their own strengths and a few little shortcomings, that’s all very normal!”
Mu Mu looked toward the painter, but the instant his gaze met Fu Heqing’s, he suddenly felt that the other man looked a bit fierce—like a wild beast—sending a faint shiver through his heart.
He blinked and chased away the illusion.
“…Normal?” Fu Heqing’s voice was very slow.
“Yes! Totally normal.” Mu Mu nodded along, firm in his conviction—but he seemed to put a bit too much force into it, and with a click, his head popped off its joint. He hurriedly fumbled to catch it.
As that beautiful face beneath the “headpiece” was revealed, the emotions in those catlike eyes becoming especially vivid, Fu Heqing’s deep, ink-dark gaze finally stirred.
He smiled—very faintly, fleeting in an instant.
“Interesting.”
Fu Heqing’s tone carried more emotional fluctuation than ever before.
He looked at Mu Mu. There was now much more in his expression and gaze—something thick and surging, dark in color, binding and corroding the tiny skeleton toy completely.
“What else did the books say?”
Mu Mu was captivated by that soft laugh and noticed nothing else. His pretty face went blank, utterly dazed.
Mr. Painter rarely smiled. His emotions always seemed faint and restrained, never once so openly revealed like this.
Not only did Mu Mu fail to catch what the painter had said, his head didn’t catch it either—it rolled to the edge of the coffee table, where Fu Heqing stopped it with a single finger.
Fu Heqing picked up the head and, with a deft motion, fitted it back onto the little skeleton.
It took Mu Mu quite a while to come back to his senses, and even then he kept stealing glances at Fu Heqing’s face.
“The books also say that between friends, you should tolerate and understand each other, be mirrors to one another, and learn from and correct each other.”
“For example, Mr. Painter could learn from me and smile more.”
Fu Heqing laughed. “Only my friends have that privilege.”
Hearing this, Mu Mu’s mind stalled for a long moment before it finally started working again. “But you said earlier that I could become your friend.”
Fu Heqing refused to acknowledge it. “What I said was that there were three conditions.”
“Then say them.”
Mu Mu held up the recorder right in front of Fu Heqing and leaned in very close, afraid that even a single word might not be recorded, giving this not-very-trustworthy-looking painter a chance to go back on his word.
The painter flicked the little skeleton on the head with a curled finger and said, “If you want to be my friend, Fu Heqing’s friend, the first rule is to behave and listen.”
“What does ‘behave and listen’ mean?” As soon as the painter finished speaking, Mu Mu immediately asked, his tone filled with utterly sincere confusion.
“Behave and listen?” A flash of something unreadable passed through Fu Heqing’s eyes, though his voice remained light and amused.
“Behave and listen means that if I tell you not to open the windows on windy days because the drafts will blow away my sketches, then you don’t open the windows.”
“If I tell you not to get yourself all dirty and come home with muddy footprints, then you don’t go playing in the garden and make yourself dirty.”
Everything Fu Heqing mentioned were mishaps Mu Mu had caused before. He hadn’t expected that the painter had known about all of them.
Feeling a little embarrassed, Mu Mu quickly agreed.
“Second: respect humans.”
“What does ‘respect humans’ mean?” This time, Mu Mu genuinely didn’t understand.
“Respecting humans means…” Fu Heqing tapped the tabletop lightly twice with his fingertips and said, “respecting all of humanity’s technological achievements.”
“Humans invented doors and windows, so you shouldn’t keep passing through walls and treating human doors and windows as if they don’t exist.”
“Humans don’t believe in the existence of ghosts, so you shouldn’t casually appear in front of them.”
“You can move and act in human ways. As for those technological products, I can teach you how to use them.”
After finishing, Fu Heqing looked once more at the little skeleton in front of him, propping his chin on his hand as he studied the other’s reaction.
Mu Mu felt that this condition was a bit roundabout, but it sounded very reasonable. So he agreed without hesitation—and even thought that a painter willing to teach him how to use a phone and a computer seemed pretty nice.
He tried to draw an analogy.
“Then since humans believe robot toys can move, does that mean I can pretend to be a robot and appear in front of those maid sisters?”
Fu Heqing cut him off with a laugh, reaching out to grab him and envelop the entire little skeleton within the shadow of his palm.
“That’s the third condition: don’t bring up boring people or boring matters in front of me…”
