Xiang Xi looked to be in good shape. While Cheng Boyan had been waiting across the street earlier, he could see Xiang Xi’s figure flitting past the glass window from time to time, walking as if with a little whirlwind at his feet.

“How’s it feel working here?” Cheng Boyan asked as he pulled the car forward.

“Great!” Xiang Xi snapped his fingers. “Hey, did you see me? I’ve got a uniform now!”

“I saw,” Cheng Boyan said with a smile. “Pretty bright.”

“Actually, it’s not really called a uniform, it should be called work clothes.” Xiang Xi chuckled. “Just feels kind of funny, like really official, you know? I’m telling you, I never thought in my whole life I’d be working in such a proper place.”

“Then you’d better do it well,” Cheng Boyan said, already thinking he should treat Song Yi and Lin He to dinner in a few days. “Tired?”

“Not really, it’s not tiring. The main thing is the environment—clean, tidy, warm in winter, cool in summer.” Xiang Xi leaned back in his seat, looking completely satisfied. “The coworkers are all nice too. Whenever I don’t understand something, they’ll teach me… coworkers, coworkers, coworkers…”

“What’s up?” Cheng Boyan glanced at him.

“Coworkers!” Xiang Xi laughed. “First time I’ve ever had coworkers. Feels fresh.”

“Is that so,” Cheng Boyan smiled. “Well, yeah, given your situation, before this you only ever had accomplices.”

“Mm.” Xiang Xi gave a grunt of agreement and then burst out laughing. “That’s savage.”

It was rush hour, and traffic was a bit congested. Cheng Boyan steered into a side road, planning to take the long way around. There were still plenty of cars on this road, but at least no traffic lights.

They hadn’t gone far when the car in front slowed down. Cheng Boyan tapped the brake lightly, about to continue forward when a person on a bike suddenly swerved left right in front of his car and toppled to the ground.

Cheng Boyan stomped on the brake hard.

The car wasn’t going fast, but that sudden stop still slammed Xiang Xi forward into his seatbelt, the strap biting so hard into his shoulder it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

“F*ck!” he yelled. “What’s wrong with this guy!”

Cheng Boyan said nothing, just sat in the driver’s seat staring at the person lying motionless on the ground ahead.

“Knocked out?” Xiang Xi unbuckled his belt. “Should we go check…”

Click. Cheng Boyan locked the doors. “Doesn’t he look familiar?”

“Huh?” Xiang Xi froze for a few seconds, then bounced on the seat. “Fuck! A scam, huh? Fuck… this son of a bitch really picked me?”

“Say fuck one more time and I’ll smack you,” Cheng Boyan shot him a look.

“I’m just excited,” Xiang Xi scratched his head. “First time someone’s tried a scam on me.”

The road was narrow, and with the man sprawled across it, Cheng Boyan couldn’t drive forward. Cars behind them started honking.

Xiang Xi was actually very familiar with this setup. Plenty of drivers, especially women, would panic at a moment like this. Add pressure from honking behind, and most would lose their cool. Then, when two or three shady-looking “passersby” appeared and started talking loudly, a lot of people would just hand over money.

But Cheng Boyan didn’t get out. He just locked the car doors and sat there still.

With a scam like this, if the victim had nerves of steel and refused to play along—especially if they had a dashcam—the faker would usually give up, stand up pretending to limp and curse, then leave.

But this guy was clearly new at it, and his buddies weren’t experienced either. Soon, two or three “passersby” gathered, squatting down and asking with feigned concern. The man on the ground shifted with a pained expression, sat up, and shouted a couple of things at the driver’s seat, though it wasn’t clear what.

“I’m getting out there to teach them a lesson!” Xiang Xi was fuming.

“What’s the rush? They’re the ones in a hurry,” Cheng Boyan said, reaching to flick on the headlights. “It’s not like we’ve got anything to do tonight.”

The scammer was right in front of the car. The headlights flared on, shining directly into his face. He squinted, shielding his eyes with his hand, then stood up.

The pained expression on his face instantly evaporated.

The “righteous” passersby grew indignant and came over to bang on Cheng Boyan’s window. Cheng Boyan didn’t even glance their way. Instead, he pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then held the screen up to the glass so they could see.

Reflected in the window, Xiang Xi saw the phone display flashing “011… dialing.” A moment later, it switched to “Call connected.”

“Hello, 110? Police?” Cheng Boyan raised the phone to his ear. “I’d like to report someone staging an accident scam…”

Xiang Xi immediately remembered the last time he’d crashed into Cheng Boyan’s car—how Cheng had swiftly locked himself inside and dialed 110 then too. Suddenly, he felt a weird kind of nervousness.

Outside, the scammer scrambled up and started cursing at them, then shoved the car and hurried toward the roadside.

The fake “passersby” began to scatter too. One who had been right by the driver’s side window turned to leave, but as he spun around, his hand twitched upward.

“Fuck!” Xiang Xi shouted. He knew exactly what was coming. “He’s gonna scratch the car!”

Cheng Boyan popped the lock and shoved the door wide open. The door slammed into the man, knocking him back. Xiang Xi leapt out, circling around the hood.

The guy bolted, legs pumping. Xiang Xi was about to give chase when Cheng Boyan called out from the driver’s seat: “Xiang Xi! Get back here!”

“You idiot! Don’t let me see you again!” Xiang Xi shouted at the man’s retreating back, unwilling but not chasing further.

The guy hadn’t managed to scratch the car. Xiang Xi checked over the surface—just a layer of dust, no scratches. He clicked his tongue. “Didn’t you say you’re a neat freak? There’s so much dust on this it’s basically a protective coat. You won’t even wash it?”

“I’m not a neat freak,” Cheng Boyan said. “Get in, you’re blocking traffic.”

Xiang Xi jogged back and hopped inside, buckling his belt. “That’s exactly like a crazy person saying they’re not crazy.”

“You wash a car, then drive for half an hour, and it’s dusty again.” Cheng Boyan turned off the headlights and pulled forward. “If I were really a neat freak, I’d have joined the ranks of green commuters long ago.”

Xiang Xi laughed. Once they were clear of the road, he let out a sigh. “Man… never thought I’d run into something like that.”

“You used to pull stunts like this all the time. Now you know how it feels for the other side?” Cheng Boyan chuckled.

“I didn’t actually do it that often… But yeah, when I did, I never once thought about what it felt like for the person in the car.” Xiang Xi laughed again and glanced at him. “You were pretty calm, though. Hey, did you really call 110? What if the cops show up and you’re gone?”

“I didn’t call,” Cheng Boyan said. “It was just an animation.”

“What?” Xiang Xi froze. “An animation?”

“Mm, it’s just a picture, meant to scare people. How could I bother 110 with something this small? They’re already so busy every day unlocking doors for people and helping them find directions.” Cheng Boyan chuckled.

“Unlocking doors and helping people find directions?” Xiang Xi didn’t understand.

“Lots of people call 110 for everything. Locked their keys inside the house, can’t find the way to an interview, their pet chicken ran away…” Cheng Boyan said.

Xiang Xi didn’t reply, leaning against the seat and gazing out the window.

“What’s wrong?” Cheng Boyan asked.

“Nothing.” Xiang Xi’s finger traced lightly against the car window. “I always thought they only handled the big things—if you got robbed, scammed, caught in a fight, or murdered, then you’d call 110… Over by Zhaojiayao, I don’t think anyone would ever call 110. If they saw the police, they’d avoid them if they could.”

Xiang Xi feared the police, faithfully following Uncle Ping’s teaching: for someone like you, without a proper ID and with a history of nothing good, the moment you get caught, you’re finished. Even if he’d done nothing wrong, if he saw the police, he’d always take a detour.

He had never known that people who lived with confidence and stability could call the police for such ordinary, trivial—even almost frivolous—reasons.

He felt a quiet, secret envy of the kind of happiness that such perhaps “inappropriate” reliance could bring.

“That time you locked me in the car and called, was it this same picture you used?” Xiang Xi asked.

“Didn’t have time to use it,” Cheng Boyan said. “I hadn’t even found the picture before you started yelling your head off—nonsense flying at me from all directions.”

“I’m used to it.” Xiang Xi chuckled sheepishly. “Back then you must’ve really hated me, huh?”

“Wouldn’t say hate. But I definitely didn’t like you.” Cheng Boyan smiled.

“I really am pretty lucky.” Xiang Xi stretched lazily. “I used to think luck was something finite—you get a set amount, and once it’s used up, that’s it. I thought I’d used mine up the day Uncle Ping picked me off the street alive. Didn’t expect I’d still have this much left. Don’t you think maybe Heaven miscounted?”

“Stop thinking about that. Whether Heaven miscounted or not, we’re already here—what’s there to take back?” Cheng Boyan turned on the car music. “The road’s ahead of you. If you keep looking back, you’re bound to trip.”

There were two bags of groceries in the back seat. Each of them carried one into the elevator.

“Did you just buy a week’s worth of food at once?” Xiang Xi felt how heavy the bag was. “Feels like you stuffed dynamite in here.”

“Not that much,” Cheng Boyan pressed the elevator button. “Today I bought milk, yogurt, that kind of stuff—heavy things.”

“I’m telling you, you should buy from the market. Supermarket prices are way higher,” Xiang Xi said.

“Dirty.” Cheng Boyan answered simply.

“Markets aren’t that dirty anymore. When I worked at the claypot rice place, I used to buy groceries for the boss—at the market right behind your hospital. Pretty clean, actually.” Xiang Xi stepped out of the elevator.

“Our definitions of clean are different.” Cheng Boyan pulled out his keys to open the door.

“True, you’re the type who’s about ready to drink disinfectant like it’s water.” Xiang Xi muttered behind him.

The door opened. Standing outside, Xiang Xi felt a wave of reassurance at the faintly familiar scent inside. It was just the lemony smell of Cheng Boyan’s hand sanitizer, but breathing it in, he felt safe—though he always found it annoying when he actually had to rub the stuff on his hands.

Cheng Boyan pulled slippers out of the shoe cabinet and tossed them in front of him. Xiang Xi glanced down: the same pair he’d worn before.

“I thought you’d have thrown these out.” Xiang Xi slipped them on, hung his coat in the closet by the door, and squirted some sanitizer onto his hands.

“No, I soaked them in disinfectant.” Cheng Boyan carried the groceries into the kitchen.

“Real blow to my self-esteem! I don’t even have athlete’s foot!” Xiang Xi shouted after him.

“I disinfect my own shoes once a week too,” Cheng Boyan called back. “That fragile little ego of yours—so easy to hurt if you’re not careful.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes today, so you’ll have to deal with it.” Xiang Xi grinned, following him into the kitchen. “What’re we making? I’ll help.”

“Claypot rice. I even bought the claypots.” Cheng Boyan glanced at him. “That outfit’s from yesterday’s drinking, right? Haven’t changed yet?”

“Told you, I only have that one formal outfit. Today was my first day at the supermarket, had to wear it.” Xiang Xi leaned against the wall, then suddenly realized what Cheng Boyan had said earlier. He pointed at the two claypots Cheng Boyan was pulling from the bag. “Wait—you really bought claypots?!”

“Mm. Isn’t claypot rice supposed to be made in claypots? I didn’t have any here.” Cheng Boyan washed his hands. “Wait a bit.”

Xiang Xi hadn’t expected Cheng Boyan to suddenly get the urge to cook claypot rice. Staring at the two pots on the counter, he didn’t even know what to say.

How do you make claypot rice, anyway?

How much water? How much rice?

What about the toppings?

When do you add the vegetables to steam?

Most importantly—who’s cooking?

Judging by Cheng Boyan’s tone, it seemed like he was supposed to do it?

Had those two lumps of charcoal he’d called fried eggs last time not destroyed Cheng Boyan’s faith in his cooking?

“Xiang Xi,” Cheng Boyan called from the living room. “Come here.”

“Oh.” Xiang Xi ran out and saw Cheng Boyan placing a stack of clothes on the sofa. He froze. “What’s this?”

“For you.” Cheng Boyan patted the clothes. “Just a few sets. My high school clothes. Swap them with your formal wear.”

“I…” Xiang Xi flipped through them: all in great condition—T-shirts, sweatpants, long pants, shorts, all made from good fabric. “This is too much. I feel bad.”

“Fake as hell.” Cheng Boyan smiled.

“Guess it is.” Xiang Xi laughed too, picking a set. “I’ll change into these now. Otherwise I’ll be too scared to even sit on your sofa.”

The clothes fit him surprisingly well. When he walked back into the kitchen, he said, “You were this skinny in high school?”

“Yeah, there was a time I was really thin.” Cheng Boyan nodded.

“When? During your growth spurt?” Xiang Xi asked.

“No, I finished growing in middle school. It was when my younger brother died. I couldn’t eat or sleep.” Cheng Boyan pulled lettuce from the bag and put it in the sink.

“…Oh.” Xiang Xi answered softly, not saying more. After a pause, he switched the subject. “Still kept your high school clothes, huh? Pretty frugal.”

“I had more. A lot of them were packed up and sent to the orphanage.” Cheng Boyan looked back at him. “So, with claypot rice—do you cook the rice first?”

“Yes.” Xiang Xi nodded.

“And then?” Cheng Boyan asked.

“Then… well, some people like to stir-fry the toppings first and put them on top, others just steam everything together—like with sausage or cured meat…” Xiang Xi replied.

“I want sausage.” Cheng Boyan took a pack of sausages from the fridge. “My mom brought these over, I haven’t eaten much of them.”

“Wait a second.” Xiang Xi looked at him. “Didn’t I hear this was you treating me to dinner?”

“Yeah, I bought the groceries, didn’t I? I even bought the pots.” Cheng Boyan looked back at him.

“This is how you treat someone to dinner?” Xiang Xi was half laughing.

“Then I’ll cook.” Cheng Boyan was straightforward. “You just say whether you’re eating or not.”

Xiang Xi opened his mouth but didn’t manage to say anything.

Back when he worked at the claypot rice shop, Xiang Xi had carefully watched the boss cook, but the rice there was always pre-soaked in water by ratio. When it was time, they just scooped the rice and water together straight into the pot.

Xiang Xi crouched in front of the kitchen’s rice bin with the two claypots, thinking for a long while. Finally, he measured by guesswork, grabbed a few handfuls of rice, rinsed it, added water by feel, and set both pots on the stove to cook.

While he was rinsing the rice, Cheng Boyan sliced up the sausages. Xiang Xi glanced over: “These sausages are homemade, right?”

“Mm. My aunt made them and gave them to my mom.” Cheng Boyan said. “You can tell?”

“Anyone could tell. Not a speck of fat in them. For a second I thought Director Xu made them.” Xiang Xi sighed. “Without fat, you don’t get the oil out, and the rice won’t be fragrant.”

“Then just add some oil yourself.” Cheng Boyan didn’t care much.

“How’s that the same flavour?” Xiang Xi said, but after thinking about it he waved it off. “Forget it, never mind. I’ll call it healthy living.”

“You won’t get healthy eating sausage. Processed stuff like this isn’t good for the body.” Cheng Boyan put the sliced sausage into a plate. “Especially the kind sold on the street—the nitrites…”

“You go out first.” Xiang Xi shoved him with his elbow. “Thanks.”

Cheng Boyan went back to the living room, sat on the sofa watching TV, listening to Xiang Xi clattering around in the kitchen. Several times he wanted to get up and check what exactly he was doing, but he resisted.

After a while, his phone rang. He picked it up and saw it was Song Yi.

“Have you eaten yet?” The moment the call connected, Song Yi asked.

“No, are you treating me?” Cheng Boyan smiled.

“Nope. Just asking in passing, don’t take it seriously.” Song Yi said.

“After I finish this next shift, I’ll treat you and Lin He to dinner.” Cheng Boyan glanced at the little desk calendar on the coffee table. “As a thank-you.”

“For Xiang Xi’s matter? What’s there to thank me for? It’s not someone else’s supermarket. Assigning someone to my own supermarket is no trouble.” Song Yi sounded casual.

“How’s he doing today?” Cheng Boyan asked.

“Pretty good. Sharp, quick on the uptake, and not afraid to ask questions when he doesn’t understand.” Song Yi said. “I was actually wondering, once he gets familiar, should I consider giving him a promotion?”

Cheng Boyan glanced toward the kitchen, then got up and walked into the bedroom. “You’re asking me?”

“If it were anyone else, of course I wouldn’t. But you’re the one who introduced him. This is the first time I’ve ever seen you ask someone for a favour, so I take it seriously.” Song Yi chuckled.

“No need to treat him specially. Just do what you’d normally do.” Cheng Boyan thought for a moment, then added, “He never went to school. Don’t assign him anything too complicated for now.”

“Got it.” Song Yi agreed. After a pause, he asked again: “So, Boyan… this kid really was your patient?”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Cheng Boyan sat down on the windowsill.

“I’m not trying to say anything. Just gossiping.” Song Yi laughed. “I’m home alone right now, too bored.”

“He really was my patient before,” Cheng Boyan said. “I did his surgery.”

“And afterward?” Song Yi pressed.

“There wasn’t any ‘afterward.’” Cheng Boyan leaned back against the window ledge, stretching his legs out. “I know what you’re hinting at, but I can’t answer that.”

“Why not? Keeping secrets from me?” Song Yi clicked his tongue.

“No reason. I don’t even know myself.” Cheng Boyan was telling the truth—he really didn’t know.

After chatting idly a bit longer, Cheng Boyan hung up. He stayed leaning by the window, not moving, listening to Xiang Xi rattling away in the kitchen, unable to describe what he was feeling.

The Xiang Xi now, to him, was certainly no longer that trash-talking street punk full of cheap magazine-style sob stories; not the gravely injured patient begging “save me”; and strictly speaking, not even someone who stirred up his guilt about Cheng Boyu.

But he was also still far from what Song Yi was insinuating.

From the moment Cheng Boyan understood his own orientation, he had always been clear-headed and rational about emotions. He wasn’t the impulsive or sentimental type.

He had never thought Xiang Xi was a true thug. After spending so much time with him, he saw many qualities that surprised him and even made his heart ache a little. But every time he reached out a hand—except for that one time in the parking lot—it was a considered decision. Xiang Xi was worth the effort, so he helped, again and again.

As for anything beyond that… he hadn’t even thought about whether this good-looking, good-natured person was his “type.”

Cheng Boyan frowned. Summing it up like that didn’t sound quite right either. To put it that way—he was making himself sound too noble, so selfless it was almost embarrassing.

He sighed, and suddenly remembered Xiang Xi’s question: Why?

Why? This question was becoming harder and harder for him to answer.

But why…

“Why!” Xiang Xi’s clear, sharp voice startled him so much he nearly slipped off the windowsill.

Why? Probably because it had been bottled up for too long?

He scrambled together some messy, half-random answer in his head.

“What do you mean, why?” Cheng Boyan stood up, looking at Xiang Xi standing in the bedroom doorway.

“What do you mean, what do I mean, why?” Xiang Xi was stunned.

“Weren’t you asking me why?” Cheng Boyan was stunned too.

“Who was asking you why… I was asking about MSG. Last time I forgot to ask because we got sidetracked. Just now I looked everywhere and couldn’t find any.” Xiang Xi said.

“I don’t eat MSG.” Cheng Boyan plopped back down on the windowsill.

What on earth…

 

Translator : DarNan