Chen Jian was caught off guard by Hu Pan’s question, but quickly realized that these two calls might have come from readers of Zhou Lecheng’s travel post, given the well-wishing nature of the calls.
“What’s going on?” he asked, already reaching for his phone.
“This caller specifically said to thank Dayin for its gentleness and warmth,” Hu Pan said. “So I wondered if he…”
As Chen Jian pulled his phone from his pocket, his hands trembled slightly. The words Sanbing had blurted out before echoed in his ears:
If our inn’s business suddenly blows up out of nowhere one day, it means Zhou Lecheng died.
Those words had been harsh, but grounded in reality. Chen Jian hadn’t thought much of it at the time; back then, Zhou Lecheng hadn’t looked noticeably different from any ordinary tourist.
Now, however, a sudden wave of panic seized him.
“I texted him just a few days ago,” Chen Jian said, pulling out his phone and tapping open his chat history with Zhou Lecheng. “Mentioned the crew spending the New Year at the inn and stuff… He didn’t bring up his illness at all… Let me send him another message.”
In the chat window, the previous messages were still from Chen Jian saying he was going to pick up his dad once he got his driver’s license.
Zhou Lecheng had even congratulated him on taking the first step toward becoming a seasoned driver—year one of a century-old brand.
Chen Jian tapped out a message:
[Chen Yu Luo Yan]:Cheng-ge, I got my driver’s license. 1% seasoned driver achievement unlocked.
He attached the same photo of the license he had sent to his dad that day.
Then he gripped the phone in silence, waiting.
“Check the post he made,” Shan Yu said, having appeared behind him at some point.
“Mm.” Chen Jian immediately opened his bookmarks, clicked on Zhou Lecheng’s travel thread, and filtered by author comments only.
“Very lively, feels like everyone who isn’t asleep showed up. I took the free voucher the inn gave out, fully determined to feast…”
“The band wasn’t great—the kind that would draw zero crowd busking on a street corner. Singing here, it was just me and a few kids standing beside them. I was mostly waiting for them to play background music…”
“Fireworks are great for cold weather. Watching them feels warm. Standing next to the bonfire, my eyes and body were both warm. Might feel too hot in summer, though I probably won’t have the chance to wait for another summer to find out…”
“The dynamic duo of enforcers shared some meat skewers with me. Grilled them themselves, very delicious…”
After the bonfire festival, Zhou Lecheng had rested for two days before leaving the inn. In his post, he had only noted briefly that it was time to go home, marking a gentle, fulfilling full stop to his journey.
Scrolling further brought him to last month—the very last update. The text was even briefer, reading unmistakably like final words:
“Things aren’t looking good. Trying my best to make it through the New Year, but worried it might happen too suddenly to say goodbye to everyone waiting on updates. So let me say farewell now. We’ll meet again—amidst the scenery I’ve seen, and the gentleness I was fortunate enough to experience.”
Hu Pan and Sun Nana both leaned in close. Together, they reread Zhou Lecheng’s post from start to finish, then opened and scrolled through the comments beneath it.
Zhou Lecheng had never explicitly mentioned Dayin by name in his posts. But because he wrote about the bonfire festival toward the end, quite a few readers had searched for related events and deduced it was Hongye Town. From there, others stumbled across local guesthouse recommendations.
“They must have found out about us that way,” Hu Pan sighed. “What’s his condition right now? Is he… still around?”
Chen Jian looked down at his phone. There was still no reply from Zhou Lecheng. Then again, whenever they chatted in the past, Zhou Lecheng had never been quick to respond, sometimes only replying the next day, explaining he had fallen asleep.
Maybe he was asleep right now too.
Hopefully, he was just sleeping.
The front desk phone rang several more times. The callers were young men and women, their voices friendly, mostly offering warm New Year blessings. Two even inquired about room types and holiday activities.
Zhou Lecheng’s farewell note had been posted quite a while ago. People had known about Hongye Town and Dayin for some time, and the contact number had been out there just as long. Yet people had only started calling today…
Chen Jian truly harbored a bad feeling about this.
Zhou Lecheng had a small private group of old internet friends who had followed his journey from the very beginning. They might have heard some news.
Chen Jian sat on a wooden bench in the garden. In front of him was the massive pile of fireworks Shan Yu had hauled back. He had planned to snap a few photos to send to Zhou Lecheng when they lit them tomorrow night.
Now, suddenly facing the possibility that Zhou Lecheng might already be gone, a heavy, indescribable ache settled in his chest.
He hadn’t spent much time around Zhou Lecheng, nor had they talked extensively. After Zhou Lecheng went home, they occasionally exchanged a few casual texts, never going deep. He had never had the courage to ask about the specifics of his illness either.
If not for the sudden influx of calls today, Zhou Lecheng would have simply remained an ordinary acquaintance he chatted with once in a while.
Yet right now, he felt terribly sorrowful.
Death—especially death from prolonged illness… Zhou Lecheng was still so young, roughly the same age his mother had been back then, carrying that same calm, quiet gentleness.
Chen Jian leaned his head back against the bench, drew in a breath, and closed his eyes. Just as he was about to let out a quiet sigh, someone pinched his nose.
Startled, he slapped a hand down onto the hand pinching him before whipping around.
Shan Yu stood behind the bench, one hand resting on the backrest, shaking the hand that had just taken a slap.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Chen Jian said.
“Stop sighing all the time.” Shan Yu stepped around the bench and sat down beside him.
“I think Zhou Lecheng really might be gone,” Chen Jian looked down at the phone in his hands. “He hasn’t replied to my message, and hasn’t posted on Moments at all.”
“Did it make you think of your mom?” Shan Yu asked bluntly.
Chen Jian looked at him, hesitated for a moment, and nodded: “Mm.”
“Being sick is agony,” Shan Yu said. “Bystanders can’t shoulder a single fraction of it. Worry, comfort—none of it dulls the pain even a little bit.”
Chen Jian said nothing. He understood what Shan Yu meant.
“Sometimes, death is a release,” Shan Yu continued. “There are regrets, bitterness, but how to put it… even living a full life and passing away of old age comes with regrets and bitterness… And most of the time, that lingering regret belongs to the people left behind.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian acknowledged, sliding down slightly on the bench. He swept a glance across the garden; no one was around.
He leaned sideways, resting his head on Shan Yu’s shoulder.
Though the sun was dipping toward the horizon, the wind had died down, leaving a lingering warmth. Sitting there, drowsiness gradually washed over him.
When Da Li walked into the courtyard through the back gate, Chen Jian was still leaning against Shan Yu.
He was dead tired and had zero desire to move.
Even catching sight of Da Li, he couldn’t be bothered to stir.
Move for what?
What the hell did Da Li matter?
Everyone dies eventually; who gives a damn what an outsider thinks…
“Something up?” Shan Yu asked.
“Ah,” Da Li, who had frozen dead in his tracks upon entering, answered, “Boss Shan, Store Manager Chen.”
Only then did Chen Jian sit upright, wiping the corner of his mouth just in case he had dozed off and drooled.
“Here’s the thing,” Da Li walked over. “Boss He dropped by earlier, but you guys were in the city so you missed each other. We wanted to ask: are you both staying at the inn over the New Year?”
“Yes,” Chen Jian said.
“Great. Boss Yang suggested our guesthouses get together for a gathering over the holidays. Which day works for you two?” Da Li asked.
Chen Jian looked at Shan Yu. They had the time, but whether Shan Yu had the interest was another question.
Oh, he probably does.
Shan Yu wanted to collaborate with these inns now. With the town’s development underway, working together was the best way to turn a profit.
“The third or fourth day of the lunar month works,” Shan Yu said.
“Then let’s pencil in the third,” Da Li nodded. “I’ll coordinate the details with Store Manager Chen later.”
“Alright,” Chen Jian acknowledged.
Da Li didn’t linger, turning and exiting through the back gate.
Chen Jian watched the gate, murmuring after a moment, “Should we keep that door locked normally?”
Shan Yu chuckled softly without speaking.
Dinner was nearly ready. Chen Jian and Shan Yu headed back inside. Sanbing and the guys were laying out bowls and chopsticks. Two guests were joining them for dinner tonight and were currently helping carry dishes to the table.
Chen Jian walked into the kitchen, where his dad was scooping out the last batch of stir-fried cured pork.
“There’s also some freshly picked greens,” his dad said. “For whoever wants greens later…”
“Where did you pick them?” Chen Jian paused.
“That vegetable greenhouse right behind your courtyard,” his dad replied, then froze, lowering his voice: “Wait… you guys didn’t plant that?”
“No,” Chen Jian almost laughed. “The folks from the inner inns planted it.”
“Uh oh,” his dad said. “I picked two heads.”
“It’s fine,” Chen Jian said. “Shan Yu was talking about throwing chickens in there to raise anyway. That land belongs to us in the first place.”
“With this crew of yours, you actually want to raise chickens?” his dad chuckled. “Those two girls from the front desk came in to help earlier, took one lap, didn’t help with a thing, and almost made me burn the dish.”
Carrying the cured pork out, Chen Jian smiled the whole way.
Chatting with his dad in a steaming kitchen—this was something missing from his childhood memories. It was new, living, and belonged strictly to the present.
The couple joining them for dinner was exceptionally cheerful. After staying for several days, they had become like an older sister and brother-in-law to everyone. Right now, they were hosting with vibrant enthusiasm, as if this were their own living room, urging everyone to dig in.
“Eat up, everyone! We’re just here on holiday, but you guys have been running a massive guesthouse all day,” the woman said.
“How’s the seasoning?” his dad asked.
“Spot on,” the husband nodded. “Uncle, you don’t look like someone who cooks, but the food is delicious.”
“Just simple home-cooked stuff, all local ingredients,” his dad smiled. “There’s still more in the kitchen…”
His dad trailed off mid-sentence, darting a guilty glance at Chen Jian.
“There’s freshly picked lettuce too,” Chen Jian covered for him.
“Where’d you pick it?” Sanbing asked immediately.
Chen Jian grinned without answering.
“That greenhouse right outside the courtyard wall?” Lao Wu guessed.
“Mm,” Chen Jian nodded.
“We definitely have to try that!” Sanbing hopped up right away to fetch the greens from the kitchen. “Wrapping meat in fresh greens is heavenly! They used farm manure on this crop too…”
Suiyun hadn’t spared any expense on those vegetables, refusing to let the plot sit idle even in the dead of winter and building a whole greenhouse over it. If not to claim the land, it could only be out of pure passion.
The greens were indeed fantastic—exceptionally crisp and fresh. The entire basket was polished off by the table in no time.
“If I’d known, we wouldn’t have needed to buy greens these past few days,” Shan Yu stood by the eastern wall after dinner, staring with imaginary X-ray vision toward the greenhouse on the other side. “That patch alone would have covered us.”
“We’re having a gathering with them in a few days,” Chen Jian said. “Don’t go stirring up trouble.”
Shan Yu clicked his tongue.
“Sooner or later, I’m having Zhao Fangfang buy chickens and toss them in,” he muttered.
“Mushroom would pounce on them until none were left,” Chen Jian glanced at Mushroom sitting obediently at his feet, also staring intently at the wall. Bending down to ruffle the dog’s fur, he added, “He pounces on literally everything now…”
His phone chimed with an incoming notification.
Chen Jian remained bent over without moving.
“Check it,” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian pulled out his phone, his eyes quickly darting to the notification preview. The message was from Zhou Lecheng, but the opening line made it immediately clear that it hadn’t been typed by him.
Two extremely polite words:
Hello.
Chen Jian tapped open the chat.
[Zhong Le Le]:Hello. I am Lecheng’s friend. He left this world yesterday evening at 9:10 PM. In accordance with his wishes, no funeral or memorial services will be held. The parting messages he left for his friends are being conveyed individually by me.
A second message followed right behind:
[Zhong Le Le]:Chen Jian, first and foremost, thank you and every friend at the inn. And there is a secret I can share with you now: that day we played cards, I was indeed scouting the location, though I hadn’t fully made up my mind. You all held onto me, allowing me to enjoy a few more months of life. Thank you. Wishing you all an eternal, passionate, and unyielding vitality.
…Zhou Lecheng was truly gone.
He hadn’t managed to hold out until the New Year passed.
Chen Jian squatted down onto the ground, burying his face by pulling Mushroom’s head against his eyes.
Shan Yu took the phone from his hands. After reading the texts, he squatted down beside him, throwing an arm around Chen Jian’s shoulders.
“I’m not crying,” Chen Jian’s voice was muffled.
“Mm,” Shan Yu acknowledged softly.
“Just putting up a guard. I don’t want to cry,” Chen Jian said. “It’s the New Year.”
“Mm,” Shan Yu replied again.
“Still hurts, though,” Chen Jian said.
“Let’s go,” Shan Yu patted his shoulder, standing up.
“Go where?” Chen Jian asked.
“Setting off fireworks?!” Hu Pan yelled in surprise. “I thought we were saving them for tomorrow night! We’re lighting them tonight?!”
“Nobody made a rule saying you can only light fireworks on New Year’s Eve,” Shan Yu said. “Didn’t we buy them to set them off?”
“We need a game plan, then,” Sanbing stood up immediately. “Can’t get overly excited and burn through the entire stash in one night.”
“If we burn through it, we burn through it,” Shan Yu said. “The vendor is from the southern village; he promised he can deliver another batch anytime if we need.”
The crew erupted into cheers, and Lao Wu bolted straight toward the backyard.
“Sanbing,” Shan Yu stopped him just as he was about to follow, “call Chen Erhu. Tell him to get his ass down to the riverbank. If he isn’t there by nine, he doesn’t need to come back to work ever again.”
After Chen Erhu hauled the supplies into inventory today, he had vanished, only telling Sanbing he needed some time alone outside, and hadn’t shown his face since.
Chen Jian knew he felt too ashamed to face the staff, especially Shan Yu.
If Shan Yu didn’t reach out to pull him back, the guy might genuinely brood until after the holidays and quit.
“Got it!” Sanbing shouted, adding as he jogged off, “Thank you, Boss Shan! May Boss Shan live as long as the southern mountains!”
“Lao Wu,” Chen Jian said.
“Lao Wu is already…” Sanbing turned around.
“Get off Chen Jiali’s body!” Chen Jian ordered.
“…Screw you, Chen Jian!” Sanbing cursed, dashing off to the backyard.
Sun Nana backed the car up to the rear gate, and the crew began loading fireworks into the trunk. Since the boss had given the green light, they held nothing back—stuffing well over half the stash into the car, leaving only the two largest launch tubes behind. Demand was lower for those massive ones, and they were worried the vendor might not have backup stock.
Whoever could squeeze into the car piled in, while Sanbing and Lao Wu rode motorcycles ahead to scout an open clearing by the riverbank.
Chen Jian’s dad had never partied like this in his entire life. Squeezed into the back seat beside Chen Jian, he couldn’t stop smiling: “You kids really just act on whatever pops into your heads.”
“It’s the New Year,” Shan Yu said. “Uncle Chen, pick a few big ones to light in a bit.”
Chen Jian had expected his dad to politely decline, but his father nodded without a hint of hesitation: “Sounds great.”
“I don’t dare light the big ones, I want the sparklers,” Sun Nana said. “Panpan, snap some photos of me.”
“Leave it to me! Guaranteed to make you look like a fashion editorial,” Hu Pan promised.
Reaching the riverbank, Sanbing and Lao Wu had already staked out a spot, waving at them from afar.
The moment the car came to a stop, the trunk was popped open, and everyone hopped out to unload fireworks.
Chen Jian prepared to get out as well, but Shan Yu, who had been sitting beside him looking at his phone, suddenly snapped his fingers right in front of his face.
“Hm?” Chen Jian turned his head.
Shan Yu turned his screen toward him: “When was this taken?”
Chen Jian recognized it in an instant. The photo showed him standing beside a smiling young girl.
“That’s…” He caught on immediately. “That’s the girl I told you about, right at the inn, she…”
How on earth had Shan Yu stumbled across this photo?
Chen Jian spent every day browsing to see reviews and mentions of Dayin and had never once seen this picture.
What kind of unhinged recommendation algorithm was this platform running?!
“Not listening,” Shan Yu said, opening the door and stepping out of the car.
