Chapter 26

Jiang Mian hesitated just before entering the subway station.

After some “studying” recently, he more or less knew what had caused Chen Gu’s Touch Starvation.

At least, the doctor said it stemmed from childhood development and parental relationships.

And it was known that Chen Gu’s parents were divorced, and he’d followed his father abroad at a young age.

Jiang Mian wasn’t a psychologist, but he wanted to try helping Chen Gu untie the knot that caused it.

Even putting that aside, Chen Gu relapsing must have had a reason. Perhaps the night was too melancholic, causing too much emotional fluctuation.

If that were the case, eating something sweet would help.

So, at the last moment, Jiang Mian turned and stepped into a candy shop next door.

The overall decor of this candy shop leaned heavily toward a cutesy, girly style. Jiang Mian was rather out of place here.

It was also something of a semi-internet-famous shop. For many people, the nightlife was just beginning at this hour. As soon as he entered, quite a few girls there snapped photos, their gazes landing on him.

Groups of girls nudged each other’s arms, communicating silently with just a look.

Those were relatively discreet, not something Jiang Mian would notice. But others openly gestured to their companions: “Look, a handsome guy!”

Jiang Mian very clearly felt the stares from all directions. “…”

Silently, he bought the candy he wanted, paid expressionlessly, and left.

What Jiang Mian bought was the kind of Fruit Slice Candy from childhood, each flavor stamped with a different fruit pattern.

This stuff was cheap back then—fifty cents for ten pieces. Now, in this candy shop, its value had risen a bit. A jin cost 39.9.

Jiang Mian wasn’t sure if Chen Gu would like it, so he just picked one of each flavor. Afraid of being too obvious, he also randomly grabbed a few others as camouflage.

He had considered buying something more expensive and sweet, but that would be too deliberate, too obvious.

Jiang Mian didn’t want Chen Gu to notice anything.

Only, because of the impromptu candy stop, twenty minutes later, he was still on the subway. Naturally, a message from Chen Gu came in.

【Chen Gu: Sir Jiang, is it illegal to break a promise?】

Jiang Mian: “.”

He placed the candy bag on his lap and typed slowly: “One more station.”

He thought Chen Gu would tease him a bit more, but the reply that popped up was: “Alright. Want some Oden?”

Jiang Mian was taken aback.

Chen Gu went out?

【Jiang Mian: I just finished dinner not long ago.】

【Chen Gu: Do you want some or not?】

【Jiang Mian: I do.】

【Jiang Mian: I want Chikuwa, seaweed, and shiitake mushrooms.】

【Chen Gu: Hold on.】

Chen Gu typed out a question someone not raised in South Boundary would have: “Lion Dog Fish Balls?”

【Jiang Mian: It’s just Chikuwa. Over here in South Boundary, we call it Lion Dog Fish Balls.】

Chen Gu understood. 【Okay.】

So, when the subway arrived and Jiang Mian exited the station with the flow of people, he saw Chen Gu standing to the side, holding a cup of Oden.

He didn’t step forward immediately because there was a girl standing in front of Chen Gu.

Jiang Mian shuffled his way over slowly, just in time to hear Chen Gu say flatly in a foreign language, “Sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

…The other person was clearly speaking Mandarin.

And Chen Gu had deliberately used a language outside the six international languages.

This completely took away the girl’s chance to continue. She could only retreat awkwardly.

But just as she took a step, she heard the man, who had spoken some foreign language earlier—which she guessed was a rejection—suddenly call out in Mandarin so standard it could broadcast the news: “Jiang Mian.”

Girl: “?”

Jiang Mian was speechless.

He could have at least waited until she walked further away…

He sighed inwardly but still stood before Chen Gu.

Thus, the girl watched as the man who seemed so aloof smiled at him so brightly it was almost dazzling. “What did you buy?”

Jiang Mian’s gaze briefly met the girl’s. She wasn’t upset, merely casting a look that said, “I wish you happiness,” before walking away without looking back.

“Candy.” Jiang Mian stopped thinking about it and handed the paper bag to Chen Gu. “I bought it for you.”

Chen Gu raised an eyebrow, seemingly a bit surprised, but still offered the Oden in his hand to Jiang Mian first. “Then let’s trade.”

The Oden exuded an aroma that stirred the appetite, making Jiang Mian, who had only eaten half a steak, inexplicably hungry again.

But it was too hot outside, and the Oden was still steaming. Jiang Mian didn’t really want to work up a sweat eating.

So, he just hooked his finger through the Oden bag without further action.

He glanced at the calm-looking Chen Gu and pressed his lips together slightly. “Aren’t you feeling unwell?”

“Mm.” Chen Gu said without changing expression. “But I felt much better as soon as I saw you.”

Jiang Mian: “…”

Chen Gu also asked, “What made you think of buying me candy?”

Jiang Mian had originally planned to tell the truth—that he was worried Chen Gu was unhappy and bought something sweet to help his body secrete more dopamine and adrenaline to lift his mood.

But after hearing what Chen Gu just said, he suddenly shut down.

After a two-second silence, his words ultimately became, “Just… on a whim.”

Chen Gu glanced sideways at him, his eyes smiling.

Jiang Mian truly had no idea how bad he was at lying.

The subway exit wasn’t far from Chen Gu’s place. Once back in the air-conditioned space, Jiang Mian opened the Oden and found that Chen Gu had bought quite a lot.

So, it should have included a portion for himself.

But two people eating from the same “cup”… wasn’t that a bit too ambiguous?

Unsure where exactly to draw the line between friends, Jiang Mian, following his own understanding, suggested maybe getting a bowl to split it.

Chen Gu let out an awkward “mm.” “I have an early flight tomorrow. I really don’t want to do dishes.”

Jiang Mian froze, forgetting about dividing the food. “Where are you going?”

Chen Gu didn’t hide it. “Going abroad.”

Jiang Mian understood instantly. His reflexive thought was, “Are you going home to study?”

“It’s just a house I bought over there.” Chen Gu corrected him precisely. “Not to study. I started school early and skipped grades. I graduated university at sixteen. I have some business there.”

His tone was casual, but Jiang Mian still detected a faint trace of reluctance.

That figured.

Since Chen Gu had developed this psychological disorder, his relationship with his family couldn’t be good.

Jiang Mian wanted to ask when he’d be back, but given their somewhat ambiguous relationship now, maybe that wasn’t right.

In daily life, he always hesitated too much. Fortunately, Chen Gu could read it and answered directly. “I’ll be back in about a week. Ten days at the latest.”

Because he hated it there and didn’t want to see Chen Hongyu. If it were up to him, Chen Gu would rather not go back at all. But some things couldn’t be helped.

Jiang Mian nodded, indicating he understood.

Chen Gu, having brought him a glass of warm water, headed straight over and sat on the arm of the sofa—because Jiang Mian was sitting in the single-seater. Two grown men would indeed have a hard time squeezing onto one sofa.

Jiang Mian felt the sofa cushion dip beside him. There was still some distance, yet he inexplicably felt Chen Gu’s temperature and scent enveloping him, making him unconsciously look up at the man.

Chen Gu extended his hand toward him, his tone soft and pitiful. “I’m about to lose control, Jiang Mian.”

Meeting those pitiful puppy-dog eyes, Jiang Mian fell silent.

He felt that Chen Gu probably wasn’t actually relapsing.

Because it was completely different from last time.

Last time, Chen Gu had radiated a low pressure from head to toe. Even when his tone was light, he still transmitted an unspeakable heavy emotion.

It was like a shadowy cloud slowly accumulating and churning before the sun in summer, not yet raining—something you wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t paying close, constant attention.

But he had noticed.

He couldn’t bear to refuse Chen Gu like this.

So Jiang Mian could only raise his hand, letting Chen Gu swiftly wrap around his wrist like a snake.

Not sure if it was restraint or something else, but at least Chen Gu hadn’t held Jiang Mian’s hand. It was a small mercy, a tiny bit of space for Jiang Mian.

Still, Chen Gu’s grip was really strong.

It felt like he could pop open a can with one hand.

Jiang Mian silently stared at it for a while, eventually choosing to use another topic to distract from the overwhelming sensation. “Do you still remember…”

He paused, organizing his words. “That day on the bridge, when you came to find me. You guessed a case was troubling me?”

Chen Gu raised an eyebrow slightly. “I remember. What about it?”

Jiang Mian spoke slowly. “Because the case was open to the public, the verdict can be found online now.”

“The law firm I was at ultimately didn’t succeed in the appeal. The original verdict was upheld because a new witness came forward to testify.”

He spoke vaguely, because he only wanted to tell Chen Gu that this thing that had troubled him—without his involvement, without him whistleblowing—had ultimately reached a relatively satisfying conclusion for him.

So, the saying that Heaven watches what people do, that good and evil will eventually be repaid… it was true.

Chen Gu nodded gently. “That’s great.”

Jiang Mian nodded slowly, then glanced at Chen Gu again, silent.

Chen Gu tilted his head. “What is it?”

Maybe because Chen Gu was truly a little different to him, Jiang Mian always unconsciously revealed his innermost thoughts in front of him. “I finished the bar exam.”

He said slowly, “A lot of people are asking me how it went. But you haven’t asked.”

Jiang Mian’s tone was very calm. He wasn’t complaining, after all. He was simply expressing his confusion and lack of understanding.

Because in his view, even if you set aside Chen Gu’s feelings for him… they were still friends. And friends should show a certain level of care.

“Because I believe in you.” Chen Gu smiled. “And I guessed a lot of people were already asking you. If it were me, I’d be a bit annoyed. So I didn’t want to bother you.”

He looked down at Jiang Mian. “So… should I ask next time?”

Jiang Mian: “No need.”

He said seriously, “This is fine.”

Because he was honestly tired of replying “felt okay.”

Jiang Mian continued slowly, “Asking me how I feel about it is useless. Ultimately, the results are what matter. So there’s no need.”

Chen Gu nodded in agreement. “I think so too.”

Jiang Mian made another sound of acknowledgment.

Silence fell between them again. Jiang Mian didn’t find it awkward and just continued eating his Oden.

Chen Gu watched him eat in tiny, delicate bites, inexplicably reminded of a video he’d stumbled upon recently.

Some cats were “licking monsters,” eating very gracefully.

Jiang Mian was like those cats.

His wrists and arms were just as slender.

Because Jiang Mian had to return to school tonight, he didn’t stay long. South Boundary University’s gates closed at eleven. The counselor would be checking dorms, and Jiang Mian didn’t want to be tagged in the group chat asking where he was.

But before he left, Jiang Mian couldn’t help but look at Chen Gu with some worry.

Chen Gu looked down at him, seeing him leaning habitually against the door, and thought this scene was very familiar.

“What is it?”

“You’re going abroad. Your condition… will it be a problem?”

Chen Gu had said he could only find relief through contact with him.

He was the only one.

What if Chen Gu relapsed while he was away?

Chen Gu was a little surprised. In the end, he couldn’t resist teasing Jiang Mian. “If I said it would be a problem, would you urgently book a ticket right now and fly with me?”

Jiang Mian responded subconsciously. “But I have compulsory courses all day tomorrow.”

And the day after, actually.

Chen Gu: “…”

He was stunned for a moment, then bent over with a low laugh. “Jiang Mian, I was joking. I wasn’t actually asking you to consider it.”

He couldn’t help but reach out and tousle Jiang Mian’s hair. “Of course I wouldn’t dare disturb our Good Student’s studies.”

This gesture was very intimate.

The side of his pinky finger accidentally grazed the tip of Jiang Mian’s ear, making Jiang Mian’s back stiffen.

Jiang Mian’s lips moved, no words coming out.

Chen Gu watched as a faint layer of pink inexplicably spread over the shell of Jiang Mian’s ear. Too much of his lack of confidence was washed away by this hint of ambiguous color in this moment.

Chen Gu’s tongue swept across his molars, and the hand resting atop Jiang Mian’s head slid down.

He slipped down to the side of Jiang Mian’s face and very gently pinched the tip of his now-warm ear.

Startled by this sudden action, Jiang Mian’s eyes flew wide open. He even held his breath.

He stood there frozen, hearing Chen Gu chuckle lowly. “Hot, like it’s been boiled.”

The man’s voice was low, a little deep. Perhaps it was from the smoking—after all, Chen Gu had an ashtray at home—it carried a slightly husky quality, like an old vinyl record playing a slow, mellow, elegant, and lightly cheerful tune.

Chen Gu called his name. “Jiang Mian.”

His tone was filled with delight. “You seem… to like me, a little bit?”

“Well then, I’m going to start pursuing you now.”