His words came out short and forceful, sending ripples of bewildered confusion through the light brown eyes of the man facing him.
It took Yu Bai a good long moment to parse the simple sentence after it dropped into the air.
What did he mean by… because he had brought up other people?
Was there something wrong with the people he had mentioned?
Yu Bai sat there stunned for a bit before probing cautiously. “Other people? You mean Tian Ge? Or Uncle Zhang… uh.”
He trailed off midway through the question, swallowing the rest of his words awkwardly as he caught sight of the other man’s expression.
Because when he uttered those two names, the aversion in Xie Wufang’s eyes had clearly intensified.
He really didn’t want to hear Yu Bai mention them, did he?
Why?
During their previous interactions, Yu Bai hadn’t sensed any particular dislike from Xie Wufang toward them.
Setting aside Tian Ge, whom he hadn’t directly encountered in this timespace, Uncle Zhang had been around almost constantly over the past day and a half.
Xie Wufang had even taken the initiative to tidy up the room in the evening and play Go with him, chatting amiably with the old man in the process. Everything had seemed perfectly normal—no sign of distaste or resentment, no matter how you sliced it.
No matter how Yu Bai puzzled over it, he couldn’t figure out the reason. He wanted to ask outright why Xie Wufang disliked Sun Tiantian and Zhang Yunjiang, but he didn’t quite dare mention those two names again, for fear of souring the mood of the “patient” who had only just woken up beside him.
So after a moment’s hesitation, he let out a soft “oh” and stepped forward again. “Let’s head to the kitchen first.”
Another set of footsteps fell lightly in sync behind him, the air of disgust directed at others fading somewhat. Those gray-blue eyes, like a frozen lake, softened considerably.
Yu Bai led him to a certain spot in the courtyard and pushed open an unassuming back door.
Inside was a spacious kitchen bustling with fervent activity.
“There are probably guests in the front hall right now. Coming in that way would feel weird.”
Propping the door open, Yu Bai glanced back at the man behind him. “I didn’t even know there was a side door here until Yan Jing told me.”
As he spoke, something occurred to him, and he couldn’t help chuckling. “He really went all out eating today—from breakfast to lunch to afternoon hotpot tea. He never stopped. It was ridiculous. Now he can’t manage dinner and is lying in his room popping digestive tablets.”
“And he’s gotten chummy with all the chefs in the kitchen, even swapped contact info with them. He said he’d take them to his gym sometime to train… but this isn’t the real world, so pulling clients doesn’t really work here anyway…”
At the confluence of the steamy kitchen air and the frigid outdoor chill, Yu Bai—who had been speaking with an upbeat, laughter-laced tone—suddenly faltered, at a loss for words.
Winter had descended abruptly around them, but the man beside him looked even more grim and icy, his expression profoundly unsettling in the boundless night.
It was a chilling aversion, almost suffocating in its intensity.
Anyone else in his shoes would probably have been scared witless by now, legs turning to jelly, barely able to stand.
But Yu Bai was bold, so after a startled jolt, what he felt most was curiosity and bewilderment.
…Yan Jing was off-limits too?
No, not “too”—he was the one who was most off-limits.
Compared to Xie Wufang’s reactions earlier in the hallway when Yu Bai had mentioned Tian Ge and Uncle Zhang, this was worse. Yu Bai could tell he loathed Yan Jing the most.
To the point where… if Yan Jing himself were present, he’d be obliterated on the spot?
The thought sent an instinctive shiver through Yu Bai. He quickly reined in his wild, horrifying imaginings and murmured, “All right, I won’t mention anyone else.”
Catching a whiff of a distinct fragrance wafting from the kitchen, he perked up his brows and added, “I smell osmanthus sugar lotus root.”
“That’s a pure sweet cold dish,” he said. “It’s probably something you’d like.”
The man bundled in his warm coat gave a faint, almost shrinking tremble that instant, but it didn’t escape those gray-blue eyes that had been fixed on him the whole time.
The fine white fur edging the coat quivered faintly in the cold wind. The young man with soft brown hair soon averted his gaze, turning instead toward the busy figures in the kitchen.
One of the chefs noticed the movement at the back door, looked over, paused in surprise, then called out warmly, “Little Doctor Yu! Hungry again already?”
“…Why say ‘again’?” Yu Bai laughed, brushing it off casually. “I only had a few snacks earlier. I skipped lunch, you know.”
“Aw, I didn’t mean it like that! Skipping lunch is bound to make you hungry!”
The stranger in chef’s whites and a mask grinned back. “Dinner service is still a ways off. Want something to tide you over? Take a look and pick whatever, or I can whip something up fresh. I’m not busy right now, and we’ve got all the ingredients.”
“No need for anything else. I smelled the osmanthus sugar lotus root—got any extra?”
“Oh yeah, we made a whole big basin earlier! I’ll slice some up for you right now.”
The other kitchen staff chimed in with greetings as well. The talking chef pulled on gloves, fished a length of lotus root from the sugar-soaked basin, and set it on the cutting board. His hands moved deftly as he kept chatting.
“This glutinous rice lotus root is delicious—young folks love it. Speaking of which, that mink fur coat looks great on you, but if I tried it on, I’d look like a bear. We all took turns trying it earlier and checking each other out—oh man, it was like a room full of big ol’ grizzlies!”
The chef chuckled as he worked. “But it’s seriously warm, top-quality material. We felt bad accepting it—way too valuable… Oh, right! Why don’t you two come sit over there? I’ll bring out two plates in a sec!”
“Sure.” Yu Bai’s eyes and the corners of his mouth crinkled with amusement at the chef’s vivid description. “Thanks, chef. Appreciate it.”
“No need to be polite! Get in here quick—don’t stand out there in the cold! Want anything hot to go with it?”
Yu Bai started to step inside at the enthusiastic invitation, but he realized the familiar footsteps hadn’t followed.
As he glanced back, he said on instinct, “Let’s eat in the kitchen…”
His words were abruptly cut off by another voice.
The man standing rooted to the spot suddenly lowered his eyes, struggling to suppress the turbulent emotions surging within them. Stray locks of hair cast deep shadows across his forehead, blending into the dim night until his pale face was inscrutable.
Xie Wufang said softly, “I’m sorry.”
Yu Bai froze for real this time, asking blankly, “Why are you apologizing?”
“Because I scared you.”
…Huh?
“You didn’t sca—”
Yu Bai started to refute it on reflex, but he paused, then rephrased. “It’s fine. Come on in.”
All right, truth be told, he had been a little scared.
Tonight’s Xie Wufang was utterly unlike his usual self, especially his negative reactions to the people Yu Bai had mentioned. It left an uncomfortable, eerie feeling nagging at Yu Bai’s heart.
That rare icy pressure radiating from him inexplicably reminded Yu Bai of the Go game he’d spectated the night before.
During his match against Zhang Yunjiang, both chess-loving old men had remarked on Xie Wufang’s aggressive style. Yu Bai, sitting quietly off to the side, hadn’t fully understood the nuances, but he’d gotten the general sense.
He knew Go was also called finger talk, where each move was like a wordless exchange.
On that small board, the black Go stones advanced and retreated at will, exuding an all-conquering sharpness and dominance, as if they brooked no extraneous pieces—as if every unwelcome intruder had to be expelled without mercy.
Just like the sudden cold rejection from moments ago.
Such a temperament was striking on the board, eliciting gasps of admiration from onlookers and praise for the decisive, crushing victory.
But in everyday life, it lost that mere handsomeness.
Instead, it carried an indescribable sense of dread.
Because Yu Bai vaguely sensed that Xie Wufang’s aversion wasn’t limited to Tian Ge, Uncle Zhang, or Yan Jing, whom he’d mentioned offhand. Even the kitchen chefs he’d just chatted casually with seemed to draw that unique gaze, cold to an alarming degree.
It was just a matter of degree.
He missed the relatively milder indifference from before.
Moments later, Yu Bai took a gentle bite of the fragrant, soft osmanthus sugar lotus root. A rich, sweet aroma bloomed on his tongue, smoothing out a bit of the anxiety welling in his chest.
Sneaking this little extra treat together, Yu Bai chewed thoughtfully, then asked the man across from him with careful tentativeness, “Are you not fully recovered yet?”
Xie Wufang, who was eating the lotus root as well, paused in his movements before replying, “Yes.”
“So…” Yu Bai glanced at the winter mist condensing on the windowpane and pressed on, “you can’t control your power right now?”
The gods hadn’t yet returned summer to this world.
“Mm.”
Surrounded by the scent of the sugar lotus root, the black-haired man nodded candidly.
“I’ve lost control,” he said in a low voice. “My power… and other things. I’m sorry.”
He spoke so bluntly that Yu Bai felt a wave of surprise followed by an easing of the inexplicable tension that had gripped him. He no longer dwelled on those strange anomalies.
Xie Wufang’s odd behavior that evening was indeed because his condition hadn’t fully stabilized.
Sick humans grew sensitive and fragile.
A sick god acting a bit more domineering seemed reasonable enough.
Humans were inherently weak, after all, while gods possessed unmatched power.
In moments of faltering willpower and slipping control, such shifts in demeanor were only natural.
Yu Bai decided his tolerance should extend further for a patient in such a delicate phase. It was temporary, after all.
Moreover, Xie Wufang had only “fallen ill” because of him.
So how, exactly, had the god intended to fulfill his wish to return to the real world?
