Chapter 3#

Breakfast#

Han Qingsu had been staying at the hotel for seven consecutive days.

It was Wednesday.

He hadn’t been able to sleep all night. He crawled out of bed, kicked over a wine bottle by his feet, and looked at the takeout boxes covering the table. His heart throbbed with pain; he instinctively reached for a cigarette before suddenly remembering he had already quit.

For the first time in those seven days, he pulled back the curtains.

Rain lashed against the window in a chaotic patter. The misty sky and the low-rise buildings outside looked incredibly oppressive. There were few cars on the wet asphalt, the roadside was littered with thick maple leaves, and the unextinguished streetlights cast a sickly, dying glow—their dim yellow light appearing particularly desolate in the rain.

He glanced at his phone: 5:30 AM.

On the shattered screen was a message from Han Qingran: “Mother’s funeral is at nine o’clock today.”

There were also dozens of missed calls.

He let out a soft sneer, tossed the phone aside, and grabbed a bottle of liquor to take a few gulps. He was caught off guard, choked, and leaned against the window, coughing until he nearly coughed up his lungs.

The cramped room made him feel stifled; the walls felt as if they were constantly closing in, sucking the last bit of air from his lungs. The vibration of his phone made him desperately want to escape.

With the rain falling and being a stranger in this place, he wandered aimlessly through the neighborhood. A tantalizing aroma wafted over, and his stomach, having been empty for a day and a night, began to twist in pain. Hunger struck with a vengeance. Han Qingsu furrowed his brows and followed the scent.

It was a street behind the hotel, flanked by low, dilapidated residential buildings. Many breakfast stalls and fruit and vegetable shops had opened along the street. The sky was just beginning to brighten, but the street was already bustling with activity: migrant workers carrying bags, elderly people who woke up early, and students heading to school regardless of the rain… Under the rain-sheltering tarps were freshly steamed buns, meat pies, deep-fried dough sticks, and steaming bowls of noodle soup—all appearing exceptionally tempting amidst the noisy, clamorous environment.

However, the oil-stained tables and the dilapidated stools and folding chairs made Han Qingsu hesitate.

Especially when he saw a few gray-covered workers nearby chatting loudly, their clothes and pants stained with cement, holding bowls and spoons that looked like they hadn’t been sanitized… Han Qingsu turned to leave.

“Xiao Lin, how have things been these past two days?” someone asked.

“Not bad, ran a long-distance haul yesterday and just got back this morning,” a clear, familiar voice came from behind him.

Han Qingsu didn’t want to turn back, but perhaps the surrounding aroma was truly too tempting, and he desperately needed a reason to justify eating. He turned his head and saw Lin Muhan.

He was wearing a gray turtleneck sweater, black casual trousers, and sneakers. He held a bowl of porridge in one hand while biting into a bun, sitting naturally on a stool nearby. Opposite him were two older men, chatting happily with the group of workers beside them.

“I’m not as lucky, haven’t caught any jobs these past few days,” the middle-aged man said indistinctly in the local dialect. “You’re really hardworking, and your luck is good too.”

Lin Muhan’s hair on his forehead was a bit damp, but his eyes were full of smiles as he replied in the local dialect, “Can’t help but work hard; I need to buy a house and a car, otherwise I won’t be able to get a wife.”

“Hahaha, you look so handsome, you don’t have to worry about finding a wife.” The other man laughed out loud.

Lin Muhan felt a bit embarrassed. He took a big sip of porridge, perhaps it was a bit hot, as his lips turned slightly red. The table was low, and his long legs made sitting there uncomfortable; he spread his legs a bit wider and hunched his back slightly. Someone at the adjacent table offered a cigarette; he reached out, took one, and habitually tucked it behind his ear. Not knowing what he heard, he laughed along with them.

He seemed to have lived here for a long time, completely integrated into these people, and the raw, naive look of the student from years ago was nowhere to be found.

Han Qingsu felt a bit of disgust and was about to look away when Lin Muhan suddenly turned his head. Their eyes met unexpectedly.

His eyes lit up with a hint of surprise: “Brother Han?”

Han Qingsu gave an awkward nod and turned to walk away.

“I thought you had already left.” Lin Muhan stood up and walked to him, naturally grabbing his arm and pulling him into the rain-sheltering tarp. He reached for a few napkins on the table, “It’s raining so hard, why did you come out without an umbrella?”

“Just out for a walk.” Seeing him wipe his face with the napkins, Han Qingsu dodged slightly and took the napkins from him, “No need, I’ll do it myself.”

Lin Muhan smiled.

“Xiao Lin, is this your friend?” the middle-aged man asked.

“Ah, yes,” Lin Muhan said naturally, “We’ve known each other for over ten years, an old friend.”

Han Qingsu frowned. Ten years my foot. If he hadn’t bumped into him by chance in Wucheng, he wouldn’t even remember who this person was.

“Brother Han, have you had breakfast?” Lin Muhan patted his shoulder, brushing off the rain from his trench coat, “If not, let’s eat something together.”

Han Qingsu really wanted to refuse, but his empty stomach controlled his brain, and he nodded instinctively.

Lin Muhan had him sit down and thoughtfully wiped the table in front of him. He leaned over and asked, “Brother Han, what do you want to eat? I’ll go get it for you.”

“Anything is fine.” Han Qingsu glanced at his bun.

Lin Muhan raised an eyebrow, squeezed into the group, and said loudly, “Boss, five buns and a bowl of porridge.”

Han Qingsu felt a bit embarrassed. The middle-aged man next to him asked with a smile, “Young man, what line of work are you in?”

It was no wonder he asked; Han Qingsu’s attire and presence clearly showed he wasn’t of their kind—everything about him exuded “I am very expensive.”

“No job,” Han Qingsu said.

“Sigh, jobs are hard to find these days, with the current economic climate…” the middle-aged man began to lament.

Han Qingsu never expected that he would be able to carry on the conversation, and even began to “point out the flaws in the world.” He nodded perfunctorily, feeling quite restless. Fortunately, Lin Muhan returned in time to interrupt him.

“Brother Han, try this.” Lin Muhan handed him the bun and helped him with the spoon. He brought his own bowl and switched seats, sitting on the outer side to block the rain blowing in.

Han Qingsu thought he wouldn’t be able to eat it, but the taste was unexpectedly good. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t eaten such fresh food in a long time; he even drank another bowl of porridge.

Lin Muhan watched him from the side. Over the past few days, Han Qingsu had grown gaunt, his body had thinned, and there were faint dark circles under his eyes. However, having taken a shower and shaved before going out, he had a faint scent of body wash on him, a small, inconspicuous cut on the back of his hand, and he was still wearing that ring on his middle finger from that day.

He had checked—those rings were a pair.

The two middle-aged men finished their meal and said goodbye to Lin Muhan before leaving.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Han Qingsu suddenly looked up.

“I’m about finished.” Lin Muhan smiled and tentatively asked him, “Brother Han, are you here in Wucheng for business? Or are you here to see a friend?”

“Private matters,” Han Qingsu said concisely.

Seeing that he didn’t want to talk much, Lin Muhan stopped and took out a cigarette to light it. He inhaled before looking at him, “Brother Han, you don’t mind, right?”

“It’s fine.” Han Qingsu watched him smoke with practiced ease, “You know how to smoke?”

“Learned a long time ago.” Lin Muhan smiled embarrassedly, “Driving makes me sleepy, especially on long-distance hauls. Smoking helps stay alert. But I don’t smoke at home; my family doesn’t like it.”

Han Qingsu nodded. The smell of the cheap cigarette made him feel suffocated.

“Do you have a partner?” Han Qingsu asked.

“In a way, I suppose,” Lin Muhan stared at him, “It’s just that they have a bad temper, are pampered, and don’t listen very well. We’re just seeing how it goes.”

“That’s good.” Han Qingsu nodded perfunctorily. His previous vigilance slightly diminished; it seemed he had misjudged the situation.

“Just muddling through,” Lin Muhan quickly finished the cigarette. However, with Han Qingsu in front of him, the fire in his heart burned brighter and brighter. He bit down hard on the tip of his tongue, “Brother Han, if you’re not busy, let me treat you to a meal.”

“No need for the trouble, I’m leaving today anyway,” Han Qingsu put down his chopsticks, “Consider this meal your treat.”

“How can—”

“I have things to attend to, I’m leaving.” Han Qingsu nodded politely and got up to leave.

He hadn’t walked more than two steps when someone grabbed his wrist. Before he could frown, the other person let go.

“Take the umbrella.” Lin Muhan shoved the open umbrella into his hand, “Wucheng is much colder than City A, Brother Han. Wear more clothes usually.”

Han Qingsu looked at him with confusion, but Lin Muhan stepped back and smiled in the rain: “Go ahead, Brother Han. I’m off to work.”

Han Qingsu frowned and turned away.

Lin Muhan returned to the table, stuffed the half-eaten bun of Han Qingsu’s into his mouth, and stared at the clean porridge bowl, biting down hard on the meat filling inside the bun.

Han Qingsu changed hotels that same day.

Although he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason, Lin Muhan gave him a feeling that made him uncomfortable. Regardless of whether it was intentional or not, Han Qingsu didn’t want to see him again.

He specifically chose a high-end hotel with convenient surroundings. He didn’t bring many clothes, and since the rain had made it very cold outside, he bought a few new outfits and finally made it to the evening.

Perhaps it was because Lin Muhan had stirred up his desires, or perhaps it was because his heart was filled with intense frustration, Han Qingsu found a bar. Only amidst the clamor and the drumbeats could he find a moment to breathe.

He was fierce and handsome, and his clothes and watch were worth a fortune. Wave after wave of men and women came to flirt. At first, he would raise his hand and tap the ring on his finger, but later he simply ignored them and drank cup after cup of wine.

Lin Muhan sat in a booth with a gloomy expression, watching his every move—how he took off his coat because he was hot, loosened his collar, rolled up his sleeves, and how the curve of his hunched back looked lewd and alluring. As he tilted his head to drink, the wine flowed down his throat and into his collar, and the men nearby stared with wide, hungry eyes.

“Brother, here alone?” A young man in makeup leaned over, ambiguously stroking his hand, and smiled, “Could you buy me a drink?”

Han Qingsu narrowed his eyes and looked at him. He was very pretty, and the mole at the corner of his eye looked much like Chu Jingyuan’s. He let out a hum of laughter and nodded.

The other party understood. His hand boldly reached for Han Qingsu’s thigh, and he pressed his whole body against him. The hand that was originally on the wine glass snuck into his collar. A flicker of surprise crossed the man’s eyes as he leaned in and whispered, “Brother, your abs are really nice to touch.”

Han Qingsu curved his lips. The other party followed the flow and hooked his arms around his neck, sitting on his lap. Han Qingsu’s breathing grew tight; he pinched the man’s chin and was about to kiss him, when he was interrupted by an abrupt, surprised voice: “Brother Han?”

Han Qingsu jerked his head up, looking at the person in front of him as if he had seen a ghost: “Why are you here?”

Even though he and Lin Muhan had nothing to do with each other, the scene, paired with Lin Muhan’s shocked and somewhat disappointed expression, made it look exactly like he had been caught in the act of cheating.

Lin Muhan’s face was filled with astonishment. Hearing this, he moved slightly aside, revealing the cart of beer behind him: “I came to deliver drinks to the shop.”

Han Qingsu cursed internally. Wucheng really is a damn small place; to think he could run into him even like this!

Lin Muhan looked at the person on his lap and pursed his lips: “Brother Han, you have a boyfriend, why are you still…”

The person sitting on his lap glanced at him and then at Lin Muhan, likely misunderstanding something. He scoffed, “What bad luck. If you’re on a short leash, don’t come out looking for thrills.”

With that, he pushed Han Qingsu away, patted his backside, and left.

Han Qingsu was so angry he sobered up halfway. He had been abstinent for so long, and when he finally decided to go out and have some fun, it was ruined by Lin Muhan.

Then, Lin Muhan seized the initiative: “Brother Han, didn’t you say you were leaving today?”

Han Qingsu’s expression darkened.

Damn it, where the hell was he supposed to go?!

Being thwarted by Lin Muhan and forced to recall his current predicament, his desire for revelry vanished instantly. He grabbed his coat and walked out.

“Brother Han!” Lin Muhan chased him out of the bar and grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t follow me, damn it!” Han Qingsu violently shook him off, his voice hoarse and irritable from the alcohol, “Get lost!”

Lin Muhan was stunned for a moment, his eyes slowly turning red in the rain. He said softly, “Brother Han?”

When Han Qingsu dated someone, he was gentle and considerate, coaxing them until they were dizzy, promising the world without a second thought. He was generous with his money, and even after a breakup, he handled everything perfectly, leaving everyone feeling that he had loved them deeply. There were always people who couldn’t forget him, thinking they were the ones who could make the “prodigal son” reform.

But in reality, Han Qingsu had a terrible temper, only knowing how to put on a facade. Once he had played enough, he tossed them away without a moment’s hesitation—more “trash” than the garbage in a roadside bin.

Consumed by lust, vicious and selfish.

How could such a person ever reform… yet he kept the matching rings with him everywhere, and had someone else’s name tattooed on his body.

Lin Muhan took a step forward; the stun gun hidden in his sleeve was chillingly cold. Such scum should be stripped bare, tied up, and thrown into a basement where he couldn’t see anyone else, becoming a “slut” who could only beg for mercy at his feet—

“Sorry.” Han Qingsu’s voice came through the veil of rain, extinguishing the violence and madness rising in his heart.

“I’m drunk.” Han Qingsu pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, his head aching as if it were splitting. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, it’s just that I haven’t been feeling great lately.”

He always had an excuse. Lin Muhan’s eyes were ice-cold.

Drenched in the rain, the sobriety he had felt began to fade. Han Qingsu waved a hand at him and said hoarsely, “Go ahead with your work, don’t worry about me.”

He walked unsteadily, nearly bumping into a lamppost. As he continued forward, a sudden, powerful force came from behind, and he crashed into a solid chest.

A car sped past him, honking loudly and splashing a sheet of rainwater.

Lin Muhan steadied his shoulders, his cold nose brushing against his ear. His voice was deep and muffled: “I’ll take you home.”