Chapter 25
Long Yu quickly finished cooking: asparagus with shrimp, wood ear mushrooms with yam, and a bowl of shredded chicken cold noodles for each of them, all looking delicious.
Fang Jing Yao had overdone it at lunch with barbecue, so a light dinner was perfect. Long Yu didn’t eat spicy food but prepared a small dish of fried chili oil for Fang Jing Yao. One spoonful made him sweat from the forehead. He mixed the cold noodles thoroughly and ate every bite.
Watching Fang Jing Yao eat heartily, Long Yu’s appetite was stimulated. He felt the food tasted better than usual and ate a bowl of cold noodles himself. Seeing Fang Jing Yao reach for more chili while exclaiming how hot it was, dipping mushrooms in it, Long Yu laughed: “You really love spicy food? Next month when I go on a business trip to Haikou, I’ll bring some local yellow lantern chili for you. I hear it’s good.”
Fang Jing Yao nodded twice, then suddenly realized something. “You’re going on a business trip next month?”
Long Yu: “A professional seminar.”
Fang Jing Yao had been eating happily but felt a bit off now. “Oh… how long?”
Long Yu thought for a moment: “About half a month.”
Fang Jing Yao felt a little reluctant, poking at the remaining vegetables. He couldn’t eat much.
After dinner, he washed the dishes. He couldn’t cook, but he could handle this kind of work. The contract had stated chores should be divided. Long Yu didn’t stop him. Following Fang Jing Yao’s example, he tied on an apron himself, but unlike Fang Jing Yao, he didn’t sneak any touches—he openly patted Fang Jing Yao’s butt. “All right, the rest is yours now.”
Fang Jing Yao almost jumped. His face flushed but seeing Long Yu smiling, he just lowered his head and scrubbed the dishes. It seemed Long Yu liked little gestures like this; even in the library earlier, he hugged Fang from behind, and there was the same firmness pressing…
Fang Jing Yao almost dropped a bowl, lost in thought.
Long Yu looked at him curiously. Fang Jing Yao, feeling guilty, quickly shooed him: “Go sit in the living room. You’re distracting me here.”
Long Yu went to the living room, watching TV in loose pajamas, leaning on the sofa, remote in hand. He smiled suddenly, as if remembering something.
The phone on the coffee table rang twice. Long Yu looked and picked it up. “Jing Yao, your phone. Yi Fan is calling.”
Fang Jing Yao’s hands were covered in soap. “You answer it. I’m busy.”
Long Yu answered. As soon as he said “Hello,” the wind roared in the background. Yi Fan’s voice was hard to hear: “Hello, Master? I’m back, almost in the city…” Someone shouted to warn him about a turn, and in those few words, they nearly argued.
Long Yu recognized the voice and asked: “Yi Fan, who are you with?”
Yi Fan stammered: “No one, just a friend.”
The person beside him immediately snorted loudly, mocking him without any courtesy.
Zhuo Yifan: “…”
Zhuo Yifan spoke honestly: “I accidentally hurt President Han. I’m driving him home now.”
Long Yu frowned. “How badly hurt? What happened?”
“Just a scrape.” Zhuo Yifan realized it was his master on the line and felt a little embarrassed: “I drank too much, lost control, and ended up hurting President Han.”
Long Yu said, “Give him the phone. I’ll talk to him.”
Soon, Han Qiaoye answered. Hearing it was Long Yu, he didn’t bother being polite, his tone full of impatience: “What happened? Ask him yourself. He was like he’d taken drugs—jumping around while drunk! He woke up halfway, came back at it again, getting worse each time. He kicked a wooden plank with nails, and I worried he’d seriously hurt himself, so I blocked it with my hand. Ended up being me who got unlucky—almost had my arm in a cast this afternoon…”
Han Qiaoye complained the whole way: “And that’s not all. Once the kid sobered up, he admitted his mistake and said he’d drive me home. I thought that was decent, so I handed him the car keys. Who knew he got in and damaged the convertible!”
Zhuo Yifan defended himself: “I didn’t do it on purpose! Your car is an old model, how’s that my fault?”
Han Qiaoye didn’t let him off: “Old model, my ass! You jammed the panel while forcing the convertible, of course it broke!”
The two of them argued over the phone. Zhuo Yifan reasoned, Han Qiaoye mocked—Long Yu felt like he was caught in a multi-person conference call, getting a headache from their bickering. It was like “you bite me, I bite back” over and over. Long Yu finally interrupted: “Old Han, go to the hospital. I’ll call the ER. First, clean up the wound. Yifan, after you drop him off, come here. Your master has been worried about you all night. The hotel caught fire—you can’t go back to stay there.”
That settled it. The two grudgingly agreed and hung up.
Long Yu explained everything to Fang Jing Yao. Feeling guilty, Fang Jing Yao wiped his hands and said: “I’ll go too. I want to see how bad the injuries are…”
Long Yu said, “He can still joke around, so it shouldn’t be serious.”
Fang Jing Yao still wanted to go, but Long Yu pressed him to sit on the sofa, wrapping an arm around his shoulders: “I’ve arranged everything. It’s fine. Wait here for him.”
Usually, Fang Jing Yao handled everything—whether it was Zhuo Yifan or Luo Yi—he was the one used to taking care of others. Now, roles were reversed. Being held on the sofa by Long Yu gave him an inexplicable sense of security, as if he could relax within this space and not worry about anything else.
How big that space was, he couldn’t say, but he couldn’t help leaning in to smell Long Yu’s neck. It had that distinct scent—cold, faintly floral, slightly bitter.
Long Yu noticed, looked down at him, and kissed his forehead: “Trust me.”
Fang Jing Yao nodded, completely reassured.
After over half an hour, Zhuo Yifan arrived, clothes soaked, hair plastered to his face. He stood against the wall like a child caught doing something wrong. “Master, sorry for causing trouble.”
Fang Jing Yao paused. “It’s raining outside?”
Zhuo Yifan nodded glumly. “Started raining when entering the city.”
Long Yu recalled the convertible that got damaged and glanced at the light rain outside, feeling sympathetic toward him.
Fang Jing Yao felt the same and first asked about Han Qiaoye: “Is he seriously hurt? Did he get stitches?”
Zhuo Yifan shook his head: “No, the wound’s small. Just an X-ray—slight bone crack on the arm. They bandaged it; the doctor said it will take a month or two to heal.”
Long Yu asked further, then told Fang Jing Yao: “It’s nothing serious. I’ll check on him tomorrow.”
Fang Jing Yao asked about the situation at the time. Zhuo Yifan, drunk, had trouble recalling and after thinking, hesitated: “Anyway, it was me who hurt President Han. I remember… maybe I did something disrespectful…”
Fang Jing Yao: “What?”
Zhuo Yifan swallowed nervously. “I tore his clothes.”
Both Fang Jing Yao and Long Yu were surprised. Fang Jing Yao’s serious expression lasted a few seconds before curiosity overcame him: “How did you tear them? How many? Come on, tell us clearly.”
Zhuo Yifan blushed. “…When I woke up, I saw his shirt on the floor. It was so red, no one else could’ve worn it. I recognized it immediately as President Han’s.”
Fang Jing Yao wanted to ask more, but Long Yu interrupted: “Stay here tonight. The hotel isn’t safe. If you go back, Jing Yao won’t be at ease.”
Zhuo Yifan, inexperienced in relationships, knew better than to intrude on his master and Long Yu. “No, no! I’ll find another place!”
Fang Jing Yao said: “Come on, you’re in an unfamiliar place. Stay here tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll go to the hotel to get your luggage, and you can stay with Huang Bao’er. Since I’ll be gone, only Bao’er’s home. Two nights won’t hurt, you can keep it company.”
Zhuo Yifan agreed.
That evening, while helping his master with tracing lines and dot grids in the study, he got treated twice: once with fruit and yogurt, second, his master calling him to bed.
During this time, Long Yu’s schedule was very regular, like a retired cadre: sleep at 10:30 PM, up at 6:30 AM. Very healthy.
Fang Jing Yao, with an assistant for a change, worked efficiently. Feeling energetic and a little tempted to stay up late, he kept drawing while agreeing verbally to stop.
Long Yu stood silently at the study door, watching.
Fang Jing Yao soon surrendered: “Okay, okay. I’ll close the computer.”
Zhuo Yifan also put down his pen. It was only 10:30 PM, early for him—but not for his master!
Zhuo Yifan panicked, thinking how to hide quietly under the same roof.
Turns out, he overestimated Long Yu’s generosity.
Long Yu handed him a new set of toiletries and pajamas, guiding him to the next room: “There’s a guest room. Bathroom’s small but usable. Bear with it for tonight.”
