CS - 51

Lin Zhexia hadn’t even processed what was happening.

Chi Yao had already reached out with his other hand to grab hers.

The young man’s rain-soaked, wet hand applied a slight force. Since Chi Yao was sitting down, Lin Zhexia almost fell directly into his arms—

With a “plop,”

The umbrella hit the ground.

Without anything to shield them, the rain fell freely, cold and chilling as it landed on her head. But that chill was quickly disrupted by the warmth emanating from his body.

Lin Zhexia braced herself with one hand on the edge of the bench, feeling completely disoriented. In her ears, aside from the sound of the rain falling, there was also a faint, indistinct heartbeat—whether it was hers or his, she couldn’t tell.

Perhaps it was hers.

Or maybe it belonged to Chi Yao.

She didn’t understand what this “hug” meant.

Normally, she would assume it meant something had happened at Chi Yao’s house, and he was feeling vulnerable and needed the comfort of a friend.

But the timing of his request came right after he made a wish.

It was as if…

This hug was his birthday wish for the year.

Their proximity felt too close.

Though they had always been close friends, and hugging wasn’t an overly intimate gesture between them.

A friendly hug between friends… it was normal.

Lin Zhexia didn’t dare overthink it.

“You…” After a long pause, Lin Zhexia said, “How long do you plan to hug?”

Chi Yao’s head was bowed, his sharp chin buried in her neck. His hair and the tip of his nose occasionally brushed against her neck, and his voice was slightly muffled as he said, “Just a little longer.”

How much longer was “a little longer”?

Lin Zhexia’s heart was racing.

Due to her shyness, she hoped this hug would end soon. At the same time, she wished it could last just a bit longer.

After a while,

“Is ‘a little longer’ up yet?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Chi Yao replied.

“…”

In the end, the hug concluded at exactly 12:14 PM. The reason Lin Zhexia remembered the time so precisely was because her sister Lin He called at that exact moment.

“Xia Xia, what time is it? Is your birthday over yet?”

“Hurry home; it’s raining so hard outside,” Lin He said over the phone, then suspiciously added, “Why does the sound of the rain seem so loud? Are you at Chi Yao’s place?”

“Oh yes, I’m coming right back.”

Lin Zhexia picked up the umbrella, flustered, and said, “I’ll be right back.”

Since Lin He was urging her, Lin Zhexia couldn’t accompany him back to cut the cake. Before parting ways at the building entrance, she emphasized, “Once you get back, make sure to eat the cake. This cake… it’s one I… one I spent a lot of money on.”

Chi Yao said, “Got it.”

Then he added, “You got soaked in the rain; hurry inside.”

Chi Yao held the umbrella as he watched her enter the building. Once home, the first thing he did wasn’t head to the bathroom to change out of his drenched clothes but instead turned on the lights and walked toward the living room. On the coffee table in the center of the living room lay a cake box.

He untied the ribbon and immediately recognized that the cake Lin Zhexia claimed to have “spent a fortune on” was, in fact, homemade.

What kind of “expensive” cake had the words “Happy Birthday” written so crookedly on it?

He carefully sliced the cake, then sat on the floor, eating it bite by bite.

Occasionally, droplets of rain gathered at his jawline, slowly trickling down his neck and disappearing into his collar.

As he ate, he glanced at the card next to the cake.

Lin Zhexia’s handwriting hadn’t changed since middle school.

Her letters were rounded, delicate, and neat.

-Wishing you all your heart’s desires and happiness every day. I hope that in everything you do moving forward, you will have endless courage.

He remembered how He Yang once mocked her for having a “kindergarten”-style handwriting, which infuriated her so much that she impulsively ordered a set of cursive calligraphy books that night, vowing to transform her handwriting into something wild and mature to prove He Yang wrong.

Ultimately, her plan was abandoned after losing five points on her mid-term exam due to poor handwriting.

…

Chi Yao thought about this as he read those lines over and over again.

It was as though he wanted to engrave these two lines deeply and reverently into his memory.

After finishing the entire cake, he unlocked his phone and sent a message to Chi Hanshan: I’ll come over tomorrow.

Because so much had happened the previous night, staying up late dealing with things, and getting soaked in the rain, Lin Zhexia overslept the next day.

When she finally woke up and checked the time, it was already 11:30 AM.

She unlocked her phone and saw several messages from Chi Yao.

One said:

-The cake wasn’t bad.

The other two:

-I’m not around today.

-If you want to go to my place, just unlock the door and come in.

Seeing the message “I’m not around today,” Lin Zhexia guessed that Chi Yao had probably gone to see his parents.

“Mom,” during lunch, Lin Zhexia asked, “In which city is Uncle Chi’s company again?”

Lin He responded while serving rice, “In… I think it’s Jing City. Why are you suddenly asking about this?”

Lin Zhexia wasn’t good at geography. She vaguely remembered hearing about it once but hadn’t paid attention: “Just asking casually.”

But even with her poor geography knowledge, she knew that Jing City was very far away—farther than Hai Du City.

A round trip would take two days.

Moreover, due to the terrain, the area had more resources available for development, making it more advantageous for factory growth.

That was why Chi Yao’s parents rarely returned.

Lin Zhexia’s memory of the past few days felt blurry, perhaps because Chi Yao wasn’t around. The next day was Monday, a school day, but Chi Yao hadn’t managed to return and requested two more days off.

The days without Chi Yao passed uneventfully, lacking any memorable moments.

After school, He Yang sent her a message.

Dazhuang: Xia Ge, I’ll come two stops over to meet you after school, okay?

Lin Zhexia: ?

Lin Zhexia: Are you free?

Dazhuang: …

Dazhuang: It was Chi Yao’s idea.

Dazhuang: I don’t really want to come either.

Lin Zhexia paused.

Chi Yao, when he wasn’t being stubborn, was actually quite considerate.

The next time she saw Chi Yao was after school the following day. She walked home with He Yang, who spent the entire way talking about things happening at his school, occasionally mentioning Chi Yao: “It’s so annoying. During the last sports meet, they made us compete in some joint event, calling it a ‘friendship match.’”

“Now, I, He Yang, am no longer known by name at Experimental Affiliated High School. Instead, I’m referred to as ‘the handsome guy’s friend from the neighboring school.’”

Lin Zhexia: “Oh.”

He Yang: “Don’t just ‘oh.’ Your tone reminds me so much of Yao Ge.”

At this point, He Yang added, “Have you noticed? Sometimes, you two are surprisingly similar. Not just you, sometimes Yao Ge talks in a style that’s very much like yours, like when he spouts nonsense with a straight face.”

Lin Zhexia hadn’t realized this: “…Really?”

She and He Yang continued chatting, somewhat distracted. From afar, she spotted Chi Yao stepping out of a taxi parked at the entrance of their neighborhood.

Chi Yao carried a black bag, wore a mask, stood tall with his back perfectly straight, and his legs looked long and lean.

“Chi Yao,” she left He Yang behind and ran towards him, “You’re back.”

Through the mask, Chi Yao hummed in acknowledgment.

Just a simple “Mm,” but she sensed that Chi Yao seemed to be in a bad mood.

She followed closely behind him, intending to go inside with him.

When they reached the entrance, Chi Yao took out his keys to open the door, but instead of going in first, he turned to look at her: “Do you want to come in for water again?”

Lin Zhexia: “I am a bit thirsty.”

After a moment, she asked, “Did you… see Uncle and Auntie?”

Chi Yao rarely wore a mask, likely because the air in the car earlier had been too stuffy.

Wearing the mask accentuated his eyes and brows, and even though the lower half of his face was covered, she could still faintly make out the outline of his nose and jaw.

He lifted his hand to adjust the edge of the black mask and said, “I saw them.”

Chi Yao couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Chi Hanshan and Bai Qin.

Even though one was his father and the other his mother, meeting them felt stranger than encountering complete strangers.

Two days ago, when he arrived in Jing City, Chi Hanshan came to pick him up and asked, “Why did you suddenly come here?”

Chi Yao, wearing his mask, stood amidst the bustling train station.

Only upon seeing him did Chi Hanshan’s image become clear again in his mind. They bore some resemblance, but wrinkles now lined the man’s eyes. Chi Hanshan wore a grayish-white shirt, holding a briefcase, with unmistakable fatigue etched beneath his eyes.

Chi Yao looked at him and spoke slowly: “How are you and Mom doing lately?”

As expected, Chi Hanshan let out a dry laugh and said, “We’re fine.”

“We’re fine,” Chi Yao repeated, lowering his gaze.

When he looked up again, he said, “So, you’re planning to keep lying to me?”

Chi Hanshan froze.

Then, he quickly realized how Chi Yao had found out: “They contacted you?”

Chi Yao neither confirmed nor denied.

Chi Hanshan was speechless: “They promised me they wouldn’t—”

Chi Yao interrupted, “Where’s Mom?”

Chi Hanshan hesitated, stuttering before finally answering, “In the hospital.”

Chi Yao’s heart sank.

The moment Bai Qin didn’t appear at the train station, he had a vague sense that their problems might be worse than he imagined.

Later, he saw Bai Qin lying in a bed at the First People’s Hospital of Jingdu.

The woman, dressed in a hospital gown, looked extremely pale.

She lay there quietly, no longer resembling the stern figure she once was.

This powerful career woman, who had once treated work as her entire world, had collapsed for the first time. Mental anxiety had led to a series of issues, and just like that, the person who had been busy for so many years had crumbled.

“She just received a sedative injection,” the doctor said while jotting notes. “Her mental state is very poor. Try not to let her deal with work-related matters anymore. Also, the patient is currently in the advanced stages of stomach cancer, but the risks associated with surgery remain. You need to prepare yourselves mentally.”

The doctor flipped through the file in his hands and couldn’t help but add, “Young people nowadays—health is the most important thing. Ignoring your health while working isn’t sustainable. Irregular meals, skipping meals… it’s not good.”

The hospital was noisy that day.

Amidst the sounds of passing crowds, doctors, and Chi Hanshan’s voice.

“The situation is this: previously, the factory purchased a batch of new parts using a loan. We intended to expand a new production line, but progress didn’t go as planned. Now, with the market cooling down, business is tough, and we’ve run into cash flow problems…”

Although Chi Hanshan spoke vaguely, Chi Yao understood what the cash flow issue represented.

It was almost a fatal blow.

The group that approached him definitely wasn’t from a bank—it seemed to be some kind of private lending organization. Chi Hanshan couldn’t repay the loan, so to buy more time, he had to borrow more to pay off the previous debt. Eventually, it snowballed into an insurmountable hole.

…

“It’s because I was too greedy.”

Chi Hanshan slowly closed his eyes: “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.”

In the end, the voice Chi Yao heard was his own.

“Didn’t want me to worry.”

He forced a bitter smile, saying this self-mockingly.

“Maybe. But more likely, it’s because they thought it was unnecessary.”

He voiced all the emotions he’d accumulated over the years: “Unnecessary to tell me.”

This was what made him feel the most powerless, and the most absurd.

“—So what exactly is necessary?”

By the end, he was nearly losing composure: “We’re supposed to be family, but often, I feel like I’m utterly unnecessary. Unnecessary to exist, unnecessary to show up, and therefore, unnecessary to inform.”

Eighteen years old.

What kind of age is that?

Finally, Chi Yao sat on a bench in the hospital corridor, breathing heavily and feeling suffocated through the mask.

He raised his hand, adjusted the mask, and pulled it down slightly.

Then he smelled a strong whiff of disinfectant.

Bai Qin lay just beyond the wall separating them.

And he was there too, crossing the threshold from seventeen to eighteen, entering the other side.

It felt as though he had stepped into an unknown new world, where everything could collapse in an instant.

When he stood up again, he had regained the composure he displayed at the train station and asked, “How much more do we owe?”

Chi Hanshan didn’t react: “What?”

“Money.”

Before Chi Hanshan could answer, Chi Yao continued, “Selling the house in Lianyun should provide some relief for a while. You don’t have to consider me.”

“As for here…” As he spoke, he looked at Bai Qin lying in the hospital bed. Though only a short time had passed, it felt like an eternity. Finally, he said, “I’ll stay.”

Chi Hanshan: “You want to stay? What about your school…?”

Chi Yao looked at him: “With all these issues, do you think you can handle everything alone?”

Chi Hanshan fell silent.

Before Chi Yao’s sudden arrival, both he and Bai Qin had been enduring this difficult situation for a long time.

What broke Bai Qin wasn’t the illness itself.

It was the sudden collapse of the business they had painstakingly built over the years, which she couldn’t accept.

“Hanshan, do you remember?” One night, Bai Qin sat motionlessly in the living room, staring at the balcony. “When we first started the factory, you had a friend surnamed Liu. We all called him Boss Liu. Later, when his business went under, he jumped from a building. I used to not understand, but now, if jumping from here could solve anything, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second…”

They had devoted themselves entirely to their work.

Even more so than to the son far away in Lianyun City.

They weren’t qualified parents.

But they simply couldn’t manage both. With so many workers under them and countless uncontrollable factors, the distance between them grew wider and wider.

From the first time Chi Yao fell ill and they couldn’t return, there had been numerous absences afterward. Absent from parent-teacher meetings, absent from birthdays.

Even during the New Year, they returned less and less.

Decades passed in the blink of an eye, and the sickly boy who frequently fell ill as a child had grown up without them noticing.

Chi Yao’s attitude appeared firmer than his own.

Though he didn’t say it outright, he conveyed one thing: No matter what happens, he would face it together with them.

This realization left Chi Hanshan stunned for a long time.

When he finally snapped out of it, his eyes welled up with tears.

He was taking care of Bai Qin alone while handling financial issues, gritting his teeth and enduring it. He didn’t know when he might collapse like Bai Qin. That day, he wanted to tell Chi Yao about their family troubles but immediately retracted his words the next moment.

Yet, at such a time, the son he had neglected for so many years unknowingly gave him a helping hand.

“However, give me some time,” Chi Yao finally said. “I need to… wait until after June before I leave.”

“Because in June, there’s an important day for me.”

…

Thinking about this, Chi Yao lowered his gaze to the girl standing before him.

Lin Zhexia, clad in her school uniform and carrying a backpack, seemed a bit nervous, fearing that something bad might have happened during his visit. Her words carried a cautious and probing tone.

Chi Yao removed his mask: “Hey, Miss Lin.”

Lin Zhexia, as if called upon, responded, “Here.”

“June 12th, keep that day free for me,” he said, leaning closer to her as he spoke. He raised a hand, gently pressing his palm atop her head. “I’ll take you somewhere.”