It was the same little budget motel as that day. Yet when Chen Jian returned here just a few days later, seeing the motel and the tiny lottery shop again, his state of mind was completely different.
His father had already packed his bags and was braving the freezing wind, waiting on the beat-up sofa outside the motel entrance.
“Why isn’t he waiting inside…” Chen Jian murmured under his breath.
Right now, he was facing the daunting task of parallel parking—with cars already boxed in at both ends.
“Back in at an angle,” Shan Yu said. “No need to park it picture-perfect.”
“Hm?” Chen Jian glanced at him, not quite following.
“You two get out, grab his bags, and throw them in the trunk,” Shan Yu turned his head toward Sanbing and Lao Wu in the back seat. “Save some time.”
“On it!” Sanbing acknowledged, pushing the door open immediately.
“Bing-ah,” Shan Yu added, “this is the first time a parent has come to inspect our inn. Put on a good show and give Chen Jian some face.”
“Got it covered!” Sanbing slapped his palms together, hopped out of the car, and bellowed as he ran toward Chen Jian’s dad: “Uncle Chen! Store Manager Chen and the rest of us are here to pick you up!”
He had just called him Chen Jian over the phone, but the moment they met in person, he was promoted straight to Store Manager.
“Store Manager—!” Lao Wu shouted right after. Unsure whether he was trying to emphasize the title or just blabbering nonsense, Lao Wu seemed to realize how absurd it sounded mid-shout and hurriedly added, “Here to pick you up—!”
With acting skills like that, thank goodness they hadn’t chatted with his aunt for too long earlier. If Lao Wu had made an accidental cameo back there, the whole play would have crashed right into the dirt.
Chen Jian couldn’t dwell on that right now; with cars lining up behind him, he hastily backed the vehicle into the space at an angle.
The moment the car halted, Sanbing and Lao Wu were already jogging back with his father’s luggage.
“Stay in the car,” Shan Yu said, opening his door and stepping out.
Chen Jian turned around to look at his dad.
His father’s state was markedly different from the other day. Perhaps because he had gotten his back pay, or perhaps because he wanted to give his son some face in front of his Dayin colleagues, he had changed into clean clothes and gotten a fresh haircut, looking completely refreshed and energized.
Beneath the black strands, however, short white roots were clearly visible.
A man barely in his forties, with so much hair already graying.
“Uncle Chen, take the front passenger seat,” Shan Yu offered.
“No, no need,” his dad waved his hands frantically. “I’ll sit in the back. Boss, you take the front.”
“It’s fine, Uncle,” Sanbing chimed in. “The front is spacious…”
“If it’s spacious, that’s all the more reason for the boss to sit there,” his dad said.
“Bosses always sit in the back row,” Lao Wu had a sudden flash of insight.
“Boss Shan,” Chen Jian leaned toward the passenger window. “Boss Shan…”
“Hm?” Shan Yu backed up to the window immediately.
“Why don’t you sit in the front after all,” Chen Jian whispered. “I’m driving—how are you supposed to help me watch the road from the back?”
“Oh right, forgot you’re a newbie who can’t see where he’s going.” Shan Yu nodded.
In the end, his father, Sanbing, and Lao Wu—the three “bosses”—shared the back seat, while Shan Yu sat in the front passenger seat, guiding the route for his blind newbie assistant.
“This car belongs to the boss, right?” His dad had been a bit nervous at first, but with Sanbing and Lao Wu around—thugs or not, they were kids he had watched grow up—he relaxed considerably.
“Belongs to the guesthouse. Anyone can drive it,” Shan Yu said.
“Mainly driven by the boss and the store manager,” Sanbing said. “The inn has another car too, Uncle.”
“Oh, a whole fleet,” his dad nodded.
“It’s not really a fleet…” Chen Jian smiled.
“Counts as a fleet, totally counts as a fleet,” Sanbing argued. “More than one car makes a fleet. Two people can be called a team, right, Boss Shan?”
“Right,” Shan Yu couldn’t resist glancing back at Sanbing.
“Did you guys buy all the groceries yet?” After a brief pause, his dad began fretting over his temporary holiday gig.
“Should be all set,” Chen Jian said. “Once we get there, take a look. If anything’s missing, we’ll go buy it.”
“Alright,” his dad nodded. “My cooking skills are pretty ordinary, so you’ll all have to bear with me.”
“This crew eats whatever’s put in front of them,” Shan Yu said. “As long as it’s lively and everyone’s together, anything tastes good.”
“Damn right!” Sanbing slapped his hands.
“How’s your grandpa? Is he holding up?” his dad asked him.
“Same old. Crooked and hunched, but hasn’t gotten any worse,” Sanbing said. “He says he won’t be kicking the bucket anytime soon.”
His dad chuckled. “The old man still talks like that.”
Throughout the drive, his father asked about a lot of things—town news, village gossip. Although he still returned to town occasionally over the years, visits were rare. After all, he no longer had a roof over his head in the village and couldn’t very well crowd into Xiao Dou’er’s place with Chen Jian.
Being able to spend the New Year at Dayin this time gave his father a small chance to soothe his homesickness.
Sanbing and Lao Wu were truly small-town drifters who had run wild through the village; they knew every scrap of local gossip. Who got married, who got divorced, who got into a fistfight, who moved away—they had the full dossier on everyone.
Chen Jian couldn’t compete on that front; he had spent most of those years working odd jobs.
Perhaps fueled by the subconscious desire to show off for his dad, the drive back to town went exceptionally smoothly. Shan Yu only had to correct him two or three times.
The only hitch came when pulling into Dayin’s courtyard—it took him several back-and-forth adjustments before he finally parked the car properly.
As the group piled out of the vehicle, Hu Pan came running out from the lobby: “Hello, Uncle Chen!”
“Hello, hello,” his dad nodded hurriedly.
“This is our front desk, Hu Pan,” Chen Jian introduced. “You can just call her Panpan.”
Sanbing and Lao Wu hauled his dad’s bags up to the dorms first. Chen Jian had originally wanted his dad to stay in a guest room, but his father adamantly refused. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, Chen Jian didn’t press the matter; there were empty bunks in the dorm anyway.
Following Chen Jian inside, his father looked around, deeply moved: “Your guesthouse is quite massive.”
“Yeah, it’s alright,” Chen Jian said. “Not the biggest, though. Liangye further inside is bigger than ours.”
“Uncle Chen,” Sun Nana brought over a cup of hot tea. “Have some tea and take a rest.”
“Thank you, young lady,” his dad accepted the cup with slight awkwardness.
“Just call me Nana,” Sun Nana said, turning to Chen Jian. “Store Manager Chen, some backup amenities were just delivered to inventory. Check over the manifest when you have a moment.”
“Got it,” Chen Jian nodded.
“President He stopped by this afternoon. Not sure if it’s urgent,” Sun Nana added. “Do you want to call him back?”
“I’ll call Da Li in a bit to ask first,” Chen Jian said.
After meeting the rest of the staff, his dad—never forgetting his temporary job—headed straight for the kitchen. He inspected the prepped ingredients for the coming days, checked over the cookware and burners, and only then followed Chen Jian on a tour of the property.
“You must be pretty busy, right?” his dad asked. “Why don’t you go attend to your work? Don’t worry about me, I can wander around myself.”
“A few minutes won’t hurt,” Chen Jian clipped his walkie-talkie onto his waistband. “I’ll show you around first so you get your bearings.”
“Do you have a lot of guests right now?” his dad asked. “Looks like the courtyard is packed with cars.”
“Yeah, though it’s not even at peak capacity yet,” Chen Jian said. “When it was really slammed before, our own cars had to park out on the street.”
His dad nodded, strolling slowly through the ground floor with him, his eyes constantly darting around.
“This place is far better than anywhere you worked before,” his father remarked with heartfelt sigh. “Sheltered from the wind and rain. In the past, a few months on the job would leave you baked dark as charcoal.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian smiled.
Those words applied far better to his dad. Right now, his father was thoroughly tanned, and once tidied up, the chapped, frozen fissures on his hands and face were all the more visible.
The walkie-talkie chirped, and Hu Pan’s voice crackled through: “Store Manager Chen, some guests booked for today are arriving shortly, but they just notified us they’re bringing a large dog.”
“How large?” Chen Jian asked.
“A Labrador,” Hu Pan said.
“Large dogs need to be placed in the room at the far end of the hallway next to the stairwell, to avoid disturbing other guests who might be afraid of dogs. If they agree, swap their room,” Chen Jian instructed. “If they don’t have a dog bed, we can provide one…”
Finishing his instructions to Hu Pan, Chen Jian couldn’t help casting a glance toward the lobby. He wondered if this crew was acting on Shan Yu’s orders; normally, Hu Pan would never bother him with handling routine stuff like this.
He even started doubting whether President He had actually stopped by this afternoon.
After touring the guesthouse, Chen Jian led his father to the dorms. Sanbing was off-duty this afternoon, lounging on his bunk playing on his phone.
“This is my bed. Take a rest here, Dad,” Chen Jian said.
“Ah,” his dad stood right back up after sitting down. “Should I head to the kitchen to prep…”
“Today is just the regular staff meal, plus dinner for three guest rooms. No need to prep that early,” Chen Jian said. “Get some rest first.”
“Rest up, Uncle Chen,” Sanbing said. “I’ll be your prep cook later. I’ve got nothing going on anyway.”
“Alright, alright,” his father sat back down, waving at Chen Jian. “Go do your work, don’t let me hold you up.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian acknowledged, glancing at Sanbing.
Sanbing patted his own chest reassuringly.
Chen Jian stepped out of the dorm and looked toward the office; the door was slightly ajar.
He walked over and knocked.
“Come in,” Shan Yu called from inside.
Pushing the door open, Chen Jian saw Shan Yu standing before Erge’s terrarium, feeding him mealworms. On the desk lay the half-crocheted slate-gray scarf belonging to the store manager.
“Done with the tour?” Shan Yu asked.
“Mm.” Chen Jian walked over, wrapped his arms around him from behind, rested his chin on his shoulder, and let out a soft sigh.
“How does it feel?” Shan Yu asked again.
“My dad was really happy,” Chen Jian said. “Did you tell them to put on a show for my dad?”
Shan Yu chuckled. “Did that really need my coordination? Hu Pan and Sun Nana are sharp enough on their own. But no special treatment here—from now on, whenever anyone’s family visits, they get the exact same VIP routine.”
“Mm.” Chen Jian closed his eyes and nodded with a smile, then opened them again after a moment. “Boss, I need to request tomorrow morning off.”
“Sure. Doing what?” Shan Yu set down the container of mealworms, turned around, and wrapped his arms around him in return.
“Going to see my mom,” Chen Jian said. “My dad hasn’t been back in years, and hasn’t visited her either.”
“Mm.” Shan Yu patted him on the back.
Chen Jian didn’t say anything more, burying his face in Shan Yu’s shoulder. After a moment, he tilted his head, pressing his lips firmly against the side of Shan Yu’s neck, feeling the steady thump of his pulse.
“Doctor Chen,” Shan Yu’s hand slipped under his shirt, “how’s the pulse looking?”
“Thriving vigorously,” Chen Jian murmured.
Shan Yu didn’t reply. His hand reached up his back, gripping his hair and tugging it backward.
Chen Jian was forced to lift his head, abandoning his pulse-taking to look at Shan Yu: “Should I get a haircut? Is my hair really that convenient to grab now?”
Shan Yu burst out laughing.
Yet he didn’t let go of his hair, tugging it back a fraction further.
Chen Jian tilted his head up. Before he could figure out what was happening, Shan Yu took a sharp bite right at his throat.
“Ouch.” Chen Jian felt a tiny sting of pain, and his breathing instantly quickened.
Shan Yu gave him a shove. Stumbling back two steps, Chen Jian hit the desk, and Shan Yu pressed his weight forward immediately.
Chen Jian leaned all the way back, sprawling across the desktop.
“Holy shit,” he gasped. “My waist…”
“Did it break?” Shan Yu asked against his ear.
His left hand slid around Chen Jian’s waist to hold him tight, while his right hand rested against Chen Jian’s forehead, looking down at him.
“No,” Chen Jian said. In this moment, every inch of his skin had become hyper-sensitive; even through his forehead, he could clearly feel the scar on Shan Yu’s right palm that hadn’t faded—and perhaps never would.
Along with Shan Yu’s fingertips lightly tracing across his lower back.
He tightened his arms around Shan Yu.
Shan Yu leaned down and kissed him.
After an unmeasured amount of time, Shan Yu released him, propping his hands on the desk.
“Hm?” Chen Jian reached up and touched Shan Yu’s lips softly.
“Need me to help you up?” Shan Yu asked.
“Huh?” Chen Jian was taken aback.
“Didn’t you say your waist broke?” Shan Yu asked.
“Fuck off,” Chen Jian laughed. “If my waist broke, you still managed to finish kissing me before asking?”
“Broken is broken. Naturally, kissing comes first.” Straightening up, Shan Yu grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.
Using the momentum, Chen Jian planted a kiss on his cheek, then pulled out his phone, opened the camera, and inspected his neck.
“I didn’t use much force,” Shan Yu said.
“I felt the sting,” Chen Jian saw a faint patch of red over his throat, though it wasn’t overly obvious. “What were you thinking…”
“What else would I be thinking?” Shan Yu said. “Looked too sexy, had to take a bite.”
Chen Jian broke into laughter.
“Back to work,” Shan Yu picked up the mealworm container again. “Give a good performance.”
Although his father had been somewhat reserved when he first arrived at the inn, having the identity of a temporary worker allowed him to settle in quickly with the muscle memory of his decades of odd jobs.
At dinner, he bustled expertly around the kitchen, and true to his word, Sanbing stayed by his side the entire time as his prep hand.
Leaning against the bar counter, Chen Jian watched his father from across the room, enveloped in a feeling that was both warm and strangely unfamiliar.
He had seen his father cooking in the kitchen back when he was a child, but honestly, it was so long ago that it felt unreal. During the few times he had spent the New Year with his dad in the city, neither of them had cooked—their rented rooms had no kitchens, so they ate takeout his dad had pre-ordered and packed from restaurants…
Watching the scene before him, Chen Jian drifted into a daze.
The next morning, when he went with his dad to visit his mother, that strange, warm feeling lingered on.
“I won’t drive. The road is terrible, and as a newbie, I’m worried about scraping the car,” Chen Jian wheeled his motorcycle out.
“No need to drive,” his dad said. “Cars can’t get through that road anyway; it’s probably even more ruined now.”
“Once the town gets developed, they might pave it,” Chen Jian swung his leg over the motorcycle, adjusting his beanie and nudging the tiny embroidered bow back over the arch of his eyebrow.
“Your staff,” his dad sat on the rear seat, “are those scarves part of a uniform? Blue for the guys, pink for the girls?”
“Yeah, you noticed?” Chen Jian smiled. “Those scarves were crocheted by Shan Yu… Boss Shan.”
“What?” His dad was stunned, gripping his shoulders. “Crocheted by Boss Shan?”
“Yeah. This hat of mine too,” Chen Jian said. “New Year’s gifts.”
“A big boss, and a young man at that,” his father marveled, reaching up to touch the knit beanie on his head. “His hands are that skilled?”
“He knows how to do a lot of things,” Chen Jian started the engine, pointing toward the calligraphy on the inn’s outer wall. “He does calligraphy too. Those two characters for Dayin were written by him.”
“Goodness…” his father murmured in awe. Even as the motorcycle rolled out of the courtyard and reached the intersection, he was still craning his neck back to look.
Chen Jian took this road back to the village all the time, but the path back to their old “home” was one he rarely traveled. Whenever he missed his mother, he usually went to sit at his godmother’s place for a while instead.
There, the feeling of permanent parting and death was lighter, overshadowed by memories of warm sunshine and his mother’s smiling face.
The moment the motorcycle entered the village proper, his father fell completely silent.
“Old Chen is back!” someone shouted from the roadside.
“Ah, back to visit,” his dad called back.
Chen Jian turned onto the dirt path leading to their old house. Both sides were lined with old village houses, most of them abandoned now. Everyone had moved into newly built homes, or relocated over to the new village entirely.
The path was dead quiet.
Passing the old house, Chen Jian didn’t stop, nor did he slow down.
The old home was thoroughly dilapidated; the wooden framework had caved in completely, leaving only crumbling outer walls standing.
His father remained silent; Chen Jian only heard a very faint sigh from behind him.
The motorcycle cleared the old house, winding along the narrow trail over a small hillside, and finally came to a halt on a dirt track deep within the woods.
His dad stepped off the bike and pulled a bouquet of plastic flowers from a plastic bag—bright pink blooms.
His dad had likely bought them in the city and brought them all the way back. They looked a bit dated, but his mother had always loved flowers.
Chen Jian walked with his father down the dirt path for a short stretch, stopping before a weathered tombstone.
His dad stepped forward, using his hands to wipe away the dust and dirt from the stone, cleared the fallen leaves from the base, and placed the flowers in front of it.
“Lin-ah,” his dad’s voice dropped very low. “Look at the flowers.”
After a quiet pause, his father looked back at Chen Jian, then turned his gaze back to the stone: “Our son is doing amazing now. He’s a store manager. Walks around with a walkie-talkie at work, looking just like a secret agent.”
