When Cheng Boyan called Fang Yin, he only intended to chat casually, to hear Fang Yin’s thoughts, and to try to guess how Xiang Xi viewed the matter through Fang Yin’s perspective.

So when Fang Yin suggested meeting in person, Cheng Boyan hesitated a little.

Xiang Xi didn’t want him to know about this, and he had no intention of imposing interference—he only wanted to protect Xiang Xi within his own limits. If he met Fang Yin and Xiang Xi found out, he would be in a very passive position.

“I know you have an opinion about me,” Fang Yin said, “so some things are better expressed face-to-face.”

“I don’t have an opinion about you,” Cheng Boyan corrected him, “I only have an opinion about what you do, and it’s simply because our positions differ.”

“I really want to hear it,” Fang Yin said sincerely, “I hope to hear a different voice.”

“My voice might not be very pleasant,” Cheng Boyan underlined.

“That’s fine, Dr. Cheng,” Fang Yin said, “I’m still outside; you name a place, and we can meet to talk. This photo series is also very important to me.”

Cheng Boyan glanced at the time and let out a soft sigh.

He arranged to meet Fang Yin at a teahouse outside the residential area; Cheng Boyan really didn’t want to drive out again. He had originally planned to finish the phone conversation with Fang Yin and then go to sleep.

Fang Yin arrived quickly; Cheng Boyan had only been in the teahouse a few minutes when he came in carrying his large photography bag.

“Thank you for coming out,” Fang Yin said as he sat down in front of him.

“Still running around outside?” Cheng Boyan asked, requesting a snack from the server, “Have some late-night food.”

“I had a subject working overtime today, so I went,” Fang Yin smiled, “my job doesn’t have fixed hours; sometimes I don’t leave the house for two days, sometimes I’m out for two days without returning.”

Cheng Boyan smiled but said nothing.

“Xiao Zhan mentioned he has a friend—he didn’t say much, but he cares about this friend a lot. I think that friend must be you,” Fang Yin said. “You have a big influence on him, which is why I insisted on meeting you in person.”

“Really?” Cheng Boyan looked at him.

“Let’s talk directly. This project I’m doing aims to focus on a few people that ordinary people rarely interact with or understand, to show their life trajectories,” Fang Yin sipped his tea, “Xiao Zhan is really suitable; he has something touching about him.”

“The dark and struggling past, huh?” Cheng Boyan said.

“…You could put it that way. His life, his thoughts,” Fang Yin became a little excited, “are things we usually can’t imagine… Xiao Zhan is very representative, and he has many stories…”

“Mm,” Cheng Boyan nodded. “Mr. Fang, maybe you want one person to represent this group, maybe he’s suitable—but you shouldn’t choose him.”

Fang Yin looked at him without speaking, then smiled after a while: “Why not?”

“What you want are the dark pasts he carries, his helplessness and despair when facing those things,” Cheng Boyan said calmly, slowly organizing his thoughts, “these things can easily evoke reactions—sympathy, surprise…”

“Besides that, maybe it could help,” Fang Yin quickly said, “so many people see it, know about it, are moved, maybe someone will extend a hand; not just Xiao Zhan, but others too.”

“Sacrifice one to benefit millions?” Cheng Boyan laughed. “Do you think he has that kind of sentiment? You don’t have the right to demand he feels that way.”

“Maybe he’s willing?” Fang Yin looked at him.

“So, have you told him this?” Cheng Boyan asked, looking at him. “Have you shown him the photos you took and the text you wrote? Those comments underneath the photos—sympathy, curiosity, confusion, even contempt and insults—did you tell him about them?”

Fang Yin was silent for a while and sighed: “I intended to show him after I finished.”

“As the subject of these photos, what is being displayed is his life and his thoughts. Why shouldn’t he know during the process?” Cheng Boyan smiled. “Mr. Fang, you don’t completely misunderstand him; you know how he would react if he knew he was being dissected for public display. You can’t be sure this won’t hurt him.”

“Maybe,” Fang Yin considered, “but this is just hypothetical. Overall, this project is a collaboration between me and Xiao Zhan, and it’s meaningful. This difficult life, overlooked by so many, needs someone to make people aware—so they know that in the corners we can’t see, there are people living lives that aren’t easy…”

“If I were an outsider,” Cheng Boyan turned his cup, “maybe I would think what you’re doing is meaningful, maybe I’d even be glad there’s a recorder like you…”

He looked Fang Yin in the eyes: “But unfortunately, I know him. He’s someone close to me, a living, real person. I watch his every effort, his striving to rise, to move forward, and you only want to show the past he’s been trying to discard. So I can only selfishly feel that what you’re doing is unfair.”

“Dr. Cheng,” Fang Yin furrowed his brow, “what you’re saying… actually no one can be certain that this matter has no help or benefit at all for Xiao Zhan.”

“For example? Do you know what he really wants?” Cheng Boyan asked.

“No one can say they know,” Fang Yin said. “Do you know?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not sympathy or help, but a little bit of affirmation,” Cheng Boyan smiled, “but I’ll ask him, at least let him know what he has to face. Not just show the states that you want to express and that happen to match him. He’s a thinking person, not a simple symbol for expression.”

“Dr. Cheng,” Fang Yin slowly sipped his tea, “it’s a good thing Xiao Zhan has a friend like you.”

“That’s what I hope,” Cheng Boyan said. “He deserves me being that kind of friend. He’s been changing—slowly, with difficulty—but… actually, in this state, he no longer fits the theme you want to express. He isn’t stuck in one place; despair and helplessness are no longer his main states.”

“So… Dr. Cheng, you hope I stop photographing him?” Fang Yin asked.

“No. I respect his decision after he fully understands his situation,” Cheng Boyan lightly tapped his cup. “I’m not denying the significance of your photos. In the past, when I saw such things, I only felt powerless and heavy-hearted. I could only help those within my reach. Now he is within that range—I’m willing to help him, and naturally, I worry you might unintentionally hurt him.”

“I understand your meaning,” Fang Yin nodded. “I have no ill intentions, and I didn’t deliberately want to cause him trouble.”

“Mm, so I’m not discussing right or wrong with you,” Cheng Boyan paused, “what we’re talking about today is just viewpoints.”

When leaving the teahouse, Cheng Boyan cleared his throat; it had been too long since he’d spoken so much at once, and his throat felt dry and hoarse.

When the server first came to pour tea, her hand touched the rim of the cup. Cheng Boyan observed her—she had been walking around, moving chairs, wiping tables, and hadn’t washed her hands, so he didn’t drink a drop of tea. Now he was extremely thirsty.

Fang Yin, on the other hand, enjoyed his snack and shook Cheng Boyan’s hand before leaving.

When Cheng Boyan got home, he hadn’t even changed his clothes before hearing his phone ring. He patted himself and realized he hadn’t brought his phone. He hurriedly pulled up his pants and ran out, worried he might miss an urgent call from the hospital.

The phone showed Xiang Xi calling.

“Why aren’t you resting?” Cheng Boyan asked immediately, glancing at the time—it was late.

“Why didn’t you answer?” Xiang Xi’s voice sounded sluggish and lazy. “This is the fourth time I’ve called.”

“I just went out and didn’t have my phone,” Cheng Boyan said, grabbed a cup, and drank a gulp of water. “How do you feel now?”

“Oy, you went to Africa or what? I can even hear this water drinking,” Xiang Xi clicked his tongue. “Doesn’t fit your usual elegant image at all.”

“I’m asking you,” Cheng Boyan put down the cup; his throat finally felt a bit better.

“A bit dizzy, want to vomit, luckily I haven’t eaten anything,” Xiang Xi said. “But now I feel a little better; I just can’t sleep.”

“You slept for half a day before I left,” Cheng Boyan smiled. “Want to chat?”

“No chat, I want to sleep,” Xiang Xi whispered a small laugh. “How long should I lie flat?”

“Eight hours. Just sleep until tomorrow morning,” Cheng Boyan said.

“It’s uncomfortable without a pillow; I feel like my brain is congested,” Xiang Xi sighed. “I’ll count sheep in a bit.”

“Do you have to recount if you miscount halfway?” Cheng Boyan smiled. “Slow down your breathing.”

“How to slow it down?” Xiang Xi was silent, probably trying. After a while, he clicked his tongue. “I’m suffocating…”

“Try following my lead,” Cheng Boyan whispered. “Inhale… one… two… three… four… hold… one… two… three… four… exhale… one… two… three…”

Xiang Xi didn’t speak again; Cheng Boyan could hear his breathing trying to match the rhythm. At first, a few breaths weren’t quite right and were a bit noisy.

Cheng Boyan stifled a laugh and kept counting slowly. After a few minutes, Xiang Xi was silent.

“Xiang Xi?” Cheng Boyan whispered. “Hello?”

He probably fell asleep. Cheng Boyan listened a while longer, and thinking of how Xiang Xi had claimed he couldn’t sleep, he chuckled and hung up.

When Xiang Xi woke up in the morning, he felt somewhat helpless. The dizzy, nauseous feeling from yesterday had mostly disappeared, replaced by pain from the wound on his leg.

When the nurse came to give him an IV, he patted the bed: “Sister, how long will this wound hurt?”

“Does it hurt much?” the nurse asked.

“Quite a bit…” Xiang Xi frowned. “I woke up in the morning from the pain.”

“Endure it a bit. If it’s unbearable, tell Dr. Cheng, take medicine or get an injection for the pain,” the nurse said. “But better not to, it’s not good for wound healing.”

“Oh,” Xiang Xi sighed, “I’ll endure it for now.”

After the nurse left, he stared at the ceiling. He could endure the leg pain; the first few days in the hospital were even more painful and numb than now, and he had managed.

For some reason, this time he seemed more sensitive to pain than before.

Maybe because he had lived peaceful days for too long? In the past, life or death didn’t matter; pain could be ignored… like drinking Wanglaoji herbal tea every day without noticing its bitterness (NT: tea brand, supposed to help reduce “internal heat”). In the middle, you take a few sips of sugar water—later, don’t even drink, just lick the Wanglaoji once, and you might cry from the bitterness.

Xiang Xi laughed at the ceiling, thinking it made sense.

Logically, Fang Yin should come today. This scene actually fit his requirements quite well: a distressed young man on a hospital bed, enduring the pain left from the last beating…

Xiang Xi clicked his tongue, annoyed. If Fang Yin came in this state, he wasn’t prepared—he might irritably start cursing.

But until noon, Fang Yin still hadn’t come.

Cheng Boyan came in carrying an insulated lunch box, walking into the ward in a bit of a hurry.

“How’s it going?” he placed the lunch box on the bedside table.

“My leg hurts,” Xiang Xi glanced at the clock on the wall; the noon break was almost over. “Was the clinic busy today?”

“Not too bad. Just ran into a particularly stubborn patient’s family — they didn’t even want to take an X-ray for the fracture and insisted on immediate wound treatment,” Cheng Boyan smiled. “They scolded me for a long while.”

“I think,” Xiang Xi leaned against the bed and clicked his tongue, “forget whether I have that skill, even if I did, I definitely couldn’t do a doctor’s job. Busy all day, exhausted, barely moving, getting scolded or beaten, I’d have fought back long ago.”

“Then by your logic, someone would get beaten ten times a day; after a year, they could change careers to a martial arts school, assuming they weren’t killed,” Cheng Boyan put the table board on the bed. “People who come to the hospital are all anxious, probably two or three out of ten are easily provoked. Have some porridge.”

“You made this? You didn’t get up early to make porridge for me, did you?” Xiang Xi was touched, then worried. “Mixed bean porridge?”

“I overslept today, didn’t have time, so I bought it at the entrance,” Cheng Boyan opened the lid and placed it in front of him. “I ordered a few days of patient meals for you at the hospital. I was afraid I wouldn’t have time to take care of your meals if I got busy.”

“Mm, patient meals are fine,” Xiang Xi took a spoonful. “Actually, it’s okay if I don’t eat… I don’t have much appetite.”

“The wound hurts, right?” Cheng Boyan watched him.

“Not too bad,” Xiang Xi smiled. “But… when will it stop hurting?”

“In a day or two, depending on the person,” Cheng Boyan checked his medication and finished it, then rang the nurse. “Your body feels better than before; it should ease tomorrow. If it’s really uncomfortable, tell me.”

“My body does feel much better,” Xiang Xi moved his arms. “Strong as an ox.”

“There’s still some gap with an ox,” Cheng Boyan laughed. “But you’ve gained some weight; after discharge, you can run and exercise.”

“Seems like quite a bit. I’ll go to the nurse station to weigh myself…” Xiang Xi paused mid-sentence, lifted his head, and glared at him. “How did you know… I’ve gained weight?”

Cheng Boyan froze at the question. Xiang Xi lowered his head and took a few big spoonfuls of porridge.

“Look at your face,” Cheng Boyan laughed. “Your face got a bit rounder.”

“…Oh.” Xiang Xi paused, then kept eating without raising his head.

“I checked your leg too,” Cheng Boyan held back laughter. “Compared to your first surgery, there’s some flesh now.”

“Can we move on!” Xiang Xi put down the spoon. When the nurse came to remove the needle, he had to stop eating and pressed on the puncture site. After she left, he looked at Cheng Boyan with some dissatisfaction. “Were you not paying attention during surgery?”

“Just glanced a few times before surgery started,” Cheng Boyan smiled. “You were naked…”

“I wasn’t fully naked!” Xiang Xi clicked his tongue. “I was wearing clothes; the nurse wouldn’t let me wear pants!”

“Mm,” Cheng Boyan covered his mouth and nodded, still amused.

“Forget it, I’ll just look. We’re both men; doesn’t matter,” Xiang Xi sighed, staring at the porridge. “How long do I need to hold my hand?”

“A few minutes,” Cheng Boyan stretched his hand. “I’ll hold it for you…”

“Oh,” Xiang Xi stretched his hand. Cheng Boyan held it while he ate a spoonful and laughed. “I thought you’d say you were going to feed me.”

“Then I’ll feed you,” Cheng Boyan said. “Or not?”

“No,” Xiang Xi laughed.

Cheng Boyan didn’t have much time for lunch. The earlier delay plus the short break meant he had to leave before Xiang Xi finished his porridge.

“The afternoon patient meals will come. Ask the nurse to help you get them,” Cheng Boyan instructed. “My lunchbox is in the office; they can use that.”

“Yours?” Xiang Xi looked at him. “How will you disinfect it after I use it?”

“Once you’ve used it, it’s used,” Cheng Boyan turned to leave. “I’ll buy another one.”

“You said you aren’t obsessive about cleanliness!” Xiang Xi clicked his tongue twice.

Xiang Xi didn’t finish the porridge; leg pain, though bearable, affected his appetite and made him uncomfortable, neither sitting nor lying was comfortable.

The ward had two people. The neighbouring bed had an old man, replaced last night by a middle-aged man with worse injuries than Xiang Xi’s last time. His leg was suspended, and all exposed areas were bandaged. He groaned constantly.

Xiang Xi couldn’t talk to him, so he asked the nurse to bring the remote.

The TV had few channels. At this hour, there was nothing much to watch. Xiang Xi flipped through them and stopped at a city news program.

Here and there, a new road was completed, opening tomorrow. Here and there, illegal buildings were removed, making space bright. Night markets disturbing residents were shut down. A residential sewage blockage caused complaints. A counterfeit alcohol black market was reported; the boss and a worker were arrested…

Boring. Xiang Xi stared blankly, thinking how a tiny black market even had workers—and one was crippled.

Made sense. Who else could work in such places? If he hadn’t met Cheng Boyan, he might still be doing something in some filthy, chaotic, shady place—or might have been caught and killed by Ping Shu.

Crippled?

Crippled!

Xiang Xi suddenly sat upright, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume, eyes fixed on the worker who had been partially blocked by the boss on screen.

His hand started to tremble uncontrollably.

The news was short. The main focus was the boss; the worker barely got a frontal shot, but Xiang Xi recognized him.

For over a decade, aside from Ping Shu, he was the person Xiang Xi was most familiar with.

It was Mantou.

The news ended quickly; the next segment began. Xiang Xi stayed sitting upright, staring at the TV, his mind buzzing.

Only when the middle-aged man on the adjacent bed groaned louder did Xiang Xi come back to his senses and lower the volume.

It was Mantou.

It had to be Mantou!

Though his clothes were tattered and dirty, and only half his body appeared briefly, Xiang Xi could confirm it was him.

Didn’t he run away?

Didn’t he take the money from the second deal and flee?

Wasn’t he supposed to go home?

He’s been gone for six months!

How could he still be here, in such a black market place?

Xiang Xi closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillow.

He had always assumed Mantou had gone home a long time ago, to the southern home he occasionally mentioned.

He used to envy that home, no matter how rough Mantou’s past had been; at least he had a place to return to, parents anxiously waiting.

Now, seeing Mantou suddenly appear in this way…

Xiang Xi felt he couldn’t accept it.

Translator : DarNan