FIG CHAPTER 29

Tan Qing chose a bowl of seafood wontons and sat beside him, eating slowly. Zhu Lianzhen had felt hungry earlier, but now that the food was in front of him, he didn’t have much of an appetite, so he only took a few sips of porridge.

Zhu Lianzhen asked hesitantly, “Did I talk a lot of nonsense last night?”

Tan Qing: “Mm.”

Zhu Lianzhen let out a heavy sigh, buried his hands in his hair, and muttered, “Everything I saw back then wasn’t real, you know? My brain couldn’t tell what was true or false anymore. It was… it was like a dream. Whatever I said yesterday, just treat it like sleep talk.”

He sneaked a glance at Tan Qing.

Tan Qing had finished his wontons, set the dishes aside, and asked, “You don’t remember any of it?”

Zhu Lianzhen tried hard to recall. At first, he’d been half-awake—he remembered talking to some of his teammates, maybe even calling Tan Qing. But the rest was a blur.

“Did I say something totally out of line?” Zhu Lianzhen asked, a bad feeling creeping in. “Just tell me. I’m mentally prepared.”

Tan Qing lowered his gaze. “Nothing much. You just kept telling me to leave quickly, or else you’d turn into Koty.”

Zhu Lianzhen breathed a sigh of relief. He still had no idea why he’d had such a bizarre hallucination. Honestly speaking, Koty was easily among the most handsome tier of men, but that didn’t make up for the fact that he was an extremely destructive idiot. If the whole world turned into Koty, he’d have a meltdown.

“So what did you say to me?” Zhu Lianzhen asked. “In the car—I think I heard you talking to me.”

Tan Qing acted like nothing had happened. “Just treat it like sleep talk too.”

“You weren’t the one poisoned back then!” Zhu Lianzhen retorted.

“Doesn’t mean I was thinking straight.” Tan Qing’s expression softened into a faint smile.

Zhu Lianzhen pressed his lips together tightly, realizing he wouldn’t be able to get the truth out of Tan Qing. He had no choice but to suppress his curiosity.

Leaning against the headboard, he held his phone and started typing a message to his parents. Halfway through, he hesitated, as he didn’t want to worry them, and ended up deleting all the text.

“So annoying,” he muttered. “I should’ve known not to mix meat and vegetables. The others who don’t like mushrooms are totally fine.”

Tan Qing: “Good thing it wasn’t serious. Just be more careful next time.”

“Don’t go jinxing it with a ‘next time.’ This one already did a number on me.” Zhu Lianzhen folded his hands over his stomach and sprawled out on the bed. Thinking back to last night, he felt even more puzzled: Of all the people I could’ve called, why did it have to be Tan Qing?

The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he became. He turned to look at Tan Qing, who happened to be staring right back at him. They locked eyes in silence for a moment before Zhu Lianzhen suddenly looked away, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. He pouted, “So annoying.”

Tan Qing’s expression didn’t change. “Did I upset you again?”

“No,” Zhu Lianzhen replied sulkily. “It’s my own fault for being careless and embarrassing myself in front of you.”

“What’s wrong with it happening in front of me?” Tan Qing asked.

Zhu Lianzhen ignored the question. Tan Qing leaned in and asked again, “You can’t embarrass yourself in front of me?”

“Don’t ask.” Zhu Lianzhen turned his face away, instinctively putting some distance between them. His fingers fidgeted as he kept pressing the phone’s volume buttons.

After a while, once the heat in his face had faded, Zhu Lianzhen glanced at Tan Qing again. “How did you realize so quickly yesterday that something was wrong with me? Did I sound that weird on the phone?”

“Not exactly weird. You just suddenly asked if I’d eaten, which surprised me,” Tan Qing said. “Normally, you wouldn’t care about something like that.”

His tone was gentle, tinged with a hint of uncertainty. Zhu Lianzhen was a little taken aback and subconsciously tried to refute it. “Why wouldn’t I care about you normally? I went out of my way to visit your set that day, and last time when your in-ear monitor was short-circuiting…”

His voice trailed off as he realized he was rambling again. He coughed awkwardly to change the subject. Tan Qing didn’t respond to that and simply asked, “Want some water?”

Zhu Lianzhen: “Yeah.”

He was finally beginning to realize that any time Tan Qing looked at him, it made him awkward, and there was no way to escape it.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. The doctor entered and explained Zhu Lianzhen’s condition in detail, along with the precautions he needed to take. After checking his temperature, the doctor said that if he wasn’t feeling any discomfort, he could be discharged.

Zhu Lianzhen called Ah-Xu back into the room. With someone else around, he felt more at ease.

“Will taking time off from the set delay production?” he asked. He hadn’t thought much of it when he asked Tan Qing to stay earlier, but now he was starting to worry that it might’ve been inappropriate.

Tan Qing shook his head. “It’s fine. I don’t have any scenes to shoot over the next couple of days.”

“Then why were you in such a rush to head back just now?”

“It’s easier to sleep on set. The director often talks through scenes with me.” Tan Qing looked at him and added, “And I wasn’t really in a rush. You were the one who told me to come back.”

Zhu Lianzhen casually pointed at Ah-Xu. “She said you didn’t sleep all night, so I just thought I’d remind you to eat something. Since you’re not filming today, you could… go back to the set early and get some rest.”

Ah-Xu couldn’t stand how awkwardly he phrased it and jumped in, “Why make it so complicated? Just head back to the dorm together—it’s nearby. Let Tan Qing get a proper sleep.”

Zhu Lianzhen looked at Tan Qing, who gave him a nod, and only then did he feel reassured.

Ah-Xu drove them back to the dorm. As soon as Zhu Lianzhen stepped through the door, he was met with an enthusiastic hug from Koty. His shoulder ached from the squeeze, and he shoved him off.

Koty pointed to the red veins in his eyes and said seriously, “Is this enough? I prayed for you all night under the stars.”

Fu Rong didn’t show any particular concern, only asked casually, “You seeing things normally now?”

Zhu Lianzhen nodded, then grumbled, “I was acting so weird in front of you yesterday, and you didn’t even notice something was wrong? You should’ve at least suspected it!”

Fu Rong admitted he’d been slow to catch on, but didn’t think he could be blamed for it. He replied calmly, “Your brain doesn’t exactly work that great on a normal day. When something really happened, you didn’t seem much different from your usual self. So it’s kind of understandable that I didn’t notice. Maybe you should ask yourself why I’ve gotten that impression of you.”

Hearing that kind of absurd justification, Zhu Lianzhen got irritated, and to argue back, he even insulted himself. “Then why did Tan Qing catch it so fast? Do you think I’m usually such a genius to him?”

Fu Rong looked at him with surprise, like he hadn’t expected that level of self-awareness.

“Maybe it’s because I’m not blind,” Tan Qing interjected with a smile, sitting down on the couch across from them.

Zhu Lianzhen felt that Tan Qing’s tone had a chilly edge. Fu Rong noticed the shift too and glanced sideways at him, but didn’t respond.

Tan Qing continued, “I didn’t expect all four of you to lack that much common sense over something so basic. It’s lucky not everyone ended up poisoned. I thought since Koty was the one who brought the food, at least you would’ve been suspicious.”

He said this while looking at Fu Rong, the smile still on his face, but Zhu Lianzhen could sense the chill behind it. The two rarely interacted in private, which made the tension between them even more noticeable.

Fu Rong lounged lazily on the sofa, head tilted, not avoiding Tan Qing’s gaze in the slightest. Sensing something was off, Zhu Lianzhen sat between them to block their line of sight, then turned to Tan Qing and said, “You should get some sleep.”

Tan Qing gave a nod and went upstairs.

As soon as he was gone, Koty poked his head out from behind the sofa. “What was that just now? The vibe was weird.”

“He’s angry,” Fu Rong said.

Zhu Lianzhen asked instinctively, “Who?”

Fu Rong narrowed his eyes and raised a brow at him as if to say, “Don’t play dumb.”

Zhu Lianzhen glanced upstairs, thinking, “No way,” then asked Fu Rong in confusion, “What makes you think he’s angry?”

Fu Rong had no patience for questions he considered beneath him and rolled his eyes. “With that kind of attitude, what else could he be? Flirting?”

“Honestly, I’ve never seen him angry, so how would I know what it looks like?” Zhu Lianzhen couldn’t follow Fu Rong’s logic, nor could he figure out why Tan Qing would be upset.

If it was because he looked down on them for not knowing how to tell wild mushrooms apart, then his attitude at the hospital had seemed perfectly fine. If it was because he was mad at Fu Rong, that made even less sense. In Koty’s eyes, Fu Rong was an angel; in most people’s, a devil—but no one would be bored enough to pick a fight with the devil.

Seeing Zhu Lianzhen’s confused expression, Koty found it kind of amusing and reminded him, “Kissy was really worried about you. When he came back last night, I didn’t even get a chance to see him. He took you away right away.”

Zhu Lianzhen felt a bit conflicted. Precisely because he knew Tan Qing had looked after him all night, he couldn’t treat this like any ordinary favor.

News of his food poisoning spread quickly online, and well-wishes started flooding in from all over. Zhu Lianzhen left everything to Ah-Xu to handle. His parents also called, and he obediently endured their scolding before collapsing onto the bed with an exhausted look on his face.

As for the concern from fans, he didn’t dare check it himself. He quickly posted a message on Weibo to let everyone know he was okay and reminded them to be careful about food safety.

“What exactly did Tan Qing do last night?” Zhu Lianzhen asked.

Ah-Xu was busy typing on her phone. After thinking for a few seconds, she finally replied, “I really don’t know. During the first half of the night, he just sat there watching you, didn’t even touch his phone. Later, I went out and stayed in the hallway.”

Zhu Lianzhen stared up at the ceiling and asked in a low voice, “Do you think if it had been one of the others who got sick, Tan Qing would’ve done the same?”

Ah-Xu stopped typing and looked at him with a strange expression, like she wanted to say something but held back.

Zhu Lianzhen continued, “He told me during the day that our relationship now is just that of regular teammates.”

Ah-Xu sighed softly. “Boss, don’t play dumb.”

Feeling guilty, Zhu Lianzhen fell silent.

He’d always been someone who wore his emotions on his sleeve. When he was happy, he laughed; when he was sad, he cried; when he was angry, he cursed. He never bottled things up. More often than not, he couldn’t understand people like Tan Qing, those who always took the roundabout way.

In the entertainment industry, artists who kept their emotions hidden weren’t uncommon, and Zhu Lianzhen usually kept a respectful distance from them, worried he might accidentally offend someone.

He wasn’t afraid of offending Tan Qing, but “not afraid” and “not wanting to” were two very different things.

Ah-Xu finished dealing with the messages and was about to head home for the day. Before leaving, she couldn’t help but say, “If you’re worried about not handling the situation properly, then don’t rush to repay him. What he wants isn’t a thank-you anyway, right?”

Zhu Lianzhen frowned. “Can you not make it sound like there’s something going on between us again? I just want to maintain a normal teammate relationship.”

Ah-Xu shrugged and quickly slipped out.

By evening, Tan Qing had woken up. When Zhu Lianzhen saw him heading into the kitchen, he wanted to stop him—tell him not to worry about chores while he was supposed to be resting. Tan Qing still looked half-asleep, glanced at Zhu Lianzhen, and continued washing the vegetables.

Clearly, he had no confidence in the four of them managing daily life. Zhu Lianzhen had nothing to say to that and quietly went over to help. Tan Qing didn’t make anything fancy—just chopped the vegetables into chunks and simmered them with sea salt and pepper. It was a clean and refreshing dinner.

Halfway through the meal, Tan Qing got up to take a phone call. Zhu Lianzhen noticed he didn’t say a word before stepping out the door and had no idea whether he needed to return to the set or had something else to take care of.

–

It rained heavily tonight. The wipers couldn’t keep up with the downpour, and the windshield stayed blurry the entire time. For safety, Tan Qing slowed down, and it took him nearly five hours to reach Beijing.

He parked near the hospital, not planning to drive any closer. When the rain eased a little, someone gently knocked on his window.

The window rolled down, and Tan Xiao bent over under an umbrella. “Come on, I’ll take you upstairs.”

Tan Qing didn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead as he said, “That’s a media car. I recognize it.”

He turned to Tan Xiao and added, “There are reporters. I’m not going.”

“Huh?” Tan Xiao looked troubled, gripping the umbrella handle tightly as she pleaded, “But Dad said he’s afraid he won’t make it through this time. All he wants is to say a few words to you.”

She looked anxious, but Tan Qing remained calm, his expression unreadable.

After a moment, he seemed to make up his mind. “I don’t want the media reporting on my relationship with him. As long as even one reporter is there, I won’t go in. I hope you understand.”

Tan Xiao looked at a loss. She hadn’t expected her brother to be so cold and resolute. Then again, he and their father hadn’t spoken in nearly twenty years, so emotional distance was inevitable.

But he’d rushed to Beijing overnight after getting the call, hadn’t he? Didn’t that mean he cared at least a little? Tan Xiao couldn’t understand. All she could say was, “Then I’ll go back and try to get the reporters to leave. Just wait a bit longer.”

It was a naive thought.

Famous director Tan Ruisheng had been hospitalized with a serious illness. Even before a critical condition notice was announced, reporters had already been camped outside for days, drafting their articles in advance, waiting to grab headlines. Anyone could see—they wouldn’t leave without orders from higher up. They had jobs to protect.

Tan Qing sat in the car, engine off, eyes closed in quiet rest.

A phone notification broke the silence. He thought it was Tan Xiao again, but when he checked, it was a voice message from Zhu Lianzhen.

“You left yesterday and forgot to close the window! The wind was howling all night. I just checked your room, and there’s a bunch of rainwater on the floor!”

Tan Qing typed: “Left in a hurry. Forgot.”

“Are you back with the crew?”

Tan Qing adjusted the seat and briefly explained the situation to Zhu Lianzhen.

Zhu Lianzhen had just finished mopping up the water. Holding the mop and staring at his phone, he frowned. He’d known Tan Qing for years, and rarely had he ever heard him mention his family. He’d always assumed it was a sore spot.

But now, it seemed like Tan Qing just didn’t see a reason to talk about it.

Even though he had clearly turned down Tan Xiao’s request just moments ago, he still told Zhu Lianzhen: “I’m really torn about whether to go see him. I might never get another chance.”

Tan Qing always used proper punctuation when messaging online and never used emojis or stickers, so his words often came across as serious. Zhu Lianzhen tossed the mop aside, sat down in a chair, and held his phone in both hands, thinking about how he could offer advice.

He didn’t know much about Tan Qing’s childhood, but he knew that old saying: “A dying man’s words are kind.” His first instinct was to comfort him, to tell him not to overthink things and risk missing the chance to meet, only to be left with regret.

But then Zhu Lianzhen quickly realized the heart of the issue—Tan Qing rarely said no to anyone. At signing events, he always managed to handle even the most unreasonable fan requests with grace. If he was that accommodating with strangers, how could he firmly turn down a dying family member’s wish?

And yet, Tan Qing had said he was hesitant. Didn’t that mean, deep down, he actually didn’t want to go?

In that moment, Zhu Lianzhen felt he might understand Tan Qing better than he thought. He had just rarely considered things from his perspective before.

Tan Qing had always seemed like the type who didn’t need anyone worrying about him.

“Don’t force yourself.”

That was the message Tan Qing received from him.

“He’s had plenty of chances to see you, but he’s never reached out all these years, right? Maybe he’s asking for you now because there’s something he hasn’t let go of. But what if the result is that he gets closure while you’re left with nothing but negative feelings?”

Zhu Lianzhen didn’t overthink it. He sent the long message, then immediately wondered if he had crossed a line. It was Tan Qing’s private matter; who was he to comment on someone else’s family issues?

He quickly added: “Of course, that’s just thinking of the worst-case scenario. On the bright side, maybe if you go—”

Before he could finish typing, Tan Qing sent another message: “But whether I agree or refuse, it still puts me in a difficult spot.”

Zhu Lianzhen held down the delete key and cleared the input box.

He didn’t know how to respond. Tan Qing had never confided in him or anyone else, and it was always others who came to Tan Qing for advice. If even he couldn’t make up his mind, then the situation must have been more complicated than Zhu Lianzhen had imagined. That made him even more hesitant to speak carelessly.

After thinking it over, he could only say: “Someone who truly cares about you wouldn’t put you in a difficult position.”

“Mm.”

Then the chat fell silent.

Zhu Lianzhen didn’t know whether Tan Qing was still thinking things through. After a moment, a short line came from the other side: “I’m coming back.”

Zhu Lianzhen quietly let out a breath of relief. His gut told him this was the safest outcome and probably the one Tan Qing had been leaning toward all along.

–

Tan Xiao returned to the hospital. Even though everyone there knew she was the patient’s family, her identity still had to be checked every time she got off the elevator, which she felt was making a fuss over nothing.

There were staff constantly stationed outside the private ward, and Tan Xiao only came on weekends during her time off to keep her father company. She relayed Tan Qing’s response truthfully. Tan Ruisheng didn’t react much, as if he hadn’t expected anything different.

He was going to be transferred to Hong Kong for treatment next, likely with no more chance to see Tan Qing again.

Tan Xiao said, “If there’s something you want to say to him, you could write it down. I’ll pass it on.”

Tan Ruisheng looked straight ahead and shook his head. After a long moment of thought, he finally sighed and said, “I’ll just tell you.”

Everyone else in the room had been dismissed, leaving only his younger child behind. For a long while, Tan Ruisheng said nothing, sinking into his memories alone.

Tan Xiao sat quietly beside him without speaking, until she finally heard his hoarse voice. “He’s actually not my child.”

“Ah.” Tan Xiao froze.

“When I met his mother, we were both really young, barely twenty.” He didn’t elaborate on his earlier statement, instead starting from a much earlier point in time. But he didn’t sound like he was telling a story to his daughter; it was more like he was reminiscing to himself, simply needing someone nearby to listen.

He spoke in scattered fragments, pausing often, skipping from one memory to the next. Tan Xiao didn’t ask any questions. She just stayed by his side.

He talked about his ex-wife for over half an hour before finally turning to Tan Qing.

“He was already really smart when he was just a few years old. He developed early and wasn’t like an ordinary kid,” Tan Ruisheng said. “He learned to talk fast and was good at reading adults’ moods.”

Tan Ruisheng had started his directing career late. At the time, he was still working as an assistant for others and often couldn’t be around. But Tan Qing never made a fuss. He’d always been more mature than other kids his age—obedient, easy to please.

“When I asked him what gift he wanted, he’d just say ‘nothing’ or ‘whatever.’ Even on his birthday, he wouldn’t eat much cake. He remembered I’d said the cream wasn’t healthy.”

“When I had time, I’d play hide-and-seek with him.”

Children often had a special fondness for small spaces—it made them feel safe, like curling up in a secret base of their own. When Tan Qing was little, he was especially good at hiding inside the wardrobe, sometimes even dozing off in there.

It could’ve been dangerous, but Tan Ruisheng quickly noticed he would always leave just enough of a gap in the door to breathe properly, even though no adult had ever taught him that.

“He picked things up really fast. Just had to hear it once and he’d remember how to do it.”

Tan Xiao noticed that when her father spoke about Tan Qing’s childhood strengths, his eyes lit up. She admired Tan Qing too. After all, when she was five or six, she couldn’t even memorize “Quiet Night Thought.”[mfn]famous poem taught to children in Chinese schools[/mfn]

Tan Ruisheng had seen great potential in his son, so he began his early education from multiple angles. Tan Qing never disappointed—he learned quickly, followed instructions well. But he never showed a strong interest in anything in particular.

The child was like a clear glass of water: whatever color you dropped in, that’s what he’d become. He quietly, passively accepted the arrangements made for him.

If he had grown up peacefully like that, Tan Ruisheng believed they would have been the most harmonious father and son.

But under the same roof, secrets were bound to be uncovered sooner or later.

If he had to name the one thing he regretted most in his life, Tan Ruisheng would think of that day without hesitation.

He had returned home from the hospital in a daze, overwhelmed by a sense of humiliation and betrayal like never before. In a fit of rage, he slapped his wife so hard she collapsed to the floor. Years of civility and restraint dissolved in an instant. He only wanted to lash out, his fingers tangled in her jet-black hair like water weeds he couldn’t pull free from.

He cursed her furiously, while she just curled up on the floor and listened. He beat her with fists and feet, and she silently shielded her fragile head, letting her body absorb the blows. Even when he was done, still unsatisfied, he kept cursing the boy she had given birth to.

The words were vicious, and still they couldn’t ease the hatred burning in his chest.

Eventually, he felt drained. A dull ache throbbed through his heart, and he broke down in weak sobs. The woman lay on the ground, hair in disarray, quietly crying.

Tan Ruisheng felt all his dignity as a man had shattered. He didn’t want to remain in that home a moment longer. Dragging a massive suitcase, he began packing to move out.

But when he opened the wardrobe door, he froze. His eyes stared blankly into the space inside—

The boy was sitting there, knees pulled to his chest, hair damp with sweat, staring right back at him.

That was the last time Tan Ruisheng ever played hide-and-seek with him.

–

Zhu Lianzhen had a strong constitution and had almost fully recovered by midday. Koty came over, putting on a show of guilt, saying he couldn’t help but feel responsible and had to do something to make up for it. “Why don’t you take a look in my garage and pick whichever car you like?”

Zhu Lianzhen could tell he wasn’t being sincere. Koty knew perfectly well that he didn’t like taking other people’s secondhand things. The two of them bickered quietly for a while, then heard the front door open and turned to see Tan Qing had come back.

Koty nudged Zhu Lianzhen’s arm and said, “Then I’ll go ask Tan Qing, see how he thinks I should compensate you.”

Zhu Lianzhen frowned. “Are you sick? He’s not my parent. Why should I let him decide for me?”

Koty laughed.

Tan Qing gave them a glance and went upstairs. Zhu Lianzhen hadn’t caught his expression and couldn’t tell what kind of mood he was in.

“You owe me one for now. When I need something, I’ll come find you.” With just a few words, Zhu Lianzhen dismissed Koty, then quietly decided to check in on Tan Qing.

The door to the room wasn’t closed. Zhu Lianzhen knocked twice before stepping in.

“You came straight back?” he asked.

Tan Qing nodded, tossed his watch and tie onto the table carelessly, and let out a soft sigh. Zhu Lianzhen heard it and guessed he was tired, so he didn’t want to disturb him. He stepped back half a pace.

“Are you feeling better?” Tan Qing looked at him.

Zhu Lianzhen paused for a moment, then answered, “I should be almost recovered. Just need to take a few more days of meds.”

Seeing Tan Qing relax slightly at his reply, Zhu Lianzhen hesitated. After a moment of thought, he decided not to leave and closed the door behind him.

He walked over and, with a trace of comfort in his voice, said, “If something’s bothering you, talking about it’s the best way to let it out. Don’t keep it bottled up.”

Tan Qing lowered his eyes and looked at him in silence for a few seconds, then asked softly, “Why do you say that?”

“Huh?” Zhu Lianzhen was caught off guard. “No reason really. I just feel like you seem kind of down right now…”

Tan Qing turned his face away and smiled, then looked back at him. “So you do notice how I’m feeling.”

“What? What’s so strange about that?” Zhu Lianzhen used a firm tone to cover his embarrassment. His way of showing care was definitely one of a kind.

Tan Qing lowered his head until they were at eye level. “What I mean is—do you see me as someone who’s vulnerable?”

He didn’t blink and leaned in just half a centimeter closer. “Do I look like someone who needs your comfort?”

Even though the distance between them had only closed by a fraction, Zhu Lianzhen’s heart gave a sudden jolt.

He stood there, mind blank, not knowing where to even begin forming an answer. Talking to Tan Qing was harder than answering reading comprehension questions in Chinese class—he had no idea what this man was actually trying to say. Zhu Lianzhen started to wonder if Tan Qing was doubting him too: Was it that he’s beating around the bush and not speaking human language, or is my comprehension just that bad?

Zhu Lianzhen gave up trying to think it through. “I don’t know.”

He continued, “I just thought, if you ever needed someone to vent to, wouldn’t I be the most suitable person?”

After hearing him out, Tan Qing slowly straightened his back, and their line of sight shifted again, reestablishing the height difference between them.

“How exactly are you the most suitable?” Tan Qing let out a laugh. “You’re the last person I should be bothering.”

“Well, I’ve already caused you trouble anyway,” Zhu Lianzhen said. “So while I still owe you a favor, you might as well make use of it.”

Tan Qing stared at him silently for a moment, then asked, “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

Zhu Lianzhen looked confused. What now?

He returned a puzzled look while mentally replaying what he’d just said. In a flash, something clicked, and he startled himself.

—Shit. Did he think I was making a sexual suggestion!

Zhu Lianzhen was just about to try and salvage the situation when Tan Qing spoke first. “I don’t think you’ve caused me any trouble, and I’m not looking to get anything out of you, Xiao Zhu.”

Huh? So that’s what he meant?

Zhu Lianzhen nodded blankly. “Mm, I knew you’d say that.”

Tan Qing’s gaze shifted from his face to the window. “Favors are impossible to keep track of. If every time I help you, you keep thinking about paying me back, sooner or later I won’t be able to stop myself from making things difficult for you.”

Zhu Lianzhen didn’t say anything. He just looked up at Tan Qing’s profile, coming to a realization.

Tan Qing was drawing a line between them.

It wasn’t a cold, outright rejection, but rather a gentle way of keeping the safest distance possible, ensuring no one would ever cross the boundary.

Tan Qing could show up when Zhu Lianzhen needed help, but when he had problems, he didn’t expect Zhu Lianzhen to come.

Thinking about it that way, Zhu Lianzhen suddenly felt a bit deflated and kind of annoyed. It was like he was only ever allowed to be the one taken care of.

He let his displeasure show on his face and mumbled, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to say that if you’re ever upset, you can talk to me. I’m not totally hopeless at comforting people, you know.”

He waited a few seconds. When Tan Qing didn’t respond, he added, “There’s no need for us to keep such a deliberate distance.”

Tan Qing finally looked at him again.

“Just talking isn’t enough to comfort me,” he said.

Zhu Lianzhen: “Uh… then should I sing you a song?”

“Would you hug me?” Tan Qing asked.