“It’s 12:21 PM now.” The boy in the video focused the camera on the time displayed on his phone, yawned, and said, “Today, I’m going to make a colorful jam for my master.”
On the counter, a large transparent glass bowl was filled with fresh black cherries and mulberries. Next to it sat a bag of soft white sugar and a lemon.
He reached out, picked up a cherry, and tasted it. “Hmm, it’s quite sweet.”
He started pitting the cherries, but as time passed, the cherries in the bowl quietly dwindled. Meanwhile, the mulberries piled up so high they nearly buried the remaining cherries.
“You still have to add a little sugar. Jam is best when it’s sweet and delicious.” The boy took the soft white sugar and poured it over the cut cherries and mulberries.
A lethal amount of soft white sugar rained down into the bowl. He stirred it evenly and waited for the fruit to pickle.
During this time, he left and returned several times, sometimes poking at the mixture with chopsticks, sometimes shaking the bowl with both hands—clearly impatient.
“Finally, half an hour has passed.” The boy checked the time again. “Time to put it in the pot.”
He poured the fruit pulp into a non-stick pan and turned the heat to medium. Grabbing a large spoon, he started stirring.
The black cherries and mulberries mixed together, releasing a rich purple juice. As it thickened, it gradually turned as dark as the pot itself.
This process had to be repeated for nearly an hour. The boy yawned while stirring and switched hands several times.
“I’m getting old,” he sighed. “This is seriously manual labor. Highly recommend making jam when there’s at least two people at home, so you can take turns stirring.”
His pronunciation became a little sluggish and childlike—probably from sleepiness.
Lowering the heat, he squeezed lemon juice into the dark mixture, letting the juice absorb before giving it a final stir.
“It should be… almost done.” He turned off the heat with one hand, grabbed a prepared glass jar, and carefully scooped the sticky jam inside.
Only half the jar was filled, and the steaming jam fogged up the glass. Though it was practically black, when the camera focused on it, it had a crystal-clear sheen.
“I feel like it doesn’t look good enough like this.” The boy shook the jar in front of the camera, lost in thought. Then he said, “I’ve decided to add something.”
The camera cut to a new scene, with text reading: “A few hours later.”
Yawning, the boy opened the fridge and took out two jars of chilled jam.
The finished jam was mosaiced, preventing the audience from seeing its contents. He placed it in a gift box and carefully packaged it.
“It’s done.” His voice sounded pleased. “I hope Brother… Master likes it.”
He Yuan paused the video, his mind still stuck on that pot of jam—black as olives.
The jam had been specially delivered by He Xin at noon, and she had a wide grin on her face as she handed it over.
When he asked what was up, she didn’t answer. She just waved him over. Confused, He Yuan leaned down, only for He Xin to grab his head, ruffle his hair aggressively, and walk away, cackling like a maniac.
He Yuan didn’t doubt for a second that He Xin had inherited their father’s insanity. He just assumed she had sealed a big business deal and made a ton of money.
Turning on his recording camera, he grabbed a utility knife from his desk and carefully cut open the seal of the express box, bit by bit.
The gift box looked exactly like the one that held the biscuits last time. Thinking he was mentally prepared, He Yuan opened the lid in one go—
Inside, two jars of jam lay side by side, held in place by a plastic frame.
He Yuan was stunned. He didn’t even recognize it as jam at first.
At the bottom of each jar was a pitch-black layer, resembling charcoal, making up about a third of the jar. Above it, the color transitioned to deep purple, then to a striking blue—clearly achieved by careful layering and shaking.
Between the layers, some shiny golden flecks were scattered, which He Yuan guessed were edible gold foil or something similar.
It was pretty. The whole thing looked like a work of art. But whether it was edible… that was another question.
Carefully, he picked up one jar and unscrewed the lid.
A burst of sweetness immediately filled the air.
——————————
Meanwhile, Xiao An found a shady spot to nap during P.E. class while the teacher led a group of students in jump rope.
Their school’s P.E. class allowed students to choose their own activities. Too many people signed up for tennis, so Xiao An ended up in “Happy Sports.”
And Happy Sports was truly happy—one day it was jump rope, another day hula hooping, then Tai Chi, and even kicking shuttlecocks.
Xiao An had just dozed off for half a minute with his head resting on his legs when his family called, urging him to come home.
“No, I’m busy,” Xiao An said unhappily.
“What are you busy with? It’s just playing around,” Xiao’s mother said. “Your brother is already home—aren’t you coming back for dinner?”
Xiao An almost forgot that his brother, who was studying abroad for a master’s degree, was on Christmas vacation.
“Brothers are brothers. All those friends outside are fake.” Seeing that he didn’t respond, Xiao’s mother continued, “If you run into trouble in the future, you’ll still have to rely on your brother. Don’t be so indifferent.”
“I don’t need to rely on him.” Xiao An didn’t like hearing this, but he didn’t want to argue, so he simply agreed, “I’ll be back after class.”
The school was quite a distance from the new home. By the time Xiao An drove back, the sky had already darkened.
The house was bright, every light turned on. Xiao An rang the doorbell, and it was his brother, Xiao Cheng, who opened the door.
“You’re back?” Xiao An took the initiative to speak.
“Yeah, I was waiting for you to eat.” Xiao Cheng had gained weight and wore a casual suit that gave off an academic vibe.
Xiao An stepped into the house, where the rich aroma of home-cooked dishes filled the air. The couple had even personally cooked for their eldest son.
“Why so late?” Xiao’s father sat at the table, his expression as cold as ever.
“There was traffic.” Xiao An suddenly felt guilty, avoided his gaze, and went to wash his hands.
“Why did you get your ears pierced?” Xiao’s father immediately noticed.
Xiao An touched his earlobe, feeling the lingering pain of the still-red and swollen piercing. He really picked the wrong time to get it done.
“He’s an adult. Why do you care so much?” Xiao Cheng spoke up in his defense.
Xiao An came back and sat down, not bothering to explain himself. He was almost blinded by the dazzling spread on the table.
“Don’t you know he’s been up to all sorts of fancy things lately?” Xiao’s father was still fuming. “Dying his hair like this, hanging out with a bunch of idle young men, even sleeping in class.”
Xiao Cheng glanced at him, while Xiao An continued eating as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
“Alright, let’s talk after dinner.” Xiao’s mother placed the last dish on the table and sat next to Xiao Cheng.
“I really don’t know what’s going on in your head these days,” Xiao’s father said, still refusing to pick up his chopsticks. Across the long table, he stared at Xiao An. “You don’t want to study medicine anymore, and now you’re rebelling in this passive-aggressive way?”
Xiao An set down his chopsticks and looked at his father.
“I’m not rebelling. I’m just living my own life. Please give me some freedom,” Xiao An frowned.
“Live your own life? Can you even plan your own future properly?” Xiao’s father scoffed. “If you can be like the neighbor’s son and not spend a single cent of the family’s money, I’ll give you all the freedom you want.”
“Alright, alright, what’s with the temper today?” Xiao’s mother shoved a meat bun into Xiao’s father’s mouth and shot Xiao An a warning look. “And don’t even think about running away from home again. That’s way too childish.”
Xiao An didn’t argue back and simply lowered his head to eat.
Dinner wasn’t exactly peaceful. Throughout the meal, Xiao’s parents were asking Xiao Cheng about his studies and daily life. The three of them even discussed the latest medical research.
It was all so harmonious—like the lecture before dinner had never even happened.
Xiao An barely understood the topic. After dinner, he sat on the sofa, watched TV for a while, then claimed he had an early class tomorrow and needed to head back to his rented studio apartment.
“You better actually wake up for class,” Xiao’s father called after him at the door.
Xiao An didn’t respond, just got in his car and drove off. He was furious, but unlike last time, he didn’t dare speed through the city roads.
After circling around aimlessly a few times, not knowing where to go, he eventually returned to his rental place in frustration.
It was annoying. Everything was annoying. And the more he thought about it, the more he felt like he really was useless.
With nothing else to do, he just wanted to take a shower and sleep. When he arrived at his apartment, he started filling the bathtub with water.
He stepped in, still sulking—only to jump out immediately, hissing from the burn. His face turned red with frustration.
Standing next to the tub, he plugged his data cable into his phone and waited for the screen to light up.
His phone had died while he was eating, and now, notifications flooded in all at once.
WeChat was full of friends inviting him out to play ball. Xiao An switched to QQ and saw a message from Wall.
Wall: I got the jam.
Xiao An frowned. He always scheduled the courier to deliver in the evening, but the other party received it so fast?
Could it be that Wall… is at his friend’s place again?
An An: As long as you got it, all’s good~ [Little Yellow Bird Flutters Its Wings.jpg]
An An: Bro, you at your friend’s place right now?
The other person was on their phone and replied instantly.
Wall: No.
Xiao An noticed that while Wall’s messages were always brief, he would always reply as soon as he saw the message.
It was… polite. Respectful, even.
Xiao An dipped a foot into the bathwater, testing the temperature. Feeling that it was finally fine, he slowly stepped in.
An An: You working? [Little Yellow Bird Observes Secretly.jpg]
Wall: No.
Wall: What’s up?
Xiao An hesitated for a moment, then typed:
An An: Can I call you?
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to add, Wait a bit, I need to shower first—give me ten minutes.
But before he could even send it, the call came through.
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