Chapter 55: Drying Hair
Su Mubai gave a soft “Mm” of agreement.
Only then did Chu Yang step into the inner room to start retrieving supplies from his spatial storage. He first set up their bedding on the floor, layering it with thick, plush quilts. After a moment’s thought, he pulled out a small electric space heater, placed it in the corner, and switched it on.
Before long, a pleasant warmth filled the entire inner room.
Just then, the small wooden door creaked open.
Jiang Jue stepped out.
Unlike usual, he hadn’t rubbed his hair half-dry with a towel right after washing. Instead, he had merely run a hand through it, leaving his damp, pitch-black locks falling loosely across his forehead, with a few stray strands clinging to the nape of his neck. Water droplets rolled from the dark tips of his hair, tracing his chiseled jawline before soaking into the collar of his dark gray loungewear.
His sharp gaze swept across the room. Not finding Chu Yang, his brows furrowed slightly.
Lin Xiao was in the outer room tinkering with the large plastic basin. Catching sight of him, Lin Xiao called out casually, “Finished washing, Boss? Third went to the inner room to make the beds; he should be done right about now.”
Jiang Jue offered a quiet “Mm,” his voice carrying a slight rasp from the warm moisture. Without breaking his stride, he walked straight into the inner room.
Chu Yang had just adjusted the heater’s thermostat, his fingers still resting on the knob, when he looked up and met Jiang Jue’s deep, dark eyes.
Jiang Jue’s hair was still dripping, the droplets sliding down his defined cheeks to his chin before falling onto his collar with a soft patter.
“Good grief!” Chu Yang gasped, scrambling to his feet. “Brother Jiang, why didn’t you dry your hair before coming out? Even if the room is warm, sitting around with wet hair is an easy way to catch a cold! Come over here and sit down.”
Without waiting for a reply, he guided Jiang Jue by the arm to the edge of the mattress. Retrieving a clean, dry towel from his space, Chu Yang stood behind him and began gently rubbing the damp locks dry.
Jiang Jue’s frame stiffened for a fraction of a second, but he quickly relaxed, the rigid lines of his shoulders softening. He could feel Chu Yang’s fingertips massaging his scalp through the soft cotton, accompanied by the boy’s warm breath brushing against the back of his neck with every movement.
The inexplicable frustration and icy gloom that had weighed on Jiang Jue’s chest ever since encountering Jiang Lin that afternoon seemed to dissolve. Bit by bit, it was smoothed away by this gentle, clumsy care.
Closing his eyes, Jiang Jue let his long eyelashes droop to conceal the churning emotions within. He remained silent, but the faint trace of a smile curved the corner of his lips.
After rubbing for a while until the hair stopped dripping and remained only slightly damp, Jiang Jue spoke softly: “That’s enough.”
Chu Yang stopped, checking his work with an approving nod. “Mm, that should do it. The room is toasty, so it’ll air-dry in no time.”
Just then, Lin Xiao’s voice drifted in from the outer room: “Third Brother, your hot water is ready! Hurry up and grab your shower!”
“Coming!” Chu Yang shouted back. Turning to Jiang Jue, he added, “Brother Jiang, get some rest. I’ll be back before you know it!”
With that, he grabbed the clean change of clothes he had prepared and darted out like a whirlwind.
Jiang Jue was left alone in the quiet inner room.
He lifted a hand, lightly brushing the tips of his hair. The lingering warmth of Chu Yang’s touch still seemed to hum beneath his fingertips, sending a quiet tremor through his chest. Deep in his dark eyes, complex thoughts swirled, hidden from the rest of the world.
By the time Chu Yang had thoroughly scrubbed himself clean, changed into dry loungewear, and stepped out feeling refreshed, dinner was already waiting on the makeshift table in the outer room.
The chef tonight wasn’t Su Mubai, who usually handled the cooking, but Jiang Jue.
Using fresh vegetables, pork, and dried noodles from Chu Yang’s storage, Jiang Jue had prepared a massive pot of steaming, fragrant braised noodles. The noodles had soaked up the rich broth, the leafy greens were vibrant and crisp, the tender braised pork chunks looked mouthwatering, and a spoonful of glistening red chili oil rested on top. A single glance was enough to make anyone’s mouth water.
All of Chu Yang’s lingering fatigue and unease vanished the moment the rich aroma hit his nose. His eyes lit up, and he cheered, “Wow! Brother Jiang, you cooked? This looks amazing!”
He immediately pulled up a stool, picked up the bowl Su Mubai had already scooped for him, blew on the steaming surface, and eagerly dug in.
The savory broth was rich, the pork flavorful, and enjoying a piping-hot bowl of noodles on a freezing winter night felt like pure luxury. Chu Yang kept his head down, shoveling noodles into his mouth while mumbling praises between bites: “Delicious! Brother Jiang, your cooking is incredible!”
Lin Xiao slurped his noodles with equal gusto, nodding repeatedly in agreement. Even Su Mubai, though eating with his usual neat manners, kept a brisk pace, clearly savoring the hot meal.
As the four of them ate with hearty appetite, the rich, savory aroma slipped past the tightly closed doors and drafty window frames, drifting out into the freezing night air.
In a dilapidated bungalow not far away, young Little Yu and his grandfather were huddled beside a small campfire. The dry wood crackled softly, throwing up tiny sparks that were quickly extinguished by the cold air, the dancing flames casting a dim glow over the gaunt faces of the grandfather and grandson.
The old man used a small tin can to melt snow over the fire, crumbling the very last piece of their dry rations into the boiling water and stirring it into a thin porridge.
“Little Yu, come here. Eat it while it’s hot,” the grandfather said, offering the tin can to the boy.
Little Yu took the can, dipped a small finger into the mixture, and tasted it. It was bland and flavorless, barely enough to trick an empty stomach.
Twitching his nose, he caught the faint fragrance drifting on the night breeze—the unmistakable smell of savory pork and rich broth, a comforting scent of home he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.
Little Yu couldn’t help but swallow hard, childish longing flickering in his large, dark eyes. Yet a moment later, he lowered his head and pushed the can back. “Grandfather, you eat too.”
The old man gently stroked the boy’s head, his rough, calloused palm brushing against the child’s red, frostbitten cheeks. “Good boy. Grandfather will eat with you.”
He had smelled the tantalizing aroma on the wind as well, and had noticed his grandson secretly swallowing his saliva. His heart ached, but he kept his tone gentle: “Are you still hungry?”
Little Yu shook his head with remarkable maturity. “No. The older brothers earned their food, so it’s right that they eat well. Having this warm porridge is already very good for us.”
Even as he said it, his small hand scraped the bottom of the tin a little slower.
Across the way, in the room shared by Li Yu, Zhang Qiang, and Wang Li’s family, the contrast was just as sharp.
Wang Li knelt by the hearth, carefully stirring the contents of a small iron pot. Inside was a tiny handful of white rice she had kept hidden inside her coat—the very last proper grain she had saved for her daughter. The thin porridge bubbled gently over the embers, releasing a faint, sweet aroma of cooked rice.
Little Niu Niu was tucked securely in her mother’s arms, her small face buried in the woman’s lapel. Her eyes were fixed on the pot, her tiny nose twitching as she watched the steam rise.
On the other side of the room, Li Yu and Zhang Qiang sat on a pile of dry straw, each gnawing on a piece of stale, rock-hard bread. Whenever dry crumbs fell onto their clothes, they carefully picked them up, popped them into their mouths, and washed the dry mouthfuls down with sips of boiled snow water.
