Actually, Shan Yu wasn’t the only one looking forward to the New Year; Chen Jian felt the exact same way.
This was the first time in years that he could celebrate such a lively New Year, and he was doing it alongside his father.
Standing before his mother’s tombstone earlier, he hadn’t even been able to hold back from saying: “It’s especially lively this year. So many people.”
Although Shan Yu wasn’t very experienced with celebrating the holidays, his enthusiasm was surprisingly high. Officially, time off was supposed to start on New Year’s Eve—the other guesthouses further inside followed that schedule—yet at Dayin, staff could take leave basically whenever they wanted starting from the twenty-sixth or twenty-seventh of the twelfth lunar month.
“They’re so jealous. Plus, their shifts aren’t nearly as humane as ours…” Lao Wu sat in the cafe. Having just vacuumed the ground-floor carpet, he was currently slumping across the sofa slacking off, with the vacuum cleaner left right beside him.
Under normal circumstances, Chen Jian definitely would have glared at him until he dragged himself upstairs to finish his chores. But not today.
It was the New Year, after all.
“The word is humanized,” Sun Nana corrected.
On the table in front of her was a pastry saucer. She was unwrapping small biscuits one by one, neatly stacking them on the plate.
After unwrapping five, she picked them up to eat slowly, one by one.
The very biscuits Shan Yu loved but could never have.
“In our case, it’s mostly because we have a lot of people who aren’t going home, and those who are live close by,” Chen Jian said. “Those other inns didn’t have it so rough before either—they used to just close for the holiday, so everyone went home. Business is just too good this year.”
“Those bosses—Boss He, Boss Yang, and whatever other bosses—ought to come over and kowtow to Shan Yu,” Sun Nana said.
“Before Boss Shan got here,” Lao Wu murmured quietly, “Erhu-ge’s master plan was that once this whole area completely went under, we’d take this place over as our base.”
“Back when it was called Zhenxi, wasn’t it empty too?” Sun Nana asked.
“It used to be a haunted house back then. And besides…” Lao Wu shot Chen Jian a glance. “Chen Jian was living here.”
“Only occasionally, never permanently,” Chen Jian said.
“What’s wrong with Chen Jian living here? One person can’t occupy an entire building,” Sun Nana, unfamiliar with that chapter of local lore, was slightly surprised but didn’t pry further. Chen Jian guessed she’d probably gossip about it with Hu Pan in private later.
“You don’t get it,” Lao Wu said. “Chen Jian is more troublesome than a ghost.”
“I’m sitting right here,” Chen Jian said.
“I’m complimenting you,” Lao Wu said.
“Compliment me a little less from now on,” Chen Jian pointed at the vacuum cleaner. “Go do your work.”
Lao Wu clicked his tongue reluctantly, stood up, and dragged the vacuum cleaner toward the elevator: “Where’s Sanbing? The second there’s heavy lifting, he vanishes.”
“He went on errands. If you want to trade with him, all the running around outside can be yours from now on,” Chen Jian said.
“Let’s wait until spring. It’s too cold right now,” Lao Wu’s pace instantly quickened.
“Keep dreaming,” Chen Jian said.
A short while later, Sanbing returned carrying two bags, tossing them onto the table: “Doing this now?”
“Yeah,” Chen Jian nodded.
One bag held red envelopes; the other held freshly exchanged loose bills.
Every guest spending the New Year here received a ten-yuan red envelope as a token of good fortune. There were also several larger red envelopes containing lucky money for the staff, two hundred yuan each.
Chen Jian and Sun Nana counted out the bills and began stuffing the envelopes.
While stuffing red envelopes, Sun Nana didn’t forget to eat her biscuits, though she had switched to using a small dessert fork.
“Nana,” Chen Jian looked at her.
Sun Nana speared a biscuit and offered it to his lips.
“That’s not…” Chen Jian chuckled.
“What is it?” Sun Nana popped the biscuit into her own mouth instead.
“You’re not going home for the New Year,” Chen Jian lowered his voice. “Can you explain that to your family?”
“They’re definitely unhappy about it,” Sun Nana said. “But I have a psychiatric diagnosis, so they don’t dare push me.”
Chen Jian smiled faintly.
“My only worry is that he might come looking for me,” Sun Nana said. “Though Panpan and I already made a plan: if he really shows up, she’ll come with me to book a standard room at one of the inns further inside. If he wants to make a scene, let him bother someone else.”
“…If he actually shows up, we can just beat him away,” Chen Jian said. “Why go through all that trouble?”
“That won’t do. It’s the New Year,” Sun Nana said.
While they were talking, Hu Pan’s voice suddenly rose from the front desk, calling toward the main entrance: “Hello, can I help you with something?”
The question was directed at the person at the door, but it was also a distress signal to the people in the cafe.
“Who is it?” Sun Nana jumped in surprise.
Chen Jian walked over quickly and peeked toward the entrance. Waving his hand at Sun Nana, he whispered, “Erhu’s dad.”
“Oh,” Sun Nana leaned back against her chair. “For a second, I thought my mouth had jinxed us.”
Even though Chen Erhu’s dad wasn’t her ex-husband Zhang, his appearance at Dayin was hardly a simple matter to handle.
As Chen Jian approached, he caught a strong whiff of alcohol; the man had clearly been drinking.
“Uncle,” Chen Jian blocked Erhu’s dad, who was trying to stumble inside. “Looking for Erhu? Erhu went into town on business.”
“I’m not looking for him,” Erhu’s dad swayed back a step. Once he steadied himself, he stared at Chen Jian for several seconds before slurring, “Chen Jian, huh? I was wondering who it was.”
“Yeah, it’s me, Chen Jian,” Chen Jian said.
“Heard your dad came back?” Erhu’s dad peered around the inn.
“Yes,” Chen Jian nodded.
His dad was busy in the kitchen right now. Over the past couple of days, he had been prepping all sorts of ingredients for the New Year’s Eve dinner and the holiday meals. It might look like just cooking a few meals, but it was the New Year, after all—heavy-duty banquet dishes required lots of advance prep.
“Father and son reunited, then,” Erhu’s dad nodded. “Happy. Unlike me.”
“Isn’t Erhu going home for the New Year too?” Chen Jian said.
“Originally,” Erhu’s dad shoved two fingers right in front of Chen Jian’s eyes, “I had two sons.”
“You still have two,” Chen Jian said.
Chen Dahu was in prison, not dead.
“Two sons. And you people made sure I lost both of them.” Erhu’s dad let out an alcohol-laden burp.
Chen Jian tilted his head away slightly, holding his breath before asking, “Did Erhu not go home?”
“Going home is the same as not going home!” Erhu’s dad bellowed. “Can’t stand the sight of me now! ‘Boss Shan’ this, ‘Boss Shan’ that, can’t even tell who his own damn father is anymore!”
…That’s a bit of a stretch.
Boss Shan isn’t old enough for that.
“Call your boss out,” Erhu’s dad spun in a wobbly circle, then staggered toward the lounge sofa and collapsed onto it. “Call Shan Yu out here!”
“Alright, Uncle, just sit here and rest a bit,” Chen Jian nodded.
He turned and walked to the front desk: “Panpan.”
“Should I call the police?” Hu Pan asked immediately.
“Call Chen Erhu and ask what happened,” Chen Jian said.
Calling the police was definitely out of the question. This was Chen Erhu’s dad. Erhu’s older brother had just been sent to prison after they called the police last year; if they called the cops again to kick his dad out, Chen Erhu might actually drop dead of a heart attack.
“Got it,” Hu Pan nodded. “Should I call Boss Shan down?”
“Not yet,” Chen Jian said, walking to the counter to pour a cup of hot water, brew some tea, and grab a few pastries. “Get Lao Wu down here.”
If Shan Yu had to handle another mess involving Chen Erhu’s family in person, Chen Erhu really might drop dead.
“Chen Jian, what’s…” Hearing the commotion, Chen Jian’s dad stepped out of the kitchen. Just as he was about to ask, he caught sight of Erhu’s dad sitting on the sofa and froze. “…Why is Da Ganbar here?”
Da Ganbar (Big Scrawny) was Chen Erhu’s dad’s childhood nickname. Supposedly, he had been terribly scrawny as a kid. Even though he wasn’t scrawny in the slightest now, people had called him that for decades, and no one had ever changed it.
Chen Jian didn’t even know his real name; he had always called him Uncle Ganbar growing up.
“He drank too much,” Chen Jian said quietly. “Probably had a fight with Chen Erhu.”
“Should I go talk some sense into him?” his dad offered anxiously. “We don’t want a scene scaring your guests.”
“It’s fine, Dad,” Chen Jian held him back. “I’ll handle it. Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh,” his dad looked at him, hesitated for two seconds, then gave a firm nod and turned purposefully back toward the kitchen. “Right. You can handle it. The store manager can handle it.”
Chen Jian returned to the front desk. Hu Pan had already gotten off the phone with Chen Erhu: “He had a fight with his dad. His dad wanted him to go visit his brother, but he refused. Didn’t say much else. He’s driving back right now.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian nodded.
Ever since Chen Dahu went in, the relationship between Chen Erhu and his dad had been tense. Although his father had failed miserably at parenting—raising one and a half local bullies—he still hoped Chen Erhu could patch things up with his brother.
Or maybe he was just afraid.
“What do we do?” Hu Pan looked at the tray in his hands with hot tea and pastries.
“Get him to eat and drink something, see if he can sleep it off,” Chen Jian said. “If not, once the alcohol really kicks in, we’ll haul him away.”
“Where is he?!” Erhu’s dad yelled.
“Uncle,” Chen Jian carried the tea and pastries over, placing them on the coffee table in front of him. “Have some tea.”
Erhu’s dad had been drinking, so he was likely parched. Although he was thoroughly displeased, he still picked up the cup and took a sip.
“No need to stall for time,” he set the cup down. “I’ve got plenty of time. It’s the New Year anyway, and of my two sons, one won’t come home and the other can’t come home. I’m all alone in that house.”
“Erhu told me ten days ago that he was going home, telling me not to schedule him during the holidays,” Chen Jian said. “He even took leave yesterday specifically to go home, worried you wouldn’t be able to manage all the chores before the New Year on your own.”
Erhu’s dad didn’t answer right away, but after a moment, he slammed his palm on the coffee table: “If he’s so considerate, why won’t he go see his brother when I tell him to?!”
“Dahu might not even want to see him,” Chen Jian said. “Uncle, you…”
Erhu’s dad’s gaze suddenly bypassed Chen Jian, looking behind him.
Chen Jian turned around and saw Lao Wu hurrying over, but Erhu’s dad clearly wasn’t looking at him—he was looking at Shan Yu right behind him.
It was almost mealtime; Shan Yu had come down to forage for food.
After all, with Chen Jian’s dad at the inn now, Shan Yu made a point of coming down to eat every meal in person to keep up a good impression.
Shan Yu swept a glance over and immediately clocked that something was going on. But he didn’t come over; instead, he walked straight to the counter, picked up a slice of peeled pomelo, and ate it slowly.
Hu Pan was whispering to him from the side.
“Uncle,” Lao Wu didn’t bother with formalities, sitting right down next to Erhu’s dad. “How much did you drink? Come on, I’ll take you home.”
Erhu’s dad glared at him: “They say this place is great at reforming people—how come it didn’t fix your brain?”
“I’m lucky they even took me in,” Lao Wu said. “If someone like me wanted a proper reform, they’d have to pay the inn extra.”
Erhu’s dad opened his mouth, completely speechless.
In the end, he turned back around, pointing straight at Shan Yu: “Tell him to come over here.”
Over by the counter, Shan Yu leaned back, watching him calmly.
Erhu’s dad didn’t lower his pointing finger.
Chen Jian reached out and pushed his arm down: “Uncle, are you really not leaving Chen Erhu any breathing room?”
“Breathing room my ass!” Erhu’s dad snapped.
Shan Yu walked over, stopping right in front of Erhu’s dad.
“Chen Erhu’s father,” Chen Jian introduced.
“Mr. Chen,” Shan Yu addressed him, choosing not to follow the others in calling him ‘Uncle.’ “Did Chen Erhu ever bring money home in the past?”
Erhu’s dad stared at him without answering.
“He brings money home every month now, right?” Shan Yu continued. “Does he still get into fights? Does he still run wild on the streets?”
“Of course not,” Lao Wu nudged Erhu’s dad. “Right? He brings his wages home, I know that for a fact.”
“Ah,” Erhu’s dad mumbled an acknowledgment.
“Then what else do you want from him?” Shan Yu looked down at him.
Probably because of the alcohol, Erhu’s dad’s brain was running sluggishly. Combined with Shan Yu standing tall before him—expressionless, devoid of smiles or polite pleasantries—he couldn’t find his words for a moment.
“Think it over once you sober up,” Shan Yu said. “The day Chen Dahu gets out, the only person who can protect you is Chen Erhu.”
With that, Shan Yu turned and walked away.
After two steps, he tilted his head back: “Lao Wu, take him home. It’s the New Year—don’t force me to call the police.”
Without waiting for Erhu’s dad to react, Lao Wu grabbed his arm, slung it over his shoulder, seized his collar, and hoisted him upright: “Time to go, Uncle.”
Whether it was the alcohol hitting full force, Erhu’s dad seemed unsteady on his feet and somewhat dazed. Chen Jian hurried over to help support him, but even if Lao Wu’s brain required extra payment to fix, his physical strength was massive; he practically dragged Erhu’s dad straight out the door.
“Don’t worry about it,” Lao Wu called back to Chen Jian. “I’ll take him straight home.”
“Can you manage?” Chen Jian felt slightly uneasy.
“No problem. Whenever he got drunk in the past, I was always the one hauling him back,” Lao Wu said.
No wonder he was so practiced at it.
Chen Jian turned back inside. Shan Yu was sitting in the cafe.
As Chen Jian walked over, Sun Nana—who was still stuffing red envelopes—dropped the remaining ones onto the small table: “These are yours to finish.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian nodded.
After Sun Nana walked away, he sat down by the table, picking up envelopes to stuff bills inside.
“I didn’t originally want you to have to handle that,” Chen Jian said.
“Mm,” Shan Yu acknowledged.
“Are you… a little unhappy?” Chen Jian glanced at him.
“Why would I be?” Shan Yu asked.
“Your attitude just now,” Chen Jian whispered, “was pretty intimidating.”
The corner of Shan Yu’s mouth curled slightly: “Did I scare you?”
“Not me,” Chen Jian said. “But you probably scared Chen Erhu’s dad, so I thought you were upset.”
“No,” Shan Yu glanced toward the front desk, reaching out to take the very last biscuit from the saucer. “There was just no need to be polite. The goal was to get him out.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian nodded.
“Patching things up with his dad is Chen Erhu’s own business,” Shan Yu said. “No one else can do it for him.”
“I originally… actually wanted to talk him down,” Chen Jian frowned. “I’m still terrible at handling these things… I even wanted to show my dad what a competent store manager I am.”
Shan Yu laughed: “Competence doesn’t include this. No job description expects a store manager to resolve employees’ family drama.”
“Lending a hand means pulling them up, not holding their hand every step after,” Shan Yu said. “Stuff like this, they ultimately have to walk through on their own.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian nodded, glancing toward his dad bustling away in the kitchen.
The front desk phone rang, and Hu Pan answered: “Hello, Dayin Guesthouse… mm… huh? Oh… thank you, wishing you all the best and a Happy New Year…”
Chen Jian found the exchange slightly odd, watching Hu Pan.
After hanging up, Hu Pan turned around: “That’s so weird. Someone called just to wish Dayin prosperous business…”
Before she could finish, the phone rang again. She picked it up: “Hello, Dayin… Yes, huh?”
“What’s going on?” Chen Jian stood up, stacked the filled red envelopes, slipped them into a bag, and walked over to the front desk.
“Chen Jian,” Hu Pan hung up the phone and looked at him, “are you still in touch with Zhou Lecheng?”
