The rain in the commercial city had been falling for nearly a week before intermittently coming to a stop.
The thunderstorm warnings and various accident reports on the TV news finally concluded. Sheng Zhao opened the window, took a deep breath, feeling that if the sun didn’t come out soon, he might turn into a mushroom.
With the heavy rain subsiding, the air still retained the refreshing scent of moisture. Sheng Zhao lazily squinted his eyes while leaning on the windowsill for a while, subconsciously looking upstairs.
The window on the seventh floor was also partially open, and the long green leaves of the potted plant cascaded down the window sill, occasionally dropping a few remaining water droplets.
He stared at the bottommost green leaf for a while, then stretched lazily, retracted into the room, leaving only one window open for ventilation.
It was now half past ten in the morning, his theoretical working hours.
The reason it was called “theoretical” was that, in most cases, almost no one would be wandering around the apartment during this time—office workers on the third floor usually left at seven in the morning and returned around six in the evening. Hu Huanyang on the fourth floor, who usually live-streamed until late night, was unlikely to get up in the morning.
Xing Yingzhuo, during the morning hours, was usually quiet as well, only becoming active after noon, subtly making his presence felt.
Sheng Zhao spent some time playing with the fish, watched half an episode of a variety show, then went upstairs with his keys, casually strolling on each floor, checking fire hydrants and safety exits, and his morning work was considered done.
Just after eleven, Xiong Xiangsong rushed back from outside, holding several bags of food in his hands, including barbecue, fried rice, and seafood. He went straight to the office on the first floor.
Sheng Zhao was watching an esports match with his headphones on when suddenly someone patted him from behind, startling him so much that his phone almost fell off the table.
Xiong Xiangsong quickly caught the phone, casually placing the bags of food on Sheng Zhao’s desk.
“Xiong Ge, you really don’t have to be so polite,” Sheng Zhao took off his headphones, helplessly saying, “It’s just a small favor, no need to care so much.”
“Hey, you’ve done a big favor for me. From now on, treat me like a real brother. If you need anything, just let me know, no need to be polite,” Xiong Xiangsong waved his hand generously, saying, “After all, it’s our own shop; consider it as adding a pair of chopsticks.”
Sheng Zhao was amused.
Xiong Xiangsong was honest and straightforward, speaking with a northeastern accent, which sounded strangely endearing. Every time, it seemed like just two sentences would change from “you and me” to “us.”
Without waiting for Sheng Zhao to refuse, Xiong Xiangsong waved his hand, said there were still things to do in the shop, and quickly left, leaving Sheng Zhao staring at the spread of food on his desk.
Ever since helping Diao Leyu retrieve her “pet” that rainy night a week ago, Sheng Zhao’s treatment had inexplicably improved.
Within two days, this matter had spread throughout the building, and even Hu Huanyang had come downstairs, handing a bag of potato chips to Sheng Zhao, looking at him with an admiring gaze, as if Sheng Zhao hadn’t brought back a pet but had performed an act of valor on the streets reported citywide.
As for Xiong Xiangsong, it was even more remarkable. Running a barbecue shop, he seemed eager to take care of Sheng Zhao’s three meals a day.
What’s strange was that Sheng Zhao hadn’t seen Diao Leyu since then. She had canceled her regular check-ins day and night, as if she had never left the building.
Sheng Zhao had asked Xiong Xiangsong, who only said that Diao Leyu and her little ferret were getting along well. They were staying at home taking care of it, and she wouldn’t go out until it was fully recovered.
This was understandable. Some people valued their pets more than work, and Sheng Zhao could understand that.
He glanced at the time, then put away the miscellaneous items on the table, locked the door of Room 101 next door, picked up the food bags, and went upstairs.
That night, Xing Yingzhuo had also contributed, so every time Xiong Xiangsong came to “show appreciation,” Sheng Zhao would also send some to Xing Yingzhuo.
After that night, Xing Yingzhuo’s attitude towards him also subtly softened. Not only did he not kick him out with the barbecue, but he also occasionally invited him to have a meal together.
Even later, when he encountered something that Xing Yingzhuo didn’t like to eat, Sheng Zhao would be “forced” to cook something else for him.
701’s door was open. Sheng Zhao knocked twice in a symbolic manner, heard a response from inside, then pushed open the door himself and entered the room as if he owned the place.
“Xiong Ge brought too much today.” Sheng Zhao placed the food bags on the coffee table and said, “I just took a look, and there are a few grilled oysters inside.”
Xing Yingzhuo sat up from the sofa, casually flicked the bag, glanced around, seeming not to find anything he particularly liked. He leaned back on the sofa disinterestedly.
“There’s nothing I want to eat,” he said, “There are new frog legs in the fridge; let’s have a dry pot.”
Xing Yingzhuo said it with an air of confidence, clearly used to giving orders. Sheng Zhao, finding it reasonable, offered a compromise.
“I don’t know how to make dry pot. How about boiling some hot pot base instead?”
“Sure,” Xing Yingzhuo said indifferently.
It was funny how this had become a routine; Sheng Zhao initially felt awkward being ordered around by Xing Yingzhuo, but after two times, he surprisingly got used to it.
Fortunately, Xing Yingzhuo wasn’t just bossing him around. Every time, he would invite Sheng Zhao to have a meal together, Sheng Zhao thought, since he had to feed himself too, he might as well consider it a potluck. One paid, the other cooked—it was fair enough.
The result was that now Sheng Zhao’s visits to Xing Yingzhuo’s kitchen were more frequent than to his own, seemingly upgrading from “takeout receiver” to “personal chef.”
As the visits increased, Sheng Zhao gradually discovered that Xing Yingzhuo, despite his seemingly cold demeanor, was actually quite picky when it came to food. He hardly ate vegetables or seafood; most of his recipes consisted of various meats, with the occasional indulgence in dishes like egg custard when he felt a bit peckish.
“To be honest, boss, where do you buy groceries when you hardly ever leave the house?” Sheng Zhao complained while checking the fridge. “I haven’t seen any delivery or errand service dropping by either.”
Xing Yingzhuo, lounging on the sofa like a grandpa, didn’t bother to do anything. Absently swiping his phone to the background music of a TV drama, he casually replied, “Airdrop.”
Sheng Zhao: “…”
—The perks of being wealthy!
Sheng Zhao forcefully closed the refrigerator, determined to uphold a healthy lifestyle and not talk to Xing Yingzhuo anymore.
A moment later, Xing Yingzhuo closed the weather app on his phone, glanced thoughtfully at Sheng Zhao’s retreating figure.
After that night, Xing Yingzhuo had spent quite some time contemplating it alone in his room.
Over the years, except for that period of youthful expectation in the beginning, he always felt that the notion of “fateful encounters” was a scam. Yet, he was aware that his attitude might have been influenced by a certain disappointment. Whether it was truly a scam, he couldn’t confirm in his heart. So, when he inexplicably felt that Sheng Zhao was “special,” there was a slight rekindling of the remnants of hope.
—What if this time it’s real? He pondered. After all, he had been searching for so many years without finding a trace. Even if the person in front of him had nothing to do with the so-called “fateful encounter,” he wouldn’t lose anything.
Xing Yingzhuo easily persuaded himself and decided to err on the side of caution. Regardless of whether Sheng Zhao had any extraordinary abilities, he would keep a close eye on him first.
After all, on that rainy night, there were intentions to harm Sheng Zhao emanating from the worm on Diao Leyu’s body, right under his nose.
Sheng Zhao was completely unaware that he had caught Xing Yingzhuo’s attention. He continued to take ingredients from the refrigerator, thinking about what additional seasonings to add later.
Xing Yingzhuo turned to look at the windowsill, where the glass jar he brought back that night had been placed. In the jar, the worm floated on the water’s surface, appearing as if it had already dried up under the sun.
However, he was aware that thing was not so easy to kill.
The soap opera on TV reached its climax, with the female lead passionately questioning the male lead through a pedestrian bridge, tears streaming down their faces. The scene suggested a dreamy reunion was imminent. Xing Yingzhuo half-listened, absentmindedly rummaging through the food bags on the coffee table. Reluctantly, he fished out a string of grilled pork belly and decided to satisfy his hunger for the time being.
Before finishing the grilled pork belly, a short notification sound suddenly came from the pile of food bags. Xing Yingzhuo instinctively checked his phone, found no new messages, and then traced the sound to another smartphone tucked inside a box containing stir-fried rice cakes.
He wordlessly stared at the smartphone adorned with a cat case for a couple of seconds, suppressed most of his laughter, and then spoke, “Sheng Zhao.”
Sheng Zhao, halfway out of the kitchen, asked cautiously, “What’s wrong, boss?”
Without lifting his eyelids, Xing Yingzhuo pointed at the phone brightly lit on the coffee table.
Sheng Zhao gave an acknowledging sound and quickly wiped his hands before coming over. He reached down to unlock the phone and checked the new message out of habit.
In the next three seconds, a range of expressions – from “surprised” and “subtle” to “awkward” and “embarrassed” – smoothly cycled on his face. Xing Yingzhuo, with an interested raised eyebrow, wanted to know the source of the message that had such a significant impact.
Two seconds later, Sheng Zhao unconsciously tapped the phone, locked the screen, and put the phone in his pocket.
Afterward, he turned back to look at Xing Yingzhuo. At the moment their eyes met, he forcibly squeezed out a somewhat ingratiating smile from the “embarrassed” expression.
“”How about we have dry pot instead?” Sheng Zhao chuckled nervously.
