Chapter 55

“Got it, gege.”
Then he obediently went to the yard and joined a colleague’s child. One big, one small, playing together—their laughter sometimes floated all the way upstairs.
Yeah. Something *was* off.
It looked normal on the surface. Song Fuxue would ship them to the point of fainting, while Zhong Yuan still found himself unable to look directly.
After seeing the leaders off, Zhong Yuan nudged Xi Siyan.
“Siyan, after New Year, how old is Miaomiao?”
“Twenty-eight,” Xi Siyan answered frankly.
He and Zhong Yuan had been classmates for three years and colleagues for six. They spent more time together each day than with family.
Maybe not life-and-death brothers, but in Xi Siyan’s social circle, Zhong Yuan was already a very close friend.
Especially since Zhong Yuan had covered countless shifts and taken on who-knew-how-much extra work, just so Xi Siyan could take leave smoothly or get off early to go home with Jing Miao.
Zhong Yuan and Song Fuxue both genuinely liked Jing Miao. For Xi Siyan, that alone meant he would not keep treating them as outsiders forever.
He trusted their character and felt that since they already had suspicions, there was no need to keep hiding everything.
That number—twenty-eight—was like a key. Zhong Yuan suddenly understood where his unease came from.
Most of the time they all automatically ignored Jing Miao’s age, because Jing Miao had gone through school, graduation, and work in a completely “normal” sequence.
Xi Siyan and Jing Miao didn’t appear at the workplace frequently. Everyone treated their dynamic as romantic flavor.
Add Jing Miao’s face—favored by time—and if Xi Siyan’s badge age hadn’t kept climbing, even Zhong Yuan would sometimes feel Jing Miao was still a teenage boy.
Song Fuxue used to joke:
“Jing Miao and Xi Siyan feel like they live in two different timelines. Only Xi Siyan changes. Jing Miao never changes.”
Forever innocent, forever clear-eyed and youthful, forever clingy, easily hurt and wronged.
Back then Zhong Yuan had laughed.
“Your shipping goggles are really… special.”
Song Fuxue rolled her eyes.
“You know nothing. I mean Xi Siyan spoiled him into this. Swap genders and Jing Miao is basically a princess, okay?”
But this was not the state a twenty-eight-year-old adult man should usually have.
His clinginess and devotion came naturally, and, just as Song Fuxue said, seemed never to change.
The closer Zhong Yuan got to them, the closer he came to certain truths.
“Siyan, don’t be mad if I say this… Is Miaomiao…” he pointed at his own head, “…is there a problem here?”
Xi Siyan nodded.
“Yeah.”
Zhong Yuan parted his lips silently. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind. At last he asked with difficulty:
“Is it… from that car crash?”
“Yeah.” Xi Siyan gave a faint smile.
In that spring-breeze smile, Zhong Yuan could clearly see clouds of sorrow that would not disperse.
As he digested what he had inferred, he asked carefully:
“Then now… mentally, how old is he? Can he still get better?”
A child slipped on snow and fell with a thump. Jing Miao hurried over, pulled the child up gently, coaxed him, brushed snow off his pants.
Watching that scene, Xi Siyan’s face softened.
“Cognition’s probably stuck around seventeen or eighteen. Family spoils him too much, routines haven’t changed for years, so a lot of thinking and behavior still feel childlike.”
The mother of that child—also a professor—arrived to pick him up, smiling to thank Jing Miao.
The kid liked Jing Miao very much; before leaving he insisted on a hug, then waved goodbye.
Jing Miao turned and saw Xi Siyan. A beautiful smile lit his face.
“Gege!” he shouted.
Xi Siyan’s own smile bloomed wider. He turned to Zhong Yuan.
“I’ll head out first. Happy Spring Festival in advance.”
Zhong Yuan smiled too.
“Happy Spring Festival.”
Jing Miao ran over, jumped, and hung onto Xi Siyan in one motion. Xi Siyan caught him laughing and kissed his baby’s cheek.
“Baby, say goodbye to Brother Zhong Yuan,” Xi Siyan said.
Jing Miao looked at Zhong Yuan obediently.
“Goodbye, gege.” His face carried a faint pink flush; his eyes were moist like dewdrops. “Happy Spring Festival, Brother Zhong Yuan.”
Zhong Yuan smiled gently.
“Bye, Miaomiao. Happy Spring Festival. See you next year.”
Xi Siyan turned back while holding him. Snowlight made his face look like a still frame from an old Taiwanese film—the kind you remember for a lifetime at one glance.
“Thanks, Zhong Yuan. See you next year.”
Zhong Yuan paused, then smiled.
“See you next year.”
He knew what that unfinished “thanks” meant:
trust, and friendship.
“How long did you play? Hands cold, baby?”
“Not long. I kept my gloves on properly. If gege holds me, I’m not cold.”
“Isn’t gege holding you right now? Put your hands under gege’s hat—it’s warm there.”
“Mm!”
Zhong Yuan watched them walk farther and farther away.
Joy on his face.
Bitterness in his heart.
And above all, reflection.
There are many beautiful kinds of love in this world.
Perhaps the most beautiful is still this: honoring your promise—whether in wealth or poverty, in sickness or health.
Xi Siyan first took Jing Miao to the supermarket. They needed ingredients for dinner.
Aunt Jiang had already left for her hometown holiday. Before leaving, she had said she made milk tofu for Jing Miao in the fridge and reminded Xi Siyan to heat it for him.
They pushed a small cart; Jing Miao looped his arm through Xi Siyan’s while following him through the aisles.
Suddenly Gan Zisen called.
“Hello, Zisen.”
“Hello, Siyan—where are you?” His voice sounded serious and urgent. Xi Siyan stopped walking.
“Miaomiao and I are buying groceries. What happened?”
“Jing Miao is with you, right? Listen to me. Stock more vegetables, instant foods, and fast-moving supplies *now*. Buy masks too. If there are no surgical masks, get medical masks first and wear them—especially for Jing Miao.”
They happened to be near bagged masks. Xi Siyan immediately grabbed two packs and threw them in the cart.
“Okay. What happened?”