In the refrigerator’s chilling compartment sat a slab of pork belly that Ming Zhifei had bought yesterday. Despite not appearing wealthy, Ming Zhifei didn’t seem to compare prices at the supermarket; he often bought ingredients that were significantly more expensive than the market rate. Yesterday, Yang Jianzhen had asked him why he bought the pre-packaged pork belly instead of the bulk meat at the counter. Even if the labels differed, the quality was similar, and the bulk meat was nearly half the price.
Ming Zhifei’s answer at the time was simply that he thought he had to buy the pre-packaged ones, because those were the ones with the price tags already on them.
As he said it, a subtle look of realization dawned on his face, as if he’d just logically connected the fact that bulk meat could be weighed and priced individually upon request.
Because his expressions were so interesting, Yang Jianzhen had taken to snatching his glasses away just to admire his face without them. Every time, Ming Zhifei would look helpless and ask for them back, lest he be unable to see.
Without glasses, he truly couldn’t see clearly, but those slightly out-of-focus eyes were exceptionally beautiful. They were elegantly shaped, the outer corners tinged with a natural flush like permanent eyeshadow. His lashes were thick, and his double eyelids, though not wide, were perfectly formed. There weren’t even the fine lines at the corners of his eyes that usually start appearing at his age; they were clean and smooth.
If he weren’t such a simple-minded person, he couldn’t possibly look so much younger than his actual age. Without the glasses, Ming Zhifei looked twenty-five or twenty-six; if someone said he was Yang Jianzhen’s peer, no one would doubt it.
Yang Jianzhen stood at 187cm, while Ming Zhifei was half a head shorter, likely around 178 or 179cm. If he stood in front of Jianzhen, his entire frame could be easily enveloped—for some reason, Yang Jianzhen’s imagination of this scenario had become increasingly vivid lately. He felt that holding Ming Zhifei like that would surely feel wonderful.
Had he been celibate for so long that he was becoming insatiable?
His previous bed partner, despite various flaws, had been enough to satisfy him. Combined with how busy he had been, Jianzhen hadn’t bothered to find someone new, which was why the arrangement lasted nearly two years—long enough for the other person to develop the delusion that they were in a “relationship.” In other words, for the past two years, he had been more accustomed to being with men than women.
However, he had never felt a proactive urge to touch his former partner. That was entirely different from the current desire he felt to be physically close to Ming Zhifei.
A man I originally mistook for a middle-aged uncle… As Yang Jianzhen took out the pork, he felt his thoughts were becoming a bit pathological.
Would Ming Zhifei come back for lunch? Without any means of communication, he had no way of knowing.
The thought flashed for a second time: What if Ming Zhifei doesn’t come back?
Aside from the period following his grandfather’s death, he had never felt this “left behind, what do I do now” sensation—not even when everyone turned their backs on him, took his money, and beat him senseless. He was no longer a helpless child; he was just facing temporary difficulties. He didn’t believe these troubles would last—once his injuries healed, he would find a way to deal with those people.
He looked at the wall clock: 11:30 AM. At this moment, he had to force himself to be rational. Perhaps the hearing was just running long. Ming Zhifei wouldn’t leave; he hadn’t taken any of his things. Besides, this was his home—where else would he go?
Despite his logic, a strange feeling continued to rise in Jianzhen’s chest. He kept thinking back to the item he had seen deep inside the kitchen cabinet a few days ago.
Yang Jianzhen tossed the pork into the sink, pulled over a low stool, sat before the cabinet, and reached into the very back of the bottom shelf to pull it out.
It was a large bag of charcoal meant for grilling. He had first seen it the day Ming Zhifei fainted from hypoglycemia. While using the kitchen, he had assumed the owner planned to have a barbecue, but after spending these days together, he was convinced Ming Zhifei was not the type of person to host a barbecue. Furthermore, there wasn’t a single piece of grilling equipment in the entire apartment.
Yang Jianzhen replayed Ming Zhifei’s unusual behaviors. The man seemed to have no desires, spent most of his time in silence, and had mentioned that that day’s verdict might leave him with no money—or even a mountain of debt.
Moreover, Ming Zhifei was a doctor, yet he wasn’t working. He knew he was running out of money, yet he wasn’t looking for a way to make more. Why?
He could allow himself to almost starve to death before eating—at their first meeting, it seemed as though he had intentionally let himself get to that point. Over the last few days, he had eaten, but Jianzhen realized he only did so because he was the one who had cooked it and told him to eat.
In the last five years of his grandfather’s life, he had to inject insulin daily for diabetes. He occasionally suffered from hypoglycemia, and his eventual passing was due to a hypoglycemic coma. Thus, Yang Jianzhen was intimately familiar with the signs. It was why he always kept candy in his pocket. He also knew that for a healthy adult without diabetes, it was very difficult to reach that level of hypoglycemia unless they were starving themselves while overexerting.
That bag of charcoal… if not for a barbecue, what was it for?
Yang Jianzhen put the charcoal back and went to the bedroom. He opened the wardrobe and found no more of Ming Zhifei’s outdoor clothes. Only a pair of pajamas, one pair of socks, and one pair of underwear remained. In fact, after Jianzhen had thrown out one of Ming Zhifei’s outfits yesterday, Ming Zhifei only had the set he was currently wearing.
If he cared so little for food, clothing, or even sex, did he have anything left to live for?
He lived here in total isolation. In the past few days, his phone had never rung except for a call from his lawyer. He didn’t use it to reach out to anyone or even for entertainment. He seemed indifferent to everything. So, why had he rented this place in the first place?
The few things Ming Zhifei kept here didn’t reflect any personal taste; they were merely the bare essentials for survival. The food in the fridge was only there because Jianzhen asked for it. The only thing he had bought for himself was a bag of Shaanxi noodles.
Yang Jianzhen picked up the bag of noodles—did this represent Ming Zhifei? No, it was just the absolute minimum required to keep him breathing.
Time ticked by. It was now 1:00 PM. Yang Jianzhen was making braised pork, but he was missing cinnamon, so it might not turn out perfectly. He watched the small blue flame of the gas stove—it would take another hour to finish.
He had specifically chosen a dish that took a long time to distract himself from his growing unease. Yes, unease. Like a madman, he had repeatedly checked Ming Zhifei’s belongings, reaching a terrifying conclusion: If Ming Zhifei didn’t come back, it might be because his presence made it impossible for him to carry out his plan at home. He might find somewhere else to end it.
At 2:00 PM, five minutes before the pork was done, he couldn’t stop himself from returning to the bedroom. He opened the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. Inside was a plastic box. He hadn’t wanted to touch Ming Zhifei’s things, but he opened it anyway.
Inside was 10,000 yuan in cash.
Yang Jianzhen’s heart sank to the bottom of his chest. Was this the cash Ming Zhifei had left behind for him?
The smell of char from the kitchen reminded him that he had ruined the dish.
Yang Jianzhen didn’t eat lunch. He couldn’t stomach burnt food, nor could he eat plain rice. The only time in his life he hadn’t been able to eat was in the days following his grandfather’s death. He had been alone, terrified, unable to eat a single bite while trying to figure out how to arrange a funeral.
His grandfather’s only descendant was a child who didn’t know what to do. Fortunately, a cousin—his grandfather’s nephew—arrived to help. The funeral was rushed through in a single day without notifying anyone—not his grandfather’s friends or students who respected him.
Even if that respect existed, it wouldn’t transfer to a grandson. The cousin was worried about what to do with a newly legal adult but couldn’t take him in. He simply told the village committee of Jianzhen’s plight. They told Jianzhen he didn’t qualify for aid because both his parents were alive; if he had trouble, he should find them. Besides, he was eighteen—even if his parents were gone, he was old enough to stand on his own two feet.
Before that, Yang Jianzhen had always believed his mother was dead and his father had vanished into thin air; that was the only story his grandfather had ever told him.
It was the village committee that traced his father to a coastal city in the south, though they could find no trace of his mother. Only then did the truth emerge: his mother had been stabbed multiple times by his father. To protect her and the young Jianzhen, his grandfather had declared her dead to the world after she recovered, secretly sending her far away to escape while he raised Yang Jianzhen alone.
His father, fleeing under the belief that he was a murderer, had settled in that southern city. Years ago, he had returned to his own village to register his later children in the household system, leaving behind his distant address.
Just as Jianzhen had told Ming Zhifei, he took the meager travel funds his cousin gave him and endured a grueling journey to find his father. Instead of a reunion, the man beat him out with an iron rod, wordless and savage, as if intent on killing him this time for real. Through the haze of pain, Jianzhen saw two younger children, their bodies mottled with bruises, watching the scene with hollow, numbed eyes.