The level of tacit understanding between them was undeniable—though it was the kind that left people a little speechless.
Still, thanks to “Chen Yuluoyan” guessing “Moon-Hiding, Flower-Shaming,” the Dayin staff team managed to score a point. Chen Jian and Shan Yu’s mission was complete.
Chen Jian returned to his corner of the sofa, ears still ringing with the chaotic noise. After a couple gulps of Coke, he realized Shan Yu hadn’t sat back down with him. Looking up, he saw Shan Yu standing at the door, watching him.
Shan Yu tilted his head and mouthed: “Go?”
Chen Jian quickly got up, grabbed the fries someone had stuffed into his hands earlier, and slipped quietly toward the door. A few steps later, he realized no one was paying any attention to them, so he strode faster.
When the door shut behind them, the noise from inside was instantly muted, as if that whole scene had been grabbed and carried far away.
He exhaled deeply, stretching his arms. Just those few dozen seconds standing in there had stiffened his entire body.
“Fun?” Shan Yu asked, looking back at him.
“Mm,” Chen Jian nodded. “More fun watching others play.”
“Not used to all those eyes on you?”
“Yeah, not really.”
“Curly-hair pretty boy—you’ve had people looking at you since you were a kid. Still not used to it?” Shan Yu flicked open his cane with a snap.
Chen Jian just stared at him silently.
“You said it yourself—I can call you Curly.” Shan Yu smirked.
“I thought you could already walk without that cane,” Chen Jian glanced at it. He didn’t argue further; he knew Shan Yu’s sharp tongue. If he banned one nickname, Shan Yu might just start calling him “Little Goose.”
“This cane won’t be around much longer,” Shan Yu said. “Might as well honor it with a few days.”
So not only sharp-tongued, but stubborn.
Chen Jian glanced toward the front desk. Erhu wasn’t there anymore—he was sitting with Zhao Fangfang’s daughter at the bar counter.
“What’s to eat?” Shan Yu asked.
“Sweet rice dumpling soup.” Zhao Fangfang leaned from behind the bar, waving at them. “Hungry from playing? Come have some!”
“Got eggs?” Shan Yu asked.
“Yes,” she nodded. “Want one added in? Manager Chen, how about you?”
“Sure,” Chen Jian agreed. He hadn’t done much—mostly sat in silence thinking random thoughts—but his stomach was surprisingly empty, as if daydreaming had burned real calories.
“By the way, Sister Zhao, no need to clean up the conference room tonight,” Shan Yu said, sliding onto a bar stool. “No one’s using it anyway. Just let San Bing and the others handle it tomorrow.”
“Liu said they were going to clean it themselves,” Zhao Fangfang replied. “Told me specifically not to bother.”
“Then let them.”
“These college kids are pretty good. Keep their rooms neat. Unlike today—one couple checked out and left the room a total disaster. Didn’t even bother putting tissues in the bin—”
“Sister Zhao, Sister Zhao, Sister Zhao!” Shan Yu covered his ears, bowing dramatically. “You’ll ruin my appetite.”
“Hah, but you never lose your appetite when it’s dinner,” Zhao Fangfang teased.
“That’s food. Not trash bin scraps,” Erhu chimed in.
“Agh…” Shan Yu flopped onto the counter in defeat.
“You’re shameless—you know he can’t stand it and still joke,” Zhao Fangfang swatted Erhu.
The atmosphere felt cozy—it was their own little world again.
Chen Jian sat at the bar as Fangfang cooked the dumplings. Staff chatted while nibbling; even late-returning guests sat down to eat and gossip about tomorrow’s hiking routes. Chen Jian, though sleepy, patiently went through plans with them.
Exhausting, sometimes irritating—but grounding.
By eleven, the social ended. The Happy Beans spilled out of the conference room, voices low but still carrying laughter.
“Put all trash into the big bin by the door,” Liu Wu directed. “Someone come wipe tables, sweep the floor.”
“Do it tomorrow,” Chen Jian said.
“We’re leaving first thing in the morning,” Liu Wu lamented. “Time went too fast, feels like we just got here… Sister Zhao, got a rag?”
“Call her Sister Zhao!” Hu Pan tossed him two cloths.
“Her daughter calls me ‘Brother,’ though,” Liu Wu protested.
“Even if she calls you Uncle, you still call her Sister,” Hu Pan shot back.
Fangfang laughed so hard she could barely breathe. “Anything’s fine—you’re all just kids.”
“You’re only in your thirties, same age as my cousin,” Hu Pan said.
Liu Wu grinned, wiping down the bar counter.
“Weren’t you supposed to clean the conference room?” Shan Yu asked dryly.
“I am.” Liu Wu nodded.
“Tomorrow morning?” Shan Yu raised a brow.
“No, now!” Liu Wu swung the rag and marched off.
Several Beans went along. Chen Jian finished his dumplings and moved to follow.
As he pushed his chair back, Shan Yu stuck out a leg and pressed it down.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he whispered.
“To help,” Chen Jian whispered back.
“They said they’d do it themselves. Let them.”
“They didn’t even take a bucket. Obviously, don’t know how.”
“Then let them run back and forth rinsing rags. Why stress? They’re your peers.”
Chen Jian paused, then stayed quiet.
“Sit down and eat,” Shan Yu said, pulling his leg back.
“…I finished.” Chen Jian glanced at his empty bowl.
“Sister Zhao, give him more dumplings. He’s not full.”
“Coming right up.” Fangfang plopped a few more into his bowl. “Egg too?”
“No, no.” Chen Jian quickly waved—already stuffed.
After the late-night snack, the Beans finished cleaning up and went to bed early, ready for departure.
Staff settled into their roles—some resting, some on duty. Erhu insisted on front desk duty, so Chen Jian didn’t argue.
If anyone did show up at midnight to check in, one look at Erhu’s bandaged head would be enough to scare them off. And if rumors spread—Boss Shan would just make up a new one to cover it.
Chen Jian followed Shan Yu back into the office. Disinfecting hadn’t been done yet.
Shan Yu lounged on the sofa. Chen Jian brought the medical kit, glancing under the table—just ibuprofen, antibiotics. No trace of anything like 102’s meds.
“Business slows after two days,” Shan Yu said. “Figure out overtime pay. Shift schedules can be relaxed too.”
“Mm.” Chen Jian nodded, swabbing a cotton bud. “Heard from San Bing there was trouble this afternoon.”
“Normal. A whole holiday without a scene would be abnormal. What happened?”
“Our ‘tech-heroics’ guest incident… apparently complaints. Cold showers, dirty bathrooms, rude staff. They argued, threw stuff.”
“Ugh, headache already,” Shan Yu sighed.
“If things go bad, don’t get involved,” Chen Jian warned.
“I’m not going to beat customers up,” Shan Yu smirked.
“I’m worried they’ll smash the place because you showed up,” Chen Jian said.
“You really don’t get me.” Shan Yu closed his eyes with a lazy smile.
…Prefer not to pry into the boss.
Chen Jian chuckled. “Either way, I’ll do a full room check once they leave. No excuses for them to complain.”
“Let Erhu’s team handle it. Don’t make him feel singled out.”
“…I’ll still watch over it.”
“Spell it out. You’re the manager—you can’t do everything yourself. You’ll work yourself into the ground. What’s left of your ‘Chen Yuluoyan’ then?”
“…What does that even have to do with it.” Chen Jian sighed.
“Seriously though,” Shan Yu cracked an eye open. “Why such a name?”
“For fun. My contacts list is full of ridiculous ones.” Chen Jian swapped swabs, hesitated, then asked, “No WeChat now, or never used it?”
“Stopped after I got out,” Shan Yu said.
“What name did you use before?”
“Moon-Hiding, Flower-Shaming.”
“Alright then, Little Flower,” Chen Jian muttered, disinfecting.
Shan Yu chuckled, exhaled softly, and closed his eyes.
After cleaning the brace and wound, Chen Jian noticed the injury looked almost healed. The brace might really be ready to come off.
A boss who can run again—definitely a safety hazard for the inn.
“All done.” Chen Jian packed the kit. “This brace might be—”
Halfway through, he realized Shan Yu wasn’t moving. Head turned to the sofa back, one hand lightly shielding his forehead. Breathing slow, posture completely loose.
“Asleep?” Chen Jian whispered.
This time, it was real. Not the fake naps Shan Yu played sometimes. His arrogance was gone—just quiet. The stillness reminded Chen Jian of the way Shan Yu gazed out of windows, only softer.
Almost like seeing a different side of him.
He gently put away the kit, turned off the lights, and left.
After the holiday rush, the inn slowed again. Guests checked out one by one, returning the place to its calmer rhythm. Unlike Qián Yǔ’s old days of bleak emptiness, weekends still brought leaf-watchers. Soon snow would bring more visitors.
At the reception desk, guests left notes in a ledger and on the garden’s new message board. Originally, the spot held flowerpots—but care was tricky, so Chen Jian cleared it. During the Beans’ stay, they’d set up a display board decorated with sticky notes as a prop—and it quickly became a true message wall.
When free, Chen Jian read every message: feelings, venting, some suggestions. He sorted them carefully, planning for improvements. Days filled with light chores and steady tasks felt reassuring.
The only unsettled thing—Room 102, who had been staying a full month and showed no signs of leaving.
Mostly kept to his room, sometimes took walks, usually ate meals. But for how long? Hard to ask.
“Hu Pan, ask 102 later,” Chen Jian murmured, looking at records. “He’s been here a month. If he wants to keep staying, let’s switch him to monthly rental rates, see what he says.”
“Got it,” Hu Pan nodded. “He went for a run this morning. I’ll ask when he’s back.”
“Mm.” Chen Jian pocketed a candy and headed for a walk.
“Manager,” Hu Pan called from the café, warming up beans. “You free later?”
“For now, yes. Why?”
“Let me perm your hair. My chemicals just arrived. I’m doing mine too.”
“Perm my hair?” Chen Jian blinked. Hu Pan had just undone her dreadlocks and was rocking a ponytail—it looked nice.
“I’m going for an afro. I’ll help you too.”
“Me? Afro?” The image of his poodle at home flashed—head a puffball like a dandelion.
“You’re already curly—I’ll trim and fix it. You wasted such a good face with bad perms.”
“Do mine too!” San Bing popped his head in through the café door. “Can you?”
“Queue up,” Hu Pan said. “I can do three heads today.”
“I…” Chen Jian usually just did a lazy perm to keep his curls tolerable. Having someone else do it felt odd.
“You two first. Manager, wait your turn.” Shan Yu emerged from the elevator. “He’s with me today—we’ve got a business trip.”
“Business trip?” Chen Jian blinked. “You didn’t tell me.”
“Hospital,” Shan Yu said.
…That’s just “going to the city.”
“Follow-up check?” Chen Jian noticed Shan Yu was without crutches now, only carrying a folder—past reports maybe.
“Brace removal.” Shan Yu walked straight out.
“Listen to the doctor,” Hu Pan joked.
“If they don’t remove the brace, I’ll remove the hospital,” Shan Yu quipped.
“He really hates that brace.” San Bing sighed.
“He’s been itching since National Day,” Chen Jian said.
“Chen Jian!” came Shan Yu’s voice from outside.
“Coming!” Chen Jian ran after him.
In the car, the folder landed on the passenger seat. Chen Jian buckled up, glancing at it—hospital wasn’t local.
“We going back to your original hospital?”
“No. Just any city hospital.”
“Not the original? What if—”
“It’ll be fine.” Shan Yu adjusted the GPS. Navigation chimed: “Route ready, total distance: 527 kilometers.”
Chen Jian quickly shut it off.
“Changed your mind?” Shan Yu smirked.
“I thought it was nearby,” Chen Jian muttered.
“You…have you ever traveled?” Shan Yu asked, eyebrow raised.
“No. Farthest was the city. Then I came back after graduation.”
“Next business trip, I’ll take you further,” Shan Yu said.
“We run an inn. What business trips are there?” Chen Jian rolled his eyes. Two ‘trips’ so far: shopping downtown and a hospital visit… best not to overthink.
“Visit other inns. Study how they work. Always things to learn,” Shan Yu said.
…So this trip was “field research” on his leg, then.
At the hospital entrance, Chen Jian was surprised—a middle-aged woman was waiting with a wheelchair. Shan Yu had hired a chaperone.
“Just follow along,” she said, expertly steering him inside. “I know this place.”
“Alright,” Chen Jian nodded.
She really did know it. Registration, imaging, results—all fast. Chen Jian barely had to pay fees; she handled the rest. He didn’t even need to push the chair.
By the end, since recovery was good, the hospital spared itself the fate of being “personally dismantled” by Shan Yu—the brace could come off properly.
“Will it hurt?” Shan Yu asked as the doctor prepared.
“A bit. Mostly sore pressure. Bearable. If you’re very pain-sensitive, we can give a local anesthetic.”
“No need. Too much hassle,” Shan Yu refused.
Chen Jian doubted his boss’s supposed tolerance—last time, even a casual neck massage had nearly made him collapse.
But Shan Yu was in a hurry. Couldn’t wait another minute.
The doctor started. First step was unscrewing the rods—not painful. Shan Yu sat calmly. Next: the pins drilled into bone. The doctor twisted the first one free—just as it slid out of flesh, Shan Yu suddenly clenched Chen Jian’s right hand tight.
Would it have killed you to take the anesthetic?! Chen Jian nearly yelped.
“Painful?” the doctor asked.
“Not too bad,” Shan Yu grit his teeth. “It’s just… gross watching it.”
“Then don’t look,” Chen Jian hissed.
“Can’t help it. Obsessive-compulsive,” Shan Yu muttered.
With the second pin, his hand trembled—pain, fear, who knew. To spare his own hand, Chen Jian had to use his left palm to cover Shan Yu’s eyes.
