Chapter 66 - 2#

The boss couldn’t help but ask him, “Do you really believe that story about the end of the world?”

His roommate chuckled without answering, leaving something on their table, saying it was a farewell gift—something they could use as a good luck charm.

In the end, he left only one sentence: “I hope we’ll see each other again someday.”

He stepped out of the dormitory door, and then he never showed up again.

Later, the boss brought up what he’d said to his other roommates, but no one took it seriously. As soon as the peacemaking roommate left, the rest of them got into a huge fight over the dorm assignment.

It ended with the boss voluntarily moving out of that dorm. That was because during the New Year, his family got into a severe car accident on the way to pay their respects—slippery roads from the snow. His mother died on the spot protecting him; his father passed away after several days of rescue efforts.

The boss suffered multiple fractures all over his body, but that was considered minor. He just had to stay in the hospital for a few months to recover.

Maybe it was the immense shock of losing his parents, but gradually the boss started becoming paranoid. He wanted to live, he wanted to die—before he knew it, he had already stockpiled a good amount of supplies in his home’s basement.

When the disaster struck, he survived the hardest part by hiding in that basement.

Later came the establishment of the Central Base.

He was lucky. The city he was in was one of the Central Base’s original strongholds, and his hiding spot was naturally incorporated into the base’s territory. All the ordinary people there received a degree of protection and shelter.

It was then that he met the previous owner of this bar.

An old man in his seventies or eighties, already advanced in age. He had endured the terror and torment of those disasters, and managed to settle down and reopen the bar. But he didn’t get to enjoy a peaceful old age for long—he passed away soon enough, leaving the bar to the boss, who has been running it ever since.

The boss never saw that roommate again.

To this day, he still can’t tell whether that roommate genuinely had some kind of precognitive ability or was simply too imaginative and happened to be right about this one disaster.

But the boss knew—if it weren’t for his repeated warnings, he might not have even survived the early days of the catastrophe. So no matter the truth, he felt gratitude in his heart, along with a touch of concern for that friend.

“But it’s been over ten years now,” the boss sighed. “I’m afraid…”

“Maybe he’s still living well somewhere else.” Chu Chenli’s voice suddenly cut in.

This was his first time joining the conversation that day.

But the boss was still lost in his regret and didn’t notice this small anomaly.

He paused at the words, then rubbed his eyes and forced himself to perk up.

“You’re right. I’ve hardly moved from this spot in ten years—I’m no better than a frog at the bottom of a well. Maybe he’s living well in some other base right now.”

Chu Chenli hummed in agreement and said nothing more, as if tacitly accepting the notion.

Fang Xiyu suddenly asked the boss, “What’s his name?”

The boss answered instinctively, “Yao Nian. Yao of ‘female’ and ‘omen,’ Nian of ‘thinking.’”

He paused, then added with a flicker of hope, “Do you know him?”

Fang Xiyu explained, “We’ll be going on field missions more often in the future. If we happen to run into him, we can let you know.”

In other words, he didn’t know him.

The boss hadn’t really expected much anyway, so he just expressed his thanks to them.

After finishing this topic, he put the photo frame back in its place and continued drinking with them.

He Ziyue, having learned her lesson from last time, only dared to drink juice. Hua Jin, on the other hand, kept chugging glass after glass alongside the boss.

At first, the others thought he was drinking plain water—until they tried to leave and he couldn’t even stand straight, revealing just how much alcohol he’d consumed.

Hua Jin had a much better tolerance than He Ziyue, and his face barely flushed. He was completely dazed, without even a hint of redness showing.

But no matter how good his tolerance was, it couldn’t hold up against gulping down large glasses one after another.

Given that he was showing signs of turning into a dead weight, it fell to Chu Chenli—the strongest among them—to take him. Hua Jin refused to be carried on Chu Chenli’s back, so in the end, Chu Chenli had to support him by holding one arm, helping him stagger back.

Once they were out of the bar, Hua Jin seemed to remember something. He turned his head in a broad arc, finally locating Mu Yanshen, and waved an apologetic hand. “Borrowing him for a bit,” he said.

This gesture was rather inappropriate, as if implying Chu Chenli was some kind of accessory exclusive to Mu Yanshen.

The corner of Mu Yanshen’s mouth twitched. He could only hope Chu Chenli wouldn’t get angry over it.

Chu Chenli, of course, wouldn’t argue with a drunk. Besides, he didn’t really care about such things anyway—it went in one ear and out the other, as if he hadn’t even heard it.

Mu Yanshen, seeing this, started sulking again instead.

Fang Xiyu slapped him hard on the back from behind.

Mu Yanshen stumbled, nearly falling, and turned to glare at Fang Xiyu, who remained completely unbothered.

“You really are twisted,” Fang Xiyu said in a tone almost like admiration. “You’re not seriously planning to keep that bottled up forever, are you?”

It was obvious to everyone that Mu Yanshen had liked Chu Chenli for a long time.

Maybe Chu Chenli himself knew it too—one could never be sure.

Back when Ye Lanzhou was still in the picture, it was understandable. Mu Yanshen keeping silent even earned him some respect—people thought his feelings ran deep.

But now Ye Lanzhou was thoroughly in the past, yet Mu Yanshen remained as silent as ever.

If his feelings had faded, he wouldn’t be the one always following closest behind Chu Chenli, his gaze practically glued to the other whenever he was around.

But if Mu Yanshen was just scared… that, in itself, was rather surprising.

Contrary to Fang Xiyu’s expectations, Mu Yanshen didn’t respond to that. He didn’t even make his usual joking or sarcastic retort. He just smiled at Fang Xiyu in an unreadable way, then caught up with the person ahead.

The person in front had already walked some distance away. In the deep, dark night, it seemed as if only their silhouettes were visible.

Halfway, Hua Jin sobered up a bit in a daze, then rested his head on Chu Chenli’s shoulder.

Chu Chenli felt some dampness on his shoulder. He didn’t want to assume the worst, but he didn’t call it out either.

When they were almost at the dormitory building, Hua Jin suddenly asked, “You know that guy, don’t you?”

Chu Chenli: “Mm.”

Hua Jin: “An old friend of yours?”

Chu Chenli: “You could say that.”

Hua Jin: “Do you really think he’s still alive?”

Chu Chenli: “I hope he is.”

Hua Jin paused for quite a while, then asked, “Have you never thought about looking for him?”

Chu Chenli understood what he meant. He stopped at the dormitory entrance, gazing steadily at Hua Jin for two seconds.

Hua Jin’s face was a mixture of guilt and confusion—that lingering obsession had never truly been let go.

He didn’t really expect an answer from Chu Chenli anyway. He rubbed his face and said, “Sorry. Just take it as drunken rambling.”

Chu Chenli sent him back to his room and waited until he was lying in bed before turning to leave. “Get some good rest. Goodnight.”

Once outside, Chu Chenli stood by the door and let out a quiet sigh.

The fatigue from the mission hadn’t worn off yet. All Chu Chenli wanted now was to rest. When he turned around, he saw Mu Yanshen not far away.

Leaning against the wall, staring blankly at the floor. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there.

He was waiting for Chu Chenli.

As they went upstairs, Chu Chenli told him Hua Jin was settled, and Mu Yanshen said He Ziyue and the others had also gone back to rest.

When they reached Chu Chenli’s door, Mu Yanshen should have said goodnight, but instead he followed him into the room. Chu Chenli was used to this and didn’t stop him.

While Chu Chenli was in the bathroom, Mu Yanshen sat in the living room and asked about Yao Nian.

“An old friend—was he from your place?”

“Sort of. But he was in his teens when his mother first brought him back.”

There was no dramatic story. Yao Nian’s mother had originally left the clan as a messenger, but she suffered a car accident that caused amnesia. She lived as an ordinary person in society for over a decade, following the normal course of life—marriage, childbirth.

Later, Yao Nian’s father also died in an accident. The emotional shock triggered his mother’s memories to return.

The delivery mission, delayed by more than ten years, wasn’t urgent, but she still had to report back.

Yao Nian was still young back then. His mother was afraid something might happen to him alone, and also feared that if she met with an accident on the road, her son would be left completely alone in the world—his father had also been an orphan; apart from each other, they had no other relatives.

So she brought her son along, prepared to never leave again.

At that time, the clan leader thought there was no need to stay hidden in the deep mountains forever—moderate exposure to the outside world wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

The specific details were carefully discussed among the elders. In the end, it was decided that Yao Nian could continue going to school, return during winter and summer breaks, but he was not allowed to casually reveal their secrets to outsiders.

Not that Yao Nian knew any secrets anyway.

He was curious about the ecology of that isolated village, but every path of exploration led to various secrets, which quickly dampened his enthusiasm.

During the winter and summer breaks he spent in the village, A-Li was the person he interacted with the most.

Because the others played too wildly and would often drag him—the weak newcomer—into the training ground. After a few times, Yao Nian preferred to just lie low at A-Li’s place.

Even among the children of the same age, few dared to barge in and disturb A-Li. At most, they’d call out from the wall and leave obediently after being refused.

A-Li never kicked him out.

Sometimes Yao Nian would talk about school. A-Li was curious about it and didn’t mind his constant rambling.

Over time, they gradually became friends.

When it came time for college, Yao Nian had to consider whether to stay out in the world and work, or return to help his mother. If he worked outside, he’d hardly have any chance to come back.

For one, there were no vacations. For another, it meant choosing to live as an ordinary person in human society again.

He kept saying he needed to think about it, but before he graduated from college, the warnings of the approaching disaster grew clearer and clearer. Without hesitation, he chose to return.

When the disaster struck, A-Li opened the passageway ahead of time. Yao Nian followed behind him and said, “Let me stay with you.” A-Li kicked him out of the activation range without a second thought.

That was probably the only time A-Li ever used force on him.

A-Li said that even if there really was a paradise-like otherworld, those clan members were still misfits. Yao Nian, having grown up in the normal world, could help the clan better integrate.

Yao Nian didn’t resist or question. He stood still for a moment, thought it over, and calmly accepted the reasoning.

In the end, he returned to his mother’s side, never mentioning to anyone that he had considered staying.

Every time Chu Chenli thought of him, he remembered that moment of hesitation.

Fortunately, he hadn’t wavered in the end.

Anyone Chu Chenli considered a friend was always special.

Mu Yanshen sat on the sofa, chin resting on his hand, listening to him talk about the past.

Nearly twenty years of history—too much, too long, as if it could never be fully told. Mu Yanshen felt he shouldn’t dwell on it too much, yet he couldn’t help wanting to probe deeper.

When Chu Chenli came out of the bathroom, Mu Yanshen asked him seriously, “Will I become part of those memories someday too?”

“What?” Chu Chenli didn’t understand at first.

“Things you always remember—people or events that you can easily talk about… to us, to me—are basically things you consider worth remembering or beautiful.”

Like Ye Lanzhou from back then, or friends from the past.

But along his journey, he must have encountered many awful people and things too, yet he never seemed resentful.

More misfortunes, more trivial things—they simply didn’t exist in the scope of what he would talk about.

If he didn’t care, it was as if they never existed.

Take Ye Lanzhou, for example.

Mu Yanshen wasn’t trying to compare importance with the current Ye Lanzhou, but the subtle coldness Chu Chenli displayed inevitably made him anxious.

It was also because of Chu Chenli that he first learned he could have such pathetic emotions.

“Will you remember me? Will you mention my existence to others with such nostalgia? Will you smile when you think of me? Will you feel happy?”

Mu Yanshen’s barrage of questions left even his own face tinged with bewilderment.

He didn’t seem like the ever-composed person he usually was.

But he allowed himself to show this vulnerable side so easily in front of Chu Chenli. Chu Chenli was different.

He was different from everyone else.

But to A-Li, would he—would he be the most special one?

Mu Yanshen wasn’t as confident as he appeared.

Chu Chenli paused in his hair-drying, momentarily thinking over those questions prompted by Xiao Mu’s words.

He wondered why Xiao Mu suddenly said these things, but he didn’t ask directly. Instead, he followed the train of thought and considered the questions themselves.

“Of course I will.” This answer was beyond doubt for Chu Chenli. “But I probably wouldn’t mention your existence repeatedly to others.”

Mu Yanshen’s mood, which had just started to lift, began to fall again—like riding a rollercoaster.

“Why?” Mu Yanshen couldn’t help asking.

“Because there’s no need for that,” Chu Chenli said matter-of-factly. “Aren’t you always right by my side?”

Even people who just met them knew they had a close relationship.

When companions saw Mu Yanshen alone, they instinctively asked, “Where’s A-Li?” They were indeed asking for A-Li’s whereabouts, but it was also an instinctive belief that Mu Yanshen should be with A-Li.

They were always inseparable.

In reality, they weren’t really glued to each other every second, but it was as if they bore each other’s imprint.

Mu Yanshen once thought Chu Chenli wasn’t aware of this, or maybe just regarded it as a form of “partnership.”

Among those teammates, there were always some who became close partners in life or combat—drawing nearer, binding tighter than others was not unusual.

Mu Yanshen remained silent on this, privately savoring his one-sided secret.

Before the balance was broken, no one knew what the consequences would be.

Even Mu Yanshen, who seemed afraid of nothing and even delighted in chaos, had moments of hesitation. No matter how many times he mentally rehearsed, he couldn’t bear the consequence of possibly losing Chu Chenli.

Even just pushing him to a certain boundary line, merely shutting him out—just imagining it made him flinch, and he would forcibly suppress all emotional impulses.

The closer he got, the greedier he became. The greedier he got, the more terrified he was of loss.

But there would always be a moment when impulse broke through all reason, hesitation, and fear, surging out like a flood.

At first, Chu Chenli didn’t realize the enormous waves crashing in Mu Yanshen’s heart. He just put down the towel, ready to go around the sofa and get some water from the kitchen.

Mu Yanshen grabbed his wrist. “A-Li.”

Chu Chenli stopped as asked and turned to look at him with some confusion. “What’s wrong?”

Mu Yanshen’s face was slightly flushed, and his palm was alarmingly hot. Chu Chenli suspected he might be ill. He reached out with his other hand to feel his forehead, muttering to himself whether someone like Xiao Mu could even get sick.

His forehead was as scalding as his palm.

The coolness made Mu Yanshen’s forehead unconsciously seek out Chu Chenli’s hand. Chu Chenli traced from his forehead to the corner of his eye and his temple, gently rubbing.

A gesture so gentle it bordered on tenderness—it made one unwilling to let go, wanting to sink into it.

But Mu Yanshen never once considered the possibility that he might be sick. After making that unconscious pursuit movement, he realized it was improper, yet he had no desire to pull away.

When Chu Chenli tried to withdraw his hand, Mu Yanshen instinctively grabbed it again.

Meeting his gaze, the words slipped out: “I like you.”

Dead silence.

Chu Chenli’s movements froze.

In that instant, Mu Yanshen snapped fully awake. Before rationality could take hold, he didn’t let regret or frustration dominate.

In fact, he thought for less than a second before gripping Chu Chenli’s hand even tighter and repeating himself.

“I like you—” Mu Yanshen said. “I love you, A-Li.”