Shan Yu couldn’t speak immediately.
It even took him a few seconds to figure out exactly what Chen Jian’s words meant—an angle he had never thought of, nor ever considered.
He looked at Chen Jian.
His gaze then slowly fell on the fire pit behind him.
The fire in the pit was burning even brighter now. The dancing flames carried a bright, golden, warm light. After staring for a long time, the glare made his eyes feel a bit hot.
He sighed softly, shifted his gaze, and brought it back to Chen Jian’s face.
“No matter the time, as long as you’re here, I feel pretty grounded. Any trouble, any difficulty, it’s nothing,” Chen Jian looked at him. “But I can still feel that you might disappear at any moment.”
Shan Yu didn’t speak.
“You don’t care about others disappearing, because you yourself could disappear at any time,” Chen Jian said.
“I just wanted,” Shan Yu propped his head on his knuckles, rubbing his temple lightly and unconsciously, “to leave you some leeway, give you a little space to think. You always overthink things on a normal day…”
“I’ve already told you, I remember everything,” Chen Jian said. “I don’t need to pretend I don’t remember.”
Those words made Shan Yu lift his head slightly.
Yes. Only when Chen Jian said it out loud did he suddenly realize he had overlooked a very important trait in him.
He had been thinking all along, just as Chen Jian had said, that the kid had no opportunity and no time to like anyone. He didn’t have a life entirely his own, and aside from his mother, he seemed to have no other intimate relationships… Shan Yu had constantly hoped not to put any pressure on Chen Jian, not to push him, not to back him into a corner without an out…
But he had overlooked one thing: by the same token, over all these years, every hardship and difficulty Chen Jian encountered, he had carried through entirely on his own. A life with far fewer ways out than matters of the heart—he had faced it all alone.
He didn’t need anyone to deliberately leave leeway or space for his feelings. He could face them.
What he wanted, perhaps, was just the simplest certainty.
“I’m more afraid that you would pretend not to remember either,” Chen Jian lowered his head after speaking, looking at his hands. “Sometimes I feel you are very far away… I do overthink a lot. I’ve wondered if there’s something wrong with you, if you have some unspeakable past, whether I’ve crossed the line, whether I should cross it, whether I can cross it… But when you’re with Yue Lang and Yao Yi, it’s not like that, because they are already on the other side of that line…”
“I…” Shan Yu pressed his index finger against Chen Jian’s lips. “Wait a second.”
His head had just been full of thoughts about how Chen Jian was this or that… only for Chen Jian to immediately whip around with a counterattack, the spearhead aimed straight at his throat.
“There is no line,” Shan Yu’s finger was still pressing against his lips. “Chen Jian, there is no line. There is no such thing as crossing it or not crossing it.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian looked at him and acknowledged.
Shan Yu slowly let go. Chen Jian took a breath, and Shan Yu’s finger pressed right back.
Chen Jian exhaled a sigh through his nose.
“I get it. Everything you said, I get it now,” Shan Yu said.
“Mm,” Chen Jian replied.
Shan Yu waited another few seconds before releasing his hand again. He adjusted his posture, leaning back, and fished his phone out of his pocket: “Add me as a friend, Store Manager?”
“Mm,” Chen Jian took out his phone. “Are you still using your alt account?”
“Yes,” Shan Yu said. “If I used your photo as my main account’s avatar, you’d probably poison me.”
Chen Jian gave him a look. “That photo… you took more than one, didn’t you?”
“I advise you not to look. I’m keeping those for myself.” Shan Yu held his phone out to Chen Jian.
“Shan Ren Du Yu (Single Person, Lone Feather)?” Chen Jian scanned the QR code and asked, “The one with a feather as the avatar?”
“It’s a bit edgy, don’t read it out loud, Chen Yu Luo Yan,” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian smiled and sent the friend request.
The moment the friend request was approved, Shan Yu couldn’t describe how he felt.
He was indeed somewhat reluctant to display his past in front of Chen Jian. The WeChat Moments feed didn’t matter too much, but there were some things in his past that even an old friend like Yue Lang only heard about but never mentioned.
Perhaps there was a line after all, except that on this side of the line, it was only him.
But just now, Chen Jian had stepped one foot right onto that line.
Chen Jian didn’t know if Shan Yu grouped his contacts, but his Moments didn’t have any time restrictions like “visible for three days.”
However, the most recent post was from four years ago.
This timestamp made Chen Jian zone out for a second. Just like that, he had abruptly stumbled into Shan Yu’s world from four years ago.
-Let’s just stop here.
Looking at the time, this sentence was probably posted right around when Shan Yu reported Fang Xu. It was unclear who it was directed at.
It also seemed like a full stop drawn in time. After that, Shan Yu never posted again.
Chen Jian turned his head to glance at Shan Yu, hesitated, and then looked back down at his phone for the next post.
Going further back, Shan Yu’s posting frequency had been about once a week.
Mostly just a single sentence accompanied by a few casually snapped photos.
The immediate impression was that Shan Yu really knew how to have fun and had a lot of friends. Every post likely had many likes and comments underneath it.
-Having a meal.
-Mountain run.
-Could we please issue the death penalty to people who don’t re-rack their gym equipment.
-Whoever recommended this night run route to me, it’s literally a map of the night market snack stalls.
-Listened to the off-key artists’ concert at the karaoke bar, learned eight different ways to sing one song.
Chen Jian couldn’t hold back a laugh.
In the photo attached to this post, he saw Yue Lang holding a microphone, eyes closed, singing his heart out. Next to him, a little “Champion” sticker had been added.
Chen Jian scrolled down to read a few more. Through the scattered words and phrases, he could faintly see the Shan Yu from a few years ago, five hundred and twenty-seven kilometers away—familiar yet unfamiliar.
He wanted to keep scrolling, but with Shan Yu sitting right next to him, he felt a guilty conscience, like he was flipping through someone’s diary right in front of them. So he backed out of the app and put his phone back in his pocket.
“I’ll take my time and look when we get back,” Chen Jian said.
“They’re mostly all like that: eating, drinking, and having fun,” Shan Yu said. “Nothing serious.”
True, chronologically speaking, Shan Yu had a company back then, but you couldn’t tell at all from his Moments.
But then again, you couldn’t see Chen Jian’s real life in his own Moments either.
“You can’t really say that,” Chen Jian thought for a moment. “Actually… you’re a very impressive person.”
Shan Yu started laughing.
Chen Jian turned to look at him: “What is it?”
Shan Yu didn’t speak. He tilted his head back against the chair and remained silent for a long time.
Just as Chen Jian gave up waiting for him to speak, he finally said, “The kids in our family are all pretty impressive. Except for me.”
Chen Jian froze slightly, looking at him.
“Before second grade, I didn’t live at home most of the time,” Shan Yu kept his head tilted back, his eyes closed. “My dad’s school was far away, so he only came home on weekends. My mom’s company was just starting out then, so she was very busy with work. I lived at my eldest aunt’s house most of the time, sometimes at my second aunt’s…”
“Mm,” Chen Jian responded very carefully.
“They treated me well,” Shan Yu said. “But… I still really missed home. Even if no one was there, I still threw fits wanting to go home. I was pretty annoying.”
“How could a kid not miss home?” Chen Jian said.
“My two older cousins were very obedient and had great grades. My dad hoped I’d pick up some good influences living with them,” Shan Yu smiled. “But I just wasn’t cut out for it. Couldn’t sit still, talked too much, had poor concentration…”
Chen Jian remained silent.
“Eldest Aunt was pretty strict with me too, but it was no use. It felt like I could never meet their expectations,” Shan Yu said. “And I was always getting sick. Every other day, Eldest Aunt or Second Aunt had to take me to the hospital… With such outstanding parents, I somehow didn’t inherit a single good trait.”
Chen Jian cast him a surprised look. It was hard to imagine Shan Yu saying something like this. Even hearing it with his own ears, he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Back then I would think, maybe it’s because I’m so awful that they don’t want to keep me by their side…” Shan Yu said.
“How is that possible? Weren’t they just busy?” Chen Jian said immediately.
“I definitely know that now,” Shan Yu opened his eyes, looking at him with a smile. “But back then, I’d still think that way. All my siblings, maternal and paternal cousins, they’re all quite outstanding. You can tell just by looking at Liu Wu.”
Liu Wu was pretty great.
But you couldn’t compare like that.
“Did someone say something to you?” Chen Jian asked.
“No,” Shan Yu shook his head. “My mom has always said they have no preset expectations for my life, and that they don’t need me to become some kind of exceptional person…”
“Isn’t that… a good thing?” Chen Jian said softly.
“You only say that when you’re completely disappointed,” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian was momentarily stunned.
“Without expectations, there won’t be any more disappointment,” Shan Yu’s voice lowered. “But I’ve still kept disappointing them all along.”
For a moment, Chen Jian didn’t know what to say. This was his first time seeing Shan Yu like this.
A Shan Yu entirely stripped of his breezy, effortless composure.
Shan Yu hadn’t gone into great detail. Chen Jian had some sense of it, but couldn’t be entirely sure why Shan Yu would evaluate himself this way.
He hesitated for a moment, and could only reach out to grasp Shan Yu’s hand.
Shan Yu quickly tightened his grip on his hand in return.
Perhaps because he was sitting on the side further from the fire pit, Shan Yu’s hand was a bit cold.
Chen Jian looked down to confirm that he was holding Shan Yu’s uninjured left hand, then used both of his hands to clasp it, rubbing it rhythmically to warm it up.
Shan Yu didn’t speak again, and neither did he.
But this kind of silence felt as if it had been warmed by the fire pit behind them. It wasn’t as awkward as he had imagined.
It was very serene.
“Excuse me,” Yue Lang’s voice suddenly came from behind them, “sorry to interrupt you guys making fire by friction.”
Chen Jian jumped in fright, reflexively wanting to let go of Shan Yu’s hand, but Shan Yu held onto him firmly.
“You two done being windswept up there?” Shan Yu looked back at Yue Lang.
“Yeah,” Yue Lang glanced at Yao Yi, who was behind him looking down at her camera. “Are you two heading down the mountain, or staying here?”
“Heading down,” Shan Yu said. “If Store Manager Chen misses his shift tomorrow, Dayin will go out of business.”
Chen Jian sighed.
“Let’s go.” Shan Yu squeezed his fingers, let go of his hand, and stood up.
The mountain wind at night was much stronger than at the bottom. While sitting on the terrace with a fire behind them, it hadn’t felt obvious. Now, stepping out the front door, the wind blew so hard Chen Jian actually swayed.
He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head.
Turning to tell Shan Yu to hurry and get in the car, he realized Shan Yu was staring at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Let’s swap coats tomorrow,” Shan Yu tugged at his collar. “I can’t believe you bought a winter coat without a hood…”
“It used to have a hood,” Chen Jian said. “Then it got snagged and torn, so I threw it away.”
“This coat of yours,” Shan Yu opened the door and got into the car, “just how many years have you been wearing it?”
“Not that many years,” Chen Jian also got in, thinking as he buckled his seatbelt. “Bought it in my second year of high school, probably. Back then I always wore the padded school uniform, so I didn’t wear this much.”
Shan Yu started the engine, turned on the heater, honked the horn once, and pulled out.
Yue Lang honked as well, following behind them.
“No streetlights, drive slowly,” Chen Jian said. As soon as he spoke, he remembered Shan Yu’s Moments. This guy used to drive mountain roads for fun in his free time.
“Mm,” Shan Yu replied.
When they returned to Dayin, everyone had already gone to bed. Only Sanbing was left, leading Mushroom in circles between the front desk and the bar.
“Everyone asleep?” Chen Jian asked. “Did anything happen today?”
“Nothing much,” Sanbing said. “Quite a few people checked in this afternoon. The light in 205 broke, I changed the bulb. You go to sleep, looks like it’ll get a lot busier tomorrow.”
“Mm.” Chen Jian nodded.
Yue Lang and Yao Yi had already taken the elevator upstairs. Shan Yu, as usual, leaned by the elevator doors waiting.
Chen Jian walked over, standing next to him, and asked in a low voice, “Does your hand need its dressing changed?”
“No need. I’ll just swap it for a new hand tomorrow,” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian chuckled, unable to resist asking, “Did you talk like this when you were a kid too?”
“No, I just talked a lot,” Shan Yu said. “A mouth has to grow up slowly too.”
Smiling, Chen Jian stepped into the elevator, leaning against the cab wall and looking at Shan Yu.
Shan Yu had shed the melancholy from earlier when he was talking about his childhood. He had returned to the state Chen Jian was used to seeing—that leisurely, effortless Shan Yu.
“We need to hire two more people in the next couple of days, a server and a cleaner,” Shan Yu said.
“Huh?” Chen Jian was taken aback.
“Didn’t Sanbing say we have more check-ins?” Shan Yu said.
“Yeah,” Chen Jian looked at him. “Are we hiring?”
“Short-term is fine. The amount of traffic we had during the long holiday was just too exhausting,” Shan Yu said. “We can’t handle it.”
“Mm, I’ll look for someone tomorrow,” Chen Jian nodded.
Coming out of the elevator, Chen Jian glanced toward the dorms. The lights were out; everyone must be asleep by now.
Yue Lang and Yao Yi were the only ones staying in the fourth-floor guest rooms, and right now, they could be heard laughing inside their room.
No idea what was so funny.
Having played all day, it was a wonder they still had so much energy this late. Chen Jian hadn’t played at all and was already dead tired.
“Are you sleepy?” He pulled the medical kit from the cabinet, placed it on the coffee table, and glanced at Shan Yu sitting on the sofa.
“Sleepy,” Shan Yu said. “Whether I can actually fall asleep is up to fate.”
Chen Jian sat down beside him, unraveled the bandage, removed the gauze, and inspected the wound. Since it was just a flesh wound, it was healing much faster than the injury on his leg.
While changing the dressing, he spotted the pillbox under the coffee table again.
He hesitated, but ultimately didn’t ask. Shan Yu was clearly in a low mood earlier when mentioning the past; he could ask about it another time.
“What?” Shan Yu suddenly asked. “Just normal antibiotics and painkillers.”
Do you literally crack people’s heads open and peek inside every time you talk to them?
Chen Jian shot him a look, genuinely having no idea how Shan Yu had honed such an unnervingly sharp sense of observation.
“How did you know Zhou Lecheng’s medication was… antidepressants?” Chen Jian didn’t dare look at Shan Yu after asking.
He kept his head down, quickly covering the disinfected wound with fresh gauze and began wrapping the bandage. In a couple of days, the bandage wouldn’t even be necessary; medical tape over the gauze would do.
“I took them for a while,” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian’s hands paused mid-wrap. He looked up at Shan Yu: “How long is ‘a while’?”
“Almost two years.” Shan Yu looked at him.
“Oh.” Chen Jian pinched the tied-off end of the bandage, at a loss for how to follow that up.
Both the question and Shan Yu’s answer were outside of his expectations. He felt it was somewhat cruel. After a moment of silence, his throat felt slightly hoarse when he spoke again: “Some things, if you don’t want to talk about them…”
I still really want to know.
“I probably won’t bring them up on my own,” Shan Yu said, “but if you ask, I’ll tell you.”
“…Mm.” Chen Jian kept pinching the end of the bandage, wondering if he should say something else.
“You’ve already tied a dead knot. Why don’t you just chop my hand off while you’re at it.” Shan Yu pinched the fingers that were still tugging at the end of the bandage.
Chen Jian snapped back to reality and smiled.
“Chen Jian,” Shan Yu called his name.
“Mm?” Chen Jian looked at him.
Shan Yu didn’t say anything, just looked at him.
In an incredibly short span of time—before a single thought even had the chance to flash through Chen Jian’s mind—Shan Yu had already leaned in.
With a warm breath, he gently kissed his lips.
