“Reporter?”

Cheng Boyan frowned. Xiang Xi was even mingling with reporters now?

Before he could ask Song Yi for details, his phone indicated an incoming call. He glanced at it—it was from the hospital—and quickly hung up on Song Yi.

Several car accident patients had arrived at the emergency room simultaneously. Two of them had severe leg injuries. The emergency doctors were overwhelmed, and Cheng Boyan had no time to think about Xiang Xi; he dashed out of the office.

Before reaching the emergency department hall, he was met with a chaotic cacophony of cries and shouts.

Some patients sat on chairs with bandages wrapped around their heads, while others in the resuscitation area were screaming from pain, their voices hoarse. The sound seemed so intense it could shatter the glass.

“Xiao Cheng ！This one needs immediate leg surgery!” someone called out to Cheng Boyan.

He saw the injured patient: a young girl, covered in blood, her left lower leg badly mangled, with bone fragments piercing the skin.

As he bent down to assess her injury, the girl asked in a trembling voice, “Doctor… you won’t have to amputate, right?”

“It won’t reach that extent. Don’t scare yourself,” Cheng Boyan patted her reassuringly. “Once the surgery is done, you’ll be fine.”

This was a drunk-driving accident combined with speeding—a four-car pileup that also injured pedestrians. The drunk driver died at the scene; the other victims were taken to their hospital.

Fortunately, the innocent victims weren’t too seriously injured, and there were no elderly or children among them.

The emergency hall was filled with patients and anxious relatives, and the doctors were so busy they hardly touched the ground.

Cheng Boyan worked non stop until almost dawn before finally getting a moment to rest. His legs and waist ached; he hadn’t noticed the fatigue earlier, but now he was exhausted.

When colleagues arrived for their shift, Cheng Boyan changed clothes and walked out of the hospital. The morning sunlight made his eyes ache, and he could hardly open them.

He looked at his phone, hesitated for a long time between going back to sleep or getting breakfast, and finally chose a compromise: he bought two loaves of bread from a nearby store.

He ate as he walked to the parking lot, finishing the bread just as he reached the car. Once inside, he drank a box of milk.

After eating these snacks, Cheng Boyan leaned back in his seat, stretched, and exhaled a long sigh.

At times like this, he especially envied Dr. Liu. After a shift, Liu would come home to breakfast prepared by his wife, and dinner waiting for him after work.

Cheng Boyan had lived alone for years, and even when at home, he rarely received such treatment. His parents were both doctors, and most of the time the house was left with clean pots and cold stove (NT: idiome meaning no food was prepared).

Plus, he had Cheng Boyu to take care of.

Cheng Boyan pinched the bridge of his nose and started the car. Ever since his parents retired, things had improved; he could occasionally eat at home. But for Cheng Boyu, that opportunity was gone forever.

Why dwell on these things?

Cheng Boyan took a deep breath and drove out of the parking lot.

At home, he took a shower and collapsed onto the bed, hugging a pillow. Within minutes, he was asleep, dreaming nothing, and didn’t wake until the afternoon.

Had his mother not called, he probably would have slept until night.

“Come have some food,” his mother said on the phone. “One of your dad’s old patients sent over some wild boar meat. Come try it.”

“I don’t want to move,” Cheng Boyan replied, lying on the sofa with his phone.

“It’s just a shift. Is that so hard?” his mother scorned his lethargy.

“There was a car accident in the emergency department last night; I was busy all night…” Cheng Boyan closed his eyes.

“So you slept all day?” his mother asked.

“Mm,” he responded.

“Slept all day and still not enough? Planning to sleep until your next shift?” she said. “This kind of passive rest is bad for your health…”

“I’ll come over in a bit,” Cheng Boyan said slowly, sitting up. “About an hour.”

“Good, your father and I will wait,” she said with a smile.

Though reluctant, Cheng Boyan changed clothes and drove over, buying a bottle of his father’s favourite beef sauce along the way.

This kind of thing was rarely eaten at home. As they got older, his mother paid more attention to nutritional balance, so his father rarely got to have it. Only occasionally would Cheng Boyan buy a bottle to let his father indulge.

When he entered the house, the aroma of food already filled the air. His father was still at the computer in the living room, typing. Seeing him come in, he immediately waved, “Perfect timing! Can you help me see how to place this image correctly?”

“He’s here to eat, not to work!” his mother said, carrying dishes out of the kitchen. “Honestly…”

“It’s just looking at an image; will only take a second,” his father smiled.

“Why not have your student do it?” Cheng Boyan asked, walking over. His father was adjusting something in a PowerPoint. Cheng Boyan helped straighten the misaligned image.

“This is done by a student. I don’t know where they clicked; I’ve never encountered this before,” his father said, saving the file. He stood and patted Cheng Boyan on the shoulder. “Come eat.”

“Bought your dad beef sauce again?” his mother noticed the bag Cheng Boyan had put on the table.

“Not again, this is the first bottle this year,” Cheng Boyan smiled, went to the guest room, and changed into a pair of sweatpants. “And I bought the smallest bottle.”

“Your dad had a heavy greasy meal at his mom’s yesterday,” his mother said, laughing. “His face was all twisted with delight. No beef sauce today.”

“When did your mom go to our hospital to have her cataract surgery?” Cheng Boyan sat at the table, serving soup to his parents. “She agreed before the New Year, but hasn’t gone yet. A few days ago, Director Li asked me about it.”

“I told her yesterday,” his father said, taking a sip of soup. “Half to scare her, half to coax her. When there’s a bed, just take her straight in—she didn’t know what to do.”

“Why scare her?” his mother looked at him. “It just brings out her stubbornness. If you force her, she won’t cooperate.”

“You’re less stubborn when older,” his father laughed. “See, I was stubborn when I was young. Now I’m much better. The most stubborn one in our family now is Boyan.”

“Me? Stubborn?” Cheng Boyan laughed. “I’m such an easygoing person.”

“Yes, you’re the most easygoing. All your stubbornness is just stuck in one place,” his mother said, pushing a plate of wild boar toward him. “Try this, you stubborn one.”

Cheng Boyan didn’t reply, just laughed and picked up a piece. He knew exactly what she meant.

Thinking about it, it couldn’t really be called stubbornness. Personality traits like this aren’t changed just because one wants to; he simply couldn’t help it.

“Boyan,” his father said after a few bites, looking at him, “have you been busy recently?”

“Not too much, same as usual,” Cheng Boyan said.

“Then why didn’t you come back for a bit? Only returned the day before your birthday,” his father asked. “Were you with friends?”

“Friends?” Cheng Boyan hesitated. “Not really… only met up twice…”

His father glanced at his mother, then back at him. “Your aunt called yesterday. She saw you with… a friend.”

“Where?” Cheng Boyan felt annoyed at hearing about his aunt. If she hadn’t noticed him, the whole extended family wouldn’t know about this. Though he didn’t care who knew, it was still irritating.

“She said at the noodle shop near the department store,” his mother added, somewhat scolding the aunt. “I don’t think you’d go that far just to eat noodles.”

Cheng Boyan had only eaten knife-cut noodles there once recently. He knew his aunt must have seen him with Xiang Xi.

“Yes, that was me,” Cheng Boyan admitted. “With a friend.”

Normally, he would only go eat with Lin He or Song Yi alone, especially on non-rest days. So when his mother heard “friend” instead of their names, she looked at him intently. “Friend?”

“Well…” Cheng Boyan hesitated. “The one you met at my place last time.”

“That child?” his mother was a bit surprised.

“Child?” his father was even more surprised. He probably hadn’t been told, so his eyes widened noticeably.

“Not really a child… 19,” Cheng Boyan mentioned.

Even though he had long explained his situation to his family, matters of the heart had never been clarified. Between school and work, his parents had little experience discussing relationships with him.

A few sentences in, the conversation stalled; neither knew how to continue.

“Nothing at all?” his mother asked. “Planning to have something?”

Cheng Boyan laughed. “How am I supposed to answer? How would I know?”

“Forget it. You figure it out yourself,” his mother said after a moment. “I still maintain: don’t fool around just because there’s no marriage constraint.”

“…I’m not that kind of person,” Cheng Boyan underlined helplessly.

“Also, one more thing,” his mother added. “Whether you listen is your choice. Doesn’t matter if it’s this person… anyway, suitability isn’t just about emotions. Other factors matter too. Love alone doesn’t guarantee a long-lasting relationship, though it is an important foundation…”

“Eat. Boyan isn’t a child. He knows his own mind,” his father sighed. “When I hear you lecturing on TV, you’re so unclear. I can’t tell what you’re trying to say.”

“If I gave him a nutrition lecture now, I’d be clear too,” his mother retorted. “Are these two even related?”

Cheng Boyan laughed. “Eat, the wild boar is getting cold.”

After dinner, he chatted with his parents for a while. They asked if he wanted to join them for a walk.

“I won’t. You two go ahead,” Cheng Boyan said. “I’ll rest for a bit and then go back. I have work tomorrow.”

“Lock the door for me,” his mother reminded him as they left.

Cheng Boyan grabbed the remote, flipped through channels, hugged a cushion, and kept thinking about his mother’s words.

What worried him wasn’t the advice, but his aunt. If she told anyone about him eating noodles with Xiang Xi, who knows what rumours would spread. Soon, the whole extended family would know…

He really wanted to grab her and give her a good scolding.

Cheng Boyan didn’t even realize when he fell asleep. When his mother woke him, he glanced at the clock—it was already ten.

“I said I’d wake you earlier, but your father couldn’t bear it,” she said, touching the indentation the cushion left on his face. “Hurry back now.”

“…Go back now? I’d be home by eleven,” Cheng Boyan leaned back on the sofa. “Not going.”

His room was still there. Strictly speaking, it was shared with Cheng Boyu. After moving out, his mother cleaned and organized daily but never touched the contents of this room.

Cheng Boyan opened the wardrobe, took out pyjamas. Everything was untouched. On one side, a few of Cheng Boyu’s athletic clothes were even still hanging.

After a shower, lying in bed, he felt a familiar yet indescribable sensation. Memories, faint as smoke, made him thoughtful.

His phone buzzed. It was a message from Xiang Xi: “Sleeping? Text me for a bit.”

Cheng Boyan was surprised at how well it was written—no mistakes. He smiled and replied. Progress was fast.

“Look at the characters I wrote.”

Along with the message came a photo: a notebook page filled with wobbly handwriting—“Cheng Boyan, Dr. Cheng.”

The first few lines were large and messy, spilling into the previous lines. By halfway, the writing improved. Cheng Boyan examined it carefully and laughed as he called Xiang Xi.

“Aren’t you texting?” Xiang Xi answered immediately.

“How did you learn to write my name? I didn’t go with my mom to the supermarket,” Cheng Boyan laughed. “I only went with Dad.”

“Darn, you take every advantage!” Xiang Xi shouted, then laughed. “I asked a student next door.”

“You even asked someone?” Cheng Boyan said.

“Yeah, I just wanted to practice my handwriting, at least to make my characters smaller. I remembered your name’s general appearance, but wondered how to write it (NT: He doesn't know the characters in a way that allows him to reproduce or describe them.). But it turned out, as soon as the student heard it, they wrote it down. ,” Xiang Xi said excitedly. “And taught me one sentence: ‘Music Boyan!’”

(NT: ‘Yīnyuè bó yǎn’ is a classical phrase, meaning "music is vast and boundless". The neighbour used this phrase as a mnemonic device because it contains the characters 博 (bó) and 衍 (yǎn) from Cheng Boyan's name)

Cheng Boyan was stunned. “That’s a sentence?”

“Half a sentence. I forgot the rest,” Xiang Xi laughed. “They wrote it down; I couldn’t read it. I’ll learn later.”

“That’s good progress. You’re learning fast.” Cheng Boyan praised him. Xiang Xi was smart; if he persisted, he would learn to recognize characters quickly.

“When I perfect my own name, I’ll sign it for you as a souvenir,” Xiang Xi said happily.

“Okay. How will you sign it?” Cheng Boyan asked.

“First, ‘Cleanliness is not a disease, but being clean to the extreme is deadly,’ then below, ‘Xiang Xi wrote.’” Xiang Xi laughed.

“You talk about your obsession with cleanliness endlessly,” Cheng Boyan imitated him. “If you saw real OCD, you’d understand.”

“Real OCD? What’s that?” Xiang Xi asked.

“My uncle,” Cheng Boyan replied. “Every day he cleans floor gaps with cotton swabs…”

“…Whoa!” Xiang Xi shouted, catching himself just in time from saying a curse.

“Change your mouth; it’s all curses and foul words. Can you even talk without swearing?” Cheng Boyan found it a bit funny.

“That’s already good. I’m working on it,” Xiang Xi clicked his tongue. “Before, when I talked to Mantou, if it went well, you had to pick out the main content of the sentence from the curse words, like picking beans.”

Cheng Boyan felt helpless, wanting to teach Xiang Xi but also wanting to laugh.

“I’ll work hard to improve,” Xiang Xi added.

“Keep it up,” Cheng Boyan encouraged him, trying to look serious while holding back a laugh.

He had wanted to ask Xiang Xi about that reporter, but Xiang Xi was happily chatting for ten minutes straight before saying goodnight, so Cheng Boyan never found the right moment.

For two consecutive days, Xiang Xi’s enthusiasm for learning stayed high. Every day he sent Cheng Boyan a photo of his notebook writing. Cheng Boyan, busy and tired on duty, didn’t have another chance to talk in detail.

Over the weekend, he called Song Yi and Lin He out for a meal, to thank Song Yi for taking care of Xiang Xi, and also to figure out what was going on.

“Three days already,” Song Yi said, holding up three fingers. “That guy arrives even earlier than my staff. His car is parked across the street with the window slightly open.”

“Why didn’t you go drag him out and beat him up?” Lin He asked.

“I thought about it,” Song Yi laughed. “But we didn’t know the situation clearly. I needed to coordinate with Boyan. Xiang Xi is sensitive. What if he really was just a friend?”

“You’ve become more steady these past two years. I barely recognize you,” Cheng Boyan said, giving him a thumbs-up.

“That’s enough,” Lin He said while eating.

“Even if it’s not enough, it’s none of your business,” Song Yi said, turning to Cheng Boyan. “Did you ask Xiang Xi about it?”

“No… didn’t find the chance,” Cheng Boyan sipped his tea.

“Huh?” Song Yi paused.

Lin He also looked at Cheng Boyan. “That’s not your style.”

“Exactly,” Song Yi said, flicking his cigarette away. “You must have thought about it. Even if you haven’t figured it all out, there’s a hint.”

“Is that the point?” Cheng Boyan smiled.

“Fine, the point is: what’s the reporter’s relationship with Xiang Xi? Is he trouble, right?” Song Yi asked.

“You’re assuming he’s a reporter?” Cheng Boyan looked at him.

“He had a camera,” Song Yi gestured. “Big, long. If I hadn’t seen clearly, I’d have thought he was going to blow up my store.”

“Camera?” Cheng Boyan suddenly looked up. “Why didn’t you say that before?”

“Too many details, can’t go one by one,” Song Yi said. “What? Do you know him?”

“Roughly.” Cheng Boyan frowned.

Not roughly.

Certain.

Hearing about someone with a camera, Cheng Boyan immediately matched the numbers—this was the photographer Xiang Xi had mentioned.

What was he doing?

Thinking of the photos from that person’s blog last time, a bad feeling rose in Cheng Boyan’s mind.

After the meal, Cheng Boyan went straight home, showered, and sat at his computer.

He couldn’t remember the photographer’s name, only the character “寅.”(NT: yín)

He stared at the computer for a while, thinking it might be “Tang Yin.” He clicked open the browser and scrolled through history one by one.

Cheng Boyan didn’t remember the exact day Xiang Xi had mentioned this person, only roughly, so he had to check each entry.

He remembered Xiang Xi’s comment: “You’re so young, yet your brain is already so scrambled…”

Indeed, these past few days had been busy enough to scramble his mind.

After ten minutes scrolling through history, his eyes blurred, marvelling at how many pages he had idly gone through before.

Finally, he found a blog link and clicked it.

Not Tang Yin—Fang Yin.

Fang Yin’s studio blog opened, first showing a black-and-white photograph.

30 Days
—The People We Don’t Know

The photo showed someone walking against the crowd on a crosswalk.

The composition was remarkable. The bustling crowd blurred, the white crosswalk clearly visible, with a strangely lonely atmosphere.

But when Cheng Boyan realized the dark, oppressive figure was Xiang Xi, he jumped up.

For some reason, he almost blurted out a curse.

He grabbed his phone from the desk.

He tapped Xiang Xi’s name but didn’t dial.

After standing for a moment, he put the phone back and sat down, opening what seemed to be a preview or excerpt of a themed photography project.

The theme appeared to be following people “with stories,” showing their “full-flavoured lives.”

The first time meeting “Xiao Z,” he lived in one of the most chaotic corners of a city, with no school, no work, a place to stay but no home.

Xiao Z said, “You’re just watching a show. You don’t know what kind of lives exist here, lives where people open their mouths but can’t even make a sound.”

The next time, it was at a roadside hiring bulletin.

“I asked if he was looking for work,” the blog quote read. “He said, ‘Just looking around.’”

The final sentence was under a photo of Xiang Xi standing in front of the bulletin, head tilted back.

Cheng Boyan stared at the photo and words for a while, then slammed the mouse onto the desk.

 

Translator : DarNan