Stepping out of the bedroom, Zhu Ran caught a strong aroma of rice.
Huo Boyan, in a shirt and apron, busied himself at the stove. A pot of freshly boiled congee bubbled away, the source of the fragrance.
Zhu Ran sniffed, suddenly feeling hungry.
“Have a seat. It’ll be ready soon.” Huo Boyan looked up and said, then added the prepped crabs, lobsters, and other seafood to scald in the congee. Before serving, he sprinkled in ginger shreds and freshly ground black pepper.
The seafood congee was piping hot and savory sweet, still bubbling in the clay pot. In ten minutes, Huo Boyan whipped up shacha beef and stir-fried kai lan.
Zhu Ran was starving. While Huo Boyan cooked, he volunteered to serve the congee—one dish done, one bowl served. By the time Huo Boyan turned off the stove, the table was set.
He looked ravenous enough to pounce, but he waited for Huo Boyan to sit and say, “Dig in,” before starting.
For the first five minutes, Zhu Ran barely spoke. It was too delicious—the rice grains still slightly firm but incredibly refreshing, the seafood tender and sweet, the ginger and pepper bringing a spicy kick that made him sweat.
The sides were great too: the beef aromatic and tender, the kai lan crisp. Zhu Ran devoured a huge bowl of congee before finally coming back to himself.
“You were really hungry,” Huo Boyan said, eyeing the empty bowl with a smile. “More?”
Zhu Ran didn’t have a big appetite and had already eaten more than usual. But seeing the pot still half full, he hated to waste food. After a short break, he could eat more, so he unceremoniously pushed his bowl over.
Huo Boyan ladled him another heaping bowl of seafood and added, “Short on time today, so no rice oil. If you like softer congee, I’ll make it for you next time.”
Zhu Ran’s mind was all on eating and missed the implication. “It’s already delicious. Didn’t expect you to cook.”
Huo Boyan didn’t downplay it. “I learned on purpose a while back.”
“On purpose?” Zhu Ran was surprised. Huo Boyan didn’t seem the type to play chef.
Huo Boyan nodded. “There was a time when my diet kept going wrong, so I started cooking myself.”
Diet issues? Like the poisoning by the nanny that Chen Jiaming mentioned?
Zhu Ran froze. Huo Boyan’s life had been that perilous?
Surprised and a bit embarrassed, he asked cautiously, “You’re okay now, right?”
“You believe that?” Huo Boyan laughed, teasing, “Just kidding. Eat up.”
Zhu Ran: “…”
To avoid waste, Zhu Ran finished the rest of his congee, but couldn’t manage more beef or greens. Huo Boyan didn’t push, polishing off the leftovers alone.
Only then did Zhu Ran notice Huo Boyan’s massive appetite—nearly twice his own.
Zhu Ran’s gaze drifted to Huo Boyan’s solid muscles, wondering if he could build that physique by eating like this too.
After eating, Huo Boyan naturally cleared the dishes. When Zhu Ran offered to wash up, everything was already in the dishwasher, and he’d even boiled water to brew pu’er tea for Zhu Ran.
Zhu Ran stared in shock as Huo Boyan brought over a tea tray. Was this Greater Bay Area custom? Barely in his twenties, and already living like a retiree—skipping forty years of detours.
Huo Boyan, smelling of oil and smoke, went to shower after brewing the tea. Alone on the sofa, Zhu Ran felt at a loss and oddly empty.
He’d been happy during dinner, but once Huo Boyan left, that happiness felt stolen.
He realized he was too dependent on Huo Boyan but felt too lazy to end it.
Zhu Ran returned to the bedroom and pulled out the crumpled paper, listing his current tasks clearly.
Top priority: move out of the house. Luckily, he had savings—no financial pressure for now.
Then studies. He wasn’t pursuing grad school or a pharma career, but he’d finish his degree first; he was already through junior year.
Then photography…
He’d never dared dream of it before, but now he suddenly thought maybe, after graduation, he could do what he loved.
He wanted to make a living from photography.
The issue was his lack of formal training; his shots were all instinct. He worried about sustainability. He hadn’t decided on a photography master’s yet—that was too far off anyway.
Then Huo Boyan…
Skip that for now.
Song Xingchen would always be his best friend.
Finally, just Mom left…
Mom—the word he’d called countless times as a child. Though mostly cold, she occasionally treated him well.
Zhu Ran remembered the first time he entered her studio, the thrill of seeing her works. She sat by the window in a long skirt, painting, and he thought she was the most amazing person in the world.
Sadly, those moments were too few and fleeting. Mostly, she was stern and sharp, hugging him or patting his head only when in a good mood.
As he grew older, even hugs stopped.
Both parents grew incredibly busy. Compared to his father, who left early and returned late without a word, Mom made time to check on his life and studies. Zhu Ran once appreciated it greatly, until maturity brought more control—and after her illness forced her to quit teaching and become a housewife, it turned into a shadow, a torment.
Zhu Ran thought for a very, very long time but couldn’t arrive at an ideal conclusion.
By the time Huo Boyan emerged from the shower, Zhu Ran was no longer in the living room.
The door to the guest bedroom stood slightly ajar. Huo Boyan hesitated for a moment, didn’t push it open, and simply stood in the doorway as he asked, “Zhu Ran, are you going to sleep?”
“Mm,” Zhu Ran replied in a muffled voice. “I’m tired. Good night.”
Huo Boyan fell silent for two seconds before saying good night as well.
Huo Boyan had set aside the entire evening for Zhu Ran, assuming he must have a mountain of grievances to vent and countless difficulties to sort through.
He had prepared himself to offer consolation, but Zhu Ran gave him no opportunity at all. Huo Boyan didn’t press the issue and instead went alone to the study to handle work, not finishing until late into the night.
As he passed Zhu Ran’s room, Huo Boyan suddenly heard a faint rustling sound, followed by muffled sobs.
He pushed the door open and went inside, only to find Zhu Ran crying in his sleep. A sense of frustration washed over him—he realized his earlier attempts at comfort had failed, and Zhu Ran was still hurting.
Huo Boyan had once believed tears held no power over him, but meeting Zhu Ran had shown him just how arrogant that notion had been.
He sat on the edge of Zhu Ran’s bed, gently wiped away his tears, and murmured many soothing words to coax him.
But Zhu Ran continued to cry, and no matter what Huo Boyan tried, he couldn’t calm him.
With no other options left, Huo Boyan kissed Zhu Ran once more, using his own body to offer solace.
