102 froze for a moment.
Even if he was planning suicide, he clearly hadn’t expected anyone to ask him that question so bluntly.
After a few seconds, he finally replied:
“Oh… not yet. I’m just recording what I observe.”
—“Not yet?” What kind of answer is that?
Chen Jian looked at him, thinking this reply was no more normal than Shan Yu’s strange question.
“Recording is fine,” Shan Yu said evenly, watching him. “But if your record is made public and—because of inaccuracy or unfairness—causes our inn any negative impact…”
“It won’t.” 102 cut in, heading toward the stairs. “I have a good impression here. I’m not a reviewer or some influencer.”
Shan Yu said nothing further—just sat in his wheelchair and watched him.
When the elevator came, Chen Jian followed Shan Yu inside. Once the doors closed, he finally spoke:
“What exactly is that guy up to?”
“Keep an eye on him.” Shan Yu said. “He really might commit suicide.”
“…You’re kidding, right?” Chen Jian felt a chill shoot up his spine, hairs bristling. But then, strangely, anger surged up.
“If someone else dares to die here again, I’ll beat the crap out of them first!”
“Corpse-beating?” Shan Yu arched a brow. “That’s a crime, you know—defiling a corpse.”
Chen Jian stared at him, speechless.
“Relax, Manager.” Shan Yu smiled. “No need to panic. He literally said it himself: not yet. He’s still alive.”
The elevator opened on the first floor. Chen Jian walked out—only to bump head-on into 102 coming down the stairs.
102 even gave them a polite smile, before returning to his own room.
Chen Jian inhaled deeply, exhaled slow.
Not yet.
Not yet.
On the first floor, everything looked normal. A few early guests ate breakfast in the restaurant, but tourists usually only arrived closer to noon—so mornings stayed calm.
The “Happy Beans” had sworn to wake up early today to avoid long queues. But after last night’s crazy antics, they were still dead asleep.
(Not that they’d have managed to get up otherwise—but now at least they had a perfectly solid excuse to sleep in.)
“Tell Sister Zhao to make more desserts today,” Shan Yu instructed Hu Pan at the front desk. “Offer for free to every guest. Same with coffee. If that’s not enough, buy more pastries. Manager will transfer you funds.”
“Got it.” Hu Pan nodded. “Are you two going out?”
“We’ll be back by noon.” Chen Jian could see she felt uneasy. “If anything happens, just call. Lao Si and Lao Wu will both be on shift today.”
“Mm.” Hu Pan made a motion at her forehead, then flicked her fingers dramatically. “Not worried at all.”
Chen Jian chuckled. “Nothing’s going to happen. Chen Dahu’s been caught. His gang is too busy running away now to bother us.”
Just then, Liu Wu came yawning down the stairs.
Chen Jian gave him a look. Terrible timing, hero student.
“Morning.” Liu Wu greeted cheerfully.
“You. Come here.” Shan Yu raised his folded crutch like a pointer. “Classmate Liu.”
…No more pretending he wasn’t his cousin?
And scolding a guest in front of Hu Pan—wasn’t that inappropriate?
Liu Wu looked uncertainly at Chen Jian.
Chen Jian bent to whisper in Shan Yu’s ear: “Right now he’s not your cousin—he’s a guest.”
“Exactly. And I’m scolding the guest.” Shan Yu spun his wheelchair half a turn and headed toward the side door by the storeroom.
Sheepishly, Liu Wu trailed after him.
“What’s up?” Hu Pan whispered curiously.
“Last night, having them follow us chasing that thief was too dangerous.” Chen Jian covered for him. “They’re just kids—if anything happened, we’d be in deep trouble.”
“True.” Hu Pan nodded. “And besides, Liu Wu’s your boss’s relative.”
Chen Jian blinked. “…How do you know that?”
“Didn’t his mom call here asking if there were college students checked in—then directly tracked down Boss Shan? And Liu Wu’s been chummy with you all along? It’s not exactly rocket science.”
“…Right.” Chen Jian said.
Hu Pan grinned. “Exactly.”
“Yep—Liu Wu’s Boss Shan’s cousin.” Chen Jian admitted.
“I figured as much.” She laughed. “Was even thinking of asking sometime.”
No need—most likely he’ll slip and say it himself one day.
On the drive out, Shan Yu was (as always) behind the wheel, leaving Chen Jian squirming in the passenger seat. It gnawed at him—having his paraplegic boss play chauffeur.
“What do you feel like eating?” Shan Yu asked.
“Depends—Chinese or Wes—” Chen Jian started.
“Chinese. Chinese, Chinese.” Shan Yu cut him off immediately. “Chinese.”
Chen Jian smiled. “Alright. Just keep straight past Xiao Pang’s noodle shop—there are a few places: congee, buns, pancakes, soy milk.”
“That bun shop you had last time—good?” Shan Yu asked as he drove.
“Really good. Big fillings. And they’ve got decent steamed dumplings too.”
“Going there then.”
As they drove past Xiao Pang’s noodle shop, both of them instinctively glanced inside.
“What are you looking at?” Chen Jian asked with a small laugh.
“Checking if that fat aunt saw us,” Shan Yu said.
“We’re in the car—can’t see clearly. She wouldn’t recognize our vehicle anyway.”
Parking on the roadside, they went in quickly. Shan Yu moved briskly, almost like he wanted to avoid being spotted—legs suddenly a medical miracle when it came to dodging acquaintances.
Soy milk, buns, dumplings—their usual breakfast spread.
Shan Yu sipped soy milk, quietly ate buns.
Chen Jian followed suit.
“Silence at the table” was supposedly the easiest rule to follow, but actually—it wasn’t. Especially when you were with someone familiar.
Chen Jian itched to break the silence several times. To mention last night. Or Chen Erhu. Each time he forced himself to swallow it back down.
How had Shan Yu managed this rule as a child—especially when he was the only one forbidden to talk?
The thought almost made him laugh.
“What do you want to say?” Shan Yu asked after finishing three buns.
“Nothing.” Chen Jian paused, then gave in: “Liu Wu joked about table etiquette yesterday—this ‘no talking while eating’ thing…”
Before he could finish, Shan Yu clicked his tongue in disgust.
“So it’s just you who’s enforcing silence,” Chen Jian said.
“He’s the one who should truly shut up,” Shan Yu replied. “He needs to be banned from talking, period.”
Chen Jian chuckled, letting it drop.
“As a kid I was really chatty,” Shan Yu explained. “Always talking at meals because my mom’s cooking was awful. My dad’s too.”
“My mom’s cooking was actually really good,” Chen Jian said quietly. “No matter how I try, I can’t reproduce that taste.”
“Same.” Shan Yu nodded. “I can’t replicate my mom’s dishes either. And anything I whip up is infinitely better than hers.”
Chen Jian laughed softly.
“…But it’s been a long time since I ate her food,” Shan Yu added.
“You…” Chen Jian glanced at him. “It’s been a long time since you went home, hasn’t it? I mean… since you left, you’ve never gone back?”
“Yeah. Not ready yet. Someday.” Shan Yu popped a dumpling into his mouth.
At that moment, Doctor Chen the masseur was busy with his early bird clients. Loyal elder villagers were always first.
When Shan Yu entered, Chen was pressing an old lady’s neck. He called out to him:
“How’s the medicine working?”
“Pretty well.” Shan Yu nodded. “Stop taking it and I start losing sleep again though.”
“Takes time. I’ll give you another look.”
“Wasn’t it your inn?” one old uncle suddenly asked, looking at Chen Jian.
“Huh?” Chen Jian blinked.
He must mean last night’s incident.
This was Old Fu, owner of a small supermarket in the old town. He rarely came back to the village—yet even he knew already?
“Wasn’t it Chen Dahu who tried robbing your place yesterday?” the old woman piped up from under the doctor’s hands.
“Yes.” Shan Yu answered.
“Hero! Eliminating evil!” the old lady suddenly shouted.
The outburst startled Shan Yu so badly he nearly leapt up from his chair.
“How long will he get?” Old Fu asked. “A few years?”
“Not sure yet,” Chen Jian answered. “Takes time.”
“At least we’ll get some peace.” the old lady muttered. “Such a menace!”
“They say his brother Chen Erhu is the one who caught him?” Old Fu probed. “That’s true loyalty—turning him in.”
“Chen Erhu’s no saint either. Led astray by his brother,” another aunt chimed in. “Think he’ll reform now?”
“He’s been doing well with us,” Chen Jian said. He leaned closer. “Wait. You all already know the details of last night?”
“Well, small place like this,” Old Fu snorted. “They caught the thief right under his window. Big commotion—word spreads fast. They’re saying the boss is amazing—led his men to seize Chen Dahu.”
“That’s him.” The old lady pointed directly at Shan Yu. “The lame boss.”
“Yes.” Shan Yu nodded. “That’d be me.”
“With your legs? How’d you lead anyone?” Old Fu eyed the brace showing under his pant leg. “Prosthetic?”
“I stayed inside giving commands,” Shan Yu said smoothly. He tapped his ear. “They all wore receivers—moved as one.”
“Ohhh—” The whole room collectively gasped. “High tech!”
Receivers? Since when…
How does that make it ‘high tech’??
Chen Jian stared at Shan Yu, utterly exasperated.
After the pulse check, with prescription in hand, they left. Behind them, the whole clinic still debated—inventing wilder and wilder versions. With the boss’s own input, the story had already mutated into: crippled Boss Shan using futuristic devices, remote-controlling his underlings to capture Chen Dahu.
At this rate, the next chapter might feature a black-ops Justice League arrest.
“You really dare say anything.” Chen Jian muttered.
“Better they gossip about that than about two people dying at our inn,” Shan Yu said. “Rumor can smother rumor.”
Chen Jian fell silent.
Yes—Shan Yu’s logic was always that crooked.
“Which road now?” Shan Yu asked as they returned to the car.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the way back to Dayin?” Chen Jian asked.
“Aren’t we heading to New Village?” Shan Yu replied, starting the car. He glanced at Chen Jian. “Didn’t you need to repay and get a receipt?”
“I can handle it—no need for you to drive me.”
“You’d have to ride back, then head out again?” Shan Yu pressed.
“…Yeah.”
“That’s like retracing eighteen li. The sign at the junction clearly said New Village,” Shan Yu said.
“I still think I should go myself.” Chen Jian muttered.
Shan Yu said nothing, just drove.
At the junction, sure enough, he steered directly up the New Village road.
Chen Jian sighed. “…Really unnecessary.”
“A car has its perks—even if it’s secondhand.” Shan Yu said. “Compared to your battered bike, it looks better. Shows your creditors you’re better off now, reliable for repayment. Might ease their pressure.”
“And if they think I’m so well-off they should squeeze me harder?” Chen Jian asked.
“Who said the car’s yours? I’m just your chauffeur, right?” Shan Yu smirked.
Chen Jian laughed.
“Better story: the legendary high-tech thief-catching boss chauffeured you to repay debt. Shows you’re earning steady now, repayment solid.” Shan Yu continued.
“Mm.” Chen Jian agreed softly.
After a pause he turned, glancing at Shan Yu. “…I know it sounds hollow, but I still want to say—”
“No need to thank me.” Shan Yu cut him off. “We’re just saving time—you’d miss work otherwise.”
Mind reading. Truly “high tech.”
New Village lived up to its name—modern, planned, utterly generic compared to the old town’s character.
Following Chen Jian’s directions, Shan Yu drove circles, pulling up before a two-story house.
Chen Jian stepped out, rang the door. A dog barked. Someone peeked over the second-floor balcony. After a while, a woman came to open.
At first, she blocked the door, speaking through the gap. After a few words, she glanced at the car. Maybe the sight swayed her—or maybe simple courtesy—she opened the gate and let him enter the yard. Then left him standing outside while she went back in.
From the car, Shan Yu watched that figure—standing alone, with a dog barking at his side, waiting to hand over money for a receipt.
He looked calm. Clearly, he’d done this a thousand times. With his and his father’s meager past income, debt repayments must always have been small sums, many times, with cold receptions part of the package.
But to Shan Yu, the scene was painful.
Chen Jian hadn’t wanted him along—not just to avoid a bother. But because he didn’t want anyone witnessing this humiliating part of his life.
After minutes, a man came out. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, he peered at Shan Yu’s car, then handed Chen Jian a slip of paper.
Chen Jian took the receipt, said nothing, turned and left.
Every time he repaid and got that slip, at least he could breathe easier for a day or two—despite the scolding or resentment that often accompanied it.
Today, it was fine. Maybe Shan Yu was right—being dropped off by the “boss in the car” gave the creditors reassurance.
From the car window, Shan Yu kept watching. Just that short walk back, five steps at most—it made Chen Jian stiff and self-conscious, as if he didn’t know how to move. Maybe he should look cheerful, to prove Shan Yu’s plan had worked.
“Something wrong with you?” Shan Yu asked.
“Huh?” Chen Jian looked at him, startled. “No.”
“Those three measly steps looked like torture,” Shan Yu drawled. “If you don’t want to get in the car, walk back home then.”
If you hadn’t stared, I’d have been done already!
Chen Jian slipped into the passenger seat. Noticed Shan Yu was still gazing toward the house.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
“Not sure. Just felt like your creditors were watching me.” Shan Yu turned his face on purpose.
Chen Jian looked too.
Sure enough—the couple were on the balcony, staring their way.
He froze, then slumped in his seat, and suddenly burst into laughter.
The more he laughed, the less he could stop. Shan Yu turned the car, yet Chen Jian was still chuckling.
“How much did you pay off?” Shan Yu glanced over. “Laughing like that—people would think you’re the collector.”
“Nothing.” Chen Jian rubbed his face, gaze forward.
After a while, couldn’t resist a sigh.
Before Shan Yu could mock “low oxygen levels,” he muttered: “Oxygen shortage. Let’s buy an oxygen tank.”
“You’re insane.” Shan Yu burst out laughing too.
On the road back, cornfields stretched either side: golden tassels and green leaves glimmering under sunlight. Shan Yu slowed, gazing out in awe.
“Not safe—don’t sightsee and drive.” Chen Jian warned.
“Yes sir.” Shan Yu promptly parked the car.
“…Doesn’t this make you late for work?” Chen Jian asked.
“I saw this from the mountain before,” Shan Yu explained. “Looked like a thick blanket. Close up, it’s towering.”
“You’ve never been to the countryside?” Chen Jian asked.
“Been. Just never noticed.” Shan Yu said. “Look too long and it feels like dreaming.”
“I sometimes dream about it,” Chen Jian said softly. “When I was studying in the city—dreamed often of mountains, fields.”
“Call it homesickness.” Shan Yu smiled. “The farther you are, the sharper the longing.”
“…Chen Erhu told me this morning,” Chen Jian remembered suddenly, “he wants to work hard until his brother gets out, then leave this place.”
“Did he?” Shan Yu turned to him.
“Yeah.” Chen Jian nodded. “He also asked me—was it you who set up Chen Dahu?”
“Tch.” Shan Yu smirked. “Guess he’s not entirely brainless… I’ll chat with him myself in a few days.”
“No need. He doesn’t hold it against you. If anything, you saved him. At least now Chen Dahu can’t beat him—or their dad—anymore.” Chen Jian said.
“He might not blame me now,” Shan Yu said. “But if I don’t clear it up, there’ll always be a knot. We’ve gone this far—better leave no hidden dangers.”
“…Mm.” Chen Jian agreed softly.
As Shan Yu restarted the car, Chen Jian couldn’t resist asking: “How long will you stay here?”
“Mm?” Shan Yu braked, glanced over.
“Erhu said… everyone leaves eventually.” Chen Jian murmured.
“Some leave to earn money.” Shan Yu smiled. “Some come here to earn money.”
Chen Jian was quiet.
“I haven’t thought about leaving yet,” Shan Yu said at last.
