In a Relationship With the Rugged Guy Next Door - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: “Could it be you’ve never dated? Little virgin…”

The road back from the cemetery was winding. Chu Feng was used to driving these roads and didn’t slow down much, leaving Chen Jingming swaying back and forth with the motion of the car.

The window was cracked slightly, and the breeze blowing in was cool.

Chen Jingming was wondering: who was this “connection” Chu Feng mentioned for the editing job? Was it himself? Since his return, Chu Feng hadn’t asked him where he went to university, what his job was, or how he had been faring all these years.

Previously, Chen Jingming wasn’t sure if Chu Feng knew about the cyberbullying scandal. Now, he was almost certain.

Chu Feng knew.

He knew, and that was exactly why he didn’t ask. He knew, and that was why he was being so careful. Chen Jingming stole a glance at Chu Feng; he always had a slight furrow in his brow when driving, looking intensely focused.

Chen Jingming leaned gently against the window to watch the scenery. Tiny white petals, blown from somewhere unknown, drifted into the car. He opened his palm and caught one. He couldn’t quite identify it—it looked like a cherry blossom, yet also like a peach blossom.

“Pear blossoms,” Chu Feng said, slowing the car down. “Baby, look ahead.”

Chen Jingming looked up. Not far ahead stood a tall, massive pear tree covered in white blossoms, blooming in the middle of the lush green valley like a piece of white jade.

As Chen Jingming watched, entranced, Chu Feng lowered all the windows. It was as if the mountain breeze wanted to comfort him; the moment the windows opened, the wind swept through the valley, swirling the dancing petals into the car.

“Mm—” Chen Jingming was showered with blossoms.

He laughed and opened his eyes, watching countless white petals pass through the car. One even landed on the bridge of Chu Feng’s high nose. Chu Feng smiled and brushed it away, looking even happier than Chen Jingming in that moment.

Once they passed that stretch, the wind died down and the petals stopped falling in. Chen Jingming gently crushed the petals in his palm and brought them to his nose.

“What do they smell like?” Chu Feng asked. Chen Jingming shook his head. “They don’t have a scent.” “Do you like them, Baby?” Chen Jingming gave him a firm answer. “I do.”

…

There were some tourists in the ancient town for the Qingming holiday, but Changling Town didn’t have many tourist resources beyond its ethnic architecture. There were several ancient villages nearby, and tourists usually just stopped in town to transfer to tourist buses.

When they arrived home, a red plastic bucket was sitting by the door. Chen Jingming got out first and looked inside—it was a live snapping turtle.

“Ge,” Chen Jingming called out. Chu Feng brought the items from the car over. “Who brought this?” “I don’t know, it was just here.” “Bring it inside first. I’ll find out who left it later.”

Just as they stepped inside, Chu Feng’s phone rang. He balanced the call while tidying up the items they’d brought back from the graves. Chen Jingming spent a while looking at the turtle; it was much larger than his hand.

Outside, a car drove past, making a loose stone slab clack. Chen Jingming stood up and stretched, two pear petals falling from his waist as he did. He smiled, then looked up to see Chu Feng in the living room, looking serious as he spoke on the phone.

Chu Feng hung up and called out for “Baby.” “In here,” Chen Jingming said, stepping inside. “Baby, I have to go to the ranch for a bit. You take a nap at home, and I’ll be back soon.” Chen Jingming agreed.

Chu Feng left in a hurry. Chen Jingming didn’t ask why; he was indeed very sleepy from the early start. Not wanting to shower and change yet, he lay down on the living room sofa.

He noticed the furniture was all oversized—the sofa was huge, the dining table was huge, and there were stacks of folding chairs in the corner. He suddenly realized: did Chu Feng usually have a lot of visitors?

The sofa faced Chu Feng’s large workbench. The wall behind it was covered in decorations, the most prominent being two Nuo Opera masks. He remembered Chen Lang mentioning the market tonight. He was actually quite interested; he had watched documentaries about Nuo Opera before. Seeing it in person would probably be powerful.

Spring was rainy, so the first floor felt a bit damp. This was the first time he’d been apart from Chu Feng since coming back. As he walked around the room, white petals would occasionally shake loose from a fold in his clothes. He felt an unprecedented sense of peace.

He thought about what Chu Feng said: When you’re lost, just live first. But he didn’t know how to live. What could he do here? He had fled to Changxi and met those he was once close to, but he knew things were different now. He wondered how Xue Dongni was doing on set, and if people online were still cursing his name.

Since returning, he hadn’t logged into any social media. His phone remained in the bedroom. He eventually drifted off into a nap.

He was woken by a ringing sound. It took him a moment to realize it was the landline. Not many people kept landlines these days. He scrambled to find it—it was on a bookshelf.

“Hello?” “Baby, it’s me.” Chen Jingming breathed a sigh of relief. “Ge.” He looked outside, unable to tell what time it was. “Your phone was off, so I called the landline. Can you help me find a document?” There was wind on Chu Feng’s end; he was likely still at the ranch. “I’ll have Chen Lang come by to pick it up.”

Chu Feng explained: “It should be on the desk. A blue folder labeled ‘Waste Discharge.’ I have them organized by year; find the ones for the last three years.”

Since the landline wasn’t cordless, Chen Jingming told him to wait and went to the workbench. Chu Feng was very organized, so he found it quickly. He went back to the phone to confirm.

“Ge?” he whispered into the receiver. On the other end, Chu Feng was talking to someone else. The wind was loud, so the conversation was muffled, but he heard Chu Feng say a loud “Thank you.”

After a while, Chu Feng came back to the phone. “Baby?” “I’m here.” Chu Feng smiled. “Found it? When will Lang Ge be there?” “Soon, I think. He just got back from visiting his family’s graves,” Chu Feng said. “Turns out the turtle was from Seventh Uncle. He caught it yesterday and said it’s for you to nourish your body.”

Chen Jingming was surprised. “For me?” He didn’t even remember who Seventh Uncle was. Everyone in town was a relative or neighbor; he used to get confused as a child and just call everyone ‘Uncle.’ “Yeah, for you.” “They… they know I’m back?” “Yeah.” Chu Feng’s tone softened. “Small towns are like that. If one person knows, the whole town knows. They’ve been clamoring to have dinner together, but I figured since you’re so shy, you wouldn’t want the noise, so I didn’t agree.” Chen Jingming lowered his eyes. “Thanks, Ge.”

…

After hanging up, Chen Jingming went to find an envelope for the documents. While searching the desk, he accidentally snagged a tablet computer tucked between some papers. It slid off and hit the floor with a thud, startling him.

He hurriedly picked it up to check for damage. One corner was slightly scuffed, but the screen was fine. It wasn’t password-protected. When it turned on, it opened to where Chu Feng had last left off: the photo gallery.

The gallery was full of screenshots and screen recordings from various platforms. They were words and clips Chen Jingming knew all too well.

He had collected them once himself. On his lawyer’s advice, he had gathered evidence of the insults, personal attacks, and doxxing to protect himself legally. Chu Feng’s collection was only missing the private messages and the security footage he and his lawyer had.

Chu Feng didn’t just know; he was also finding a way to protect him.

A metaphorical drop of water hit the ground in Chen Jingming’s mind. Looking at these hideous things, he didn’t experience his usual trauma response. He let out a soft breath and even smiled. Tears fell from his eyes, hitting the tablet screen.

“Baby! Jingming!” Chen Lang’s motorcycle roared at the door. Chen Jingming quickly covered the documents and wiped his eyes. “Lang Ge, I’m here!”

Chen Lang walked in wearing a black baseball cap, carrying a bag of small cherries. “Picked these at home. Wash them before you eat.” “Is this it?” Chen Jingming handed over the documents in a clear folder. Chen Lang nodded. He hadn’t been paying attention to Chen Jingming’s face, but as he took the file, he stared at him closely and smiled.

“What is it?” Chen Jingming touched his face. “Is there something on my face?” “No,” Chen Lang said. “I just think you look a bit different.” Chen Jingming thought he’d noticed the tears. “There’s light in your eyes now, Jingming,” Chen Lang said. “Eh?” “Did you know? When you first came back, your eyes were so, so dark.” “Dark?” Chen Jingming knew what he meant, but he prompted him to continue. “Yeah,” Chen Lang said. “At first, I thought you were wearing some kind of colored contacts.” Chen Jingming: “…”

Chen Lang hopped up to sit on the edge of the workbench and stuffed a handful of cherries into his mouth. “You didn’t wash them,” Chen Jingming reminded him. “It’s fine, these are from my grandma’s yard, no pesticides. But I had to tell you to wash them because if you got sick, your brother would kill me. You’re ‘delicate-skinned and tender-fleshed,’ not like me.”

“How are we different?” Chen Jingming mumbled. “Two eyes, one mouth—we’re both men, what’s the difference?” Chen Lang suddenly laughed. “True, true. That part is the same too.” “Lang Ge, you’re being weird.”

“How am I weird?” Chen Lang hopped down. “Jingming, you’re a writer. How are you not more sharp than this?” “About what?” Chen Lang leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Could it be you’ve never dated? Little virgin?”

“Lang Ge, you…” Chen Jingming understood instantly—why Chen Lang always had that ambiguous smile, and why his words were so strange. Chen Lang didn’t elaborate; he just laughed loudly and waved. “I’m off!”

Chen Jingming stood frozen for a long time. A… a dark-skinned ‘bottom’ (shou)?