Chapter 12 Snow in Manchester

Chapter 12: The Snow in Manchester

Shen Zongnian fended him off to keep his hands clean, clapped the snow from his palms, stood up, pulled him aside, and said, "Don't get in the way."

After a quick scan, he walked to a nearby copse of trees, gathered some branches, sorted them by thickness, stripped off the leaves, and snapped them into roughly equal lengths with swift, decisive movements. Then, he collected some cleaner snow and began molding the snowman’s head.

Tan Youming trailed closely behind, unable to sculpt himself but full of unsolicited advice: "Hey, that doesn't look human."

"The head's as big as the body?"

"And the hands—"

Shen Zongnian looked up at him sharply, and Tan Youming quickly amended, "The hands are quite cute too."

Unable to find suitable eyes for the snowman, Shen Zongnian touched his sleeve thoughtfully, then unclipped a cufflink and pressed it into the snowman's face. The pure dark jade gleamed brilliantly against the white snow.

As Xu Zhiying passed by on her way out, she bid them farewell: "Oh, what a lavish rabbit."

Shen Zongnian slowly lifted his head.

Tan Youming leaned against him, laughing uncontrollably, his fangs showing as he playfully blocked her path: "Ah, President Xu, how about sponsoring our luxurious rabbit too?"

Xu Zhiying, in high spirits, didn't hesitate. Without a word, she removed the earring from her left ear: "Catch."

A Paraíba tourmaline was tossed over carelessly, as if it were nothing more than a roadside pebble.

Tan Youming deftly caught it mid-air, opened his palm, and let out a "Whoa": "President Xu, you're so generous."

Xu Zhiying, now wearing only one earring, looked no less stunning. She laughed loudly and said, "I'm off. See you after the New Year."

She turned and walked away, waving without looking back, her young male assistant following behind, carrying her heavy cloak.

The blue gem was set in the snowman’s chest, the earring transformed into a necklace. Tan Youming even considered taking off his own scarf and gloves to adorn the snowman.

After all, a snowman made by Tan Youming had to be the most impressive in the world—dark jade for eyes, Paraíba for a necklace, and the scarf and gloves had to be Burberry.

Shen Zongnian gave him a warning look: "Tan Youming."

Tan Youming clicked his tongue but didn't dare actually remove them. Instead, he pulled out a phone from Shen Zongnian’s pocket and took pictures of the snowman.

The sunset glow draped over the snow, as if the snowman were wearing a golden coat. Adorned with jewels, its awkward, lavish look seemed foolish, yet its extreme silliness gave it a kind of endearing charm.

Tan Youming was so delighted he took dozens of shots, finally selecting one to make his social media profile picture, replacing the old one.

After the party ended, Tan Youming wanted to say goodbye to Chen Wan but couldn’t find him anywhere. Reluctantly, he messaged Zhao Shengge on a social app: "Where did you take Chen Wan?"

After a long while, Zhao Shengge replied to the unfamiliar, odd profile pic: "Who's this?"

"..."

Biting back his annoyance, Tan Youming asked if the four of them could have dinner together that evening. Zhao Shengge took even longer to reply: "No."

Tan Youming was furious. On the way back, he ranted to Shen Zongnian about why the roadshow team would treat an investor with such an attitude. Shen Zongnian tried several times to bring up his upcoming trip to N State but found no opportunity.

By the time they returned to Lincoln Apartments, dusk had fallen. Tan Youming, who disliked Western food, whined about freezing and starving. Shen Zongnian took off his coat and went straight into the kitchen.

After changing into comfy loungewear, Tan Youming came out to see Shen Zongnian, still in his black sweater, heating water.

Tall and upright, with broad shoulders, his handsome features and prominent nose always gave off a serious vibe. Dressed like this, cooking with a pot...

Tan Youming paused, surprised: "Shen Zongnian, why haven’t you changed?"

Shen Zongnian, holding chopsticks in one hand, looked up and said flatly, "Didn’t you say you were starving?"

"...Oh." Tan Youming scratched behind his ear.

Shen Zongnian cooked quickly, steaming spare ribs in black bean sauce, braising a fish, and making a winter melon and shrimp soup.

He also threw together a lemon tea using a few Eureka lemons and Darjeeling, serving it without ice but not too sweet.

Tan Youming moved his lips as if to speak. Without even looking up, Shen Zongnian said, "Speak."

"Could you not be so..." Tan Youming didn’t even want to point out how Shen Zongnian just placed the finished dishes emotionlessly in front of him. "Even my great-aunt doesn’t feed the dog like this."

"I'm feeding a pig."

Being dependent on someone else’s cooking, Tan Youming didn’t mind much. Besides, in the Tan family, he wasn’t allowed to be picky or demand special treatment—only with Shen Zongnian could he act this way.

Shen Zongnian’s cooking wasn’t exceptionally delicious, but it suited Tan Youming’s taste. And it wasn’t something he could have every day—only when Shen Zongnian had time.

Tan Youming was so hungry he felt dizzy and dug in immediately. Once he had eaten most of his meal, Shen Zongnian said, "Tan Youming."

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he added, "I’m going to N State tomorrow."

"Huh?" Tan Youming stopped eating and looked up, ready to interrogate him. "What for? How long? Who are you going with?"

Shen Zongnian cleared away the leftover fish bones. "Business. Two days. Alone."

Tan Youming was a bit displeased: "But I already promised Mrs. Lawrence I’d visit her."

Shen Zongnian hummed in acknowledgment. The Lawrence family was well-respected locally; the three Lawrence brothers were all nobles and had taken a great liking to Tan Youming. They had helped each other during their school days.

"I’ll drop you off before I go."

Tan Youming frowned at him.

Shen Zongnian pretended not to notice and pointed at the soup. "Still drinking?"

"No." Tan Youming had lost his appetite entirely.

Shen Zongnian didn’t indulge him. If he wasn’t going to eat, he simply cleared the remaining dishes back to the kitchen.

Tan Youming felt the food he’d just eaten sitting heavily in his chest, neither going up nor down. Rubbing his sternum, he started picking a fight: "N State is just next door. Why does it take two days?"

Shen Zongnian efficiently tidied up the kitchen waste, his black sweater sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and replied indifferently, "Then I’ll come back the same day."

Tan Youming felt like he’d punched cotton—frustrated but unable to vent. Remembering the recent terrible weather with strong winds and heavy snow, making travel dangerous, he reluctantly conceded, "Never mind, come back the next day."

But he emphasized, "Shen Zongnian, remember the rules."

Shen Zongnian placed the dishes in the dishwasher, started it, and ignored him as he watched the UV light.

Tan Youming didn’t let it go. He walked into the kitchen and repeated it to his face: "Shen Zongnian, do you remember the rules?"

Tan Youming’s rule was that if they weren’t in the same place, Shen Zongnian had to send his location every three hours.

Shen Zongnian leaned against the kitchen counter, looked at him, and said nothing.

Tan Youming was taken aback.

Shen Zongnian’s eyes were sharp, cold, and burning with ambition. Though Tan Youming often praised this or that as beautiful, in his heart, Shen Zongnian’s eyes were incomparable.

This was something that needed no evaluation or explanation.

Those pitch-black eyes were like a sea at night—tolerant and silent, yet hiding turbulent undercurrents. They held Tan Youming’s past ten-plus years of seasons, embracing the thousands of days and nights he had grown up during.

Shen Zongnian remained silent, and Tan Youming grew slightly nervous. A faint tightness in his chest crept back—not exactly painful, barely noticeable, but enough to make him straighten his posture unconsciously.

It wasn’t until he heard the other let out a soft “Mm” that Tan Youming finally relaxed.

“Let me know when you leave tomorrow.”

Shen Zongnian was back to his usual self, scoffing as he retorted, “How should I let you know? In your dreams?” The weather was bad, and he had to set off before dawn.

Tan Youming insisted, “Then wake me up.”

Shen Zongnian pushed him aside lightly without agreeing or refusing.

However, the next day, Tan Youming got up on his own. For some reason, he had dreamed again of Shen Zongnian’s injured face from childhood.

The scarlet burn marks, the whip marks—every time Shen Zongnian was brought back to the Shen family, new wounds would appear on his body.

Tan Youming could only feel at ease by keeping a closer eye on him, tighter and tighter, preferably keeping him by his side at all times.

Yet he forgot that they had long since grown into independent adults capable of protecting themselves.

The morning was quiet, the snow not yet falling. The sky was gray like lead, with frost clinging to the Virginia cedars. On the leafless redwoods and Alaska cedars, a few animals occasionally emerged to forage.

The streetlights had not yet lit up, with only a few stars and the moon visible. The fireplace in the apartment flickered like a burning candle, its light warm and crimson.

Wanting to check the weather, Tan Youming walked to the living room and opened the window a crack. A cold wind instantly rushed in.

“What are you doing?”

A low, cold voice rose from the darkness—not loud, but commanding, startling Tan Youming, who gritted his teeth and snapped, “Can you stop appearing out of nowhere like that? You’re going to scare someone to death!”

Frowning, Shen Zongnian moved him aside from behind and shut the window. If Tan Youming fell ill while he was away, it would be troublesome.

After less than half a minute in the cold, Tan Youming’s nose had already turned red. He wrinkled the tip of his nose and asked, “It’s so cold—and you’re wearing only that?”

Shen Zongnian, with his robust physique, wore a suit under a long black overcoat—single-breasted, with peaked lapels, hexagonal cuffs, and a black tie clip.

Shen Zongnian ignored his complaint and countered, “I thought you didn’t know what cold felt like.”

Tan Youming paid no mind to his sarcasm, hurrying back to his room to fetch a scarf and wrapping it around Shen Zongnian’s neck. “I’m lending this to you. Return it when you’re back.”

Tan Youming had many scarves, but this was the one he wore most often.

The wool scarf was warm, carrying a softness that was distinctly Tan Youming's.

Its owner was both generous and stingy, specifying, “You can only borrow it for 48 hours.”

The scarf had to return to him within that timeframe.

In the dim light of dawn, as Tan Youming was adjusting the scarf, his fingers brushed against Shen Zongnian’s nape and Adam’s apple. The touch lingered warmly. The flames of the fireplace leaped wildly, flickering faintly in Shen Zongnian’s eyes, almost imperceptibly.

He turned his head away, stepping back, and said softly, “I’m leaving.”

Tan Youming replied, “I’ll go down with you.”

Shen Zongnian frowned, about to scold him for asking to catch a cold again, but Tan Youming had already put on his hat and opened the door.

The Tan family’s driver was waiting in the garden. He hadn’t expected two people to emerge—one dressed impeccably in a suit, the other in a fluffy sweater, slippers, and a wool hat.

Zhang Guangxiang hurried out of the car. “Young Master, Young Master Zongnian.”

“Uncle Zhang, good morning,” Tan Youming greeted him. Zhang Guangxiang was a long-serving employee of the Tan family. Tan Youming instructed, “Drive carefully. I read that the road from N State to Monkenbang is icy. Make sure to stay safe.”

Zhang Guangxiang nodded. “Yes, Young Master.”

Still uneasy, Tan Youming added, “There’s a blizzard forecast for Lanxinia tomorrow evening. Make sure to return early, before it gets dark.”

Zhang Guangxiang nodded again. The young master, bundled up in warm clothes, wore a serious expression, reminding him of how the lady of the house used to see Master off at the door with endless reminders whenever he traveled far. Back then, she’d often held a toddler Tan Youming in her arms.

But according to Young Master Zongnian, this trip was only for two days.

Shen Zongnian frowned, pulled open the car door, and got into the back seat, urging, “Alright, go back inside.”

Tan Youming frowned slightly. Seeing him still standing there, Shen Zongnian rolled up the window and said to Zhang Guangxiang, “Let’s go.”

His tone was calm, almost cold.

Zhang Guangxiang glanced at his young master in the rearview mirror. Shen Zongnian reminded him sharply, “Uncle Zhang.”

Zhang Guangxiang acknowledged him and stepped on the accelerator, despite the lingering gaze from outside the window.

The tires left tracks in the snow. Even as the car drove quite a distance, the fluffy figure in the rearview mirror seemed to take a few steps after it.

Shen Zongnian acted as if he hadn’t noticed, opening his laptop to work.

It wasn’t until the car had completely left the apartment garden that the snow in Manchester truly began to fall.