Xu Siming returned to the Xu family home that evening. Old Master Xu had not yet returned from the hospital, and Shen Mu was out as well—supposedly for a business engagement, though one couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually off having a tryst with a young lover.
Xu Siming was not a conservative man; he held no prejudice against homosexuality and generally minded his own business. Had Shen Mu not been his uncle-in-law, he wouldn’t have cared in the slightest. Even as it stood, the situation was tricky to handle—he couldn’t exactly install surveillance cameras on the two of them—so he could only try his best to keep things from spiraling out of control.
Only Xu Siming and Zhuang Guilan occupied the sprawling Xu family villa. Ever since the tragic death of the family’s young granddaughter and the subsequent decline of the business, the house had remained desolate and quiet; the sound of shuffling slippers would echo through the halls.
Although Xu Siming was dining alone, the meal was by no means perfunctory; the balance of meat and vegetables was perfect, and the flavor surpassed that of any restaurant.
Xu Siming had come home hoping to have a word with Shen Mu—not to issue a formal warning, exactly, but to offer a subtle reminder. Even if Shen Mu had behaved himself while Xu Ruomei was alive—or at least, that was the version of events Xu Siming had heard—it wouldn’t look good if word of his current affairs got out.
Part of the reason he came home, however, was simply that Zhuang Guilan’s cooking suited his taste perfectly. He had spent the week working on a project with his supervisor, subsisting on cafeteria food and takeout, and had been longing for a home-cooked meal.
Under normal circumstances, Zhuang Guilan wouldn’t have disturbed Xu Siming while he ate, but with the senior family members away, the usual rules were relaxed. She gathered the courage to sit across from him and strike up a casual conversation: “Young Master, what do you study in your classes? Our Xiao Yu never tells me anything about it.”
Zhuang Guilan was short and stout, sporting bangs cut in a straight, heavy fringe, with the rest of her hair pulled back and tied with a bright red scrunchie. Her eyes bore a striking resemblance to Zhuang Yusheng’s; one could tell she must have been quite attractive in her youth, though time had inevitably taken its toll. Xu Siming didn’t want to complicate matters, so naturally, he didn’t tell Zhuang Guilan that her son wasn’t studying finance at all. He replied, “I’m not taking classes; I’m doing an internship.”
Zhuang Guilan asked, “Is Xiao Yu doing an internship too?”
“I’m not sure.” Xu Siming didn’t want her to keep asking, so he changed the subject. “What’s his name?”
Zhuang Guilan didn’t quite catch the shift in the conversation. “Huh?”
“I said Xiao Yu,” Xu Siming repeated. “What’s his full name?”
“Oh, right!” Zhuang Guilan, seemingly thinking Xu Siming wanted to be friends with Zhuang Yusheng, eagerly introduced him: “His name is Zhuang Yusheng, he took my surname. He was born on a rainy day. Our Xiao Yu is a very sensible child…”
Xu Siming ate in silence; listening to Zhuang Guilan praise Zhuang Yusheng felt surreal.
Obedient, filial, polite, a model student… none of these traits resembled the Zhuang Yusheng he knew.
The Zhuang Yusheng he knew—
Was a liar who would deceive even his own mother. He was frivolous and spouted rumors without a second thought. He loved taking advantage of others for petty gains and felt no shame about it—in fact, he felt completely justified.
If those were merely minor flaws, then seducing a married man was utterly scandalous and showed a truly depraved character. Even if one argued that his upbringing made him that way, Xu Siming didn’t feel it was something that could be excused.
“Young Master,” Zhuang Guilan chattered on, “our Xiao Yu really is an outstanding young man. If your internship company needs more staff, perhaps you could recommend him?”
Xu Siming finished his meal, set down his bowl and chopsticks, and said, “Mm.”
Upon hearing this promise, Zhuang Guilan beamed, acting as if a job had already been secured for Zhuang Yusheng, and happily began clearing the table.
Xu Siming took out his phone and sent a WeChat message to Zhuang Yusheng: [What are you doing?]
He wanted to verify whether the two of them were having a secret rendezvous.
A new message popped up in the chat window immediately: [Missing me already? mwah]
Xu Siming frowned; it felt like being sexually harassed by a gay man. He put his phone down and didn’t reply.
It was nearly dinnertime when Zhuang Yusheng parted ways with Xu Siming. He headed to the south gate of the campus, where there was a noodle shop he frequented.
Prices had skyrocketed over the years, yet the proprietress remained conscientious; a bowl of beef noodles was still eight yuan—the price had never gone up. However, there was another reason Zhuang Yusheng kept coming back: the proprietress had taken in a homeless man—a deaf mute—and Zhuang Yusheng really enjoyed chatting with him.
“Here, take this.” Zhuang Yusheng placed a sea-salt cheesecake in front of the mute uncle, who always wore a stern, unsmiling expression. “I exploited it from a rich guy.”
Naturally, the mute uncle didn’t understand what he was saying; he glanced at the cake with disinterest and went back to peeling garlic.
Zhuang Yusheng shouted an order for beef noodles to the kitchen staff and started chatting with the mute uncle: “I almost lost my reputation today.”
He never shared specific details; after all, the shop was small and busy, so anything said could easily be overheard. He usually just rambled about trivial matters or watched videos of handsome guys, inviting the mute uncle to look along with him. Fortunately, the uncle couldn’t hear and couldn’t complain, or else he would have found Zhuang Yusheng annoying long ago.
“I’m off now. I’ll come see you another day.”
After dinner, Zhuang Yusheng returned to the student dormitory, catching the aroma of tea-marinated eggs drifting from the ground floor while he was still some distance away. He walked up to the dorm warden’s window and handed in a vanilla cheesecake: “It’s a cake from the campus café. Can I trade it for a tea-marinated egg?”
Unlike the stern-faced mute uncle, the warden accepted the cake with a cheerful smile, packed a tea-marinated egg for Zhuang Yusheng, and asked, “What did you buy the cake for?”
“Robbing the rich to help the poor,” Zhuang Yusheng quipped, then added, “Make sure you eat it soon; it won’t be fresh by tomorrow.”
Just then, his phone vibrated; Zhuang Yusheng was surprised to receive a message from Xu Siming asking what he was doing. He immediately realized that Xu Siming was worried he was meeting up with Shen Mu in secret. Finding this amusing, he sent a cheeky, teasing message, but Xu Siming didn’t reply.
However, after just three minutes of silence, Xu Siming sent another message: [Where are we meeting tomorrow?]
Zhuang Yusheng, back in his dorm, typed unhurriedly: [Eight o’clock, school east gate. We’ll take the subway.]
[[Shield]: I’m not at school.]
[Zhuang Yusheng: You don’t live on campus?]
[[Shield]: I do, but I went home today.]
[Zhuang Yusheng: How come you’re allowed to stay out overnight? [Smile]]
School regulations were strict; you either lived on campus or officially moved out. Even with Zhuang Yusheng’s excellent relationship with the dorm warden, staying out overnight wasn’t an option.
[[Shield]: Just have to let my supervisor know.]
Heh, the wretched privileged class.
[Zhuang Yusheng: Still meeting at the east gate at eight.]
The next morning, as Old Master Xu needed the car to go to the hospital, Xu Siming took a taxi to school. He crossed half the city to meet Zhuang Yusheng before eight o’clock, and they boarded the subway heading toward the city center.
There was no morning rush hour on a Sunday; the subway wasn’t as crowded as usual. They found empty seats and sat down. Xu Siming asked, “Where is the book signing?”
Zhuang Yusheng pulled a pocket-sized novel from his backpack: “Near your place.”
Xu Siming, who had left the house at the crack of dawn just to avoid being late: “…”
Zhuang Yusheng quietly began reading his novel. There was no smugness on his face from having played a prank, nor any apology; he was completely immersed in the world of the book, acting as if Xu Siming didn’t exist.
Realizing there was no reasoning with such a little rascal, Xu Siming resigned himself to his bad luck, put on his headphones, and listened to a finance podcast.
Shen Mu’s new book signing was being held at a bookstore in the city center; admission was determined by a lottery system, with only two hundred spots available to readers. The staff member at the entrance was diligent, checking IDs and invitations one by one; when they reached Xu Siming, Zhuang Yusheng said, “He’s Teacher Shen’s nephew.”
Normally, one would verify this with Shen Mu—otherwise, anyone could claim to be a relative to sneak into the signing event. But the staff member merely glanced at Xu Siming and stepped aside, as if accepting that he carried an automatic pass.
Zhuang Yusheng gave a silent, cynical huff; sure enough, a handsome face was a form of privilege.
After queuing up and buying the book, the two didn’t join the crowd at the front but took seats further back. Zhuang Yusheng skillfully tore off the plastic shrink-wrap, opened the book to inhale the scent of printer’s ink, and then eagerly flipped to the table of contents.
Shen Mu’s new release was a collection of twenty-four short pieces—a mix of fiction and essays—written over the past few years. He had made his debut through writing competitions, excelling at concise, punchy short stories; he published his first book before turning twenty and was hailed as a representative of the new generation of writers.
Although he had kept a low profile in recent years, his readership remained vast. Expectations were particularly high for this collection, which was billed as a return to the sharp, incisive style of his early work.
The opening piece was titled ‘Dumb Riddle.’ Zhuang Yusheng scanned through it quickly; noticing that Xu Siming had turned to the same page, he remarked, “It’s a story about a deaf-mute person.”
Xu Siming had no interest in literature and wasn’t used to reading large blocks of Chinese text, so he breezed past the first short story in moments.
Zhuang Yusheng simply took the book from Xu Siming and flipped to the final piece, recommending, “Take a look at this one, ‘The Scent of Tea.’ It’s about a woman who sells tea-marinated eggs; she lost her parents, husband, and son, yet she still lives with great optimism.”
Xu Siming’s reading remained perfunctory—flipping a page every second—as he asked Zhuang Yusheng, “Do you really like my uncle in law that much?”
Zhuang Yusheng: “…”
It wasn’t so much a matter of liking Shen Mu as it was narcissism. After all, eighteen of the twenty-four short pieces in the collection—including the opening and closing ones—had actually been written by Zhuang Yusheng himself. Xu Siming had inadvertently stumbled upon Zhuang Yusheng’s second-biggest secret, yet he lacked a truly deep understanding of Zhuang’s greatest secret.
His assumption was this: Shen Mu was a decent man who had married into a wealthy family; Zhuang Yusheng, driven by admiration that turned into infatuation, had calculatedly seduced him and led him astray.
The reality, however, was quite different. Zhuang Yusheng realized that lacking connections made it impossible to succeed in the literary world. When Zhuang Guilan happened to mention Shen Mu’s struggle with writer’s block, Zhuang Yusheng saw an opportunity. He proposed a collaboration: he would ghostwrite for Shen Mu, and in exchange, once Shen Mu’s new book was published, Shen Mu would recommend him to the publisher to help launch his own work.
Shen Mu was a cautious man. He spent a considerable amount of time vetting Zhuang Yusheng first—confirming his writing ability (in Shen Mu’s own words: a unique perspective, solid command of language, and strong emotional control) and ensuring he was docile, obedient, and easily manipulated. (Of course, this was largely due to Zhuang Yusheng’s skill at playing the part.) Only then did the collaboration officially begin.
Shen Mu was careful never to leave behind any incriminating chat logs; even in private conversations, he always spoke with an air of moral rectitude. Consequently, Zhuang Yusheng didn’t submit his drafts via email. Instead, he would periodically visit the house Shen Mu used exclusively for writing and type out the text—word by word—on Shen Mu’s computer.
Shen Mu never used Zhuang Yusheng’s drafts exactly as written; he would rewrite every piece in his own distinctive style. Although critics had claimed in recent years that his creative well had run dry, Shen Mu’s literary foundation remained solid. He never altered the work so drastically that it became unrecognizable or unacceptable to Zhuang Yusheng.
Now, Shen Mu’s new book has finally been released. Critics who had received advance copies praised it highly, noting that he had remained true to his roots—focusing on the lives of ordinary people despite having married into a wealthy, elite family.
How Zhuang Yusheng wished the acclaim for the book belonged to him. In reality, however, he could only make roundabout attempts to recommend the two best pieces to Xu Siming—who was sitting right beside him—only to realize the futility of expecting someone with absolutely no grasp of literature to appreciate the profound themes within those chapters. A surge of indignant emotion welled up within him; Zhuang Yusheng patted the copy of The Collected Works of Shen Mu he was holding. “Why can’t I like Teacher Shen? Can’t you see how brilliant his writing is? Short pieces are the hardest to write—you have to condense the entire structure into…”
Xu Siming watched with an indifferent expression as Zhuang Yusheng poured out his genuine admiration for Shen Mu, suddenly realizing that getting Zhuang Yusheng to voluntarily stay away from Shen Mu would be no easy task.
Still, someone like Zhuang Yusheng shouldn’t be too hard to handle.
He was, after all, nothing more than a housekeeper’s son.