After sending that message, Chen Gu put away his phone and went to open the door. He didn’t play any games like deliberately keeping Chen Hongyu waiting.
Because he knew Chen Hongyu would just keep ringing the bell until he opened it.
There was no point.
It would just pollute his ears.
Seeing Chen Gu open the door, Chen Hongyu reflexively put on what he believed was a loving and kind smile.
Chen Gu couldn’t be bothered with him. He let go of the door handle and turned back inside.
Chen Hongyu followed, closing the door behind him. “How was this trip back to South Boundary? Did you see your mom? How did you two get along?”
Faced with this rapid-fire questioning, Chen Gu still didn’t speak. He just lit another cigarette, his expression flat as he sat on the sofa.
Chen Hongyu had interacted with him for years. Although he was indeed guilty of thinking he understood Chen Gu when in reality he had it all wrong, at least on certain actions, Chen Hongyu knew the unwritten rules.
For instance, right now, he knew Chen Gu meant he only had the time it took for one cigarette to speak. After this cigarette, if he wasn’t gone, he’d call the police.
The police indeed wouldn’t handle such father-son conflicts. But for someone of Chen Hongyu’s status, a trip to the station meant a huge stir. The cost was too high.
Chen Gu knew all too well how to make him leave.
But Chen Hongyu didn’t rush to the main topic. He just carried on to himself, “You two probably got along well. I can tell Chen Yishen really cherishes you as his brother.”
Hearing this, Chen Gu finally gave him a reaction.
He let out a cold scoff. His slightly drooping eyelids looked both listless and biting, like a freshly sharpened blade. A single flash of cold light could pierce the heart.
“What gives you the right to be so casual about it? She has her own family. I didn’t grow up by her side. What identity do I have to disrupt her new family?”
Chen Hongyu’s lips moved, and he muttered, “But she’s still your mother.”
Chen Gu said indifferently, “Back then, she chose to take Chen Yishen. Not me.”
All these years, she had never once sent him a happy birthday.
Chen Gu didn’t want to discuss any kind of familial affection with Chen Hongyu. He simply raised the hand holding the cigarette, his expression calm. “If you don’t have other business, I’m putting this out.”
Chen Hongyu didn’t waste more words. “You wanted to do art. I let you play with it for over a decade. You’re now nineteen or twenty… anyway, you’re an adult. When exactly do you plan on joining the company?”
He spoke earnestly, “It’s time to put away your toys. Take advantage of my current health to come in quickly. I’ll guide you for a decade or so. When you can fully take over, the company will be yours, and I’ll retire.”
If it were anyone else hearing this, they’d likely feel some emotion and melancholy. But Chen Gu didn’t show the slightest bit of being moved.
He couldn’t even be bothered to tell Chen Hongyu that art wasn’t a ‘toy’ to him, but a genuine passion. Saying that to someone as money-grubbing as Chen Hongyu was utterly meaningless.
But Chen Hongyu’s words still made Chen Gu pull a mocking smile. “You want me to join the company?”
As soon as Chen Hongyu nodded, Chen Gu said, expressionless, “Fine. Make that adopted son of yours scram first.”
Chen Hongyu stopped.
He didn’t continue along Chen Gu’s line. He just looked at him with that “you’re so immature” gaze, his tone full of lecturing. “You, ah, why do you hate him so much?”
Chen Hongyu’s tone was entirely that of dealing with a small child. “What? Jealous of him?”
Chen Gu: “?”
He genuinely didn’t know what Chen Hongyu’s face was made of. So thick?
He stared coldly at Chen Hongyu, with an air that said if he disgusted him one more time, he wouldn’t be polite.
Chen Hongyu also knew his son. He knew when Chen Gu had started boxing and how many years he’d done it. He was very well-known in the local scene. So he immediately indicated he’d shut up.
But internally, he was already secretly pleased. He had now fully decided that Chen Gu was just upset because he thought his fatherly love had been divided, but was too stubborn to say it.
“He’s someone I specifically picked to be your assistant. When you come into the company, you’ll be his superior.” Chen Hongyu said dismissively, “If you’re really unhappy, order him to do some annoying tasks. Just vent a little.”
Later, he’d have a word with him. Chen Gu playing the bad cop and him the good cop—it would be perfect for Chen Gu to establish authority.
But Chen Gu’s gaze grew even colder, a hint of ferocity surfacing. “Work with him? I’d find it revolting.”
Chen Hongyu frowned. Before he could say anything, Chen Gu had already stubbed out the burned-out cigarette in the ashtray.
He looked sideways at Chen Hongyu. “Time’s up. Scram or let the police escort you out. Your choice.”
Chen Hongyu swallowed his anger. “Light another one. I’ll tell you the funeral procedures.”
Chen Gu didn’t move. “Three minutes.”
The reason he’d been willing to come this time was for this funeral.
The deceased was the former head of a partnered company of Chen Hongyu’s.
That Old Master was of mixed heritage. Chen Gu had met him twice when he was very young.
During his most lost, most helpless years.
The Old Master had given him two pieces of candy, patted his head, and taught him to draw a kitten.
So, for those two pieces of candy, that one touch, and that little cat long lost to time, Chen Gu was willing to set foot on this land he hated.
To see him off one last time.
South Boundary, South Boundary University.
Halfway through evening self-study, Jiang Mian was called away by a Senior Sister from his club to the club activity room.
Chen Yishen didn’t go, because a professor had called him away not long ago.
Jiang Mian had thought it was some meeting or matter. Turned out… it was a meeting, alright, but a tea party.
“Ugh, why did only Jiang Mian come, and not Chen Yishen?”
“Just Jiang Mian coming is good enough. One pearl is enough for decoration.”
Jiang Mian: “.”
This metaphor. Amazing.
Seeing him still holding an unopened cup of Pearl Milk Tea, the Club President couldn’t help but smile. “Junior Brother even brought his own drink. Trying to save us money?”
Jiang Mian looked at the bag in his hand, slightly hesitant.
But usually, the moment he paused, before he could even open his mouth, there was no need to open his mouth at all.
Jiang Mian was pressed down into a chair. When he said he’d head back to the lecture hall if there was nothing else, the Club President righteously refused him, declaring this was also a form of club activity.
Someone else added, “Ah, Jiang Mian, sit down! Just think of it as relaxing a bit.”
The people in this club were all very nice. When Jiang Mian had joined in his first year, he’d received a lot of care from them.
Knowing Jiang Mian always liked to camp out in the library, and that during exam week, South Boundary University’s library was always packed, whenever they managed to snag a seat and were about to leave, they’d call Jiang Mian to ask if he needed it.
Every time Jiang Mian came to the activity room, they’d stuff him with snacks. Even if sometimes it wasn’t what Jiang Mian particularly liked, the gesture always warmed his heart.
Even if they always laughingly said it was “the privilege of a handsome guy,” Jiang Mian could still feel the genuine goodwill between them.
Jiang Mian had taken philosophy as an elective once.
He thought people were truly wondrous.
Some people would direct endless malice towards others who were essentially strangers to them. But many others would radiate warm kindness towards people who, honestly, didn’t have much to do with them either.
So, in his eyes, this world was colorful and beautiful.
Young men and women this age, gathered together, naturally talked about the usual things.
Initially, they chatted about studies and summer part-time jobs. Later, the topic inevitably shifted to relationships.
Jiang Mian didn’t speak the entire time. He just silently played with the Klotski puzzles and Rubik’s cubes from the club room, though he was listening attentively.
Everyone’s relationships were good. When some Senior or Junior Sisters complained or asked for help, everyone brainstormed together.
Jiang Mian wasn’t unwilling to help; he just truly wasn’t good at it.
He restored one puzzle after another, until they started talking about someone getting engaged. Then the topic swung around. Someone called his name, asking, “Jiang Mian, when will Chen Yishen and Huihui get engaged? We’re all waiting to toast that drink.”
Jiang Mian’s hands turning the Rubik’s cube stopped. He looked at them. “I don’t know either.”
He told the truth. “Chen Yishen hasn’t mentioned any plans to me.”
But he estimated Chen Yishen wanted to wait until after graduation to propose.
After all, although Chen Yishen had that fool’s personality, deep down, he still had a bit of old-fashioned masculine pride.
He’d probably feel he wasn’t qualified to bring up marriage while still a student.
So, after thinking, Jiang Mian added, “Probably soon.”
The people in the activity room joked and laughed for a bit, and then the conversation turned to him. “What about you? Your best friend is about to bear fruit. Has your tree even sprouted a bud?”
Jiang Mian subconsciously shook his head. But after shaking it, he looked at the now room-temperature Pearl Milk Tea in front of him, pressed his lips, and, amidst their laughter calling him a monk fresh out of the temple, hesitantly spoke. “Um…”
The nearest Senior Sister: “Mm? What’s up?”
Jiang Mian struggled for a moment.
He truly wasn’t used to confiding in others. But every step Chen Gu took forward, relentlessly, left Jiang Mian utterly at a loss.
Because he’d discovered the saying “Ideals are beautiful, reality is brutal” was true.
He thought he could calmly discard all emotions, flatly step back. But one sentence from Chen Gu had him spacing out for far too long, unable to even focus on practice problems, let alone know what to do with this cup of milk tea.
Everyone waited patiently for him. Under those pairs of benevolent (?) eyes, Jiang Mian finally began slowly, “I wanted to ask you all… if A and B are very similar, even encountering the exact same dilemma. A already failed the challenge. B, having witnessed A’s failure, finds that moving forward seems impossible. How should B handle this dilemma?”
Several Senior Sisters, who had thought he was about to ask for relationship advice, were immediately disappointed.
But they quickly rallied and began pondering.
After all, this was the first time Jiang Mian had ever sought their help!!
The Club President spoke first. “Mm… can’t you learn from the failed experience and take a different path?”
Jiang Mian looked puzzled. “A different path?”
“Yeah.” The Club President tried hard to explain. “Like, if A failed because they were too reckless, then be more cautious. If they failed because they were too timid, then be braver.”
He gave random examples. “It’s actually like when I was dating. With my first love, I was too much of a straight-man-cancer, always thinking romance was unnecessary. So that first love became past tense. So with my second girlfriend, I learned to send flowers, give gifts, remember special dates…”
He said, “How do I put it… I feel like living in this world, no matter what you’re doing, is itself a process of constant trial and error, then constant progress.”
Take the lessons of predecessors as experience summaries, examine oneself?
Jiang Mian lowered his eyes slightly.
He hesitated for a very long time. When he pulled out his phone, he was still lost and uncertain.
Being smart didn’t mean you could instantly figure out and understand everything. Having a high IQ didn’t mean you were flawless and perfect.
At least, what Jiang Mian had lacked most from childhood was courage and firm conviction.
Many times, because he didn’t fit in and couldn’t communicate normally with others, the friends he’d made in his entire life could be counted on one hand. So, deep down, Jiang Mian carried a bit of self-doubt no one would believe.
Sometimes he’d melodramatically feel like a character in some movies, a star from outer space. Everyone else was a square, but he alone was a circle, with no edges, completely out of place in the world.
Thus, Jiang Mian habitually sealed himself inside his own little world, leaving only a crack for light and air.
Taking that step out himself—it was far too difficult.
After all, he’d always been this way for years.
But when Jiang Mian opened his phone, he found it still on his DingDong chat with Chen Gu. The first thing he saw was still Chen Gu’s message: “I’m in a bad mood. So I wanted you to have something sweet.”
And so Jiang Mian, inexplicably, in this moment, found a courage and impulse that could make him forget all past wounds.
He sent Jiang Liaoyi a message.
【Jiang Mian: Dad, what do you think was the reason you and Mom divorced?】
Jiang Mian thought he’d have to wait a bit for Jiang Liaoyi’s reply. Unexpectedly, Jiang Liaoyi responded very quickly.
【Jiang Liaoyi: All these years, I’ve been thinking about it too. At first, I thought she didn’t like me anymore, that the feelings were gone. But the way she acted didn’t seem like it. So I could never figure it out. Later, after raising you hand in hand, I think maybe I understand now.】
But it was too late.
【Jiang Liaoyi: First, I acted too rationally. I thought one of us in the relationship needed to stay calm to handle conflicts and matters. But actually, relationships are about the heart.
Second, I was too silent. I thought there were many things I didn’t need to say, that she would understand. Only later did I realize that feelings actually require a lot of effort to maintain.】
【Jiang Liaoyi: Mianmian, if you have someone you like, be a little impulsive.】
Like?
Honestly, Jiang Mian couldn’t quite say whether he liked Chen Gu or what exactly it was.
He’d always had difficulty distinguishing these feelings.
But he knew one thing.
That Chen Gu was special to him.
Just like Chen Gu said he only accepted him, that only touching him could ease the Touch Starvation, that he was the only one.
To Jiang Mian, Chen Gu was also the only person unrelated by blood who could stir thousands of emotions within him.
So after replying “Okay” to Jiang Liaoyi, Jiang Mian first poked open that cup of now-room-temperature Pearl Milk Tea.
He took a big gulp. The full sugar sweetness made him wrinkle his nose slightly, but he had to admit, sweets really lifted the mood.
Jiang Mian felt a sense of lightness as he went to message Chen Gu.
He took a picture of the opened milk tea and sent it to Chen Gu.
He didn’t know what to say, so Jiang Mian sent the words he’d wanted to say since the moment he read Chen Gu’s message.
【Jiang Mian: (Picture)】
【Jiang Mian: Drank it. Very sweet.】
【Jiang Mian: So don’t be unhappy anymore.】
