On the first day of the New Year, Chen Jian woke up on the cafe sofa.
Sprawled around him in various states of disarray were all the male staff of Dayin excluding the boss—including his father.
Hu Pan and Sun Nana were asleep in the small back room behind the front desk.
Calling it “waking up” was generous; he hadn’t slept long at all. Going down around five, he was jolted awake by firecrackers at six.
Hardly anyone slept on New Year’s Eve to begin with. After finishing their dinner, everyone had set out looking for entertainment. In past years, Chen Erhu and his crew would head to the old town—though its entertainment options were meager compared to the city, it still beat staying here. If they didn’t go to town or the city, they’d play cards, playing through the night against the relentless barrage of firecrackers outside.
This year, the entire group returned to the inn right after the New Year’s Eve banquet and made a whole night of it. First, they strolled through town; thanks to the influx of holiday tourists, several small shops were actually open this year, and they could even knock on the door of Big Tortoise’s barbecue joint to have him grill up a few skewers.
Then came the fireworks. The haul Shan Yu bought this time easily surpassed ten thousand yuan. A few tourists had driven out with their entire families, trunks packed with fireworks of their own, and together they pieced together a proper fireworks show. Tourists and a good number of locals gathered around to watch, with some even hitching a ride on their fireworks—the moment they set a box down, someone would rush over and light the fuse for them…
Only after all the fireworks were spent did the crew return to the inn, where his dad whipped up a late-night barbecue spread for everyone.
In all his years, Chen Jian had never celebrated the New Year quite like this. Whether staying here or spending it with his dad in the city, he usually went to sleep right on schedule. This was the first time he had ever stayed up until 5:00 AM on New Year’s Eve.
Around four, Chen Erhu had suggested playing cards. Chen Jian called out an agreement, but fell fast asleep as the cards were being dealt. Who took over his hand was anyone’s guess.
He hadn’t even had the chance to look around and see where Shan Yu was before dozing off.
Either way, Shan Yu hadn’t been asleep at that point—a true chronic insomniac through and through…
Despite eating a ton yesterday and downing dumplings right before passing out, standing in the elevator now, Chen Jian felt hungry all over again.
The inn was dead silent. From staff to guests, everyone was still asleep. The only upright, bipedal creature awake was Chen Jian—and Mushroom, who had just finished taking a dump in the vegetable patch out back.
The fourth-floor office door was shut but unlocked; Chen Jian turned the knob and pushed it open.
Poking his head in, he saw that Shan Yu wasn’t on the sofa. He took a few steps inside and found the bedroom door open, the room completely empty.
“Shan Yu?” Chen Jian called out, fishing his phone from his pocket.
No answer. Shan Yu really wasn’t in the office.
The call connected quickly, the sound of rushing wind in the background making it clear he was outside.
“Awake?” Shan Yu asked.
“Where are you?” Chen Jian asked.
“Up by the observation deck, waiting for the sunrise,” Shan Yu said.
“Didn’t you sleep at all?” Chen Jian turned to head back out.
“Missed the window, couldn’t fall asleep,” Shan Yu said. “Coming? After we catch the sunrise, we’ll head back to hand out red envelopes.”
“Be right there,” Chen Jian said. “Are you hungry? Want me to bring a carton of milk and some biscuits?”
“Sure,” Shan Yu replied.
Chen Jian returned to the first floor and glanced around; the crew was still sound asleep.
He grabbed the milk and biscuits, found some cold leftover dumplings in the kitchen and ate a few, then sprinted out the door.
Outside, dawn had barely broken. The entire town and the surrounding wooded hills were blanketed in morning mist laced with gunpowder smoke. A single breath filled his nose with the sharp scent of firecrackers—the unmistakable essence of the New Year.
Mushroom, who had been munching on kibble in the courtyard, abandoned his bowl the second he saw him, bounding along behind him. They jogged up the mountain path together, the dog bursting with energy, occasionally barking as he sprinted ahead of Chen Jian.
Nearing the observation deck, Mushroom didn’t slow down at all, charging straight ahead in pure excitement.
A short, crisp whistle drifted from the direction of the deck. Mushroom slammed on the brakes, spun around, and dashed over with his tail wagging furiously.
Chen Jian caught up, spotting Shan Yu perched on a boulder.
Behind him stood seven or eight tourists, all holding up their phones, waiting to record the sunrise.
To catch the first sunrise of the New Year, these people probably hadn’t slept much either.
“That whistle of yours sure gets a lot of mileage,” Chen Jian murmured quietly.
“Just saying hello,” Shan Yu smiled.
“So Mushroom and I are in the same tier now?” Chen Jian pulled the carton of milk from his pocket and handed it over. “Back when you whistled at me from your car, I should’ve clocked you.”
“Why didn’t you?” Shan Yu took the milk.
“It was at Rui-ge’s shop,” Chen Jian said. “Didn’t want to bring him trouble; it’s a business, after all.”
Shan Yu chuckled, giving his fingers a light squeeze: “Chen Jian-ge really knows how to weigh the big picture.”
Chen Jian clicked his tongue. “Want a biscuit?”
“Yeah.” Shan Yu nodded. “Starving. Just ate a piece of bread someone gave me.”
“…Couldn’t you just grab something on your way out? There were dumplings and barbecue in the kitchen,” Chen Jian said.
“Couldn’t be bothered.” Shan Yu lowered his head and took a sip of milk.
“What time did you get here?” Chen Jian sat down beside him.
“Twenty minutes ago, maybe,” Shan Yu said. “Went up to feed Erge and came straight out. Wanted to wake you, but you were out cold.”
As he spoke, Shan Yu tapped open his photo album, showing off his screen.
Chen Jian saw a photo of himself sprawled out on the sofa, dead to the world. He was somewhat speechless: “You took a picture of that too?”
“Documenting life,” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian pulled out his own phone, aiming it straight at Shan Yu as he chewed on a biscuit, and snapped a photo.
With his eyelids lowered, staring down at the biscuit, Shan Yu looked both handsome and adorable.
The morning mist on the mountain was still fairly thick. When the wind blew, it whipped the vapor into rolling swirls. The villages nestled below appeared and disappeared through the white haze, wrapped in a fresh, quiet stillness.
All around them, it was tranquil—broken only by birdsong and the hushed murmurs of tourists who seemed afraid of disturbing the slumbering forest.
Shan Yu didn’t speak again, quietly finishing his makeshift breakfast, while Chen Jian gazed into the mountain mist, lost in thought.
Mushroom curled up on the bed of fallen leaves by their feet, catching up on his sleep.
Finishing his breakfast, Shan Yu shoved his hand into Chen Jian’s coat pocket, lacing their fingers together.
The tip of his nose was freezing, but his hand was warm. The white plumes of breath they exhaled mingled in the wind, drifting forward together.
This stillness nestled in the mountain air, laden with chill and damp mist, was entirely different from the brief quiet that settled over a city after a night of revelry. Here, a person could truly sink into peace.
After an unknown amount of time, someone shouted: “The sun! It’s coming up!”
Beside him, Chen Jian jumped to his feet, pulling Shan Yu up along with him.
Shan Yu squeezed against the railing beside him as Chen Jian raised his phone, framing the vivid, soft golden-red glow crowning the distant peak, and started recording.
Shan Yu snapped a couple of photos, slipped his phone back into his pocket, and stood watching in silence as that patch of golden-red expanded, bleeding into the sky.
Chen Jian usually didn’t care much for photographing landscapes, rarely taking more than a couple of quick snapshots. Today, however, he looked determined to record the sunrise from start to finish.
Beyond wanting to document the first sunrise of the New Year, he was probably planning to send it to Zhou Lecheng.
Yesterday, Chen Jian had pulled out his phone to send messages every so often. Shan Yu had caught a few glimpses and knew they were sent to Zhou Lecheng, but looking at Chen Jian’s state, they weren’t entirely meant for him either.
Shan Yu hadn’t asked. He knew that, on some level, Zhou Lecheng reminded Chen Jian of his mother. And Chen Jian’s mother had passed away too early—she had never had WeChat, and her old phone number had long since been reassigned. If Chen Jian wanted to confide in someone, the only place he had was her tombstone, resting beside a home he could no longer return to.
The golden-red atop the mountain shifted into brilliant gold, growing brighter and more dazzling by the second. The mist woven through the trees slowly thinned, and even the wind softened with warmth.
Once the video finished, Chen Jian tapped open the playback, leaning close so they could watch it together.
“How’s my camera work?” Chen Jian asked.
“Professional,” Shan Yu said. “Yao Yi ought to come apprentice under you.”
“Tone it down a bit,” Chen Jian laughed.
“How much you tone it down is your call,” Shan Yu said.
“What?” Chen Jian blinked.
“The apprenticeship fee,” Shan Yu stretched his arms, slinging one around Chen Jian’s shoulders, then nudged Mushroom’s belly with the toe of his shoe. “Those two are loaded. Remember to fleece them properly.”
Chen Jian caught on, laughing as he sneezed into his sleeve.
“Come on, let’s head back,” Shan Yu wrapped an arm around him, rubbing his shoulder.
“Should we hand out the staff red envelopes first when we get back?” Chen Jian asked.
“Mm.” Shan Yu nodded, glancing at him as they walked. “Give me your New Year greeting.”
“Happy New Year to Boss Shan, wishing you prosperity, great fortune, and fresh beginnings for the new year,” Chen Jian rattled off smoothly.
Shan Yu reached into his inner pocket and produced a red envelope: “Here, lucky money.”
“Wait,” Chen Jian paused. “Did our generation gap just widen?”
“I’m half a zodiac cycle older than you,” Shan Yu said.
“Aren’t you six years old?” Chen Jian gave the envelope a squeeze; it was thick. He had planned to open it privately later, but curiosity got the better of him, and he took a peek inside.
“Xiao Dou’er turned six this year, so I have to be seven,” Shan Yu said.
“There’s ten thousand in here, isn’t there?” Chen Jian completely ignored his age jokes, turning his head to stare at him. “Who hands out ten thousand yuan as lucky money?”
“Wrapping dumplings really takes a toll on the hands, can’t measure by feel anymore,” Shan Yu said. “Eight thousand.”
Chen Jian stopped in his tracks. To be honest, when it came to money, he never turned down extra—back then, he had even tried to fabricate reasons to squeeze more wages out of Shan Yu. But between the two of them, the concept of lucky money was supposed to be a playful joke; Shan Yu handing him eight thousand out of the blue actually felt a little overwhelming.
“Your dad’s wages are in there too,” Shan Yu said. “Calculate his share and give it to him.”
Chen Jian glanced at him: “Quick on your feet, aren’t you?”
Shan Yu clicked his tongue: “You aren’t slow either, Store Manager.”
Chen Jian held the envelope in silence, momentarily at a loss for words. Even after deducting triple wages for his father, the lucky money portion was substantial.
“Taking it or not?” Shan Yu asked.
“Taking it,” Chen Jian nodded.
Money. Cold, hard cash.
Shan Yu gave his forehead a light flick: “Make sure you give me one next year.”
“Mm,” Chen Jian acknowledged softly.
As Shan Yu walked ahead down the trail, Chen Jian stood in place for a few seconds before catching up. Grabbing Shan Yu from behind, he wrapped his arms around him tightly, pinning his arms down, and buried his face into the crook of Shan Yu’s neck, taking a fierce bite.
“Fuck your uncle, Chen Jian!” Shan Yu sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, cursing aloud.
Chen Jian let go with his teeth, but kept his arms locked around him.
“You’re a dog, that’s what you are. A curly-haired dog,” Shan Yu turned his head. “Mushroom’s direct cousin.”
Chen Jian said nothing.
“Let go,” Shan Yu said. “Count of three. If you don’t let go, I’m giving you a shoulder-throw lesson.”
“I’m worried that if I let go, you’ll throw me anyway,” Chen Jian stayed buried in his neck.
“Won’t,” Shan Yu said.
“Your word isn’t reliable,” Chen Jian murmured.
“Someone’s coming,” Shan Yu said.
“Don’t care,” Chen Jian said.
“Oh?” Shan Yu laughed.
Nobody was coming. That group of sunrise-watchers had just said they were hiking further up. Chen Jian held onto Shan Yu without budging.
“Goddamn it,” Shan Yu paused for a moment, his hand reaching around back. “Fine, I’ll carry you down.”
“No, no, no, we’re going downhill,” Chen Jian let go instantly. “We’ll tumble.”
“Are you insane?” Shan Yu rolled his shoulders, touched his neck, and glared at him.
“No.” Chen Jian took a step back, eyeballing the dirt path beside them. From the woods, he could probably cut around and sprint…
Before he could finish plotting his escape, Shan Yu lunged forward in a wide stride. Chen Jian leaped toward the dirt track almost simultaneously, but Shan Yu—having trained before—had already anticipated his trajectory. Without even lunging directly at him, his arm reached across Chen Jian’s path and clamped down on his wrist.
“Ah!” Chen Jian cried out, struggling to pull back.
“Now you know to scream?” Shan Yu yanked his wrist and twisted it cleanly behind his back.
The moment his arm was pinned, Shan Yu was already flush against him, grabbing his other hand, and Chen Jian felt his back hit the trunk of a tree.
Honestly, he still had ways to break free—his free elbow, his knees—but the openings Shan Yu left him were tactics reserved strictly for the likes of Chen Dahu…
Right now, he could only stand there obediently, watching as Shan Yu leaned in and took a sharp bite on his shoulder.
“Ah, fuck!” Chen Jian hollered. “Ow, ow, ow, ow…”
Mushroom scampered over, tail wagging furiously as he bounced and yipped at their feet.
Shan Yu let him go, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Ah…” Chen Jian rubbed his shoulder. “Did you break the skin?!”
“The bite you gave me broke the skin first,” Shan Yu said.
“Impossible,” Chen Jian pulled out his phone, snapped a photo of his own shoulder, then pulled Shan Yu’s collar aside to compare.
…They were practically identical.
The bite mark on his shoulder was fresh, so it looked brighter red, while the tooth marks in Shan Yu’s collarbone carried a deeper, purplish tint.
“Looks like,” Chen Jian said in mild shock, “I gave you a cupping mark?”
“Why don’t you set up a stall next to Chen the Masseur?” Shan Yu laughed, leaning down to pat Mushroom’s head. “It’s fine, Mushroom, good boy. We’re just flirting, our tastes are just heavy.”
Chen Jian broke into laughter: “Screw you.”
He snapped another photo of Shan Yu’s neck.
“Don’t send that to Zhou Lecheng,” Shan Yu said.
“…Wouldn’t dream of it,” Chen Jian tucked his phone away. “How’d you know I was sending him pictures?”
“I’ve been keeping an eye out, never passing up an opportunity to get jealous,” Shan Yu rolled his neck, starting down the mountain path.
“The reason I bit you earlier was…” Chen Jian trailed behind him, turning over words in his head.
“I know,” Shan Yu reached back, hooking a finger under Chen Jian’s chin.
By the time they returned to Dayin, everyone was awake.
Stepping inside, Chen Jian found Lao Si leaning against the front desk, chatting with Hu Pan.
“Didn’t you go back to your hometown with your dad for the holidays?” he asked.
“Spending the day with my mom today,” Lao Si turned around. “Just dropped by to look around. Erhu kept posting on Moments yesterday—posted eight hundred updates. I wanted to come back last night.”
“Perfect timing, then,” Chen Jian said. “Come get your red envelope.”
“Boss Shan’s handing out red envelopes?” Lao Si asked. “Happy New Year, Boss Shan!”
Boss Shan had already stepped into the elevator, the doors nearly shutting, his voice floating out through the crack: “Happy New Year!”
Even though the crew had slept only a sliver before dawn, they were energized now, coming forward one by one to collect their envelopes.
“Panpan, you and Nana distribute the guests’ red envelopes in a bit,” Chen Jian instructed. “Station yourselves in the dining area before ten—give them to anyone heading out. After ten, knock on doors to hand them out.”
“Got it,” Hu Pan nodded.
Chen Jian headed into the kitchen, where his dad was taking inventory of the produce, prepping for today’s meals.
“Dad,” Chen Jian handed him an envelope. “Here, your red envelope and your wages for these past few days.”
“How much?” his dad asked, taking it.
“Three thousand,” Chen Jian said.
“This much?” His dad protested, though the smile on his face wasn’t hidden in the slightest. “Triple wages shouldn’t come out to this much, right? I figured five days would be a bit over a thousand. The red envelope is over a thousand on its own?”
“Mm,” Chen Jian said. “Boss Shan isn’t going to penny-pinch down to the exact cent. You came to work over the New Year, and you’re my dad. You even fronted money for the barbecue yesterday.”
“Didn’t front that much, I just wanted to treat you kids,” his dad smiled.
“It’s fine, keep it,” Chen Jian said.
“Alright, good,” his dad nodded, slipping the envelope into his inner pocket. “Good thing you’re back, help me look this over. I’m planning tomorrow’s menu. Boss Shan’s parents and relatives are visiting, so the dishes have to be substantial. Take a look at what I’ve drafted…”
Ah! Tomorrow is the second day of the New Year!
A sudden wave of panic washed over Chen Jian, and he braced a hand against the counter.
Tomorrow! Shan Yu’s parents are arriving tomorrow!
