Chapter 10

Jiang Chu tossed the hangover cure in his hand, staring at Qin Zui’s back of his head for a long time, his words catching in his throat.

In the end, he decided not to remind Qin Zui this was his house, just for the sake of the medicine box.

Lazing around the apartment with nothing to do, Jiang Chu was startled to find there was basically nothing that needed his attention.

Even before Qin Zui showed up, he’d only tidy up once every ten days or two weeks. But dealing with Zhou Teng’s cat poop, cat food, and water bowl was still a necessary chore he’d always done himself.

Ever since Qin Zui moved in, he hadn’t touched any of that.

The mountain of clothes that used to pile up on the living room couch for weeks at a time had also stopped appearing.

He made a special trip to the bathroom to check—even the toilet was spotless.

—So who exactly was doing all these chores? I think everyone here already knows the answer.

Jiang Chu had no choice but to pour some laundry detergent into the washing machine and throw in the clothes he’d changed out of yesterday.

As he poured the detergent, his mind started replaying UC-style clickbait headlines on a loop.

With the hum of the washing machine in the background, the smell of the noodles Qin Zui was cooking started to waft through the apartment. From yesterday’s memory of Qin Zui carrying him home on his back, all the way to today, Jiang Chu silently filed him into the “Snail Boy” category.

Even though he was already sick of noodles, Jiang Chu had to admit that right now, some hangover medicine and vegetable noodles were the perfect cure for his hungover stomach.

Even though Qin Zui hadn’t even served him a bowl—just filled his own and sat down to eat—Jiang Chu shamelessly waltzed into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of noodles for himself.

“It smells pretty good. You got enough?” He sat down across from Qin Zui with his bowl, took a taste, and found it decent, making small talk since he had nothing better to say.

He hadn’t really expected Qin Zui to answer, but Qin Zui lifted his eyelids, glanced at him, and said, “Nope.”

Jiang Chu froze for a second, then instantly understood.

This little shit was doing it on purpose!

He’d made a whole huge pot! You could feed a whole pig with that much!

He was still getting payback!

Jiang Chu almost laughed, but said nothing, picking up a single bite of noodles from his own bowl and dropping it into Qin Zui’s. “I thought you were gonna ignore me for another week.”

This time, it was Qin Zui’s turn to freeze, his chopsticks hovering mid-air.

Jiang Chu didn’t bother figuring out what particular brand of OCD he was suffering from this time. He was genuinely hungry, so he just lowered his head and started scarfing down his food.

Qin Zui dropped his gaze and silently continued eating his own noodles.

After they’d eaten their fill, Jiang Chu took the initiative to do the dishes, feeling a little guilty.

Even though it was Sunday, he basically worked for himself running his own company, so there weren’t really any real days off. He still had a job to finish today.

Before heading to the study to start work, he deliberately grabbed his phone and went to Qin Zui’s room, wanting to add him on WeChat.

He really didn’t want to experience a second time the feeling of needing to contact someone and having no way to do it.

Jiang Chu was used to living alone, so he just knocked on the door, shouted “Qin Zui,” and barged straight in.

Who knew his luck with catching Qin Zui in awkward situations would be so consistent? Like the universe had a vendetta against his lower half. As he pushed open the door, Qin Zui happened to be pulling his pants down, his back to the door. His underwear caught on the way down, exposing a strip of lean waist and hip, and the top of his ass crack.

Jiang Chu’s lips twitched, ready to crack a joke.

Hearing him, Qin Zui, in a move straight out of a movie, yanked his pants back up with a swish.

“That’s pretty…” Jiang Chu wanted to say sexy… very sexy.

But meeting Qin Zui’s murderous glare, he wisely averted his eyes and shut his mouth.

“Can you knock?” Qin Zui was genuinely pissed, practically grinding his teeth.

“Sorry,” Jiang Chu finally understood that you couldn’t communicate with Qin Zui the same casual, rough way you’d talk to a regular guy. The kid was way too sensitive. “I’m used to living alone. Even at the office, I just knock and go in.”

Qin Zui said nothing, just refastened his belt and turned to face Jiang Chu.

“Does it… still hurt?” Jiang Chu gestured with his chin toward Qin Zui’s crotch.

Qin Zui’s eyebrow twitched in exasperation. He lunged forward, tripping Jiang Chu onto the bed, seemingly aiming to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Jiang Chu’s heel caught on the bed frame, otherwise he wouldn’t have been taken down so easily.

Still a bit dizzy, Jiang Chu was shoved onto the bed with his head spinning. He quickly grabbed Qin Zui’s hand, which was already reaching for his waistband, and made a “okay, okay, okay” gesture. “Stop messing around. My head hurts.”

He choked on his own spit, turning his head to cough a couple of times. He was only wearing shorts, his torso bare. The movement pulled the tendons in his neck and shoulders taut, his chest heaving with the effort.

Qin Zui had one leg braced against the edge of the bed, wedged between Jiang Chu’s thighs. He stared down at him for a long moment, then shook off Jiang Chu’s hand, stepped back, and leaned against the wardrobe.

“Add me on WeChat, and save my number, too.” Jiang Chu didn’t bother getting up. Since Qin Zui wasn’t pulling on him, he just lay comfortably on his back and tossed his phone over.

Jiang Chu’s phone had no password. Qin Zui caught it, tapped a few times, and only entered the phone number.

He didn’t want to scan someone else’s WeChat, so he tossed the phone back onto Jiang Chu’s stomach and went to grab his own phone from under his pillow.

Jiang Chu picked up his phone and looked. Qin Zui had saved himself in the contacts as “Qin Zui.”

He dialed Qin Zui’s number. A jarring ringtone like a broken gong suddenly blasted from right beside him, making Jiang Chu jump.

It was almost as bad as those crappy speakers blasting square dancing music in the neighborhood garden every day.

“What the hell is that?” He looked at the phone Qin Zui had just pulled out.

Qin Zui was holding an ancient brick of a phone—thick, old, and worn, with chipped paint on the edges. He expressionlessly hung up on Jiang Chu’s call.

Jiang Chu opened his mouth, really wanting to say, “What the hell is that?” But thinking it might have been his dad’s old phone, he just shut up.

He propped himself on his elbows and sat up, pulling up his QR code for Qin Zui to scan.

Qin Zui leaned next to him, tapping on his phone. Jiang Chu caught a glimpse of the logo peeking through Qin Zui’s fingers on the back of the phone and felt a headache coming on.

O…

Wait, can this thing even scan a QR code?

Why does it look like it has two rows of keys on the bottom?

Qin Zui tapped the WeChat icon on the desktop. They both stared at the screen for a few seconds. It opened.

Qin Zui pressed “Scan,” and the screen went black for a while. Jiang Chu’s screen had already timed out, and he turned it back on just as the scan frame on Qin Zui’s phone finally appeared.

“Your phone…” Jiang Chu heard the loud DING of a successful scan and struggled to keep his face straight. “It’s old, huh?”

Qin Zui ignored him. With an indifferent expression, he tapped a few more times, and Jiang Chu finally received a friend request.

“q-2nd-tone-zui” has requested to add you as a frien…

“What the hell is that?!” Jiang Chu couldn’t take it anymore and threw his phone onto the bed.

Qin Zui was probably busy changing Jiang Chu’s contact name, leaning against the wardrobe and still tapping on his phone, ignoring him completely.

“Just use pinyin! ‘Qin’! Q! What’s with ‘Q-2nd-tone’…” Jiang Chu was exasperated, on the verge of laughing. “Is your phone just not capable of typing it?”

“Are we done?” Qin Zui finally looked at him, his tone implying if we’re done, get out.

“Your phone is junk.” Jiang Chu stood up and headed for the living room.

He couldn’t care less about sentimental attachments at this point. He’d been a student once. If Qin Zui took that piece of junk to school tomorrow, he’d be friendless before he even sat down.

“I’ll take you out to buy a new one now, or I can give you an old one I have to use for now.” Jiang Chu dug out the phone he’d replaced just two months ago. It was still in pretty good shape.

Even if it wasn’t new, it was twenty-eight thousand times better than Qin Zui’s O-phone.

“Just swap the SIM card. You can keep your old one properly if you want.” He tossed the phone to Qin Zui.

Qin Zui frowned, looking at Jiang Chu.

“What are you looking at? If you think your phone is good enough to show off, how come you didn’t bring it when we went out to eat?” Jiang Chu leaned against the doorframe, returning his look firmly, showing no sign of compromise on the issue.

Qin Zui didn’t argue that overly realistic point. After a moment’s thought, he only asked, “How much? I’ll pay you for it.”

“Old phone, don’t worry about it.” Jiang Chu said, “And change your WeChat name, too.”

Jiang Chu really couldn’t figure out how many times Qin Zui must have been called the wrong thing to come up with a name like that.

Qin Zui didn’t take the suggestion seriously. He just said one word: “No.”

“You…” Jiang Chu was speechless. He turned his head and laughed, then looked back at Qin Zui. “Then change it to ‘Coolest’! That’s great! ‘Baddest’! ‘Most Awesome’! How about it, ‘Q Most Awesome’?”

The corner of Qin ‘Q Most Awesome’s’ mouth involuntarily twitched up. He looked at the phone in his hand, then tilted his head back to look at Jiang Chu, as if he found him amusing.

Jiang Chu was about to say something else when Qin Zui’s broken-gong phone suddenly started ringing.

Qin Zui glanced at the caller ID, then looked at Jiang Chu, his expression clearly telling him to get out so he could take the call.

Even without the look, Jiang Chu was already on his way. He couldn’t stand the sound of that ringtone. It was audio pollution.

He grabbed his own phone from the bed and headed out, even thoughtfully closing the door for Qin Zui. He couldn’t help but wonder, with all this secrecy, it might be Qin Zui’s girlfriend back in his small town.

But that off-brand phone’s speaker was way too loud. The door hadn’t clicked shut all the way, and when Qin Zui answered, Jiang Chu could still hear the voice leaking out.

It was muffled, but it started with a “Little Brother Qin Zui.”

Too bad it wasn’t a girlfriend. It was a guy.

So the grumpy kid actually had friends back home.

No wonder Qin Zui had been living at his place for days and he’d never heard him make or receive a call. He must have been contacting them while Jiang Chu was at work.

Jiang Chu couldn’t help but imagine a guy about Qin Zui’s age, holding some equally crappy knock-off phone to match Qin Zui’s O-whatever.

He was spacing out in the hallway for a second when Qin Zui let out a low “Mm-hmm” into the phone, took two steps forward, and thump! pushed the door shut from the inside.

“Damn.” Jiang Chu almost got his nose caught. He laughed and gave Qin Zui’s door a half-hearted kick before heading to his study to get his own work done.

So the kid could talk softly when he wanted to.