The temperature was breaking down the snow, and the melted water flowed steadily on the ground.
The seniors at City No. 1 High School started their term early, even before the Lantern Festival. You Fu had already returned to school, and Ji An’s holiday had come to an end as well.
After measuring room dimensions at a client’s house, Ji An crushed bits of snow beneath his shoes.
Crunch—crunch—
“Brother An, this layout is really something else. It looks like a toilet,” remarked Gu Ziyu, the newly assigned assistant designer at the company.
Ji An casually replied, “Yeah, there are plenty of odd layouts like this. Our job is to maximize the use of every inch of space according to the client’s needs and design the most suitable blueprint for them.”
Gu Ziyu nodded, flipping through a few simple drawings. Having graduated not long ago, there was still much he needed to learn from his seniors. “Is there anything else we should be mindful of in our work?”
Ji An crossed his arms and held up two fingers. “The two-word mantra to thrive in this industry: be a dog.”
Be a good dog, a flattering dog, an obedient dog.
Even if the client slaps you, you have to smile and lick their hand.
Even if the client wants to hang a red and green cross-stitch of peonies on a minimalist living room wall, you have to praise it as beautiful against your better judgment.
Gu Ziyu raised an eyebrow with a carefree air and laughed, “I know that. We’re here to serve the client, including providing emotional value.”
Ji An didn’t even bother to glance at Gu Ziyu beside him.
Gu Ziyu was gay and had recently been trying to curry favor with Ji An.
As for how Ji An knew about his orientation, it was because Gu Ziyu had forgotten to mute his phone during work, and Ji An heard the distinctive notification sound of a popular dating app for gay men.
However, Ji An wasn’t interested in romance or sex. He only knew about the app because a college roommate, who was gay, often used it to find dates.
“Brother An, are you heading back to the office now? Want to grab a late-night snack together? My treat,” Gu Ziyu offered.
“With your meager salary? Forget it.” Ji An had been down that road himself, and Gu Ziyu was only slightly better off than he had been back then.
Ji An glanced disdainfully at the black sunglasses Gu Ziyu wore at night and his slicked-back hair, which looked as if a calf had licked it. He wondered what kind of act he was trying to pull.
He was a good-looking young man, yet he insisted on making himself look greasy, so much so that just a glance made Ji An want to gouge out his eyes and wash them with dish soap.
Yes, he was indeed a fool.
“Doesn’t matter, my family has money,” Gu Ziyu said.
Ji An rolled his eyes internally. If you’re so rich, why are you even in this line of work?
“I’m going home.”
Ji An despised pretentious people. Compared to Gu Ziyu, You Fu was much more endearing and well-behaved.
Rather than watching Gu Ziyu flaunt himself, he’d rather go home and tease You Fu.
……
As usual, You Fu got home earlier than him.
Ji An didn’t understand why, now that You Fu was a senior, he wasn’t attending the evening study sessions anymore.
But what did that have to do with him?
Ji An only needed to ensure that You Fu grew up smoothly. What happened after that was none of his concern.
Ji An entered the house without changing into slippers, leaning against the entryway as he stared at the light in You Fu’s room.
When You Fu heard the noise and came out, Ji An’s gaze merely shifted slightly downward.
You Fu immediately came over, squatted down, and helped Ji An change his shoes.
Everything felt so natural.
Even though Ji An had never asked him to do this.
Sometimes, You Fu seemed like he could read Ji An’s mind. Even without a word, just a glance, You Fu understood what he meant.
Ji An suddenly thought of the assistant who couldn’t even understand human language, measuring height instead of length and width, calling the client “Mom” instead of “Dad.”
“It’s a pity you can’t work in this field in the future.”
“What?” You Fu stood up, taking off Ji An’s coat and hanging it on the rack.
“Nothing, just thinking you’re quite a handy tool.”
The meal was a vibrant red, with no trace of chili or Sichuan pepper.
After Ji An had told You Fu not to use Sichuan pepper in the dishes, they never appeared again. Ji An initially thought You Fu had replaced the ingredients with chili oil and pepper oil, but then he saw chili and Sichuan pepper in the kitchen waste.
You Fu would soak or fry the chili and Sichuan pepper, filter out the impurities, and use the prepared water or oil for cooking.
Ji An recalled when he had commented on You Fu’s hairstyle being unattractive, and the next day, You Fu came back with a buzz cut.
Ji An then said it looked better longer, so You Fu wore a hat at home every day until his hair grew out.
Ji An had never been refused by him.
While washing his hands in the bathroom, Ji An’s phone screen lit up with a message from Gu Ziyu asking if he had reached home.
Ji An dried his hands and replied that he had.
Gu Ziyu seemed pleasantly surprised by the quick response, sending several shocked emojis before asking if Ji An would be busy with work tomorrow.
Ji An didn’t have much work the next day, and it seemed Gu Ziyu wanted to ask him out again. But even if he were free, Ji An wouldn’t go out with Gu Ziyu. He was about to reply that he was very busy.
When a voice behind him said, “You have plans tomorrow.”
The words were spoken right next to Ji An’s ear, and he reflexively turned and shoved You Fu, who had appeared out of nowhere, against the wall. “Were you looking at my phone?”
“I happened to glance at it while coming to wash my hands,” You Fu replied.
“Do you think I’ll believe that? What I do tomorrow has nothing to do with you.”
Ji An raised his hand and slapped him hard. You Fu turned his head, a red mark blooming on his cheek.
Yet You Fu seemed unfazed by the pain, his deep brown eyes remaining calm and unruffled. “Did you forget? Tomorrow is her death anniversary.”
Ji An’s hand, which had fallen to his side, unconsciously tightened around his phone, the veins on the back of his hand slightly bulging.
He felt as if he were being buried alive, with dirt pouring into his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears, sealing off all his senses, leaving only a sense of abandonment and helplessness he couldn’t escape.
Tomorrow was his mother’s death anniversary.
……
As with every anniversary, they went to the cemetery. Ji An waited outside while You Fu carried a bouquet of chrysanthemums to pay respects to Qian Ran.
All these years, Ji An had never truly stood before her tombstone.
Even though he was her child by blood, it was always You Fu who visited her grave and spoke with her.
It was like the time he finally got news of his long-lost mother and rushed to the hospital, only to see her gently stroking another boy’s head at the door of the hospital room.
He felt like a mouse peering into their happiness.
The fruit he was holding fell to the ground, rolling out of the bag.
The two people in the hospital room turned their gaze upon hearing the noise, and he clearly saw the warmth in his mother’s eyes dim slightly, as well as the dead calm in the boy’s eyes.
It felt like disdain, or perhaps a challenge.
Ji An would never forget that scene for the rest of his life.
It was a tenderness he had never experienced. In his memory, Qian Ran was always annoyed with him.
Ji An grew up with his maternal grandparents, rarely seeing his parents.
His father often visited him, but Ji An longed more for his mother’s attention. He loved to lie on the balcony, watching the distant street corner, hoping to see Qian Ran appear.
Three hundred and sixty-five days of hope, three hundred and sixty-four days of disappointment.
His grandmother gave him a pretty little stone, telling him to make a wish on it, and it would come true.
Ji An did as he was told, and his wish came true. He finally got to see Qian Ran once, but he stubbornly threw a tantrum, hiding in his room, hoping Qian Ran would come coax him, even if it was just to say, “Sweetie, Mom’s back. Will you open the door?”
Then he would immediately open the door and rush into Qian Ran’s arms.
Ji An waited and waited, until he accidentally fell asleep, and still Qian Ran didn’t come to coax him. The next day, he hurriedly got up to find his mom, only to see his grandparents sitting silently on the sofa, looking at him with a hint of guilt in their eyes.
Qian Ran had left.
She hadn’t even opened the door to look at him, not even once.
In high school, to make it easier for him to attend school, his parents brought him to live with them.
His father left early and returned late for work, while his mother stayed home to take care of him. But “taking care” was just making meals and leaving them in the pot. Even when they did talk, Qian Ran was always perfunctory and often lost in thought.
Ji An tried many times to tell her interesting things from school, worked hard to achieve good grades, all in hopes of seeing her smile at him.
Until one time, Ji An got into a fight with a classmate over some dispute and came home injured. For the first time, he saw tears welling up in Qian Ran’s eyes because of his injury, as she carefully applied medicine from the first aid kit.
Ji An’s heart was moved by those tears.
It turned out that getting hurt could earn her concern.
He felt like he had opened Pandora’s Box, frequently getting into fights or carving wounds on his skin with a knife, yearning for more of his mother’s attention.
But it happened so often that the concern in Qian Ran’s eyes gradually faded, until it disappeared completely, leaving only endless disappointment.
All the way through college, Qian Ran never showed him any more concern.
Ji An’s pinned chat with her was often filled with long stretches of green messages. He constantly found topics to chat with her, but Qian Ran’s replies remained perfunctory.
Then one day, out of the blue, Qian Ran sent him a “Sorry.” Ji An frantically tried to contact her, but all his messages vanished into thin air.
His father told him that his mother didn’t love them, that she had eloped with her first love.
For three whole years, Ji An never gave up searching for her. He kept topping up the phone number his mother no longer used, daydreaming that its owner might still contact him.
He even went so far as to pick up pretty stones on the mountain, making wishes on them like his grandmother had told him, hoping to see her again.
Finally, he got news of her, only to find out she was in the late stages of cancer and didn’t have much time left.
During those three years, Ji An had felt resentment and hatred toward her, but all of it vanished the moment he learned she was ill.
He wanted to spend her final days with her.
But why, why did he have to see another boy by her side, why did he have to see her smile at that boy, why did that boy have everything he had never received so easily?
The worst part was when he arrived a bit early one day and overheard her calling that boy “son.”
A term he had never heard from her.
Ji An didn’t understand. He asked himself why over and over. He wanted so many times to stand by her hospital bed and ask her why, but every time he saw her frail body, he couldn’t bring himself to add more emotional burden to her.
She died without giving him an answer.
Only in her final days did her gaze toward Ji An contain something more complex, a hint of reluctance, even if it was very little, it was enough.
The hatred reignited when she entrusted You Fu to him.
He still remembered standing in the hospital bathroom, repeatedly splashing cold water on his face, trying to calm down.
Just like now, he was in the public restroom outside the cemetery, frantically splashing cold water on his face.
Once he finally suppressed that impulse.
A hand reached over, offering him a tissue.
Ji An’s eyes were red as he looked at the person beside him, a self-deprecating smile on his face, and he said the same words he had said to him years ago: “I hate you.”
You Fu gently wiped the water droplets from his face, giving the same response as years before: “I know.”