AD CH22

Although several bosses were on the third floor just now, the commotion downstairs had been considerable, making it unlikely they hadn’t heard. Even if they hadn’t, their people were all over the first floor, and a single text message would have filled them in completely.

When such a thing happened on the grand opening day, regardless of whether the bosses wanted to watch the drama unfold, they had to be tactful on the surface and make their leave.

Feeling a stomach full of suffocating frustration, Chen Jian returned to the first floor. The bosses were talking to Hu Pan, looking ready to take off.

“Manager,” Hu Pan looked at him, “the bosses…”

Under normal circumstances, Chen Jian should have asked what was wrong, politely insisted they stay, and then offered a polite and apologetic word when they firmly insisted on leaving. But today’s ordeal was truly exasperating, and having just been kicked out of the office by Shan Yu, he was completely out of the mood to act.

So he cut out all the middle scenes and went straight to the closing line: “Thank you all so much for coming today. Please forgive us for the poor hospitality, bosses.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” He Liang said. “You’ve gotten the hurdles out of the way early; things will be smooth sailing from here. Wishing Daxin a prosperous opening.”

Your mother’s the one who got hurdles out of the way early.

You’re the hurdle.

Your whole shop is made of hurdles.

Anyone with trypophobia would go crazy on the spot looking at it.

Chen Jian looked at him: “Thank you. It will be prosperous.”

After seeing the bosses and their employees out of the courtyard, Chen Jian turned and went back inside.

Their own people were all sitting in the restaurant.

Zhao-jie had brought out the first-aid kit and was helping Chen Erhu disinfect the injury around his eye. Not only was Chen Erhu’s right eye affected, but the entire right side of his face had swollen up. His eye was squeezed down to a slit, looking narrower than the cut on the corner of his eye.

“How is it?” Chen Jian walked into the restaurant and asked.

“Can’t you see for yourself?” Chen Erhu snapped crossly.

Chen Jian’s rage erupted in an instant. Grabbing a teacup off the table, he hurled it straight at Chen Erhu’s forehead: “What are you being snarky with me for? Did I fucking cause this mess?!”

The teacup bounced off Chen Erhu’s forehead. This time nobody caught it, and it shattered into pieces on the floor.

“Manager, Manager…” Sanbing quickly rushed over to hold him back. “Don’t, don’t, don’t…”

“Oh, broken glass brings peace and good luck! Shattered into pieces, safe and sound!” Hu Pan clapped her hands while shouting, interrupting the argument that might have escalated further. “Peace—good luck—an auspicious start—”

“Where’s the auspicious start?” Lao Si asked.

“Boss Chen’s face has an auspicious start—seeing blood counts!” Hu Pan continued shouting. “Are we done yet?—It’s lucky now!—No more fighting, right?—”

“Stop shouting!” Chen Erhu shot her a look. “My head hurts as it is.”

“I checked; there are painkillers in the medical box. Take one,” Hu Pan brought over a broom and swept up the broken glass on the floor.

Chen Jian sat down by the dining table.

“How’s Boss Shan?” Sanbing sat down beside Chen Jian.

Pissed off- how else could he be? Fuming to death.

“He’s alright,” Chen Jian said. “Resting in the office.”

“What a mess today…” Sanbing frowned. “What about this afternoon? Are we still eating? Or…”

“We eat; it won’t affect anything,” Chen Jian said. “Our plan for today was to set off firecrackers, have a meal together among ourselves at noon, and invite a few acquaintances over in the evening. There’s no difference now.”

“Yeah, no difference,” Sanbing nodded.

“Chen Jian,” Chen Erhu’s facial wound had been bandaged by Zhao-jie. He stood up. “Can the two of us talk in private?”

Chen Jian didn’t say anything. He stood up, walked across the restaurant with him, stepped out the back door, and sat down at the small table in the backyard.

Chen Erhu lit a cigarette and sat on the nearby swing set, dazed for a long time.

Chen Jian didn’t rush him to speak either. To be honest, he didn’t feel like talking right now either; his mind was entirely filled with Shan Yu’s “Get out.”

“With what happened today between me and my brother, consider us completely cut off,” Chen Erhu finally spoke.

Chen Jian glanced at him: “He’s beaten you from childhood to adulthood, beating you half to death every single time. It’s only today, when you almost died, that you think about cutting him off? If Shan Yu hadn’t knocked him out cold, you wouldn’t be cutting ties right now—you’d be saying your final farewell.”

“Fuck your ancestors, Chen Jian, can you speak like a normal human being?!” Chen Erhu turned his head, glaring at him with his one open eye while cursing. “If I weren’t in the wrong today, I’d beat you up right now.”

“Did you call Chen Dahu over?” Chen Jian asked.

“How the fuck could I! Fuck, how is that possible!” Chen Erhu raised his voice, his neck—still red from being choked earlier—turning even redder.

“Then what are you in the wrong for?” Chen Jian said.

“…So you just want to pick a fight, huh?” Chen Erhu looked at him.

“You can’t win against me anyway,” Chen Jian said.

“Damn it, impossible to talk to you.” Chen Erhu threw the cigarette in his hand onto the ground, turned around, and started walking back.

Chen Jian let out a sigh: “Boss Chen, whatever you want to talk about, talk.”

Chen Erhu stood in place for almost half a minute before walking back over.

“Throw the cigarette butt into the trash can,” Chen Jian said. “Sanbing and the others swept for so long yesterday; let’s keep it clean.”

Chen Erhu picked up the cigarette butt and popped it back into his mouth: “In a bit, there’s still half a stick left… You really are something as a manager…”

“Not very qualified,” Chen Jian said.

“Well, you can’t put it that way. You’re still qualified,” Chen Erhu said. “Even though we have our frictions, I still recognize your work on this matter.”

Chen Jian gave a faint smile.

“Let me ask you,” Chen Erhu swung a few times on the swing before stopping, leaning in closer to Chen Jian. “Shan Yu… Boss Shan, has he really… served time in prison?”

“Go ask him,” Chen Jian said.

“Do I look like I dare?!” Chen Erhu glared at him.

“And you think I dare?” Chen Jian sighed.

“…Damn it,” Chen Erhu thought for a moment. “I think it’s true. He really acts like it. His moves were so ruthless—I never thought my brother could be knocked out so cleanly. Must have gone in for intentional assault, right? It couldn’t be murder, could it?”

It really wasn’t. Neither of those.

Unexpected, wasn’t it?

“In your court, a murder charge only gets three years?” Chen Jian said.

“Do you think… he can keep Daxin running?” Chen Erhu looked at him. “I really have nowhere else to go now but here. If I leave this place, Chen Dahu will beat me to death instantly.”

Chen Jian stayed silent.

“Besides, let me tell you,” Chen Erhu exhaled a cloud of smoke. “That ten thousand yuan investment thing—who knows what that’s really about. There’s no way my brother has that much money. If you said a thousand, he might be able to squeeze it out by beating up my dad after going home, but ten thousand is absolutely impossible.”

Chen Jian shot him a look.

“You mention this situation to Shan Yu,” Chen Erhu said.

Does it even need mentioning? Looking at your brother, it’s obvious he couldn’t possibly have ten thousand.

“Why don’t you say it yourself?” Chen Jian asked.

“I don’t have the face to see Shan Yu right now. No matter how you slice it, that’s my biological brother, causing such a fucking mess on a day like this.” Chen Erhu stood up, walked over to the trash can, put out the cigarette, threw it inside, and then slowly walked back toward the restaurant.

Chen Jian didn’t move, remaining seated by the table.

This courtyard had been finished yesterday. He had checked every single detail—whether everything was in place, whether things were stable—but he hadn’t sat down like this to appreciate it properly.

Only now, leaning back in the chair, slowly looking from near to far, did he realize it was truly quite lovely, very comfortable. Sitting here chatting, having a drink or a bite to eat felt immensely pleasant.

He let out a soft sigh.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He waited a moment before pulling it out to check, then answered the call.

“Xiao Chen,” Old Zhang was on the other end. The evening dinner gathering was at the guesthouse, and fearing Zhao-jie wouldn’t be able to handle all the cooking alone, he had ordered dishes from Old Zhang’s agriturismo restaurant. “I’ve picked out the fish for you guys. Two ways of cooking the chicken, right?”

“That’s right,” Chen Jian said.

“I should have everything ready around three or four in the afternoon. You’ll need to come pick it up then,” Old Zhang said. “I won’t have time to deliver it to you guys then.”

“I’ll go pick it up. Thanks, Boss Zhang,” Chen Jian said.

After hanging up, he stared at his phone. The head count for dinner hadn’t been finalized yet. Apart from their staff, there were the friends or family brought along by them, and he hadn’t confirmed with Shan Yu if there was anyone else he wanted to invite.

Call Shan Yu to ask.

Or go to the office to ask him in person.

Chen Jian felt somewhat indecisive.

After zoning out for a while longer, he decided it was better to go to the office. Although the way Shan Yu lost his temper earlier made him feel a bit apprehensive, the more it was like this, the more he wanted to see the other’s expression and feel his gaze—otherwise, he felt even more unsettled.

Shan Yu was sitting behind the office desk, leaning back in his chair with his legs propped on the desk—a position that made his leg feel most comfortable. Right now, his leg was aching with a throbbing tightness, likely from taking weight earlier.

The Cola was already empty, but he still felt thirsty and wanted another can, yet he didn’t want to move.

After staring into space for a long time, he grabbed his phone off the desk and opened his contact list.

There were only three numbers saved inside in total.

The first was Chen Jian’s, and the second was Liu Wu’s.

He dialed the last number—Yue Lang’s.

It rang for just one second before the other side picked up: “Hey.”

“Waiting for my call? Picked up so fast,” Shan Yu said.

“Playing a game,” Yue Lang said, then paused. “Shan Yu?”

“Mm,” Shan Yu responded.

“Fuck, I thought you were dead,” Yue Lang said. “Where are you?”

“Waiting to cross the Naihe Bridge,” Shan Yu said.

“Hold on a sec; let me switch rooms. I’m at my mom’s place,” the background noise on Yue Lang’s end was a bit noisy, but after a few seconds, it quieted down. “What’s up?”

“I need to find Qian Yu,” Shan Yu said. “The sooner the better. Do you have any news on him over there?”

“I’ll have to ask around. Nobody’s seen him since he came back,” Yue Lang asked. “I heard from his people that the guesthouse paperwork was all completed. Didn’t you sort it out?”

Shan Yu pinched his fingers: “The paperwork is fine. This guesthouse is mine now, but I have other business with him.”

There was a knock on the office door.

Three times.

That was Chen Jian’s habit.

Under normal circumstances, nobody else would come.

“Come in,” Shan Yu called out from inside.

Chen Jian pushed the office door open: “I…”

Only when Shan Yu turned his head did he see that Shan Yu was on the phone. He quickly backed up: “I’ll come back in a bit.”

Shan Yu pointed at the sofa.

Chen Jian stopped, hesitated for a second, walked into the office, closed the door, and sat down on the sofa.

“He shouldn’t think that transferring the guesthouse to me settles the debt. I only took it because I was sick of hearing him cry poor,” Shan Yu said. “Giving him face and he wouldn’t take it, leaving me a mountain of trouble. He can’t run away…”

Chen Jian looked at the empty Cola can sitting on the coffee table, feeling somewhat awkward. Although Shan Yu clearly didn’t mind him hearing the conversation, what was being discussed had nothing to do with him, giving him an inexplicable sense of guilt for eavesdropping.

“He’d better contact me himself—definitely don’t wait for me to find him,” Shan Yu’s tone was very flat. “If I have to find him myself, I can’t guarantee he’ll be walking out of the hospital on his own two feet. I don’t care whether I find a leg or half an arm… What is it?”

Chen Jian took several seconds to suddenly react, looking up. Shan Yu had already hung up the phone; that last question was directed at him.

“Didn’t we order dishes from Boss Zhang for tonight?” Chen Jian stood up. “I wanted to ask if our head count was confirmed yet, so he can check if the amount of food is right.”

“Get me a can of Cola,” Shan Yu said. “And a glass.”

Chen Jian walked over to the mini-fridge, grabbed a can of Cola, then took a glass off the shelf and inspected it—it was a new glass brought up by Zhao-jie, very clean.

He set the glass and Cola on the desk: “I’ve already tallied the head count for the staff side, but do you have any…”

“Invite Liu Wu over,” Shan Yu said.

“Hmm?” Chen Jian was stunned.

“Besides him, who else could I possibly invite?” Shan Yu opened the Cola can and poured it slowly into the glass.

Chen Jian frowned: “If we don’t clarify things, what if another mess happens?”

Shan Yu raised his head and shot him a glance: “Quite a temper you’ve got there.”

Who?

“No,” Chen Jian said.

“Some things are just unfair like this,” Shan Yu said. “If Chen Dahu hadn’t come to cause trouble and you didn’t mention it, nothing would have happened. But Chen Dahu came, and he caused such a huge scene. What do you think my first reaction would be?”

Chen Jian didn’t speak.

“That you didn’t tell me,” Shan Yu looked at him.

“Mm,” Chen Jian responded.

“That’s it?” Shan Yu asked.

Chen Jian fell silent for a moment, looking at him: “That’s it.”

“Really that’s it?” Shan Yu said. “If that’s really it, I’ll take it as you accepting responsibility.”

“Accepting what?” Chen Jian couldn’t hold back.

“Then spit it out,” Shan Yu said.

“Before you came, I just did odd jobs, taking whatever work came my way,” Chen Jian looked at him. “I don’t know what points you care about, nor do I know what kind of so-called assistant or manager you want. You don’t say anything either. Many times, I have to overstep boundaries and make mistakes first before I can know…”

Chen Jian paused, suddenly realizing that what he was saying didn’t seem to have anything to do with the incident with Chen Dahu itself.

Off topic.

“Hmm?” Shan Yu prompted.

“Nothing,” Chen Jian said. “I didn’t think things through thoroughly regarding this matter.”

After going in a circle, he still accepted the blame.

Shan Yu leaned back in his chair and looked at him for a moment, saying nothing further. He held out the half-full can of Cola: “Want a drink?”

“No,” Chen Jian said, yet he still reached out and took the Cola.

“Didn’t I tell you to treat your injury?” Shan Yu said.

“Forgot,” Chen Jian said.

“How did you get hurt?” Shan Yu asked.

“Not today,” Chen Jian said. “It got scratched yesterday when setting up the flower rack in the courtyard. It just reopened today.”

“Is that so?” Shan Yu paused, slowly lowering his legs from the desk, stood up, picked up his glass, and tapped it against the can in Chen Jian’s hand. “You’ve worked hard these past few days.”

Chen Jian didn’t say a word, only feeling a sudden surge of heat in the corners of his eyes.

Fuck.

What is wrong with me!

He turned his head away swiftly.

It had indeed been hard work. Every day, the moment he opened his eyes, a mountain of chores awaited him—making phone calls, running to the old town, supervising workers, figuring out solutions whenever problems arose, and sometimes arguing with people.

And the boss couldn’t help with much.

But none of that mattered. In his past jobs, he had worked even harder, the bosses couldn’t help either, and the pay was even worse.

This time, he didn’t know what was wrong—maybe because the pay was high, or maybe because this boss was different from the previous ones—he cared extraordinarily about his own efforts.

Or maybe because he had just been scolded by the boss…

Not really scolded, though.

But it felt worse than getting scolded.

He felt somewhat aggrieved—he used to not care, but now he did.

This “You’ve worked hard” came so unexpectedly that he had zero defense, and his emotions instantly became hard to suppress.

“Hmm?” Shan Yu took a sip of Cola, looking at the back of his head. “What’s wrong?”

Chen Jian didn’t make a sound.

Shan Yu walked over, wanting to look at his face. Just as he approached, Chen Jian quickly turned his head to the other side.

But halfway through turning, he was forced to stop—Shan Yu’s hand reached around from the other side, his fingers pressing against his face.

When he brushed Shan Yu’s hand away, Shan Yu caught sight of his reddened eyes and froze: “Ah, fuck.”

Chen Jian shot him a look without speaking.

“Crying?” Shan Yu asked.

“No,” Chen Jian still stared at him.

“Angry?” Shan Yu asked.

“I said no,” Chen Jian said.

“If this were Liu Wu, he’d have cried into a faucet from anger long ago,” Shan Yu said.

“…I’m not Liu Wu,” Chen Jian said.

Shan Yu pulled out a tissue and handed it to him.

Chen Jian took it, but didn’t use it. When Shan Yu looked up at him again, he found that Chen Jian was no longer in that state; though his eyes were still faintly red, his emotions had clearly been suppressed.

Shan Yu let out a sigh: “Alright then.”

“I’ll head downstairs,” Chen Jian said, turning toward the door. After taking two steps, he stopped again. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Speak,” Shan Yu leaned against the desk.

“Chen Erhu said Chen Dahu couldn’t possibly have ten thousand,” Chen Jian turned back around. Although he wanted to leave the office quickly and find a quiet place to compose himself, he still had to pass along Chen Erhu’s message. “That ten-thousand-yuan investment share was probably just Qian Yu fooling him.”

“I could guess,” Shan Yu said.

“Just this matter—he was embarrassed to bring it up to you himself,” Chen Jian said. In the span of two sentences, he had completely returned to his normal composure.

“Got it,” Shan Yu said.

Chen Jian turned to walk out of the office.

“Chen Jian,” Shan Yu thought for a moment and called out to him.

Chen Jian turned his head back.

“With this job, you’ll inevitably have to swallow your pride from time to time,” Shan Yu said. “If you don’t want to endure it, don’t. If you really think I’m in the wrong, curse if you want to, argue if you want to.”

“Who could out-curse you?” Chen Jian turned and walked briskly down the stairs.

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