He turned and went into the kitchen, taking a bag of frozen dumplings from the freezer. He turned on the gas stove and boiled water to cook the dumplings. He also washed two cucumbers, intending to make a simple cold dish.
As a result, he accidentally cut his hand while cutting a cucumber. He sighed, turned on the tap to rinse the wound, and wondered if there would be any band-aids among the things his neighbors had given him.
Before I knew it, I was distracted again. When I looked back, the water in the pot had boiled away, and the dumpling wrappers and fillings were all mixed together, sticking to the bottom of the pot and emitting an unpleasant burnt smell.
On the television, two crosstalk performers were delivering punchlines, one praising and the other teasing. Wen Yuhan didn't pay attention to what they were saying, only that the audience watching from behind the screen would burst into laughter from time to time.
He lit another cigarette, dumped the mess from the pot into the trash can, then opened a can of ice-cold beer, and sat down in the wicker chair to watch TV while eating some washed, uncut cucumbers.
Lightning flashed and thunder roared outside the window, and raindrops pounded against the windowpane like pebbles, making it feel like the window might shatter at any moment.
Wen Yuhan drank three bottles of wine and smoked half a pack of cigarettes.
Feeling a bit dizzy, whether from tobacco or alcohol, he turned down the TV volume, leaned back in the wicker chair, closed his eyes, and gently massaged the Jingming acupoint between his noses.
He couldn't find a band-aid in the end, so he just wrapped the wound on his finger with a tissue, and blood was already seeping out.
He simply stopped caring and tossed the tissue aside. He let the blood ooze out again, dripping onto the lime floor and congealing into dark red patches.
He drifted off to sleep without realizing it, only to wake up when he heard a few chimes and people on and off the TV shout "Happy New Year!!"
The rain outside was even heavier, and it was pouring down as if the sky were leaking.
A flash of lightning suddenly lit up the sky, and he suddenly saw that the person outside the window was still standing there, frozen in place, without even changing his posture.
"Damn it..." Wen Yuhan pursed his lips and cursed under his breath, reaching for the cigarette pack beside him in frustration.
My hand slipped, the cigarette pack fell to the ground, and the cigarettes scattered everywhere.
The door was flung open with a "whoosh," and the person outside, seeing the light, blinked slightly, unsure whether it was real or a hallucination.
He looked up at Wen Yuhan and met the other's unusually irritated gaze.
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and after a long pause, he grinned at Wen Yuhan:
"I...cough, I'm fine."
Wen Yuhan turned around, took a deep breath, and suppressed his anxiety. He sat back down in the wicker chair, lit a cigarette between his fingers, and smoked it in silence.
Pei Shaocheng stared at the open door, like a stray dog standing in front of a bright and warm house, wanting to go in but not daring to.
They stood guard at the doorway under the eaves, waiting for the owner inside the house to give instructions.
The two remained silent, one sitting and one standing, locked in a stalemate for a long time.
The person inside got up and went to get a dry towel for the person outside the door, then tossed it to him.
Pei Shaocheng accepted the towel from the other party, his expression one of surprise and delight. But when he saw the streak of blood on the towel, he immediately panicked.
He stepped into the room and grabbed Wen Yuhan's hand.
The ice that had formed on the ends of her hair melted from the room temperature and rolled down her chin onto the back of Wen Yuhan's hand.
Wen Yuhan tried to pull her hand back, but couldn't break free.
"How did this happen...?"
Pei Shaocheng now feels a metallic taste of blood rising from his throat whenever he speaks.
His throat was congested and swollen, but he had no time to care about that at the moment, as his attention was entirely focused on Wen Yuhan's wound.
"I just chopped some vegetables." Wen Yuhan glanced at the fine ice crystals on the other person's collar. "Go take a shower first, I'll turn on the water heater."
Pei Shaocheng pursed his lips and walked past Wen Yuhan to rummage through the pile of New Year's goods.
Wen Yuhan said calmly from behind him, "Don't bother looking, there are no Band-Aids."
Yes, I bought it.
As he spoke, Pei Shaocheng skillfully rummaged through a jumble of bags of various sizes and pulled out a small white plastic bag, which indeed contained gauze, iodine, band-aids, and some commonly used medicines.
He unscrewed the iodine bottle, dipped a medical cotton swab in it, returned to Wen Yuhan's side, pressed him down into a chair, and then squatted down in front of him, taking his hand and carefully disinfecting and bandaging Wen Yuhan's wound.
"The wound doesn't look deep..." Pei Shaocheng carefully applied iodine to Wen Yuhan while breathing on it.
Seeing that the other party remained silent, he was slightly taken aback, only then realizing that he might have let something slip.
“I’m sorry, I…” Pei Shaocheng tried to explain.
"I'm hungry." Wen Yuhan avoided his gaze and silently withdrew her hand. "There are dumplings in the refrigerator."
Pei Shaocheng reacted for a moment, and his eyes instantly lit up.
"Wait a minute, I'll make it." He said, quickly getting up and walking to the refrigerator, then suddenly stopping and muttering to himself, "Maybe we shouldn't eat frozen food, I'll make it for you. I remember buying flour..."
As he spoke, he took off his soaking wet coat and put on an apron.
Despite still being soaked, she prepared the flour, meat, and vegetables, rolled up her sleeves, and excitedly started making dumplings.
The kitchen light was dim and yellowish; it was one of those old-fashioned tungsten filament bulbs.
The sound of firecrackers could still be heard from time to time. Wen Yuhan sat on a rattan chair with a cigarette between his fingers and looked through the light at the tall figure busy in the kitchen, leaving a long trail of water wherever he went.
A voice sighed almost imperceptibly in his mind.
Wen Yuhan stubbed out his cigarette, walked to the bathroom, and turned on the electric water heater.
...
Chapter 65
The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Wen Yuhan, with a cigarette in his mouth, stood by the pot. After the dumplings were cooked and floated to the surface, he scooped them onto a plate and put them on the table.
There were also several side dishes and a bowl of soup on the table, all made by Pei Shaocheng.
The dumplings were steaming hot, each with a thin skin and plenty of filling, and not a single one was leaking.
The bathroom door opened, and Wen Yuhan glanced at the other person indifferently, paused slightly, then turned her head away and switched the cigarette to her other hand.
"There's a military overcoat on the bed, go and put it on first," he said casually.
"Hmm." Pei Shaocheng touched his nose and responded.
His clothes were soaked through inside and out, making them unwearable. Wen Yuhan was also much thinner than Pei Shaocheng, so his clothes didn't fit him either.
Wen Yuhan had been rummaging through drawers and cabinets for a long time and finally found a white old man's vest at the bottom of an old-fashioned wardrobe. It had an advertisement for a "Senior Activity Center" printed on it.
I vaguely remember it was when he was in high school, some kind of event organized by the neighborhood that gave them out. It was a bit ugly, but it was incredibly comfortable to wear.
In the sweltering summer, Wen Yuhan always loved to wear it and sit under the tree, holding a large palm-leaf fan to cool off, while watching others play chess.
Now the vest has been washed until it's deformed, but it's also become looser and bigger.
He tossed the vest to Pei Shaocheng, who looked at the faded "Elderly Center" sign on it and remained silent for a moment before obediently putting it on.
Pei Shaocheng, who had just finished a hot shower, was still radiating a thin layer of heat, mixed with the smell of cheap shampoo. His usually neatly combed hair hung down wetly, making him look several years younger.
His trousers hung down to his knees, he wore ill-fitting flip-flops, and an old man's vest—the very attire of a small-town youth. But even so, it couldn't conceal his inherent dashing spirit and charisma. Standing in this old house, he naturally formed a scene imbued with a sense of history.
Pei Shaocheng, wrapped in Wen Yuhan's military overcoat, sat down at the table with him.
The Spring Festival Gala on TV had already started a new round of rebroadcasts. Wen Yuhan opened a beer can and took a sip. Seeing this, Pei Shaocheng quickly picked up a dumpling for him.
"Eat it while it's hot and see how it tastes." He carefully observed Wen Yuhan's expression as he introduced the dishes. "That one is pork and corn, this one is beef and carrot, and this one is all vegetarian."
Wen Yuhan didn't respond, eating dumplings and watching TV programs, occasionally taking a sip of wine.
Pei Shaocheng's lips moved slightly: "You...drink less, it's cold."
Upon hearing this, Wen Yuhan turned her gaze to Pei Shaocheng, her eyes filled with a hint of mockery.
"Is it cold?" he asked.
"You have a bad stomach."
Wen Yuhan smiled faintly: "Why don't you just let me drink to my heart's content, so I won't have to run around everywhere, entertaining customers and selling smiles?"
Pei Shaocheng froze as he tried to snatch the wine. He had said those words to Wen Yuhan when he forced her to drink in the hotel in the film studio.
At that time, he grabbed Wen Yuhan's hair, forcing him to tilt his head back, and forced him to drink glass after glass of red wine, ruining the script that Wen Yuhan had just written. Then, as if nothing had happened, he demanded that Wen Yuhan rewrite it all night long...
"I'm sorry..." Pei Shaocheng withdrew his hand, his voice hoarse, "I'm sorry for..."
Wen Yuhan stopped there and instead asked, "Where's Xiaomi?"
"Xiao Mi is..." Pei Shaocheng cleared his throat, "Ahem, I brought her with me, she's inside. Don't worry, I prepared cat food and water for her before I left."
Wen Yuhan nodded, picked up another dumpling, and the flickering light from the television danced on his face, making him appear peaceful and serene.
Pei Shaocheng served Wen Yuhan a bowl of egg drop soup with hibiscus and gently placed it in front of him.
Wen Yuhan rested her chin on her hand, watching her idol singing and dancing enthusiastically on TV, and raised an eyebrow: "A newly debuted one?"
When Pei Shaocheng saw that the other party had taken the initiative to talk to him, he quickly composed himself:
"Yes, I just got back from South Korea not long ago. We met the boy in the middle at an event; he's shorter in person than he looks on TV."
"The one on the left looks more handsome."
"His surname is Kim, and he's Korean. They're idols, not like us. But now they're all considering a career change, since there's very limited room for growth if they stay idols forever."
"Crosstalk is still the best."
"Then when we return to Yancheng after the New Year, I'll have someone get me a couple of tickets..."
"I don't plan to go back to Yancheng," Wen Yuhan said calmly.
Pei Shaocheng was suddenly taken aback.
Wen Yuhan said no more and threw the cigarette into the empty beer can.
His phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID; it was Lu Yanheng calling.
He got up, answered the call, and walked to the window. The other party's gentle and refined voice came through the receiver.
Happy New Year, Minor Cold.
"Happy New Year." Wen Yuhan looked out the window at the rain. "Are you with your family?"
“No, I’m in Lucerne, Switzerland.” Lu Yanheng said with a smile, “A seagull just flew over and pecked at my sandwich. Birds abroad are so arrogant.”
“Lucerne…” Wen Yuhan sighed softly, “That’s nice. Are you going on vacation? The lakes there are beautiful.”
"Yeah, seeing Lu Yanchen every day is really annoying," Lu Yanheng joked.