What is he even talking about!
Maybe it was the long day, but Chen Jian felt a faint ringing in his ears.
For a few seconds, he couldn’t even make out what Shan Yu was saying.
All he heard was zzz—zzz—inside his head.
Only when Shan Yu sat back down by the bed, got settled, snapped his fingers at him and called again—“Manager Chen!”—did he snap out of it. He pulled a chair over, sat by the bed, and, flustered but utterly practiced, lowered his head to start disinfecting.
New cotton swab, dip in iodine, wipe, toss.
What did Shan Yu just say?
New swab, dip iodine, wipe, toss.
Something about sleep…
Chen Jian’s hand trembled; the swab he’d just picked up slipped and fell.
“Why do Liu Wu and the others still need the conference room?” Shan Yu asked.
Chen Jian glanced over and saw Shan Yu had picked up his notebook again and was looking through it.
“They’ve got some indoor activities,” Chen Jian said, lowering his head to take a new swab. “We rent them the room by the hour.”
He actually hadn’t thought too deeply about the private-room incident—there was a hard-to-name awkwardness he didn’t want to revisit. A lot of things he threw into a corner of his mind to slowly fade on their own.
Until just now, when Shan Yu said something about sleeping…
Only then did it hit him like a jolt.
Or rather—that was when he finally faced reality.
“What ‘indoor activities,’” Shan Yu clicked his tongue. “A mixer?”
The boss likes men!
And wants to sleep.
“He sent Panpan an itinerary—some things we need to prep,” Chen Jian’s mind went a little blank. “Do you wan—”
…want to slee—
He stopped just in time, clamped down hard on the words about to slip out, cleared his throat.
“Want to look it over?” he asked instead.
“Who wants to look at that crap,” Shan Yu scoffed. “No. You look and control the flow—don’t let them get too rowdy. If they disturb other guests, I’ll kick them out that night.”
“Fifteen rooms for five days,” Chen Jian reminded him.
“He only comes a few times. Other guests I can’t afford to offend,” Shan Yu said. “Offending a few Liu Wus isn’t a problem.”
“I’ll keep a close eye on them,” Chen Jian said.
“Have Boss Chen send two guys to stand guard at the door,” Shan Yu said.
We are an inn!
“College kids are pretty… cooperative,” Chen Jian said. He’d been coordinating a lot with Liu Wu these days—felt the kids were quite decent.
“Do you think my leg’s about healed?” Shan Yu asked suddenly.
He changed topics so fast that Chen Jian’s already-stuck brain nearly couldn’t track.
“It… looks pretty good,” he stared at Shan Yu’s leg for a moment. “But who knows how the bone is inside. On the surface, the wounds look fine.”
“Press it,” Shan Yu said.
Am I insane? I don’t dare—that’s all wounds and holes and a brace.
Chen Jian stared. “Huh?”
“Press it. I want to see if it still hurts,” Shan Yu said.
“…Can’t you reach it yourself?” Chen Jian asked.
Flexibility this bad?
“I don’t dare,” Shan Yu said. “Can’t bring myself to.”
So I can?
“Ask Chen Dahu,” Chen Jian said, not daring to touch the injured leg as he carefully continued disinfecting. “He’ll definitely ‘dare.’ He can even help you take the brace apart.”
Shan Yu chuckled. “Hey.”
“Bear with it,” Chen Jian said. “Liu Wu reminded me yesterday to tell you not to rush. Go for a recheck at the end of next month. Maybe it’ll be better and you can take it off early.”
“I’m sick of this,” Shan Yu sighed.
Don’t sigh.
Low oxygen.
On the disinfecting front, Chen Jian was basically a trained aide by now; he finished in no time.
He picked up his notebook, slid Sanbing’s training plan back into it. “Sister Zhao made some late-night snacks—you want any?”
“Why’s she making snacks now?” Shan Yu asked.
“Starting tomorrow, the big influx begins—everyone’s been busy today,” Chen Jian said. “So I had her make a little something.”
“Still reliable, Manager,” Shan Yu said. “I’ll pass. I’m going to sleep soon—haven’t slept well these two days.”
Sleep.
Sleep sleep.
“Mm.” Chen Jian nodded, turned, and walked out. After pulling the door closed, he held his breath and hurried a few steps to the stairwell before letting out a long breath.
Shan Yu hasn’t slept—well—these two days.
And tonight he probably won’t—sleep—at all.
“Damn.” Chen Jian swore under his breath, shook his head, trying to shake loose the looping thoughts spinning like an OCD wheel.
No one had turned in yet. Sister Zhao had just double-checked the rooms with arrivals tomorrow. Erhu and the others had finished a patrol and were now eating sweet glutinous rice balls with Panpan in the restaurant, watching TV.
“Guests arrive at eight tomorrow,” Chen Jian said. “Anyone who can rest, rest early.”
“Too excited,” Panpan said. “Can’t sleep.”
“I’m on shift tonight,” Erhu said. “I’ll drive out early to pick up the first few arrivals, then sleep. Oh, Chen Jian—” He pointed toward the café. “Go check—does that sign I wrote have any issues?”
“I’ll replace it,” Panpan said.
“What sign?” Chen Jian walked into the café and immediately saw a note stuck on the boss’s newly purchased weird bottle.
Up close he saw the handwriting—likely Erhu’s:
- Don’t touch! Don’t move!
“…Why write that?” Chen Jian was speechless.
“To remind guests not to handle it,” Erhu said. “I just picked it up to look—seems handmade, very thin. If it gets knocked, it’ll shatter. Then we’ll be quibbling over compensation.”
Reasonable enough—if the thing was prepared for Chen Dahu, it had to be intact before it met him.
But that note…
It screamed Pigpen Security Squad.
“There are display placards in the storeroom,” Panpan said. “I’ll print a small card—‘Fragile, for viewing only,’ something like that.”
“I worked on that forever,” Erhu protested. “In brush calligraphy! You’re just tossing it?”
“Or we frame it and hang it on the fourth-floor office wall,” Chen Jian said. “You can discuss calligraphy with Boss Shan.”
“Time to patrol,” Erhu stood, slinging on a jacket. “Can’t compare with a manager for status…”
“Those who can rest, rest,” Chen Jian said as he headed upstairs. “Tomorrow’s a lot.”
“Got it—” came the drawn-out answer from Panpan and the others, reclining in their chairs.
Sanbing was sleeping in the dorm tonight. Chen Jian beat him back, finished tidying, and lay down, closing his eyes.
He was genuinely tired—the tired of several busy days, and a strange kind of tired too.
It came when Shan Yu said “you’re capable of handling it”—as if an invisible weight pressing on his heart had suddenly been lifted, leaving him slack and pleasantly exhausted.
A comfortable fatigue.
He slipped quickly into a half-dreaming state. Maybe he fell asleep—he was already dreaming.
The private room.
Shan Yu was looking at him.
Very close—close enough to see his own reflection in Shan Yu’s eyes.
…Shit!
He snapped his eyes open.
“What’s wrong?” came Sanbing’s startled voice beside him.
“Hm?” Chen Jian turned to see Sanbing standing by the bed with clean clothes in his arms, startled into a backward lean.
“You corpse-sit up?” Sanbing said.
Only then did Chen Jian realize he was sitting up.
“…Had a dream,” Chen Jian lay back. “What time is it?”
“Just past one,” Sanbing said.
“This late?” Chen Jian was surprised. It wasn’t even midnight when he came up. A dream only three seconds long—and two hours had passed?
“Yeah,” Sanbing nodded. “Everyone’s asleep.”
“Why are you so late?” Chen Jian looked over.
“I just went home,” Sanbing said. “My mom had a headache—I bought painkillers and took them over.”
“Then stay home and keep her company,” Chen Jian said. “You’re not on duty tonight.”
“It’s fine—over ten rooms tomorrow,” Sanbing said. “Erhu’s picking up people at dawn. I’m worried we’ll be short-handed. Better to sleep in the dorm.”
“Sanbing,” Chen Jian rested his head on his arm. “You haven’t really held a proper job before, have you?”
“Mm,” Sanbing leaned on the desk. “I’m not as capable as you. I just drifted.”
“Tired now compared to drifting?” Chen Jian smiled.
“It’s different. Drifting wasn’t easy either,” Sanbing thought a moment. “Mostly—it was anxiety. You might not get it. You’ve always worked hard. My kind of anxiety is… that panic of not knowing what you’ll do with your life.”
“I actually…” Chen Jian paused. “Never really thought about ‘this life’ before.”
“Now it’s really good,” Sanbing said. “Not much money, but not that much work either, and it’s not emotionally exhausting.”
“Mm.” Chen Jian nodded. “Go shower.”
That night, Sanbing slept like a log. Chen Jian figured he slept too; though he kept hearing Sanbing snore, it felt like only a dozen minutes before daybreak.
Then Sanbing’s alarm blared.
“What time is your alarm?” Chen Jian groaned, grabbing his pillow over his head.
“Six-thirty.” Sanbing hopped down. “I’m up first, Manager.”
“I’m up too.” Chen Jian sat up, bowed his head for a moment, and ran through everything he had to do today—his fastest way to snap fully awake.
By seven, when he went downstairs, everyone was up. Sister Zhao was preparing guest breakfasts, so she’d risen extra early. Chen Jian had said if it got too busy, staff could grab breakfast outside—but Sister Zhao still made everything, including a big tray of steamed buns that smelled amazing.
“Morning, Manager Chen.” Panpan stood behind the front desk computer with a bun in hand.
“Morning.” Chen Jian took a bun and glanced at the screen—seeing the blocks of pre-booked rooms gave him a wave of reassurance.
“Erhu’s already gone to pick up guests,” Panpan said. “The earliest two rooms are almost here. They drove overnight and just called—they’re lost. Lao Wu’s leading them in on the motorbike.”
“Mm.” Chen Jian nodded.
Good thing he’d called Erhu’s guys in—surprises like these meant short staffing fast.
“Breakfast for Boss Shan,” Sister Zhao brought a tray. “Take it up? He said he won’t come down to eat today.”
“Why?” Chen Jian blinked.
“So he won’t get in the way,” Panpan said. “He can’t really help—and wherever he stands becomes the wrong place.”
That’s the boss life.
Chen Jian took the tray. “He’s up?”
“Yeah,” Sister Zhao said. “He even came down once—past six. Saw breakfast wasn’t ready and went back up.”
That hungry?
The elevator was parked on the third floor; likely he wasn’t in the office—probably “hanging” in the third-floor gym.
He’d turned amazingly disciplined this early.
Chen Jian guessed right. The gym light was on. He called at the door, “Boss Shan.”
“Here,” Shan Yu answered, with the thud of a dumbbell hitting the floor.
He’d felt normal enough doing a loop downstairs—sleepy night and all. But hearing Shan Yu’s voice now, yesterday’s words resurfaced.
“You…” As he stepped in with the tray, Chen Jian’s limbs briefly got out of sync. “Sister Zhao said you’d eat upstairs.”
“Mm.” Shan Yu came over, leaning on his crutch—clearly working out, wearing only a tank top.
Chen Jian handed him the tray—and finally saw it clearly: a black thin line ran from the side of Shan Yu’s neck across his shoulder to his arm, ending in a tiny bow.
Shan Yu accepted the tray. “You all handle your work today—don’t worry about me.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian drew his gaze back. “You don’t have to wake this early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Shan Yu said. “Thought I’d experience a day in the life of a boss despised by staff.”
“It’s only busy this morning,” Chen Jian said. “It’ll ease up by noon. Most arrivals are in the afternoon.”
“I’ll head out and roam a bit,” Shan Yu said, picking up a bun.
“Where?” Chen Jian asked reflexively.
Because of “no talking while eating,” Shan Yu didn’t answer—just looked at him and smiled.
Where he goes is none of your business, Manager. You don’t manage where the boss goes!
“When it’s this busy and the boss is gone—if something happens…” Chen Jian said.
Unhurried, Shan Yu ate the bun.
Didn’t even wash his hands first—though Sister Zhao had wiped the dumbbells, with a rag…
At least he didn’t eat the little piece his fingers pinched—he put it back on the tray. “There’s a manager. What can happen? At worst, a troublesome guest—kick them out.”
Reputation, boss!
Panpan was right not to let him linger downstairs.
“Follow the small path in—there’s a footpath into the mountain, right?” Shan Yu took another bun.
“You’re going to drive a wheelchair into the mountains?” Chen Jian stared.
Shan Yu didn’t answer.
So Chen Jian stood and waited out his “no talking while eating.”
“That’s a hiking path,” Chen Jian said. “A wheelchair will chew through its wheels.”
Luckily, the buns were small—two bites each. Once he finished, Shan Yu said, “It’s not a mountain trail. Looks flat enough.”
“You got legs for it?” Chen Jian said.
“What a thing to say. I’ve got at least one and a half,” Shan Yu picked up a third bun.
“Finish talking first—your ‘no talking’ wastes time,” Chen Jian couldn’t help saying.
Shan Yu smiled, bun in hand. “Go on.”
“If you can walk it, that path is fine,” Chen Jian said. “If you take the wheelchair and flip, then what.”
“I’ll walk in,” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian didn’t reply. Shan Yu had wanted to wander—mountains, rivers, forests—but with the leg and a pile of work, he’d only made it to the village, and once to the old town, then stayed trapped in the inn.
Even to the city…
Chen Jian drew a breath.
“It’s fine. I won’t go far,” Shan Yu said. “If you’re afraid I’ll die in there and you can’t find me, pry the tracker out of the bottle and stick it on me.”
“Then go,” Chen Jian said, not stopping him further. “Don’t cut into the woods—easy to get lost. Every year people get lost in there.”
“Mm.” Shan Yu waggled the bun. “I’m eating this.”
Chen Jian sighed.
Low oxygen.
Leaning on his crutch, Shan Yu left by the back garden door, following the small path.
Back at the front desk, Lao Wu rolled in on the motorbike with a small car behind—lost guests had arrived: a family of five. They came in complaining the road was hard and the forks unmarked.
“Your service needs improving,” the old man said, all disdain. “Didn’t even tell us there were forks.”
“Gotta follow the GPS,” Panpan said. “It’s accurate on this road. Have you eaten? The restaurant’s offering free breakfast now.”
“GPS is dead. People are flexible. You all need to—improve… We’ll eat a bit.”
Breakfast was meant for guests from the previous night, but right now it served well to ease unhappy arrivals.
Sanbing led the family to the restaurant. Panpan turned back and stuck her tongue out at Chen Jian, who was leaning against the back wall.
“Nicely done,” Chen Jian smiled.
As that group headed upstairs, Erhu arrived with more guests—several young people, phones up recording from the moment they stepped out of the car.
Chen Jian stepped aside; Panpan worked fast—he didn’t need to help.
Rather than go to their rooms, the group dumped their luggage by the front desk and went to the garden.
Chen Jian went over and moved the luggage piece by piece aside.
“Want to take their bags up?” Panpan asked.
“We don’t offer that service,” Chen Jian said.
“That sounds like something Boss Shan would say,” Panpan laughed.
Chen Jian was about to reply when Lao Wu ran in from outside. “Chen Jian—bad news.”
“Repeat that,” Chen Jian turned.
“Two men came,” Lao Wu lowered his voice. “Friends of Chen Dahu. Trouble.”
As he spoke, Chen Jian saw the two thugs who’d come with Dahu the other day.
Chen Jian clicked his tongue.
As long as it wasn’t Dahu himself, out of control—just these two, he didn’t care. Especially with Shan Yu out—that was the biggest source of instability removed.
Chen Jian walked over and blocked them at the entrance.
“What?” one thug sneered. “This how your inn does business?”
“Welcome to Dayin Inn,” Chen Jian said, not budging.
