Chapter 21: Growing Affection

Stepping out of the hospital doors, the chilly night breeze hit his face, dispersing the lingering scent of disinfectant and somehow sharpening the ache in his back. Su Jin followed silently beside him, only now breaking the silence with a barely perceptible tension in her voice. “You have to listen to the doctor.”

“I know, I know,” Yang Rui quickly replied, trying to force a casual smile, but the movement strained his back muscles, twisting his expression into a grimace. “Oof… Dr. Su, I really… ended up being a burden this time.”

Su Jin watched him fight through the pain, his face pale under the hospital’s harsh white lights, his cheap jacket stained with mud and clearly beaten on the back by a baton. A complex swirl of emotions welled up inside her—fear, anger, and a subtle bitterness she dared not explore. She shook her head with resolute finality. “Don’t say that. Can you still walk? Should I take you home?”

“No!” Yang Rui waved his hand quickly, but the sudden movement sent a sharp pang through his back, causing him to gasp. “Oof… the hero can’t be the driver again! Besides,” he tried to straighten his spine, sweat breaking out on his brow despite the effort, “it’s been a long night, and my stomach’s growling like an empty fortress. Dr. Su, how about a favor? Let me treat you to a meal. You pick the place. Consider it… to calm the nerves and to thank you for saving my life!” He strained to sound easygoing, yet his eyes held a sincerity that brooked no refusal, and a hint of hope even he hadn’t realized.

Su Jin had intended to refuse and urge him to rest immediately, but seeing the cold sweat dampening his temples and those remarkably bright eyes despite his exhaustion, the words stuck in her throat and instead slipped out as, “...Alright. I know a place nearby. It should still be open at this hour.”

Pushing open the glass door of a small shop nestled deep within an old town alley, they were instantly enveloped by a warm, vibrant blend of beef tallow, chili, Sichuan pepper, and an array of spices. The lively chatter, the clatter of ladles and pots, and the bubbling of broth merged into a torrent of everyday life that immediately dispelled the hospital’s cold sterility and the recent harrowing ordeal. Under the bright lights, faces flushed from the hot pot’s steam radiated simple contentment.

Yang Rui hadn’t expected Su Jin to choose such a place; in his mind, a “distinguished professor” ought to be seated in an immaculate, piano-music-filled upscale restaurant. He awkwardly pulled out a plastic stool, his back pain making the motion slow and stiff. Su Jin, however, was already expertly marking the greasy menu with a pencil. “Red broth, mildly spicy? Or a yin-yang split pot? Tripe, aorta, duck intestines… want any of these?”

“Yes! All of it!” Yang Rui nodded eagerly, watching Su Jin’s focused profile. In the warm, noisy glow of the hot pot restaurant, her usual austere academic aura softened into something strangely vivid and real. He couldn’t help but say, “Dr. Su, you’re really different from the professors I know at universities.”

Her hand paused, and she looked at him, a questioning glint in her eyes.

Yang Rui carefully draped his jacket over the chair back, avoiding the injured area, and gathered his thoughts. “I’ve met a few expert professors in ivory towers. When it comes to feng shui, they either sneer and dismiss it as backward superstition not worth a glance, or they take the opposite extreme—clamoring for science above all, belittling ancient traditions as worthless, believing only what emerges from their labs is truth. Clear boundaries, irreconcilable. But someone like you…” He hesitated, meeting her gaze. “Who’s willing to humble herself, to engage, to understand, even collaborate with a ‘folk sorcerer’ like me, using instruments to measure and data to explain… I’ve never seen that before. Inclusiveness and tolerance—that’s the kind of greatness you embody, isn’t it?”

His words were simple, even clumsy, but every one was sincere.

Su Jin’s heart stirred slightly. She put down the pencil and picked up the barley tea pot on the table, pouring warm amber liquid into their thick ceramic cups. Steam curled gently upward.

“What about you?” she asked, her gaze fixed on Yang Rui’s face. “You’re nothing like the ‘masters’ I imagined either.”

Yang Rui lifted his cup to warm his hands, raising an eyebrow in invitation.

“The feng shui practitioners I’ve met or heard of,” Su Jin’s voice cut clearly through the hot pot’s din, “are usually shrouded in mysticism, always talking about ‘heavenly secrets that cannot be revealed,’ or drowning you in obscure jargon until you’re lost in a fog, usually ending with asking for money for ‘magical tools’ or ‘rituals.’ Much of it is steeped in superstition, and often… just charlatanry.” She met Yang Rui’s eyes, clear and forthright. “But you’re different.”

Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rough surface of the cup. “You understand magnetic fields, infrasound, the physical properties of energy fields. You solve problems not by burning talismans or chanting spells, but by identifying physical sources of interference and resolving them with scientifically explainable methods. You reinterpret ancient concepts like ‘evil qi’ and ‘earth veins’ through modern environmental energy field theory… That’s truly remarkable.”

The server brought over the broth, a vibrant red beef tallow bubbling in the nine-grid pot, releasing thick fragrant steam that blurred their vision. The spicy, savory aroma teased their senses, seeming to banish the last remnants of gloom.

Through the mist, Su Jin’s voice came clearly. “You make me feel that feng shui… perhaps it shouldn’t be some mystifying incantation, but an ancient wisdom language for interpreting the environment and seeking harmony with nature. It’s just been obscured by too much fog in the past.”

Yang Rui was stunned. He had never heard anyone trained in rigorous science speak so about what he had studied—often dismissed as superstition. A warm current, hotter than the steaming pot before them, quietly filled his heart, dulling the pain in his back. He grinned, genuine and a little foolish, ignoring the ache. “Dr. Su, you’re giving me way too much credit! Here, the meat’s ready! Dig in! This one’s on me! Don’t try to pay!”

Clumsily, he grabbed the skimmer to fish out some tripe, but the sudden movement sent a sharp jolt through his injury, making him hiss in pain and nearly dropping the utensil.

Su Jin watched his awkward yet earnest efforts and finally couldn’t help but laugh—a sound like ice melting, carrying an unprecedented lightness and warmth. She reached out to take the skimmer from his hand. “Alright, injured party, just sit tight. I’ve got this.”