Chapter 65: The Warmth and Coldness of Human Relationships

Yang Rui finished speaking in a single breath, his chest heaving violently as if he had just unloaded a burden weighing a thousand pounds, yet also as if he had pushed himself deeper into a mire with his own hands. He did not dare meet Su Jin's eyes, lowering his gaze to pick up the cheap bottle of vinegar on the table and pouring it haphazardly into his bowl of noodles. His movements were crude, and the vinegar splashed onto the tabletop.

Under his almost self-destructive confession, Su Jin's expression shifted from shock and anger to an unbelievable pallor. Her fingers gripped the disposable chopsticks tightly, her knuckles turning white. She looked at the man before her who seemed intent on reducing himself to dust, at his deliberate movements of pouring vinegar to hide his panic, and at the worn cuffs of his old cotton-padded jacket...

She did not believe it.

Her intuition was screaming. She recalled how, beneath the cultural and creative park, his eyes had held a sharpness and decisiveness that transcended fear when facing danger; she recalled how, when interpreting Feng Shui, he possessed an almost instinctive reverence and mastery of ancient traditions hidden beneath a vulgar, worldly exterior; she recalled the deep-seated resentment and struggle within him whenever he mentioned the "ancestors buried in the family graves." If he were truly a thoroughly mercenary and worldly petty person, he would never have bothered with Hengtai's messy situation in the first place! His "confession" at this moment felt more like a form of self-abandoning defense, an armor woven from the most vicious words to wrap himself in and scare her away.

However, understanding this did not make her feel a fraction better. It hurt even more. For it meant that he was genuinely terrified—so terrified that he would rather tear himself to pieces in front of her just to draw a clear line and push her away. Those labels of his—"mercenary, slick, thick-skinned"—were like poisoned daggers, precisely piercing her most tender spots. Her concern, her trust, and even the hazy fondness deep within her heart had all been reduced by his words to "trouble" and "fatal burdens." This was far more agonizing than a direct rejection.

"Mercenary... slick... thick-skinned..." Su Jin murmured these words repeatedly, her voice as light as a sigh, carrying a trace of a broken sob. She looked at Yang Rui's lowered head, at the bowl of noodles he had stirred into a chaotic mess emitting a pungent sourness, and a vast wave of sorrow and helplessness washed over her.

She abruptly stood up, the legs of the chair scraping harshly against the floor.

"I understand, Master Yang." Her voice regained its aloof coldness, even carrying a hint of alienation and politeness that Yang Rui had never heard before, as if she were addressing a complete stranger. "Thank you for your 'candor.' This meal... won't be necessary. You are 'doing very well,' truly doing very well. As you wish, I won't bring you any more 'trouble.'"

She snatched up her handbag from the side, her movements so swift they stirred up a gust of wind, and turned to leave without a moment's hesitation. Only when she reached the doorway did her footsteps pause slightly. With her back to Yang Rui, her shoulders seemed to quiver once more, but ultimately, she did not look back.

The cold wind swept through the door curtain, scattering the last wisps of heat from the bowl of noodles and chilling Yang Rui to the bone. He looked at the untouched, soggy bowl of noodles across from him, then lowered his gaze to look at the murky, pungent, sour broth in his own bowl, his stomach churning with discomfort.

Slowly, very slowly, he picked up his chopsticks, lifted a mouthful of cold noodles soaked in cheap vinegar, and shoved them into his mouth. The sourness rushed straight to his crown, choking him into a violent fit of coughing that brought tears to his eyes. He aggressively wiped away the traces of soup and tears from the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, then gulped down a large mouthful of cold tea in an attempt to suppress the nauseating taste and the even more bitter, unspeakable emotions surging from the depths of his heart.

He was left all alone in the noodle shop, facing two bowls of leftover scraps, like a clown who had just botched an absurd performance. In the air lingered only the sour scent of cheap vinegar and an inescapable, suffocating silence.

The sour taste of the cheap vinegar still stubbornly lingered in his throat, mixed with the roiling nausea in his stomach and the indescribable bitterness in his heart. Yang Rui wiped his face haphazardly, shoveled the last few cold, soggy noodles from his bowl into his mouth, chewed them tastelessly as if swallowing a wad of cold hemp rope. Forcing an open-minded expression as if Su Jin's departure were merely an inconsequential gust of wind, he muttered to the empty seat opposite him with a voice only he could hear: "Doing great... eating two bowls by myself, quite a bargain!"

After paying the bill, the small profit from the red envelope shrank significantly. Wrapping himself tightly in his old cotton-padded jacket, he plunged headfirst into the biting chill of the winter evening, as if hoping to use the cold to dispel the vexation in his heart and the lingering sour, rotten odor of the noodle shop. His destination was his own cramped storefront, "Yang's Divination," located at the end of another, slightly busier pedestrian street.

Just as he turned into the pedestrian street, the phone in his pocket vibrated like a summons for his life. Pulling it out, the four characters "Landlord Fatty Wang" flashed across the screen. Yang Rui's heart skipped a beat, and a sense of impending doom welled up within him. Taking a deep breath, he desperately marshaled every muscle in his face to squeeze out a smile that could only be described as fawning before pressing the answer button.

"Hello? Boss Wang! Oh, your call comes at the very right time; I was just thinking of dropping by to wish you an early Happy New Year in the next couple of days!" Yang Rui's voice was overflowing with enthusiasm and laden with twelve layers of ingratiation.

From the other end of the line came Fatty Wang's greasy and arrogant voice, sounding like a dull knife scraping the bottom of a pot: "Happy New Year? Yang Rui, spare me that superficial crap! I'm talking business with you! Come next spring, the rent for your shop is going up!"

Though he had long anticipated it, Yang Rui's heart still sank heavily. The smile on his face instantly froze, but the ingratiation in his voice grew even thicker, bordering on tears: "Oh, my dear Boss Wang! Please don't do this! In weather this cold, aren't you just trying to take my life? Just look at this pedestrian street—is there anyone here now? My small business is barely keeping the pot boiling! Have some mercy, please understand my situation. The rent really can't go up any higher! I promise you, once spring comes and it warms up and business improves, I'll stuff a big red envelope for you! Please consider how honest and reliable I've been all these years, never once falling behind..."

He racked his brains, exhausting a basket full of flattering words, transitioning from the economic winter to the warmth of human relations, portraying himself as even more pitiful than a plucked cabbage.

Fatty Wang sneered on the other end, impatiently interrupting: "Yang Rui, stop crying poor to me! Those superstitious tricks of yours—fooling one person counts as one, as if I don't know? Understand you? Who understands me? What isn't going up in price right now? How good is the location of this storefront? If it weren't for the fact that you're an old tenant, I would have rented it out to someone else long ago! One word: go up by five hundred, non-negotiable! Take it or leave it, and don't squat in the latrine without dropping a load!"

Those two words—"get lost"—stabbed into Yang Rui's ears like needles. The fake smile on his face finally cracked, and a surge of furious anger rushed straight to his head. Yet he gritted his back teeth fiercely, swallowing that wave of anger back down, his voice trembling slightly from sheer endurance: "Boss Wang, could you... could you reconsider? Five hundred is too much; would three hundred do? If it's three hundred, I'll grit my teeth and manage..."