HL 66

Ying Yusheng’s unfinished “We—” was forcibly lodged in his throat, and he fell silent.

He looked quietly at Xu Nanxiao, his gaze deep, with no intense emotions surging up inside—only a hollow emptiness, as if something had been abruptly drained away.

Old Wei let out a drawn-out cold snort, turned around, and said, “Since you’re not close, then it’s no big deal. We’ll walk together for a while.”

As the three of them went up the mountain, the fog had not yet fully dissipated. The air was thick with the earthy, sweetish smell of mud and wet leaves. The ground was soft beneath their feet, each step leaving a shallow imprint.

Old Wei led the way, his bamboo basket swaying, muttering nonstop about the weather, the slippery path, and how the younger generation couldn’t even match his old legs.

Xu Nanxiao and Ying Yusheng followed behind, silent.

As if they truly were “not close.”

But Xu Nanxiao knew that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

The air after the rain was fresh, but Xu Nanxiao couldn’t breathe—or rather, he couldn’t allow himself to breathe.

The dirt path was too narrow, and the two of them were too close. With every breath, he caught the faint scent of tea wafting from Ying Yusheng. He felt as if he were about to drown in the next second, and he couldn’t even say what he was drowning in.

In a daze, Xu Nanxiao felt as though he had returned to that room where Ying Yusheng had confined him.

But he had clearly already escaped—so why did he feel this way? Inside the walls or outside—why was there no difference?

Or perhaps he had never truly escaped. Perhaps he had never healed.

So he couldn’t understand how Ying Yusheng could have so casually gotten through two years, so casually appeared before him, so casually said he wanted to make amends.

He had deceived Ying Yusheng, stabbed Ying Yusheng—didn’t Ying Yusheng hate him?

If Ying Yusheng didn’t hate him, fine—he did.

He hated, so he couldn’t let go. He had loved, so the pain was even deeper.

He wanted to ask Ying Yusheng: Had he ever been tormented by insomnia night after night, unable to fall asleep, until he’d grown accustomed to the foggy, groggy haze in his brain? Had he ever felt so agitated without his tea-scented body wash that it clawed at his nerves like a hangover’s aftereffect? Had he ever been unable to watch any movies ever again, spending whole days staring blankly at the wall? Had he ever flinched at the sight of men of similar height and build, ruining the repair shop’s business several times over…

If Ying Yusheng had been through all that, then how could he have the nerve to cling to him as if nothing had happened? He…

“Here we are, here we are, see that?” Old Wei’s words cut through Xu Nanxiao’s thoughts.

“Coming.” Ying Yusheng stepped past Xu Nanxiao and walked straight over.

Xu Nanxiao suddenly felt unsteady on his feet, his head buzzing. He stared at the ground, something in his vision swaying along with it.

Old Wei didn’t notice Xu Nanxiao’s stiffness; he was busy explaining to them—

“Under these pine trees, you’ll find clusters of ‘pine mushrooms.’ The caps are yellowish-brown, the stems thick and sturdy. These you can pick—take ’em back and stew them with some young chicken.”

“Hey! That reddish one—don’t you dare touch it! Around here we call it ‘dog piss toadstool’—it’s poisonous.”

“In this patch of grass, there are ‘grass mushrooms’—grayish, growing flat against the ground. When you pick ’em, it’s fine if you grab some grass with ’em, just sort ’em out when you get home.”

“When you pick mushrooms, you gotta ‘twist ’em at the root,’ don’t just yank ’em out. Leave a bit of the mycelium, and after the next rain, they’ll grow back.”

After Old Wei finished, he saw that Xu Nanxiao still hadn’t moved, so he glared and snapped, “What’re you standin’ there like a fool for?”

In the end, Xu Nanxiao sighed, suppressed the resentment in his heart, and walked over. He and Ying Yusheng followed behind Old Wei, picking wherever he pointed, and before long, they’d filled the basket to the brim.

The sun gradually climbed to its peak, and the fog dispersed.

Old Wei took a look and realized it was already lunchtime. Going down the mountain now would definitely be too late, but he’d come prepared. He pulled out his miscellaneous gear from the basket and started delegating tasks—

“You.” He pointed at Xu Nanxiao and tossed him a bucket. “Go to the river, get water, and cook the rice.”

“You.” He pointed at Ying Yusheng. “You’re in charge of chopping and stir-frying.”

With that, Old Wei found a relatively flat patch of ground, kicked aside the rotting leaves, gathered a few dry branches, and began building a fire.

The young master Ying, chopping and stir-frying?

If he didn’t cut off a few of his own fingers, that would be a miracle. Then they’d have finger-and-mushroom stew, turned into a mushy soup to drink. Xu Nanxiao thought darkly to himself.

But he didn’t try to talk Old Wei out of it, thinking to himself, let Ying Yusheng get chewed out by Old Wei.

He took the bucket, went to the stream to wash the rice, and then filled another bucket with water. Carrying the water in one hand and the rice bowl in the other, he returned to their campsite.

From a distance, he saw Ying Yusheng chopping vegetables. Ying Yusheng’s left hand, with knuckles arched, pressed down on the mushroom caps while his right hand worked the knife. Uniformly thick slices of mushroom slid rapidly off the blade, piling up into a neat stack.

Beside him, a small flat-bottomed pan was already hot. The mushrooms went in with a sizzle. Ying Yusheng gripped the pan handle, gave it a sharp flick of his wrist, and the mushroom slices were tossed and stir-fried in midair.

“…Fuck.” He’d even learned this.

That schadenfreude, the anticipation of watching a joke fall flat—Xu Nanxiao looked away, set the bucket down with a splash that sent mud droplets flying. His stomach felt blocked—whether from hunger or something else, he couldn’t tell.

The mushrooms were done, the rice was steamed, and the three of them sat on large rocks to eat.

The mushroom soup was thick and white, with a thin sheen of oil floating on the surface. Xu Nanxiao took a sip and suddenly widened his eyes.

The pine mushrooms had been stewed until soft and tender, their flavor fully released—piping hot and incredibly savory.

“Delicious,” he said. “Ye Qiaozi’s cooking can’t even compare.”

Old Wei snorted, slurping loudly. “Freshly picked, can ya compare that to stuff that’s been sittin’ in the fridge for days? Besides, this kid’s got real skill.”

Ying Yusheng smiled faintly.

He looked at Xu Nanxiao, but Xu Nanxiao didn’t look up.

The morning mist hadn’t fully cleared, and the patches of light filtering through the pine needles carried a chill. The soup slid down his throat, pooling as a small warmth in his chest and belly.

For a moment, there were only the crackling of the fire and the sounds of them drinking soup, unusually clear in the silence of the forest.

After they’d eaten their fill, Ying Yusheng and Xu Nanxiao picked a few more mushrooms to make up for what they’d consumed, and then the three set off down the mountain.

Old Wei was the first to get home. He let Ying Yusheng come in to pick up the rotten wood and mushroom spawn he’d set aside that morning, but wouldn’t let Xu Nanxiao through the door. Xu Nanxiao thought to himself, I don’t want to go in anyway. He pursed his lips and waited outside, smoking.

“This bag’s yours, this one’s for that brat.” Old Wei divided the mushrooms among the three of them, packing them in plastic bags. “And the wood’s on the stool for ya.”

“Thanks, Old Wei.”

As Ying Yusheng bent down to pick up the rotten wood, he suddenly heard Old Wei speak behind him: “Young man, take some advice—when fate’s run its course, don’t force it. It’ll come back to bite ya.”

Ying Yusheng paused, surprised that Old Wei had seen through his relationship with Xu Nanxiao. His movement stalled for a moment before he slowly straightened up.

“If having it come back to bite me means the fate can continue, I’d be more than happy,” Ying Yusheng said, turning back with a smile.

Old Wei let out a cold snort and lit his pipe. He smacked his lips, clearly not interested in saying more.

Leaving Old Wei’s house, Ying Yusheng handed a bag of mushrooms to Xu Nanxiao, who was squatting outside the door. Xu Nanxiao took it and walked away without looking back.

But Ying Yusheng stayed about a meter behind him the whole time. And this long alley had no branches, so they ended up walking together for quite a stretch.

Feeling irritated, Xu Nanxiao was just thinking about picking up the pace to shake him off when he suddenly heard Ying Yusheng let out a soft laugh behind him.

“What are you laughing at?” Xu Nanxiao turned around in annoyance and saw Ying Yusheng holding a mushroom in his hand.

The mushroom was white, shaped like a drumstick, with many upturned scales on its surface.

“Nothing. When I picked it, I thought this shaggy mane mushroom looked just like you,” Ying Yusheng said, his eyes curving. “All bristling.”

Xu Nanxiao didn’t like that. He immediately reached into his pocket, fished around, and pulled out a bright red mushroom. “And I say this one looks like you.”

Ying Yusheng immediately turned serious. “Nanxiao, that’s Amanita muscaria—it’s poisonous.”

“None of your business,” Xu Nanxiao said impatiently, turning away.

But Ying Yusheng wouldn’t let it go and insisted on taking the poisonous mushroom from Xu Nanxiao’s hand. In the struggle, he suddenly grasped Xu Nanxiao’s wrist and pulled him closer.

The distance between them closed abruptly. Xu Nanxiao tensed all over and instinctively yanked his hand away. A sharp crack echoed through the air, suddenly and jarringly.

They stood face to face, both stunned.

“Nanxiao.” In the end, Ying Yusheng withdrew his hand and smiled helplessly. “So, are we still just ‘not close’?”

“Then what am I supposed to say?!?!” Xu Nanxiao suddenly cut him off loudly, clenching his teeth and pressing on relentlessly. “Should I tell that old man we’re in a jailer-and-prisoner relationship? A rapist-and-victim relationship? A liar-and-idiot relationship? A stabber-and-stabbed relationship? Or—”

Suddenly, Xu Nanxiao felt a coolness on his face. Ying Yusheng had gently covered his mouth.

Ying Yusheng bent down, resting his forehead against the back of his own hand. “Don’t say any more, Nanxiao… Don’t say any more.”