The aftermath of the falling-into-the-water incident lasted longer than Lin Yang had anticipated.
Although the doctor confirmed there was nothing seriously wrong with his body, perhaps due to the excessive shock or the biting chill of the autumn lake water, he began to feel a stuffy nose, an itchy throat, and a heavy head that evening. This was clearly the precursor to a cold.
The production crew was very tense. Director Zhang Ming came in person to offer his sympathies, brought cold medicine and ginger tea, and mentioned that the upcoming recording schedule could be adjusted as needed to allow him to rest properly. Tian Rui and Teacher Guo Huai also sent messages of concern one after another.
Even Zhao Qiming, who was usually sharp-tongued, uncharacteristically refrained from cynical mockery. He merely glanced at Lin Yang and huffed, “Young people, such weak constitutions,” before walking away.
Bai Lu delivered a beautifully packaged box of imported vitamins. Her smile remained flawless, but her gaze lingered on Lin Yang’s slightly pale face for a few seconds longer than usual, carrying a faint, undetectable trace of scrutiny.
Lin Yang thanked them all individually, though he knew in his heart that much of this concern was mixed with dread toward that “iceberg investor.” Li Chenzhou’s desperate plunge into the water to save him that day, followed by his uncharacteristic loss of composure, had undoubtedly sent a crystal-clear signal to the entire production crew. Lin Yang was someone Li Chenzhou valued immensely, and no mistakes would be tolerated.
The feeling of being “labeled” this way was not pleasant, but his weakened state left him no energy to dwell on it. Wrapped in a blanket, he sat on a bamboo chair in the courtyard of the old residence to soak up the sun, trying to dispel the chill from his body. The sunlight was warm, yet he still felt waves of coldness.
Since carrying him back to the tent that day, Li Chenzhou had not made another public appearance. However, Lin Yang knew he had not left. In this village, there were countless eyes secretly watching on his behalf. This omnipresent sense of control was like an invisible net; even while he was sick and weak, it remained firmly draped over him.
In the afternoon, Lin Yang’s throat felt incredibly dry, and he wanted to boil some water. He walked into the communal kitchen of the old house. To capture a realistic lifestyle, the program required guests to handle some of their own meals. The kitchen was a mix of traditional earthen stoves and modern appliances, appearing somewhat cluttered.
Just as he picked up the kettle, he heard familiar footsteps behind him. They were steady and carried a distinct rhythm. Lin Yang’s body stiffened, but he did not look back.
Li Chenzhou walked in.
He had changed into a clean set of dark gray casual clothes. His hair seemed freshly washed and still damp, which softened the cold, hard lines of his features slightly. However, his face remained expressionless as his gaze fell on Lin Yang’s hand holding the kettle.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice lower than usual.
“Boiling some water,” Lin Yang answered softly, turning on the tap.
Li Chenzhou said nothing more. He simply walked to the side, his eyes scanning the kitchen before finally settling on a clay pot covered in a thin layer of dust in the corner. He walked over, picked up the pot, turned on the tap, and began to wash it.
Lin Yang watched him roll up his sleeves, revealing sturdy forearms. His movements were somewhat clumsy, yet he scrubbed the pot with extraordinary seriousness. That strange feeling bubbled up in Lin Yang’s heart again. He wondered what Li Chenzhou was trying to do.
After washing the pot, Li Chenzhou opened the refrigerator and took out ingredients prepared by the crew. After rummaging for a while, he picked out a few pieces of pork ribs, an ear of corn, a carrot, and some red dates and goji berries. Lin Yang stared at this series of actions, dumbfounded, as an absurd realization dawned on him. He wondered if Li Chenzhou was making soup again.
Recalling the last bowl of burnt, medicinal-tasting “charity porridge,” Lin Yang’s stomach twitched instinctively.
Li Chenzhou was clearly extremely unskilled in kitchen affairs. His handling of the ribs was awkward and stiff. The sound of the cleaver hitting the cutting board was almost frightening. When cutting the corn and carrots, his brow was furrowed as if he were tackling a complex business problem. The resulting pieces were uneven and oddly shaped.
Starting the fire was even more difficult. The earthen stove required kindling. Li Chenzhou tried several times; either the flame was too small and died out quickly, or thick smoke billowed out, making him cough. His cold, handsome face rarely showed such traces of frustration and stubbornness.
Lin Yang had finished filling the water and originally wanted to hurry away from this uncomfortable situation, but seeing Li Chenzhou’s back as he “battled” the stove, his feet felt as if they were nailed to the floor. Finally, after wasting half a box of matches and turning the kitchen into a smoky mess, the fire was lit. The flames flickered unsteadily and were highly unstable.
Li Chenzhou blanched the ribs, threw them into the pot along with the jumbled ingredients, added water, and covered it. Then, he stood before the stove like a guardian deity, staring intently at the dancing flames as if afraid they would go out again or do something uncontrollable. His back was straight, yet stiff with tension. Fine beads of sweat even broke out on his forehead, which he wiped away irritably with the back of his hand.
Standing at the kitchen door, Lin Yang watched this scene with deeply conflicted emotions. This man, who could turn clouds into rain in the business world and easily decide the fates of countless people, was now trapped like a novice before a small earthen stove, all just to brew a pot of soup for him because he had a cold. The image was so incongruous that Lin Yang almost found it laughable. But before the smile could reach his lips, it turned into a deeper sense of bewilderment.
He wondered what the man was after. Was he trying to prove his concern in such a clumsy, almost ridiculous way?
Time passed bit by bit, and an indescribable scent began to fill the kitchen. It was not entirely the aroma of food; it was mixed with a faint burnt smell, likely from poor heat control, and the scent of herbs. Together, they created a peculiar olfactory experience.
During the process, Li Chenzhou lifted the lid several times to stir it with a spoon, his brow never once unknotting. He seemed to want to taste it, but he hesitated and did not follow through. Finally, after a long wait, Li Chenzhou turned off the fire.
He took out a bowl and used a ladle to scoop the soup. His movements were still marked by a careful clumsiness. A bit of soup splashed out, scalding the back of his hand; he only frowned slightly, not making a sound. Then, carrying the bowl of soup, which looked dark in color with a few goji berries and oil spots floating on top, he turned and walked toward Lin Yang, who had been standing at the door the whole time.
His face was expressionless, but deep in his eyes, there seemed to be a hidden, subtle trace of nervousness. He held the bowl out to Lin Yang, his voice deep: “Drink it.”
It was a command, just as always.
Lin Yang looked down at the soup. It looked a bit better than the previous porridge, but not by much. The color was murky and the ingredients looked mushy; it did not look appetizing at all. He should have refused. Just as he refused those expensive gifts, he should have cleanly rejected this bowl of soup of unknown flavor.
However, when he looked up and saw the flicker of expectation Li Chenzhou was trying so hard to hide, and the small red mark from the scald on the back of his hand, the refusal at the tip of his tongue could not be voiced. As if possessed, he reached out and took the warm bowl.
The moment their fingertips touched, Li Chenzhou felt an almost imperceptible sense of relief, though his expression remained unchanged.
Lin Yang carried the bowl to a stone table in the courtyard and sat down. Li Chenzhou followed behind him like a silent guard. Lin Yang picked up the spoon, took a small sip, blew on it, and hesitantly brought it to his mouth.
The strange taste he had expected did not come. The soup actually tasted okay. The freshness of the ribs had been brought out, the corn added a clear sweetness, and the red dates and goji berries provided a hint of sugar. Although there seemed to be very little salt, making the taste a bit bland, and the heat had clearly been too high, making the meat overcooked, overall, it was an edible, even soothing soup.
Compared to the disastrous porridge from last time, the progress was nothing short of miraculous.
Lin Yang was somewhat surprised. He took another spoonful and drank it slowly. The warm liquid slid down his throat, indeed easing the dry itchiness. A wave of warmth flowed down his esophagus into his stomach, dispelling some of the cold. He drank it silently, sip by sip.
Li Chenzhou stood beside him, neither speaking nor rushing him, simply watching him drink the soup in silence. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled shadows over him. His cold, hard profile seemed to soften slightly in this moment.
When the bowl was empty, Lin Yang felt much warmer, and his nasal congestion seemed to clear up. He placed the empty bowl on the stone table and said softly, “Thank you.”
Li Chenzhou’s gaze fell on the empty bowl, and his tense jawline relaxed by a fraction of a millimeter. He gave a low “Mhm” in response.
A light breeze blew past, carrying the fresh scent of mountain greenery. A strange silence fell between the two, yet it was not as icy or suffocating as before. Lin Yang looked at the continuous green mountains in the distance. The tangled mess in his heart seemed to have been smoothed over in a small corner by this decent-tasting soup.
He did not know what this bowl of soup meant. He only knew that when the warm liquid flowed into his stomach, a crack seemed to appear in his hardened defenses.
As for Li Chenzhou, seeing Lin Yang’s face looking slightly rosier than before, the hand hanging at his side tightened slightly, then let go.