Faced with Chen Qingyu’s question of “What hurts?” Chen Zemian and Lu Zhuonian’s unspoken understanding reached its zenith.
They spoke in perfect unison: “Stomachache.”
Chen Qingyu made no comment, neither believing nor disbelieving. He simply retracted his gaze without a flicker of emotion and signaled the waiter to replace the beef tallow pot with a Mandarin Duck (half spicy, half clear broth) pot.
Chen Zemian was drenched in a cold sweat, absolutely terrified to look at his father’s expression. Unlike Lu Zhuonian, who was only a voice on the other end of the line, Chen Zemian was seated directly across from Chen Qingyu. He couldn’t reveal a single clue and had to maintain a façade of complete innocence.
He forced himself to sound calm, babbling a few random, open-hearted sentences.
“A little bit of spice won’t give you a stomachache,” Chen Zemian’s linguistic system was on the verge of collapse. “Did you eat at home? No classes this afternoon, right?”
Lu Zhuonian was significantly calmer than Chen Zemian. “There’s food at home. No classes this afternoon. Do you need me to come pick you up?”
Chen Zemian replied in a robotic monotone, “No, thank you. I drove.”
Lu Zhuonian, with staunch perseverance, was still trying to salvage his image in Chen Qingyu’s eyes. “It’s very hot outside today. If you don’t have other plans after dinner, you could invite Uncle over to rest at our place. We got some fruit air-freighted today—melon and strawberries.”
Chen Zemian interjected, “I want strawberries. Help me peel them.”
Chen Qingyu gave Chen Zemian a bewildered look. “You can peel strawberries?”
Chen Zemian quickly answered, “You can. I’m allergic to the fuzz on the outside of strawberries, so I usually buy a larger variety and eat them peeled.”
Chen Qingyu: “…”
Chen Zemian threw out a couple more meaningless sentences, then hung up the phone in a daze, actually feeling the urge to drop his phone into the hotpot.
However, his utter distraction only lasted until the food arrived. The moment the tripe and shrimp paste were placed on the table, Chen Zemian’s soul snapped back into place.
Although they had switched to half clear broth, Chen Zemian’s chopsticks consistently kept dipping in and out of the beef tallow side throughout the meal. Chen Qingyu glanced at him but said nothing.
The fresh, crisp tripe, coated in sesame paste mixed with crushed peanuts, exploded on his taste buds with a simultaneous sensation of freshness, fragrance, numbness, and spice. The moment it entered his mouth, Chen Zemian felt utterly invigorated.
“I’m actually tempted to come back to New York with you, Dad,” Chen Zemian looked up, his chopsticks still in his mouth. “Honestly, you and I are the only ones who truly enjoy the same food.”
Chen Qingyu was amenable. “Fine, come on over.”
Chen Zemian said, “After Lu Zhuonian’s exchange semester ends at the end of the month, I’ll stay with you for a while before going back home.”
Chen Qingyu’s chopsticks paused slightly. He shot a sidelong glance at Chen Zemian. “It has to wait for him to finish?”
“It’s not mainly waiting for him. It’s just that he doesn’t have too many classes left, and all our friends back home are on summer vacation and have arranged to come over and hang out,” Chen Zemian hurriedly explained. “They’ve all been really good to me, especially Xiao Kesong. I mentioned him to you before. After he learned about your situation, he felt terrible about it, and part of the reason he’s coming to the US this time is to visit you.”
Xiao Kesong might have looked easygoing, focusing only on having a good time, as if nothing mattered, but he was actually incredibly thoughtful, loyal, and valued sincerity. He saw a lot of things; not asking didn’t mean he didn’t know, and not speaking didn’t mean he didn’t care.
For instance, when Chen Zemian first transmigrated—when he’d lost his phone and was completely penniless—it was Xiao Kesong who rushed to the hospital early in the morning to pick him up and even gave him twenty thousand in cash. That was the only time Chen Zemian had ever seen Xiao Kesong use cash. In the age of electronic payments, Young Master Xiao either paid with face recognition or his phone; he usually didn’t even carry a bank card. If he hadn’t prepared specifically, how would he have been carrying two bundles of cash?
“It’s easy to add flowers to the embroidery, but hard to send charcoal in the snow,” Chen Zemian asked Chen Qingyu. “Kesong is a very, very good person. I still want to be friends with him, okay, Dad?”
Chen Qingyu was perplexed. “When did I ever stop you from being friends with him? Xiao Ruhai is Xiao Ruhai; he is who he is. The grievances of the previous generation will be settled on their own. It has nothing to do with him, whether it’s a feud or a grudge. Worrying too much harms the spirit, and the worst thing in life is to bear too heavy a burden. You pass that message on to him. Tell him to relax and not overthink things.”
Chen Zemian profusely praised his father for his wisdom. “That’s what I told him, too! It just goes to show my Dad has the best perspective—clear on grievances, generous, and never engaging in guilt by association. If you lived in ancient times, you’d definitely have been an enlightened ruler.”
“In ancient times?” Chen Qingyu smiled faintly upon hearing this, his gaze falling meaningfully on Chen Zemian’s phone. “If we were in ancient times, we wouldn’t be eating hotpot right now.”
Chen Zemian missed the underlying hint of a threat in his father’s words, thinking his dad was simply speaking matter-of-factly. He looked up, utterly confused. “Huh? Dad, you don’t want hotpot? What do you want, then? I’ll treat you again tonight.”
Chen Qingyu uttered two words with a blank expression. “Deer stew.”
Chen Zemian: “…”
— * — * — * — * — *— * — * — * — * — *— * — * — * — * — *
Having finally gotten to eat the beef tallow hotpot, Chen Zemian ordered two plates of tripe and ate a plate and a half himself. He also drank a lot of ice-cold plum juice. The plum juice at this hotpot restaurant was specially brewed with hawthorn and smoked plums and tasted exceptionally good.
Before leaving, Chen Zemian asked if he could pack the drink. “I can buy this pitcher.”
The owner laughed at him, took two bags of ingredients from the back, and handed them over. “If you brew it yourself at home, it will taste the same.”
Chen Zemian asked the owner to wait a moment, then pulled out his phone to jot down the sequence for brewing the plum juice and immediately sent it to Lu Zhuonian.
Lu Zhuonian replied with a question mark: ?
Chen Zemian: The plum juice at the hotpot place is super delicious. This is the recipe the owner gave me.
Lu Zhuonian: It doesn’t look difficult. I can brew it for you.
Chen Zemian had been waiting for Lu Zhuonian to say exactly that. Satisfied, he put away his phone and turned to ask his father, “Where are we going this afternoon?”
Chen Qingyu was well aware of his son’s habit of getting sleepy after eating. “You go home and sleep. I’m going back to the hotel.”
Chen Zemian looked at Chen Qingyu forlornly. “Is Mr. Wilson really that reliant on you? It’s only been a few hours.”
— * — * — * — * — *— * — * — * — * — *— * — * — * — * — *
Meanwhile, Lu Zhuonian was at home, tidying up the small toys that had been newly delivered. After washing them and leaving them to dry on the balcony, he had put them away in his bedroom drawer. He realized a handcuff was missing. He wanted to send a message asking Chen Zemian where he’d put it, but he was afraid Chen Qingyu would notice, just like with the “What hurts?” incident.
Lu Zhuonian scanned the living room, saw nothing out in the open, and searched around the house. He still hadn’t found the handcuff when the housekeeper downstairs informed him a guest had arrived and personally escorted them up.
The moment Chen Zemian stepped through the front door, he saw Lu Zhuonian shoot him a look. He asked Chen Qingyu to take a seat in the living room and used the excuse of getting water to lead Lu Zhuonian to the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” Chen Zemian placed the two bags of plum juice ingredients on the counter and opened the cabinet to take out a glass. “The house looks pretty clean, doesn’t it?”
Lu Zhuonian got straight to the point, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Where’s the handcuff?”
Hearing those three words, Chen Zemian’s mind went instantly blank, and a curse word slipped out subconsciously: “F*ck. We’re finished.”
Lu Zhuonian took a deep breath, telling himself he needed to be calm, calmer, even calmer. At this critical moment, he displayed the sense of responsibility befitting the Lu family heir. “Don’t be finished. Where did you put it? I’ll go get it.”
Chen Zemian gave an answer that made Lu Zhuonian’s vision go black: “In the sofa cushion crack.”
Lu Zhuonian: “…”
The handcuff had been casually stuffed into the sofa crack by Chen Zemian. And at that very moment, Chen Qingyu was sitting right on the sofa.
Neither Chen Zemian nor Lu Zhuonian possessed the ability to stealthily retrieve a handcuff from under a police officer with full-level perceptiveness.
Lu Zhuonian, upholding the spirit of overcoming difficulties, refused to give up in the face of desperation. “I’ll go out with the water first, and then you call your dad in here. I’ll use that opportunity to retrieve the handcuff.”
Chen Zemian immediately backed out, playing the ostrich. “Maybe we shouldn’t. I stuffed it deep into the crack. He might not find it. Let’s not walk into the trap.”
Lu Zhuonian pressed him. “Are you sure you stuffed it very deep?”
“Stuffed what very deep?” Chen Qingyu always managed to appear at crucial moments, popping up randomly in places that made Lu Zhuonian want to die. “What are you two muttering about? It’s taken you this long to pour a glass of water. Are you digging a well?”
Chen Zemian proved himself to be Xiao Kesong’s finest friend. In this life-or-death situation, he upheld Xiao Shao’s life motto:
[He worried about sacrificing himself and sold out the organization preemptively.]
Chen Zemian picked up the glass and casually took a sip. “Ah, Dad, you’re here. Perfect. Lu Zhuonian has something to say to you.”
Lu Zhuonian turned his head in shock, only to see Chen Zemian’s throat deceptively sliding as he swallowed.
Chen Qingyu was silent for a moment. “Son, there’s no water in that glass.”
Although Chen Zemian was drinking from an empty cup, he genuinely choked on his own saliva.
Since things had come to this, Chen Zemian, operating on the principle that Lu Zhuonian couldn’t be sacrificed for nothing, tossed out a quick “You two take your time talking” and swiftly bolted, heading for the living room to seize the chance to retrieve the handcuff.
In the kitchen, only Lu Zhuonian and Chen Qingyu remained, staring at each other.
After a long silence, Chen Qingyu suddenly spoke. “Mian Mian has been like this since he was little. Burying his head in the sand, running away whenever something happens.”
Lu Zhuonian said with a faint smile, “He must have been very adorable when he was little, too.”
Chen Qingyu raised an eyebrow slightly. “Your relationship is unusual—not the kind generally accepted by the public. And he’s the type to run away whenever he can. Aren’t you afraid he might run away again someday?”
Lu Zhuonian replied, “Whether others accept it has nothing to do with me. I only care about Chen Zemian’s feelings. If I make him feel so pressured that he wants to escape, that is absolutely my failing.”
A hint of rare, almost imperceptible appreciation entered Chen Qingyu’s eyes. He seemed to grasp something. “No wonder, with his personality, he agreed to enter into a relationship with you.”
Lu Zhuonian smiled. “He’s very brave, and he likes me very much.”
How much hardship and how many trials those nine words encompassed, outsiders couldn’t know. Lu Zhuonian would never breathe a word of the twists and turns of their journey. Perhaps for Lu Zhuonian, in the pursuit of Chen Zemian, no amount of complication counted as a struggle, and no amount of hardship counted as a difficulty.
He truly loved him.
— * — * — * — * — *
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I set the wrong time, sorry sorry 🤐
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Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
