My hometown is far away in Moscow.

013 Yan Zhiwen and the Indian Aquarius

Half an hour later, Li Baoqing brought a pot of fragrant potato and pork rib stew to the bedroom. The three of them each held a bowl of rice and sat down on the floor around the pot.

The broth at the bottom of the pot hadn't completely stopped boiling when Peng Song was seen wielding his chopsticks with incredible speed, picking at the ribs one after another, completely ignoring the potatoes. Hu Yi teased, "Eat slowly, don't burn yourself."

"Mmm, mmm... delicious... don't worry."

Li Baoqing sighed sheepishly, "You still say you have a small appetite? The two of us couldn't outeat you; you ate all the meat."

Peng Song stretched his neck and swallowed the ribs he had just chewed a couple of times, then blinked: "Really? Maybe it's because your cooking was so delicious. Besides, I have a particular trait: I've always loved eating meat since I was a child."

Hu Yi glared at him: "You still have the nerve to say that? Look at your fat, bloated face. Didn't you just say you wouldn't eat the meat, only the soup?"

"I..." Peng Song's hand, holding the ribs, froze in mid-air, and he glanced at Li Baoqing with a pitiful look. Li Baoqing smacked his lips: "Eat, eat, he's just joking with you."

Peng Songchong and Hu Yiqian chuckled a few times, not daring to say anything more. They silently devoured half a pot of ribs by themselves, wiped their mouths contentedly, and went back to their rooms.

Seeing Hu Yi's displeased expression, Li Baoqing advised, "Forget it, that's all the grit he has. Don't bother with him. We'll just try to avoid him when we eat out in the future."

Hu Yi said angrily, "Damn it, we didn't steal or rob anything, why should we avoid him?" The two of them finished their meal by unpacking the pickled vegetables and hadn't even had time to clean up the dishes when Peng Song opened the door with a burp and said softly with concern, "There's a watermelon in the kitchen, did you buy it? It's such a big watermelon, it won't keep long once it's cut open, we have to eat it quickly."

Hu Yi straightened his face: "What's it to you? Why are you meddling?"

Seeing his unfriendly expression, Peng Song stammered, "I...I'm thinking of you, I can help you eat..."

Li Baoqing, worried that Hu Yi would have another outburst, smiled and nodded, saying, "That's true. We don't have a refrigerator, so things will be difficult from here on out."

Hu Yi slowly hummed in agreement and pointed at Peng Song: "You, go and cut the melon."

Peng Song nodded repeatedly in agreement, bent down and laboriously picked up the watermelon, washed it clean, placed it on the cutting board, and cut it in half with one stroke. He then cut the larger half into more than ten slices. Li Baoqing first gave a few slices to the Ugandan man across the street, and then carried a few more slices downstairs to Yan Zhiwen's room. When he returned, he saw Hu Yi enjoying the watermelon, while Peng Song stood beside him, staring blankly with an extremely awkward smile on his face.

"You should have some too." Li Baoqing handed over a piece of melon, but Peng Song didn't take it. He guessed that Hu Yi had given him a hard time again, so he advised, "Old Hu, don't be like that, give him a few pieces."

"I didn't stop him, he just wouldn't eat it." Hu Yi spat out a few watermelon seeds, glancing sideways at Peng Song: "You can ask him if you don't believe me."

Li Baoqing turned to ask, "Aren't you going to eat? You were so eager to cut the melon earlier."

"No, no, you guys eat first." Peng Song swallowed hard, smiled ingratiatingly, and said softly, "I'm used to eating with a spoon."

Li Baoqing took a bite of the watermelon: "You've already cut it all, how am I supposed to scoop it out?"

Peng Song awkwardly pointed to the kitchen: "There's still half of it over there that hasn't been cut yet, I can... I can dig that out."

"Huh?" Hu Yi almost choked, coughed a few times, and looked up at him in confusion: "Why is your face so big? It's three times bigger than a watermelon."

Li Baoqing also felt that Peng Song had gone too far, and said with a stern face, "No, do you know how much this watermelon costs? Go cut that half in half and we'll eat it together."

"Alright then." Peng Song turned and walked towards the kitchen with a disappointed look on his face, muttering to himself, "In the end, it all comes down to money."

Hu Yi threw down the melon rind in his hand, about to start cursing. Li Baoqing quickly stopped him, saying, "That's all there is to it, no need to get angry with him."

Before we knew it, it was the end of November. The daytime temperature in Moscow had dropped below zero, and large snowflakes were falling every few days. The wind was biting cold, and people didn't want to stay outdoors for even a moment longer.

Hu Yi and Li Baoqing have begun to adapt to life here, going back and forth between the school and their dormitory every day, and their lives are fairly comfortable. The only thing that bothers them is that they have to be wary of Peng Song every time they cook. Although being freeloaded on meals is not a big deal, neither of them is exactly well-off, and seeing him shamelessly freeload still makes them feel resentful.

Li Baoqing couldn't hold back any longer and hinted to Peng Song that they should chip in for a meal together. To his surprise, Peng Song looked astonished and said, "Didn't you guys not want to eat with me? We're all classmates and live together. It's most important to get along well. There's no need to force yourself to accommodate me. It's better if we each eat separately."

Although his words were firm and resolute, Peng Song would still follow the aroma to their house every time, shamelessly picking out meat from the pot. Hu Yi would tease him a couple of times, and he would tactfully leave, but he would always come running back for the next meal as if nothing had happened.

Seeing how shameless he was, the two of them stopped eating bread or instant noodles in the dormitory. If they wanted to cook stir-fries or stews, they would go to Yu Feifei's room to eat together.

Yu Feifei is quick and easygoing, and her cooking skills are quite good. Hu Yi and Li Baoqing always buy groceries and then sit back and wait for dinner, feeling incredibly comfortable. The only downside is that her roommate Dam's friends often come over for meals, making it a bit crowded with two tables in one room.

Vietnamese pronunciation sounds like it's being squeezed out from the back of the tongue and throat, giving the impression of a high-pitched, shrill voice. These young Vietnamese people are very talkative, chattering incessantly whenever they meet, like a large-scale scene of a hundred birds fighting. The pronunciation of Vietnamese words is also strange; saying thank you sounds like "anus," and saying goodbye sounds like "poop." It sounds especially cloying when eating, always triggering strange associations in Hu Yi and his friends.

Besides, this is ultimately a girls' room, and it's not very convenient for two grown men to come and go so frequently every day. So they gradually went less often, spending three or four days a week holed up in their own room eating instant noodles. Occasionally, if they wanted a treat, they would buy some wine and meat and go to Yan Zhiwen's room to cook.

Yan Zhiwen's dormitory is on the seventh floor. The layout is no different from the other rooms, but only one person lives in each of the two bedrooms, A and B, so there is plenty of space.

Having lived in Moscow for several years, Yan Zhiwen had amassed quite a bit of belongings: a sofa, computer, television, VCR, and bookshelves, filling his small room to the brim. Not only that, but the floor was covered with thick carpets, the kitchen had a refrigerator, and the bathroom had a washing machine—any one of these appliances would make the penniless Hu Yi and Li Baoqing extremely envious.

In fact, Yan Zhiwen originally had an Indian roommate, but the two did not get along well: the Indian complained that his cooking produced a lot of oil fumes, while Yan Zhiwen criticized him for his strong curry smell; the Indian disliked that he would act crazy when he drank a few more drinks, while Yan Zhiwen complained that he did not use toilet paper when he went to the toilet.

"No toilet paper? Then... how do you wipe?" Hu Yi and Li Baoqing were both very surprised to hear about this for the first time.

"Use your hand." Yan Zhiwen stretched out his left hand and waved it in front of them.

"Ugh! That's fucking disgusting." The two of them frowned in unison.

"Of course, you also need to use water to flush. Indians like to keep a bottle in the toilet for washing their bottoms after using the toilet."

"Damn! Don't they find it dirty!" Hu Yi laughed loudly, fanning his nose with his hand twice, his face full of foul odor.

Yan Zhiwen blinked twice and pondered, "I used to think so too, but now that I think about it, washing with water should get it cleaner than wiping with toilet paper, right?"

Hu Yi and Li Baoqing looked at each other, feeling that what he said seemed to make some sense, but they would never try it under any circumstances.

Yan Zhiwen lived with the Indian for a year and they often argued over trivial matters such as lifestyle habits. One time, he returned to the dormitory drunk and happened to find the Indian and two friends chatting in the room. Yan Zhiwen thought they were too loud, so he cursed at them a few times in his drunken state.

The Indian man, not to be outdone, rushed forward and exchanged insults with Yan Zhiwen. In the heat of the moment, both sides shoved each other a few times, and finally, a physical fight broke out.

At that time, Yan Zhiwen was nineteen years old, strong and robust, with a fiery temper and the typical hotheaded manner. After arriving in Moscow, he even practiced Taekwondo in his spare time. He was itching to fight whenever he saw Indians and had long wanted to pick a fight. However, there were three of them, and he was quite drunk, so although he was very aggressive, he didn't actually gain any advantage.

Fortunately, two Chinese people in another room heard the commotion and came over, trying to persuade and intimidate the Indians, barely managing to calm the situation down. Yan Zhiwen outwardly shook hands with the Indians to make peace, but inwardly he was extremely unwilling. The next day, after waking up, he became increasingly angry, and suddenly a mischievous idea popped into his head. He ran to the toilet and poured half a bottle of Tiger Balm into the Indians' water bottle.