Chapter 2

“Dude, you said you were going to buy ice-cold Coke, but what’s with coming back with a bag of room-temperature Coke?” Zhang Yaoqing flung open his door, complaining, then noticed Fang Nianchi’s sullen face. “Why the long face? Trying to rob me halfway?”

“Didn’t your phone just ring? Your freezer is full of ice-cold Coke now.”

Fang Nianchi didn’t feel like explaining. His mood was sour—not just because of the blunt refusal, but more because he felt embarrassed for himself. Holding his phone like that, unable to move forward or back, was probably one of his most socially awkward moments. It was just a WeChat ID, not something that should have cost him so much face.

“You aren’t drinking it?” Zhang Yaoqing asked, dropping the bag to the floor. He pulled out three bottles of slightly cooler Coke and handed them over. “By the way, the guy who runs the corner store—heard he’s living with a mother who can’t walk.”

Fang Nianchi didn’t take the Coke. He looked up, “How do you know that?”

“Zhao Ying’s childhood friend, Xu Xiaotang. Remember her? She had a crush on him and dug around for info. Her dad is the landlord of that place.”

Zhao Ying was Zhang Yaoqing’s girlfriend—childhood sweethearts who stayed in Yangcheng after high school. According to Zhang Yaoqing’s high score estimates, he could have chosen a much better university, but he chose local schools instead. At the time, Fang Nianchi scolded him for being blinded by love, predicting regret sooner or later.

Fang Nianchi asked, “What else did you find out?”

“About the same age as us. He and his mom moved to Yangcheng this spring. That’s about it—he’s tight-lipped and pretty mysterious.”

Fang Nianchi pressed, “What’s his name?”

Zhang Yaoqing didn’t answer immediately. He studied Fang Nianchi’s expression before teasing, “You haven’t developed a thing for him too, have you?”

Fang Nianchi remained silent.

Taking a deep breath, Zhang Yaoqing continued, “Alright, let me jog your memory. Back in sophomore year, you said you fancied the class monitor from Senior Three, Class Seven. Later, you found revising his love letters too tiring and never confessed.”

Fang Nianchi replied firmly, “I was just worried about distracting him from studying.”

Zhang Yaoqing didn’t comment further, “In the second half of senior year, you liked a shoe store clerk. You even bought him a month’s worth of coffee, but nothing came of it.”

“That was because I was too focused on the exams.”

“Earlier this year, an online friend you played games with confessed. You hesitated for a week, then told them to forget it.”

“I thought a long-distance relationship was unreliable.”

Zhang Yaoqing couldn’t help but snort, “Nonsense—once you head back after the summer break, it’ll still be long-distance, won’t it?”

Fang Nianchi opened his mouth to retort but found nothing.

Zhang Yaoqing glanced behind him, saw his parents watching TV in the living room, and lowered his voice, “Honestly, I don’t think you’re gay. You just haven’t met the girl you really like. Stop fooling yourself.”

Fang Nianchi fell silent again.

Although he hadn’t dated a girl, he had never been with a guy either. Yet no girl had ever made him feel what he felt when he had looked into that man’s eyes—the breath hitched, gaze fixed. Wasn’t that what falling in love was?

Fang Nianchi realized he had to try for himself to know.

*

The next afternoon, Fang Nianchi purposely ordered a bowl of noodles. He chatted casually with the shop owner, steering the conversation toward the mother and son next door.

His efforts paid off—he learned the man’s name was Zhou Tong’an. This noodle shop had been open for seven or eight years near his neighborhood. The owner, familiar with him, leaned in and whispered, “A polite young man. Didn’t continue schooling, takes care of his partially disabled mom. Seems like his mother has some issues here.” He pointed to his head with a sigh. “Ah, what a tragedy.”

“Polite young man?” Fang Nianchi doubted it—he hadn’t been treated as someone worthy of politeness by him.

It was mealtime. The owner packed him two more bowls, and Fang Nianchi carried them next door.

“My buddy was supposed to come eat here, but he ditched me,” Fang Nianchi explained, setting the bowls on the counter. Ignoring Zhou Tong’an’s puzzled look, he grinned, “I can’t finish these by myself. Mind if I join you?”

Perhaps surprised by Fang Nianchi’s boldness, Zhou Tong’an fell silent for a moment. Seeing that Fang Nianchi wasn’t leaving, he finally said, “Thank you, but it’s alright.”

Fang Nianchi pressed on earnestly, “It’s a shame to waste food. Think of it as doing me a favor. It’s just me at home, and by evening, the noodles turn to mush.”

“Really, it’s fine,” Zhou Tong’an hesitated, glancing at the bowl of spicy noodles. Finally, he admitted, “I can’t handle spicy foods.”

That excuse was flawless.

All of Fang Nianchi’s prepared arguments choked in his throat. He struggled to speak but ultimately picked up his chopsticks and began eating at the counter, masking his awkwardness with hearty slurps—a hint of self-abandonment.

The shop had no air conditioning; the fan behind the counter was just for show, off. Sweat trickled from his hairline, dripped down his back. He wiped his forehead, sniffled, and his lips stung from the spice. Other customers witnessed this odd scene with curiosity and confusion, but Fang Nianchi buried his face in the bowl and pretended not to see them.

By his second bowl, his stomach was bloated, but admitting defeat now would be too embarrassing. What was he fighting for if not for pride? It seemed pointless anyway.

Battling nausea, he polished off both bowls. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at Zhou Tong’an. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, he let out a loud belch.

Zhou Tong’an’s expression was a mix of surprise and amusement. He turned, fetched a bottle of Coke from the freezer, and offered it, “Would you like this?”

Fang Nianchi’s face remained cold. “No, thanks.”

Before Zhou Tong’an could say more, Fang Nianchi suddenly covered his mouth, urgency in his voice, “Is there a restroom?”

Those two—or rather three—bowls of noodles ended up, precisely, in the small store’s bathroom toilet.

When he emerged from the restroom, he bumped into Zhou Tong’an, who handed him a bottle of water and said casually, “Don’t waste it.”

*

First, his lie about not having a phone was exposed. Then, he’d thrown up into the toilet. Having displayed his most awkward moments, Fang Nianchi strangely settled into a more relaxed state. He started frequenting the corner store for no particular reason. On his fourth visit to make his presence known, he ran into a familiar face.

The little boy who had once smeared snot on his neck was now sitting on the steps by the door. When he saw Fang Nianchi, he ran over and hugged his leg.

Startled, Fang Nianchi looked around. As he got his bearings, he noticed a young woman talking with Zhou Tong’an. The commotion outside drew their attention, and the three of them turned to look.

The boy was Xie Nan, five years old. The young woman was his mother, Xie Ting—probably in her twenties—who worked as a jewelry clerk in a large mall across the street. She had come specifically to thank someone.

Xie Nan tugged at Fang Nianchi’s sleeve, clinging to him, and cooed at his mother, saying he wanted to play with “big brother” all the time.

Xie Ting beamed, but without considering Fang Nianchi’s feelings, she turned to Zhou Tong’an and asked, “Can Xiao Nan come over to play often?”

It seemed that being attractive really drew a crowd.

Fang Nianchi snorted softly and leaned against the counter, watching the scene with interest.

Zhou Tong’an’s expression remained calm. “When I’m busy, I can’t watch him. Just make sure he doesn’t wander off again.”

Xie Ting’s smile didn’t fade. She continued, “When are you not busy? I’ll bring him over when you’re free.”

Zhou Tong’an paused, “Not sure yet.”

Xie Ting pressed on, “Then leave a contact number. I’ll call before coming.”

Zhou Tong’an blinked, momentarily at a loss for words.

Without waiting for a response, Xie Ting pulled out her phone, opening the dialer. “What’s your number?” she asked eagerly.

Fang Nianchi silently marveled. Then, languidly, he recited a string of numbers. He bent down to ruffle Xie Nan’s soft hair. “If he wants to come play, just have mom call this number, alright?” He added helpfully, “Remember, I’m Fang Nianchi—Nian like ‘miss’ and Chi like ‘fortress’.”

But his last two sentences were spoken while looking directly into Zhou Tong’an’s eyes.

*

Xie Ting left with her son. As they were going, Fang Nianchi enthusiastically waved goodbye, urging Xiao Nan to come play often.

After they left, Zhou Tong’an looked at Fang Nianchi and frowned, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Fang Nianchi nodded, “Not really, I’m on summer break and bored.” He rested his elbows on the counter, leaning closer. “Since you’re so busy, how about I help you run the store?”

Having faced rejection several times already, he didn’t expect Zhou Tong’an to take him seriously. But this time, Zhou Tong’an’s answer was surprisingly earnest. “I’m not hiring staff.”

Fang Nianchi laughed. “I’m not asking for money.”

Zhou Tong’an asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

Fang Nianchi’s smile froze. For a moment, he doubted whether Zhou Tong’an was truly straight. He straightened up, masking his annoyance, “I’m just being charitable, alright?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Zhou Tong’an likely realized he’d pushed too far, softening his tone. “I appreciate the gesture, but really, there’s no need.”

*

In the days that followed, Fang Nianchi didn’t seek out Zhou Tong’an. They’d already spoken so much that going to see him again felt embarrassing. Zhou Tong’an was quite attractive, but chasing after a guy shouldn’t make one feel utterly humiliated. With a long-awaited video game release coinciding, Fang Nianchi spent a few days holed up at home, indulging without day or night structure. Until one day, amidst a hazy sleep, his phone rang. The voice on the line trembled slightly as it called his name, “Fang Nianchi?”

He snapped awake, not even asking who it was. “What’s wrong?”

Zhou Tong’an asked, “Do you have a car at home? Can I borrow it?”

Fang Nianchi got dressed, replying, “Sure, wait a moment—I’ll be right there.”

Shen Ling had an unused Audi A4 parked downstairs. Fang Nianchi, having been cooped up for so long, hadn’t driven it much. At around four in the morning, the neighborhood was empty. He sped the car to Zhou Tong’an’s store, scraping some paint off as he exited the complex.

There, Zhou Tong’an sat on the steps at the store’s entrance, looking disheveled. He cradled a pale, middle-aged woman in his arms. She was wrapped in a heavy beige blanket, soaked with blood.

It was the first time Fang Nianchi had seen Zhou Tong’an’s mother.

He stepped out of the car and didn’t dare ask too many questions. “Didn’t you call an ambulance?”

Zhou Tong’an finally focused his gaze on Fang Nianchi, his voice hoarse, “They said it’ll take at least 20 minutes for the ambulance to arrive.”

“Are you sure you can drive like this?” Fang Nianchi asked, noticing his friend’s poor state. He felt both anxious and guilty for not being able to help more at this critical moment. “I…I’m not a great driver.”

Zhou Tong’an wiped his face, adjusted the blanket tightly around her, and said, “I can manage.”