Chapter 37
After checking Zhuo Yifan’s tooth, Han Qiaoye even made a show of writing him a note and instructed, “After extraction, remember to ask for a prescription for painkillers—the kind you dissolve in your mouth, they work faster. Also buy a few boxes of these anti-inflammatory pills and don’t forget to take them.”
Zhuo Yifan nodded. “Okay.”
Han Qiaoye looked quite satisfied with how compliant he was. His hand itched to ruffle the soft white hair at the top of Zhuo Yifan’s head again, but this time Zhuo Yifan quickly dodged—much more alert than before. Wanting to keep some face in front of Fang Jing Yao, he came up with an excuse: “Dr. Han, you must be thirsty. I’ll pour you some water.”
Han Qiaoye watched him walk into the kitchen, his gaze lingering with amusement. Then he turned back to Fang Jing Yao. “Yifan’s really a good kid. Thanks to him taking care of me lately, otherwise my arm wouldn’t have healed so fast.”
Fang Jing Yao, who treated Zhuo Yifan like both a student and a son, felt slightly embarrassed hearing that. “Don’t say that—you got hurt protecting him. In a sense, Yifan bears direct responsibility. When someone makes a mistake, they should shoulder it.”
Han Qiaoye nodded. “You’re right. Still, he’s a good one. I like how sincere he is. But Jing Yao—about that Luo Yi—he doesn’t seem to think the same way, does he? Yifan mentioned it to me, and from what I hear, that guy’s been coming around again, right?”
The mention of Luo Yi made Fang Jing Yao’s chest tighten. He nodded. “Yeah. He came looking for me, but I didn’t see him. Just the sight of him irritates me.” After a pause, he added, “And I was afraid Dr. Long might misunderstand, so I just decided not to have any contact with Luo Yi anymore.”
Han Qiaoye smiled. “Ah, so that’s how you’re thinking. See, you tell me that and I understand right away. But you didn’t tell Long Yu that, did you? So how’s he supposed to know?”
Fang Jing Yao frowned. “I told him! I said I wouldn’t see Luo Yi again, and I didn’t. I’ve made that clear several times, but he just won’t listen.”
Han Qiaoye corrected him gently. “That’s because you left out the first part.”
“The first part?”
“You should’ve said, ‘I’m doing this because I’m afraid you’ll misunderstand.’” Han Qiaoye leaned closer, motioning for Fang Jing Yao to come nearer. When Fang Jing Yao did, he whispered in his ear, “That block of wood, Long Yu—this is his first time chasing someone, first time coaxing someone, and probably first time fighting with someone, too. So you’ve got to spell everything out for him. With a guy like him, you need to say things like: ‘You’re the one I like most, care for most, the most important to me. I’m scared of losing you—I can’t be without you. That’s why I turned the others down, why I stopped seeing them. It’s all because of you.’”
Fang Jing Yao’s face turned crimson in an instant.
In the kitchen came a loud clatter—the sound of a glass falling and water splashing. Zhuo Yifan was frantically wiping the counter with a towel, keeping his eyes firmly away from the living room.
Han Qiaoye glanced over, amusement flickering in his eyes. He didn’t move to help, just smiled slyly, clearly pleased with himself.
Fang Jing Yao tried to imagine actually saying those words to Long Yu, and his blush deepened. He coughed awkwardly. “You don’t have to say that kind of thing all the time, do you?”
Han Qiaoye raised an eyebrow immediately. “Of course you do! Honestly, don’t be fooled—Long Yu may be brilliant when it comes to work, analyzing everything with perfect logic, but emotionally he’s a blank page. He has no idea how any of this works!” He sighed. “Long Yu’s world runs on rules and procedures. Everything follows a system. He’s never been in love before, so when he finally fell, he fell hard—eyes full of only you. So when you so much as talk to someone else, he magnifies it a hundred times. Anyway, remember this—he’s a block of wood. He’s lived all these years like a monk untouched by worldly smoke. Just think of his face and his family fortune—cut him some slack and give him another chance.”
Fang Jing Yao couldn’t help laughing. “That’s not what I’m in this for.”
Han Qiaoye grinned. “Oh, come on. Other than being rich and smart, his biggest advantage is that face. Look at him long enough and you’ll think, damn, he’s so handsome—fine, I forgive him.”
Fang Jing Yao broke into laughter and nodded. “That actually makes sense.”
They joked for a while. Seeing the tension in Fang Jing Yao’s expression ease a bit, Han Qiaoye spoke sincerely again: “Long Yu has his flaws. He can be rigid, yes—but he’s not doing it on purpose. I’ve known him for over a decade; he’s always been like this. It’s like he’s trapped in his own order and won’t step out of it. He probably never thought he’d reach the point of talking about marriage with someone. He’s trying to change—but it’s slow. So Jing Yao, please be patient with him.”
Fang Jing Yao thought for a moment, then nodded. “I will. And thank you, Senior Han. I’ll remember what you said and think it over.”
Having completed his mission, Han Qiaoye looked quite pleased. Zhuo Yifan came out from the kitchen with a fruit platter, setting it down in front of them but not taking a bite himself. Han Qiaoye picked a few pieces and complimented him cheerfully, “The ones you picked are sweeter than most—nicely done.”
Zhuo Yifan shifted closer to Fang Jing Yao, now not only alert for himself but also protectively wary on his teacher’s behalf.
Han Qiaoye couldn’t help but laugh again. The kid reminded him of a little prairie dog standing guard—completely unaware of his own danger but determined to protect the whole burrow.
After chatting a bit more, Han Qiaoye pulled out a file envelope. “Oh right—here’s our old Literature Club photo. President Long paid to have copies printed for everyone, and you never came to pick yours up. You were sick then, weren’t you?”
Fang Jing Yao said, “Yeah, I was in the hospital—appendicitis surgery. I took a long leave.”
Zhuo Yifan looked at him in disbelief. “Master, you already had your appendix taken out? But last year you told your publisher you were having surgery again to delay your manuscript…”
Han Qiaoye looked at him with fresh admiration, his gaze so blunt that Fang Jing Yao felt embarrassed.
Fang Jing Yao coughed. “That was… the past. Let’s not talk about that.”
Han Qiaoye laughed. “You also missed graduation back then. Long Yu actually asked about you. Anyway, this envelope also has the anthology we printed that year. Keep it as a memento. And your photos—I really went through a lot to find them. They were still in your old locker at school. I got someone to bring them back for you. There are group photos and a few solo shots—keep them.”
He pushed the envelope toward Fang Jing Yao, who took it. It was heavy—packed full.
Han Qiaoye had recently returned from abroad to take over his family’s business, so he still had a lot to do. After chatting a bit longer, he left—he’d just been sent by Long Yu to deliver things and, admittedly, to satisfy his curiosity. After all, this was the one person who could make Long Yu break his usual rules again and again. Especially since Long Yu was already thinking about marriage, his friends naturally wanted to help however they could.
When Fang Jing Yao tried to walk him downstairs, Han Qiaoye waved him off. “No need.” He turned to the “little white hair” beside him, smiling with a squint. “Let Yifan see me out. He left something at my place last time—I brought it back in my car. Yifan, come get it with me?”
Zhuo Yifan hesitated but still followed.
Fang Jing Yao opened the envelope. Inside were several thick books, well preserved—aside from the yellowing paper, not a single bent corner. There was also a stack of photos: group shots and candid singles of himself, taken skillfully so that he was always smiling. One captured him turning back, a lollipop between his lips, winking mischievously—slightly blurred, but clearly him.
On the back of those candid shots, dates were written in firm, youthful handwriting—handwriting that looked strikingly similar to the note on the card that came with the bouquet earlier. It read simply:
“Please remember our promise.”
Fang Jing Yao flipped through the photos again. Seven or eight of them were all of him, taken within a few days of each other — probably around the time he had just joined the literature club. Back then, he wore the oversized school uniform with the sleeves rolled up, showing a bit of his arm. On the desk beside him were scattered playing cards — that was exactly the kind of thing he used to do in school, not much like a model student. If it weren’t for his decent grades, the teachers probably would’ve sent him straight to the “problem student” class.
He’d joined the literature club with a few guys from his dorm just for fun, especially because the chubby one loved playing with words. Since the chubby one signed up, he followed along. The club’s atmosphere suited him, and small groups like that always made it easier to form bonds. He couldn’t remember clearly, but vaguely recalled that Long Yu had always been polite and caring toward him.
Then came a few group photos. They were only sixteen or seventeen at the time. Young Xie looked like a little artsy youth, Han Qiaoye had that teasing eyebrow-raised look like he was challenging someone, and Long Yu stood quietly to the side — tall and upright like a pine tree. The group of boys all had faces glowing with youthful enthusiasm. In the second group photo, they looked less formal — everyone standing close together, arms over each other’s shoulders. Fang Jing Yao had one hand making a “V” sign over the chubby one’s head and, daringly, the other hand hooked around Long Yu’s shoulder. In the photo, Long Yu slightly turned his body toward him, cooperating naturally.
As Han Qiaoye had said, Long Yu’s attitude toward him had always been different from how he treated others, hadn’t it?
Fang Jing Yao stared at the photo for a while, focusing on Long Yu.
Seventeen- or eighteen-year-old Long Yu wore thin-framed glasses, standing there like a snow-covered pine on a quiet mountain — cold and unapproachable, a temperament no one could imitate. Just one glance at him could stir the heart. Even back then, Long Yu already looked much as he did now — his face was strikingly handsome, irresistibly drawing people’s eyes toward him. His aloofness, that air of calm detachment, only made others more curious about him.
