Chapter Text
The clinic had gone back to its usual rhythm, but Jiang Xiao Shuai’s thoughts hadn’t. The scene from before kept replaying in fragments—voices overlapping, irritation in all of them, the stillness that followed when four people who shouldn’t share a room somehow did.
He’d seen plenty of tension in his work, but this was different… Chi Cheng’s eyes finding Wu Suo Wei’s, the way Guo Cheng Yu moved towards the newcomer... None of it fit together, yet it refused to leave his head.
He tried to focus on his notes, but his mind wandered back to that voice—steady, smooth, with that faint, practiced humor. Guo Cheng Yu. Every time he recalled the sound, a pulse of warmth rose in his chest. He blamed it on stress, on fatigue, on the residue of the day. It stayed anyway.
The door clicked open. Wu Suo Wei stood there shoulders drawn tight, eyes searching.
“Sit,” Jiang Xiao Shuai said quietly.
Wu Suo Wei did, but the tension didn’t leave him. It sat in his shoulders, sharp and coiled.
“This… about what just happened,” he said finally. “The two of them. That… whole scene.”
Jiang Xiao Shuai nodded once. “Go on.”
Wu Suo Wei’s voice dropped lower. “It was strange.”
Jiang Xiao Shuai exhaled through his nose. “They weren’t strangers. That much was obvious.” He folded his arms, thinking aloud. “Guo Cheng Yu strikes me as the type who never walks into a room without a plan. A player. People like that tend to keep company that mirrors them.”
Wu Suo Wei bit his lower lip, uncertain. “That would fit with… Chi Cheng.”
He said the name carefully, like testing how it sounded out loud. Jiang Xiao Shuai’s eyes flicked up – he realized this was the first time Wu Suo Wei knew the name of his stranger.
Wu Suo Wei went on, slower now. “At first he was—” he stopped, searching. “You know…. How he talked. Like he wanted to get in my pants.” A pause. “But then… he changed. Not much. Just… less obnoxious? I don’t know.”
Jiang Xiao Shuai said nothing, though a quiet thought crossed his mind: Men like that don’t change. They adjust.
He watched Wu Suo Wei’s mouth press thin, the uncertainty behind his eyes. He didn’t want this – Wu Suo Wei’s first flicker of interest in someone – to end in another kind of damage.
“Guo Cheng Yu has my number,” he said finally. “And knowing him, he’ll use it. If you want, I can keep in touch – see what he says about Chi Cheng.”
Wu Suo Wei hesitated. “You don’t have to do that. Not just because of me.”
Jiang Xiao Shuai cut him off with a small wave of his hand. “It’s not only for you. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he isn’t the asshole I think he is.”
He didn’t believe it, not really. But if humoring that thought kept the line of hope in Wu Suo Wei’s eyes from breaking, it was a price he’d pay without complaint.
His swearing earned a quiet laugh from Wu Suo Wei – soft, startled, because Jiang Xiao Shuai so rarely did it.
The sound loosened something in the room. The air eased, if only a little.
Wu Suo Wei’s shoulders eased, just slightly. “Thank you.”
Jiang Xiao Shuai’s expression softened. “You don’t have to thank me for being on your side.”
A corner of Wu Suo Wei’s mouth lifted. “Still doing it anyway.”
That earned the faintest huff of laughter from Jiang Xiao Shuai. “Fine. You’re welcome, then.”
The moment lingered, quiet and familiar, before Wu Suo Wei turned for the door.
Jiang Xiao Shuai stared at the desk, the neat stacks of files, the thin line of afternoon light crawling toward the wall. He told himself he would go out with Guo Cheng Yu out of curiosity, for Wu Suo Wei’s sake. Not because the thought of hearing that voice again brought a strange feeling he couldn’t explain.
The next day his phone buzzed.
Guo Cheng Yu paid the money he owed him.
Then a message with a heart emoji.
He looked at the screen for a long moment. He could delete it. Instead, he locked the phone and set it face down on the desk.
He would stay in contact with this baboon. It’s just for Wu Suo Wei, he told himself. A rational favor. A small step toward information.
The phone buzzed again. A new message.
> Still ignoring me, Doctor?
He stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen. Another vibration followed before he could decide.
> Lunch tomorrow? My treat. Unless you prefer dinner.
He exhaled slowly, typing back.
> Lunch. I have patients in the afternoon.
The reply came fast.
> Perfect. I know a place. Tomorrow at noon. I will come to fetch you.
He didn’t answer. The screen dimmed, then went dark in his hand.
Outside, rain began to fall—soft at first, then steadier, washing the glass in thin, uncertain lines. He didn’t move until the sound filled the room completely.
The next day, right before noon, a car stopped in front of the clinic. Guo Cheng Yu leaned against the door, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding his phone. The easy curve of his mouth said he’d been waiting, but not long enough to mind.
Jiang Xiao Shuai hesitated at the entrance, coat already half on. “You could’ve just sent the address.”
“And lose the excuse to pick you up?” came the easy answer. “Get in. It’s close.”
The restaurant sat a few blocks away—new glass, pale wood, gold letters still too bright from recent polish. Inside, the air smelled of lemongrass and chili. The hum of soft conversation filled the space without crowding it.
A waitress led them to a table near the window. Guo Cheng Yu handed her the menus back almost immediately.
“I’ll order,” he said.
He spoke to the waitress in low, steady tones—two dishes, hotpot base, prawns, vegetables, rice. Jiang Xiao Shuai didn’t interrupt; he only watched, trying not to notice how natural the other man looked, taking control of a space that wasn’t his.
When the tea arrived, Guo Cheng Yu leaned back. “So, Doctor, do you ever talk about yourself, or only about patients?”
“I’m not the interesting one here,” Jiang Xiao Shuai said, keeping his tone even. “You are.” He paused deliberately. “You and Chi Cheng—you’ve known each other a while?”
For a heartbeat, Guo Cheng Yu’s smile stilled. Then it returned, smoother. “Long enough to know better. Why?”
Jiang Xiao Shuai lifted a shoulder. “You both seemed… surprised to see each other.”
“That’s one word for it.” His voice stayed light, but there was something under it—old weight disguised as ease. “He’s family business. Complicated history.”
The phrasing was clean, practiced; Jiang Xiao Shuai knew he wouldn’t get more if he pressed. So he didn’t. He only nodded, taking a sip of tea to hide the irritation curling in his chest.
When the food arrived, Guo Cheng Yu peeled the prawns himself and slid the bowl to him.
“You didn’t have to,” Jiang Xiao Shuai said, already reaching for his chopsticks.
“You’d scold me if I let them overcook.”
That drew a reluctant breath of laughter. The first bite silenced him; the flavors were balanced, sharp, impossible to resist. Guo Cheng Yu watched quietly, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
Jiang Xiao Shuai told himself he didn’t notice. But warmth spread in his chest, an odd calm that didn’t belong to hunger. It was… pleasant. Too pleasant. He set the chopsticks down for a second, frowning at his own reaction.
“What?” Jiang Xiao Shuai asked, voice low.
“Nothing. Just—rare sight. A man who actually enjoys what’s in front of him.”
Jiang Xiao Shuai almost smiled. “You make that sound like a flaw.”
“Maybe I envy it,” Guo Cheng Yu said. “Is it too spicy?”
“No. Perfect,” he said quickly, and meant it.
They ate mostly in silence after that. Every now and then, Guo Cheng Yu asked a question—harmless on the surface, too personal underneath. Jiang Xiao Shuai answered what he had to, deflected the rest. It felt like a chess match played with smiles.
And yet, somewhere between the pauses and the sound of clinking porcelain, something inside him settled. A faint warmth, almost satisfaction, like the quiet after solving a problem he hadn’t known existed.
It didn’t make sense. There was no reason to feel at ease in this man’s company—no logic behind the small surge of calm that followed every glance, every line of quiet amusement.
He ignored it, or tried to. The sensation lingered anyway, patient and unshakable, humming just beneath his skin.
When they finished, Guo Cheng Yu paid without comment.
Outside, the day was bright, edges softened by thin clouds. Guo Cheng Yu opened the car door again. “I’ll drop you back. You’ll be late otherwise.”
“You’ve memorized my schedule now?”
The answer was just a smile.
The drive back passed mostly in silence. The city blurred by—streets, people, the low thrum of noon traffic. Jiang Xiao Shuai watched the light move across the dashboard, steady and warm. He couldn’t name the feeling sitting under his ribs, only that it wasn’t unwelcome.
When they stopped, Guo Cheng Yu didn’t move to get out. “Can I invite you again?” he asked, like it was already decided.
Jiang Xiao Shuai hesitated. “We’ll see.”
Guo Cheng Yu’s mouth curved. “That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a yes either.”
“Progress, then.”
Jiang Xiao Shuai shook his head, half amused despite himself. “You’re impossible.”
“I try.”
He stepped out, the door closing with a soft thud. The car idled a moment longer before pulling away.
Back in his clinic, the day moved on—patients, paperwork, the quiet rhythm he usually found comfort in. But the steadiness felt thin, stretched over something he couldn’t name. Every now and then, a sound or scent would slip through—the scrape of chopsticks, the faint burn of chili, a voice in his ear.
He caught himself almost smiling and stopped, irritated by the reflex.
When the last file was closed, he sat for a moment in the dim light, phone resting near his hand. It buzzed once.
> You survived lunch, I hope you liked it.
He stared at the message longer than necessary, thumb hesitating above the screen. Before he could decide, another line appeared.
> Next time, I’ll let you choose the place. Still my treat, of course.
His mouth twitched. Persistent bastard.
He typed and deleted three different replies before settling on one.
> We’ll see. I have standards.
The answer came within seconds.
> I look forward to meeting them.
He set the phone down again, slower this time. The smile still lingered, faint and unwilling, as he leaned back in his chair. He told himself it was just amusement—residual warmth from the meal, nothing more.
But when he closed his eyes, the same quiet satisfaction from earlier returned, threading through his chest like the echo of something that didn’t belong to him.