When Jiang Shi opened his eyes again, it was already ten in the morning.

He gripped the corner of the blanket with both hands and sat up from under the bright red wedding quilt. The rash on his arms had subsided a lot overnight, leaving only faint rose-colored marks—like plum blossoms blooming in the snow.

The quilt had been borrowed by Jiang Xue from the neighbors next door. The couple had only recently married, so the quality of their wedding quilt was very good. But once the wedding was over, no one used it anymore, so they lent it to Jiang Shi.

When Jiang Shi saw the big red “Double Happiness” character embroidered on the quilt, he felt countless waves of reluctance inside. But Jiang Xue, with inexplicable strength from somewhere, had shoved and tucked him into it regardless.

Helpless, Jiang Shi could only curl up inside the bright red quilt all night, just like a new bride.

Now, with messy hair, sitting wrapped in the quilt, his cheeks flushed from sleep, his misty eyes made him look like a peeled, snow-white lychee.

The red dazzled the eyes; the white also dazzled the eyes.

Jiang Shi sat for a while before getting out of bed.

It was still cold today. His down jacket from yesterday was already dirty, so he randomly grabbed a thick hoodie to wear.

When he pushed the door open, Jiang Xue wasn’t there. Instead, he saw a tall figure crouching at the doorway.

Hearing the sound, the man turned around, and a pair of long, cold black eyes instantly locked with his.

Without the bangs covering them, Jiang Shi took a few seconds to realize who he was. He asked uncertainly, “Cheng Ye?”

Cheng Ye put down the kitchen knife in his hand. His gaze brushed over Jiang Shi’s face before lowering again, his long lashes shading his eyes, making him look especially honest and dull. “Mm, it’s me.”

Jiang Shi hadn’t expected him to really show up. Looking past him, he realized Cheng Ye was gutting a chicken.

“…”

Even less restrained than the homeowner himself.

Cheng Ye washed his hands clean and went inside to bring out the still-warm sweet potatoes and steamed buns. “Aunt Jiang said this is breakfast.”

He found a chair for Jiang Shi, watching as those slender pale fingers picked the best-looking sweet potato from the pile. Then Cheng Ye turned back into the house to fetch the herbal medicine Jiang Xue had prepared that morning.

The herbs had been made into a paste, ready to apply.

By now, the mist had lifted, the rain had stopped, and the distant mountains looked clear and translucent like a freshly washed ink painting. Jiang Shi had never seen scenery like this and was staring blankly when, suddenly, someone crouched down in front of him.

The scene overlapped with the night before. Only this time, Cheng Ye’s buzz-cut revealed all his sharp features—especially those deep, pitch-black eyes. When locked onto someone, they gave the chilling illusion of being hunted by a beast.

The next second, Cheng Ye lightly touched Jiang Shi’s pant leg and asked in a simple, honest voice, “Can I roll this up? You need to apply medicine.”

His tone was stiff, his movements timid—back to the “honest man” Jiang Shi was familiar with.

For someone so tall, crouching in front of him like this made Jiang Shi feel like he was bullying him.

“No need, I’ll do it myself…”

Cheng Ye showed him the black, sticky paste in his hand. “Dirty.”

It smelled indescribably foul.

The delicate young master pinching a sweet potato between his pale fingers really couldn’t bring himself to touch that paste.

Looking down at Cheng Ye’s bumpy buzzed head, Jiang Shi thought:

This guy seems clumsy and simple. He didn’t even get mad after what happened last night. Letting him apply the medicine should be fine… right?

The young master had been waited on all his life. Once he got past his hesitation, he calmly stretched his foot out. “Then be gentle.”

Cheng Ye rolled up his pant leg.

He had just woken up and hadn’t changed shoes or worn socks. His bare heel rested on Cheng Ye’s thigh, his foot arch taut, the skin so pale that the blue veins were visible.

His ankle, massaged by the doctor yesterday, wasn’t as swollen today. But when the cold wind brushed over it, a faint blush of pink rose.

Cheng Ye lowered his head, Adam’s apple bobbing. With his free hand, he cupped the bottom of Jiang Shi’s foot, thumb pressing lightly on the vein protruding across the arch, rubbing with just the right pressure.

Jiang Shi didn’t notice anything strange. It just felt ticklish. He squirmed and nudged Cheng Ye’s hand with his foot. “Hurry up, it tickles.”

Cheng Ye carefully applied the paste.

The moment it was done, the boy’s foot slipped from his palm like a fish, leaving him clutching only empty air.

But the faint fragrance lingering in the air came from flesh and blood—it wasn’t something ordinary people could notice.

Cheng Ye curled his hand into a fist, his gaze sinking.

Jiang Shi shoved his foot into the new knitted slippers Jiang Xue had made him, sitting lazily in the chair, munching on the sweet potato while watching Cheng Ye clean out the chicken. After a while, his eyes drifted again to that rough buzz-cut head.

“Hey!” he called. “Who cut your hair?”

“I did.”

Not bad work.

Jiang Shi tossed the sweet potato skin onto the ground, only to have a rooster snatch it away instantly. After finishing, the rooster still eyed the chicken innards greedily.

Jiang Shi: “…”

Same species, yet so ruthless.

Cheng Ye put the bowl of innards out of reach, then turned to see Jiang Shi had barely eaten half the sweet potato before hiccuping as if choking.

So he poured him a bowl of water.

Jiang Shi held the sweet potato in one hand and the bowl in the other, eating and drinking alternately. In the end, he left a small bit and tossed it to the rooster, who snatched it up and ran.

Jiang Shi stood slowly with the help of the wall.

Coal wasn’t worth much these days. Jiang Xue was burning charcoal in the kitchen, which was now blazing hot. Bent over in the cramped space, Cheng Ye was singeing the chicken.

Dragging himself to the kitchen doorway, Jiang Shi clung to the frame, peeking his head inside but refusing to step in. “What are you doing?”

Cheng Ye explained, “Burning off the fine feathers. Then it’ll be ready to cook.”

Jiang Shi didn’t like chicken meat. He was far more interested in the sudden appearance of Cheng Ye.

“Cheng Ye,” he called, “how old are you?”

Cheng Ye turned the chicken over in his hand, Jiang Shi’s pale face always lingering in his peripheral vision.

“Seventeen. Eighteen in two months.”

Jiang Shi, who had just turned eighteen: “…”

What, was he raised on animal feed? Seventeen and already this tall?

Leaning against the door, Jiang Shi studied Cheng Ye in the backlight—starting from the rough buzzed hair, down to the thin black jacket, with bare hands and feet.

The longer he looked, the more familiar that back seemed. “Have we met before?”

Cheng Ye tilted his head slightly. “What?”

“Yesterday,” Jiang Shi said. “At that noodle shop. Were you the one selling cilantro?”

The chicken skin tightened under the flame, oil dripping down, sparking the fire. Cheng Ye remembered that fleeting back and the bowl of plain noodles.

Jiang Shi was still complaining, “That place was a rip-off. The noodles were terrible. I only ate a few bites before leaving.”

Cheng Ye had almost forgotten, but Jiang Shi’s words brought it back.

He had sat in the same seat where Jiang Shi sat, eating the noodles Jiang Shi had left behind. He had…

“Hey! Your chicken’s burning.”

Cheng Ye let go in a panic. The chicken’s head fell into the fire, its neck charred black.

His body stiff, he pulled it out, throat burning as if scorched by flames, a faint red creeping up behind his ears.

Jiang Shi didn’t notice. He was used to Cheng Ye’s dull reactions. He asked casually, “So are you still in school?”

“I…”

Cheng Ye’s voice came out hoarse. Turning his head away, unable to look at Jiang Shi, he swallowed before answering. “I was. But I won’t be going back next term.”

“Why not?”

The heat at the back of his ears subsided. After a pause, Cheng Ye said, “I don’t want to.”

Jiang Shi assumed his grades must be bad, so he didn’t bother.

“If you’re not studying, what do you plan to do?”

Cheng Ye had intended to work once spring came. With his strength, he could do anything. But now… now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“I don’t know.”

Jiang Shi was speechless. Just as he was about to say more, Jiang Xue’s voice came from behind. “Why are you standing at the door? Sit down if your foot’s hurt!”

Her shoes were muddy, a basket of pig grass on her back, and she was leading a yellow cow by a rope.

The cow, well-trained, walked into its pen as soon as she let go. Jiang Xue put down the pig grass, pulled the chair Jiang Shi had been sitting on, and bent to change shoes.

Before Jiang Shi could even move, Cheng Ye had already placed her slippers by her feet—and even brought out a chair for Jiang Shi.

“…”

Jiang Shi and Jiang Xue sat side by side at the doorway, while Cheng Ye busied himself in the kitchen cooking rice.

As she washed her hands, Jiang Shi couldn’t help but ask, “He’s really not your secret son with someone else?”

Why was he even more attentive than her real son?

Jiang Xue: “…”

She smacked him on the head with her wet hand. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

Looking at Cheng Ye’s back, she paused. “I’m not that familiar with him. Everyone said he was cold and distant, but I don’t think so. He just doesn’t talk much.”

The more she looked, the more satisfied she felt. “See? So diligent. He even brought a chicken over this morning.”

Only then did Jiang Shi realize the chicken was from Cheng Ye’s family.

The more he thought, the more convinced he was that this guy wasn’t right in the head.

After Jiang Xue returned, Cheng Ye left without even eating lunch. He really had something to do that afternoon.

Seeing he meant it, Jiang Xue shoved a pile of steamed buns into his arms. “Take these. I’ll stew the chicken this afternoon. You must come for dinner tonight.”

She even threatened, “If you don’t, then we won’t eat either.”

Jiang Shi muttered, “What is he, the emperor? We can’t eat unless he’s here…”

Smack. Jiang Xue’s hand landed on his head again.

Jiang Shi: “…”

Seeing him glaring defiantly, Cheng Ye’s eyes softened with the faintest smile. “I got it. I’ll be here tonight.”

—

Carrying the bag of buns, Cheng Ye walked to the river. The willows had sprouted new buds, and the stream was still bitterly cold.

Gao Xinhe, in a leather jacket and sporting dyed red hair, was already waiting impatiently, his legs going numb. When he saw Cheng Ye, he cursed, “Damn, what were you doing? We said ten o’clock, and now it’s noon!”

Cheng Ye tossed him a bun. “Had things to do.”

Most of Gao Xinhe’s pocket money went to flashy clothes or chasing girls. His parents didn’t care about him, so he was usually broke—poorer than Cheng Ye.

The moment he got a bun, he forgot his anger, eating alongside Cheng Ye by the river.

Between bites, he glanced at him. “Man, no wonder you looked different today—you cut your hair? Why? I was planning to take you to dye it green. That’s what all the girls are into these days.”

Cheng Ye said flatly, “Get lost.”

“…Fine.”

After finishing his bun, Gao Xinhe said, “Oh yeah, I asked about that thing. My uncle and them are leaving in a couple days. They’ve got connections at the factory. You’d get work right away, three to four thousand a month.”

Cheng Ye bit into his bun and held out his hand.

He didn’t speak, but Gao Xinhe knew what he wanted. He pulled out a crumpled cigarette pack from his pocket, carefully handing over one stick.

“Bro, I stole this from my dad. Make it last.”

Cheng Ye sat on the riverbank, legs bent, the willow branches swaying above his head. Holding the crumpled cigarette, he inhaled deeply, smoke curling around his dark, somber eyes.

He smoked silently until the glowing ember burned his fingertips. Only then did he speak.

“I’m not going.”

If he left… what if Jiang Shi forgot him?

He didn’t want Jiang Shi to forget him.