There was darkness before his eyes.
And then, light once more.
Before Shan Yu even had time to properly savor the warmth from Chen Jian’s palm amidst the unbearable sour, swelling pain, he blinked—and Chen Jian’s hand swiftly pulled back, hovering just barely above his face, blocking his eyes from a hair’s breadth away.
Shan Yu could not help but admire Chen Jian’s precise grasp of distance—it was literally within a breath’s reach.
When he exhaled, he would touch it; when he inhaled, he wouldn’t.
However, he could constantly catch the scent on Chen Jian’s hand—a very faint woody fragrance, not the soap from the guesthouse, but likely the scent of Chen Jian’s hand cream.
Yo, using hand cream now, are we?
No wonder he’s “Chen Yu Luo Yan.”
Ah, so sour… ah, pain-pain-pain-pain-pain…
He couldn’t help but suddenly clench his fist again, grabbing Chen Jian’s right hand, while simultaneously ducking his head slightly, trying to peer through the gaps between Chen Jian’s left fingers to watch the doctor’s movements.
“I’ve blocked your view; why are you still trying to peek!” Chen Jian’s hand shifted down along with his movement.
Even the doctor let out a chuckle: “This morning I took off a frame for a kid, and he was just like this too—scared out of his mind, yet obsessed with watching.”
“He’s twenty-six!” Chen Jian said.
“Not that strange. He’s twenty-six and still needs someone to keep him company,” the doctor remarked. “Young at heart, I suppose.”
“It hurts more if I don’t look,” Shan Yu said.
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it.
Chen Jian removed his hand: “Really?”
Really.
Watching gave him a frame of reference so he could mentally prepare himself.
But right now, it could also be fake.
Shan Yu didn’t say a word, watching as the doctor began twisting out the third bone pin.
Perhaps because he had grown somewhat accustomed to the pain and that sour, swelling sensation, it didn’t feel as agonizing as before. His grip on Chen Jian’s hand loosened slightly.
The very next second, Chen Jian pulled his hand away.
He couldn’t help but turn his head to glance over.
Chen Jian was currently hiding his right hand behind his back, shaking it out. Seeing Shan Yu look over, a wave of awkwardness instantly washed over him again.
Although he didn’t know what was so awkward, in order not to make Shan Yu think he had been so eager to pull his hand away the moment it hurt less, he extended his hand in front of Shan Yu’s eyes, displaying the red finger marks squeezed onto the back of his hand.
Shan Yu didn’t speak. He reached out, clasped the tips of Chen Jian’s fingers, and gave him a slight bow: “Care for a dance?”
…What the hell?
Chen Jian found it hard to describe his perception of Shan Yu’s mental state at this moment.
Aside from shock, he had to admit that in this split second, he desperately wanted to laugh.
“Don’t move around,” the doctor said, displaying impeccable professional etiquette.
“Alright,” Shan Yu released his hand and sat upright obediently.
“If it hurts, there’s a little ball over there,” the doctor said. “Hand it over for him to squeeze.”
Chen Jian hurriedly looked back. Sure enough, at the corner of the doctor’s desk sat a small black rubber ball. He went over, picked it up, and stuffed it into Shan Yu’s hand.
“Does this actually work?” Shan Yu squeezed the ball.
“Depends on the person,” the doctor said. “Though at least it handles being squeezed better than a human hand.”
“Fuck,” Shan Yu burst out laughing.
Chen Jian had already been holding in his laughter because of the “Care for a dance?” line, and now he couldn’t hold it back anymore, letting out a laugh out loud.
Simply absurd!
And it was getting a bit hard to stop. To avoid interfering with the doctor’s operation, he quickly walked out of the clinic room.
There were still quite a few people waiting in the hallway. He had no choice but to lower his head, walking to the side while holding back his laughter.
“What’s wrong?” The escort nurse auntie waiting in the hallway saw him like this and immediately came over. “Wasn’t it just removing a frame? Is the situation bad?”
“No,” Chen Jian turned his head to look at her, his face still flushed with unsuppressed laughter.
“Oh my, you scared me,” the auntie laughed along. “How can watching your brother get a frame removed make you laugh like this?”
“It’s just… a bit funny,” Chen Jian said with a smile.
However, he didn’t dare linger in the hallway for too long and soon returned to the clinic room. After all, he could tell that removing the frame truly hurt, and Shan Yu was truly afraid of pain.
The moment he walked back in, he saw Shan Yu clutching that rubber ball tightly in his hand, staring fixedly at the doctor’s movements, his knuckles slightly white from exertion.
“Last one,” the doctor said.
“Can he walk now?” Chen Jian asked.
“He could walk even before removing it,” the doctor said. “However, take care to avoid strenuous exercise and keep weight off this leg. There are channels through the bone right now that will take about three months to close up. If you aren’t careful, there’s a risk of re-fracture.”
“Mm,” Shan Yu responded.
“These holes,” Chen Jian looked at the pin holes left behind on his leg after the bone pins were removed, “do they need stitches?”
“No,” the doctor said. “They’ll heal on their own in about a week. Just ensure proper cleaning and disinfection. If there’s any pain, swelling, or bleeding, return to the hospital promptly for treatment.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian nodded.
After removing all the bone pins, the doctor rattled off a bunch of precautions. Shan Yu paced back and forth in the clinic room, and Chen Jian felt he wasn’t listening at all, so he had to stand by the doctor’s desk and listen attentively to every word.
Stepping out of the hospital, Shan Yu was in a very good mood. He hopped down the few steps outside the main entrance with light bounds. Even though his center of gravity was kept on his right leg, Chen Jian still couldn’t help pulling him by the arm: “Why don’t you go back inside and have the doctor put a splint on you first? Save yourself from breaking it again in a bit and having to come back.”
Shan Yu glanced at him with a smile: “No care fee for you next month, then.”
“Watch the road,” Chen Jian said.
“Want to go check on your dad?” Shan Yu asked. “How’s that arm of his recovering?”
“…I didn’t ask,” Chen Jian said.
“People are very strange sometimes,” Shan Yu said. “Goodwill and care come much more naturally when offered to strangers than to family.”
Chen Jian remained silent.
The words sounded a bit awkward, but reflecting on them, he realized that for himself at least, they were quite accurate.
Shan Yu didn’t continue on the topic, simply heading to the parking lot and getting into the car.
Chen Jian got in as well. As Shan Yu started the engine, Chen Jian bit his lip and said, “He always rests at a delivery rider station during lunchtime…”
Shan Yu immediately tapped open the navigation: “Plug it in.”
Chen Jian opened his chat log with his dad. Inside was a selfie his dad had sent of himself eating at the station—to prove his arm wasn’t affecting his work, the station’s name was visible in the photo.
He typed the station’s name into the navigation, which showed it was about six or seven kilometers away from the hospital.
“Very close,” Shan Yu said, driving the car out. “Look at you playing detective. I thought he gave you the address.”
“This counts as him telling me,” Chen Jian said.
“We won’t buy anything this time,” Shan Yu said. “He’ll definitely have to deliver orders in the afternoon, so holding stuff won’t be convenient.”
“Mm.” Chen Jian nodded, hesitated for a moment, and spoke up with some difficulty: “In a bit, you just stay…”
“I’ll park eight hundred meters away,” Shan Yu said. “Won’t let your dad know it was your boss driving you there again.”
Chen Jian smiled faintly without speaking.
A few memories from not too long ago inexplicably floated into his mind, and he hurriedly looked out the car window.
Don’t overthink it, don’t overthink it…
There were many cars on the road at this hour. Looking at the vehicles squeezed together side-by-side outside the window, Chen Jian felt a bit dizzy. He raised his eyes again toward the sidewalk, where plenty of pedestrians walked, some fast, some slow.
Accustomed to the tranquility—and even the occasional desolation—of the small town, the bustling, chaotic scene before him left him feeling somewhat dazed. Back in his school days, aside from school and his part-time job locations, he rarely paid attention to anything else, weaving back and forth through traffic on a bicycle without giving a thought to his surroundings.
The light ahead turned red, and the car pulled to a stop. Shan Yu turned his head and said, “Let me borrow the hand cream.”
“Mm.” Chen Jian responded, freezing for a second as he instinctively reached into his pocket, before glancing at him.
“Don’t pretend you don’t have it,” Shan Yu said. “I smelled it earlier.”
“You smelled…” Chen Jian stopped halfway through his sentence, let out a sigh, took the hand cream out of his pocket, and handed it to Shan Yu.
“Smells pretty good,” Shan Yu unscrewed the cap, squeezed a bit onto his hand, and handed the tube back to him. “Where’d you buy it?”
“The small supermarket on Second Street,” Chen Jian said.
“You actually use these things?” Shan Yu watched the countdown on the red light ahead, slowly rubbing his hands together.
“When I was little, as soon as autumn hit, my hands would get really dry and crack by winter,” Chen Jian said. “My mom told me to remember to use hand cream.”
“I see.” Shan Yu went quiet.
The rider station where his dad took his lunch break was very easy to find, located near a supermarket where Chen Jian used to work part-time. Chen Jian was quite familiar with the area.
Shan Yu parked the car in a roadside spot about a street away from the station: “There’s a milk tea shop over there. I’ll wait for you there.”
“Okay.” Chen Jian stepped out of the car, turning back as he closed the door.
“Shut up and get going,” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian smiled, turning around to walk toward the station.
Along the way, he could see people dressed in delivery uniforms driving past him. Chen Jian kept an eye on them as he walked, but didn’t spot his dad.
He regretted not calling his dad in advance to check.
In case his dad had already finished eating and left, or hadn’t come here to rest today…
Only after walking all the way here did he realize that he actually really wanted to see his dad.
However, as he turned the corner and saw the rider station sign, Chen Jian let out a breath of relief. At a single glance, he spotted his dad sitting on a chair by the entrance, eating a boxed meal.
There was still a splint on his arm. The boxed meal sat on a small table in front of him; the table was a bit low, so he hunched over to reach it, shoveling food into his mouth in quick scoops.
Chen Jian walked all the way up to his side, and he still hadn’t noticed.
“Old Chen,” Chen Jian called out to him.
“Ah,” his dad responded, raising his head.
When he saw clearly who it was, his dad froze on the spot. It took him a long while to snap back to reality before suddenly standing up: “Why are you here?”
“Running errands,” Chen Jian said. “Just nearby. After finishing up, I thought since it wasn’t far from here, I’d come over to see if I’d run into you.”
His dad froze for another moment before breaking into a smile: “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet,” Chen Jian said. “I’ll in a bit…”
“Eat here then,” his dad looked behind him. “Did you come alone?”
“Mm,” Chen Jian nodded. “I won’t bother with the food…”
“The boxed meals from the place right next door are really good and cheap,” his dad said, putting down the chopsticks he had been holding all along and walking toward the stir-fry shop next door. “Boss, another boxed meal please.”
Chen Jian didn’t refuse further, simply taking out his phone to swiftly send a text message to Shan Yu.
Shan Yu sat in a seat by the window. There weren’t many people in the milk tea shop, mostly students who had just finished school, holding various freshly bought, piping-hot snacks in their hands.
Barbecue, malatang, crispy sausages, takoyaki, savory hand-pulled pancakes…
Shan Yu took a sip of milk tea. His stomach felt completely empty—enduring the pain during the frame removal earlier had drained too much of his energy.
He turned his head to look at the row of restaurants across the street, pondering what to grab nearby in a bit.
His phone rang. He picked it up and glanced at it—it was a call from Yue Lang.
Right now he was starving and didn’t feel like talking, so he hung up directly.
There was another text message on his phone, sent about twenty minutes ago. He hadn’t checked it until now, only realizing it was from Chen Jian.
– My dad bought me a boxed meal
“Fuck,” Shan Yu instantly felt even hungrier.
He shifted his gaze back from the restaurants outside. A young boy sat down across from him, placing a cup of milk tea on the table, clutching a box of takoyaki in his hand, with a paper bag looped over his finger that smelled of sauce-flavored pancake.
“Kid,” Shan Yu looked at him, “where’d you buy the pancake?”
The boy took a sip of milk tea: “At our school’s back gate.”
“How much?” Shan Yu asked again.
“Eight yuan,” the boy said.
“Sell it to me for ten,” Shan Yu said.
The boy was stunned, staring at him without speaking or moving.
“You still have to eat dinner when you get home,” Shan Yu said. “If you eat all this, you’ll be full. If you can’t eat dinner at home, your mom will scold you.”
The boy glanced at the pancake.
“Twelve yuan,” Shan Yu said.
The boy pushed the bag containing the pancake in front of him.
“Is it clean?” Shan Yu pulled out his wallet, asking as he dug for cash.
“I haven’t even opened it yet,” the boy said.
“Pleasure doing business,” Shan Yu handed him the money.
The boy took the cash, grabbed his milk tea in one hand and takoyaki in the other, turned around, and ran out of the shop. As he ran, he shouted to a few passing classmates outside: “Some idiot bought my pancake! I made four yuan, hahahahaha!”
Shan Yu tsked, picking up the bag with the pancake and opening it.
Still very hot, very fragrant.
Just as he took a bite, his phone rang again—still Yue Lang.
He let out a sigh, answering the call while chewing on the pancake.
“Hanging up on me?” Yue Lang said.
Shan Yu didn’t speak. This bite of pancake was a bit large, requiring a moment to chew.
“Eating?” Yue Lang paused. “If you’re fucking eating, why the hell did you pick up my call? So I can listen to you chew?”
Shan Yu hung up the phone.
After swallowing the bite of pancake, he picked up the milk tea, took a sip, and called Yue Lang back.
“What is it?”
“Fang Xu is out. You know that, right?” Yue Lang asked.
Shan Yu paused, waiting a moment before uttering: “Didn’t know.”
“Good behavior, got his sentence reduced a bit,” Yue Lang said.
Shan Yu didn’t speak, merely giving a faint smile while biting hard on his bottom lip. He casually reached over and gave the milk tea cup a squeeze: “Why are you telling me this?”
The milk tea instantly burst through the sealed lid and sprayed out.
“Fuck,” Shan Yu stood up.
“I’ll handle it,” a shop employee ran over with a rag.
“Sorry about that,” Shan Yu said.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” the employee said.
Shan Yu grabbed the pancake and walked out of the milk tea shop.
The boxed meal from this place indeed tasted pretty decent, just a bit greasy and slightly too salty.
After chatting with his dad while eating, his dad’s arm was doing alright, having suffered no secondary injuries despite his insistence on delivering orders. The splint could come off in a few days.
After finishing the meal, his dad was in a rush to deliver orders, so Chen Jian didn’t linger. After watching his dad ride away on his scooter, he started walking back.
Shan Yu hadn’t replied to his text—that guy’s phone was never kept in a normal place every day, so he probably hadn’t even seen it.
When he was still twenty or thirty meters away from where the car was parked, Chen Jian spotted Shan Yu leaning against the car door, holding a bag in his hand that looked like it contained a pancake.
Chen Jian was somewhat surprised. There were no vendors selling pancakes nearby—where did he buy a pancake from?
Was he so hungry he went out looking for food?
Chen Jian quickly picked up his pace and ran over.
When he was two or three meters away from Shan Yu, Shan Yu turned his body, and only then did Chen Jian realize Shan Yu was on the phone.
And his expression was terrible—he looked furious.
This was the first time he had seen such blatant rage on Shan Yu’s face.
Chen Jian hesitated, taking a few more steps forward to stand in front of the car hood.
“If he dares set foot near my house again,” Shan Yu said in a low, heavy voice, “I guarantee I’ll ruin him.”
With those words, he hung up the phone.
After freezing for a few seconds, he abruptly raised his hand and slammed the pancake in his hand down toward the car hood.
By reflex, Chen Jian lunged forward a step, catching the pancake.
Shan Yu paused when he saw him: “You’re back so fast?”
“Mm,” Chen Jian responded. “Finished eating.”
Shan Yu didn’t hide his emotions; his voice was still cold when he spoke.
“Quick reflexes,” Shan Yu glanced at the pancake in his hand.
“…I thought you were smashing your phone,” Chen Jian said.
“Am I crazy? Smashing my phone,” Shan Yu took the pancake back from his hand, his voice and gaze slowly returning to normal. “The phone costs over ten thousand.”
Chen Jian smiled faintly.
Shan Yu opened the bag, lowered his head to take a bite, turned around, and got into the car.
Chen Jian followed him into the passenger seat: “Finish eating before driving.”
“Mm,” Shan Yu responded, taking another bite and focusing on eating.
Chen Jian waited until he finished the last bite of the pancake before drawing in a breath.
Just ask.
Things were already like this—it wouldn’t make sense not to ask.
“What happened?” Chen Jian looked at him.
