It was snowy and difficult to walk outside when Lu Zhuonian arrived in the late morning.
It was already evening when someone was sent to pick up Yan Luo—just in time for dinner.
It’s Yan Luo’s first time visiting the villa where Master Lu lived alone. Although he tried his best to appear calm, it was still obvious how happy he was.
During this period, Chen Zemian rarely went to the shooting range, and Lu Zhuonian only visited after New Year’s Eve. These two had become the most important people in Yan Luo’s life. It was inevitable that he missed them—he couldn’t see them all the time.
Being able to visit Master Lu’s house held great significance—especially since Chen Zemian was also there.
Chen Zemian was impatient. He didn’t distinguish between meats and vegetables when adding them to the hot pot—he just tossed all the fatty beef and lamb in at once.
The copper pot was scorching, and the smooth, sweet meat slices were cut very thinly. They changed color in six or seven seconds. As the cooked meat floated to the top, he had to fish it out quickly before it overcooked and became too tough.
Yan Luo’s bowl was soon piled with meat. He didn’t have time to speak and could only lower his head and eat.
Under Chen Zemian’s aggressive feeding, even the reserved and elegant Lu Zhuonian found it hard to stay composed. For the first time, he ate so quickly that a thin layer of sweat formed on the tip of his nose. He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled up his sleeves to the elbows.
Chen Zemian scooped all the meat into their bowls, then finally relaxed, sitting there eating leisurely.
To prevent a second wave of Chen Zemian’s reckless meat attack, Lu Zhuonian quietly moved all the dishes closer to himself and Yan Luo. By the time Chen Zemian noticed, only a plate of tender tofu remained—the one thing that wouldn’t overcook no matter how long it simmered.
Lu Zhuonian regained control of the eating rhythm, and the three were finally able to slow down and chat occasionally.
Outside, wind and snow raged. Inside the villa, they sat around a steaming hot pot. White mist rose like smoke, and the warmth of the moment softened their expressions.
For the first time, Yan Luo truly understood what happiness felt like.
This was the kind of stability he had never known before.
Ever since he could remember, the thing he looked forward to most each morning was for the day to pass quickly. Only at night—especially late at night—would the suffering and torment stop, even if just briefly. He prayed repeatedly for time to pass faster. He longed to grow up, to become an adult with the ability to survive on his own, and to escape his current life.
There is a kind of bird that never lands—called a swift. The only time it touches the ground is when it dies.
Yan Luo felt like he was a swift.
He had no feet. So, he had to keep flying.
He had to keep growing and moving forward. He couldn’t stop—he didn’t dare stop.
Even after meeting Lu Zhuonian and temporarily living at the shooting range, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being under someone else’s roof.
Lu Zhuonian was already the best, kindest person Yan Luo had ever met, but the deep-rooted humility and insecurity within him wouldn’t disappear.
Yet today, Yan Luo suddenly had a feeling of landing.
But he wasn’t dead.
He didn’t know whether it was Lu Zhuonian’s quiet generosity or Chen Zemian’s casual warmth that supported him.
He hadn’t fallen—he had been caught by an invisible wind.
For the first time, Yan Luo wished time would slow down.
The hot pot was just that warm.
He couldn’t help but think that when the little match girl lit her final match, this was the kind of warm, happy scene she must have imagined.
And even though he hoped time would stop here, Yan Luo no longer feared tomorrow.
Because tomorrow, there would still be Chen Zemian. And Chen Zemian would take him to places he had never seen—to witness new scenery and experiences.
That alone was worth looking forward to.
So, whether time went faster or slower didn’t matter. As long as your family is around, there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Chen Zemian was Yan Luo’s family.
As expected, although Chen Zemian was impatient, his lifestyle was extraordinarily relaxed. Maybe too relaxed.
For example, even knowing he had to catch a flight the next day, he still stayed up late.
After dinner, they originally sat by the window to enjoy the snow and drink tea. Then, looking at the thick layer of snow in the courtyard, Chen Zemian suddenly had the idea of building a snowman.
Yan Luo politely declined, saying he was past the age of enjoying snowmen.
So Chen Zemian turned to Lu Zhuonian and asked if he had ever had a snowball fight.
Lu Zhuonian told him not to even think about it. “If you catch a cold today, how will you go out tomorrow?”
Chen Zemian admitted that made sense. His body couldn’t take even a mild flu—two months of recovery wasn’t worth it.
Lu Zhuonian added, “If you really want to play, I’ll take you to Haba Snow Mountain when you’re well.”
Chen Zemian had never climbed a snow mountain before. He was tempted. “So… how do I get well?”
“Don’t stay up late and stay off your phone,” Lu Zhuonian replied, expressionless.
Chen Zemian scratched his chin and muttered that maybe visiting Haba Snow Mountain wasn’t necessary after all. Then he created a small three-person group chat, dropped a beta test game code into it, and invited Lu Zhuonian and Yan Luo to play.
They played until midnight.
When Chen Zemian tested the game on his own, it hadn’t seemed that fun. Even with the difficulty raised, playing against AI lacked meaning. It proved just how important real multiplayer interaction was.
Lu Zhuonian sniped an enemy in a distant building and said with a hint of meaning, “AI can still be fun.”
Chen Zemian grinned. “Not as fun as real people.”
Lu Zhuonian glanced at him. “That’s true.”
Playing a shooting game with Lu Zhuonian had been a dream of Chen Zemian’s since he first arrived here.
Now he had finally gotten his wish.
In-game, they were assigned to the same team.
After parachuting onto an island map, Chen Zemian picked up a gun and secretly followed Lu Zhuonian, aiming to shoot him.
Lu Zhuonian led the way. Chen Zemian trailed behind, firing a full UZI clip at him.
The game had friendly fire disabled, so Lu Zhuonian didn’t take damage—but the sound in the headset was unmistakable.
His character stopped and turned around to face Chen Zemian.
Chen Zemian quickly holstered his gun, his movements a blur.
By the time Lu Zhuonian turned, all he saw was his teammate performing strange, robotic gestures with awkward timing.
Lu Zhuonian pulled out a grenade.
Chen Zemian instantly backed away.
Unlike bullets, grenades in this game didn’t distinguish between allies and enemies. Anyone within range could be injured.
Chen Zemian was nervous that Lu Zhuonian might blow him up and ducked away, feeling guilty.
Lu Zhuonian’s lips curled slightly.
He dropped the grenade on the ground and said, “Here.”
Chen Zemian looked up, suspicious. “Why are you giving me a grenade?”
“You can’t hurt me with bullets,” Lu Zhuonian replied. “So I’m giving you a grenade to blow me up for fun.”
Chen Zemian blinked. “Blow you up?”
Lu Zhuonian nodded calmly. “Sure.”
For reasons he couldn’t explain, Chen Zemian felt genuinely happy. He picked up the grenade, found a motorcycle, and drove Lu Zhuonian to a particular location on the map.
“I’ll set off fireworks for you,” Chen Zemian said.
It was a secret easter egg he’d left in the game. The location appeared as an abandoned factory on the map, but throwing three grenades and two Molotov cocktails in a specific spot would trigger a hidden fireworks show.
Chen Zemian loved fireworks, but real ones were too expensive and the crowds too overwhelming. That’s why most of his games had secret fireworks somewhere—an invisible signature.
Fireworks exploded across the screen—brilliant and colorful.
Even Yan Luo, whose character was kilometers away, saw a glowing patch in the southeast and thought it was divine retribution. He quickly hid in an air-raid shelter.
Chen Zemian told Lu Zhuonian, “That was a little surprise I added. Pretty fun, right?”
Lu Zhuonian nodded. “It’s beautiful. I wonder who’ll be the first to find it in the public beta.”
Chen Zemian grinned proudly. “Whoever finds it, you’ll still be the first person to see it. Not even the programmers know about this.”
Lu Zhuonian was quietly moved. “If I get the chance, I’ll take you to a real fireworks show.”
Chen Zemian laughed. “I just typed a bit of code. No need to trade real fireworks for that. Do you know how much those shows cost? Millions!”
But Lu Zhuonian didn’t see it that way.
To him, fireworks in the game were just as precious as fireworks in the real world.
Chen Zemian had little self-control. After a few rounds, he opened his laptop to write an internal test report, recording ideas for future game improvements.
Once he entered work mode, he became unstoppable. The keyboard clicked relentlessly. Two hours passed in a blink.
The later it got, the more energetic he became—clearly planning to work until dawn
.
Eventually, Lu Zhuonian took away his laptop and forced him into bed.
Even after washing up, Chen Zemian was still thinking about the game. Denied his laptop, he opened the memo app on his phone to jot down ideas.
Lu Zhuonian knew he wouldn’t go to sleep honestly. As he passed by the room, he saw light coming from under the door—and caught him red-handed.
Chen Zemian heard the footsteps but was betrayed by the glow of his phone. Though he shoved it under his pillow, it was too late.
Lu Zhuonian ordered, “Turn it off.”
Chen Zemian protested, “I can’t—it has my alarm.”
Lu Zhuonian placed a hand gently over his eyes. “I’m not talking about the phone. I’m talking about you.”
Chen Zemian couldn’t see a thing, but he still didn’t want to close his eyes. “I’m not sleepy.”
Lu Zhuonian said, “It’s easy to drop dead on a flight if you stay up too late.”
Chen Zemian instantly shut his eyes.
His long eyelashes brushed against Lu Zhuonian’s palm, sending a faint itch through the skin, burrowing into the flesh. Lu Zhuonian’s hand trembled slightly for no reason.
Chen Zemian reached up, holding Lu Zhuonian’s hand in place. His palm rested gently over the back of Lu Zhuonian’s. “Don’t move. I’m starting to feel sleepy.”
Lu Zhuonian’s body temperature was slightly higher than average. The heat radiating from his hand was like a constant-temperature warming eye mask—one made of genuine leather, no less. It was incredibly effective.
With the help of this “genuine leather eye mask,” Chen Zemian forced himself to close his eyes. After a while, his breathing steadied, and he slowly drifted off.
*****
Because he’d gone to sleep so late, Chen Zemian felt dizzy when he woke up the next day.
He sat up, glanced at the time—and snapped fully awake.
“Why didn’t anyone wake me?!”
He changed at lightning speed, bolted downstairs, and saw Yan Luo calmly drinking porridge at the table. Without warning, he snatched the bowl away, grabbed two custard buns, and stuffed them into Yan Luo’s mouth. “Why didn’t you call me?! Don’t drink the porridge—take the buns and move, we’re late! Eat on the go!”
Yan Luo, bun still in his mouth, mumbled, “Young Master Lu said not to wake you. He said to let you rest.”
Chen Zemian said flatly, “That’s not what the airline said.”
Lu Zhuonian, unbothered, said, “Sit down and eat. I’ll take you to the airport.”
Chen Zemian glanced out the window at the thick snow, concerned. “With weather like this, are you sure the road to the airport isn’t closed?”
Lu Zhuonian replied, “I knew you wouldn’t get up. I arranged a private flight yesterday. Your luggage is already on board.”
Chen Zemian froze. “You mean… we’re not flying commercial? We’re taking your private jet?”
It was also Yan Luo’s first time encountering something so luxurious. He nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! Private jet.”
Lu Zhuonian tapped the table casually with the back of his hand. “Can you sit down and drink your porridge now?”
Still in a daze, Chen Zemian pulled out a chair and sat down. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, an intoxicating aroma hit him.
In front of him, a delicate porcelain bowl was filled nearly to the brim with seafood congee. The snow-white tribute rice had been simmered until soft and silky, enriched with shrimp, scallops, crab claws, and sea cucumber. A sprinkle of finely chopped celery added brightness and cut the richness. The aroma was fresh and savory—it was impossible not to salivate just looking at it.
Chen Zemian’s nose twitched. “Smells amazing.”
Yan Luo, reclaiming the porridge that had been snatched from him earlier, nodded in agreement. “Really does.”
Chen Zemian took a spoonful. The instant the rich flavor burst on his tongue, his soul felt elevated. “God, this is so good. Lu Shao, your chef’s seafood congee is incredible. Every time I eat it, I can’t stop thinking about it afterwards.”
Lu Zhuonian replied calmly, “Really?”
“Of course,” Chen Zemian said with conviction. “It’s the best I’ve ever had.”
Lu Zhuonian offered a comment that sounded offhanded—but could have held meaning. “There’s even more seafood in Sanya. Once you’re there, you’ll probably forget all about this.”
Chen Zemian held his bowl like a precious treasure. “Once you’ve tasted the vast sea, no other water will do. No other porridge could ever top this.”
Lu Zhuonian gave a faint smile. “That’s how it should be.”
Even before he left, Chen Zemian was already thinking of coming back—for another bowl of this congee. “There’s a saying where I’m from: dumplings when you depart, noodles when you return. We’re having shrimp dumplings today, so when I come back, can your chef make seafood noodles for me?”
Lu Zhuonian gave him a cool glance. “Depends on your performance.”
Chen Zemian didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll do my best. Scout’s honor.”
Lu Zhuonian, appearing easily persuaded, said, “Let me know in advance before you return. The scallops need to be soaked overnight to get the best flavor.”
Chen Zemian beamed. He was already imagining the Lu family’s famous drunken shrimp as his next meal.
He chatted with Lu Zhuonian while eating, not realizing how much congee he’d finished. By the time he noticed, he was too full to move and slouched in his chair.
Nothing puts you to sleep like a warm, hearty breakfast.
Lu Zhuonian personally drove Chen Zemian and Yan Luo to the airport.
Despite the snow, the drive was surprisingly smooth. Chen Zemian forced himself to stay awake and chat along the way. Their car followed a green channel straight through security to the terminal.
Only then did Chen Zemian notice the convoy of bodyguard vehicles that had gone ahead to clear the way.
Mr. Lu’s travel arrangements really were… extravagant.
He truly lived like royalty.
The private jet was slightly smaller than a commercial airliner, but far more luxurious. The interior was decorated in soft beige and rich coffee tones, blending elegance with modern comfort. The seats were spacious and plush, and even included a four-seat sofa area.
The two flight attendants onboard were refined and soft-spoken. Every time they addressed Chen Zemian, they smiled and crouched slightly, speaking with warmth and respect.
One of them introduced the onboard facilities.
Chen Zemian, weak to this kind of gentle treatment, flushed slightly under her attention.
“Feeling a bit warm?” the flight attendant asked with a smile, reaching up to help unzip his coat. “The temperature in Sanya is between 20 to 29°C today. We’ll be gradually increasing the cabin temperature during the flight to help you adjust. You can go over there to change into vacation clothes. If it gets chilly, we also have blankets available.”
Dazed, Chen Zemian let her help him out of his coat. She folded it neatly and stored it in his bag. He forgot how to form coherent words. “…Thanks.”
His voice was floating.
Lu Zhuonian watched from the side, amused. He chuckled.
Hearing Lu Zhuonian laugh at him, Chen Zemian felt a bit embarrassed and turned to glare at him.
Lu Zhuonian just raised his brows slightly, still smiling.
Today, as always, Lu Zhuonian looked polished—like a movie star gracing a fashion magazine. Next to him, Chen Zemian’s cotton sweatshirt gave off “unremarkable college student” energy. He didn’t stand a chance.
He suddenly felt discouraged.
Lu Zhuonian handed the snacks he brought from home to the flight attendant and instructed, “Don’t give him too many. He’ll throw up.”
Chen Zemian, thinking it was about him, protested, “I won’t! I can eat a ton of snacks without throwing up!”
“I meant Yan Luo,” Lu Zhuonian clarified.
Perhaps because of childhood deprivation, Yan Luo still ate with urgency, especially snacks. Though he’d improved, overeating still made him sick at times.
Yan Luo, surprised Lu Zhuonian remembered this, promised, “I won’t overeat.”
Lu Zhuonian nodded. “I brought all the snacks that Chen Zemian doesn’t like. He won’t compete with you.”
Chen Zemian: “…”
The flight attendant, noticing their close relationship with Lu Zhuonian, offered even more attentive service. “Gentlemen, would you like a drink? We have champagne, red wine, coffee, milk tea, soda, milk, and freshly squeezed juice.”
Chen Zemian asked for ice water; Yan Luo requested milk.
The attendant opened some snacks and plated them for Yan Luo. With a smile, she turned to Chen Zemian and said, “Is this your younger brother? He’s so cute.”
Chen Zemian answered, “He is my brother.”
Delighted, Yan Luo shared his favorite Cheetos with him.
But Chen Zemian, still full from breakfast, declined. He opened the bag and handed it back for Yan Luo to enjoy himself.
Yan Luo was even happier.
Everything was ready. One flight attendant leaned in and asked Lu Zhuonian, “Mr. Lu, may we proceed with takeoff in ten minutes?”
Lu Zhuonian nodded. “Go ahead.”
She gave a slight bow and stepped quietly toward the front cabin.
Chen Zemian leaned back in his seat and yawned.
Lu Zhuonian asked, “Sleepy?”
“Little bit,” Chen Zemian replied.
“The flight is four hours,” Lu Zhuonian said. “Get some rest.”
Chen Zemian adjusted his seat back. “I’ll sleep here then.”
Lu Zhuonian smiled. “I’ll take you to the private lounge.”
Chen Zemian looked up in surprise. “You have a lounge?”
Lu Zhuonian nodded. “It has a bed and a bathroom. Want to go?”
Chen Zemian hesitated for half a second—but before he could even finish thinking, he found himself already lying on a bed in Lu Zhuonian’s private lounge.
The space was sealed off, fully private.
No one had ever been in this room besides Lu Zhuonian himself. Since he wasn’t flying today, the attendants hadn’t prepped the bedding.
Lu Zhuonian opened a cabinet, took out a pillow and a thin blanket. “They’re mine. I wash them regularly. You’ll have to make do.”
Chen Zemian wrapped himself up in the blanket and rolled around on the bed, feeling like he’d been swallowed by capitalism.
Seeing him close his eyes, Lu Zhuonian didn’t speak again. He pulled down the blackout curtain and left quietly.
Chen Zemian figured he was going to give instructions to the flight attendants and didn’t think much of it—until the plane started taxiing and he realized: Lu Zhuonian had actually left.
He left without telling him!!!
Furious, Chen Zemian pulled out his phone and connected to the in-flight network. He was about to message Lu Zhuonian on WeChat—then remembered the man had driven here himself and probably couldn’t check messages. So he dialed directly.
But Lu Zhuonian wasn’t driving himself back.
The Lu family driver had arrived early, waiting beneath the terminal. When Lu Zhuonian descended the gangway, the driver opened the car door.
Just as Lu Zhuonian stepped into the back seat, his phone rang.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. He slipped on his headset and answered without even glancing at the screen, his voice steady and confident—like someone utterly sure of who it was.
“Chen Zemian.”
*****
TN: New Cover Photo
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