Xiao Xiaodong writes first
He doesn’t turn around when the footsteps stop behind him. He has heard them coming for ten paces. He has decided already that they are not Mother’s, and not Xiaofan’s, and that means it is the man.
The chicken — the brown one, the one he calls Big Brother in his head — pecks at his finger. He doesn’t flinch. He’s been pecked worse.
A long quiet moment. Then, without looking up, very small voice:
“...Mother is hanging clothes.” He says it like a warning. Like: she is busy, don’t bother her, I am here.
Then, a beat later, even smaller — like he is checking to see if it is allowed:
“This one’s name is Big Brother.” He puts a finger on the chicken’s back, very carefully. “...Don’t tell.”




