Chapter 20

Chapter 20

In the adult world, alcohol often carries more social weight than actual meaning.

Zhou Xu indulged in both cigarettes and alcohol, but neither ever became an addiction. For him, smoking or drinking often brought a sense of tranquility, a comfortable peace. He never overindulged; once he neared that point, he’d naturally stop.

Like now.

He stood on the second-floor balcony of the pool hall, smoking. They’d acquired the place early on, for little money. Zhou Xu had poured his heart into it, tirelessly networking. Once the business was established, he rarely bothered with its operations, occasionally dropping by to play a few rounds with friends before leaving.

Yet, anyone familiar with the place could see Zhou Xu’s touch everywhere.

The spacious balcony held several tables for drinks. Warm yellow bulbs hung overhead, and the railings were lined with rose bushes. Spring and summer were their peak blooming seasons, with lively pink buds clustered on the branches.

Zhou Xu leaned on the railing, cigarette between his lips, gazing at the stars.

Soon, Ding Yong approached with a can of beer, squeezing in beside him. They’d been friends for over a decade, opening the pool hall together. Their bond was genuine, with no secrets between them.

“What’s up?” Ding Yong propped his elbow on the railing. “Something on your mind?”

Five years ago, this guy had gone to Lhasa and returned claiming enlightenment. Now, his wrist was adorned with prayer beads, and he spoke constantly of Buddhist teachings and “true nature.” He loved listening to friends vent their troubles, after which he’d conveniently offer to sell them a couple of bracelets, claiming they brought inner peace. “No charge,” he’d say, “just 880 for good karma.”

Zhou Xu didn’t look at him, nor did he respond.

Ding Yong chuckled knowingly. “Not to pry, but who were you just on the phone with?”

“A friend,” Zhou Xu shot him a glance. “What’s your problem?”

Ding Yong grinned. “Since when do you have friends I don’t know? Who is it?”

That’s how close they were—always teasing each other. Zhou Xu shifted, leaning back against the railing, cigarette between his fingers. “You ever meet someone who seems sharp but is just so…?”

He paused, then articulated four words: “Bold in love and hate.”

With a pop, Ding Yong opened his beer can. “And?”

Zhou Xu shook his head, smiling. “Nothing else. Just popped into my head.”

It was rather amusing—he hadn’t met Fang Bingxue many times, but each encounter had been lively. Zhou Xu found him somewhat… intense. Not just in looks, but in an indescribable way. If he had to describe it, Fang Bingxue was like steel wrapped in cotton—soft on the outside, but with an unyielding core.

A river that cold, and all he could do was dog paddle—yet he’d plunged right in without hesitation.

And so damn cautious, too, always calculating. Zhou Xu remembered once, after leaving the police station with A Liang, spotting Fang Bingxue from a distance. The guy had casually adjusted his rearview mirror while subtly observing him.

Zhou Xu found it… intriguing.

Then, after that one drunk night—vomiting miserably, all pretense gone—Zhou Xu caught a subtle scent: Fang Bingxue couldn’t be bothered to keep up appearances around him anymore.

The innocent, clueless act was gone, replaced by a sly, mischievous grin.

Zhou Xu keenly sensed it—this version of Fang Bingxue revealed that initial, captivating intensity—

The kind that made your throat tighten.

Honestly, that scolding earlier had left Zhou Xu feeling somewhat… invigorated. Now, he had no idea how to explain it to Ding Yong, so he just tilted his head back to stare at the stars. But the stars didn’t understand either, winking at him in silent confusion.

“Why do I keep wanting to tease him?” Zhou Xu muttered into the night, swallowing hard. “Because it’s fun? Novel?”

Ding Yong took a loud gulp of beer, eyes solemn. “Go on.”

“Bullshit,” Zhou Xu scoffed, stretching lazily. He’d had quite a bit to drink tonight. “I’m just overthinking things. Must be bored lately.”

“Buddy,” Ding Yong said gravely, “you’ve been single too long. You’re emotionally stunted. ‘Teasing’? Next thing you know, you’ll be pulling some girl’s hair and calling it love—”

Zhou Xu cut him off. “Hold up. I never said it was a girl. It’s a guy. No pigtails involved.”

Ding Yong froze for several seconds before frowning. “A… a *guy*?”

“Yeah,” Zhou Xu said, completely unbothered. “I just think he’s interesting. That’s it. Quit reading into it.”

Ding Yong snorted and turned away. “Whatever. Lame!”

While Zhou Xu remained unbothered, Fang Bingxue, on the other end, was thoroughly annoyed—

All thanks to Wang Chuan’s incessant bouncing around: “Papa’s home! Missed me?”

Fang Bingxue had been about to sleep, but the noise was giving him a headache. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Wang Chuan was all excited. “My wife bought me this phone. Listen—sounds great, huh?”

“No one asked,” Fang Bingxue said icily.

He’d thought their next meeting would be far off, but here they were—Wang Chuan’s wife, He Lan, was an expert in agroecology, working on salt-resistant grass. Her recent breakthrough had earned her an invitation to give a lecture, promoting the technology’s application in key regions.

Tagging along as the proud husband, Wang Chuan had taken three days off work to accompany her.

All pumped up, he’d called Fang Bingxue right after work. By the end of the call, even Fang Bingxue couldn’t help smiling. “Impressive. He Lan’s amazing.”

“Hell yeah! She wants to treat you to dinner. When works for you?”

“How about Saturday?” Fang Bingxue thought for a moment. “I’m off that day.”

Wang Chuan cheered. “Perfect!”

Fang Bingxue’s role was mainly technical support. He’d already checked with the bureau—this operation didn’t require his involvement, so his weekend was free.

Early Saturday morning, Fang Bingxue first returned the car, passing by that internet café along the way. The thief they’d caught last time hadn’t caused much of a stir. After all, entertainment venues were always a mixed bag, and petty theft was hardly uncommon. Zhou Xu probably didn’t even know about it.

Conveniently, Wang Chuan picked him up after returning the car, saving Fang Bingxue the walk back. Public transport in the county was underdeveloped—taxis were scarce, mostly clustered around stations and hospitals. There were some private vans, but they only ran short routes, making them impractical.

He folded his jacket neatly into a bag, filled the tank, and even brought along a bag of fruit.

When Fang Bingxue put his mind to it, he was smooth as hell socially. In this small northwestern town in April, the wind was like a coarse, sandy hand. No matter how gently it stroked, it couldn’t coax the wolfberries into early bloom. But it could press against a young man’s back, nudging him forward until he stumbled slightly upon opening the door, looking up with a smile as bright as sunshine.

Zhou Xu’s figure froze for a second before he averted his gaze.

Fang Bingxue handed over the items. “Here. Thanks… Your step’s kinda high.”

Zhou Xu’s place was a standalone house—three stories of brick, more space than one person needed. But it was meticulously kept, brimming with lived-in warmth. Clearly, this was someone who knew how to live well.

“Watch your step,” Zhou Xu said, one hand in his pocket, face turned away as if displeased. His tone was stiff. “Don’t trip.”

The weather was warm, and Zhou Xu wore just a short-sleeved shirt and cargo pants, the sleeves rolled up twice to reveal broad shoulders. He smelled faintly of soap—clean, like he’d just showered.

Plenty of tall men slouched, whether from teenage posturing or years at a desk, standing like boneless sacks. Not Zhou Xu. Despite his lazy, don’t-mess-with-me aura, when he stood, his back was straight as a steel beam—solid as a rock.

We joked before about tracing it to use as a door god—turns out it’s spot-on.

After all, his shadow practically swallowed Fang Bingxue.

"Got it," Fang Bingxue looked up at him. "At least take it, will you?"

Only then did Zhou Xu let out an "Oh," accepting the clothes and fruit, holding them in his hand before mumbling a "Thanks."

Something felt off. Though they weren’t particularly close friends, they just clicked—their conversations never dragged, always comfortable. But now, Zhou Xu’s attitude was a little awkward.

Fang Bingxue narrowed his eyes. "Damn, you really are running a fever."

As he spoke, he reached out to touch Zhou Xu’s forehead, but the moment he moved, Zhou Xu dodged backward, his eyes going wide. "Don’t—hey, don’t—"

The more he resisted, the more Fang Bingxue insisted, and soon they were horsing around in the courtyard. Zhou Xu, overwhelmed, blocked with his arm—as if proving the other’s point—genuinely out of it from the fever, forgetting to even set down the fruit in his other hand.

Fang Bingxue broke into a laugh. When he grabbed the other’s wrist, he instinctively gave it a twist, and at that moment, Zhou Xu, who had been retreating, suddenly stopped. In an instant, he countered, seizing Fang Bingxue’s forearm.

A pull, a tug.

Fang Bingxue went still.

Zhou Xu narrowed his eyes. "You’ve got… training?"

The earlier evasive demeanor vanished. Now, his eyes were piercing and alert, fixed on Fang Bingxue’s face. Fang Bingxue, however, showed no extra reaction, blinking slowly. "Oh."

"Pretty professional," Zhou Xu pressed. "Where’d you train? You’re good."

Their hands remained locked in a stalemate, neither releasing the other. Fang Bingxue seemed to recall something, his voice softening. "Uh, someone taught me."

Zhou Xu let go.

Guys roughhouse all the time; learning grappling techniques wasn’t uncommon. The little scuffle ended quickly, and soon Fang Bingxue was rubbing his wrist under the eaves, faking a whine that Zhou Xu had squeezed too hard.

Zhou Xu washed and sliced the apples, bringing them out. "Such a baby."

Fang Bingxue didn’t argue, picking up a piece to eat. "Sweet. Just like I picked ’em."

The northwest’s wild swings between day and night temps and bright sunlight nurtured apples with a rich, rosy hue and an intense, pure fragrance.

Once finished, he stood. "Keys are on the table. Thanks."

Zhou Xu watched him. "Alright, go ahead."

Since he was just returning things, Fang Bingxue didn’t linger, saying goodbye before leaving. He’d already told Wang Chuan to pick him up at nine, and after waiting roadside for a few minutes, he heard a honk.

"Noise pollution," he chided while buckling his seatbelt in the passenger seat. "That honk made the old man sunbathing jump."

People get lazy—on non-workdays, vigilance slipped. Fang Bingxue was too busy bantering with Wang Chuan to notice the door of that standalone courtyard cracking open slightly in the distance.

Then swiftly closing again.

The meal didn’t last long. He Lan had work in the afternoon, so only Wang Chuan toasted with Fang Bingxue. Before leaving, He Lan gifted him a large bag of dried fruit, saying it was sweet and perfect for snacking.

Fang Bingxue’s eyes lit up. "No way, I’ve been dying for this!"

Well into the evening, he wouldn’t shut up about the great Teacher He Lan’s edible gifts. Though the weather was dry and sandy, Fang Bingxue had adapted well to the northwest climate—his only gripe was still not used to the food.

He’d called Qin Sumei to ask how to make Plum Ribs, deciding to give it a shot and cook it himself tonight.

Following Teacher Qin’s instructions, he went to the market for ribs and greens. While selecting, he caught a faint hint of cigarette smoke.

Fang Bingxue didn’t look up, leisurely picking pea shoots—

The next second, his wrist was grabbed.

"Come," Zhou Xu’s low voice gritted in his ear. "We’re going somewhere."

The grip was rough—less a request, more a command.

In fact, he practically shoved Fang Bingxue into the passenger seat before speeding off, eyes locked ahead without a word.

Fang Bingxue looked back, protesting. "My ribs—"

"I’ll make them for you," Zhou Xu shot back, clearly in a bad mood. He dragged Fang Bingxue into a restaurant—not through the main entrance, but up a side path to the second floor. Fang Bingxue didn’t protest much, only occasionally griping that he was being yanked too hard or asking where they were going.

When pulled into an unlit private room, Fang Bingxue understood. Just as he’d guessed.

Zhou Xu gently pushed open a sliver of the side door, gesturing. "Come here."

Fang Bingxue blinked, feigning ignorance. "What is it?"

The room was dark as hell, a fancy-ass chandelier hanging overhead. From next door came laughter and lively chatter—someone was loudly singing Dao Lang’s newly released *Lover* from earlier this year.

The contrast made their space dead silent, their breaths audible. In the dark, Fang Bingxue suddenly met Zhou Xu’s eyes glinting.

Maybe it was the proximity. He’d meant to keep joking, but inexplicably, his pulse jumped.

"Look at that man of yours," Zhou Xu’s voice was hoarse. "What a total scumbag."

After cursing, he seemed to realize it was too harsh and coughed awkwardly.

His tone softened, almost fake-sweet. "See? He went and got married without you!"

Zhou Xu wailed dramatically, "Jesus Christ."