Chapter 3171: Paulownia Tree Lane: Bitter Summer 13

Jin Chen and Chenshu went to the business hall to get a new phone card.

Behind the counter sat a young girl in a blue vest; seeing someone push the door open, she perked up and said, "Hello, what business can I help you with?"

Chenshu placed his ID on the counter, said he wanted a new card, how much credit remained on the old one, how many accounts were linked—seemingly indifferent to all of it. The girl asked if he wanted to keep the old number; he thought a moment and said no.

"Just cancel it? Then some of the accounts you previously linked…"

"No thanks." Chenshu laughed and cut her off.

Jin Chen watched him pull the old card from his phone, hand it to the girl behind the counter; the tiny SIM was taken, a few keys were tapped, and it was tossed into the storage box.

The whole process took no more than three minutes, and a person's connection to past society was severed so casually.

Chenshu looked pleased; he slipped the new card into his phone, fiddled with it a bit, then looked up and smiled at Jin Chen. "All set."

He took Jin Chen's hand and walked out of the business hall; a hot wind blew in their faces, heading next door to the sweet soup shop to celebrate.

The sweet soup shop had only an old cabinet‑type air conditioner, wheezing out cold air that barely helped. Chenshu ordered a mango ice cream and, for Jin Chen, a red bean sweet soup, saying that in the heat they should eat something cool to lower their temperature.

Jin Chen glanced at him and said nothing.

Chenshu immediately laughed, "Okay, okay, you don't want cold—I'll get you something hot."

The two items arrived; Chenshu's ice cream was in a clear glass bowl, mango sauce drizzled over white ice‑cream balls, bright in color, and topped with the little umbrella that's recently trendy in the old town as decoration.

Chenshu scooped a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, narrowed his eyes, wore a satisfied expression, finished the ice cream, then looked up to see Jin Chen still lowering his eyes, spooning the sweet soup one scoop at a time; the little rice balls on the surface floated there, lined up like a queue.

Chenshu put down his spoon, propped his chin on his hand, looked at him, and asked with a smiling squint, "What's up? Still not happy?"

Jin Chen lowered his head, stirred the bowl with his spoon, watching the red beans sink and float in the dark brown liquid.

Chenshu watched him for a moment, then asked again, "Is it because I didn't tell you about myself?"

Only then did Jin Chen lift his gaze; the cloying sweet soup couldn't soften his somewhat stubborn tone in the slightest.

"I don't know you."

Jin Chen also felt like a soaked red bean, stifled and unable to breathe. Not knowing Chenshu made him feel anxious and uneasy, and even the goldfish in his chest seemed about to drown.

Chenshu was naturally gifted at teasing and comforting people; during the few afternoons Jin Chen had visited his home, Chenshu had already pried out the gist of Jin Chen's dull, boring past decade or so.

The only thing Jin Chen had never told Chenshu again was that he truly had a mental illness.

He let Chenshu mistake him for a kindred spirit; the two of them, oddballs who didn't quite fit society's definition, each drifted along their own paths.

As for Chenshu, Jin Chen knew almost nothing about him—didn't know why he had come to Paulownia Tree Lane, nor when he would leave.

Chenshu seemed out of place here, yet adapted to it with perfect ease—something Jin Chen could never do. Having lived here for many years, he could never blend in, like someone wrapped in a cocoon.

Jin Chen's eyes grew darker; he found the cloying sweet‑soup taste in his mouth unrefreshing, sticky on his tongue, making it hard to bear.

He set down his spoon, refusing to touch the bowl any further, as if throwing a tantrum.

Suddenly a familiar scent drew near. Chenshu leaned in, cupping Jin Chen's lowered cheeks with both hands, forcing him to lift his face to meet Chenshu's smiling eyes, warm within, like water warmed by the sun.

"Seeing you so upset, I really can't bear to leave you—what should we do?"

Jin Chen merely raised his eyes, staring straight at him, his gaze flickering.

Chenshu seemed to concede, laughing as he sighed, "All right, all right."

He pushed aside the barely touched bowl of sweet soup, paid the bill, and took Jin Chen's hand as they left the sweet soup shop.

The path to the bus stop passed through a lane flanked by tall Chinese parasol trees, their branches and leaves interlacing overhead to form a green tunnel; sunlight filtered through the gaps, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

Chenshu held Jin Chen's hand, swaying it gently as they walked, and began to talk about his own background in a disjointed way, saying whatever came to mind.

He said the person on the phone earlier was his paternal half‑brother, the Dage; he was an illegitimate child, raised by his grandparents, later taken into the Xiang family, but there nobody truly regarded him as one of their own.

He said the family was now in chaos; after the old master passed away, the estate was divided and several branches were fighting over it. He wanted no part of it, so he ran off to seek quiet.

Jin Chen listened intently, his steps matching Chenshu's, their fingers never loosening their grip; sunlight fell in scattered specks on their joined hands.

As they were about to finish the lane, Jin Chen stopped, and Chenshu, pulled by him, paused for a moment and turned back.

Jin Chen drew Chenshu completely into his embrace; a fingertip slipped from his sleeve, pale and clean, resting on Chenshu's side‑neck, touching the warm skin there, his eyes burning hot, every blink revealing genuine feeling.

He said, if he wanted to kiss, he would—lowering his head to press his lips to Chenshu's; he had already learned how to comfort someone he cared about, and he had learned it from Chenshu.

Today the wind was too strong. The cross‑draft at the lane's mouth rushed in, blowing Jin Chen's collar backward to reveal his slender collarbone, faint veins tracing just beneath the thin skin, outlining the bone growing inch by inch—so beautiful it was almost painful, like a temptation; his furrowed brow was because of Chenshu, and the worry in his eyes was also for Chenshu.

This made it hard for Chenshu to hold back any longer.

He hooked his arms around Jin Chen's neck, rose slightly on his toes, and returned the kiss—lost in it, intoxicated, unwilling to stop.

Carrying the warmth of youth and the summer's lingering heat, they lightly touched lips, kissed the corners of their mouths, then closed their eyes, shutting out the outside world.

After kissing for a good while, Chenshu turned his head to look at him and couldn't help but laugh.

He peppered Jin Chen's forehead and cheeks with intermittent kisses, sweet nothings flowing effortlessly, spoken naturally and affectionately: "I really like you," he said, his lips brushing Jin Chen's cheekbone, "you're so adorable."

Jin Chen's ears turned red; he lowered his head further, his forehead pressing against Chenshu's.

"This is just fine," Chenshu said again, his tone light, "If we dig deeper, it'll affect our moods—will you help me keep this a secret?"

Jin Chen gave a low reply, solemnly answering, "I will."

He felt the complex emotion of holding a treasure—liking it yet fearing it might break—and lifted Chenshu's face, gazing at him solemnly.

"The secret belongs to us. I will keep it."

Chenshu was made to laugh by him, collapsing into laughter against him.

He always loved to laugh, as if everything could be brushed off with a smile; Jin Chen supported his waist, watching his eyes crinkle with laughter, and felt a little glad himself.