On the coffee table in the living room sat two things: a plate holding two mangled fried eggs—one side burnt to a crisp, the other still runny, streaked with uneven splatters of soy sauce—and a bag of sliced white bread from the supermarket, leftovers from yesterday. Seeing this, Yang Jianzhen couldn’t help but let out a laugh.
This guy likely has zero talent for cooking. If he lives alone from now on, he’s going to be eating this kind of awful food for the rest of his life.
Yang Jianzhen initially thought about throwing the eggs away and making something edible, but for some inexplicable reason, he found himself picking up a piece with his chopsticks and putting it in his mouth.
It was cold. A cold, runny egg with a bitter aftertaste from the burn—a bitterness likely caused by burnt soy sauce rather than the egg itself.
After two bites, Yang Jianzhen was grinning uncontrollably.
It was terrible, yes, but how many years had it been since someone had made him breakfast for free, just because? His ex-girlfriend couldn’t cook and looked down on domestic labor. He rarely cooked for her either; he remembered the first time he visited her place, he had timidly made her some scrambled eggs. She took one bite and dumped them, saying, “This is too pathetic. Eat something good. Come on, big sister will take you out for a real feast.”
The last time he’d eaten a breakfast made specially for him without a price tag was the weekend shortly after his senior year of high school began—the Sunday morning before his grandfather passed away. His grandfather had also made two poached eggs, but they were far better looking and tasting than the plate in front of him.
Realizing he had unconsciously finished the eggs—which barely deserved the name—Yang Jianzhen thought he must be going crazy.
He opened the bread; it was the cheap, short-shelf-life kind, not fresh. This man didn’t know how to shop; he couldn’t tell the difference between bagged supermarket bread and a fresh loaf.
Once I can go out, I have to take Ming Zhifei to the supermarket and teach him how to actually live.
Realizing he was smiling while eating, Yang Jianzhen set the toast down—well, eating something terrible once in a while could be considered a form of experience.
After the depressing breakfast, Yang Jianzhen limped out to the balcony. Since Ming Zhifei had given him the crutch, he felt much better. Previously, he’d thought using a crutch was a humiliating affair, but he realized Ming Zhifei didn’t care about such things at all; he’d simply stated that a crutch would protect his injured leg and prevent secondary damage from a fall.
Because everything he said sounded so calm, Ming Zhifei had an aura unlike anyone Yang Jianzhen had ever met. It was truly his first time being in close quarters with someone who expressed almost zero personal emotion when speaking.
On the balcony were several newly placed succulents. Yang Jianzhen’s original suggestion had been, “Why don’t we get some plants?” He assumed Ming Zhifei would bring back something that produced beautiful flowers, like roses. He never expected the man to return yesterday with succulents—and tiny ones at that, housed in pots barely ten centimeters wide.
Yang Jianzhen found it hilarious at the time and asked why he chose succulents. Ming Zhifei had looked confused: “Aren’t these plants?”
“I meant bigger ones. Flowers and greenery that bloom. Look how much space we have here.”
“These look harder to kill.” That was Ming Zhifei’s second reason.
Indeed, it was exactly the kind of logic Ming Zhifei would use. Not because the flowers were pretty or the leaves were striking, but simply because they were hard to kill.
He didn’t eat because food was delicious, but because he’d starve if he didn’t. He didn’t keep plants because they were beautiful, but because they were resilient. Presumably, he wore clothes to cover himself and stay warm, rather than to look good.
So, because “doing the deed” has no practical utility for survival, he doesn’t even do it?
With a face and body like that, he had no idea how to enjoy himself…
Yang Jianzhen recalled the scene of Ming Zhifei standing here yesterday. He had bugged his ugly, hole-ridden Polo shirt and slacks as trash, so he forced him to wear his loose, knit V-neck T-shirt instead. As Ming Zhifei stood here placing the succulents on the ledge, his head slightly bowed, his distinct collarbones were visible beneath his long, pale neck. Lower still, the deep V-neck revealed a glimpse of his lean torso, skin so white it seemed to glow, and…
This was, of course, from Yang Jianzhen’s perspective, who was ten centimeters taller. When he had his face leaned in near his temple, the man had taken an uneasy step away.
This was the most frequent “overt” reaction Yang Jianzhen could capture: only in these moments—when he got too close—did Ming Zhifei seem at a loss.
He seemed entirely unaware of the value of his own appearance. Or rather, he likely never cared about that kind of value, which was why he allowed himself to look so disheveled.
As Yang Jianzhen hummed and misted the succulents, the 10 AM sunlight streamed through the security bars, illuminating his hands. The balcony faced east over the road. There were high-rises across the street, so the sun had to climb quite high before it hit the balcony. But that was enough; a few hours of sun meant the laundry could dry beautifully.
He had many silk clothes; they didn’t need too much sun anyway… Yang Jianzhen noticed that the silk-rayon blend T-shirt Ming Zhifei wore yesterday was currently balled up in a basin on the balcony along with the jeans. Ming Zhifei seemingly only knew how to cram everything into the washing machine. I’ll have to teach him that, too.
Yang Jianzhen set down the spray bottle and picked up the clothes Ming Zhifei had worn, bringing them to his nose. After sleeping in the same bed for two days, Yang Jianzhen had noticed a pleasant scent on him—perhaps the soap he used, but mixed with his own natural scent.
Everyone has a different scent. Yang Jianzhen was sensitive to others’ sight, smell, and touch. This was one of the reasons why, contrary to what Ming Zhifei might imagine, he hadn’t actually had intimate contact with many people. He had no desire to touch most people who wanted him because they weren’t beautiful enough, or didn’t smell right, or didn’t feel right. Even if one aspect was okay, there were always flaws elsewhere.
But Ming Zhifei’s beauty had no flaws—except, of course, for those damn glasses and that buzz cut.
Yang Jianzhen put the clothes back in the basin, turned on the tap to soak the knit shirt in cold water, and poured in some specialized silk detergent he’d brought from his own place.
Right, we’re missing a flat drying rack for knitwear. He instinctively wanted to tell Ming Zhifei to buy one, only to remember he didn’t have a phone.
How long have I been cut off from the world like this? Yang Jianzhen let out a bitter smile. If Ming Zhifei didn’t come home that day and abandoned him, he would truly be a lone boat—injured, penniless, with nowhere to go and no one to call.
How had he ended up in this state? Despite countless suspicious signals, he had carelessly ignored them every time, assuming everything was smooth. He used to think he was an expert at reading people, yet he had been blind to the conspiracies being woven behind his back.
He thought back to how it all started eight months ago: the most popular member of his girl group suddenly suffered head and leg injuries and couldn’t stream. When he visited her, she cried bitterly—crying is such an intense emotion that he had simply assumed she was frustrated because her rising career had been derailed. He hadn’t bothered to probe the true psychological reason behind her tears.
That kid had no spine; she wasn’t the type to betray someone of her own accord. Looking back, she must have been coerced… Yang Jianzhen still believed this. If he had looked deeper then, he would have seen the fear in her eyes.
After that, the company was hit by a barrage of anonymous reports. They were cited for fire safety violations, and inspectors were constantly at the door. Unlike before, the official in charge was incorruptible—he wouldn’t take money, and even after improvements were made, the inspections failed. New demands kept appearing until they were told the only way to pass was to tear down the walls and reinstall fireproof materials. They were clearly being targeted.
At the same time, online rumors surfaced. People claimed the injured member had offended the boss and was being sidelined—or “snow-capped”—because she refused to be “hustled” by a certain Boss Yang.
Some even claimed she had been beaten half to death. The cyberbullying triggered a rebellion among his staff. With the strike halting production indefinitely, he couldn’t generate the cash flow to repay the debts he had recently taken out in his own name for expansion. Finally, everyone—including his partner who held equal shares—forced him to hand over control of the company.
It turns out that when people are determined to frame you, no amount of caution can save you. However, the biggest lesson he learned was that not a single person stood by him. Not his partner, not his employees, not the “fair-weather friends” he gambled and drank with.
Only then did he realize that not only had he never truly shared his heart with anyone, but he was also someone others would discard like trash the moment things went south.
The only person who followed him was someone who wanted something from him. That person came after him when he was down, intending to force him into a so-called “relationship.” When Yang Jianzhen said he’d never thought about love and couldn’t afford it, the man had flown into a rage and beaten him.
It was likely a form of karma. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten his grandfather’s teaching—to treat others with sincerity—it was just that he couldn’t find anyone worth being sincere with.
He and those people were simply using each other. Why offer sincerity to a relationship maintained by money? Of course, because of that, no one truly took him seriously either.
His ex-girlfriend wanted nothing more than a submissive pet to keep at home; the clients wanted him to provide a distraction for their emotions; his partner needed his money-making ability; his employees wanted their salaries; his fair-weather friends craved his generosity; and others lusted after his looks and body.
The most laughable was the one who claimed to want “feelings.” That person spoke of love constantly, but what had he actually done? Aside from spending Jianzhen’s money, had he ever even fried an egg for him?
Thinking of eggs, Yang Jianzhen laughed out loud again. He was truly obsessed with eggs lately.