SITS CH49

Chapter 49: Old Memories

Past eight in the morning.

Shen Man woke up. Opening his eyes, he realized he had an arm wrapped around Xu Zhouye, who was lying with his back toward him.

It was extraordinarily warm beneath the quilt, making one reluctant to leave. Shen Man had initially assumed Xu Zhouye was still asleep, but after observing him for a moment, he realized the guy was faking it.

Though his face wasn’t visible, his ears were flushed bright red, the crimson hue spreading all the way down his neck…

Blinking, Shen Man seemed to catch on. He called out, “Xu Zhouye?”

No response.

“Still not awake?” Unsure whether he was speaking to himself or Xu Zhouye, Shen Man murmured softly.

The person beside him remained completely still.

A sudden spark of mischief lit up Shen Man’s eyes, a sly smile curving his lips. Reaching out, he lightly brushed his fingertip against the rim of Xu Zhouye’s bright red ear.

Tracing slowly from top to bottom, from the helix down to the earlobe—until he teased the person beside him into turning as rigid as a block of stone.

Shen Man burst into unrestrained laughter. Realizing he had been played, Xu Zhouye flared up in embarrassed fury, rolling over to clamp a tight grip around Shen Man’s hand: “Shen Man!”

“Ah, so you were awake!” Shen Man kept laughing.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Flushed crimson from face to neck, Xu Zhouye held onto Shen Man’s wrist.

Shen Man was slender; Xu Zhouye could encircle his entire wrist with a single hand. Shen Man didn’t struggle, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes as if he truly hadn’t meant it.

“How could it be on purpose?” Shen Man said. “You didn’t answer when I called you just now.”

Xu Zhouye gritted his teeth: “Didn’t hear you!”

Shen Man suddenly leaned closer, their faces practically inches apart. His voice was low and raspy, yet carried the crisp clarity of youth as he murmured, “Zhouye.”

Xu Zhouye shuddered violently, freezing solid once more.

Shen Man had initially wondered why he was pretending to sleep and reacting so dramatically—until, the moment he leaned in, he abruptly felt something unusual…

Beneath the blankets, something hard was pressing firmly against his thigh.

Both were men; he naturally understood what was going on.

Realizing Shen Man had undoubtedly noticed, Xu Zhouye instantly grew tense.

Yet to his surprise, Shen Man actually gloated with amusement: “Young man, quite vigorous and hot-blooded, aren’t we?”

His eyes curved into crescents, his lips hooked into a vibrant red smirk that made one desperately want to seal his mouth shut so he couldn’t utter another word.

Shen Man had assumed Xu Zhouye would grow even more embarrassed under his teasing. Yet as he laughed, he noticed Xu Zhouye’s expression shift.

Moving from flustered tension to strained restraint, and finally to a simmering, poised intensity. Saying nothing, Xu Zhouye locked his gaze directly onto him.

The desire in his eyes was so thick it felt almost tangible—the hand gripping Shen Man’s wrist did not loosen; instead, it tightened.

Looks like I pushed the joke too far—Shen Man suddenly sensed danger.

“Mm, this is completely normal.” His smile fading, Shen Man awkwardly broke eye contact, his gaze darting away.

Xu Zhouye asked, “How is it normal? Why doesn’t ge explain it to me?”

Shen Man: “…”

“Come on, tell me.” Applying a touch of strength, Xu Zhouye pulled the retreating Shen Man closer inch by inch.

Tilting his head like a curious puppy encountering an enigma, he sought enlightenment from his owner.

“Wasn’t ge laughing so happily just now?” Xu Zhouye murmured. “Even called me Zhouye. Why won’t you even look at me now?”

Shen Man felt a pang of regret.

Regret for teasing Xu Zhouye earlier. This kid wasn’t nearly as thin-skinned as he had assumed—no, he realized only now that the thin-skinned one was clearly himself.

A crimson flush became contagious, spreading straight from Xu Zhouye’s ears onto Shen Man’s.

Clad in fluffy pajamas with tousled hair and his wrist held captive, Shen Man looked just like a kitten caught red-handed doing mischief by its owner—scruff gripped tight, unable to bolt, forced to lower his head with shifting eyes, wearing an aggrieved yet infuriating look of I didn’t do anything wrong and have no idea what you’re talking about.

Soft-hearted in the end, Xu Zhouye released his hold.

Granted a grand pardon, Shen Man scrambled out of bed. Taking two steps away to ensure he was safely out of Xu Zhouye’s reach, he turned his head: “Are you heading to the bathroom or handling it here? Want me to close the door for you?”

Still daring to provoke him? Xu Zhouye laughed in sheer exasperation, thinking he shouldn’t have gone soft a moment ago—he should have pinned Shen Man’s hand down and made him “personally” teach him how to resolve it.

Whether his gaze expressed that thought too overtly, Shen Man panicked slightly, spinning on his heel to escape: “Go back to sleep for a bit then!”

He slipped out and pulled the door shut.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Xu Zhouye glanced down at a certain spot and muttered a foul curse.

Breakfast was simple—bread brought over from the base yesterday.

Planning to head out for groceries to cook dinner tonight, Shen Man nibbled on his bread as Xu Zhouye strolled lazily out of the bedroom, radiating an unmistakable aura of pent-up frustration. Sitting across from Shen Man, he fixed his gaze squarely on him.

Utterly unhidden, completely undisguised.

Anyone else would have buckled under such an intense stare, yet this was Shen Man.

Shen Man had known since early childhood that he was good-looking. From the favoritism of neighbors to the stares of classmates—the older he grew, the more admirers he encountered, until over time, he learned to treat affection as thin air.

Unhurriedly tearing off a piece of bread, he held it out to Xu Zhouye: “Want some?”

His demeanor was far too nonchalant, leaving Xu Zhouye entirely helpless.

“Not eating?” Shen Man asked. “There’s nothing else in the house.”

Xu Zhouye said, “…I’ll eat in a bit. Going to take a shower first.”

Resting his chin on his palm, Shen Man smiled slyly: “Go ahead.”

Xu Zhouye shot him a warning glare.

Catching the message, Shen Man only laughed more brazenly: “What, am I not even allowed to laugh?”

Xu Zhouye opened his mouth to retort, but Shen Man immediately threw both hands up in surrender: “Alright, alright, our Zhouye is all grown up, gege won’t laugh at you anymore. Hurry up and go shower.”

Xu Zhouye deflated instantly—why hadn’t he realized earlier how difficult Shen Man was to handle? On the surface, this guy looked lethargic and too lazy to move, yet in reality he was like a slippery fish, impossible to pin down. The rare moments you finally caught him, he would act pitifully weak until you softened up, only to immediately resume provoking you.

Shooting Shen Man a look telling him to reflect on his actions, Xu Zhouye stood up and walked into the bathroom to shower.

Tearing off another piece of bread and popping it into his mouth, Shen Man chewed lazily. Watching the faint silhouette behind the frosted glass door, he abruptly realized he was in an astonishingly good mood.

It was a light, carefree joy he hadn’t experienced in ages.

The wet market on New Year’s Eve lacked its usual bustling clamor, standing largely deserted.

Vendors had gone home to celebrate the holiday as well. Shen Man bought two cuts of pork from a butcher stall before heading with Xu Zhouye to a nearby fresh produce supermarket.

The supermarket was small with far less variety than the open market, though at least fresh vegetables were still stocked.

Standing before the shelves, Xu Zhouye picked through hotpot soup bases.

“Is this one good?” he asked, holding up a packet.

Shen Man pointed to the one beside it: “This one tastes better.”

“Oh,” Xu Zhouye said. “Do you cook this yourself often?”

Shen Man said, “It’s simple.”

Virtually every year when he returned home for the holiday, he made hotpot alone on New Year’s Eve. For no particular reason—it simply required zero culinary skill. Once the broth boiled, tossing in vegetables for a few minutes yielded a hot meal.

Xu Zhouye swapped packets accordingly.

They didn’t buy much, yet it was plenty to last two or three days.

Carrying the grocery bags home, Xu Zhouye spotted roadside stalls displaying assorted fireworks and firecrackers. Instantly rooted to the spot, he turned to look at Shen Man with wide, eager eyes.

What else could Shen Man say? Extending a hand to take the groceries from him, he sighed: “Pick what you want.”

Unlike the major cities, fireworks weren’t banned out in the suburbs; New Year’s Eve night was always the liveliest time of year.

Shen Man remembered from his childhood that firecrackers and fireworks would echo until midnight, the entire street crackling non-stop while the air grew thick with the sharp scent of sulfur.

Kids naturally loved excitement; Shen Man used to lean over the balcony railing watching until midnight.

Later, firework bans left the holidays far quieter, until recent policy relaxations allowed outer suburbs far from city centers to light them once more.

Having clearly grown up in a city under strict bans, Xu Zhouye entered the firework shop looking no different from an elementary schooler stepping into a candy store, enchanted by everything in sight. Recognizing a generous spender on sight, the shopkeeper beamed, handing him several large red plastic bags while enthusiastically recommending which fountains looked prettiest and which sparklers were the most fun.

Bending down, Xu Zhouye earnestly selected a massive haul.

Watching him from the side, Shen Man couldn’t shake the illusion of being a parent taking his kid shopping.

Once everything was chosen, Shen Man stepped up to pay the bill.

Carrying two massive bags of fireworks out of the shop, Xu Zhouye couldn’t stop grinning.

When Shen Man asked what he was laughing about, he replied that he suddenly felt like he was being kept as a sugar baby.

Shen Man said, “Two bags of fireworks are enough to buy you?”

Xu Zhouye answered earnestly: “If it’s ge, a single sparkler is enough.”

Shen Man: “…Fair enough.”

Returning home, they turned on the television for background noise and began prepping ingredients in tacit harmony.

Hotpot was saved for tonight, so lunch was kept quick and simple. Xu Zhouye boiled two bowls of noodles; though meant as a quick fix, they turned out remarkably delicious.

After eating, Xu Zhouye wandered around the apartment, peeking once more into the unoccupied bedroom.

That room had belonged to Shen Man’s laolao. A vintage sewing machine still sat in the corner, slightly rusted from years of disuse. Faded New Year prints clung to the wardrobe doors, weathered by time, beside a small bookshelf stocked with composition anthologies and storybooks—likely left behind from Shen Man’s school days.

Pulling out a book, Xu Zhouye found the two characters Shen Man written across the title page.

The handwriting was unpolished, carrying the raw greenness of youth.

Flipping through a few more volumes, he abruptly spotted a thin photo album tucked in the corner. Opening it with careful hands, his eyes lit up. On the very first page sat a chubby-cheeked toddler inside a metal washbasin, a round red dot pressed onto his forehead with a thumb, beaming like a fortune doll from a New Year painting.

Written on the back of the photo was a date: Taken at home on [Year/Month/Day].

It was an album chronicling Shen Man’s growth, starting at age one and continuing straight through to age fourteen.

One photo per year, fourteen pages in total.

At fourteen, Shen Man stood beneath the shade of a tree in a T-shirt, flashing a reluctant peace sign toward the camera—a snapshot of teenage rebellion. On the back remained a line of writing noting the date, location, and a playful complaint:

“This brat is getting less cute by the year. Next year I’m definitely making him smile for the camera.”

It was his laolao‘s handwriting—flowing, spirited, and full of character, clearly belonging to someone lively and warm.

Gently brushing his thumb over the ink on the back of the photo, Xu Zhouye turned and walked out of the bedroom.

Shen Man was on the sofa watching television—a dull variety show that was lulling him into a doze.

Sitting down beside him, Xu Zhouye handed the object over to Shen Man.

“What’s this?” Shen Man asked.

“Found it in the bedroom,” Xu Zhouye said.

Shen Man cast a sidelong glance toward the bedroom door. Ever since his laolao passed away, he had scarcely stepped foot inside that room. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sort through her belongings, but that he didn’t dare. Crossing that threshold immediately dredged up images from that day, alongside the words the police officers had spoken to him…

Suffocating, paralyzing—an almost involuntary physiological response.

Thus, even when hiring cleaners to tidy the room, Shen Man almost never stepped inside.

“A photo album?” Without opening it, Shen Man still recognized what Xu Zhouye held.

Flipping open the first page, hazy memories surfaced, instantly recalling the album’s origin.

“We have to take one every year, to watch how our Man-man grows tall from this tiny little thing,” the elderly woman had murmured in dialect, stroking the boy’s fluffy head. “Grow slowly, grow slowly, no rush… Waipo will stay right beside you.”

And so, one picture a year—fourteen pages in total, spanning fourteen years.

Both had assumed they would keep each other company for a long, long time, never imagining tragedy would arrive before tomorrow.

“I thought…” Shen Man’s fingertips halted on the fourteenth page as he murmured softly, “I thought we still had plenty of time…”

Without realizing it himself, he had begun to tremble.

Watching his chest ache, Xu Zhouye reached out and gently encircled Shen Man’s shoulders.

“But it was all gone,” Shen Man whispered. “The police said she didn’t pass away instantly. She crawled from the bedroom all the way out to the living room… I… I…” His breathing grew ragged and heavy, as if gasping for air, his chest rising and falling violently.

“If only… if only I had come home earlier,” Shen Man choked out. “Just a little earlier…”

His laolao—his laolao wouldn’t have died alone in despair upon the cold floorboards.

Shen Man himself had never realized how deeply he had loathed himself during that period, twisting his helplessness over losing family into bitter hatred toward his own powerlessness.

Had he come home earlier, his laolao wouldn’t have suffered such a tragic end.

If only… if only…

Yet where in this world could one buy if onlys?

At fourteen, he could only accept reality in numb silence, devoid of any chance to undo it.

Tears spilled over his lashes. Clutching the photo album, Shen Man wept until his voice broke, whispering over and over: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it was all my fault, I’m sorry…”

Xu Zhouye found no words to console Shen Man.

Words felt utterly hollow in this moment—like a thin sheet of paper draped over bare shoulders in the dead of winter, a pathetic joke.

He could only hold Shen Man with every ounce of strength he possessed, terrified that loosening his grip even slightly would cause Shen Man to vanish into thin air.

Only when old wounds were torn open did one realize they had never healed at all, merely hidden beneath an illusion of indifference.

Xu Zhouye couldn’t bear to imagine how, every year after turning fourteen, a solitary Shen Man had endured every New Year inside this apartment thick with ghosts of memory.

Cooking alone, eating alone, watching dull television programs alone, lying alone upon a bed as frigid as an icebox—closing his eyes only to be haunted by the agonizing final moments of the person he loved most.

Across countless nights, had he relived that horrific accident in his dreams, watching her tumble from bed, crawl desperately across the floor, and slip away in hopeless solitude?

Xu Zhouye dared not ask; he dared not even think it.

Shen Man wept for a long time until he grew dazed, eyes glistening with moisture and the tip of his nose flushed red—like a lost little animal in the forest that a lion could effortlessly pounce upon and claim.

Yet he couldn’t bear to.

Not only could he not bear it, he sheathed his claws completely, clumsily patting Shen Man’s head with a gentle palm, wishing only to soothe away his sorrow.

“Thirsty.” As heavy emotions washed out alongside his tears, Shen Man gradually recovered, suddenly realizing he was curled in Xu Zhouye’s arms being comforted like a child. Flustered with embarrassment, he mumbled hoarsely: “Want some water.”

Treating him like fragile porcelain, Xu Zhouye carefully released his hold and stepped aside to grab a bottle of water.

Glancing at it, Shen Man murmured: “Want cold water…”

Xu Zhouye said, “It’s freezing outside, drinking ice water will upset your stomach.”

Lowering his head, Shen Man pulled a tissue to wipe away his tears.

Thoroughly defeated, Xu Zhouye sighed helplessly, turned toward the refrigerator, pulled out a chilled bottle of water, and handed it to Shen Man: “If you catch a cold, I’m scolding you.”

Taking the bottle, Shen Man gulped down more than half, finally feeling refreshed before remarking casually as if nothing had happened: “Hungry. Are we eating?”

Xu Zhouye: “Eat, eat, eat.” My dear ancestor, even if you wanted to eat my flesh right now, I’d carve off a piece and feed it to you by hand.