“That beanie of yours…” President Liu walked ahead a short distance, then turned back to look at him. “Did Shan Yu crochet it?”
“…Yes.” Chen Jian reached up to touch the knit beanie on his head, suddenly feeling a slight twinge of guilt.
Both President Liu and Professor Shan were wearing hats. President Liu wore a thick, soft woolen cap that looked warm and chic. Professor Shan’s, on the other hand, was comparatively… unpretentious—a knit cap with ear flaps on both sides, with threads slightly frayed at the edges.
Leaving President Liu’s cap out of the comparison entirely, contrasting Professor Shan’s with what Chen Jian had on his head…
Would they get jealous?
“How did you know?” Chen Jian asked.
“I saw that all your staff wear matching scarves,” President Liu said. “The craftsmanship… looks like something Shan Yu rushed out.”
“Those scarves were,” Chen Jian smiled.
“If he went through the trouble of crocheting a scarf for every single employee, there’s no reason he wouldn’t make something for you,” President Liu said.
They’d definitely be a little jealous, right? Even the staff each got a scarf.
Chen Jian smiled without speaking.
“In the past, he couldn’t summon the energy for anything,” President Liu said. “He looked like he was constantly out wandering with a crowd of friends—eating, drinking, getting into fights, causing trouble—but deep down, his mood was always in a slump. Especially during the two years he was on medication. Later, when his state improved a bit and he started a company, he ran into that whole ordeal…”
Chen Jian walked beside President Liu, listening attentively. He already knew the broad strokes of those events, but hearing them come from President Liu felt completely different.
“After he was released, we could only hear updates about him through Liu Wu; we didn’t get to see him for years,” President Liu said. “So seeing him like this now… makes me genuinely happy.”
“He still suffers from insomnia sometimes,” Chen Jian said. “But everything else is in pretty good shape. He takes his work quite seriously too. Even though it looks like he doesn’t know a thing about the inn’s day-to-day operations, his laptop is packed with materials on town tourism. When the travel agency surveyed routes, they chose to stay with us.”
“He’s completely entrusted the inn’s management to you,” President Liu looked at him. “And you’re doing a wonderful job.”
“There’s still a lot I don’t understand.” Chen Jian felt slightly embarrassed under her gaze.
When President Liu looked at someone, she appeared quite warm, yet you could distinctly feel her seeing right through you. It carried a touch of pressure—or perhaps it was just his own lack of confidence.
“You can learn. You’re only in your early twenties,” President Liu smiled. “Auntie can recommend a few books for you to look through when you have time.”
“Alright,” Chen Jian nodded. “Thank you.”
Shan Yu returned with the dog in about twenty minutes. While Chen Jian had been walking and chatting along the levee with President Liu in an ostensibly lighthearted atmosphere, he hadn’t truly been relaxed on the inside.
The moment Shan Yu’s car appeared on the dirt track by the riverbank, his entire body untensed in sheer relief.
“He’s back,” Chen Jian said.
“Whose dog is that?” President Liu asked.
“It belongs to Director Lu from the municipal culture and tourism bureau. Said he had to travel for a few days over the New Year, and of his dogs, this was the only one he couldn’t find a sitter for,” Chen Jian said. “So he sent it over to us.”
“More likely no one else could handle it,” President Liu said.
Shan Yu brought the car to a stop and popped the rear door. A reddish-brown husky leapt out.
This coat color… going by the stereotype of black-and-white lunatics, maybe this one would be okay?
He soon realized he had been far too optimistic.
The instant the husky hit the ground, it tried to sprint forward. Shan Yu yanked hard on its collar, pulling the dog straight up onto its hind legs.
While Shan Yu untangled the leash, the dog remained standing on two legs, grinning foolishly toward Chen Jian and President Liu, paddling the empty air frantically with its front paws.
The moment Shan Yu released the collar, it shot forward two or three meters.
The retractable leash zipped out in a blur as the dog barreled straight toward Chen Jian and President Liu.
“Oh my,” President Liu murmured.
“Hold on to him!” Chen Jian took a step forward, shielding President Liu.
“Let’s see how fast he can run.” Shan Yu clicked the brake on the leash, giving it a tug as he barked an order: “Halt!”
Miraculously, the dog obediently froze in its tracks, panting excitedly in their direction.
“He actually listens,” Shan Yu reeled the leash in, walked up to the dog, and patted its head. “Good boy.”
“Why speaking English? Is he a study-abroad returnee?” Chen Jian asked.
“He went to school; understands Chinese too,” Shan Yu said. “Bilingual straight-A student.”
“Does he have a name?” Chen Jian walked over, extending a hand to let the dog sniff it.
The dog sniffed his hand and licked him right on the palm.
Ugh, hardly a straight-A student.
“He’s called Shiwu,” Shan Yu said. “Apparently born on the fifteenth; all the dogs in their house are named after numbers.”
“Roughly on par with Mushroom,” Chen Jian remarked. “Good Shiwu, let me pat your head.”
Shiwu was still brimming with excitement, his snout darting along with Chen Jian’s moving hand. Chen Jian couldn’t land a clean pat on his head for the life of him.
“And you call him an honors student.” Not wanting his hand licked again, Chen Jian gave up.
“Shiwu, stay,” Shan Yu pointed at Shiwu. “Freeze.”
Shiwu tilted his head up and panted heavily at him, completely unsure whether he got the message.
Chen Jian tried again. This time, Shiwu merely tilted his head slightly; he clearly yearned to move, but held his ground. Chen Jian gave his head a good scratch.
“Good boy!” Shan Yu praised promptly.
“Not bad,” Chen Jian looked at Shiwu. “Maybe he really won’t bark or tear the house apart.”
“Who walks him?” Shan Yu asked.
“Me, who else?” Chen Jian said. “If we wait on you, I’m worried he’ll burst his bladder.”
“All yours, then.” Shan Yu passed the leash over.
Taking the leash, Chen Jian didn’t mind the extra chore. He liked dogs. Mushroom was small, ran around without scaring anyone, and handled his business in the tall grass outside the courtyard on his own without needing walks.
Shiwu had to be kept on a leash—not just to avoid startling guests, but to keep him from getting lost. In a sense, this dog belonged to their patron god of wealth.
A wealth-bearing hound.
“Catch any fish?” Shan Yu asked President Liu.
“Who?” President Liu asked back.
“My dad,” Shan Yu said.
“How could you even ask that with a straight face?” President Liu replied.
“What if a miracle happened?” Shan Yu said.
Listening to their banter, Chen Jian couldn’t help laughing out loud.
“Is there fish at the spot you picked for him?” Shan Yu asked Chen Jian.
“Xiao Dou’er’s grandfather’s secret spot. He throws feed in whenever he’s free,” Chen Jian said. “He catches something every single time.”
“Then there might be a chance,” Shan Yu said. “Let’s go look.”
With Shan Yu present, Chen Jian felt infinitely more at ease. Holding Shiwu’s leash, he followed the dog as it sniffed here and there, zig-zagging along without having to carry the conversation.
Besides, President Liu and Professor Shan were only staying for three or four days; it was clear she wanted to talk more with Shan Yu.
Habits formed over years weren’t easily broken. The relationship between Shan Yu and his parents couldn’t instantly mend to the point where he’d casually drop by home whenever he had free time, so moments like this wouldn’t come around often in a year.
The wind along the levee was picking up. Shan Yu zipped his jacket all the way to the top and checked his mother’s collar, seeing a small scarf tucked inside. Good enough.
“Who is Xiao Dou’er’s grandfather?” his mother asked.
“A little girl’s grandfather. Chen Jian… used to stay at their house,” Shan Yu said softly. “His family house was used as collateral for debts, leaving him with nowhere to live. He’s even slept in a coffin.”
“…I see,” President Liu grew quiet for a moment. “The child has had a bitter life. No wonder he’s so sensible.”
“Once the debt is paid off, he can finally relax,” Shan Yu said. “It’s almost done; aiming for this year.”
“Mm,” President Liu nodded. “If you want to free up your hands to do other things and leave the inn to him, you need to let him learn more. Especially with your current staff—they are your unique feature, but also your vulnerability. The busier business gets, the higher the pressure, and the more cracks will show. Emotional bonds alone won’t cut it; management requires real structure.”
“Mm,” Shan Yu acknowledged.
“Does me lecturing you annoy you?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Shan Yu said.
“If it doesn’t annoy you, show me around tomorrow,” she said. “See if there are any…”
“It’s the New Year, President Liu,” Shan Yu said. “Can’t you just take a proper rest?”
“Then keep me company and look at the scenery,” she said.
Professor Shan was still perched on that boulder, eyes glued to the water’s surface.
Hearing their approaching footsteps, he immediately made a shushing gesture.
Chen Jian quickly reined in Shiwu, who was trying to trot over.
“Fish are coming,” Professor Shan whispered.
“How many times have they ‘come’?” President Liu said. “Cruising through like nobody’s business.”
“There really are fish here,” Professor Shan said. “Xiao Chen knows how to pick a spot. I can catch one today. You don’t need to wait on me; I’ll head back once I catch one.”
“Come pick you up tomorrow morning, then?” President Liu asked.
Whether they’d have to pick him up tomorrow morning was up in the air, but when they returned to the inn for dinner, Professor Shan still hadn’t caught a single fish. Furthermore, he adamantly refused to return, whether out of stubborn obsession or trying to save face.
“Let him play,” President Liu waved a hand. “It’s rare for him to find an environment like this to mess around in back in the city.”
“I’ll come pick him up later tonight,” Shan Yu said.
“Is he dressed warmly enough?” Chen Jian sat in the back seat with Shiwu, looking slightly concerned.
“Wearing enough layers to stop a bullet,” Shan Yu said. “I checked.”
By comparison, Liu Wu’s father’s massive shopping spree yielded a far greater sense of accomplishment. Arriving back at the inn, Chen Jian spotted several large sacks outside the kitchen’s back door—all dried goods he had accompanied Chef Chen to buy in the village.
“You can buy all of this in the city, really,” his dad smiled. “He just felt buying it here was better.”
“Counts as a form of tourism, I suppose,” Chen Jian said.
“Where’s the dog, where’s the dog, where’s the dog?” Hu Pan sprinted out through the back door. “Let me see the dog!”
“Take him to meet Mushroom,” Chen Jian handed her the leash. “His name is Shiwu. A male; shouldn’t fight with Mushroom.”
“Shiwu! Shiwu!” Hu Pan called out.
Shiwu stood right up on his hind legs, wrapping his front paws around Hu Pan’s waist.
“Shiwu, no!” Chen Jian pointed a stern finger at him.
Shiwu was indeed a bilingual scholar. Although his reaction was a bit sluggish, he obediently released Hu Pan.
“Whoa!” Hu Pan grew instantly thrilled. “Shiwu, sit!”
Shiwu hesitated for a second, then sat down.
“A dog back from overseas?” his dad asked.
“Taught in both Chinese and English in obedience school,” Chen Jian smiled. “Understands both.”
“City officials are fancy, even their dogs go to school,” his dad chuckled.
Hu Pan led Shiwu toward Mushroom’s doghouse. Within ten seconds, Liu Wu came bolting out of the building too.
Seeing Chen Jian, he stopped.
“Over by the doghouse,” Chen Jian pre-empted his question.
“These kids are lively,” his dad squatted on the steps, reached into his pocket, and withdrew his hand empty.
“Go smoke by the pavilion,” Chen Jian said.
“Forget it,” his dad smiled. “Once Xiao Liu finishes prepping that dish, I need to head back in and keep cooking.”
“Calling him Xiao Liu already?” Chen Jian squatted down beside him.
“He’s younger than me,” his dad said. “He calls me Old Chen, so I call him Xiao Liu… Boss Shan’s family is very nice. No airs whatsoever. His parents—one a professor, one a company president—don’t look down on anyone at all.”
“Yeah,” Chen Jian nodded. “Very easy to get along with.”
Still, he couldn’t completely shake the pressure.
Dinner was slightly easier: a crowded table, endless chatter, everyone relaxed.
Liu Wu’s talkativeness was clearly genetic—both his parents were chatty. President Liu spoke slightly less, but could still joke and laugh easily with Chen Erhu.
The only moment that gave Chen Jian a tiny jolt of nerves was when President Liu chatted with his father.
President Liu asked about his dad’s line of work, and his dad answered openly. Chen Jian had been terribly worried she might suddenly offer to set his dad up with a job or something similar.
She didn’t. Hearing about his work, she merely remarked, “Bad weather must make the job quite exhausting.”
“Used to it,” his dad said. “Besides, bad weather brings more orders.”
“Take care of your health regardless,” President Liu said. “Don’t make your son worry. He’s doing very well for himself now; you don’t need to push yourself so hard.”
“That’s true, that’s true,” his dad beamed, glancing at Chen Jian.
After dinner, as they cleared the tables, Chen Jian pondered whether they should organize an activity to keep the evening from dragging on awkwardly.
“Playing cards?” Having slept her fill, Liu Wu’s mother asked, looking thoroughly refreshed.
“Go ahead,” President Liu smiled. “Can’t stop you from giving away your money.”
The mention of card games instantly fired up the staff. Shedding any lingering restraint around the boss’s family, they scrambled to set up snacks, drinks…
“Play in the conference room,” the boss finally remembered the inn’s operating rules. “The tables are already laid out for you.”
Hu Pan scooped up an armful of snacks and marched toward the conference room.
“Are you playing?” President Liu asked.
“Better not,” Liu Wu’s father said. “Playing cards with him has zero joy.”
“I’m going to pick up my dad,” Shan Yu said.
“Oh,” President Liu paused. “Almost forgot our fish-feeder by the riverbank. Go on, then.”
“Let’s go.” Shan Yu turned to leave, his shoulder brushing lightly against Chen Jian’s.
Chen Jian turned to follow, practically with a spring in his step.
Night had fully fallen outside. Who knew what kind of state the frail scholar Professor Shan was in by now.
As the car rolled toward the riverbank, Chen Jian stared out the window, worried they might drive right past Professor Shan if he had started walking back in the freezing cold.
“Stop looking,” Shan Yu said. “How could he possibly be walking along the road?”
Remembering Professor Shan’s clumsy shuffle on the river gravel earlier, Chen Jian couldn’t help laughing: “Fair point.”
Reaching the narrow dirt path before the riverbank, Shan Yu brought the car to a halt.
“Hm?” Chen Jian looked at him.
Shan Yu switched off the headlights, turning his head to meet his gaze: “Holy monk.”
“Huh?” Chen Jian responded.
“Felt any stirrings of worldly desire?” Shan Yu asked.
It took Chen Jian two seconds to process the line. In the next instant, without a shred of hesitation, he unbuckled his seatbelt, twisted around, and lunged across toward the driver’s seat.
The cabin space was slightly cramped for a maneuver that bold; his foot kicked right against the center console screen.
“Holy shit.” Startled, he glanced back hastily.
Shan Yu clicked a button on the door panel. As the backrest reclined, he caught Chen Jian’s collar, yanking him forward: “Focus.”
Riding the momentum, Chen Jian pressed his full weight down, first burying his face against Shan Yu’s neck to rub vigorously, before kissing him hard on the lips.
The surroundings were dead quiet. Moonlight poured through the car windows, rendering everything soft, hazy, and thick with intimacy.
Over the low hum of the idling engine, their breaths tangled together. The faint, sigh-like murmurs escaping Shan Yu’s throat felt like a ball of soft, prickly yarn rolling over his body—tender, yet overwhelmingly intoxicating.
