Chapter 6: Jiaqi Lost Keys, Ruan Zhengdong Offers Shelter

 

Later, Jiaqi realized she had been wrong. Even during meals, she and Ruan Zhengdong could not resist bickering.

They argued all the way about what to eat. She wanted hot pot; he insisted on porridge.
“Patients should eat something light,” he declared.

She braced herself for another extravagant restaurant, but instead he drove through a maze of narrowing streets until she was hopelessly disoriented. At last, he stopped at the mouth of a dim alley.
“Go inside. Cars can’t go in. Hurry up—it’ll close if you’re late.”

So unkind to a patient. Still, she followed, dragging her steps until they turned into a courtyard house with a modest light-box sign: Guangdong Porridge.

The preserved egg and fish congee was steaming hot, the rice grains long-simmered to perfection, melting on the tongue with incomparable sweetness. As she sipped, sweat broke across her back, her nose cleared, and a sudden clarity filled her. Across from her, Ruan Zhengdong ate plain white congee, his face softened by the glow of the lights. The tiny shop, with only three tables, was crowded with patrons, each bent over their bowls, sweating as they ate.

She sighed in wonder.
“You can even find a place like this? You’re truly amazing.”

He only kept eating, too lazy to reply.

Then the owner appeared. The diners greeted him warmly as Lao Mai. He was about thirty, with a buzz cut, a faint scar on his brow, and a black Chinese jacket that lent him an air of elegance. He looked more like an artist than a porridge-seller, his bearing hinting at brilliance.

“Oh, the first time I’ve seen you come alone,” Lao Mai teased.

“I’m paying you, aren’t I? Why so long-winded?” Zhengdong shot back.

Jiaqi, appetite restored, tucked into another bowl of shredded chicken congee. Her bright eyes and small canine tooth flashed as she smiled, praising the porridge. Lao Mai’s face lit up.
“I love hearing people praise my porridge—and my sister. She has a good heart.”

Zhengdong scoffed.
“I praised your porridge twice, and you say she has a good heart. Hypocrite.”

Lao Mai grew serious.
“I’ve never misjudged anyone. This sister has a good heart. Don’t bully her.”

Jiaqi smiled, but Zhengdong tossed down his spoon.
“What brother and sister? You don’t even know her name.”

“When have I ever called someone sister casually?” Lao Mai retorted. “Your taste has been terrible in recent years. At least this little sister catches my eye. My name is Mai Dingluo—call me Old Mai. Or Brother, if you like. You won’t suffer for it.”

Jiaqi laughed.
“Brother, my name is You Jiaqi.”

Old Mai beamed.
“If he dares bully you, Jiaqi, come to me. I’ll stand up for you.”

Zhengdong laughed.
“Why make me sound like a villain?”

Old Mai clapped him on the shoulder.
“For your sister’s sake, I’ll buy you porridge.”

“Stingy,” Zhengdong smirked. “We call you Big Brother, and you send us off with a few bowls of porridge?”

Old Mai chuckled, then slipped the bodhi seed beads from his wrist and placed them on Jiaqi’s. She tried to refuse, but Zhengdong said firmly,
“Take it. Don’t be ignorant.”

She glared at him, but Old Mai insisted as well. The beads were simple Buddhist tokens, not costly ornaments. She accepted with thanks. They were too large, so Zhengdong leaned close, deftly tightening the silk string. His cool fingers brushed her skin, his breath warm with mint and rice. She blushed.

“I’ll tie it myself.”

“It’s already done,” he said. The knot was neat, meticulous—beautiful.

Later, in the car, she praised Old Mai’s open-heartedness. Zhengdong only said,
“You have good taste,” his tone unreadable.

He dropped her at her apartment. Sleepy, she longed only for a shower and bed. But at her door, she discovered her keys were gone. She searched her purse in vain, despair rising. Midnight, and she was locked out.

She called Zhengdong to check his car. No keys.
“How could you even lose your keys?” he scolded.

She considered going to Zhou Jing’an’s, but it was too late for a taxi across town. Hotels nearby were all full. Anxious, she called Zhou again and again, no answer.

Finally, Zhengdong said,
“If nothing else works, stay at my place.”

She hesitated.

He smiled.
“Afraid I’ll eat you?”

Provoked, she followed him.

His apartment was in the west of the city, tucked in a prime location, tranquil amid the bustle. Security was tight, lawns and trees spread wide between sparse buildings. On the sixth floor, his home was modest—less than a hundred square meters, immaculately kept, a single man’s space. No spare slippers, but the wooden floor was heated.

Jiaqi stepped in barefoot, feigning disappointment.
“I’d like to see what a luxury home looks like.”

“I’ll take you to the villas of the rich someday,” he replied with a smile.

The apartment was simple, undecorated, but the black velvet sofa gleamed faintly blue, soft as a cloud. She sank into it, cross-legged, eyes half-closed in bliss.
“I’ll sleep here, okay?”

“Of course you’ll sleep here,” he said. “Do you think I have a bed for you?”

Jiaqi was at a loss for words. Ruan Zhengdong fetched her a new towel and toothbrush, then showed her the bathroom tucked deep inside the master bedroom. Though the arrangement sounded ambiguous, it was nothing more than a practical gesture. Still, Jiaqi felt embarrassed, so she cracked a joke.

“Are there any erotic relics of lace or anything? Hide them now.”

Ruan Zhengdong laughed. “I don’t think so. Not even my mother knows about this house. Only my sister has been here once.”

She was stunned, but instinctively knew he wasn’t lying. “A cunning rabbit has three burrows,” she teased.

He opened the closet and handed her a set of new clothes. “Haven’t worn them yet.”

She accepted, surprised at his thoughtfulness. He opened the bathroom door. “Go ahead. I’m going to play a game.”

Inside, the sink was bare save for a razor and aftershave, the air faintly scented with mint. She showered under scalding water, comforted by the heat—until she realized, with horror, that her period had come early. Antibiotics always did this to her.

Oh my god. This is awful.

She panicked, desperate, unable to cry. She couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. Finally, spotting a box of tissues, she improvised, dressed in the oversized clothes, and stepped out. Each step felt like walking barefoot on knives.

In the study, Zhengdong looked up at the sound of her rustling clothes. For a moment, his gaze flashed like lightning. Her bare feet glowed against the ebony floor, her wet hair dripping over flushed cheeks, her oversized clothes making her look childlike, pure, breathtaking.

“Um…” she murmured timidly. “I need to buy something. Is there a convenience store nearby?”

He paused. “What for?”

She bit her lip, crimson against white teeth. His throat tightened, heat rising. He dropped his mouse and stood. “What do you want to buy? I’ll get it for you.”

“No need,” she whispered, mortified. “I can do it myself.”

He stared, then suddenly understood. Embarrassment flickered across his face, but he recovered. “I understand. I’ll get it for you.”

“I’ll do it myself,” she insisted.

He turned away, grabbing his coat. “It’s inconvenient for you to run around.” His face flushed, and for the first time, he looked almost boyish.

He returned half an hour later with two bulging bags, having bought every brand on the shelf.

That night, Jiaqi couldn’t sleep. Perhaps the sofa was too soft, or perhaps the pain kept her awake. She tiptoed to the kitchen for tea. The spotless counters surprised her, but what caught her eye was a crystal-clear red wine bottle, cork beside it, gleaming under the orange light. She filled it with boiling water, corked it, and hugged it to her stomach. At last, the warmth eased her pain, and she slept.

The doorbell woke her. Disoriented, she nearly opened the door before realizing she wasn’t at home. Panic surged. A man and woman alone in a flat at dawn—what would people think? She ran to the bedroom, knocking.

“Ruan Zhengdong! Someone rang the doorbell!”

He hurried out, gesturing for silence, then went to the entrance. Jiaqi hastily stuffed the quilt and pillows into the bedroom, hiding. She hugged a pillow, heart racing, feeling absurdly like a criminal.

After a while, the lock clicked. Zhengdong slipped back in, whispering, “My cousin ran away from home and came here. Don’t go out. I told him I’d take him to breakfast.”

Relieved, she smiled mischievously, like a child plotting mischief. She had no intention of showing herself. He leaned close, his nearness distracting, her fragrance fresh as morning dew.

But suddenly, the half-closed door burst open. A young face peeked in, sunny and mischievous, grinning as he shouted proudly:

“I caught you!”

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