Chapter Fifty-Six: Heart Stirred, Returning Home

Xin Gan was at a loss for words.

“Try applying a little,” Cheng Jiu suggested.

Xin Gan finally nodded. “Let me do it myself.”

She took the ointment and dabbed a thin layer onto her face. It felt cool against her skin, carrying a faint floral scent—not the cloying artificial kind, but something more natural.

After she finished, she twisted the lid tight and set the ointment on the table, her gaze tense and uncertain. She didn’t know whether to go to bed or do something else.

Cheng Jiu removed his jacket right in front of her. Underneath, he wore a black short-sleeved shirt, revealing tanned, muscular arms—his presence so striking that Xin Gan couldn’t ignore him.

She glanced at him, hesitated, and bit back her words.

Cheng Jiu’s tone was calm. “What’s wrong, not sleepy?”

Xin Gan shook her head. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

“What do you think?” Cheng Jiu countered.

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you,” Xin Gan replied, still uncertain. If she had a plan, she wouldn’t have asked him.

She couldn’t help but look at him nervously. Even if they just lay side by side and did nothing, she couldn’t remain unaffected. Though no one would gossip about them sharing a roof now, there was still a barrier in her heart.

Cheng Jiu glanced at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Xin Gan, you need to get used to our relationship. In the future, we won’t be able to avoid sharing a bed.”

Xin Gan shrank back, at a loss once again.

Cheng Jiu was silent for a moment, then stopped teasing her. “You sleep here. I’ll go sleep in the car.”

He saw how uncomfortable she was, her hand clenched at her side, her gaze drifting, not daring to meet his eyes.

Xin Gan heard him say he’d sleep in the car and didn’t object.

Cheng Jiu opened the door and left.

He was about to close it behind him when Xin Gan suddenly called out, “Cheng Jiu, it’s not safe to sleep in the car. Why don’t you sleep outside, and I’ll sleep inside?”

She spoke quickly, kicked off her shoes, climbed onto the bed, and curled up in a corner with her back to him.

There was only one blanket, clean enough but unfamiliar; she had trouble sleeping in strange places, and with Cheng Jiu in the room, she couldn’t relax. Her nerves were taut, eyes closed, but she couldn’t sleep.

Cheng Jiu got on the bed too, lying at the edge. There was a wide gap between them; any movement was noticeable. Xin Gan felt him nearby, her whole body tense, not daring to move.

When the lights went out, darkness filled the room.

Xin Gan had never imagined she would share a bed with Cheng Jiu tonight—just to sleep.

Cheng Jiu closed his eyes, but his mind was alert. He opened them again, glimpsed Xin Gan’s silhouette in the darkness, and his lips curled silently.

After a long while, Xin Gan turned over, making barely a sound. The air had grown colder; she tugged the blanket up to her chin and glanced at the other side of the bed. He was still there, facing away from her, his breathing steady—he must have fallen asleep.

He was truly asleep, while she lay awake, her mind racing, even bracing for the worst—if he dared to touch her, she’d fight him with everything she had.

Even if she wasn’t his match, she would resist with all her strength.

The night passed, and the morning light filtered in through the window. Xin Gan awoke to the sound of the door closing. She rubbed her eyes, saw Cheng Jiu had just left the room, and stretched her limbs and neck. Her cautious sleeping position had left her sore and stiff.

She got up and dressed, glancing outside to see the sky overcast but not threatening rain.

Cheng Jiu and Wa Mu were talking at the door. Cheng Jiu handed money to Wa Mu to fetch a mechanic from the neighboring town, but Wa Mu refused. As they argued, Xin Gan came out, and both paused. Wa Mu said something to Cheng Jiu before walking away.

Wa Mu didn’t accept the money.

Cheng Jiu folded it and placed it under Wa Mu’s water cup inside.

“Morning,” Xin Gan greeted.

Cheng Jiu looked at her. “Did I disturb you last night?”

Xin Gan’s ears flushed. “No, not at all. Why?”

“Shi said I’m restless when I sleep. I forgot to warn you.”

Xin Gan replied, “I didn’t notice. I was asleep.”

Cheng Jiu smiled. “I worried you’d be too nervous to sleep, afraid I’d do something to you at night.”

Xin Gan said, “...You wouldn’t.”

“Why not? I’m just a man.”

Xin Gan wasn’t sure, but her instinct told her he wouldn’t. She’d been wary at first, but after thinking it over, he wasn’t that kind of person; she trusted her intuition.

She licked her dry lips. “I just feel you wouldn’t.”

Cheng Jiu scrutinized her for a few seconds, then laughed. “You’re wrong, Xin Gan.”

“...”

“Last night I did want to touch you, but your face isn’t healed yet. Let it recover—when you’re plump and fair, you’ll be even tastier.”

She flushed crimson, ears burning, and glared at him in warning. “I’m not easy to mess with.”

...

Wa Mu borrowed a villager’s car to fetch the mechanic. The master was reluctant to come, but Wa Mu persuaded him with a generous fee. For the money, the master finally agreed.

While waiting for the mechanic, Cheng Jiu stood at the door smoking, Xin Gan inside drinking water, her body still aching. She watched Cheng Jiu’s back, lost in thought for a moment, then caught herself and looked down at her shoes.

Cheng Jiu finished his cigarette and went to inspect the car. Coincidentally, the children who’d punctured the tires yesterday returned, lingering nearby. They weren’t afraid of strangers; one hid something behind his back, eyeing Cheng Jiu warily as if planning mischief.

Cheng Jiu lit another cigarette and beckoned to them. The children exchanged glances but didn’t approach, remaining cautious.

Cheng Jiu called out in the local dialect, “Come here, afraid?”

They were just kids, easily provoked, and soon walked over, holding out their hands and saying in childish tones, “Give us money. If you pay, we won’t puncture your tires.”

Cheng Jiu sneered, “Why should I pay you? You’ve damaged my tires, and now you want money?”

“You have money, so you must give us some. Hurry up.”

It sounded nothing like something children should say, but Cheng Jiu had encountered it before and wasn’t surprised. He understood why they asked for money.

This area was still poor, underdeveloped, sparsely populated, isolated and neglected. When tourism began to grow, more visitors came, some feeling sorry for the locals and giving gifts to the children. Gradually, this sparked greed; they were no longer satisfied with small gifts but demanded real cash.

So it became common for children to ask tourists and strangers for money.

When Cheng Jiu first arrived on assignment, he faced this situation. They refused to pay and were pelted with stones by the children.

He crouched down, took out his metal lighter, and flashed it before them. “I have no money. Want a lighter? It’s valuable, expensive.”

One child shook his head, unmoved, and gestured for cash. “No, just cash—money.”

Cheng Jiu chuckled, failing to fool them. He asked, “Where are your families, your parents? Why are you out here doing bad things, asking for money?”

The child’s face was blank, almost numb. “None of your business. Stop talking. Give us money, or we’ll hit you.”

Cheng Jiu, tall and muscular, was unfazed. “No money, won’t give you any. Go home, and I’ll let this go.”

Xin Gan finished her water and came out, seeing Cheng Jiu talking with the children. They were dirty, barefoot, their skin sunburnt, their eyes unfriendly as they held out their hands.

She didn’t know what was happening and didn’t dare approach, watching from a distance.

When Cheng Jiu refused to pay, the children suddenly threw stones at him, cursing as they did. Cheng Jiu ignored their insults but caught one of them; the other two ran off. With one hand, he lifted the child, whose arms and legs flailed in the air, cursing and trying to spit at Cheng Jiu, who dodged.

Xin Gan was startled—she’d never seen anything like it.

Cheng Jiu set the child on the car hood, pinning his feet, holding him upside down. “Keep cursing, don’t stop.”

The child hadn’t expected Cheng Jiu to be serious. He struggled fruitlessly and finally begged for mercy, but Cheng Jiu didn’t relent, clearly intent on teaching him a lesson.

The child shouted, “Just wait, if you don’t let me go, my dad won’t spare you!”

Cheng Jiu was amused. “Who’s your dad, more formidable than Fish Head?”

“My dad is Fish Head!”

“You’re Fish Head’s kid? Boy, do you think I’m stupid? He doesn’t have a son your age.”

“I am his son, I am! Let me go! Don’t touch me!”

Cheng Jiu said, “If I let you go, you’ll tell on me, and your dad will cause trouble. Why should I let you go?”

“If you let me go, I won’t tell my dad. Hurry, I can’t breathe!”

The child’s face was red from hanging upside down.

Cheng Jiu thought for a few seconds. “You promise?”

“I promise!”

“Alright.”

He released the child, who collapsed on the ground, sweating and gasping. “Just wait, when my dad finds out, he’ll get revenge on you first!”

He glared at Cheng Jiu, scrambled up, and ran off.

Cheng Jiu didn’t chase him. Turning, he saw Xin Gan standing there. Before he could speak, she asked, “Do you know that child?”

Cheng Jiu replied, “Just met him.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t elaborate. Soon, Wa Mu returned, the old car rumbling, carrying two tires and an elderly mechanic.

Cheng Jiu offered Wa Mu a cigarette. “Thanks for your trouble.”

“You’re welcome.”

The sky was overcast, not sunny, but the ultraviolet rays were still strong. Xin Gan wore a hat and mask, standing under the eaves watching the men work.

Despite paying well, the mechanic was lazy, claiming his age required help. He instructed Wa Mu and Cheng Jiu, but since it was Cheng Jiu’s car, he didn’t let Wa Mu assist.

As the temperature rose, Cheng Jiu removed his jacket, revealing his black short-sleeved shirt. When the heat became unbearable, he stripped down further, exposing a sculpted physique, his back muscles clearly defined—not the kind built with supplements, but genuine.

Xin Gan glanced a few times, feeling thirsty and overheated, so she removed her own jacket, exposing slender, pale arms. She sat with crossed legs, a hot wind blowing through, raising her gaze to the dark sky where eagles circled low.

The sky grew darker, oppressive, foreboding a storm.

It was not a good day.

Changing the tires took considerable effort—Cheng Jiu ended up drenched, longing for a cold shower.

He paid the mechanic. Wa Mu wanted to contribute but was short on cash; fetching the mechanic had already cost him. Cheng Jiu covered the payment without complaint.

He wiped his sweat with his shirt, lit another cigarette, and said, “Wa Mu, let me ask you about someone.”

“Brother Jiu, go ahead.”

“Do you know those three children from yesterday?”

“Of course. All pitiful kids, Brother Jiu. You’re not asking them for compensation, are you? They don’t have money, their families are poor.”

“No, I don’t need compensation. Just tell me what you know.”

Wa Mu shared everything he knew.

Cheng Jiu was mainly interested in one—the child who claimed Fish Head was his father. The boy had distinct features but boasted shamelessly. Either he was just talking, or it was true.

...

With the car fixed, Cheng Jiu and Xin Gan prepared to leave. Wa Mu warmly saw them off, waving from the door and inviting them back.

But Cheng Jiu didn’t leave immediately; instead, he parked nearby. Xin Gan looked at him, puzzled. “Aren’t we going?”

“I’m just stepping out for a smoke,” he said.

She agreed.

Rain was imminent. Xin Gan looked up at the sky, anxiety growing for reasons she couldn’t name.

Cheng Jiu finished his cigarette and returned, pulling on his black shirt. “It’ll rain soon.”

“Mm.”

“After the rain, tomorrow will be sunny.”

Xin Gan nodded.

Cheng Jiu resumed driving. “Xin Gan, tomorrow you’ll go back to Yongcheng with my father.”

She glanced at him, confused.

She remembered he’d asked her to stay a few more days. Now, suddenly, he wanted her to leave with Uncle Cheng and return to Yongcheng.

She thought she’d misheard. “What did you say?”

“Tomorrow will be good weather, the planes will fly, you’ll return to Yongcheng with my father.” He repeated, his tone flat.

The abrupt change unsettled her. She ought to be happy to return to Yongcheng, but she felt uneasy, stifled.

She looked out the window, her back to him. After a long silence, she said, “Alright.”

He didn’t explain; she didn’t ask.

Since she had no intention of truly staying with him, just playing a role for now, there was no need to pry into his affairs. He was shrouded in mystery, and the more she learned, the deeper she’d fall.

Xin Gan feared those four words: love grows over time.

And once entangled, escape would be difficult.

They hadn’t reached the team yet when a torrential rain began, darkness settling outside. Wild wheat fields bordered the highway, distant mountains shrouded in dense mist—unreal, like a fairyland.

The temperature dropped sharply. They’d had the air conditioner on, but now it was cold. Xin Gan’s arms were covered with goosebumps; she rubbed her hands, and Cheng Jiu noticed, turning off the cooling.

Xin Gan was lost in thought and asked, “Will you ever return to Yongcheng?”

“Not necessarily,” Cheng Jiu replied.

“...I see.”

“Do you want me to go back?”

Xin Gan ventured, “Suppose we really end up together. I probably wouldn’t stay in Beiyu with you—I have my own plans.”

Cheng Jiu laughed. “Afraid of hardship with me?”

“If I loved you, being with you wouldn’t be hardship. But since I don’t love you now, staying here feels like wasting time.”

She was direct, without hesitation.

“You’ll come to that day,” Cheng Jiu said.

She didn’t reply.

He continued, “Xin Gan, with me, you don’t have to hide your true emotions. Say whatever you think. If you don’t want to stay, wait until I’ve handled things here, then I’ll apply for a transfer.” He paused, thinking silently—it was almost done, just a little longer.

“Which day?” Xin Gan asked.

“The day you follow me wholeheartedly.”

But that day hadn’t come yet.

She hadn’t surrendered completely; she was still herself, clear about her feelings.

He was confident, but his confidence didn’t annoy her. Xin Gan smiled and didn’t respond.

Maybe he was right.

She didn’t deny it.

For now, she still had herself—she was just at the stage of being moved, far from wholehearted devotion.

At this stage, she could still withdraw, as long as she was quick enough. Before they made things clear, she’d hurry to finish what she needed to do.

Mental preparation with her family, and immigration.

...

Back at the team, the rain hadn’t let up. Cheng Jiu first took Xin Gan home to the family compound. After dropping her off, he phoned his father. “Buy an extra ticket for tomorrow’s flight to Yongcheng. Xin Gan will go with you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I still have unfinished business here. I’ll be busy. It’s not safe for her to stay with me.”

His father understood. “Take care of yourself then. I’ll take Xin Gan back. Once you’re done, come home and get your certificate. You’ve been getting along well lately—we’re relieved.”

Cheng Jiu replied, “You take care, too. I’ll look after myself.”

“Alright, we’ll wait for you at home in Yongcheng.”

Cheng Jiu agreed.

...

Xin Gan checked the mirror and saw no reaction on her skin from the ointment. She didn’t worry, packed her things, and prepared for the journey to Yongcheng.

But she didn’t feel the expected joy—instead, she was uneasy.

...

In the middle of the night, an alarm sounded, waking Xin Gan. There was a loud noise; she ran to the balcony and saw lights on in the team compound, car headlights flashing—some kind of operation underway.

Her heart pounded as she watched. After ten minutes, the noise ceased, and the compound returned to nightly calm.

The next morning, Cheng’s father called her downstairs—they were leaving for the airport.

This time, she was really leaving.

Xin Gan locked the door, took her suitcase, and went down. Cheng’s father had been waiting, along with Meng, who was driving them to the airport.

On the way, Meng asked Xin Gan when the wedding would be, so he could apply for leave.

Before Xin Gan could answer, Cheng’s father replied, “We’ll let you know. Don’t worry, your gift is already picked out.”

“Great, I love hearing that from you.”

At the airport, Meng saw them through security and said goodbye.

Cheng’s father glanced at the distracted Xin Gan. “Feeling reluctant? Don’t worry, you’ll see Cheng Jiu again soon.”

Xin Gan nodded.

On the plane, she checked her phone—no messages. She didn’t know what she was hoping for, scrolled several times, then switched it off.

She and Cheng’s father weren’t close; there wasn’t much to talk about. He comforted her briefly, then closed his eyes to rest, telling her not to worry; she’d be home after a nap.

Xin Gan murmured agreement.

She didn’t even have time to tell her family she was returning to Yongcheng.

After a ten-hour flight, they arrived at nine in the evening. The Cheng family sent a driver; Cheng’s father had the driver take Xin Gan home, and on the way spoke about Cheng Jiu, thinking she was reluctant to leave him and tried to reassure her.

Only then did Xin Gan realize she was a little reluctant to leave, but she quickly suppressed the thought, forcing herself to perk up.

At her doorstep, considering the hour, Cheng’s father didn’t go in for tea, saying he’d visit tomorrow.

Xin Gan saw him off and rang the doorbell.

It was nearly eleven; her family was likely asleep, only the housekeeper still awake.

The housekeeper answered, surprised to see Xin Gan and thinking she was dreaming. “Miss? When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell us? I’ll call Mr. and Mrs.—this is wonderful!”

Xin Gan couldn’t stop her; the housekeeper was already upstairs.

She changed her shoes, set her luggage aside, hurried to the living room for some water, drank several cups, and finally felt herself return to normal. Her parents were already coming downstairs.

Seeing her parents after months, Xin Gan obediently called, “Dad, Mom, I’m home.”

Her father was calm, his emotions hidden as always, but her mother was already crying, rushing to embrace her and inspect her carefully, choking out, “You’re back, you’re back.”

Xin Gan hugged her mother. “Sorry for worrying you.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? Did you come alone? Does Cheng Jiu know?”

Xin Gan explained the situation. Her mother held her hand, sitting together on the sofa. “Poor child, how did your face get so sunburned? Didn’t you use sunscreen?”

“It’s just me not adapting.”

“If only we hadn’t let you go—it’s been so hard for you, so much suffering. Your cousin told me you weren’t feeling well, kept getting sick, lost weight, and burned your face in the sun.” Her mother grew more distressed, guilt and regret written all over her face.

Her father remained composed, playing the stern parent. “Watch your image. Xin Gan, if you can’t endure a little hardship, how can Cheng Jiu? Young people should toughen up, learn to handle adversity.”