Chapter 52

Taking Qi Xing to the bathroom outside the home was always a bit of a hassle.

When she was little, they weren’t so particular. If she got caught short on the road, Qi Yang would just find a secluded corner, lead her into the grass while no one was looking, and stand guard with his back turned while the kid did her business right there.

But as she got older, that arrangement stopped working. Still, there were workarounds. At rest stops, Qi Yang would find a staff member at a nearby shop who looked friendly, scan them some cash, and ask them to take Qi Xing inside.

After she came out, he’d buy two bottles of water from that shop. Qi Xing would pat the freezer where the ice cream was displayed, and he’d get one for her.

“You need to go?” He tossed a bottle of water to Mu Yicong when they got back to the car.

Mu Yicong had been watching him the whole time, a lot on his mind, but he didn’t say anything—just shook his head to decline.

Qi Yang took a sip of water, peeled the ice cream wrapper for Qi Xing, then leaned against the car body and lit a cigarette.

“Let her finish before we head up, or she’ll drip all over.” He said to Mu Yicong. “You stay with her in the back. I’ll drive for a bit.”

When they’d left early morning, Qi Yang had worn a jacket. Now the sun was up, glaring enough to make him squint.

He bit the cigarette and stretched, but before he could lower his arms, Mu Yicong caught his right wrist.

Qi Yang had almost developed a reflex to having his arm grabbed—for a second he thought the guy had lost it and was about to do something in public.

But Mu Yicong just lifted his arm to look, his eyes sweeping over the nail marks Qi Xing had left, then rubbing his thumb across the scar on the side of Qi Yang’s forearm.

The scar from the brawl at the Affiliated High School canteen back in the day, when Qi Yang had blocked a flying chair for Mu Yicong.

“You still remember that?” Qi Yang picked up the topic from breakfast earlier, grinning. “Back then, I got meals delivered for over a month because of it.”

“Seven stitches,” Mu Yicong said.

“Good memory.” Qi Yang turned his arm over to count them himself. “I’ve forgotten.”

“You said then it wasn’t for me,” Mu Yicong looked at him.

“I’d still say the same now.” Qi Yang pulled his arm back and flicked the ash, that habitual defiant streak flaring up. “You came all the way to my doorstep to thank me—why not take the free credit?”

Mu Yicong didn’t argue. He just smiled and turned his head to look at Qi Xing.

Qi Xing, as usual, only had a few bites. She sucked on the ice cream twice, found it too cold on her teeth, and shoved it back into Qi Yang’s hand.

Qi Yang thought it was disgusting that she’d gnawed on it. He flicked the little girl on the forehead, then tossed the ice cream into the trash can. “Get in the car.”

This trip to the hospital took longer than the previous ones. Qi Yang and Mu Yicong took turns driving, stopped for a meal midway, and it was an extra hour before they reached the villa.

Laziness was a habit that fed itself. When Zou Meizhu and Qi Xing came along, everything fell on Qi Yang’s shoulders—he was too busy to even feel tired. But now, with Mu Yicong helping out, he suddenly felt completely drained. He flopped onto the sofa and had no desire to get up.

Qi Xing, on the other hand, was getting more comfortable here. She opened her own suitcase, pulled out her handcraft journal supplies, spread them on the small table, and started pasting and drawing as if she were clocking in for work.

Mu Yicong finished ordering food by phone and saw Qi Yang staring blankly at Qi Xing. “Tired?”

“A little.” Qi Yang sat up a bit, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

“Go upstairs and sleep for a while.” Mu Yicong pressed his hand on the back of Qi Yang’s head and tousled it, like he was petting a dog. “I’ll call you when the food arrives.”

When you’re tired, you shouldn’t even think about sleeping. If you don’t dwell on it, you can hold out. But the moment sleep crosses your mind, your eyelids get too heavy to lift.

He didn’t bother going upstairs. He kicked off his slippers and sprawled sideways onto the sofa, grabbing a throw pillow to prop under his head. “I’ll just nap here. Not at home—Qi Xing needs to be able to see me.”

Qi Xing heard her name, brushed her hair aside, and turned to look at Qi Yang.

“Keep playing.” He lifted his chin at her. “Brother’s gonna sleep a bit.”

Mu Yicong grabbed a small thin blanket from an empty room on the first floor and tossed it at Qi Yang from across the room. Qi Yang didn’t react in time—the blanket landed over half his face.

He fumbled to wrap himself in it, turned to avoid the light, and buried his face in the sofa cushions.

By all logic, this nap shouldn’t have been sound. Mu Yicong was tidying up, Qi Xing was drawing—though both of them instinctively kept the noise down, various tiny sounds were inevitable.

Qi Yang listened groggily and, before he knew it, fell into a deep sleep.

He opened his eyes again because the aroma of food wafted into his nose.

At some point, Mu Yicong had turned off the row of small side lights overhead. The living room’s main light had been dimmed to a warm glow. Qi Yang felt warm all over from sleeping. He blinked, shook off the daze, and remembered where he was.

He turned over. Qi Xing was crouched beside him, blinking, watching him quietly.

“…You scared me.” Qi Yang pushed her forehead. Qi Xing habitually avoided eye contact and tugged at Qi Yang’s arm.

Mu Yicong heard the sound and came out from the kitchen, handing Qi Yang a glass of water. “Did I wake you?”

“The smell woke me.” Qi Yang sat up cross-legged, leaning back, took the cup and sipped. “What time is it?”

“Just past ten,” Mu Yicong said. “You haven’t been asleep long.”

“Ah.” Qi Yang grunted, arched his back and stretched. He’d slept soundly—the kind of satisfying nap you took in class during school days, leaving him feeling refreshed. “No wonder Qi Xing called me.”

“I already fed her dinner. Take her to bed,” Mu Yicong instructed. “Then come down and eat your own.”

Qi Xing’s bedtime routine was rock solid, and she insisted on sleeping in the room on the third floor.

Qi Yang did a sweep, removing all sharp objects. While watching Qi Xing brush her teeth, he noticed her fingernails seemed shorter.

“Biting your nails again?” He picked up her hand to examine it. There were no messy bite marks—they were neatly trimmed, clean and tidy.

Qi Xing looked down at her own hand along with Qi Yang, then, as if tattling, extended her other hand. “Ah.”

“Ah.” Qi Yang deliberately mimicked her. He imagined Mu Yicong catching Qi Xing while he was asleep, seriously and properly trimming her nails, and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Does it hurt?” he asked Qi Xing.

Qi Xing’s eyes rolled around, and she withdrew her hand.

That meant it didn’t hurt.

“If it doesn’t, it’s fine.” Qi Yang straightened the crumpled collar of her sleepwear. “Go to sleep.”

When he got back to the first floor, a smile still lingered on Qi Yang’s lips.

He walked into the kitchen. Mu Yicong was warming soup at the counter, his movements clearly unpracticed.

“Why sneak around and trim the kid’s nails?” Qi Yang slipped off his slippers and nudged Mu Yicong’s calf.

Mu Yicong didn’t even turn around. He reached back precisely, grabbed Qi Yang’s right arm, and kissed the spot where Qi Xing’s nail marks had been.

The marks had long since disappeared. Qi Xing wasn’t Wolverine—her pinching didn’t even hurt.

But the kiss Mu Yicong pressed onto his arm traveled up the pulse line, sending a strange, obscure heat straight to Qi Yang’s heart.

He leaned over to look at the soup pot, picked up a spoon, scooped some, and smelled it.

“No manners,” Mu Yicong clicked his tongue lightly.

“You’ve got the most manners,” Qi Yang blew on the soup, bickering back. “And everything you do is inhuman.”

“What’s the matter?” Mu Yicong wrapped an arm around Qi Yang’s waist and pushed him toward the counter, bracing his hands on either side to trap him. “Which thing offended you?”

“Don’t mess around,” Qi Yang said, but he held the spoon without moving. “You’ll get it all over you.”

In the ears of two people in this state, saying “get it all over you” had a natural way of being taken the wrong way.

Mu Yicong stared at Qi Yang. Instead of backing off, he pressed forward, kissing his temple in an aggressively possessive way, then lightly pecking along the curve of his forehead down to his eyelid, whispering, “Welcome.”

When a man got shameless, there was really no defense.

Qi Yang’s eyelid was warmed by the kiss. His lashes fluttered, and he nearly dropped the spoon.

There was no way he was going to drink that soup now.

So he simply tossed spoon and soup into the sink and was about to have a proper debate with Mu Yicong when his phone suddenly rang in the living room, startling Qi Yang.

He pushed Mu Yicong away and scrambled over to the sofa. After digging through the crevices, he fished out his phone. The caller was Zou Meizhu.

“Mom.” Qi Yang answered.

“Son!” On Zou Meizhu’s end, there was a clatter of mahjong tiles. She shouted, “You guys get there?”

“Yeah,” Qi Yang said, simultaneously pulling out his cigarette pack to light one. “Got here six months ago.”

“Oh, dear—” Zou Meizhu had put it on speaker. The whole table laughed.

An aunt whose voice sounded familiar but whose face he couldn’t place cackled, “That little rascal Yangyang, still the same temper.”

“Drives me crazy every single day,” Zou Meizhu chimed in, lying through her teeth.

Zou Meizhu hadn’t called for any real reason. That morning she’d been hollering about how she couldn’t rest easy without going with them. After delivering the dumplings to the hospital, she’d gotten so absorbed in mahjong that she didn’t remember the two kids in another place until nearly eleven at night.

“Everything okay on the road?” she asked vaguely. “How’s Qi Xing?”

“Already asleep,” Qi Yang said. “Nothing to—”

He was about to say nothing to worry about, but before he finished, Mu Yicong’s chest pressed against his back.

Qi Yang lowered his head to push Mu Yicong’s hand away, but Mu Yicong’s palm curled around his waist, stroking, while he kissed Qi Yang’s earlobe.

“…Nothing to worry about,” Qi Yang said. A nerve seemed to stretch along his neck. He swallowed hard to steady his voice.

Zou Meizhu usually didn’t care much about Qi Xing. But now, whether it was a random whim or a desire to reconstruct an image of a great mother in front of her mahjong buddies, she rambled on without end.

She went from Qi Xing’s menstrual period to detailing all the clothes she’d prepared. The aunties chimed in with, “Your girl still like that?” and the whole table launched into a conversation right through the phone.

Qi Yang was getting annoyed. He was about to cut Zou Meizhu off and say nothing else, hang up, when Mu Yicong’s hand slid in along his waist, palm pressing flush against his tensed skin, moving upward until it rested over Qi Yang’s chest.

Then he rubbed.

Damn.

Qi Yang went numb from his scalp to his heels.

He’d never studied that part of his body or heard of such a strong reaction. Being rubbed by Mu Yicong, he could even feel his heart skip a beat—like it had fallen, through flesh and blood, right into Mu Yicong’s palm.

“What is it, Yangyang?” Zou Meizhu caught the muffled grunt from Qi Yang and pressed, “Stub your toe?”

Mu Yicong heard it through the receiver. He smiled, pressed his palm tighter, and bit Qi Yang’s ear.

“Cigarette ash fell,” Qi Yang made up an excuse, holding Mu Yicong’s hand through his shirt. “Nothing. Gotta go.”

“Oh, then can you transfer me some money?” Zou Meizhu finally revealed her real motive. “Mom’s gotta be home alone for a week.”

Qi Yang had no energy to deal with her. He just grunted in acknowledgment, hung up, and tossed the phone onto the sofa.