Apply ointment?
Shen Yuze was going to apply ointment for him??
It had already been embarrassing enough for Lu Ping when Shen Yuze saw his butt back in the infirmary. Now, he actually had to let Shen Yuze apply ointment for him?!!
“No need, I can do it myself!!” Lu Ping stammered.
“The wound is on your backside. How are you going to do it?” Shen Yuze toyed with the tube of ointment in his hand. “You can’t exactly have Auntie Lu do it for you. You’re at that age—it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“…Then I can have my dad do it.”
After he said that, silence fell on Shen Yuze’s end again. Lu Ping realized this guy had selective hearing. Once Shen Yuze made up his mind to do something, no amount of arguing from Lu Ping would change it.
Logically speaking, they were both guys and friends—helping each other out wasn’t wrong at all… Shen Yuze had done plenty for Lu Ping before, and if they started keeping score, it would just make things awkward. But for some reason, an indescribable wave of shame washed over Lu Ping. His first instinct was to yank back the neatly folded blanket beside him and burrow into it as fast as he could.
As he burrowed, he yelled a warning: “Don’t come over! I’m a proper person—don’t go touching a proper person like that!”
His butt was injured, so he couldn’t make any big movements. He could only wriggle like a caterpillar, sprawled on the bed and struggling to get under the covers. After wriggling for ages, only his upper body made it in—his lower half was still sticking out.
Lu Ping: “…”
Suddenly realized how stupid he was.
Shen Yuze: “…Are you an ostrich or something?”
(Mostly) under the covers, Lu Ping mumbled something indistinct. He finally realized, too late, that his actions were basically handing his weakness right to Shen Yuze.
The darkness robbed him of his sight. He heard Shen Yuze’s footsteps drawing closer, stopping at the edge of his bed. Then, the mattress dipped slightly beside him as a source of warmth pressed close to his body.
Lu Ping had thought that if he couldn’t see, it wouldn’t be embarrassing. But he hadn’t expected that without his vision, his other senses would amplify tenfold.
He felt those hands—he’d secretly envied them for so long—settle on his waist.
He felt cool fingertips hook into his waistband.
He felt the fabric that had kept him warm inch away from his body, exposing his most private area completely.
Silence.
Lu Ping’s fingers clenched the blanket tight. Even in the darkness where he couldn’t see a thing, he stubbornly kept his eyes wide open. His cheeks burned, sweat beading on his forehead and rolling down. He couldn’t tell if it was from shame or the stuffy, oxygen-poor air raising his temperature.
In that moment, he was like a mouse covering its ears while stealing a bell, and Shen Yuze was the cat toying with him.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did Shen Yuze.
After a while—maybe a few seconds, maybe a dozen—a cool, slick sensation gently landed on his tailbone.
The boy’s fingertips, coated in ointment, lightly touched the wound. His fingers glided over that shameful spot, caressing it like a tender flower or tracing a painting, every movement impossibly gentle.
The ointment contained menthol. As his fingertips spread it, it quickly melted into a thin, milky emulsion. The swollen skin greedily absorbed the cooling medicine, finally easing the piercing pain.
Lu Ping let out a comfortable sigh, then panicked and clamped a hand over his mouth—he was endlessly grateful to be hiding under the covers. If Shen Yuze heard that, how mortifying would it be!
Fortunately, this mix of humiliation and relief didn’t last long. A few minutes later, Shen Yuze withdrew his hand—and his body heat.
“All done,” the boy said.
The boy hiding under the covers quickly pulled it over himself completely.
He knew his reaction was over the top… but he really didn’t know how to face Shen Yuze now.
Seeing him still playing ostrich, Shen Yuze’s voice rang out again: “I helped you out, after all. Not even a thanks?”
“…” Silence.
“…”
“…” Still silence.
“…”
Finally, from the very bottom of the covers came the boy’s mosquito-like whisper: “…Shen Yuze, thank you.”
A hand landed on the boy’s head through the blanket.
It ruffled his hair vigorously.
“Mm,” came a light laugh, “—you’re welcome.”
…
When Shen Yuze went downstairs, Lu Mom was urging her husband to tidy up the guest room so Shen Yuze could have a place to rest.
They’d been at it for so long, and it was getting late. Lu Mom wanted him to stay the night.
Shen Yuze politely declined her kindness, saying his family was strict—if he didn’t go home for even one night, his mother would call the police.
Lu Mom thought he was joking. As a mother herself, she’d never heard of anyone so exaggeratedly controlling.
Since he really didn’t want to stay, Lu Mom and her husband saw Shen Yuze off to his car together.
“Little Shen, thank you for taking such good care of Pingping at school. If it weren’t for you running around looking after him this time he got hurt, we wouldn’t know what to do.” As Lu Mom spoke, she handed a heavy lunchbox through the window. “We don’t know how else to thank you. This is our homemade preserved pork rice, made with our own cured meats and sausages, and sweet potatoes and taro from relatives. Just try it out—don’t turn your nose up at it.”
It was an old-fashioned thermos box, packed full and heavy—at least a jin.
Shen Yuze couldn’t refuse and accepted it.
Lu Dad and Lu Mom walked him all the way to the mouth of the alley. They watched the luxury car drive off until its taillights vanished from sight, then turned hand in hand and headed home.
…
The sleek black sedan wove through traffic, speeding into the night.
Shen Yuze, in the back seat, looked down at his hand. He lightly curled his fingers, as if pinching at empty air. He muttered to himself: “He’s so skinny overall, but damn, the places that should have meat… do.”
The driver didn’t catch it: “Young Master, what did you say?”
“Nothing.” Shen Yuze sat up straight again, calmly gazing out at the river of lights and cars.
Jiaojiang City didn’t have a huge population, but evening rush hour was still long and infuriating.
The Cross-River Bridge was jammed solid with red taillights. Bored, Shen Yuze’s gaze fell on the lunchbox beside him.
He hadn’t eaten all evening and was hungry now. Eating in the car went against all the etiquette drilled into him since childhood, but… whatever.
Shen Yuze picked up the lunchbox, set it on his lap, and gently lifted the lid.
The moment he did, the rich, oily aroma filled the entire car.
Preserved pork rice was a local staple. Sliced cured pork was added to uncooked rice along with green beans, taro, and sweet potatoes, then steamed together. The boiling steam forced the fat from the meat into the rice, ensuring every grain was glossy, moist, and infused with meaty flavor.
The steaming-hot preserved pork rice was fresh and savory, perfect with a side of greens for a hearty winter meal.
Besides the rice mixed with taro and sweet potatoes, the heavy lunchbox held three thick slices of cured pork and a buried sausage. In the small compartment beside it was some stir-fried amaranth greens—meat and veggies in perfect balance, mouthwatering just to look at.
Shen Yuze hadn’t even moved yet when a rumble came from the driver’s stomach up front.
“…” The driver was mortified. He’d already eaten, but that aroma was too tempting—he couldn’t help swallowing.
Shen Yuze shot him a glance and pressed the button on his armrest. The partition between front and back seats rose slowly—nobody else got to smell his food.
Just as Shen Yuze was about to dig in, a sudden phone ring cut him off.
He frowned at the screen. When he saw the name, his brows furrowed even deeper.
The shrill ringtone pressed relentlessly.
He hadn’t planned to answer, but it kept going. Shen Yuze knew if he ignored it, the person on the other end wouldn’t let up. She’d keep calling and calling… until he gave in.
Finally, he hit accept.
The moment the call connected, that familiar, sharp voice blared: “Xiaozhe, it’s past nine at night—why aren’t you home yet?”
“…” Shen Yuze didn’t ask how Deng Hong knew where he was. With her control issues, she had a thousand ways to track her son. His tone was distant and cold: “What, decided to call me now? Didn’t you say before that you’d pretend I didn’t exist?”
They hadn’t spoken since their last blowout fight over the phone. She’d been furious enough to die, from what the sanatorium staff said—smashing things left and right while cursing him as ungrateful, arrogant, wings grown to fly from his mother, just like his dad… In a huff, she’d dragged her girlfriends to Hong Kong for a shopping spree, snapping up luxury goods and a tens-of-millions jewelry set—like wearing an entire Capital apartment around her neck.
She’d married the best among her friends, rocketing to luxury housewife status. She basked in their envy and flattery until her mood improved, then remembered her son far away in Jiaojiang.
Deng Hong said on the phone: “I was just speaking in anger then. You’re my only son—how could I not worry about you?”
Shen Yuze let out a light chuckle.
Deng Hong kept up the act: “You ran off so far, out of my sight—I worry so much… This morning when I woke up, my heart was pounding. They say mother-son hearts connect; I kept thinking something happened to you.”
“…”
“And turns out I was right! Xiaozhe, are you sick again? Why’d you go to the hospital? Is it bad? Not an allergy again, is it!”
Shen Yuze hadn’t expected that to be why she called.
His fingers curled, lightly tapping his knee—his thinking habit. He’d gone to the hospital with Lu Ping today and pulled strings, but he wasn’t hurt himself. The Capital shouldn’t have heard…
Casually, he asked: “Who told you?”
“Doesn’t matter who.” Deng Hong started twisting things. “We’re your parents—can’t we worry?”
Shen Yuze latched onto it: “‘Parents’? Dad told you?”
Caught, Deng Hong spilled. Turns out Shen Zong had called her to the study after work and chewed her out for neglecting her son as a mother—letting Shen Yuze end up in the hospital twice in a month. Sure, he’d stubbornly gone off to some out-of-town high school to kill time, but she couldn’t just ignore him.
As for who told Shen Zong…
“Who else?! That little vixen Wang Shiya! She saw you at the hospital today.” Mentioning her arch-rival, Deng Hong itched with hate. “Thought that little vixen crawling back to her hometown would end her hopping around. Didn’t expect her to reach this far!”
Next, Deng Hong kept scolding nonstop. Shen Yuze grew annoyed listening to her and very much wanted to ask if she had taken her medicine today.
Shen Yuze interrupted her. “First of all, I didn’t go to the hospital today because I was sick—I went to accompany a classmate. Second… if I were you, I’d look into why Wang Shiya is going to the hospital. She gave up everything in the Capital to return to her hometown in Jiao River, which was strange enough. Now she’s frequently visiting the hospital—don’t you find that suspicious?”
Shen Yuze tossed a bombshell at his mother. Regardless of whether his speculation was true or not, it was enough to keep Deng Hong busy for a while. This way, he could catch his breath.
Sure enough, Deng Hong’s attention was easily diverted by him.
After hanging up, Shen Yuze tossed his phone onto the seat beside him and felt utterly exhausted, both mentally and physically.
The preserved pork rice on his lap had lost its warmth. The cooled oil had solidified on the meat, and Shen Yuze could no longer recall the eager anticipation he’d felt earlier to taste this delicacy.
As he stared at this dinner, he couldn’t help but wonder what Auntie Lu felt like when she cooked for her family. What did Lu Ping feel when he ate the preserved pork rice made by his own mother?
It must have been an ordinary yet solid kind of happiness.
That was something Shen Yuze had never possessed.
Other people’s “older brothers” and “older sisters” weren’t older than their “mother.” Other people’s “fathers” didn’t have graying hair and a decrepit, aged appearance.
The Shen Family was like a handful of rotten soil, twisting and decaying in the darkness. Shen Yuze was the poppy blooming atop that rotten soil—seemingly beautiful, but only he knew that the blood flowing through his veins was filthy.
His phone rang again. But this time, it wasn’t a call from his mother—it was a text from Lu Ping.
Lu Ping: Are you safely home?
Lu Ping: The weather forecast says there’ll be freezing rain tonight. I remember you have an exhaust fan at home—make sure to turn it off, or it’ll get really cold.
Lu Ping: Also, you have to keep this a secret for me. If any classmates ask why I took leave, you’re not allowed to say I fell on my tailbone!
Lu Ping: Otherwise, I’ll end you!凸-_-凸
“…Heh.” After reading these messages, the gloom that had shrouded Shen Yuze’s mood was once again pierced by a ray of sunlight.
Every time, every time, every time Shen Yuze involuntarily sank into the dark depths, that boy would timely extend a hand and pull him out of the quagmire.
He had done so much for Shen Yuze, even though he himself didn’t know it.
…
In Lu Ping’s eyes, Shen Yuze was a radiant gem, while he was the fake pretender.
But in Shen Yuze’s heart, it was the exact opposite—the filthy one was himself, and the one who shone was Lu Ping.
