“No,” Chu Minghe smiled as he looked at him. “I’m not sleepy.”
He treated Lin Dingshi like a younger brother of his own family, speaking in a gentle voice with a much more relaxed expression. Seeing this, Zhao Xingjian felt a knot in his heart. Perhaps having finally sensed over these past many days that Chu Minghe’s attitude toward him differed from his attitude toward others always maintaining a polite, formal distance he felt a sense of grievance.
Could it be just because he was about to become an ex-husband?
…
It really seemed to be for that exact reason.
What was even more exasperating was that the two words “ex-husband” left a sour taste in his mouth, a deeply unpleasant one. Having such a term applied to him felt as though his own man had eloped with some other scoundrel and abandoned him.
The more Zhao Xingjian thought about it, the more uncomfortable he felt, finding it utterly unbearable. He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his contact list for someone with a similar experience, hoping to find some comfort.
What was so big about being an ex-husband? There were ex-husbands everywhere: divorces due to emotional discord, divorces due to infidelity, divorces because the arranged marriage contract had expired…
Why had they set an expiration date on their arranged marriage back then? If there hadn’t been an expiration date, it would have been impossible for him to become an ex-husband.
Zhao Xingjian’s finger paused scrolling on his phone screen, and he suddenly turned his head to glance at Chu Minghe.
The time limit back then had been added by Zhao Xingjian himself. Because the photo Chu Minghe had sent was photoshopped with truly terrible skills, he had bargained with Chu Minghe and tacked on a ten-year limit.
Why ten years? Because the ten billion yuan in operating capital for the company had been provided by the Chu family, with one billion traded for each year.
Back then, due to Chu Minghe’s interference, they hadn’t been able to find cooperative partners in the short term, leaving the capital paralyzed. It was equivalent to selling himself to Chu Minghe for ten billion yuan; no one could tolerate that kind of humiliation, which was why Zhao Xingjian’s detestation of Chu Minghe at the time was entirely genuine.
The accumulation of time wouldn’t simply erase his hatred for Chu Minghe, but Chu Minghe’s changes and his close-range interactions with him had applied a layer of protective film over that hatred.
Only when he actively recalled it would he touch it and feel that same rush of heart-pounding fury from back then.
The phone screen had gone dark long ago. When Zhao Xingjian put his phone away, Chu Minghe was still chatting animatedly with Lin Dingshi about how heavy the rain had been last night, how miserably the chickens in the coop had cried, and how the windows had rattled loudly amidst the massive gale.
Chu Minghe hadn’t heard a thing last night, sleeping even more soundly on the sofa than he would have on a bed, so he had no opinions to offer and could only listen to Lin Dingshi recount his story.
Zhao Xingjian listened along from the side.
Yet what Lin Dingshi was describing didn’t match what he had experienced. Clearly, he hadn’t fallen asleep either, waiting for Chu Minghe to burrow into his arms so why did that light drizzle sound like the end of the world in Lin Dingshi’s mouth?
As he listened, Zhao Xingjian furrowed his brows, suddenly recalling what Zheng Yuan had told him: “Topics don’t necessarily have to be true, as long as he finds them engaging enough for you two to converse.”
“Exaggerate as much as you can, the more exaggerated the better, to capture his attention.”
Suddenly, Zhao Xingjian understood. Seeing that Chu Minghe was indeed listening intently, he figured that Zheng Yuan and his husband truly knew how to live life, successfully keeping their days as sweet as honey and oil blended together.
Still, he lacked the opportunity to put it into practice. Zhao Xingjian turned his head to look out the window on the other side.
They stretched a one-hour drive into an hour and a half. By the time they reached their destination, the sun overhead was already blazing bright enough to dazzle the eyes.
Even so, the air quality was quite good right after the rain. Chu Minghe pulled out the “supplies” stuffed by the production team from beneath the front passenger seat. Everyone was given a backpack containing only a few compressed biscuits and two bottles of water. The backpack itself felt much heavier than the items inside, as if sand had been stuffed into the bottom, making it somewhat reminiscent of a wilderness survival challenge.
Chu Minghe distributed the backpacks to the others. After strapping his own on, he looked back at the accompanying cameramen and the director eating an ice cream inside the van.
The director sucked on his spoon and shouted, “Supply draw!”
…
None of them moved. Having finished his ice cream, the director walked over himself, holding the supply cards Chu Minghe had looked at that morning.
“The items in your backpacks can satisfy your basic daily requirements for hydration and energy. The six cards in my hand are extra supply reinforcements. You’ll need to draw for them whichever card you draw is what you get.”
Moreover, because these were pre-assigned by Chu Minghe, they weren’t even allowed to unwrap and inspect their items after drawing. Handing the cards back to the director, the director stuffed the supplies directly into their hands.
Everyone looked quite satisfied with what they received. Chu Minghe cast another glance at Zhao Xingjian’s sun-protection set.
Judging by the weather, it might actually come in handy. Still, he hadn’t expected Zhao Xingjian to be so meticulous, protecting his own skin so tightly.
Zhang Congsheng had drawn the direct cable car ride and wanted Zhang Qing to ride up with him, but Zhang Qing wanted to wander around snapping photos with his camera. After a minor bicker between the two, Zhang Congsheng’s ticket was invalidated, and he simply followed Zhang Qing on foot, scrambling around and poking into every corner.
“There couldn’t possibly be snakes in a place like this, right?”
The cameraman following closely behind them shook his camera, prompting Zhang Congsheng to ask, “No?”
The camera shook again in response.
That meant he didn’t know.
“Even if there are, you guys probably planted them there.”
Zhang Congsheng’s trust in the production team had also plummeted to rock-bottom levels.
Listening to them, Chu Minghe shoved the military cotton-padded coat he had received into his backpack. Because the coat was bulky, it took him half an age of stuffing before he could barely manage to zip it shut.
After hoisting it onto his back to test the weight, he found it actually wasn’t bad, though he had no idea how it would hold up over a long period.
Seeing that he had finished organizing his things, Zhao Xingjian handed over the sun-protection set.
Taking it and examining it, Chu Minghe saw it was a brand placement ad and asked, “Are you letting me use this?”
If he wanted to spell it out explicitly, that was fine too, so Zhao Xingjian countered, “You aren’t going to use it?”
“I am.”
The sun was strong, and holding out for a whole morning under it would be tough. However, he noticed that the packaging was still completely intact and unopened when Zhao Xingjian handed it over.
So, after applying it to himself, he had Zhao Xingjian hold out his hand, squeezed a large dollop right into his palm, and passed the remaining portion down to the others.
Watching the dollop sitting in his palm, Zhao Xingjian poked it with his finger, got a tiny bit on his fingertips, and smeared it all over the back of his hand.
Once the others finished using it, their bottles were empty too. Seeing this, Zhao Xingjian withdrew his hand, cupped that dollop firmly inside his palm, and followed Chu Minghe as they began hiking up the mountain.