Zhan Hongtu's words carried a mix of helplessness and a faint sadness. Cheng Boyan's outstretched his hand to examine his injury, and hesitated mid-air.

"Really?" Cheng looked up at Zhan Hongtu. "What’s wrong with your dad?"

Zhan lowered his head and, after a pause, softly said, “There’s a tumor in his stomach.”

“In his stomach?” Cheng, out of habit, probed further. “Where exactly?”

“It’s... it’s at the beginning of…” Zhan averted his gaze and pinched the bridge of his nose, “in the stomach.”

“The stomach, huh?” Cheng studied him. “How long has it been? Have you had it tested? Malignant?”

Xiang Xi felt like losing his mind. Lying effortlessly was second nature to him, but claiming his father had a tumor in front of a doctor was akin to digging his own grave—and jumping in to bury himself.

He didn’t even know if tumors could grow in the stomach, yet the words had slipped out.

How big was a stomach anyway? Big enough to grow a tumor?

Judging by Cheng’s reaction, it seemed plausible. But as for how long it had been, or whether it had been tested, or if it was malignant, he had no clue what to say.

“Well… quite a while,” he said, looking out the window. “Malignant… uh, very malignant.”

“Then…” Cheng looked like he was about to keep asking.

“Dr. Cheng, brother,” Xiang Xi gritted his teeth. “My… leg hurts.”

“You’ve let this injury drag on for too long,” Cheng finally refocused on his leg. “We need to do a detailed check to see if there’s any displacement. How did you get hurt?”

“I was… kicked by a debt collector. Owed a lot of money. Otherwise, why would I be out on the street doing this?” Xiang Xi said. “Can’t you just wrap it up for me?”

“We need to check first. Like I said before, this isn’t a minor fracture, and you’ve delayed it for days,” Cheng frowned as he sat back at his desk and began filling out a form. “If the situation isn’t good, you might need hospitalization for surgery… Name and age?”

“Zhan Hongtu, 18… Hospitalization?” Xiang Xi froze and exclaimed, “I can’t be hospitalized!”

There was no way Uncle Ping would let him be hospitalized. If he ended up in the hospital, Uncle Ping would likely send someone to drag him out. Back when Mantou’s leg was injured, he wasn’t even allowed to go to the hospital—it had healed on its own, albeit crooked.

“Why not?” Cheng handed him the form. “Take this and pay for the examination. Don’t run off again.”

“I can’t stay in the hospital,” Xiang Xi said with a pained expression. “I need to… take care of my dad.”

“We’re not sure yet if hospitalization is necessary. Let’s assess the situation first,” Cheng said, eyeing him. “Did anyone come with you?”

“No,” Xiang Xi grabbed the form and hopped to the door. “I’ve gotten used to hopping around.”

Watching Zhan Hongtu’s slightly emaciated figure disappear through the doorway, Cheng sighed.

So he was just a kid forced into extortion to make money?

That pitiful tone and gaze, coupled with that soft “brother”… they stirred an old, familiar feeling in Cheng.

Rubbing his temples, he shook his head as a new patient entered, pulling him back to the present.

Zhan Hongtu’s condition turned out to be not too bad, with no need for surgery. But when Cheng suggested a two-day hospital observation, Zhan rejected the idea outright.

“Just wrap it up for me,” he said, sitting in the chair with his head down. “I’ll be careful.”

“If you really don’t want to, fine. But you need to be cautious at home,” Cheng said as he fixed his leg. “Avoid activity. Don’t put weight on this leg. Ideally, keep it elevated…”

“Alright!” Zhan abruptly interrupted with irritation. “Got it, got it! Just say I’ll be bedridden, okay? I won’t move.”

The expression on his face was suddenly identical to when Cheng had seen him extorting someone on the street—a mix of impatience and the hardened attitude of someone who’d been in the game too long.

“You think I’m just nagging for fun?” Cheng dropped the trace of sympathy he’d felt and finished listing the precautions. “If I don’t make this clear, and you’re back out there with a cast hustling again, you’ll end up coming back to say, ‘Doc, why’s my leg crooked?’ Whose fault would that be, yours or mine?”

"I won't come back again, don't worry," Zhan Hongtu clicked his tongue. "You think this is some wonderful place or something?"

"You'll need to come back to have the cast removed and the fracture line checked before you can say goodbye to this less-than-wonderful place," Cheng Boyan glanced at him. "And that's only if your fracture heals wonderfully enough."

*

Whether Zhan Hongtu’s leg was healing "wonderfully," Cheng didn’t know. If he remembered correctly, the time for removing the cast had already passed, but Zhan hadn’t returned.

With two days left until the New Year, the streets were awash in red decorations, accompanied by the perennial overplayed New Year song, I Wish You Prosperity, blasting everywhere. (NT: popular Chinese New Year tune, often played during the Lunar New Year celebrations. One of the most famous versions of this song is performed by Hong Kong singer Andy Lau (刘德华) )

To avoid being stuck in an endless mental loop of the song, Cheng hummed the national anthem to himself as he left the supermarket. Yet as soon as he got into his car and turned on the radio, the song greeted him again, perfectly in sync with where it had left off in the supermarket:

"Oh, politeness costs nothing, I wish every girl in the world finds a good guy..."

Cheng reflexively hummed along before quickly switching stations, only to realize it was too late. The tune had lodged itself firmly in his mind, unstoppable now.

Today, he had plans to visit his grandmother. His car was filled with items his mom had bought for him to deliver. Every year, they spent the New Year at his grandmother's place, where a tug-of-war over "nutritious" versus "delicious" New Year goodies would last well into the first month of the year. He was merely the designated delivery driver in this family encounter.

Halfway there, his grandmother called, asking when he’d arrive. "Have you eaten dinner yet? Should I make something extra for you? Are you still just eating beans every day?"

"Don’t bother cooking anything; I had some meat today,” Cheng replied with a laugh. “I’ll be there soon—I just left the supermarket."

He hung up, took off his earphones, and tossed them aside. At that moment, a figure darted out from the roadside. Before Cheng could react, the person was directly in front of his car.

Cheng slammed the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt barely 20 centimeters from the figure.

“Look before you cross the street!” Cheng shouted as he rolled down the window. “What if I’d hit you?”

Though the person seemed startled, raising an arm instinctively to shield themselves, they were still standing. Relieved, Cheng waited for them to move so he could continue on his way.

But then, unexpectedly, the person collapsed to the ground.

For three whole seconds, Cheng was too stunned to react.

First, he was certain his car hadn’t touched them. It was impossible they’d fallen due to being hit. Second, judging by their posture, this wasn’t someone fainting from shock—they were peeking up at his headlights while lying on the ground.

So…

A scam? Seriously?

Never in his life did he think he’d experience being targeted by a scam like this.

“Go on, keep it up,” Cheng remarked dryly, pressing the save button on his dashcam to lock the recording.

No sooner had he spoken than the person sat up, shielding their face from the headlights as they peered into the driver’s seat. “Hey, your voice sounds familiar…”

“You…” Cheng squinted at their face, almost biting his tongue in disbelief. “Zhan Hongtu?”

Xiang Xi was having a terrible day. After wandering around without finding anything worthwhile, he’d stumbled straight into his mortal enemy—not his personal enemy, but his Uncle Ping’s.

By Xiang’s standards, Uncle Ping wasn’t particularly successful. He was just a petty gangster who’d barely escaped poverty. If nothing went catastrophically wrong, Ping would likely spend the rest of his life drinking tea, playing cards, collecting rent, and bossing around his equally usseless underlings.

Even individuals like Ping, whose influence was limited, still had enemies—after all, regardless of success or failure, living a life "on the edge" inevitably creates conflicts.

For someone like Xiang Xi, who grew up under Ping's wing, his face was as familiar to Ping's enemies as Ping's own. With the New Year around the corner, Xiang Xi had just been chased through three streets by men wielding sticks. Only two minutes earlier, he’d managed to shake them off and arrived at the spot where he was supposed to meet Mantou and Da Jian. But, of course, the two were late for their 9 p.m. meetup.

Still, this wasn’t neutral territory; the pursuers were unlikely to give up easily. To avoid being cornered before his friends arrived, Xiang Xi decided to find a car to fake an accident with—anything to create confusion and buy himself some time.

What he didn’t anticipate was that the car he’d chosen belonged to Cheng Boyan.

As Xiang Xi scrambled up from the ground, he gave Cheng an embarrassed smile, seeing the shocked look on his face. “What are the odds, Dr. Cheng? It’s you!”

“Yep, it’s me,” Cheng replied, stepping out of the car to eye him up and down. “What’s this? Do I get an 80% discount for knowing you? Are you a professional at this?”

“I… I just…” Xiang Xi sniffled, rubbing his nose awkwardly before sneezing onto the pavement. “I’m just trying to help my dad…”

“Does he know you do this?” Cheng opened the car door. “Get in.”

“No way he could know—how embarrassing would that be?” Xiang Xi muttered as he got in. He truly found such schemes disgraceful. Although the things he normally did weren’t much better, throwing tantrums and rolling around on the ground felt too low. “Why am I getting in?”

“To take you home,” Cheng said. “Aren’t you cold?”

Xiang Xi glanced at him, taken aback by Cheng’s unexpected kindness. Still, there was no way he could actually let Cheng take him home—just hearing the name of his area, Zhao Jiayao, would be enough to give him away. Nonetheless, he climbed into the car, figuring it’d be safer for now, and he could find an excuse to leave later.

The moment he got in, however, Cheng slammed the car door behind him and locked it with a decisive click.

“What’s this for?” Xiang Xi asked, startled, as he leaned against the window.

“Take a guess,” Cheng said calmly, leaning against the car and pulling out his phone.

“Dr. Cheng, wait…” Xiang Xi quickly realized what Cheng was planning and began to panic. Slapping the window, he pleaded, “Dr. Cheng! Bro! Cheng Bro! Big Brother Cheng! Uncle Cheng! What are you doing?”

“Do you think your dad would be proud to see you like this? Eighteen years old, perfectly healthy, not disabled or dumb,” Cheng replied, punching something into his phone. “You actually look pretty smart.”

“Thanks, uh… uncle—no, bro,” Xiang Xi smiled sycophantically, slapping the window harder. “Please, let me off just this once. If you call the cops, I’ll get arrested! What about my dad? Who’ll bring him his meals?”

“Let your mom do it,” Cheng replied.

“I don’t have a mom!” Xiang Xi shouted desperately.

Cheng’s hand paused mid-action, and he turned to look at him, silent.

“I’ve never met her! I don’t know where she went!” Xiang Xi shouted again, biting his lip as his voice dropped. “She’s probably long gone.”

Cheng remained quiet, his phone forgotten, as he stared at him thoughtfully.

“Listen, I’ll level with you,” Xiang Xi said, sensing his chance. “I wasn’t planning on running into you today. I was being chased—by debt collectors, four or five guys. If I didn’t think of something fast, they would’ve beaten me half to death…” He glanced towards the street corner, then suddenly jumped in his seat, pointing frantically. “There! It’s them! Look—they’re here!”

Cheng frowned and followed Xiang Xi’s gaze. Sure enough, four men were loitering at the intersection, two of them holding stick-like objects.

“I wasn’t lying!” Xiang Xi flopped onto the back seat, panicked. “Bro, I’ve got no other options.”

Before he could say more, his phone buzzed. A glance at the screen showed it was Mantou.

“Don’t come over,” he immediately told his friend after picking up. “Stay at the East Lin Supermarket. I’ll meet you there. Yeah, I ran into donkey-face… No, it’s fine… I’ll find you guys in a bit.”

Cheng Boyan found Zhan Hongtu's behavior rather contradictory. The tone he used while talking to him earlier was entirely different from the one he was using on the phone now—it was as if he had become a completely different person.

“Is your friend coming over?” Cheng asked.

“I told them not to. If they come, we’d all end up caught in one go,” Zhan replied, still lying across the backseat. “Brother, Dr. Cheng, I’ll stay here for a bit and leave when they’re gone.”

Cheng adjusted his collar as the wind outside grew fiercer. Climbing back into the car, he started the engine. “Where’s the East Lin Supermarket?”

“It’s back where you came from, ten minutes away, on the south side of the road. They’ve got great rice dumplings there,” Zhan said, sitting up as the car started moving. “Let me treat you to some.”

“No need, save your money,” Cheng replied, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. “That leg of yours—just had the cast removed, didn’t it? Run like this again, and you’ll be back in the hospital in no time.”

Zhan chuckled awkwardly and didn’t respond.

The East Lin Supermarket turned out to be a tiny shop squeezed between other storefronts. Cheng realized he’d driven past it countless times on his way to visit his grandmother without ever noticing it.

Zhan got out of the car and gave a bow before closing the door. “Thanks, Brother.”

Cheng didn’t reply, simply sighed and waved.

By the entrance of the supermarket, two people were waiting. As soon as they spotted Zhan stepping out of the car, one of them limped hurriedly toward him. Zhan and his companions were the typical image of aimless youths from a chaotic part of the city—individuals Cheng wouldn’t usually spare a second glance at.

Turning his car around, Cheng headed toward his grandmother’s place. He turned on some music and raised the volume, drowning out his thoughts. His father had always been worried about Grandma living here alone, constantly trying to convince her to move to a house in the central district. But she refused, saying she had lived here her entire life and that moving would only hasten her demise. Luckily, Cheng’s uncle lived just next door, providing some reassurance.

When Cheng arrived at the building, he navigated through a chaotic cluster of vehicles—ranging from large cars and small cars to three-wheeled electric carts—crammed together in a bustling area. The chaotic parking area gave him the usual uneasy feeling that his car might be damaged by the time he came back. Once inside, the smell of fried chicken greeted him—despite his earlier insistence that no more food was needed, Grandma had prepared some anyway.

“Didn’t I tell you not to cook anything? I’ve already eaten,” Cheng said, placing the large assortment of New Year’s goods his grand-mother had sent on the table.

“How could I not cook for my precious grandson?” Grandma retorted, smiling as Cheng’s aunt leaned against the kitchen door. “Little Yu’s been asking for fried chicken for days, and I haven’t made any.”

“Exactly! I didn’t even get any! Grandma plays favorites!” A fat child burst out of the inner room, and Cheng’s mood immediately soured. He ducked into the kitchen to avoid him.

Cheng Xuanyu, his uncle’s grandson, was on winter break and practically lived at Grandma’s house now. Only in second grade, he had already grown chubby and seemed entirely consumed by thoughts of eating and playing. Just looking at him made Cheng want to smack him, so he made a point of staying out of his way.

“Don’t cook too much,” Cheng said to Grandma as she happily fried chicken legs. “I ate a big dinner and still feel full.”

“Full from those bland meals your mom makes you?” Grandma tutted in disbelief. “You’re so easy to feed.”

“I made sweet and sour ribs myself today,” Cheng said with a laugh.

“Bet they were awful,” Grandma shot him a glance.

“…Yes, terrible,” Cheng admitted with a nod.

“Who puts no salt in sweet and sour ribs? What’s with this five-grams-of-salt-a-day nonsense?” Grandma shook her head. “Eat some chicken to make up for it. I didn’t use salt.”

“Half a bottle of soy sauce isn’t salty?” Cheng Boyan laughed.

“Are you eating or not?” Grandma snapped.

“Eating, eating!” Cheng Boyan relented.

“I want some too!” Xuanyu barged into the kitchen and slapped Cheng Boyan on the leg. “Don’t take my chicken!”

Cheng Boyan grabbed the boy’s wrist, flipping it over to examine his hand—black, white, and yellow smudges of grime clung to his fingers. Cheng grimaced with a mix of irritation and disgust. “Were you playing with poop or something?”

“Watch your words, Boyan!” his aunt said from the doorway with some dissatisfaction.

“Go wash your hands!” Cheng Boyan dragged Xuanyu to the sink despite his protests.

“I don’t wanna!” Xuanyu yelled, struggling to break free.

Cheng Boyan held the boy firmly by his collar, unmoving. No matter how much the kid squirmed, Cheng kept him in place. When his struggles failed, Xuanyu squeezed his eyes shut and began to wail, “I won’t wash, I won’t wash! No, no, no, no, no!”

“Keep shouting,” Cheng said, lifting the boy effortlessly and slinging him over the sink like a sack of potatoes. If it weren’t for the fact that his grandma was right there, Cheng would’ve dunked him straight into the sink. The outdated kitchen’s basin was plenty big enough to fit the kid.

“Just wash your hands already! Are you begging to be scolded?” Cheng’s aunt finally snapped, unable to bear the racket. She turned on the faucet, grabbed Xuanyu’s hands, and started scrubbing them herself. “You think your Uncle Boyan won’t scold you? You’ve been yelled at by him plenty of times before. Haven’t learned a thing?”

“I’ve never hit him,” Cheng Boyan said, stepping aside to grab a plate for the fried chicken.

“Well, you’ve sure yelled at him plenty,” his aunt retorted with a frown. “Boyan, with your temper, what are you going to do when you have kids of your own? Beat them?”

Cheng Boyan just chuckled and didn’t reply.

“He’s not having kids! Who said he’s having kids?” Grandma shot his aunt a sharp look.

The aunt quickly dragged ChengXuanyu off to the living room with some embarrassment. .

“Do you have any plans for the New Year?” Grandma asked as she began arranging the fried chicken on the plate.

“What plans?” Cheng Boyan looked up, momentarily confused. He poured himself a glass of water from the kettle. “I’ll be on call?”

“You’re just like your dad, always thinking about the hospital when someone asks you a question!” Grandma shot him a look. “I mean, do you have New Year plans? You’re almost thirty. Even if it’s... a boyfriend, shouldn’t you bring someone home already?”

Cheng Boyan choked on his water, coughing as he sputtered, “Why are you still worried about that?”

 

Translator : DarNan