OS - 11

The old-fashioned sofa was anything but soft… When Zhou Yu fell back, she hit her arm on the armrest. Cheng Yanqing couldn’t catch her in time, and he heard the dull thud of her knees hitting the floor.

Despite Cheng Yanqing’s warning, Yan Ci didn’t release Zhou Yu. She knelt awkwardly on the ground, attempting several times to shake off his grip but failing to stand up. In frustration, she grabbed her backpack and hurled it at him. The water bottle inside flew out, striking his face.

He turned his head, and when he wiped his hand across his nose, it came away smeared with fresh blood.

His other hand still clutched Zhou Yu’s wrist.

“Damn, Zhou Yu, you really went too far,” Cheng Yanqing quickly grabbed some tissues to help Yan Ci wipe the blood from his nose. But upon feeling Yan Ci’s abnormally high fever, he swallowed the scolding he had been about to deliver. “Yan Ci, are you running a fever?”

“No,” Yan Ci evaded his touch, his tone indifferent. “You go first.”

“I came all this way just for you,” Cheng Yanqing’s temper flared instantly. “Let Zhou Yu go. Get up, and let’s go to the hospital. Whether it’s an injection, medicine, or IV—whatever it takes—you can’t just stay sick like this.”

If he could persuade Yan Ci, he wouldn’t have brought Zhou Yu along.

Zhou Yu said nothing, biting down hard on Yan Ci’s hand. The fever had dulled his sense of pain, and he didn’t loosen his grip even slightly.

“That’s enough! Don’t overdo it,” Cheng Yanqing could only forcibly separate them. Seeing Yan Ci’s state, he realized there was no way he’d agree to go to the hospital. “Your cat hasn’t been fed all day. It’s already malnourished; you can’t keep starving it like this.”

Annoyed by Cheng Yanqing’s nagging, Yan Ci stood up and walked downstairs.

After glancing at Zhou Yu, Cheng Yanqing followed after him. Zhou Yu picked up the scattered items one by one, putting them back into her backpack, then straightened the sofa. Ignoring the stares of the hooligans nearby, she bypassed the pool table and walked out.

The streets were bustling with people. By the time she descended the stairs, Yan Ci and Cheng Yanqing were nowhere to be seen. Passing by a pharmacy, she went in and bought some fever-reducing medication.

This residential building had been around for many years. Initially, most of the city’s teachers lived here. Some moved to new houses elsewhere and sold their old ones. Yan Ci’s parents had also bought a new home, which was fully renovated by May of last year. They had chosen an auspicious date to move in, inviting friends and family to celebrate, planning to coincide with Yan Ci’s post-Gaokao celebration. But then tragedy struck, leaving only Yan Ci and the orange stray cat adopted by his father.

He never moved out, nor did he take the Gaokao. He remained here, living alone.

The apartment was on the top floor. Once, Yan Ci’s mother had filled the rooftop with flowers, visible from afar. But now, neglected, they had all withered and died in their pots.

No one passing through the alley would ever again look up and ask, “Whose flowers are those? They’re so well-tended.”

Zhou Yu climbed the stairs. Cheng Yanqing had left the door ajar for her.

The orange cat was eating cat food at the entrance. Starved, it wasn’t picky. The food must have been poured by Cheng Yanqing—it was scattered messily around the bowl.

The living room was exactly as it had always been, not a single vase out of place. The table was spotless, free of dust.

At one point, cross-stitching was popular. Yan Ci’s mother wasn’t particularly skilled at needlework, so she bought a small kit out of curiosity. After finishing it, she mounted a clock on it and hung it in the living room.

The batteries had died long ago, and the hands of the clock had stopped moving.

Cheng Yanqing emerged from Yan Ci’s room and asked Zhou Yu if she was hurt. She shook her head.

“Then get him to take the medicine. There’s nothing in the fridge—I’ll go to my grandma’s house and bring something to eat.”

“Mm.”

After boiling a pot of water, Zhou Yu pushed open the bedroom door. Yan Ci was still lying face-down, just as he had been at the billiards hall. A wad of bloody tissues lay beside him.

The air conditioning was set to a very low temperature. Zhou Yu picked up the remote and turned it off.

“Did you drink alcohol?”

He wasn’t asleep—he could hear her.

“Are you afraid I’ll die?”

Zhou Yu replied, “Of course I’m afraid. That’s why I’m asking beforehand.”

The young man’s face emerged from under the blanket. The prolonged fever had reddened his eyes, and moisture glistened at the corners. “If I say I didn’t drink, then if I die tomorrow, it won’t be your fault, right?”

“Yan Ci, you can’t scare me.”

He closed his eyes. “Get out of my house.”

“I’ll leave once you’ve taken the medicine.” Zhou Yu poured a glass of water and set it aside to cool. “Do you want to shower? Your clothes smell of cigarette smoke—it can’t be comfortable to sleep like that.”

“It’s none of your business how I want to live. You can’t even manage your own life—how do you have the energy to care whether others are good or bad? But… Yan Ci… take your medicine.”

Cheng Yanqing couldn’t cook; at best, he could boil instant noodles.

When Madam Qian heard that Yan Ci had a fever, she made him dump the noodles and cooked a bowl of handmade wontons instead, adding dried shrimp and seaweed. Finally, she drizzled a few drops of sesame oil and told Cheng Yanqing to deliver it to Yan Ci.

As soon as he stepped out of the gate, he came face-to-face with Cheng Yuzhou.

“Were you playing basketball?”

“Yeah.”

“The weather’s so hot—your energy is truly impressive,” Cheng Yanqing enjoyed basketball too, but the unbearable heat and the fact that the courts were often occupied by groups of women dancing square dances meant he hadn’t played in a while.

Cheng Yuzhou noticed the bowl in his hands. “Why aren’t you eating here?”

“It’s not for me—it’s for my buddy Yan Ci, the one sitting next to you at the birthday party. He lives on the seventh floor of the building across the street,” Cheng Yanqing explained. “That idiot has a fever but refuses to go to the hospital. He slept at the billiards hall for a whole day and night. Zhou Yu and I just managed to bring him back. Anyway, I’ve got to go deliver this.”

Cheng Yuzhou stepped aside to let Cheng Yanqing pass.

He went inside to shower and change. With Cheng Wanyue absent, the house was much quieter.

Grandma enjoyed listening to the radio. Living in a private courtyard, it didn’t disturb anyone. The basket of apricots Cheng Wanyue had brought back last time hadn’t been finished, so Grandma made two jars of jam. She added a spoonful to her water—it wasn’t overly sweet, but the fruity aroma was delightful.

Cheng Yuzhou accompanied Grandma as she listened to opera. From where he sat, he could see the lights of the residential building across the street.

Cheng Yanqing called out to Cheng Yuzhou from the courtyard gate, asking if he wanted to go sing karaoke with some friends they’d met before.

Cheng Yuzhou declined, and Cheng Yanqing left.

A short while later, someone emerged from the residential building. Their footsteps were light. Cheng Yuzhou checked the time—it had been nearly half an hour since Cheng Yanqing entered with the food. How long had he stayed before that?

Zhou Yu walked with her head down. Only after stepping out of the residential gate did she notice someone standing at the entrance across the street. Meeting those eyes felt like being struck by lightning.

He was drinking water. In the dim yellow light, the subtle rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed was just the beginning. Despite her foul mood, staring at him brought last night’s absurd dream rushing back.

She even glanced at his moist lips.

Thankfully, thankfully, it was just a dream. He knew nothing about it.

But before the dream, she had done plenty of foolish and ridiculous things. On the way from here to her house, she had acted like a clown in an amusement park, using every trick in the book to entertain.

They weren’t strangers anymore—they had met. So, out of politeness, she should say hello.

What should she say?

“Hi, hello?”

“There’s a rat!”

Zhou Yu suddenly pointed at the corner. In the moment Cheng Yuzhou looked down, she bolted—but he grabbed the strap of her backpack, pulling her back. Her head jerked backward, colliding with his chest.

“Ouch, that hurts.”