Jiang Shi really thought Cheng Ye was sick in the head.

Traveling all the way across a county, lugging huge bags, just to come swap out his bedsheets and quilt cover.

But he had to admit, the set Cheng Ye bought looked much better than the childish bear-print one Jiang Xue had picked for him. The quality also felt nicer — though who knew where Cheng Ye got the money.

After Jiang Shi finished a bowl of double-skin milk, Cheng Ye had already finished changing the bedding, tucking in every corner neatly. It was way better than how his previous roommate had clumsily thrown it on.

Jiang Shi said, “How much did you pay? I’ll give you the money.”

With a long reach, Cheng Ye flicked the quilt lightly — it floated down neatly over Jiang Shi’s bed. Finally satisfied, he ignored Jiang Shi’s words and instead picked up one of the bags. He tore open the top, releasing the rich fragrance of roast chicken.

“I brought roast chicken. Want some?”

Jiang Shi didn’t get the chance to hand over any money, and somehow ended up following Cheng Ye out for a meal. Gao Xinhe tagged along as well.

Seeing Cheng Ye, Gao Xinhe looked even more excited than Jiang Shi. The moment he spotted the roast chicken in Cheng Ye’s hand, he nearly wanted to kneel down and call him dad.

“Bro, you’re my real brother! You knew I’ve been suffering in the cafeteria, so you came to reward me specially.”

Cheng Ye mercilessly replied, “It’s for Jiang Shi.”

Gao Xinhe: “…”

Thick-skinned, he said, “Doesn’t matter, giving it to my little cousin’s fine. His appetite’s small anyway. Whatever he leaves, I’ll eat.”

A display of absolutely no dignity.

This time it was Jiang Shi’s turn: “…”

Cheng Ye asked the boss for a plate, put on gloves, and started tearing the chicken. Jiang Shi, meanwhile, held the menu to order some skewers for himself.

He had a light palate, so even at a barbecue place he avoided chili. After flipping through, he only ordered a few mild skewers.

Once done, he passed the menu to Gao Xinhe. “Pick whatever you want. My treat.”

Cheng Ye glanced at him but didn’t argue.

When he’d come back this time, he had advanced part of his wages, so he wasn’t broke for the moment. But considering how inappropriate it already was for him to rush back across the distance just to see Jiang Shi, if he fought to pay for dinner too, even someone as thick-headed as Gao Xinhe would start suspecting something was off.

Cheng Ye placed the shredded chicken in front of Jiang Shi. “I didn’t let the boss add chili. Try it.”

Jiang Shi carefully rinsed his chopsticks in hot water, then slowly picked up a piece. Cheng Ye was right — the taste was actually pretty good. Even without chili, even slightly cooled, the skin was still crispy and the inside tender.

Gao Xinhe was practically drooling. “Cousin, how is it? Tasty?”

Cheng Ye tossed him the chicken bones.

At his age and appetite, even if Cheng Ye gave him the chicken butt, he would gnaw at it happily. Since the chicken had no chili, he just asked the boss for some chili powder on the side. As he ate, he asked Cheng Ye, “Bro, when are you leaving this time?”

Cheng Ye hadn’t eaten any himself. Sitting back, his eyes rested on Jiang Shi across from him. “Tomorrow I’ll go home with you guys, the day after I’ll leave.”

Gao Xinhe pressed further, “How’s it over there? Good pay? Hard work?”

“Not bad.”

The answer made Gao Xinhe restless. “If I don’t get into college, I’ll just go dig coal with you.”

He was timid, with no big ambitions, just wanting to stick by Cheng Ye.

But Cheng Ye refused without hesitation. “Don’t. You’re not fit for it.”

Unconvinced, Gao Xinhe tried to argue, but Jiang Shi kicked him under the table. “Big cousin, you think anyone can just do that kind of job? Forget whether you could handle it — if your dad found out, he’d probably break your legs.”

Gao Xinhe: “…”

He shrank his neck.

The restaurant wasn’t busy, so the food came quickly. Jiang Shi’s mild skewers were placed aside, looking pale and plain compared to the ones in front of Cheng Ye.

After a couple slices of potato, the spicy fragrance from the others drifted over. The richer it smelled, the blander Jiang Shi’s potatoes became in his mouth.

He nudged Cheng Ye with his elbow. “Let me try a bit.”

Cheng Ye swapped to a clean pair of chopsticks and picked out a potato skewer from his plate. He scraped most of the chili off, leaving only a little — enough for some flavor without overwhelming Jiang Shi.

Jiang Shi accepted it, first cautiously sniffing, then tentatively biting a small piece.

It wasn’t that he was picky — but back in Jiangcheng, dishes were extremely light. Any strong spice added in stood out harshly, and chili especially had an odd sweetness mixed into its heat that he disliked.

But Lincheng was different — here the food was always heavily seasoned, and every restaurant smelled like chili from the moment you walked in.

After being surrounded by that fragrance for so long, Jiang Shi’s resistance to chili began to weaken.

He had mentally prepared himself for a shock. But to his surprise, the taste was completely unlike what he’d eaten back home — just pure spiciness, sharp and aromatic, followed by the tingling numbness of Sichuan peppercorn.

Since he’d never eaten chili before, even after Cheng Ye scraped most of it away, Jiang Shi still couldn’t help letting out a soft “hiss” at the burn.

Cheng Ye turned to look at him.

The boy in his school uniform cradled a teacup, taking a sip of water, his eyes shining with moisture. Lips reddened, he pressed them together as he savored the lingering flavor — then immediately went back in for another bite.

One mouthful of potato, one sip of tea. By the end, his lips were darker than usual.

He exhaled slowly, just as he sensed someone leaning closer. They weren’t touching, but the boy’s vigorous heat seemed to pass through the air and his clothes.

Cheng Ye tilted slightly, his broad shoulders almost enclosing Jiang Shi. Taller, he looked down at him — eyes fixed on his lips, now flushed from the spice. His low voice asked, “Want more?”

Clutching his teacup, Jiang Shi ran his tongue lightly over his lips, leaving a sheen of moisture. Still catching his breath, he shook his head. “No more.”

Too stimulating. He needed to recover.

No response came from Cheng Ye. Curious, Jiang Shi glanced sideways.

Against the light, Cheng Ye’s eyes were shadowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. The hand holding the skewer tensed, veins standing out.

It looked like he was suppressing something. But the moment Jiang Shi looked his way, it sank back down, leaving only a blank, wooden exterior.

With a sharp push of his toe against the floor, Cheng Ye shoved his chair back, putting distance between them. He finished eating the rest.

–

That night Cheng Ye bunked with Gao Xinhe. The next morning, the three of them headed home.

Jiang Xue, knowing Jiang Shi was coming, had already soaked a cured pig trotter and just set it on the stove.

Circling Jiang Shi, she asked, “Well? How’s the new school? Getting along with classmates?”

Jiang Shi hadn’t brought anything, just a schoolbag slung on his back. Dropping it on a chair, he flopped down and answered lazily with half-shut eyes, “It’s fine. Used to it. Didn’t really interact.”

His limp posture made Jiang Xue itch to scold him, but remembering he’d been in classes all week, she held back.

Carrying his schoolbag away, she asked, “You came back with Xinhe?”

Soaking in the midday sun, Jiang Shi yawned. “Yeah. And Cheng Ye.”

“Cheng Ye?” Jiang Xue turned. “He came back too?”

“Mm. They have the weekend off.”

She paused, then asked, “Did you invite him to eat at our place?”

Half-melted into the chair under the spring sunlight, Jiang Shi looked like a sleepy cat. After a long beat, he finally reacted with confusion. “Why would I invite him?”

Jiang Xue glared. “His family’s empty, who’s he going to eat with? Besides, he took care of you all those days. Isn’t inviting him over the least you should do?”

The logic was sound. Jiang Shi sat up a bit. “But he’s the one who crashed into me. Isn’t it his duty to take care of me? I’ve already been nice enough not to ask him for medical bills and compensation for mental distress.”

Jiang Xue: “…”

This damn kid.

She dragged him up from the chair. “I’m about to cook. You go call Cheng Ye over.”

Jiang Shi protested, “What for? Besides, Xinhe’s around. Maybe he already went to his place.”

Jiang Xue snapped, “Where he goes is his business. Whether we invite him is ours. We can’t let people say we’re ungrateful.”

Under her glare, Jiang Shi had no choice but to head to Cheng Ye’s.

Early March was still a bit chilly, but warming up. On sunny days the wind would pick up, and cherry blossoms by the roadside had already begun to bloom.

The wind swept down from the valley, across mountains and fields, bringing spring’s hope to the quiet earth.

Cheng Ye’s house was still shabby. The red paint on the door had cracked and scabbed, full of ragged fissures.

The dismantled door had been crudely put back, groaning with every gust of wind.

Standing there, Jiang Shi called his name twice. No answer — only the sound of water came from the small courtyard to the side.

He hesitated, then walked around.

In the dazzling afternoon light, a tall boy stood beneath the cherry tree, shoulders broad, waist narrow, brimming with youthful vigor. Water splashed down his chest as he scooped it over himself.

The next second, sensing something, Cheng Ye turned his head — and saw Jiang Shi standing at the corner.

Jiang Shi: “…”

The scene felt annoyingly familiar.

Just as he thought of leaving, his gaze slipped down, catching sight of a scar across Cheng Ye’s abdomen, crawling like a centipede.

…

The cherry tree loomed large in the yard, its buds half-open, branches stretching into the blue sky above.

Jiang Shi plucked a blossom, rubbing the petals between his fingers until juice stained his hand.

Letting it drop, he asked, “What happened to your injury?”

Caught mid-bath, Cheng Ye hadn’t even dried off. He hastily pulled on a T-shirt, its collar soaked through.

He answered honestly, “A few days ago, the mine collapsed. I got hurt saving a coworker.”

Jiang Shi frowned. “Then why didn’t you mention it when you called me last week?”

Cheng Ye replied, “Not important.”

Jiang Shi wondered — was the injury not important, or was he not important?

A moment later, Cheng Ye clarified: “The injury’s not important. Won’t kill me.”

Jiang Shi: “…”

He wasn’t stupid. That scar looked long, and who knew how deep the wound had been. Not dying didn’t mean it hadn’t nearly cost him his life.

He couldn’t hold back: “If it collapses, it collapses. Just looking after yourself is hard enough — why bother saving others? You think you’re some hero?”

Sitting across, Cheng Ye watched sunlight fall across Jiang Shi’s face. The breeze stirred the cherry blossoms above him, scattering flecks of light across his features — like fragments of gold, vivid and dazzling, more brilliant than the blossoms themselves.

Wang Gang had been the mentor assigned to him when he first joined the mine. A slow, honest man, chatty, always talking about his family during breaks.

About his wife who broke her leg falling from scaffolding while renovating houses. About being scammed out of ten thousand yuan. About his three children still in school…

Pain twinged in his abdomen; Cheng Ye shifted his posture.

“I’m not a hero,” he said quietly. “Just…”

Just that when Wang Gang talked about his three children, the light in his eyes had been so intense, so full of hope. No one had ever looked at Cheng Ye like that before. So when Wang Gang slipped, Cheng Ye couldn’t stop himself from reaching out.

But the moment the shattered plank drove into his abdomen, he regretted it.

If he died, then who would visit Jiang Shi on the weekend?