But hearing Chi Wei was leaving, Li Ran said “oh” on the surface, feigning reluctance, while secretly sighing with relief inside—quite happy.
These days, Chi Wei and the Black Cat had gone from fighting to reluctant familiarity, but never peacefully. They clashed on sight. The cat was proud and aloof; if it didn’t like someone, it absolutely wouldn’t approach. Humans sometimes acted cheap—the more disliked, the more they provoked. Chi Wei stared at Black and White Impermanence daily, deeply pondering how to catch the gay cats and take them home. His expression was grave and serious.
Li Ran feared he’d sneak off with Black Bro and his wife without a word.
When the family saw Chi Wei and Ye Chengwan off to the airport, Li Ran’s heart stayed suspended even before leaving the villa gates. The two elders didn’t want the hassle and stayed home. The car held a gay couple plus a gay guy and a straight guy combo.
Chi Mo drove; Li Ran rode shotgun.
The Cullinan pulled out of the garage, about to exit the villa district, when Chi Wei suddenly remembered something and told Chi Mo to stop. “Wait, I need to take the cats.”
It scared Li Ran into urgently slapping his brother’s arm. “Bro, Bro, Brother—don’t listen to Little Uncle! Drive fast, fast, faster, Bro…!”
With two adults in the back, he didn’t dare yell. His voice wasn’t loud, but his hand yanking Chi Mo’s sleeve shook far more frantically. “Those are my… our little cats! Can’t let Little Uncle take them. They’re our little cats!”
“Aren’t they strays? Following whoever is fine,” Chi Wei quibbled.
Chi Mo ignored him, siding with Li Ran through action. The Cullinan roared off.
No turning back now.
Ye Chengwan smiled helplessly, shaking his head.
This winter wasn’t too cold, just early snow.
While Li Ran still wore sweater shirts and trench coats, a thin layer of snow fell from the sky, cool and soft.
Every day to school, Chi Mo had to personally feel Li Ran’s clothes to ensure they were warm, from inside out. His hands were excessively hot in the cold winter, so no fear of chilling Li Ran. Fingers lifted the hem to check thickness; knuckles brushed Li Ran’s little belly or waist side.
Li Ran had grown accustomed to so many touches, yet he still hadn’t desensitized himself to them. When his belly was touched, it trembled and spasmed, contracting tightly. When his side waist was stroked, his entire waist would quiver subtly. Even a touch on his calf made his leg muscles tense involuntarily, creating a more beautiful, fluid arc.
He vaguely felt something was off and wanted to protest a little, but Chi Mo always touched and withdrew immediately, without lingering for even a second. There was no sign of taking advantage.
“It must be me overthinking with a petty heart,” Li Ran thought seriously.
Chi Mo straightened Li Ran’s clothes, but he couldn’t suppress the dirty thoughts in his mind. In the end, he mustered his willpower and let the righteous idea of needing to see a psychologist overpower his filthy impulses.
He made an appointment to meet the psychologist.
It snowed twice more afterward.
Snow fell in thick flurries. For the past few weekends, Li Ran hadn’t gone to Bai Qingqing’s home for meals, nor to Li Ang’s place. There was simply too much homework.
The first half of senior year was nearing its end, and with only so much time left, Li Ran had no intention of slacking off.
Though he still wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to do in the future, at least he was no longer just getting by.
He had a goal now—to get into a good university and excel as much as he could. To make his brother’s teachings pay off.
Over the phone, Li Ran instructed his parents to take care of their health, add layers as the temperature dropped, and prevent colds. Last time, Bai Qingqing had mentioned that Uncle Zhao had been hooked up to an IV for days due to viral flu, so Li Ran remembered and specially reminded Bai Qingqing and his sister to wear thick clothes.
While Uncle Zhao was on the IV, Bai Qingqing was also at the hospital getting her stomach checked. She had some inflammation. Li Ran had asked many times and heard her relay the doctor’s words: eating too fast burdened the stomach, and food that was too cold or too hot wasn’t good either. She needed to learn to eat slowly, not like a starving ghost.
But habits of decades weren’t easy to change. Li Ran called and messaged her directly, without beating around the bush.
In the past, this would have been absolutely impossible. Bai Qingqing hated being lectured and only allowed herself to lecture others. If Li Ran dared to do this, even knowing it was for her own good, she would retort, reminding him of his place as her son and not to be disrespectful to his mom.
But this trick didn’t work anymore. Because of her stomach, Bai Qingqing nagged Li Ran right back—from his previously rock-bottom rankings to his infuriatingly honest personality that made her hate the iron for not being steel. After nagging, she remembered Li Ran’s improved grades—he was second in the class and in the top two hundred school-wide. Bai Qingqing was immediately speechless. When the honest Li Ran fearlessly countered her nagging, blocking her words, Bai Qingqing was stunned.
She belatedly realized something—her dear child had changed.
That day, Li Ran again urged her to take care of her stomach and other things, rattling off a bunch of advice. Bai Qingqing smiled warmly. “You’ve really grown up, little Ran. I always knew you were thoughtful, but you never said it out loud. Sometimes you seemed heartless, and it made Mom sad.”
“Look at you now, talking so smoothly. No embarrassment, no treating care as a burden. You’re almost not like yourself. Must be from hanging around little Chi, right?”
Li Ran was slightly stunned. People were slow to notice changes in themselves; it took others pointing it out to realize clearly.
In these days without seeing Bai Qingqing—not too long, and she was his biological mom—mothers who saw their kids daily often denied changes when others said, “Your son has shot up,” or “Your daughter is getting prettier.” They saw no difference, dismissing it as politeness, while outsiders noticed after a year. But Bai Qingqing said Li Ran had changed.
Li Ran hadn’t even realized it himself.
It was indeed all thanks to Chi Mo.
The final exams were these two days. After they ended, it was straight into vacation. Senior year didn’t have many breaks; school resumed on the fifth day after New Year’s.
The last exam finished at six. The snow had stopped, the sky was dark, and the air carried a damp mistiness after the snow.
Li Ran crunched through the thin layer of snow on the ground as he left school. Midway, he scooped up some snow from under a tree, packing it into snowballs—one big, one small—stacking them: the big one as the body, the small as the head. He found two dry twigs and stuck them on for skinny arms and legs, making a mismatched little snowman.
He planned to give this ugly little snowman to Chi Mo later.
But Shen Shu was the one picking him up today.
“…Where’s my brother?” Li Ran carefully cradled the snowman with both hands, afraid it would melt or be seen, looking sneaky and stingy.
He wanted Chi Mo to be the first to see the snowman he’d made himself.
Shen Shu didn’t talk much to strangers, but once he did, he treated them like friends, machine-gunning words nonstop—though it had an expiration date before it got annoying.
Li Ran had enjoyed that “favor” for a few days but had long been demoted to the cold palace of acquaintances. Shen Shu spoke to him like a normal person, not too much, not too little: “Probably seeing the psychologist. Better if he died.”
Li Ran looked at him unhappily. “Why talk about my brother like that? Watch your words.”
Shen Shu and Chi Mo were used to cursing each other; it was habitual, not serious—just banter.
For a kid to take it seriously was rare.
Shen Shu, who had never been snapped at by Li Ran and didn’t know the seemingly mild kid could snap back, was genuinely surprised. He nodded. “Sorry then. I’ll wish Chi Mo a long life of a hundred years. By then, you’ll have nowhere to cry, and you’ll suffer plenty.”
Live to a hundred, work to a hundred.
Li Ran didn’t catch Shen Shu’s meaning; his mind was fully occupied by “seeing the psychologist.”
What was wrong with Chi Mo?
Why had he never known his brother had psychological issues severe enough to need a doctor?
Shen Shu parked the Cullinan in the garage and walked off without entering the house. Li Ran frowned, cradling the nearly melted snowman as he hurried inside, forgetting to even offer Shen Shu tea.
Only Chi Mo was in the living room. He must have just returned; his coat wasn’t off yet, shoulders dusted with moisture from the air, hardened by the winter chill.
He clearly hadn’t made it in time to pick Li Ran up from the exam, so he’d sent Shen Shu.
Li Ran approached quietly.
Chi Mo sat on the sofa, on the phone. Whatever the other side said, he replied in a cold, harsh tone: “Whether I go back for New Year is none of your fake concern. Don’t call me from strange numbers anymore.”
Chi Mo hung up unilaterally, plunging the living room into silence.
Grandpa and Grandma had been picked up by Uncle Wan two days ago for checkups and to stay there a few days; their protests were futile. After getting familiar with the house, Black Cat and his wife learned to run between the living room and yard, becoming semi-feral indoor cats. When Li Ran returned earlier, the living room light was on, so Hei Ge must have taken his wife out to see the post-snow scenery.
No one home, no cats—it was utterly quiet. Li Ran felt an inescapable sadness and loneliness in Chi Mo’s broad back. Unable to hold back, he approached silently and called softly, “Bro.”
Chi Mo paused in rubbing his brow, surprised there was a day he hadn’t noticed someone approaching: “You’re back.”
He touched the head of Li Ran, who sat beside him. His hand was damp. He asked if Li Ran was cold: “I had something to handle this afternoon and just got back. Around four, I texted you that Shen Shu would pick you up from school today, but you were in the exam. You didn’t check your phone after, right?”
Li Ran let him ruffle his hair: “Mm.”
Chi Mo smelled of alcohol—not heavy, but he’d drunk some.
“A collaboration meeting this afternoon,” Chi Mo explained. “Had two drinks with the partners.”
Li Ran nodded obediently: “Mm.”
He was so good; he deserved praise. But Chi Mo felt restless. Whether alcohol cleared the mind was debatable, but plenty used it as an excuse for misdeeds—and Chi Mo was no exception.
He didn’t suppress his wickedness. He pulled Li Ran into a tight hug. His breathing was calm, seemingly all restraint, but half his face buried greedily in Li Ran’s neck, inhaling deeply.
Li Ran was at a loss: “Bro…”
“Shh.” As Chi Mo made the sound, his thin lips brushed Li Ran’s neck intentionally or not. He felt Li Ran’s shiver, the hairs standing on end yet holding firm without fleeing. Chi Mo smiled wickedly.
“Good boy, don’t move.” he said. “Let me hold you a bit. I won’t do anything to you.” With a tipsy laziness, Chi Mo teased, true or not: “But if you squirm, I can’t guarantee I’ll stay proper.”
