Chapter 56: Capture the Front Face!

Chapter 56: Face Shot!

Zhao Yu got a haircut, barely longer than a buzz cut. Paired with his world-weary face, it made him look like trouble.

When Zhuang Shubai saw him again, he almost didn't recognize him—until Zhao Yu smiled and called out "Dr. Zhuang," and that familiar tone brought Zhuang Shubai back.

"Why'd you cut your hair?"

"It was too long, getting in my eyes."

Zhao Yu was wearing a reddish-brown T-shirt and shorts, the shirt printed with white palm trees, looking effortlessly relaxed. He touched his hair, a bit regretful it was cut so short—last night, girls on the street had crossed to the other side to avoid him.

"Do I look like some punk?" Zhao Yu asked.

"No, you look like a high schooler." Zhuang Shubai couldn't help but chuckle, curious whether the top of his head was actually prickly to the touch.

"Dr. Zhuang, you should write a book on high EQ. I'd buy it."

Zhuang Shubai smiled knowingly. He'd been keeping in touch with Zhao Yu whenever he had time these past few days, and he was gradually discovering that Zhao Yu's thoughts were all over the place, and his personality was quite interesting—he'd crack jokes off the top of his head. Though they were just offhand remarks, if Zhuang Shubai actually wrote such a book, Zhao Yu might actually buy it and study it.

Zhuang Shubai made time to go with him to look at apartments, in a neighborhood not far from Yatai. He'd found a low-floor unit to match Zhao Yu's needs.

When they reached the lobby, Zhao Yu said, "I'll take the stairwell. Dr. Zhuang, see you on the fourth floor."

The elevator doors opened. Zhuang Shubai glanced inside the elevator, then turned to watch Zhao Yu dart off and vanish into the stairwell.

Zhao Yu slipped away too quickly—Zhuang Shubai didn't have time to call him back. Lost in thought, he stepped into the elevator, watching the doors slowly close. The narrow space was lit by a lamp, vibrating slightly as it ascended.

His doctor's instincts made him notice that Zhao Yu was avoiding something. Many patients hide their medical history for various reasons, making him "paranoid."

Zhuang Shubai arrived at the fourth floor first, and by the time Zhao Yu came up the stairs, he'd already opened the front door.

The apartment got great sunlight and had clean, tidy decor. Though the space wasn't huge, the floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto lush green treetops.

"It's only two bus stops from here to Yatai," Zhuang Shubai said. "Two bedrooms, one living room—convenient if friends want to stay over. Rent's two thousand."

"Only two thousand?" Zhao Yu was surprised.

"It's been empty for ages, so it was already meant to go for cheap."

Zhao Yu was thrilled and immediately decided to take it. Zhuang Shubai handed him the keys, and he said, "Dr. Zhuang, you free at noon? I said I'd treat you to lunch."

"Sure."

The two walked out, and Zhuang Shubai asked, "Taking the stairwell again?"

Zhao Yu knew his behavior was a bit odd, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah."

"I'll go with you."

Zhuang Shubai followed him down the stairs, their footsteps echoing in turn.

Zhao Yu always jumped the last two steps. Zhuang Shubai watched how light on his feet he was—seemed like he'd been following the doctor's orders and was recovering fast.

"Are you scared of elevators?" Zhuang Shubai asked.

"Huh?" Zhao Yu looked back at him, slowing his pace. "It's a little uncomfortable, but as long as I don't stay in too long, it's fine."

"Claustrophobia?"

"I don't know." Zhao Yu changed the subject. "What do you want to eat? I know this great hotpot place. If you can handle spicy food, you'd probably like it."

Zhuang Shubai watched his back, and seeing that he didn't want to discuss it, didn't press further. "Something mild."

"You can't eat spicy?"

"It's you who can't handle it."

"Ah, don't worry about me. I'm at peace lately. I could just sit there with a bowl of plain congee."

In the end, they didn't go for hotpot. Zhuang Shubai picked a Hangzhou cuisine place where not a single chili pepper was in sight.

...

In the psych department at Yikang Hospital, Zhuang Peiying was organizing patient files when Zhuang Shubai knocked and came in.

"Well, what brings you here?" Zhuang Peiying said.

"Got a few minutes? Need to borrow a few."

"I do."

Zhuang Shubai said, "I have a friend who's afraid of taking elevators. Could it be claustrophobia?"

"Bro, that's way too broad. Is it dizziness, fear, panic attacks, or just feeling off?"

"I don't know, but he seems really averse to small, enclosed spaces."

"Why not have him come in and talk?"

"I don't think he wants to talk about it, and I'm only guessing anyway."

Zhuang Peiying's professional instincts kicked in. "If you put it that way, I'd say it's actually possible. Many patients with mental or psychological trauma avoid the topic of their trauma. The more you push, the more they pull away."

"Could it be something you're born with?"

"Almost impossible. Either they're naturally highly sensitive, or it's PTSD from a traumatic event. Usually it's the latter."

Zhuang Shubai mulled it over for a moment. "I'll keep an eye on him for a while."

Zhuang Peiying ribbed him, "What kind of friend is this, so close to you that you can observe them up close like that? I thought all your friends were married by now."

"Get back to work. I'm out."

"Why are you dodging the question too? Something's up—it's not a girlfriend, is it?"

Zhuang Shubai walked out, then turned around and put a finger to his lips, saying in a low voice, "Patient privacy."

Zhuang Peiying grumbled under her breath, "You're not my patient. That's cheating."

...

After moving into his new place, Zhao Yu gave it a thorough cleaning first—opened the windows to air it out, then sprayed some air freshener. He put the potted cactus Zhuang Shubai had given him on the balcony and gave it a little water, then hung out the clothes he'd washed yesterday. The breeze stirred the clothes, making the place feel lived-in.

He didn't have many clothes in his suitcase. The one Guo Lin had embroidered a panda head on for him—he couldn't bring himself to wear it, so he hung it in the closet. Now he was free to move and free to dress how he wanted, but he barely had anything to wear.

The weather was nice in the afternoon, so he went out to buy clothes. Walking through the tree-lined paths of the complex, he took the subway to a nearby mall.

A short, stocky man got on and off at the same stations as him and entered the same mall. Zhao Yu noticed him, but since the guy was glued to his phone, he didn't think much of it.

After Zhao Yu entered a clothing store, the short, stout man stood on the upper floor and secretly took photos of him, then hid among the crowd.

That evening, Chen Xitong had just returned home when he received a pile of photos, all of which featured Zhao Yu without exception.

Chen Xitong looked through the photos while grumbling to himself: Didn't Zhou Lan buy him the same outfit I have? He's got a designer brand to wear, but he goes and buys clothes at some no-name store. And his hair is cut way too short, like a little thug. He's lost so much weight since the last time we met—how does a chef not know how to eat right?

He then opened the photos of Zhao Yu and Zhuang Shubai eating together, most of which showed Zhao Yu from behind.

Chen Xitong complained to the short, stout man: I paid you twenty grand for this? You didn't even get his face in one shot.

The short, stout man: You want me to track him or get his face?

Chen Xitong said: Both, obviously.

Chen Xitong wasn't very satisfied with this private investigator, but at least he had found Zhao Yu's address, so it wasn't a total waste.

The past few days, Zhao Yu had mostly been on his own, hadn't seen Chen Li or Gu Hansheng. His routine was simple—he'd go downstairs to eat, and every now and then buy groceries and cook.

The next morning, Zhao Yu went out for a jog. He was trying to work on his stamina, but after only twenty minutes, he started feeling off. He crouched by the railing, clutching his stomach, and stayed like that for a bit before getting up, then sat down on a bench by the river to rest.

The short, stout man snapped photos from a distance and sent them to Chen Xitong: He looks sick.

Chen Xitong opened the photos—another shot of his back. Annoyed, he replied: You're the one who's sick. Can you get a shot of his face?

The short, stout man: I mean he's sick physically, not like I'm insulting him. I can't get his face from this angle—he'd spot me.

Chen Xitong: What's wrong with him? Is he sick?

The short, stout man: He's had eight bowls of porridge in three days and gets sick from a light jog. Something's clearly wrong with him.

Chen Xitong sat cross-legged on the sofa, couldn't help biting his nails.

If he's sick, why isn't he at the hospital? And he's still out running—is Zhao Yu out of his mind?

So many people care about him, and he still ends up like this.

The short, stout man: Why are you so fixated on his face? I usually only get requests like this from sasaeng fans stalking celebrities.

Chen Xitong: Just do your job and quit asking so many questions.

He figured he'd have to ditch this fat guy—way too chatty.

Chen Xitong's obsession with seeing Zhao Yu's face was pure curiosity. That day when Zhao Yu was kicked out of the hospital by Gu Hansheng, his face was blank, like a soulless zombie.

But Chen Li and Gu Hansheng were both wrapped around his finger, and even Assistant Zhou was constantly thinking about him. Chen Xitong really wanted to know what his brother was feeling every day—was he smug about taking what should've been his?

By secretly keeping tabs on Zhao Yu, he felt he had the upper hand, able to find Zhao Yu's weaknesses and strike back when the time came.

Just as Chen Xitong was zooming in on a photo to check Zhao Yu's expression, Chen Li suddenly pushed the door open.

"Mom, why are you here?" Chen Xitong casually turned off the screen.

"I wanted to check if you've been eating properly at home. I brought your favorite sandwiches." Chen Li walked into the kitchen with a bag, opened the fridge, and said, "I also bought some fresh milk—remember to drink it. These deli items are all your favorites; heat them up before eating."

Chen Xitong watched the fridge gradually fill up, and a thought of Zhao Yu's back in the photos suddenly flashed through his mind.

He's that skinny and still living on porridge—didn't they say Zhou Lan was taking care of him? What's going on?

After putting away the food, Chen Li glanced at her watch and added, "Oh, right, Xitong, I'm planning to find a place for Xiao Yu near your area. If you have time, check with Zhou Lan and keep an eye out for a suitable apartment."

Chen Xitong hesitated and asked, "Did you find out where he is?"

Chen Li sighed: "Zhou Lan said he's been staying in a hotel, and now he's renting a place. His stomach condition is severe—apparently he even had surgery. Now he's out there alone, and I'm worried."

The tiny bit of concern Chen Xitong had just felt for Zhao Yu vanished in an instant. So Chen Li knew even more than he did. They were all watching over Zhao Yu, thinking about him, wishing they could fly to his side.

"Alright, I'll keep an eye out for any vacant rentals nearby. It's best to bring him back as soon as possible." Chen Xitong said obediently, but the moment Chen Li left, his face turned cold.

He messaged the short, stout man: Stop tailing him. I need you to find someone for me—I've got his old address in LA. His name's Zhao Lianfeng.