Chapter Fifty-Five: After the Meal Details

Xin Gan, unsmiling, corrected him. “Don’t give me nicknames. I have a name.” After a pause, she added, “I don’t approve of that before marriage.”

So his plan to drive without a license fell through.

Impossible.

Cheng Jiu didn’t bother arguing further. He lit a cigarette but didn’t smoke it right away. “Let’s get back to the earlier topic. Are you turning me down because there’s someone else in your heart?”

Xin Gan fell silent, thoughtful for a few minutes before answering, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Is that the truth?”

“It is,” Xin Gan replied. “I lived in London for eleven years, but I’ve never been outgoing. During those years abroad, I never had a boyfriend.”

She spoke openly about her past. In truth, she’d been pursued while studying overseas, but she’d never been moved. Perhaps it was a matter of taste. Moreover, her parents had high hopes for her; she had been sent abroad to study, not to fall in love, and she knew how to prioritize.

Xin Gan lacked nothing in terms of familial affection and had her own views. She wouldn’t be swept away by a few sweet words from a boy. Even her female classmates had asked her, with her looks and grades, why didn’t she have a boyfriend?

Of course, there were also whispers behind her back that she was just pretending to be aloof—otherwise, why refuse every suitor?

Malice among girls often comes without reason; the slightest thing can spark jealousy and resentment. When Xin Gan was in high school, living at a boarding school, she too experienced the cold violence of campus bullying—something almost everyone goes through, though there are exceptions.

Xin Gan appeared fortunate, but she wasn’t such an exception.

It began when a boy took a liking to her and, after a week of fruitless pursuit, rallied others to subject her to a campaign of silent hostility. They never resorted to physical violence, but the psychological toll was heavy.

Afterward, she became even more reluctant to get close to boys, let alone contemplate romance.

She did not lie to Cheng Jiu, nor was there any need.

Xin Gan understood his feelings for her, but her inner scars were deep. Besides, she planned to emigrate, which meant she couldn’t marry him; if she did, she’d have to give up going abroad.

Her negotiations with Cheng Jiu—not marrying for now—were all about emigration.

Of course, that was a secret for now, especially from him.

Xin Gan plotted her course with careful calculation, step by step.

She lingered in silence until Cheng Jiu called her back to herself. The cigarette between his fingers had burned halfway down, ashes scattered by the breeze, but he seemed not to notice. “Xin Gan, you’ve never been in a relationship?”

“I haven’t.”

This time, Cheng Jiu was the one to fall silent. He found it hard to believe, especially given her ambiguous relationship with He Cheng. If she claimed never to have dated, did that mean there was nothing between them? Was it all He Cheng’s unrequited pursuit?

Not impossible.

If they truly had been together, there would have been rumors—something would have leaked out. But there had been nothing. Unless they hid it exceptionally well, which was also possible.

Cheng Jiu suppressed the urge to ask further.

Xin Gan said, “If you can accept my conditions, I’ll cooperate. When the time is right, we’ll tell our families. Whatever happens then, we’ll face it as it comes.”

“And if I don’t agree to your conditions?” Cheng Jiu challenged.

“Then I’ll have to come clean with Uncle Cheng first, then my own family. Whether I live or die, I’ll have to try.”

Cheng Jiu, both angry and helpless, said, “So I have no choice but to agree, in hopes there might be a chance.”

Xin Gan only shrugged, giving no definitive answer.

Whether there was a chance or not, his fate hung on her whim.

Xin Gan recalled a line from a book: “Happiness that comes too easily never lasts—this is a lesson more often learned by misfortune than experience.”

She feared one misstep would lead to another, feared giving her heart to the wrong person, so she was cautious from the very start.

With the matter settled, Cheng Jiu paid the entrance fees and took her to a nearby scenic spot. Considering the weather, they stayed in the car and didn’t venture into the park itself.

Setting everything else aside, Xin Gan genuinely loved the natural scenery here—the vast horizon, the wild animals everywhere: herds of cattle and sheep grazing or clustered in small groups, living in harmony with the land. If lucky, one might catch sight of a rare wild animal.

Such sights are absent in the city.

She delighted in the untouched, comforting beauty of nature, which let her forget her troubles for a while.

In the summer, tourism flourished; crowds gathered at the entrance, where buses sporting colorful logos filled the parking lot. The throngs at the gates made for a lively scene.

Cheng Jiu slowed the car to avoid pedestrians and so Xin Gan could enjoy the view.

She’d always traveled with her family by car, never with a tour group, so watching so many people trailing after a flag-waving guide struck her as amusing.

“Never seen this before?” Cheng Jiu asked.

“No. My family always travels in the off-season, never with groups. My parents are older—they say tour groups are too exhausting; it’s easier to drive ourselves.”

“What about when you go abroad?”

“We buy our own tickets. If we don’t know a place, we look it up online.”

Her family was fluent in foreign languages and well-off; travel was never an issue.

“Traveling with a group is a different experience,” Cheng Jiu said. “Not the same as going alone.”

“Have you done it?”

“Back in university, I went with classmates on a group tour.”

Xin Gan nodded. Once the car was out of sight of the scenic area, she withdrew her gaze and looked ahead.

Now they could only view the grasslands along the national highway. The sun blazed, casting reflections off the emerald grass, making the plains pulse with life.

When they reached a more isolated spot, Xin Gan spotted a wolf at the foot of a distant hill, watching a nearby flock of sheep. The sight was so rare she couldn’t resist pointing it out. “Is that a wolf over there?”

Cheng Jiu glanced over and nodded. They stopped the car but didn’t get out.

Xin Gan took her phone and snapped a few photos of the wolf, but the zoom made them blurry and indistinct.

“Why photograph the wolf?” Cheng Jiu asked.

“It’s my first time seeing a real one. I want to have a closer look,” Xin Gan answered, a little excited.

Cheng Jiu teased, “Wasn’t it you who got scared out of your wits by a wolf’s howl that night?”

“It was dark—I couldn’t see anything. Of course I was scared. But now I’m safe, I’m not so afraid.” And besides, he was here.

She didn’t say that last part out loud.

“You stay here long enough, you’ll see more than wolves—there are other rare animals too. The truly endangered ones live deep in the mountains, where no one goes, except maybe artists seeking rare species or wildlife conservationists. Oh, and a third group—poachers.”

Xin Gan knew little of his life; everything he mentioned, she’d only ever seen in documentaries or news reports.

Especially that third group—poachers.

“The people we ran into before—who were they?” she asked.

“Criminals,” Cheng Jiu replied, frowning. “A group of criminals preying on this region.”

But since it didn’t concern Xin Gan, he said no more, started the engine, and drove on.

As afternoon faded toward dusk, the sun dipped low, bathing the world in pale gray.

They arrived at a small town. Before they got out, Cheng Jiu took a clean mask from somewhere in the car and handed it to her. She blinked, silently asking why.

“Don’t ask. Just put it on,” he said, and added a hat for good measure.

Xin Gan followed him into a house with a grape arbor shading the yard.

Inside, he gently took her wrist. The house had a kang—a traditional heated bed—covered with a deep red embroidered blanket. The air smelled faintly of herbs. Before Xin Gan could speak, a young man in local dress appeared, smiled broadly at Cheng Jiu, and shook his hand.

They conversed in the local dialect, which she couldn’t understand, so she stood quietly at Cheng Jiu’s side.

He introduced her to the man, pointing her out. Not knowing the language, she had no idea what was said.

The man was a warm host, offering local delicacies and fresh fruit. He lived alone; no one else appeared during their visit.

Partway through, the man took a call and stepped out. Cheng Jiu handed Xin Gan a slice of melon. She gestured at her mask. He nodded, so she took it off and exhaled. “Why can’t I take off the mask?” she asked.

“Afraid you’re too pretty—didn’t want you attracting attention.”

“Say something sensible.”

“There’s a lot of dust here. Your face is already sensitive—the mask keeps the dust off.”

She rolled her eyes but said nothing more. She was thirsty, so she took the melon and thanked him.

“He’s called Wamu, a friend of mine. We used to work together, but he was injured and retired. Since we were passing by, I thought we’d stop in,” Cheng Jiu explained.

Xin Gan felt awkward. “Isn’t it inconvenient for you to bring me along?”

He only smiled, offering no explanation.

If she’d understood the dialect, she would have realized Cheng Jiu introduced her as his fiancée—a common custom here, so Wamu understood who she was.

When Wamu returned, he brought a bottle of ointment and handed it to Cheng Jiu. “Here’s the ointment you wanted. Apply it once or twice daily after washing your face.”

Cheng Jiu accepted it with thanks.

Wamu scratched his head. “No need for thanks, Brother Nine—it’s nothing.”

“It’s getting late. Next time, I’ll bring Xiao Shi to see you,” Cheng Jiu promised.

“Alright, then. I won’t keep you. Goodbye, Brother Nine.”

As they left, a few barefoot, dark-skinned children dashed by the SUV. Wamu realized what had happened and hurried to call them back, but none returned—they disappeared around a corner.

Cheng Jiu wasn’t alarmed, but when Wamu checked the tires, one was flat. He apologized. “Those mischievous kids punctured your tire.”

Cheng Jiu’s expression darkened. “Is there a repair shop nearby?”

“No, only in the next town. It’ll take at least two hours, and there’s no tow truck now. The car won’t run. Tomorrow morning I can borrow a villager’s car and fetch someone to repair it.”

Xin Gan, unsure what was happening, noticed Wamu looked troubled and asked Cheng Jiu, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“The tire was punctured by those kids,” he replied.

She was dumbfounded. “So what now?”

“Wamu says we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get someone from the next town. It’s getting dark.”

“So we’re spending the night here?”

“That’s how it looks.”

...

The sun dipped; the sky burned orange-red. Dogs barked noisily.

There was no inn in the town, so Wamu offered them a place for the night. There was no other choice—sleeping in the car wasn’t an option. Wamu’s house was small, just two rooms: he had one, the other was a storage room. He tidied it up for them.

To Wamu, they were an engaged couple, so sharing a room was natural.

Xin Gan, unable to follow the local language, had no idea what arrangements were being made. She sat by the kang, sipping plain water—Wamu had offered milk tea, but Cheng Jiu had substituted water instead.

Wamu cooked beef noodles for three. When they were ready, he called them to eat. Xin Gan said nothing, obediently took her seat, and thanked Wamu in the local dialect.

He waved it off, embarrassed.

That was the only phrase she knew, freshly learned from Cheng Jiu just minutes before.

Cheng Jiu chatted with Wamu and quietly picked the beef from his own bowl to give her, as if by chance.

As the men talked, Xin Gan didn’t interrupt, only glanced at him and lowered her head, eating in silence.

She couldn’t finish the big bowl of noodles—just a quarter, and she was full. Her upbringing didn’t allow for leftovers in someone else’s home, especially in a place where food was scarce and poverty was plain to see.

The men finished quickly. Cheng Jiu, noticing her unease, asked softly, “Had enough?”

She nodded.

He knew her appetite. Without fuss, he swapped their bowls and finished what she’d left. He wasn’t bothered she’d eaten from it.

Xin Gan blushed, too late to stop him.

She glanced toward Wamu in the kitchen and whispered, “I already ate from that.”

Cheng Jiu ate quickly but with quiet manners, as if he’d been raised this way. His courtesy was never forced; rather, it made his finer qualities stand out.

Life is made up of countless small details. For a woman, falling for a man often comes down to such details. Xin Gan was no exception. Because of them, her opinion of him shifted, even if only for an instant.

Afterward, Wamu brought fruit. Cheng Jiu called his father to say they wouldn’t make it back tonight—the car had broken down.

His father, having heard the details, relaxed. “Take care of Xin Gan.”

“I will.”

Staying overnight in someone else’s house was inconvenient. Cheng Jiu expected Xin Gan to be unhappy, but she remained composed all evening.

Wamu inquired about Xiao Shi, then about Fish Head. “Have all Fish Head’s men been caught?”

“Not all—some are still at large.”

“I hope they’re caught soon. They’ve ruined so many people. My uncle’s family lost all their savings, and my little sister had to drop out of high school to work,” Wamu said, eyes brimming with tears, showing how much he hated Fish Head.

Fish Head had harmed many. The case was a major one. Cheng Jiu had never given up; finally, he’d caught Fish Head, but some culprits remained at large. His duty wasn’t done yet.

Wamu wiped his tears. “I believe you’ll catch them all—they must pay. We need justice!”

Cheng Jiu handed him a cigarette. “We will.”

...

It was getting late. Once Wamu recovered his composure, he urged them to get some sleep—he was going to bed too.

Cheng Jiu led Xin Gan to the room, closed the door, and said before she could speak, “You take the bed. I’ll sleep outside. I won’t do anything to you. I’ll sleep in my clothes.”

Xin Gan blushed. “I know.”

He glanced at her face. “Wait a moment.”

He stepped out, spoke with Wamu, and returned with a warm towel. “Wipe your face.”

Even without bathing, just wiping her face, she felt uncomfortable.

But this wasn’t her home—she couldn’t make demands or ask to bathe.

Besides, it seemed Wamu hadn’t bathed either—

Perhaps it just wasn’t the local habit to bathe daily.

Xin Gan sighed inwardly.

She wiped her face and handed the towel back. Cheng Jiu hung it up, then produced the ointment Wamu had given him earlier. “Wamu’s mother used to be a barefoot doctor here. She made some ointments herself. This should be good for your skin. Try it.”

“But my skin is sensitive—I can’t just use anything.”

“Sensitive? What kind of skin is that?”

Xin Gan smiled. “It means I can’t use just any skincare product or ointment—if it’s not suitable, I’ll have an allergic reaction.”

“You’re already having a reaction. What’s one more?” he said, perfectly serious.