Cheng Boyan had always thought Xiang Xi was so stubborn that he didn’t even have tears left to cry, but recently he’d seen him cry twice in a row — and that left him not quite sure how to handle it.

He had expected Xiang Xi to feel uncomfortable when looking at those photos and words, but he hadn’t expected it to hit him this hard.

He hesitated, unsure whether to go over to him or to pretend he hadn’t seen anything and walk away.

In his hesitation, his eyes suddenly fell on Xiang Xi’s bare legs, and he froze.

Xiang Xi’s legs were straight and long — and because he was a bit thin, they looked even longer. After staring for a moment, Cheng Boyan couldn’t help but say, “Where are your pants?”

“Ah! You’re out already?” Xiang Xi seemed startled, quickly rubbing his eyes, then glancing down at his legs. “I took them off! If I sat here in the same pants I wore walking around outside all day, you’d drown me in disinfectant!”

“I’ll get you a pair,” Cheng Boyan said, pulling his gaze away and turning toward the bedroom.

“No need. Every time I come, you give me a new pair — you don’t want them anymore once I’ve worn them, and then you just give them to me?” Xiang Xi’s voice carried a nasal tone. “Next time I’ll just bring my own.”

“I’m not giving them to you — I’ll wash them,” Cheng Boyan said, going into the bedroom, grabbing a pair of pants, and tossing them onto Xiang Xi.

“Really, you don’t have to,” Xiang Xi said, taking the pants but still not moving from the chair. “It’s fine like this… I don’t feel like moving right now.”

Halfway through his words, his voice lowered again. Cheng Boyan didn’t reply. He poured a glass of water, placed it on the desk, and very deliberately stood behind the computer monitor — out of Xiang Xi’s direct sightline.

But Xiang Xi’s reddened eyes and trembling voice were too obvious. If Cheng didn’t ask, it would feel unnatural, so he finally said, “What are you looking at? Why are you crying?”

“I’m watching porn sites,” Xiang Xi said immediately. After speaking, he rubbed his eyes again, then forced a grin.

“Ah, I see — the ‘Top 10 Most Touching AV Actresses’ poll?” Cheng Boyan said. “No wonder you’re so moved.”

“Fuck off,” Xiang Xi muttered, lowering his head. After a moment, he chuckled — twice — but then fell silent again. A while later, he said softly, “Brother, I want to tell you something.”

Since that talk about Cheng Boyu, Xiang Xi had never called Cheng Boyan brother again. Hearing the sudden Brother now made Cheng’s hand tremble slightly.

“What is it?” Cheng Boyan asked.

“That guy, Fang Yin — I told you about him, the photographer,” Xiang Xi glanced up at him, then drew his legs up onto the chair, hugging them with his chin resting on his knees. “He came to me before, said he wanted to do some kind of photo project, and he wanted to shoot me.”

“Mm.” Cheng Boyan walked closer and leaned on the desk beside him.

“I didn’t think much of it at first, but then he said he’d pay — fifty yuan a day — so I agreed,” Xiang Xi looked at him again, then quickly lowered his gaze. “We shot for a while. He just followed me around, taking pictures.”

“And then?” Cheng Boyan asked softly.

“Today he suddenly told me to take a look at the photos,” Xiang Xi’s voice started to tremble again. He paused, glanced at the screen, and said, “So I looked.”

Cheng didn’t say anything. He leaned forward slightly, testing Xiang Xi’s reaction. When Xiang didn’t stop him, Cheng turned the monitor toward himself.

The page was stopped on two photos.

The first was the store front of the clay pot rice shop. In it, Xiang Xi was walking back inside after serving a customer, raising a hand to wipe the sweat off his brow.

In that shop, there was only Xiao Z working as a helper. Besides serving dishes, he also had to clean, take out the trash, wash dishes — all sorts of chores. When customers were many and dishes slow to come out, he’d be scolded. If he cleared tables too slowly, he’d be scolded again. Most of the time, he endured it in silence.

There were a few lines of text in between, which Cheng didn’t read carefully. He scrolled down to the next photo — this one didn’t have Xiang Xi in it. It showed the shop owner, his wife, and several blurry figures arguing inside the shop.

“After these people smashed a few of the clay pots, Xiao Z called me for help and told me to call the police. After that, he never appeared at this shop again. He lost his job.”

“They’re all like that, aren’t they,” Xiang Xi said, closing his eyes. “People watching a story from outside — this person runs away from Zhaojiayao, then what? Then he gets sick. Then what? Then he looks for a job while sick. Then what? Then trouble finds him, and he loses his job. Oh, I see — so miserable. No matter how hard I try, how hard I try, how hard I try, it doesn’t matter. Nobody knows, and nobody wants to know — because it has nothing to do with them in the first place.”

Xiang Xi kept his eyes closed, head tilted to the side. Cheng could still see his wet eyelashes, and a single tear rolled down from the mole at the corner of his eye, sliding onto his leg.

“You try so hard, so hard, so hard,” Cheng echoed softly, reaching out to touch the little mole beneath his eye. “I know.”

Xiang Xi didn’t speak — he grabbed Cheng’s hand and pressed it over his eyes.

Instantly, Cheng’s palm grew wet — Xiang Xi’s burning tears seared into it, and Cheng just stood there, unmoving.

“Mantou didn’t run away. I thought he’d gone home, but he’s still here — he didn’t run,” Xiang Xi’s voice was hoarse. “I saw him on the news — working in an illegal fake liquor workshop. I went there today. They said the boss beat him all the time…”

At last, Cheng understood why Xiang Xi had spent those days in the hospital glued to the TV news.

“No one cares about him. If I hadn’t asked, no one would’ve even remembered he existed,” Xiang Xi’s voice trembled. “Who would care about him? No one even watches his story — where he came from, where he’s going, or why he stopped here. Who would care? Who would want to know!”

“I’m the same!” Xiang Xi grabbed Cheng Boyan’s hand tightly, his fingertips digging into Cheng’s skin. His voice was hoarse as he shouted, “Where did I come from? Where am I going? What am I doing? What do I even want? The people watching the story don’t want to know any of that! Who among them wants to know! What they want to see is just this person—rolling in the dirt, unable to climb back up no matter how hard he tries!”

“Xiang Xi,” Cheng Boyan bent down and gently pulled away the hand pressed over his eyes, touched his forehead, and looked into his eyes. “No one needs to know where you came from. Where you’re going, what you’re doing, what you want — I know. Really, I know.”

Xiang Xi’s eyes were red, wide open, staring at him for a long time before finally saying, “Will you leave? Once the show’s over, you’ll leave too.”

Cheng Boyan sighed softly, straightened up, and ran a hand gently through Xiang Xi’s hair. “I won’t.”

Xiang Xi said nothing more. He wrapped his arms tightly around Cheng Boyan’s waist, pressing his face against Cheng’s stomach.

Cheng Boyan didn’t move, just stood there. Xiang Xi made no sound — only held him motionless. Cheng couldn’t tell whether he was crying or not.

“I had dumplings today. Dr. Liu was on duty — his wife made them and brought them to the hospital. I snatched a few,” Cheng Boyan said, gently ruffling his hair. “I ate too fast, didn’t really chew. Listen — can you hear my stomach turning over?”

Xiang Xi didn’t answer. After a moment, he let out two muffled chuckles, his arms loosening.

“All done crying?” Cheng Boyan looked down at his shirt. Two damp spots marked the fabric over his stomach.

“I don’t actually cry that much. Only since I met you, I’ve been crying all the time.” Xiang Xi stretched out his legs and leaned back in the chair, tilting his head up. His eyes were still red, but there was a smile on his face. “I used to think crying was really stupid — especially since Uncle Ping always said he wanted to remove this mole under my eye, I got even more determined not to cry.”

“Is it like a switch?” Cheng Boyan pressed lightly on the mole by his eye. “Cry.”

“You’re sick.” Xiang Xi tilted his head back and laughed.

Cheng Boyan smiled but didn’t reply. Xiang Xi’s smile was beautiful — his eyes curved, the corners of his mouth lifted. When he smiled, he looked his real age: just a young boy.

Cheng’s finger, still on the mole, slowly slid down to the corner of Xiang Xi’s mouth, tracing along the edge of his lips in a light hook.

When Cheng bent down toward him, Xiang Xi was still smiling. But when Cheng’s lips touched his, he froze instantly.

His hands clutched the chair arms; his whole body stiffened.

Cheng Boyan’s lips were warm and soft, his breath light, brushing warmly against Xiang Xi’s face.

Xiang Xi felt surrounded by sound — couldn’t tell if it was in his head or around him. His vision blurred; when his eyes focused, everything was indistinct.

What was… happening?

Xiang Xi’s eyes widened — a… a kiss?

Before he could react, Cheng Boyan’s lips had already left. When his focus returned, he saw Cheng turning and walking into the bathroom.

He still sat there gripping the armrests, back and hands straight, completely stunned.

A few minutes — or seconds, maybe longer or shorter — passed before Cheng Boyan came back out, and Xiang Xi was still frozen in the same position.

“You…” he asked stiffly, looking at Cheng, “went to wash your mouth?”

Cheng glanced at him, touched his own lips. “…No.”

“Then what did you wash?” Xiang Xi felt his brain short-circuiting.

“Didn’t wash anything,” Cheng said helplessly. “I went to the toilet.”

“Oh.” Xiang Xi was still stiff. “Then you didn’t wash your hands after?”

Cheng had just picked up a glass to pour water. Hearing that, he sighed, turned his head, and looked at him. “You—”

“I just… asked,” Xiang Xi stammered, still rigid. “Just asking.”

Cheng stared at him for a moment, then suddenly took two steps forward, set the glass down on the table with a thud, and gripped Xiang Xi’s chin—then kissed him again.

This time Xiang Xi was sure: this was definitely a kiss.

Cheng kissed him hard, pressing his lips firmly. When he pulled away, the tip of his tongue even brushed across Xiang Xi’s lips.

That kiss finally jolted Xiang Xi into full awareness. When Cheng turned to pick up the glass, Xiang Xi jumped up from the chair.

Then he realized—he still wasn’t wearing pants. Instantly mortified, he hopped in place, grabbed the pair Cheng had given him, started to pull them on—then quickly tossed them aside.

Cheng stood watching as Xiang Xi dashed to the doorway, yanked out his own pants from the closet, hurriedly pulled them on, and spun in place twice.

“Xiang Xi,” Cheng cleared his throat.

“I… haven’t eaten yet,” Xiang Xi said, completing a third spin before remembering he needed shoes. He opened the cabinet, pulled some out, knocking others to the floor, ignored the mess, shoved his feet into his shoes, and yanked the door open. “I’m hungry, I’m going to eat.”

Cheng didn’t answer. He watched Xiang Xi bolt out the door, which slammed shut behind him with a bang.

Rubbing his brow, Cheng hesitated between cleaning up the shoes and sitting down. Finally, he sat on the sofa, closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh.

Then he got up, put all the shoes back into the cabinet, and tidied the floor.

After running out of Cheng Boyan’s apartment, Xiang Xi still felt dazed. He caught a bus back to the “Thieves’ Den”, and before going upstairs, still in a daze, he bought a box of steamed dumplings.

Why dumplings…? Probably because Cheng Boyan had mentioned he’d eaten some?

He carried the lunchbox home, sat on the bed staring blankly for a long time, then washed his hands to eat—only to find the box was already empty.

“What the hell?” Xiang Xi stared at the box. When did he even eat them?

He touched his stomach—nothing. Not hungry, not full. He tossed the empty box in the trash pile by the door. The young couple next door were chatting, and the woman’s laughter rippled like flowers trembling in the wind (NT: idiom meaning laughing flirtatiously or heartily).

He went back inside, closed the door, leaned against it, not wanting to move.

Cheng Boyan had kissed him once—no, twice. And both times, on the mouth. Now that his head had cleared, he couldn’t say what he was feeling.

When Tan Xiaokang had groped him before, the disgust made him want to grab a knife. But Cheng Boyan’s two kisses didn’t make him want to stab anyone—just dizzy.

So dizzy that even with his eyes wide open, he couldn’t see straight.

Really dizzy.

Was he… scared senseless?

He stood by the door for a while, then got tired. The surgical incision on his leg hadn’t fully healed yet; standing too long made it ache. Frowning, he lay down on the bed.

After two minutes, he got up, changed into his home clothes, and lay down again.

Tired. A little sleepy.

But the moment he closed his eyes…

That feeling of steadiness when he had buried his face against Cheng Boyan’s waist was still there.

And so was the warmth in Cheng Boyan’s eyes when he had said, “I know.”

Cheng Boyan’s hand gently running through his hair — that comfortable, soothing feeling was still there.

The subtle dizziness from when Cheng Boyan’s moist, soft lips pressed against his own… was still there too.

“Ah…” Xiang Xi turned over, hugged his pillow, buried his face in it, and let out a muffled cry.

How could this be happening?

What was Cheng Boyan doing?

Comforting him?

Drunk?

Or… liking him?

No, no, no, no — it couldn’t be liking…

Xiang Xi rolled over again. The moment he thought about that word “liking,” he suddenly remembered the earlier “why” he had asked — embarrassment and self-consciousness surged up, making his face heat up all at once.

His phone rang.

Xiang Xi abruptly propped himself up on his arms and stared at the phone lying next to him.

On the screen appeared Cheng Boyan’s name.

A few days ago, after he learned how to write Cheng Boyan’s name, he had changed the contact from “1” to the three characters “Cheng Boyan.”

He stared at those three characters, suddenly afraid to answer the call.

The phone rang for a while and then stopped.

The room fell silent.

Then Xiang Xi suddenly regretted not picking up. Just as he picked up the phone, hesitating whether to call back, it rang again — startling him so much he nearly threw it away.

After taking a deep breath, he answered, “Hello?”

“Have you eaten?” Cheng Boyan’s voice sounded calm.

“I had steamed dumplings,” Xiang Xi said, thinking of that inexplicably empty lunchbox. “I guess… I ate.”

“Hm?” Cheng Boyan was slightly surprised, then after a pause said again, “I’m at the intersection near your place. Do you want to come out? I’ll take you to eat something.”

“What?” Xiang Xi immediately straightened up from his sprawled position and sat cross-legged. “Where are you?”

“The intersection — where I usually drop you off when I drive you back,” Cheng Boyan replied.

“What are you doing here!” Xiang Xi shouted. He hadn’t expected Cheng Boyan to actually come over this late at night, and instantly felt guilty.

“Hey, don’t shout,” Cheng Boyan sighed. “I was just worried… If you don’t want to come out, it’s fine. I just wanted to check that you got home safely.”

“I already ate,” Xiang Xi hesitated. He really didn’t dare face Cheng Boyan right now — even just talking over the phone had him sweating. “I… I already ate.”

“Xiang Xi,” Cheng Boyan cleared his throat. “About earlier, sorry, I—”

“No no no no no!” The moment Xiang Xi heard the words “about earlier,” his face immediately flushed hot. “It’s fine, fine, really fine, nothing, nothing… I’m fine, you should go back, really!”

“…Okay,” Cheng Boyan paused for a moment. “Then rest early. I’ll head back.”

“Mm!” Xiang Xi responded quickly, even nodding hard.

After hanging up, Xiang Xi sat still on the bed, phone in hand, cross-legged, until the incision on his leg began to ache. Only then did he lie down and stretch his legs out.

Cheng Boyan must’ve been worried about him — that’s why he came.

Xiang Xi deeply regretted how he had bolted out earlier, panicking so much he hadn’t even finished speaking.

He made Cheng Boyan come all this way at night for nothing.

He turned over, lying on his stomach.

Cheng Boyan had come all the way here, and he actually made him go back like that!

That was just… too much, wasn’t it?

Xiang Xi sat up again.

When he’d asked Cheng Boyan, “Will you leave?” — the reassuring and touching answer still echoed in his ears.

“I won’t.”

That’s what Cheng Boyan had said.

And now?

Xiang Xi suddenly grew anxious. What about now?

Would he leave?

What if he did?

Grabbing his phone, Xiang Xi couldn’t bear the thought of Cheng Boyan not being there. Just the idea alone made him feel afraid.

He dialed Cheng Boyan’s number — and the other side picked up quickly.

“Did you leave?!” Xiang Xi shouted.

“Hey, don’t shout,” Cheng Boyan said. “I haven’t left.”

Xiang Xi froze for a moment. “Where are you?”

“At the intersection,” Cheng Boyan replied.

“Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go! You stay there!” Xiang Xi jumped off the bed, slipped on his shoes, and ran out the door. “I’m coming out now, wait for me!”

When Cheng Boyan hung up, his ears were still buzzing—Xiang Xi’s bright, clear voice had been so loud it felt like his phone might explode.

He turned off the engine, got out of the car, and leaned against the hood, looking across at the pitch-black street with no street-lights.

Xiang Xi was easy to spot when he came running—he was wearing an old T-shirt from high school, with a reflective pattern on the chest that gleamed faintly in the dark.

When he was still a few meters away, Xiang Xi slowed down. He seemed a little awkward, walking as if about to veer off to the side.

“Did you actually eat or not?” Cheng Boyan asked.

“I think I did,” Xiang Xi scratched his head. “I bought a box of dumplings, went home and rested a bit, then when I wanted to eat, it was already empty… so I guess I must’ve eaten it.”

“Still hungry?” Cheng Boyan smiled.

“Not sure, I don’t really feel anything now.” Xiang Xi came up to him, lowered his head, and rubbed his nose lightly.

He didn’t dare look at Cheng Boyan—though he did like seeing him smile. When Cheng Boyan smiled, the left corner of his mouth would always lift first, giving his normally serious face a hint of mischief.

Usually, Xiang Xi already felt like Cheng Boyan’s smile could see right through people. Now, with his mind a total mess—as if the thing on his shoulders wasn’t a head but a jar of glue (NT: a metaphor for mental confusion)—he didn’t dare look him in the eye. Even though he hadn’t figured out what he was feeling himself, he was still afraid Cheng Boyan might see it.

“Anywhere to eat around here?” Cheng Boyan asked.

“No,” Xiang Xi said after a moment’s thought, keeping his head down. “It’s all the kind of places where after one bite you’ll want to rinse your mouth with disinfectant.”

“…Where’d you buy the dumplings?” Cheng Boyan chuckled. “Let’s just go there and have some more.”

“Oh.” Xiang Xi turned his head and pointed. “That Sha County (NT: a famous cheap fast-food chain originally from Sha County in Fujian) place over there.”

At this hour, the Sha County shop was empty. The owner was tidying up; all the tables inside had been cleared, and only one remained outside the door.

Xiang Xi fell down on the stool by the table, and Cheng Boyan sat down beside him. Xiang Xi could tell Cheng Boyan hesitated a little before sitting.

“The stool’s actually pretty clean,” Xiang Xi whispered, lifting himself slightly to pat the seat.

“…I didn’t say it was dirty,” Cheng Boyan murmured back.

Cheng Boyan’s low voice was pleasant to the ear, and Xiang Xi suddenly felt a bit dazed. Quickly turning his head, he called out to the boss, “Boss, one more basket of steamed dumplings! And noodles with sauce—still got soup?”

“Yeah, wait a sec,” the boss replied.

“What do you want?” Xiang Xi turned back to Cheng Boyan. The moment their eyes met, he looked away again.

“Soup dumplings,” Cheng Boyan said.

“That enough for you?” Xiang Xi asked. “The noodles are pretty good—want to try?”

“No thanks,” Cheng Boyan covered his mouth slightly and whispered, “I can’t help thinking the noodles are mixed by hand… literally.”

Hearing that, Xiang Xi couldn’t help laughing, lowering his head and chuckling at the floor for a while. “Let’s get one serving of soup, then? Just a small bowl—and even if it was hand-mixed, it’s all boiled anyway.”

“Mm.” Cheng Boyan smiled and nodded.

The boss worked quickly—within minutes, all the food was served.

Xiang Xi still felt a bit awkward, so he didn’t say much and just focused on eating.

Cheng Boyan slowly picked up a soup dumpling, ate it, and after watching him for a moment, said, “About those photos.”

“Mm?” Xiang Xi looked up, a half-bitten dumpling in his mouth.

“If it makes you uncomfortable,” Cheng Boyan said, “you can tell Fang Yin you don’t want to keep shooting.”

“Oh.” Xiang Xi lowered his head again. He remembered he’d gone to Cheng Boyan’s place today to look at the photos, and how bad he’d felt after seeing them. But all of that had been completely wiped out by those two kisses from Cheng Boyan—he’d nearly forgotten about it. He swallowed the dumpling. “Actually… I don’t really know. It’s fifty yuan a day, you know? I’d kinda hate to give up that money.”

“You agreed to pose just for that little bit of money?” Cheng Boyan asked.

“Yeah. Adds up by the end of the month.” Xiang Xi sipped his soup.

“Then if there were another way to earn that fifty yuan, would you still do the photos?” Cheng Boyan thought for a moment.

“No way,” Xiang Xi frowned. “If I could make that money somewhere else, I’d never do it. Just thinking about those pictures makes me feel sick. And there are comments under them too—I can’t read all the words, but even the few I saw… I didn’t want to look anymore. It feels awful.”

“Alright then,” Cheng Boyan set his chopsticks down. “I’ll give you a side job.”

“What?” Xiang Xi blinked in confusion.

“Tomorrow I’ll bring you a camera,” Cheng Boyan said evenly. “You take three photos a day. More if you like, none if you don’t feel like it. I’ll pay you fifty a day.”

Translator : DarNan