Jiang Xue poked her head out from the kitchen doorway, spatula in hand.
“Stop talking, come eat!”

On the small square table sat a few dishes, with the three of them each taking a side. Jiang Shi held a small bowl of chicken soup, blew on it, and cautiously took a sip. The fragrant warmth slid down his throat, making him narrow his eyes.

Surprisingly good.

Cheng Ye picked up a chopstick-full of potatoes. Just as he was about to eat, Jiang Xue asked,
“What did you do this afternoon? Why are you covered in dust?”

Glancing at Jiang Shi, he shoved the food into his mouth and replied,
“There’s a construction site nearby. I worked there for half the day.”

Jiang Shi slowly sipped more chicken soup. Hearing that, he shifted his gaze to Cheng Ye and saw his dusty clothes under the light.

Without showing it, Jiang Shi inched slightly away.

Jiang Xue didn’t notice this tiny movement, but Cheng Ye silently tightened his grip on his chopsticks.

“You’re just a kid,” Jiang Xue scolded, “That site’s all bricks and cement. How could you manage that?”

“It’s fine.” Cheng Ye also leaned back, distancing himself from the table. “I’m strong.”

“So what if you’re strong? You’re still young—what if you get hurt? What then?” She glared at him. “And why are you moving back? You can’t even reach the dishes now, sit properly!”

Cheng Ye had no choice but to scoot forward again.

Jiang Shi drank half a bowl of soup and ate a small half-bowl of rice with shredded potatoes. Not a single piece of chicken.

Jiang Xue assumed he didn’t like chicken. In truth, she had chopped it too large—skin and meat together—too much trouble for Jiang Shi to gnaw.

Compared to Jiang Shi’s bird-like appetite, Cheng Ye ate a lot. More than half the small pot of rice, cooked over charcoal, ended up in his stomach.

Most of the dishes were cleaned off by him, making Jiang Xue more satisfied the more she looked. Then she glanced at Jiang Shi, head bowed while playing a box-pushing game on his phone.
“Look at you. You eat in three days what he eats in one. No wonder you’re so skinny—like a bamboo pole.”

Jiang Shi felt he had been wrongly shot down.

After dinner, Cheng Ye should’ve left. But Jiang Shi sat by the fire, his cheeks faintly pink from the heat. His loose hoodie slipped just enough to reveal the delicate curve of his collarbone.

Cheng Ye suddenly didn’t feel like leaving.

Jiang Xue told him to stay a bit, so he pulled up a chair next to Jiang Shi, watching him play.

The box-pushing game was simple at first, but harder later. Jiang Shi hated thinking too much, so he pushed boxes randomly and often trapped himself in dead ends.

On the screen, the pixelated little man moved forward. Cheng Ye’s warm breath brushed Jiang Shi’s ear as his low voice sounded,
“If you keep going forward, you’ll trap yourself.”

Jiang Shi looked up at him, catching the dusty smell on his body. He shifted his stool farther away and ignored Cheng Ye’s warning.

Sure enough, his little man got stuck in a corner.

“…”

Jiang Shi pursed his lips and restarted the level.

After a while, Cheng Ye spoke again.
“There’s a wall ahead. You can’t go down there.”

Jiang Shi frowned. “Are you the one playing or me?”

Cheng Ye froze. “Sorry, I just wanted—”

“Wanted what?” Jiang Shi cut him off. “Don’t you have your own phone? Why are you staring at mine?”

Jiang Xue, feeding the pigs outside, heard the noise and poked her head in.
“Jiang Shi, don’t bully Cheng Ye. What’s wrong with playing together?”

Annoyed, Jiang Shi tossed the phone into Cheng Ye’s lap, stood, and headed to his room.
“Then you play. I’m done.”

Clutching the phone, Cheng Ye hurried after him.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to play. I just wanted to help you win—”

His words were met with a door slamming shut.

…

When Jiang Xue came back from feeding the pigs, she saw Cheng Ye standing blankly at Jiang Shi’s door, phone in hand. He lifted his fist as if to knock, but hesitated and lowered it again.

“It’s not your fault,” Jiang Xue said gently. “He’s been in a bad mood lately. He’s not trying to make things hard for you.”

Cheng Ye kept his head down, silent.

“I thought since you’re the same age, and Jiang Shi doesn’t have any friends here, you two might get along. That was just me being naïve. I’m sorry.”

After a pause, Cheng Ye placed the phone on the cabinet by the door, along with the bag of milk candy Jiang Shi had disliked.

“It’s my fault,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll go now, Aunt Jiang.”

…

Jiang Shi wasn’t really angry—just annoyed at having a big guy hovering nearby. He’d never learned to restrain his temper, so after lashing out, he felt a little guilty.

Cheng Ye, though clumsy, had worked hard for him, even brought over his family’s chicken. And despite being scolded, he never talked back—honest and quiet.

Thinking of this, Jiang Shi rolled in his blanket, biting the corner with regret. But apologizing face-to-face? Impossible.

He wrestled with himself until he fell asleep. By the time he woke, it was morning.

The sun shone bright, and Jiang Shi got up early.

Opening his door, he immediately spotted his phone and a bag of candy left on the cabinet. Only two pieces were missing, the bag still plump.

He leaned against the door, hesitated, then fished out one candy. Same strong artificial flavor.

After what he’d said yesterday, Cheng Ye probably wouldn’t bother with him anymore.

Not that it hurt. It’s just—he’d never met anyone like Cheng Ye.

But before he could even dwell on the thought for a full second, he turned and saw a tall figure squatting in his yard.

“…”

Gripping his cane, he walked over. As expected, it was the same familiar face.

“What are you doing here?”

Now that the sun was up, it was hot. Cheng Ye had changed into a T-shirt, a bit small and worn, collar stretched out, a hole torn in the back. It clung tightly to his muscular frame. His pants were too short, too wide.

Beside him lay a hoe with a broken handle. In his hand, a wooden stick he was carving to size.

At Jiang Shi’s voice, Cheng Ye stood, wiped his hands clean, and pulled a pack of candy from his pocket. He held it out.
“Sorry about yesterday.”

Jiang Shi looked down. It was a pack of genuine White Rabbit candy.

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You said yesterday’s didn’t taste good,” Cheng Ye explained. “I asked around. This is the most expensive. For you.”

The sunlight was glaring. Jiang Shi didn’t take it.
“Why give it to me?”

“Because you said yesterday’s wasn’t good—”

Jiang Shi cut him off.
“So just because I say I don’t like something, you’ll replace it? What, if I ask for anything, you’ll just give it?”

Cheng Ye’s breath caught, throat bobbing.
“Yes. If I have it.”

As long as you—

His eyes lingered on the boy’s translucent skin in the sunlight, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings against his heart.

As long as you’d look at me.

Jiang Shi didn’t notice the hidden gaze. He only found Cheng Ye ridiculous.
“Are you stupid? We’re not even close. Even my mom doesn’t treat me like this.”

Cheng Ye had grown up fast. When his father beat him, the first thing he did was fight back. He broke two ribs, and his father lost a finger. No one called him brave. His mother looked at him like a monster.

He learned then—some feelings couldn’t be shown. At least not too urgently.

“I hurt your foot,” Cheng Ye said quietly. “It’s my fault you’re like this. Taking care of you is the least I can do.”

He stood with head lowered, candy still in hand, clothes ill-fitting, skin honey-toned in the sun. Honest, clumsy.

Jiang Shi was always softer to people who yielded. Seeing Cheng Ye like that made him feel he was the real jerk.

Balancing on his cane, he snatched the candy with his free hand, silently cursing himself. Out loud, though, he stayed sharp.
“Who wants your stuff anyway.”

But he sat down beside Cheng Ye, unwrapping one.

Cheng Ye compared the wooden stick to the hoe, adjusting its size. Beside him, Jiang Shi popped a candy into his mouth.

The taste really was better than yesterday’s.

“Hey, Cheng Ye—” He tapped Cheng Ye’s shoe with his good foot. “Where’d you get the money for this?”

Cheng Ye’s muscles tensed, knife slipping slightly to the side.
“I earned it. Carrying bricks.”

Jiang Shi froze. He remembered the dusty clothes from yesterday. After a pause, he asked,
“How much for a day?”

“Fifty.”

“And the candy?”

“Seven.”

The candy in Jiang Shi’s hand suddenly felt scorching hot.

He could accept a gift carved out of hundreds, but not half of a ten. The money was the same, but the weight was different.

He tried to give it back, but Cheng Ye wouldn’t take it.
“I don’t eat candy. And it’s not expensive.”

Not expensive—for him.

Expensive, yes, but Jiang Shi deserved better.

…

By noon, the sky was bright and cloudless. Cheng Ye had just finished fixing the hoe handle when a flash of red hair stumbled up the path.

Jiang Shi, candy in his mouth, looked over.

“Aunt Jiang! I came to borrow the hoe—” The boy froze. “Shit! Cheng-ge, why are you here?”

His eyes shifted and caught Jiang Shi sitting nearby.

The boy wore pajamas, fine fabric hinting at quality. His pale skin shone like jade, delicate features like an ink painting—already carrying a heavy, striking beauty that didn’t belong in a village like this.

Stunned, the redhead gawked until Cheng Ye stepped in front of Jiang Shi. Only then did he snap out of it.

“Oh—you must be Aunt Jiang’s new son, right? Heard a lot about you! I’m Gao Xinhe. Technically, I’m your cousin.”

Jiang Shi didn’t reply. He just looked at Gao Xinhe’s wine-red hair against his dark face and thought: Didn’t anyone tell him that color makes him look even darker?

Of course, maybe he was just that dark—no dye could help.

Having hung around Cheng Ye, Gao Xinhe had picked up a shamelessly friendly nature. Jiang Shi’s silence didn’t faze him.

“They say you grew up in the city. So? Was it fun there?”

“It was fine,” Jiang Shi said lazily. “Definitely better than this godforsaken place.”

Gao Xinhe leaned closer, staring.
“Are you really a guy? You look prettier than—”

Before he could finish, Cheng Ye’s hand clamped around the back of his neck. With barely any effort, he yanked Gao Xinhe half a meter back.

Startled, Gao Xinhe turned and met Cheng Ye’s icy gaze—like a wolf guarding its territory. His heart skipped in sudden fear.

“W-what’s wrong?”