Little Skeleton Ch.15

Chapter 15: Little Liar

In the end, it was a false alarm—the painter hadn’t had an episode after all.

After having the cleaning robot come over to tidy up, Fu Heqing picked up Mu Mu and headed for the bathroom, plopping him into the bathtub for what was probably the who-knows-how-manyth wash of the month.

When Mu Mu was tossed into the water, he still tried to take advantage of the fact that the painter couldn’t see and attempted to wriggle his way out of it. In an extra-small voice, he muttered, “If I say it wasn’t on purpose, would you believe me, Painter…?”

“Mm. You fell by accident?” Fu Heqing replied.

Faced with the counterquestion, Mu Mu felt a bit guilty. He hesitated, stammering as he went on, “I—I guess… that’s how it was…?”

“How did you fall?”

The moment Mu Mu finished speaking, he heard Fu Heqing ask again and immediately jolted.

He shot a guilty glance at the painter’s eyes. Seeing that they were still dark and heavy, with a slightly unfocused, scattered look, he plucked up his courage and launched into a wildly exaggerated pantomime, waving his hands as he went.

“I—I was just walking along and then splat, I fell over.”

Every word practically screamed this sentence is fake, this one too.

Fu Heqing deliberately teased him. “Really?”

Mu Mu thought about it, then dove straight to the bottom of the bathtub, pretending he hadn’t heard anything.

Fu Heqing smiled and didn’t call him out.

After the cream had been washed off his body, Mu Mu’s nerve to run away from home came right back. He basked in the sunlight while sneaking glances at Fu Heqing out of the corner of his eye, his whole body broadcasting I’m about to do something bad.

Under Mu Mu’s scrutiny, Fu Heqing calmly continued reading his Braille book. His gray pupils glimmered with a hint of gold, giving him an air of quiet elegance.

“Mr. Painter…”

Mu Mu seemed to have been holding it in for a long time before finally speaking up. In a small, tentative voice, he asked, “You still can’t see anything right now?”

Hearing this, Fu Heqing closed the Braille book in his hands, tilted his head slightly, and looked in Mu Mu’s direction with eyes that still didn’t quite focus.

“Mm. It’ll probably take a bit more time to recover.”

He spoke slowly, then tossed out the bait.

“What’s wrong?”

As the painter asked his question, Mu Mu immediately shook his head—then, a beat later, remembered that the painter still couldn’t see. He hurriedly added, “It’s nothing, really. I was just asking casually. Mr. Painter, don’t overthink it.”

Fu Heqing smiled. “Mm. I won’t.”

Reassured, Mu Mu instantly perked up. He excitedly pulled out his phone and started tapping away, as if chatting with someone.

After that, Mu Mu kept finding all sorts of excuses to slip out of Fu Heqing’s line of sight, again and again.

Sometimes, when leaving the sunroom, Mu Mu would make up a reason—like saying he wanted to bring over his little cushion, or that he wanted his friend Little Bear to get some sun too. Other times, he would simply wait until Fu Heqing wasn’t paying attention and sneak off on tiptoe.

After all, the painter couldn’t see right now!

“What are you doing?”

Just as Mu Mu came creeping back in yet again, Fu Heqing suddenly spoke up, startling him so badly that he didn’t know where to put his hands or feet. The little skeleton froze dumbly in the doorway.

Fu Heqing had never seen anyone this obvious. The mischief was written all over him—pretending to be blind wasn’t even enough; he had to help the other party come up with an excuse.

“Where’s your Little Bear?” Fu Heqing prompted.

Mu Mu looked at his empty hands. Instinctively, he hid them behind his back, then made his brain work at top speed. Going along with the painter’s hint, he said, “Little Bear said he doesn’t want to come out to sun himself.”

Fu Heqing concealed the amusement in his eyes, pretending he’d been successfully fooled.

“Mm. Then come in.”

Mu Mu immediately felt as if a huge weight had been lifted. Flustered, he scrambled back up onto his little table, hugged his phone, and continued tapping away.

For the rest of the half day, Mu Mu behaved himself, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, no one knew what he was thinking about. That was, until half past eleven—Fu Heqing’s rest time.

“It’s eleven-thirty,” Fu Heqing said.

Mu Mu had been staring at the clock for quite a while. The instant the second hand passed the 12, he immediately perked up, looked at Fu Heqing, and in both tone and expression sent a clear, urgent message: it’s time for you to go to bed, Mr. Painter.

“All right.”

Fu Heqing obediently lay down, curious to see what trick Mu Mu had up his sleeve tonight.

As soon as Fu Heqing settled, Mu Mu climbed onto the head of the bed, stepping carefully along the edges as he went, and tucked the painter’s blanket in tightly.

“Mr. Painter, sleep well. I’ll stay here to protect you,” Mu Mu said, sitting beside Fu Heqing’s pillow, coaxing and persuading him to close his eyes.

“You’ll stay the whole time?” Fu Heqing deliberately asked, glancing at the little skeleton.

Mu Mu instantly tensed. Out loud he said, “Really, really,” but his face clearly read: just kidding, just kidding.

Then Mu Mu lay down beside the pillow, pretending he was going to rest too, and whispered softly to Fu Heqing, “Good night, Mr. Painter.”

Fu Heqing watched him for a long moment before switching off the light.

“Good night.”

Once the painter’s breathing grew even and steady, Mu Mu glanced left and right, then quietly climbed down from the bed and slipped out of Fu Heqing’s room.

The instant the door opened and then closed behind him, Fu Heqing opened his eyes, sat up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, and muttered, “Little liar.”

After Mu Mu left, Fu Heqing deliberately waited a while, hoping to catch him in the act.

He first checked the third floor, then wandered around the second, but saw no trace of Mu Mu’s skeleton. Only when he reached the first floor and approached the staircase did he notice the kitchen—its lights blazing in a careless, unguarded way.

Yet inside, the kitchen was silent—not a single sound.

Fu Heqing furrowed his brows and quickened his pace. The moment he stepped in, he could clearly see the kitchen counter in complete disarray.

Flour was scattered all over the floor, some of it mixed with water into a sticky mess, dripping steadily from a single chopstick. A broken egg lay on the ground, its whites spreading in all directions.

Fu Heqing scanned the room and finally spotted the little skeleton, meticulously dressed in a “plastic apron,” in the corner by the oven.

The little skeleton leaned against the side of the oven, sitting amid the marble countertop chaos, holding a bowl bigger than himself, completely still.

Inside the bowl was some mushy mixture. His phone lay next to him, its screen lit up. The most prominent image was a beautifully crafted cake, and below it, a dense collection of small data entries.

Fu Heqing froze for a moment, then smiled at the little skeleton and asked, “You can figure all this out while lying on top of a cake?”

But Mu Mu didn’t respond, remaining exactly as he was.

Fu Heqing’s relaxed expression tightened again. He reached out and removed the skeleton toy’s head, like taking off a costume mask, revealing the boy’s real head underneath.

Inside the “toy costume,” Mu Mu’s eyes were tightly closed. His long lashes fluttered slightly, as if he were asleep—but it was a very uneasy sleep.

A spirit like him didn’t actually need sleep.

Fu Heqing stared at the transparent soul still residing in the toy, his breath caught slightly.

He reached out, intending to touch Mu Mu’s soul. The instant his hand moved, Mu Mu slowly opened his eyes.

“…Mr. Painter?”

Mu Mu seemed half-awake. He looked at Fu Heqing, his brows curved and sparkling, and happily spilled the whole plan he had been working on.

“Mr. Painter, I’m almost ready to learn how to make little cakes.”

“This time it won’t be strawberry, it’ll be your favorite flavor!”

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