Chen Yuluoyan.
Chen Jian, what on earth were you thinking when you came up with a nickname like that?
And now, how does it feel to have people call it straight to your face?
Worse than when the dean stood up on stage, pointed at you and said, ‘That’s the kid who broke his arm climbing over the wall.’
Chen Jian stared at Shan Yu in silence. Hearing it face-to-face really hit harder than a phone call. The only consolation was that Shan Yu hadn’t shouted it downstairs in front of everyone. But you never knew—this guy might just call him that during the social tonight in front of thirty cheerful beans.
“You…” Chen Jian opened his mouth, wondering if he should warn him.
“Let’s eat.” Shan Yu grinned, pushed his chair back with his foot, slid over to the minibar, opened it, and twisted open a bottle of coconut water. “Relax, I won’t call you ‘Chen Yuluoyan’ in public.”
“If you’re going to call me that in private, you might as well call me Curly.”
“Hey, careful—I almost choked on my drink.” Shan Yu stopped mid-sip, resealed the cap, amused. “Let’s eat, Manager Chen.”
Chen Jian went to pick up his medicine bowl. After a pause, he asked:
“You going to Liu Wu’s social tonight?”
“Mm.” Shan Yu nodded. “Just tagging along. He even dragged your name into it. If I refused, it’d make him look like an idiot.”
Chen Jian chuckled.
“Just come and hang out for a bit,” Shan Yu said. “If it feels too noisy, leave. It’s nothing but silly little games anyway.”
“I’ve never played those.”
“You graduated high school, didn’t you? What, no gatherings back then?”
“I barely ever went.”
“Always busy skipping class and climbing walls, huh.” Shan Yu uncapped the bottle and took a sip.
Watching Shan Yu like this, Chen Jian still couldn’t figure out how he’d instantly recognized Room 102’s meds as antidepressants.
“What do you want for dinner?” Chen Jian asked.
“Chinese food,” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian laughed, just about to respond, when Shan Yu added:
“No rice noodles.”
“The other shop’s rice noodles are better.”
“Next time,” Shan Yu said. “Tonight I want proper Chinese food with rice.”
“Alright.”
Back in the dorm, Sanbing was still trying to persuade Chen Erhu to eat with them.
“Don’t want to,” Erhu muttered from his bed.
“At least eat a little,” Sanbing coaxed. “You need nutrition to heal.”
“No appetite.” Erhu lay stiff as a board, just to prove his determination.
“But—”
“Jaw’s locked, isn’t it,” Chen Jian cut in from the door.
“Screw you.” Erhu glared. With his jaw shut tight, every word sounded like it came through gritted teeth.
“I’ll bring something back. Noodles maybe? Easy to eat.”
“…Fine.” After a pause, Erhu reluctantly agreed.
“Let’s go.” Chen Jian nodded at Sanbing and stepped out.
Happy Beans had a quirk: once there were enough of them, social anxiety simply didn’t exist. They could instantly turn any venue into a massive party.
At dinnertime, they’d borrowed the guesthouse kitchen. Officially, guests only got simple meals, but the beans enthusiastically invited everyone—including tourists and young couples—to join the feast.
“Will college be like this?” Sanbing asked as they looked at the bustling first-floor dining room.
“Like what?” Chen Jian asked.
“Just… having fun every day,” Lao Wu said.
“You already play around every day without even going to college,” Chen Jian shot back.
“Always picking on me!” Lao Wu protested.
“It is kind of nice,” Sanbing mused. “They bicker, complain about hiking, but the vibe’s light-hearted.”
“I’m kinda jealous,” Lao Wu admitted.
“Who isn’t?” Sanbing said quietly.
Chen Jian also glanced at the dining hall. He used to envy that too, maybe. But the more he thought about such things, the heavier it felt. Better to just think about dinner.
They ate quickly, distracted by expectations for the evening social. Compared to playing cards with Erhu and risk getting smacked by the innkeeper, this was a rare chance to join a college event.
They grabbed a rice bowl for Shan Yu and wontons for Erhu, then hurried back.
Liu Wu’s event was scheduled 8 to 11, early to avoid disturbing other guests. Even with soundproofing, the Happy Beans were thoughtful enough to keep the volume in check.
“You’re not going?” Shan Yu asked from the sofa, already opening his meal box.
“Hu Pan and the others all went. Only Erhu’s at the front desk,” Chen Jian said. “Sister Zhao is with her daughter. Do you really see Erhu, with that bandaged head, greeting guests?”
“Liar,” Shan Yu said.
“What?”
“Quoting Liu Wu for you,” Shan Yu smirked.
Chen Jian chuckled. “You didn’t go either.”
“I didn’t because he said you would, and then you didn’t, so—no show.” Shan Yu casually started eating.
“Same excuse for me then,” Chen Jian said. “I’ll go take a round first.”
The inn was quiet; stargazers had already left. Most others were at the social.
As Chen Jian passed Room 102, he noticed the lights on but no one inside. Just as he tensed, someone called from the shadows:
“Patrolling, Manager?”
“Mm.” Chen Jian reflexively answered, then saw 102 sitting at a stone table.
“Not going to the event?”
“Had enough excitement today. Going to sleep soon.”
“Alright then. Rest well.”
Back at the front, only Erhu sat alone in silence. Chen Jian hesitated—was about to invite him to the event—but glanced at his bandaged head and thought better of it.
“You go,” Erhu muttered. “Only had two calls. One wanted to check if her shawl was still in the room, another asked about late-night snacks.”
“Mm.”
Half an hour had passed. From the hallways, laughter from the conference room spilled out.
Chen Jian stood there, wavering. He almost turned back upstairs. He wanted to join—not play, just watch a little—but such merry scenes always made him instinctively uneasy, like watching a world that wasn’t his.
Somehow, though, the thought that Shan Yu might be there gave him reassurance. As if Shan Yu served as his anchor in reality.
…What am I even thinking?
He frowned.
The elevator doors opened and closed before he even moved. Startled, he forced them open again.
Shan Yu’s office door was closed. Odd. Usually it was at least ajar.
Knocked. No response. Knocked again.
“Boss Shan? Shan Yu?”
Hung himself? For a split second the thought flared—then he rushed downstairs.
The lights in the gym were on. Relief washed over him.
“I thought you—”
“Eh? Manager?” Zhao Fangfang looked up from the bench press.
Her daughter, sprawled across a yoga ball, waved at him upside down. “Hi, Manager!”
“Ah, hi.” Chen Jian scratched his head awkwardly. “Working out?”
“I’m stretching.” The girl grinned.
“Be careful not to get hurt.”
“You didn’t go to the social?” Zhao Fangfang asked. “Boss Shan went.”
“He did?”
“Yup!” her daughter chimed. “We went downstairs with him. He headed to the event.”
“Go join them,” Zhao Fangfang encouraged. “You never play. Go have fun with the kids.”
“…Alright.”
At the conference room, laughter and shouts spilled out the moment he opened the door. The crowd, the noise, the movement—it made his head swim.
“Manager’s here!” someone shouted.
“Mm.” He smiled, closed the door.
Inside, they were playing a game: Liu Wu, blindfolded, carrying Hu Pan on his back, staggered about trying to pick up balloons with tongs. Another bean carried a friend, equally wobbly, collapsing into the crowd.
Scanning faces, Chen Jian couldn’t spot Shan Yu. As he prepared to retreat, a sharp whistle cut through the noise.
He knew that whistle instantly. Looking over, he found Shan Yu slouched casually on a corner sofa, smiling at him.
So he really came.
Chen Jian walked quickly over. Someone shoved fries into his hand mid-way; he accepted them absentmindedly.
Shan Yu gestured to a snack table.
Chen Jian glanced back—yes, stacked with chips and drinks. He grabbed a Coke and an iced tea, setting them down.
“I want this one.” Shan Yu took the tea.
“You don’t drink Coke anymore?”
“Nope.” Shan Yu leaned aside to make space.
“Because no cups?” Chen Jian sat down. The worn two-seater sagged inward, tilting him into Shan Yu until their faces nearly met.
“Why, you planning to hit me for refusing Coke without a cup?” Shan Yu lifted a brow.
“This sofa…” Chen Jian wriggled himself upright along the backrest.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Shan Yu said, unmoved, comfortably reclined.
“Didn’t think you’d be here either—I even looked in your office.”
“I said I would, so I did.” He sipped his tea. “Want to join the games?”
“…No. Look, Liu Wu’s stamina is impressive—” Chen Jian gestured at Liu Wu stumbling with Hu Pan.
“Depends on who he’s carrying,” Shan Yu said slyly.
Chen Jian laughed softly. He could sense Sanbing’s feelings toward Hu Pan too. The kid was practically wrenching off Lao Si’s head as he directed him.
Eventually, with a balloon popping, cheers erupted. Hu Pan brandished the tongs triumphantly.
“Alright, down you go before Lao Si gets cervical spondylosis,” Shan Yu muttered with a grin.
Chen Jian couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
“Good thing Liu Wu leaves tomorrow.”
“If he didn’t, what—fight?”
“Don’t underestimate jealousy,” Shan Yu remarked, stretching his legs.
“Better pull in your leg—someone might step on it.”
“You cursing me? Next week I get a check-up—might be able to shed the brace.”
“Doctor knows best.”
“When I’m free of it, you’ll have less to do—you won’t have to wait on me like a servant.”
Chen Jian stayed quiet.
“What, worried about money?” Shan Yu teased.
“I’ll rip it off for you later then—save you hospital fees.”
“You drunk?” Shan Yu laughed.
Games continued. The noisy, chaotic atmosphere laid bare all the little crushes and affections: who wanted to pair with whom, who avoided whom, who were secretly together.
Shan Yu fell silent, quietly watching the crowd. Chen Jian also sat still, oddly at ease, his usual discomfort in such scenes absent. Perhaps it was simply Shan Yu’s presence next to him, grounding him.
“Manager!” someone yelled suddenly. “Chen Jian!”
“Huh?” He straightened.
“Come on! You and Boss Shan both!” Hu Pan waved.
“What is it?” Chen Jian asked, disoriented after spacing out.
“Asleep back there?” Shan Yu teased.
“No.”
“Game’s on. Go.” Shan Yu gave him a push.
“What game?”
“Guess the word.” Shan Yu stood too, leaning close. “What were you just thinking about?” he murmured.
“Nothing.” Truth was, he’d forgotten already.
The game split into teams of two. Chen Jian and Shan Yu naturally got paired.
“Who’s acting and who’s guessing?” Hu Pan asked.
Chen Jian hesitated—he didn’t like acting. Shan Yu had a hurt leg…
“I’ll act,” Shan Yu volunteered.
“You?” Chen Jian blinked.
“Otherwise you’d be too embarrassed to guess. I have to do it.”
… Chen Jian was speechless.
The words were mostly simple idioms. First up were Lao Si and Lao Wu. Their pantomime of “Easier than turning a hand” devolved into guesses like Monkey King trapped, Journey to the West moves, and “your mom hitting you.”
Next, Sanbing acted out “Nine Deaths, One Life.” He fell down dead over and over while Hu Pan guessed wildly: Heart disease! Broken-hearted! West Beauty holding her chest! Myocardial infarction! After nine fake deaths, Sanbing finally leapt up arms wide—reborn. The audience howled.
Then it was Chen Jian and Shan Yu’s turn.
Shan Yu faced him, saw the idiom card behind Chen Jian, and merely smiled faintly, not moving at all.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Chen Jian froze.
“You can guess this! You definitely can!” Hu Pan whispered urgently.
What? How? He hasn’t moved!
“What!?” Chen Jian finally blurted.
Shan Yu just grinned. Then he gave a tiny nod.
Chen Jian suddenly had a hunch. Carefully, he spoke:
“Chen…” He hesitated.
Shan Yu lifted his hand, wagged a finger—no.
Then it must be…
“Moon-Hiding, Flower-Shaming?” (a classical idiom for stunning beauty.)
“Correct.” Shan Yu snapped his fingers.
“Woo!” Hu Pan and Liu Wu cheered.
The host widened her eyes. “That was… scarily in sync!”
