Chapter 20
Fang Jing Yao stared for a moment, trying to recall. The chubby guy stared back, clearly incredulous that he could forget such a prominent figure at school. Fang Jing Yao took a little too long, and even Long Yu glanced over.
Fang Jing Yao forced a laugh. “Hahaha, I remember now—it was in a club!”
The chubby guy said seriously, “You have to say ‘president.’”
Fang Jing Yao thought to himself: I even call him my husband, I’ve been in bed with him for over a week, and you call him president?
Han Qiaoye called out to Long Yu from across the way; they were opening beers. He waved the bottle at Long Yu to go over and chat. Long Yu placed the grilled meat he had cooked onto a plate, handed it to Fang Jing Yao, expression calm. “I’ll go over first.”
Fang Jing Yao felt a little sorry for him. “You’ve grilled all this and haven’t even eaten a bite.”
Hearing this, Long Yu leaned down and bit a piece from the skewer Fang Jing Yao held. “Not bad.”
The chubby guy watched, astonished. When Long Yu walked away, he finally exhaled, patting his belly. “I really didn’t expect Senior could be so close with someone… it’s like he’s descended to the mortal world.”
Fang Jing Yao laughed, nudging the meat toward him. “Descended? I thought you only sang ‘Si Fan.’”
The chubby guy laughed too, eyes squinting as he recalled the past. “The elders at home sang it, so I learned. Otherwise, it’s just a hobby for listening to music.”
Fang Jing Yao said, “If you weren’t so chubby back then, you’d have looked like a scholar from the Republic era, all refined and pedantic. What are you busy with now? What work do you do?”
The chubby guy said, “I’m chief editor at a magazine, doing illustrated artifacts. It’s okay, at least I can do what I like. And you? Went to study art in senior year—become a big painter?”
Fang Jing Yao laughed, picking up his satisfaction from the tone. “Not at all—more like a comic artist.”
He told the chubby guy about his comics, who listened intently. The two had been friends since high school barbecuing together, both more interested in doing what they liked than chasing fame or wealth, so they shared a lot of common ground.
They chatted briefly about comics, then naturally drifted back to silly high school memories. Where there were silly people, there were also outstandingly brilliant ones.
The chubby guy said, “Back in the literary club, my first piece was a Yuan dynasty-style play. Remember? When the first club magazine came out, the whole school was buzzing! It was quite a feat. Our school had at least ten thousand students, everyone got a copy, and Senior Long made it all happen…”
Fang Jing Yao vaguely remembered, recalling a little of the club. “Was Long Yu really the president? I thought it was a senior named Xie?”
“That was the vice president—there were two. Xie handled business; we ran errands for him. The other, Han Qiaoye, managed sponsorships. But when Long Yu was president, he didn’t ask anyone for money, paid out of his own pocket.”
Fang Jing Yao, brushing oil and seasoning on skewers, grilled while chatting. “Now I remember, Long Yu didn’t wear glasses back then. I saw him only a few times, maybe playing cards with them.”
The chubby guy laughed, tearing down the illusion: “You only saw him a few times. You were in the club for two weeks before appendicitis landed you in the hospital. At most, you glimpsed the president from afar in a meeting.”
Fang Jing Yao objected: “Not true! I remember playing cards together, and Vice President Han… yes, him! I lost terribly that time—worst of my three high school years. I couldn’t forget! Covered in IOUs, even lost fifty bucks!”
The chubby guy clutched his heart in horror. “You gambled?!”
Fang Jing Yao frowned. “Long Yu was so rich back then—how could he covet my fifty bucks?”
The chubby guy spat at him without mercy. “You, destroying the emperor’s rule with your hands! A thief!”
Fang Jing Yao poked him with a skewer. “What’s your problem? Eating my food and insulting me? Put it down! If you’re brave, don’t eat the thief’s meat!”
The chubby guy shivered in his thick flesh but stood firm. “A grilled bun, meat together, that’s how it tastes best.”
Fang Jing Yao, sharing similar tastes, remembered visiting the school’s small barbecue stands in high school. He skewered two pieces of meat in sesame buns, grilled them. The buns were thin, crisp outside, soft inside. Split in half, the hot bun held the grilled meat. He added some roasted beans—mouth-watering.
The chubby guy carefully selected mushrooms, grilled gluten, and added three large lamb skewers, beaming with delight.
They chatted while eating when Fang Jing Yao’s phone rang—Zhuo Yifan. His young apprentice was in a bit of trouble; sirens could be heard.
“Master, a café below the hotel caught fire. Don’t worry, nothing serious. The police evacuated people first…”
Fang Jing Yao was startled. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Zhuo Yifan: “I’m fine. Was just showering—came down in a rush, nothing grabbed.”
Fang Jing Yao sighed in relief. “Okay, come here. I’m not in the city. Take a cab to the suburban resort, I’ll meet you at the entrance.”
Zhuo Yifan hesitated. Fang Jing Yao’s face darkened. “Come now, obey!”
Zhuo Yifan agreed.
Fang Jing Yao hung up, exhaling. The chubby guy comforted him: “It’s okay, everyone’s out. City’s small, fire department responded fast, shouldn’t be a problem.”
Fang Jing Yao nodded. “True.”
The chubby guy asked, “Who almost got in trouble?”
Fang Jing Yao: “My apprentice. I’ve trained him for years. He’s only twenty, promising. Just playful, always arguing with people… but it’s good—black is black, white is white. Living straightforward is pleasant.”
The chubby guy laughed. “A wise one.”
Fang Jing Yao called Zhuo Yifan again, confirmed he was on the way, and relaxed to enjoy beer and barbecue with the chubby guy.
Meanwhile, Han Qiaoye drank with Long Yu. Han could handle his liquor; Long Yu sipped lightly and declined more. Han shrugged, didn’t push, and talked: “I heard you hired your father’s legal team to sue an online platform?”
Long Yu: “Yes.”
Han laughed: “That’s overkill. Just hiring your dad’s team costs enough to buy into that small platform. If you’re interested in investing, I could connect you with people in the field.”
Long Yu shook his head. “No, the matter has reason. Not for show.”
Han leaned forward, curious. “Why? People are speculating—some say your family’s leaving hospitals, you, the prince, are going to sponsor online influencers…”
Long Yu blinked, surprised. “What? A comic website—where are the influencers?”
Han: “Online celebrities. Lately it’s popular to promote beautiful authors… Never mind. Why are you suing them?”
Long Yu hesitated, then told the story about Fang Jing Yao objectively. Han frowned. “What a mess! That Luo Yi is unreliable. No one will work with him in the future.” He thought a moment. “Oh, I know some film investors. I can introduce them. If the project Luo Yi wants is truly backed by Juyu Media, I know the CEO personally.”
Long Yu nodded. “Thanks.”
Han’s expression exaggerated in surprise. “You’re Long Yu? You never cared about these people before. This is unusual.”
Long Yu smiled. “Maybe next time you visit, you’ll see more changes in me.”
Han remembered the kids he photographed on Da Cao Yuan, their heroic postures, and finally surrendered to his heart. “No, once my second brother’s leg heals, I’ll go back. My volunteer period isn’t over; I must see it through.”
Long Yu said bluntly, “What you call a ‘volunteer’ is just voluntary.”
Han Qiaoye replied, “You don’t get it. Staying in the city is fine, but I like those wild little things…”
As the two chatted, from afar they saw Fang Jing Yao bringing someone over. A small white-haired figure, half-wet and messy, wore a hotel bathrobe. Probably feeling embarrassed by the outfit, he wore a large black mask with a metal zipper that covered most of his face, leaving only a sharp nose and slightly upturned eyes. When he squinted at people, there was a hint of caution.
Fang Jing Yao scolded his apprentice, “The place is on fire, and you didn’t bring anything—how did you remember to bring a mask?!”
Zhuo Yifan, defiant, stretched his neck and said, “Isn’t it more embarrassing not to wear a mask? There’s nothing on me inside! Not even underwear! I grabbed a bathrobe outside…”
Fang Jing Yao: “You should have grabbed your underwear, not a mask!”
Zhuo Yifan: “A mask can go on my face. Can underwear?”
Fang Jing Yao paused. His apprentice made sense, but something still felt off.
