Chapter 3169: Chinese Parasol Tree Lane Bitter Summer 11

The sunlight is always glaring, making it impossible to rest.

On the third day that Li Xiumei's family went visiting, Jin Chen did exercises in his room in the morning.

He usually couldn't feel the heat, and he used to dislike opening windows, but the words Chenshu said on the day of his fever stuck in his mind, so whenever he was in the room, that window stayed open, creating a draft with the old desktop fan on the desk; wind poured in from outside, rustling the draft papers on the desk with a splashing sound.

The notebook was one Zhang Yue had discarded; its shell had a few cracks, and it took ages to boot up, but it was more than enough for doing exercises and sending messages. Jin Chen typed slowly, sending the contents of the scattered draft papers on his desk to the online friend opposite him.

He had added the online friend half a year ago on the forum; it started when Jin Chen paid to answer a question about sorting algorithms in a post, and after the post sank, someone private‑messaged him claiming to be from a research institute, asking if he was interested in discussing it together and never asking for his personal information.

But soon the online friend replied enthusiastically, launching into the same old spiel—claiming to be a professor at Didu Academy and praising him for having real talent in algorithm research.

Jin Chen didn't think someone who had never attended college could clear up a Didu professor's doubts, so he never believed it; he figured the online friend just didn't want him to guess their identity and was making things up, but the problems they gave were interesting and came with payment, which was a pleasant surprise for him.

Ten minutes later, Jin Chen received a transfer notification for two thousand yuan.

Besides, the online friend had sent over an electronic document said to be a textbook. Jin Chen flipped through the table of contents casually; it was content he had never seen before and quite interesting. He saved it to a folder, planning to look at it again at night.

Now he has something more important to do.

On a sunny day there are many things to do—airing pillows, washing quilts, playing by the river and then getting scolded by parents when he returns home—but Jin Chen needs to go to the hospital to get medicine.

At eleven o'clock sharp in the morning—a time Jin Chen deliberately chose so he wouldn't run into Grandma Zhao and her eternally restless Teddy dog, and wouldn't miss his afternoon slot to see Chenshu—everything proceeded smoothly, leaving him feeling calm and composed.

But there was a small hiccup.

As he went downstairs, Jin Chen reached the corner of the second floor and heard the Teddy dog howling in the hallway; he paused his steps and saw the dog, for no reason, suddenly dash to the other end of the corridor, its tail tucked between its hind legs.

Jin Chen stood on the middle landing, waited a few seconds in silence, and when no more dog barks came, he continued downstairs. A male resident on the first floor, carrying a bucket to go up to hang laundry upstairs, brushed past him and deliberately dodged, as if afraid to touch something he shouldn't.

Jin Chen walked out of Chinese Parasol Tree Lane, and a wave of heat hit him; even he felt the weather excessively dry and hot, especially at noon.

The sun raged as if this were the very last summer, blazing fiercely and burning up the remaining days in one go to ash.

Perhaps going out at noon wasn't a wise idea, but Chenshu never got up in the morning, and he didn't want to miss the afternoon when he could watch Chenshu sculpt.

Boarding the bus from Chinese Parasol Tree Lane, the ride to the hospital took thirty‑five minutes. The carriage was sparsely populated, so Jin Chen had the rearmost window seat to himself; he opened the window, wind rushed in, and tossed his hair into a messy tangle.

He lifted his hand to press the ear stud that Chenshu had bought for him, rubbing it with his fingertip, feeling a pang of longing.

The hot wind blew his longing away, his spirit felt free; Jin Chen closed his eyes and began to float again, his soul leaving his body, drifting lightly in midair, overlooking the scattered passengers in the carriage and the street scenery flashing past outside the window.

Ding‑ling‑ling.

The bell signal rang. His spirit leaned forward and saw itself being pulled back to the human world by an invisible rope, drifting down to land.

As soon as Jin Chen answered the call, he heard Chenshu's voice—she sounded like she had just woken up, still a bit drowsy, warm and moist with a husky nasal tone that made his ears itch.

"Xiao Chen, why aren't you at home?"

Chenshu shut the living‑room door, took a few quick steps, closed his eyes, and flopped onto the sofa, languid from the heat, saying, "I wanted to come find you to play."

"Mm." Jin Chen replied, fiddling with the stud on his ear cartilage, when the bus's stop announcement came: "West River Road station has arrived…"

"You're on the bus, huh?" Chenshu's voice grew a bit clearer. "Where are you headed?"

Jin Chen turned his head to look out the window; the bus was passing under the bridge, the light dimmed for an instant, and his own face appeared pale and blurred on the glass.

"The hospital." he said.

"Ah…" Chenshu drew out the syllable, sat up, grabbed an ice pop from the fridge, and bit into it—a green‑tongued ice pop, soft and chewy, reminding him of Jin Chen's lips.

Jin Chen saw his own pupils reflected in the glass—deep black, moist, lacking luster—and stubbornly opened his mouth to press, "Do you care about me, Chenshu?"

The bus emerged from under the bridge, sunlight poured in again, blazingly bright; the blurry face on the glass vanished, replaced by the flowing street scenery outside.

Shameful, despicable—he himself thought so.

As long as he obtained that bit of concern, he couldn't help but indulge in extreme possessiveness and probing, trading it for a warped sense of security.

"If I were to die in a car accident right now," Jin Chen said calmly.

On the other end of the line, Chenshu's voice carried a light laugh as she said gently, "Don't worry now about how important you are in my heart, Xiao Chen. You wouldn't want to see me sad, would you?"

Jin Chen tightened his grip on the phone a little.

Chenshu turned sideways, pressing his face into the crook of his arm, squinting his eyes—he felt no shyness at all, only the amusement of teasing a stiff‑liked child, with the unswallowed ice pop still in his mouth giving a sweet, lingering tone as he said, "So hurry back; I want to kiss you."

Jin Chen: "……"

He gave a low reply, easing the pressure of his fingertip on the ear stud, and his dark, heavy expression sank into his eyes.

He hung up. Jin Chen turned his head to look out the window; the bus drove along River Road, the river water shimmering with rippling light in the sun, bright enough to make eyes sore.

Longing.

Longing.

Hidden in the sound of the bus pulling away again.