Chapter 6: The Older Lover – 6: The Plot Is Progressing Well

Luo Yan actually had no idea that Yan Qinghan had just been fired by the supermarket that day.

He simply figured that tutoring, at least, spared one from wind and sun, and was a good deal better than odd jobs outside.

When Yan Qinghan first started working, he’d considered tutoring too. But few families were willing to hire a high schooler as a tutor in the first place, and the one or two who were took one look at Yan Qinghan’s height and build, decided he could never keep their kids in line, and dropped the idea.

The aunties complaining about their grandsons’ grades weren’t introduced by Uncle Zhang at all. Luo Yan had used another “Query Details” chance, painstakingly found people with this need among the crowd, and then, through Uncle Zhang’s roundabout connections, gotten in touch with them.

Fortunately, the moment the aunties heard which high school Yan Qinghan attended and what his grades were like, with a venerable old-timer like Uncle Zhang vouching for him, they set tutoring times on the spot, practically begging Yan Qinghan to start immediately.

Once everything was tidied up and the tutoring time and place settled, Luo Yan opened the door to leave.

Yan Qinghan hesitated, then followed him to the door, watching Luo Yan. “If you… if you’re coming again…”

Luo Yan turned back with a smile. “Of course I’m coming again.”

The boy bit his lip, took a key ring from his pocket, and detached one key. “Then… I’ll give you a key.”

Luo Yan reached out and took the key, face full of pleasant surprise. “Really? Wonderful!”

Yan Qinghan said, “Otherwise you’d have to wait for me every time, and you’d be getting home so late every day…”

Yan Qinghan didn’t finish, but Luo Yan knew what the boy must be thinking: Getting home this late still isn’t safe.

But Luo Yan didn’t say it aloud. He just smiled and waved at Yan Qinghan.

The next day, no longer able to work at the supermarket, Yan Qinghan had planned to collect recyclables after school. But when the time actually came, he felt too restless. In the end, he abandoned the plan and ran straight home.

As he moved to open the door, his hand nearly couldn’t grip the icy-cold key.

He kept repeating to himself: Maybe Luo Yan can’t come today. Maybe Uncle Zhang assigned him some other task. He’s not home. He’s not home. Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get your hopes up…

Then, with a soft click, the door opened from the inside.

Luo Yan, wearing an apron, a spatula raised in one hand, pulled the door open with the other. “Little Han, you’re back!”

Yan Qinghan looked at Luo Yan’s smiling face, at the steaming rice cooker behind him, at the fruit piled on the counter. His nose stung faintly. He only said “Mm” and hurried to the desk.

Dinner was braised chicken wings, stir-fried leaf lettuce, and a soup of bamboo shoots and lean pork.

The reason there were chicken wings at all was that Madam Yan had glanced at the menu ahead of time, found chicken wings too greasy and rich for her taste, and told the servants not to make them. Which worked out perfectly for Luo Yan.

The plump chicken wings, braised dark brown in rich oil and thick sauce, were soft and tender, perfect for a growing teenager like Yan Qinghan, who never tired of rich food and could never eat enough.

The leaf lettuce was light and refreshing, just the thing to cut the richness of the wings. As for the bamboo shoot and lean pork soup, Luo Yan had soaked the dried bamboo shoots from the “Mid-Autumn gifts” in advance and simmered them into something incredibly savory.

This time, the two of them ate sitting down.

Luo Yan had gone out that afternoon and bought two folding plastic stools. Ugly, perhaps, but sturdy enough.

Sitting on the stool, Yan Qinghan’s appetite seemed even better than the previous two times, shoveling rice and reaching for dish after dish. Luo Yan had to softly remind him, “Slow down, slow down.”

After the meal, Luo Yan again refused Yan Qinghan’s help with the cleanup and shooed him off to do homework.

After washing the pots and dishes, Luo Yan peeled an orange and set it beside Yan Qinghan, asking casually, “Is the homework hard?”

Yan Qinghan breathed in the orange scent filling the room but didn’t pick up the orange right away. He only shook his head. “Not hard.”

Luo Yan glanced over and saw the boy was apparently writing an essay.

An essay. Good. Even as an academic failure, this much I should be able to understand.

So Luo Yan asked again, “Writing an essay? What’s it about?”

The boy put down his pen, raised his head, and gazed at Luo Yan with bright black eyes, saying quietly, “A story. For an essay competition.”

Under the orange lamplight, Yan Qinghan sitting on the stool with his head tilted up toward Luo Yan looked exactly like a puppy waiting for its owner, hoping to have his head patted, hoping to be asked more questions.

Luo Yan couldn’t help reaching out to ruffle Yan Qinghan’s slightly messy hair, speaking in the coaxing tone one uses with children. “Wow, an essay competition? So what’s the story about?”

And Yan Qinghan told him everything, from beginning to end.

It turned out the homeroom teacher had relayed news of an essay competition open to high school students across the city. Winning the top prize meant not only a certificate and a trophy, and one’s essay printed in the citywide newspapers, but also a cash prize of 3,000 yuan. Students who wanted to enter just needed to prepare their essays and hand them to the homeroom teacher by next week.

For the current Yan Qinghan, 3,000 yuan was equivalent to two years of his school fees. It mattered far too much, which was why he was preparing so earnestly.

And the story he was writing was something he had lived through himself:

Last year, while helping out at a small shop, Yan Qinghan met a child who looked not yet ten. The child had tried to sneak off with a set of paintbrushes and was caught by the shopkeeper. But the shopkeeper didn’t call the child a thief. Instead, he had the child help Yan Qinghan haul goods and mind the store. After the child had hauled goods for two days straight, the shopkeeper gave him the paintbrushes and told him, “You’ve earned these. Paint well.”

After telling the story, Yan Qinghan stared unblinkingly at Luo Yan, waiting for his verdict.

Luo Yan nodded firmly and praised him with complete sincerity. “I think it’s a wonderful story.”

Yan Qinghan smiled.

With a somewhat embarrassed look, he said quietly, “Mm. I think so too.”

Watching Yan Qinghan’s smile, Luo Yan was inexplicably reminded of dogs again, and not just any dog, but a little puppy that had just learned to go down the stairs by itself and been praised by its owner.

When this boy doesn’t smile it’s one thing, but when he smiles, he’s just too heartbreakingly adorable, Luo Yan marveled inwardly.

Still, that ragged hair of Yan Qinghan’s was doing his looks no favors. Tomorrow was Saturday. He absolutely had to drag the boy to a barbershop for a proper haircut.

Early Saturday morning, Yan Qinghan transferred twice on the bus, following the address Luo Yan had written down, to tutor a child.

Though Yan Qinghan rarely spoke in daily life, when he explained problems, he was simple, clear, and easy to follow. And his gloomy aura seemed to come with a built-in “tame-the-brat” field that could make even the most restless little kid sit and listen attentively for a full forty minutes.

The parent watching nearby felt like they’d struck gold. Not only did they keep Yan Qinghan for lunch, they talked him into teaching another two hours in the afternoon.

As Yan Qinghan walked home with 120 yuan tucked in his pocket, he kept repeating to himself: It’s Saturday today. Luo Yan definitely won’t come. Definitely won’t come…

So when Luo Yan once again popped up to open the door for him, he nearly lost control and broke into a silly grin.

But he held it in after all, leaving his whole face in that awkward state where the delight in his eyes couldn’t be hidden, yet he refused to smile outright.

“Hm? That happy just from tutoring?” Luo Yan spotted the smile in Yan Qinghan’s eyes at a glance, and couldn’t help being curious.

Yan Qinghan didn’t explain. He simply went along with it. “Mm. I earned a lot of money.”

Luo Yan nodded. “That’s great. Now, first things first: we’re going somewhere.”

With that, without even letting Yan Qinghan inside, Luo Yan dragged the boy straight to the barbershop outside the complex.

Luo Yan had expected Yan Qinghan to put up a fight, but the boy went in obediently and let the barber start snipping away.

Ten minutes later, the full contours of Yan Qinghan’s face were revealed.

Even with his sallow complexion, even with his features not yet fully grown into, his bone structure was superb; once grown up, he was bound to be a beauty no one could forget.

And the Yan Qinghan of now was a frail, heart-tuggingly lovely little beauty.

Looking at Yan Qinghan in the mirror, Luo Yan couldn’t help marveling inwardly: “System, why do I find Yan Qinghan so pleasing to look at! That kind of pleasing where the moment you see someone, you want to stuff every good thing in the world into their hands.”

The System replied: [That’s because he’s the protagonist. It’s called protagonist halo. Understand?]

The barber, having just finished blow-drying Yan Qinghan’s hair, had probably also fallen under the spell of that protagonist halo. He grabbed the shop’s apprentice and helper and started lecturing on the spot: “Look! Look how handsome this kid is! Look how successful this haircut of mine is!”

Watching Yan Qinghan’s cheeks slowly flush red, Luo Yan thought, the boy’s getting embarrassed, and quickly hauled him out of there.

On Sunday, Yan Qinghan spent the whole day tutoring an eighth grader.

Over the whole weekend, he earned a full 240 yuan, wages that used to take him days of continuous work at the supermarket.

If this tutoring gig could continue steadily, he wouldn’t have to hunt for odd jobs everywhere, and could spend more time studying and doing problems…

Yan Qinghan hugged his backpack with the envelope inside and hurried home, wanting to share the joy with Luo Yan.

But Luo Yan didn’t pop up to open the door.

The apartment was as before: quiet, cold, shrouded in the dim evening sky, without light.

Yan Qinghan stood at the door for a few seconds before finding the light cord and pulling on the ceiling lamp.

At a glance he saw a stack of clothes piled on the wooden chair he usually sat on, with a note resting on top.

The note read:

“Little Han, Uncle Zhang said his eldest grandson has some old clothes he only wore once or twice, and asked me to bring them to you. See if they fit? — Luo Yan”

Yan Qinghan unfolded the clothes and found they were all autumn and winter jackets or hoodies, actually quite nice in style and the right size.

Judging by the degree of washing, they did indeed look like they’d been worn once or twice.

The Yan Qinghan of now couldn’t care less about wearing someone else’s hand-me-downs, even though he had once always been the one donating clothes away.

He knew very well now that he needed shelter from wind and rain, needed to eat his fill and dress warm, needed health and diligent study. Only then could he possibly live on properly, and keep those people from laughing at him.

He tidied the clothes and hung them in the wardrobe one by one.

But when he turned over the care label of one of the garments, he froze: at the very bottom of the label, a line of tiny, easily missed characters marked this piece as this year’s new style.

And Uncle Zhang’s eldest grandson was powerfully built and already in college this year. These small-sized clothes, if truly his, should be from many years ago. How could they be this year’s new styles?

Yan Qinghan walked to the desk and picked up the note Luo Yan had left, reading it again with a complicated expression.

In the servants’ quarters of the Yan Family residence, Luo Yan was so exhausted he’d collapsed straight onto the bed.

That day, he’d gone early to the clothing wholesale market and bought several thick garments. Then he’d spent the entire day splashing them with water and blow-drying them, finally managing to make the jackets look no longer brand new.

He’d delivered the clothes before Yan Qinghan got out of class, leaving a note as well.

As for why he’d done it:

Yesterday, after Yan Qinghan’s haircut, he hadn’t been able to resist cupping the boy’s face and praising his looks over and over.

The boy had smiled sheepishly even as he shivered.

Only then did Luo Yan realize a problem: for Yan Qinghan, that overly long hair might actually have served to keep him warm…

Now that his neck was completely bare, wasn’t he colder than before?

At the thought, Luo Yan was so regretful he wanted to smack his own forehead.

Remembering the sight of Yan Qinghan shivering in the cold wind, Luo Yan had decided on the spot: he absolutely had to buy the boy some clothes.

Anyway, the System had said nothing he did would disturb the plot, so he might as well follow his heart.

As if to affirm the thought, Luo Yan, drowsy in bed, received another [Plot Update]:

[A single meal, a single piece of clothing: to the current Yan Qinghan, all of it seemed precious beyond measure, worth treasuring well.]

See? The plot was progressing beautifully!

Luo Yan fell asleep, satisfied.