“Eat something?” Lan Yan asked Chen Boyu.
“I ordered takeout.”
The neighborhood used to be family housing for some state-owned enterprise, and there were plenty of good eats nearby, but they were all greasy little dives.
Lan Yan had once taken Chen Boyu to one, and he had been so uncomfortable that he didn’t know where to put himself, fidgeting restlessly as if the air carried some deadly pathogen.
Chen Boyu came from a privileged background. Chen Industries had made their fortune, and they ranked among the top in all of South City, even across the regions south of the Yangtze.
He wasn’t really the type to disdain the poor and crave the rich; he was just accustomed to a pampered life and unadapted to such gritty street-level spots. To honor her intentions that day, he had eaten cooperatively enough.
But after that, Lan Yan stopped trying. Dating was about seeking common ground while respecting differences; she had no habit of escalating a minor issue to the heights of “love or not love.”
Lan Yan lived on the sixth floor with no elevator. Sometimes when she got busy and lacked exercise, climbing the stairs served as a poor but necessary substitute.
Once inside, Lan Yan told Chen Boyu to sit while she went to take a shower first.
When she came out, his takeout had arrived too—some kind of red wine cream beef pasta.
One time when she helped throw out the trash, Lan Yan had casually glimpsed the receipt stapled to the takeout bag: three hundred yuan for the young master’s single meal, while her weekly food budget might not even reach four hundred.
Lan Yan had very little material desire; otherwise, she could have easily lived off her looks instead of pursuing a moneyless trade like painting restoration. She had no possessiveness toward others’ wealth and never adjusted her behavior based on someone’s money or status.
But class differences weren’t something easily resolved; they just lurked in their relationship in more covert ways.
Chen Boyu opened the meal container and took out a pair of long chopsticks. “Want some more?”
Lan Yan shook her head. “I already brushed my teeth.”
Her hair was still half-dry as she walked over to Chen Boyu, turned on the standing electric fan nearby, pulled up a chair, sat down with her legs propped up and feet on the chair’s edge, picked up her phone, and started handling WeChat messages.
Blow-drying her hair, keeping him company while he ate, replying to messages… none delayed.
Chen Boyu watched her and smiled.
Lan Yan glanced at him. “What are you smiling at?”
“Smiling at how cute you are.”
“…”
Chen Boyu wore a light gray T-shirt that his broad shoulders filled out nicely, making even the simple cut look good.
He ate very elegantly, and paired with his handsome, refined features, it was enough to elevate her rental to the level of a high-end French restaurant.
“The birthday gift I sent your mom last time—did she like it?” Lan Yan asked.
“…Yeah. It was great; she really liked it.”
Lan Yan lifted her eyes from the phone screen and looked at Chen Boyu.
If bullshitting had ranks, Liang Jingchuan was king level, while Chen Boyu was bronze.
“If you don’t tell me what she didn’t like, I won’t know how to improve next time.”
Chen Boyu paused, then smiled and said, “There were a lot of gifts; she hasn’t even unwrapped them all yet.”
That was a lie too.
But Lan Yan couldn’t be bothered to press him. If he wasn’t telling the truth, he must have his reasons—and it wasn’t hard to guess: he probably just thought saying it would hurt her pride.
Chen Boyu only ate half his takeout and threw away the rest.
After placing the takeout bag by the door, he came back in and asked, “Got any ice water?”
“Yeah. Forgot to get it for you.” Lan Yan stood and headed to the kitchen.
She opened the fridge door, and the pale light illuminated her face, giving off a pure sense of detachment. Detachment was almost the core trait of Lan Yan’s beauty.
Chen Boyu watched her for a moment, then unconsciously walked over, pressing close from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Yanyan.”
“Hm?”
“Move in with me.”
Lan Yan had gone to a different high school from Liang Jingchuan and Chen Boyu, but she had heard through classmates that Fourth Middle School had two handsome guys with contrasting vibes—one cold, one warm—for the picking.
People could spin any nonsense when gossiping.
Lan Yan disliked Liang Jingchuan at first, so she didn’t look favorably even on the people around him. But after a few encounters, Chen Boyu always greeted her with a smile.
She set aside her prejudices for the moment and objectively assessed him, admitting that the gossip wasn’t exaggerated. His looks rivaled Liang Jingchuan’s, but his personality was better by more than a little.
Later, Liang Jingchuan and Chen Boyu went off to university, having almost no contact with her as a high schooler. Then she headed north for further studies, and two years after that, Chen Boyu went abroad…
She truly connected with Chen Boyu in the second semester of her third year of grad school.
Her thesis pre-defense was done by then, and with nothing much to do in North City, she started interning early at Mend Orchid Studio.
At the end of May, Liang Jingchuan had his birthday and returned to South City. He celebrated at home and invited Chen Boyu too.
That day, Chen Boyu kept striking up conversations with her and asked for her WeChat when parting. After that, he occasionally showed up at Mend Orchid Studio, hanging around her, inviting her to meals, asking her to gallery shows…
Her boss and master, the owner of Mend Orchid Studio, Chu Lansun, was of course unhappy. What was this outsider doing, showing up daily at someone else’s workplace?
The young master waved his hand and donated a CT scanner and a fluorescence spectrometer to the studio. From then on, the security guards at the gate greeted him with smiles.
It went on for nearly three months. One afternoon, she sat at the mounting bench doing full-color restoration on a painting, barely moving for two straight hours. When the light faded and she snapped out of it, she realized there was still someone beside her.
Chen Boyu leaned against the window, watching her the whole time. She turned, meeting his gaze.
He smiled and said: For some reason, watching you work makes me think of the word “eternal.”
She wasn’t sure if it was his words or that smile—different from his usual warm cheerfulness, tinged with fatigue and softness—that moved her.
Lan Yan paused. “I just renewed this place… signed for three years.”
“High penalty for breaking the lease?”
“No…” Lan Yan considered. “It’s close to the studio; I want to sleep in a bit more in the mornings.”
“We can find somewhere else close to your work.”
Lan Yan said nothing.
Chen Boyu wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her back closer, buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, his voice a bit muffled. “I’m going to be busy with fundraising soon; I don’t want to keep not seeing you.”
“I don’t work overtime; I can come find you for dinner.”
“…Not enough.”
The fridge beeped in warning.
Lan Yan took out the water bottle, closed the door, and said honestly, “I’m not used to living with someone else yet.”
“We’ve been together almost two years.”
“…Sorry.”
This was the second time he proposed moving in together and got rejected. Chen Boyu was inevitably a bit disappointed but said no more.
Lan Yan turned her head.
After a moment of eye contact, Chen Boyu asked, “Coming to my place?”
“I already showered; don’t want to go out again.”
“Alright.”
The bedroom AC was old, with poor cooling. The landlord was abroad and told Lan Yan to find someone to replace it herself, with full reimbursement. She wasn’t very heat-sensitive and made do; plus, with how busy she got, she kept putting it off until half the summer had passed, making it seem even less necessary.
Chen Boyu sweated a lot and hated the sticky feel of skin against skin, so he wasn’t very into it. As soon as it ended, he got up immediately to shower.
He returned to the bedroom moments later, refreshed, sat on the bed’s edge, brushed the strands stuck to Lan Yan’s face, and asked again, “Really not considering it?”
His mood seemed better; this time, his tone wasn’t so serious.
Lan Yan lay on her side, face buried in the pillow, and faintly said “mm.”
Chen Boyu gently stroked her forehead and asked warmly, “Not going to shower?”
“…Later.”
“What’s wrong?” Chen Boyu noticed she seemed a bit unhappy.
“Nothing.” Lan Yan brushed off his hand on her shoulder and got up.
Nitpicking that he hadn’t held her afterward because he hated the heat felt like making a mountain out of a molehill.
When Lan Yan emerged from the bathroom, Chen Boyu was in the living room too, sitting on the sofa replying to WeChat messages. He had turned the AC to a very low temperature.
“Go home and sleep,” Lan Yan said.
“It’s fine. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“I still suggest you go back.”
Chen Boyu looked up at her immediately.
Most bad moods didn’t linger long with Lan Yan; that might be one reason many found her a bit cold, like after a fight—while the other was still immersed in emotions, she had already turned the page, coming off as heartless.
And this post-flip calm was often read by the other as a cold war signal.
“Yanyan, I didn’t come over just for…” Chen Boyu’s expression grew complicated. Her rushing him out like this made it seem like he had only come for sex.
“I know. I’m not assuming that about you. It’s just the bedroom’s hot, the living room sofa’s short—you won’t rest well.”
Chen Boyu ended up going back.
Lan Yan lay in bed, scrolling her phone for AC options while planning the next few days.
The rush job needed finishing quick; no rest this weekend for sure…
She felt a bit annoyed, tossed the phone aside, and stopped looking.
/
Chen Boyu suddenly got busy, and they only met once a week. The AC replacement got dragged out too.