Shan Yu hadn’t asked Chen Erhu to meet in his office.
That place was far too formal, and given Chen Erhu’s current status, the sense of hierarchy there would have been too overwhelming.
A coffeehouse felt more suitable.
After they sat down, the afternoon sunlight threw swaying shadows of the garden trees onto the windows; those same flickering silhouettes danced on the vase placed on the sill.
Tsk.
Actually, even this wasn’t the best setting.
But once Hu Pan carried over their coffees, Chen Erhu seemed less tense than before.
Hu Pan handed a latte to Shan Yu. For Chen Erhu, she had painstakingly made a mocha, and even sprinkled cocoa powder into the outline of a smiling face.
Chen Erhu kept staring at that smiling face for quite a while.
“It’s a smiley.” Shan Yu said.
“I noticed.” Chen Erhu lifted his head, looked at him briefly. “A smiley.”
“I thought maybe you couldn’t see clearly.” Shan Yu smiled. “Your eyes getting better?”
Chen Erhu turned his head away, let out a sigh. “Mm.”
“Why not rest a few more days?” Shan Yu asked. “Your nose may be a light injury, but you still need to let it heal properly.”
“I can’t stand staying at home.” Chen Erhu slumped against the backrest, trying to frown—but the bandages wrapping his head so tightly made even frowning seem laborious.
“Because of your father?” Shan Yu asked.
“Mhm.” Chen Erhu muttered, took a sip of his coffee. “On one hand, he figures my brother would end up like this sooner or later; on the other, he insists I shouldn’t have helped catch him.”
“Was it your intention to catch him from the start?” Shan Yu asked again.
Chen Erhu fell into silence.
“No matter what, he’s still your older brother.” Shan Yu looked toward the window. “When he beats you, you hate him. But when it really comes down to it, you can’t bring yourself to be ruthless. Then the next time he comes and beats you again, you hate him all over. Do you know what that’s called?”
The cup in Chen Erhu’s hand clinked back onto the table, a little too hard.
Shan Yu turned back. “Even employees have to pay for broken cups, you know.”
Chen Erhu paused, then after a while glanced back at the cup.
“If you don’t want to be at home, stay at the dormitory for now.” Shan Yu raised his own coffee for a sip.
“…Boss Shan.” Chen Erhu kept spinning the cup in circles between his hands. One could see he was arranging words in his head—but not very well. After a long struggle he finally pieced together three of them: “Why?”
Shan Yu looked at him in silence.
“You set the trap, didn’t you?” Chen Erhu asked. “Why?”
“Because he isn’t my brother, nor my cousin.” Shan Yu didn’t dodge. “He came to my door to threaten me. I’m his victim.”
He paused for two seconds, then added, “One of them.”
Chen Erhu lowered his head wordlessly.
“For me, there isn’t any other ‘why.’ I needed to cast off this trouble. Just like all the other shop owners here, I want nothing more than to do business in peace.”
Chen Erhu stayed silent.
Shan Yu stopped talking too, giving him time to think.
After hearing a faint sigh from him, Shan Yu finished speaking:
“Besides you, there isn’t a second person alive who would ever ask me ‘why.’ Not even your father. That is why.”
“…I already knew,” Chen Erhu said softly.
Shan Yu lifted the coffee. Along with it had been served a few biscuits in a dish. He unwrapped one, began chewing slowly.
“If you’re one of us, don’t keep eating those.” Chen Erhu blurted out suddenly. “You have to drive all the way to Old Town to buy them. And according to Hu Pan, only those biscuits pair properly with coffee.”
Shan Yu gave him a look, then put the second biscuit back onto the dish.
“Boss Shan.” Chen Erhu stared at the plate, inhaled sharply as if deciding something: “Can I still keep working?”
“You need to heal first.” Shan Yu said.
“I mean… after I recover.” Chen Erhu turned his face toward him.
“Our contract is for one year,” Shan Yu replied evenly. “Boss Chen.”
Chen Erhu’s eyes were squeezed almost hazy by the bandages. Yet he forced them open, looking straight at Shan Yu, and said: “Thanks. Boss Shan.”
Shan Yu lifted his cup in a small gesture of toast, finished the remaining coffee, and stood. “Rest up.”
“What are Chen Jian and the others doing up the mountain?” Chen Erhu rose too.
“They’ve gone after guest 102.” Shan Yu said. “His mood looked unstable—something might happen. I didn’t tell you before, because you’ve still got wounds and I knew you’d insist on following.”
“…Oh.” Chen Erhu sighed. After a moment he added, “When they find him, what then? Drag him back?”
“Don’t know.” Shan Yu gave a mild smile. “That’ll depend on how the shop manager handles it.”
The mountain had plenty of small trails, but luckily, from their side of the forest, there were only a handful suitable for people to actually walk. None too long, either—blocked by dense trees.
Sanbing and Lao Wu knew this terrain far better than Chen Jian. Each trail’s general destination, they knew.
“We used to come here all the time,” Lao Wu said. “Walked every path.”
“You guys call that a hobby?” Chen Jian was surprised. He rarely came into the mountains—no time… and well, really, no time.
“It’s not really a hobby,” Sanbing said.
“Then what?” Chen Jian asked.
“Just… nothing better to do, I guess,” Sanbing admitted. “We’d already wandered every street in town—so we came in here.”
“And you’re still in such poor shape?” Chen Jian laughed.
“Eh?” Sanbing stared but couldn’t think of a retort.
“Probably ‘cause we were usually hungry,” Lao Wu said. “Didn’t wanna go home, didn’t have money to eat outside.”
“Where’d your money go?” Chen Jian asked.
“Cigarettes,” Lao Wu replied.
“You buy them by the stick,” Chen Jian said. “How much can that even cost? Take that to food, you’d be buying rice grains one by one.”
Lao Wu glared for a long time before snapping: “You’re really damn sharp. I knew you didn’t talk much before, didn’t know you were this vicious.”
“I knew,” Sanbing chuckled.
“You two were classmates, right?” Lao Wu asked.
“No, neighboring schools.” Sanbing said. “Chen Jian went to First Middle—I couldn’t score high enough to get in.”
“Then why didn’t you go to university?” Lao Wu turned to Chen Jian.
“…You seriously asking dumb questions? Keep walking.” Sanbing shoved him. “At this pace, we’ll catch a sunset up top instead of a person.”
“I really had no money,” Chen Jian said. “Had to earn a living.”
Guest 102’s stamina proved solid. He’d set off perhaps half an hour earlier, and though they’d kept up a strong pace—quicker than normal tourists, even with a few wrong turns—they still hadn’t caught up.
“I bet he’s down this fork,” Sanbing pointed. “That one leads to a halfway cliff with a great view.”
“Yeah, we always played cards up there,” Lao Wu said. “He’ll definitely be there.”
His reasoning was nonsensical… but turned out accurate.
They followed the trail around ten minutes. It broke out of the trees onto a small stony platform. At the edge, on a boulder, sat 102. Backpack at his feet, head bent over his phone.
“Holy shit.” Lao Wu froze.
“That him?” Sanbing whispered.
“Yeah.” Chen Jian confirmed.
102 turned at the sound of their steps. When he saw who it was, surprise turned into shock.
Chen Jian felt he should say something—but the setting! They had assumed he might try suicide. And here indeed he sat at the cliff’s edge. Say the wrong thing, and what if he jumped?
(Granted, the drop here only reached another shelf of trees below—not exactly instant death. Still…)
“Bro,” Lao Wu blurted, “how about a game of cards? We’re short one.”
How brilliant. What a… marvelous opening line.
On instinct at this ridiculousness, Chen Jian took a quick step forward—ready to rush and grab the man if needed.
Apparently sensing his own words sounded insane, Lao Wu dug into his pocket to prove he wasn’t kidding. Out came an actual deck of cards.
“Holy fu—” Sanbing was stunned.
Even Chen Jian hadn’t expected him to really carry that.
102 stared at them several seconds more, then asked incredulously: “…What game? I’m not too good at cards.”
“Run Fast.” Sanbing said quickly. “Easiest one.”
“…Okay.” 102 hesitated, then nodded.
“Right here.” Chen Jian glanced around, then pointed to a half-buried stone by his feet. “We’ll sit here.”
“This is exactly where we always sit.” Lao Wu squatted down straight away.
102 got up, shouldered his bag, and came over.
Chen Jian exhaled with great relief.
“Cards?!” At the front desk, Hu Pan gasped, staring dumbfounded at her phone. “They’re actually… playing cards with him?”
She looked cautiously around, then lowered her voice: “With 102!”
“Playing cards?” Shan Yu almost thought he’d misheard.
“See.” Hu Pan held out the screen.
Shan Yu glanced down.
[Who are you]: How’s it going
[Chen Yuluoyan]: Found him. Playing cards.
Chen Yu what?? Luoyan??1
…That’s Chen Jian?
“Tell them not to gamble.” Shan Yu said. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if someone reported you idiots for illegal betting in the wild?”
“Mm.” Hu Pan nodded, sending a voice message at once: Boss says no gambling—don’t let anyone report you for opening a gambling den out there, that’d be the end of you!
Shan Yu gave her a look.
“He’s wearing earphones,” Hu Pan chuckled. “That one can’t hear.”
“Mm.” Shan Yu nodded, turned toward the elevator. “Tell me right away if anything changes.”
“Got it. I’ll report promptly.” She sent another message.
Above that conversation, her chat with Chen Jian held a heap of old messages—clearly they talked a lot on duty. He hadn’t quite caught the content, but still.
Rather chatty, this Chen Yuluoyan.
Back in the office, Shan Yu closed the door and headed toward the sofa—phone buzzed. Incoming call: Chen Jian.
He picked up. “What, game over already?”
On the other side, silence. Just the sound of someone clearing their throat. Chen Jian’s voice.
“So I’m the one under surveillance, am I?” Shan Yu laughed, lying back on the sofa. “Sunset’ll be here soon. One or two rounds is enough, don’t stumble down in the dark.”
Chen Jian just cleared his throat again, then “Mm.”
“Caught a chill?” Sanbing’s voice cut in.
“No.” Chen Jian replied.
“Your throat then? Wind got your back?” Lao Wu asked.
“You seriously never cleared your throat in your whole life?” Chen Jian countered.
“Well I smoke, so clearing my throat’s normal.” Lao Wu argued.
“Quit.” Chen Jian said flatly.
Listening in, Shan Yu nearly laughed aloud.
“Four with two. Done!” 102 announced.
“Damn! You cleared the field already? Luck’s on your side!” Sanbing exclaimed.
“Yeah. Luck’s been good these days.” 102 muttered. “Let’s play a few more before heading down.”
“Win and you bolt, huh?” Lao Wu said. He was so focused now he’d nearly forgotten why they came.
“Then you spend the night here.” Chen Jian countered.
The sound of shuffling carried through the receiver—a soft, rhythmic pap pap pap. Shan Yu slipped in earbuds and closed his eyes, lulled.
“Today…” 102 said suddenly, “thank you guys.”
“Don’t thank us—we needed a fourth.” Chen Jian replied.
“You really go around the mountain just to find a partner for cards?” 102 asked.
“Could always grab Liu Wu and his college buddies.” Sanbing quipped.
Shan Yu’s eyes flicked open.
That was clumsy, Chen Jiali. Liu Wu doesn’t even play cards.
“All dealt.” Chen Jian said, the cards giving a muted final snap snap.
Shan Yu relaxed again, eyes closing.
Chen Jian’s voice was pleasant. But apart from calling plays, he said very little while gaming—mostly Sanbing and Lao Wu kept chatting. In their occasional pauses, one could hear Chen Jian’s faint breathing.
The medicine from that fortune-teller, “Half-Immortal Chen,” really must work—someone with insomnia like Shan Yu was literally dozing off to Chen Jian’s card game.
“Boss Shan.” Chen Jian’s voice suddenly came through his earphones. “Hey. Boss Shan? Shan Yu!”
Shan Yu opened his eyes. His voice came calm: “Mm?”
“You fell asleep?” Chen Jian asked. “Some monitor this is.”
“Tomorrow, hurry and sign up for a proper course.” Shan Yu glanced at his phone—the nap had lasted half an hour. “Done playing now?”
“Yeah. On the way down.” Chen Jian sounded quieter. “Sanbing and Lao Wu went ahead. Just telling you.”
“102’s okay?” Shan Yu asked.
“He’s fine.” Chen Jian lowered his voice further. “Knows why we came.”
“Obviously. Seems a moron if he didn’t.” Shan Yu replied. “Go out for food when you’re back. I didn’t buy dinner for you.”
“Mm.” Chen Jian chuckled.
“Take Chen Erhu along.” Shan Yu said. “He’s lying in the dorm, hasn’t eaten either.”
“Did you eat?” Chen Jian asked him.
“Was stuck monitoring, fell asleep, couldn’t leave. So no.” Shan Yu said.
“Then do you want to join us, or want me to bring you something?” Chen Jian asked.
“Bring me food.” Shan Yu answered.
“Okay. We’ll be back in about twenty minutes.” Chen Jian said.
“Thanks, Chen Yuluoyan.” Shan Yu said.
Before Chen Jian could retort, the call cut.
“Manager Chen!” Sanbing called from ahead.
“Here!” Chen Jian quickened his pace to catch up.
…How the hell did Shan Yu know his username?
Obviously Hu Pan had shown him!
Tsk.
Chen Jian had used that handle for a long time. In fact, in his entire life, he had only used two: back in school, “Mediocre Chen Jian.” After graduating, he didn’t want his name in it anymore, so he switched.
He’d never thought much of it. But when Shan Yu just casually called it aloud… He actually felt a bit embarrassed.
When they returned to Dayin Inn, the “Happy Beans” group were already back, a whole bunch gathered in the dining hall preparing dinner together—it was their turn to cook. Later tonight, they’d even be holding a mixer in the conference room.
Seeing Chen Jian return with 102 in tow, Liu Wu’s gaze locked at once, his expression clearly screaming: I’m communicating very stealthily with you through my eyes; no one can tell. Really. I’m subtle.
Chen Jian had no choice but to head over.
“How did it go?” Liu Wu asked immediately, rising to meet him.
“Smoothly.” Chen Jian patted his shoulder. “Go play—I need to report to the boss.”
“Mm.” Liu Wu nodded. “Tonight’s mixer, you guys all come. We’ll decorate the room—don’t need your staff for that.”
“I’ll… pass.” Chen Jian frowned, clearly reluctant.
“Even Shan Yu agreed.” Liu Wu said.
“No way he agreed.” Chen Jian objected.
“You still don’t understand him.” Liu Wu clicked his tongue. “He loves bustle. And if I said you agreed, he’ll have to show respect for his store manager.”
Chen Jian shot him a look.
“Remember to come.” Liu Wu pressed.
“…Fine.” Chen Jian sighed heavily, turning toward the stairs.
The office door was open, though Shan Yu wasn’t visible. Chen Jian knocked.
“Come in.” Shan Yu’s voice drifted from the restroom, followed by a heave and gag.
“Medicine?” Chen Jian asked.
“Poison.” Shan Yu emerged carrying an empty bowl, eyes wet from the retching.
Chen Jian watched him.
“102 back in his room?” Shan Yu asked, rubbing a finger at his eye corner.
“Yeah.” Chen Jian said.
“Go eat first.” Shan Yu leaned against the desk, watching him.
Chen Jian didn’t move. And Shan Yu’s mouth curved into that slowly spreading smile—the kind that warned him exactly of the next words coming.
Oh no. Don’t—
“Chen Yuluoyan,” Shan Yu said.
“…Fuck.” said Chen Jian.
- Chen Yuluoyan” (陈鱼落雁) is a name derived from a famous Chinese idiom, chén yú luò yàn (沉鱼落雁), which literally means “sinking fish and falling geese.
This idiom is used to describe a woman of such extraordinary and captivating beauty that fish would forget to swim and sink to the bottom, and geese would forget to flap their wings and fall from the sky upon seeing her. ↩︎
