POTINS 17

The ointment was a little cool. Wen Zhongyi first applied a thin layer to his back, then dampened a piece of gauze and carefully pressed it against Meng Chuan’s skin.

With his back turned, Meng Chuan could only feel Wen Zhongyi’s fingers moving across his skin. His fingertips were calloused, and every touch brought a faint itch.

“All done,” Wen Zhongyi straightened and told him. “Stay like that for a bit and let it dry.”

“Okay,” Meng Chuan obediently stayed in position, not moving an inch.

Wen Zhongyi went to the bathroom to wash his hands, then came back and sat on the small sofa next to him. He pulled a book from under the coffee table and quietly began to read.

Lying there, Meng Chuan watched him out of the corner of his eye.

He knew he should be using this time to fish for information, maybe try to feel out Wen Zhongyi’s intentions, or ask some of the things he was curious about.

Like why Wen Zhongyi was so good at fighting, why he seemed upset about him going to the bar, or why there were callouses on the web of his right hand.

Even if Wen Zhongyi didn’t answer, it was better to ask than to stay silent.

But Meng Chuan didn’t speak. For some reason, he didn’t want to break the calm and peaceful moment they were sharing.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Wen Zhongyi turn a page. The slight breeze lifted the hair at his forehead, and the sound of paper brushing gently added to the relaxing atmosphere.

Just as Meng Chuan was starting to doze off, Wen Zhongyi closed the book, looked at him, and said, “That’s about enough.”

He peeled off the gauze and tossed it into the trash, then tied the garbage bag and set it aside.

Meng Chuan put his clothes back on and, without being told, picked up the trash bag on his way out.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t get up to see him off—he simply said, “Take it easy on the way.”

At the door, Meng Chuan turned to look at him sitting alone on the sofa. An unexpected sense of reluctance tugged at him.

“I…” Meng Chuan parted his lips and let out the first syllable.

“What?” Wen Zhongyi looked over at him.

Meng Chuan paused, then gave a casual smile. “Nothing. Get some rest.”

With that, he closed the door and left.

It was late. Wen Zhongyi sat on the sofa for a while before heading into the bathroom.

After showering and drying his hair, he picked up his phone from the coffee table where it was charging.

Ten minutes ago, Meng Chuan had sent a message: Did I leave my lighter on the sofa?

Wen Zhongyi glanced at the sofa and bent down to check. After a moment, he found the lighter stuck in a crevice. It had an inlaid design and looked expensive.

He replied: Yes.

Meng Chuan quickly texted back: Leave it with you. I’ll come get it later.

Wen Zhongyi assumed “later” meant the next day, but Meng Chuan didn’t contact him at all the following day.

That afternoon, Wen Zhongyi went to pick up his chestnut pastries from the dessert shop, and Yang Jiaran came along.

The line was still long. Yang Jiaran rarely bought desserts and was surprised by how busy the place was.

Standing on tiptoe, he glanced ahead and spotted the owner working inside. He looked thoughtful and said to Wen Zhongyi, “I get why this place is always packed now.”

“Because it’s good?” Wen Zhongyi said.

“No,” Yang Jiaran jerked his chin toward the owner. “Because the boss is a hottie.”

“Is that so.” Wen Zhongyi’s tone was indifferent. He’d been here plenty of times but never paid attention to what the owner looked like—he just picked up the pastries and left.

But this time, because of Yang Jiaran’s comment, Wen Zhongyi’s gaze lingered on the shop owner’s face for a few seconds.

There were only two people ahead of him. Jiang Ye looked up, met his gaze, and gave a slight smile.

He really was pretty good-looking, Wen Zhongyi noted objectively.

The line moved quickly, and soon Wen Zhongyi was at the front.

“You’re here,” Jiang Ye greeted him familiarly, taking the freshly packed pastries from the display case and handing them over. “Just made, still a bit warm.”

“Okay.” Wen Zhongyi always treated strangers politely. He took the bag and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Jiang Ye didn’t let go immediately. Instead, he pulled a small voucher-like card from a box and handed it over with the bag. “You’re our 100th customer today. Here’s a discount card—after ten purchases, you get two for free.”

Wen Zhongyi hadn’t said anything yet when Yang Jiaran exclaimed with joy, “Your luck’s amazing!”

“Congratulations,” Jiang Ye added with another smile.

Wen Zhongyi accepted the card and thanked him again.

On the way back, Yang Jiaran asked curiously, “Does the boss really count every customer all day?”

“Maybe,” Wen Zhongyi replied. He didn’t quite believe he just happened to be the 100th.

The discount card seemed like a marketing gimmick. Wen Zhongyi figured Jiang Ye probably handed out several a day to bring customers back.

His phone was almost out of battery, so he found a nearby restaurant with a shared charging station.

Yang Jiaran had a student council dinner that evening, so after sitting with him for a bit, he left.

Wen Zhongyi waved him off, then turned to gaze out the window.

Not long after, a familiar figure passed by.

Wen Zhongyi blinked in surprise.

Jiang Ye had changed out of his work clothes and was now wearing a casual overcoat. He also looked surprised to see Wen Zhongyi.

Wen Zhongyi was about to wave at him through the glass, but just as he raised his hand, Jiang Ye stepped inside. The restaurant door opened, and Jiang Ye walked over with a smile. “What a coincidence.”

Wen Zhongyi smiled faintly.

Jiang Ye noticed the charging station on the table, and Wen Zhongyi’s phone just happened to display a fully charged message. Jiang Ye asked, “Want to grab something to eat? I come here often—the food’s pretty good.”

Wen Zhongyi had planned to leave right after charging, but since Jiang Ye had asked, he hesitated a moment and then nodded. “Sure.”

During the meal, Jiang Ye kept the conversation going.

He had a good sense of boundaries and only talked about casual topics—nothing that made Wen Zhongyi uncomfortable.

But Wen Zhongyi couldn’t shake a subtle feeling that Jiang Ye didn’t quite have the air of a dessert shop owner. His manner was more like a seasoned businessman, comfortable at any dinner table.

Toward the end of the meal, Jiang Ye went to pay the bill and said, “I’ll drive you home afterward. I don’t have any plans tonight anyway.”

Wen Zhongyi was about to respond when his phone rang—it was Meng Chuan.

He thought Meng Chuan was finally calling about the lighter, but as soon as he picked up, Meng Chuan said, “Who are you eating with?”

Wen Zhongyi froze for a second and instinctively glanced around the restaurant—but he didn’t see Meng Chuan anywhere.

Then he turned and looked outside.

A familiar silver sports car was parked by the curb. In the driver’s seat, Meng Chuan had the window rolled down and his phone in one hand, staring at him with a dark expression.