“I’m just going out to deliver something. When I get back, I’ll blanch some greens. I haven’t moved much lately, so I can’t have any more carbs tonight, which means I can’t eat with you.”

Chris Bolton packed the other portion of crispy fried pork into a plastic container, slung on his Chopper backpack, and headed out the door. Deborah Foster stood at the doorway, his face full of concern.

“Where are you going? When will you be back? Should I time it so I can blanch the greens for you in advance?”

There’s no way Chris Bolton would feel comfortable letting his not-yet-ten-year-old little brother cook unsupervised, so he quickly refused: “No need for you to cook. Go practice your piano, be good. Your brother is just going to deliver something to Dr. Quinn, and I’ll be right back.”

As he spoke, he put on his Lei Feng hat and ran lightly down the stairs, glancing back to see Deborah Foster leaning against the window, watching him.

Chris Bolton waved again and shouted, “Er De, don’t you dare cook by yourself, you hear me? Or I’ll spank you.”

Out of safety concerns, and since the sun was already starting to set, the twelve-year-old, skinny-armed and skinny-legged Chris Bolton called both his parents and Dr. Quinn’s family before leaving, making sure everyone knew where he was going.

Emily Quinn was eating cake and watching TV when he overheard his grandfather’s call and knew Chris Bolton was coming.

He checked the clock, calculated the time, and got up to head out. Although the security guards at the complex were already familiar with Chris Bolton’s face, he was used to picking people up himself.

The young man waited at the gate for over twenty minutes, but there was no sign of Chris Bolton. Emily Quinn frowned, feeling uneasy, and simply walked toward the bus stop.

The weather was bad today—cold wind blowing, light snow falling. Other than an old man rummaging through a trash can for bottles, there was no one else around. Thinking of Chris Bolton’s pretty little face, Emily Quinn grew anxious.

Then he saw Chris Bolton running out from the corner of the street, carrying a bag in one hand and, in the other, a roujiamo and a cup of black rice porridge.

With the New Year approaching, most shops were closed, and as far as Emily Quinn knew, the roujiamo shop was at least two blocks away.

The child moved lightly, jogging up to the old man and handing over the bag with the roujiamo and porridge. At first, the old man looked panicked and refused to take it.

Chris Bolton wasn’t in a hurry. He just kept smiling, hand outstretched, his mouth opening and closing, saying who knows what—probably something nice. Paired with the boy’s clear, pre-adolescent voice, just hearing it would lift anyone’s spirits.

There was an advertising board at the bus stop. Emily Quinn stood behind it—Chris Bolton couldn’t see him, but he could see everything Chris Bolton was doing.

Once the old man accepted the food and started eating, Chris Bolton took off his scarf and placed it on the old man’s bag of recyclables on the ground. Before the old man could react, he turned and ran, not giving him a chance to return the items.

Emily Quinn knew that scarf was very warm, made of pure wool. He lowered his head and smiled, then walked up to the old man, set down his umbrella, and also turned and ran away.

When Chris Bolton knocked on Dr. Quinn’s door, it was Emily Quinn who answered. For some reason, his face was flushed, as if he’d just been exercising.

Curious but not asking, Chris Bolton broke into a big smile.

“Mr. Quinn, my family made crispy fried pork, and I brought some over just for you.”

He handed over the bag. “I wrapped it in two extra layers of insulation, so it should still be hot. Also, I went to the mall today and saw this. You’ve been carrying me on your back for so many days, and I haven’t really thanked you properly.”

Chris Bolton took Chopper out of his bag, holding it with both hands and offering it forward. “This is a thank-you gift for you.”

Emily Quinn accepted the gift, looking at the cute little reindeer lying obediently in the box. Somehow, his heart softened.

He half-squatted and gently said to Chris Bolton, “Thank you for your gift. This is the most thoughtful birthday present I’ve received this year.”

Birthday?

Chris Bolton was stunned, but Emily Quinn naturally pulled him inside. “Have some cake before you go. It’s mango mille crepe. Can you eat mango? I remember some people are allergic.”

Chris Bolton could definitely eat mango. He was healthy and had encountered allergenic foods before. He also liked cake, but he couldn’t eat it now.

It’s tough having a body that gains weight easily.

But seeing that only a third of the cake had been cut, and the cold, lonely atmosphere that didn’t feel like a birthday at all, and remembering that Emily Quinn’s parents were divorced, Chris Bolton couldn’t bring himself to leave.

With a sense of tragic resolve, Chris Bolton accepted the cake from Young Quinn, thinking that now he wouldn’t need to blanch greens at home. Later, he’d have to do 50 burpees, 1,000 jump ropes, and frog-jump up and down the stairs at home ten times...

Chapter 9: Flexibility

It wasn’t until the national team set off for Vancouver that Jack Bolton and the other provincial coaches finished their training and returned to the black soil of the Northeast.

Out of gratitude for the help from the The Quinn Family grandfather and grandson, Uncle didn’t even go home first. He personally brought a box of Beijing’s eight famous pastries to thank them.

After entering, he set down the gifts and looked around. “Ms. Miller, Dr. Quinn, where’s Emily? I bought a pair of sneakers for the kid.”

Ms. Miller replied gently, “Old Quinn couldn’t stand Paige Parker staying indoors all day, so he had Little Grace take him out to play.”

Jack Bolton: “Paige Parker?”