Chapter 18

When they got home, Qiao Ning’s co-renting roommates were already back. Hearing the door, the young couple both looked toward the entrance.

The male roommate’s face was full of anger: “Qiao—”

Then he saw the big men filing in behind Qiao Ning—especially Zhang Bowen, nearly one-point-nine meters tall, with powerful, intimidating arms.

That pent-up, suppressed rage deflated like a punctured balloon, silently leaking away.

Qiao Ning gave him a single glance and couldn’t be bothered to say even one word.

He’d meant to talk to him this morning about not opening the window for ventilation after showering, but now it was obvious he’d been doing it on purpose. In that case, talking was pointless.

He was moving out soon anyway. Let them live however they wanted.

As for why the guy was angry again—it wasn’t hard to guess. Qiao Ning had taken away all his personal items from the bathroom, left not a single toiletry behind; even the near-empty shampoo bottle was locked away in his bedroom.

The presence of Zhang Bowen and the others kept the couple, who had been planning to pick a fight, quiet as mice.

“Fifth Brother…” Zhang Bowen was big but attentive. He’d noticed the roommates’ inconsistent attitudes, frowned, and looked at Qiao Ning, silently asking whether he needed help.

“It’s fine.” Qiao Ning gave him a reassuring smile. These two bullied the weak and feared the strong—all they dared do was petty little schemes behind people’s backs.

He opened his bedroom door and let his roommates carry away the two boxes of fruit.

The cherry tomatoes’ fragrance wasn’t as strong as strawberries’, but quantity made up for it. The moment Qiao Ning opened his door, a wave of fruity scent washed out. The couple nestling in the living room drooled with envy.

The female roommate couldn’t help staring at the cardboard boxes they were carrying, trying to see what brand, which store. But they were just ordinary boxes Qiao Ning had ordered online—no logo at all. She saw nothing.

After seeing his roommates off, Qiao Ning went straight back to his bedroom and shut the door, too lazy to maintain even a token politeness.

When he showered, he carried his toiletries to the bathroom and took them back afterward.

His read had been right—those two bullied the weak and feared the strong. Today, with his roommates around, they didn’t even dare badmouth him in the living room.

What Qiao Ning hadn’t expected, though, was that when he woke the next day, he got a message from the landlady: the couple had gone to complain about him, saying he’d brought a crowd of people home, disturbing them.

Qiao Ning: “?”

Excuse me? His roommates hadn’t even set foot inside the night before; total time, less than five minutes.

The couple wasn’t home during the day, so Qiao Ning swallowed his anger for now and took care of what needed doing.

First, he ordered some cardboard boxes online for shipping the accelerated blueberries later. Based on the strawberries and cherry tomatoes, blueberry plants exposed to high-concentration Spirit Spring Water would wither after fruiting, and then he could just toss them.

Besides the three blueberry pots, Qiao Ning also had a small kumquat and an aloe vera.

Small kumquats, though technically fruit, generally weren’t eaten raw—the texture wasn’t good, with a bitter, numbing taste many people couldn’t accept.

They were more often eaten after processing—steeped in water, simmered in sweet soup, or candied.

Which meant small kumquats weren’t like strawberries and such—no free samples possible, and customer demand was low. For tea, two or three kumquats per cup could last half a day.

Blueberries would sell fast; the kumquats were a gamble.

Honestly, that pot of kumquat hadn’t cost much. To avoid exposing the Spirit Spring, the simplest solution was to kill it off and toss it.

But…

Qiao Ning crouched on the balcony looking at his little kumquat. He’d raised it so well. So many blooms—white petals, yellow stamens—scattered among the emerald leaves. Really quite lovely.

The floral fragrance was lovely too. Under the canopy of fruit scent filling the room it didn’t stand out, but up close it lingered, a delicate freshness distinct from the fruity aroma.

Qiao Ning couldn’t bear to kill it.

He’d always been sentimental about things. Sometimes he didn’t like something much when he bought it, but once it became his, he grew fonder the longer he looked.

He looked it up on his phone: plants could pass high-speed rail security checks, though there were size limits. This pot of kumquat was within range.

Worst case, he’d take it back to his hometown. A kumquat could live for years, and the hometown had plenty of land to plant it in.

And the aloe… it hadn’t flowered, but had put out quite a few new leaves, and the earliest ones had already grown to full size.

When Qiao Ning bought it, it had been a freebie, more or less. With nothing else pressing now, and the aloe having been watered with Spirit Spring Water for a while, he decided to test its effects.

The aloe he’d bought was the most common variety—Curacao aloe—the kind typically used as raw material for aloe vera gel. Otherwise, the potted-plant shop owner wouldn’t have mentioned that a previous customer had bought one to make handmade aloe gel.

Qiao Ning planned to make some himself and see. His aloe had grown incredibly well—layer upon layer of leaves, each one thick and plump.

He searched online for handmade aloe gel tutorials. A few extra materials were needed, so he ordered a gelling agent, an antibacterial agent, and rose hydrosol. Small quantities, not expensive.

While searching, Qiao Ning also discovered, to his surprise, that this kind of aloe was actually edible—in small amounts. Eat too much and you’d get diarrhea.

The gel materials hadn’t arrived yet, and unable to resist his curiosity, at noon Qiao Ning cut two large aloe leaves and cooked them.

Following the online tutorial: peel, slice, blanch, stir-fry. The taste… how to put it? A bit like winter melon in texture, only stickier. Not exactly bad, not exactly good.

Sure enough—anything that never took off as food must have its reasons.

The materials hadn’t arrived, and the afternoon was free. Qiao Ning was slowly learning to enjoy life at a slower pace now: he ordered a cup of milk tea, prepared some snacks, washed a plate of cherry tomatoes, and put on a highly rated movie—before, he’d never had the time to sit down comfortably and spend an hour or two, or longer, watching a film.

Even when he had the time, he couldn’t enjoy it. His insides would churn with anxiety, that worry of wasting time. It wasn’t that the movie didn’t deserve the hours—it was himself. He carried a heavy sense of urgency, and of unworthiness.

That was another word he’d only come across recently, from spending more time online. Thinking about it, it really did fit.

Perhaps because he’d been losing things since childhood, gaining too little, and only ever through desperate struggle, behind Qiao Ning’s seemingly carefree, desire-free exterior hid a tiny, pitiful possessiveness.

He wanted very few things, but he treasured what was wholly his. And if he felt something no longer belonged to him, he could drop it just like that.

Come to think of it, never having time for movies did have one upside—there was now an ocean of brilliant films to choose from.

During this period of movie-watching, whatever was well-reviewed turned out delicious to Qiao Ning no matter which he picked. Like his milk tea: as long as he chose the bestsellers, he basically never missed.

Yes, his taste was just that mainstream.

An afternoon spent with a good film—cozy. Qiao Ning tidied up the snack wrappers and milk tea cups and only then picked up his phone.

The same messages as always: regular customers asking if he had fruit, strawberries or cherry tomatoes, either would do.

Qiao Ning couldn’t help smiling faintly. Spirit Spring fruit conquering human taste buds was inevitable. Who could refuse this kind of deliciousness?

Of the fruit he’d deliberately set aside for himself yesterday, the strawberries were gone, and of the five or six jin of cherry tomatoes, less than half remained. He’d pop a couple whenever the mood struck.

The liveliest was his roommates’ group chat. Zhang Bowen and the others were showing off the fruit Qiao Ning had given them to Third Brother and Fourth Brother, who were far away in another city, and the conversation somehow devolved into an argument about who had gotten up in the middle of the night to sneak a snack.

By the end, it turned out all three of them had gotten up in the night to steal fruit.

Qiao Ning was thoroughly entertained. The two who hadn’t gotten any were howling with envy.

Having had milk tea, snacks, and fruit in the afternoon, Qiao Ning wasn’t very hungry, so dinner came late.

While cooking noodles in the kitchen, he heard the door open and walked out, spatula in hand.

Qiao Ning’s good looks were universally acknowledged—every feature exquisite, his eyes the most striking. His double eyelids were deep, his thick, curling lashes fluttered faintly, his gaze clear. When he focused on someone, it even gave an illusion of excessive tenderness.

What troubled Qiao Ning more was that he had a natural smiling mouth—the moment his expression softened even slightly, he looked like he was smiling.

Paired with those beautiful, peach-blossom eyes, his face was perhaps a touch too seductive.

In the first half of his life, his looks had won him favors, but also some ugly, unspeakable abuse and insults. Qiao Ning had gradually learned to control his expressions, knowing how to use them to convey emotion and project pressure.

So when he went completely cold, anyone could sense the clear detachment and rejection radiating from him.

Including the couple who had just walked in.

They froze at the door. In theory, two against one gave a slight psychological advantage. Qiao Ning was only a bit taller than the man, and his build was arguably slender.

But the way he stood there with cold brows and colder eyes made them instinctively cower. The spatula in his hand might as well have been a kitchen knife.

“I’m ignoring you because I can’t be bothered—not because I’m afraid of you.” Qiao Ning’s tone was as usual, only colder in pitch. “Provoke me again, and I’ll find people to deal with you.”