SBAB Chapter 45

Initially, the red mark on Lin Xin’s chin was simply the result of his clumsiness. He could only think back to how foolishly he had held the eyebrow razor the wrong way. In his frantic effort to avoid cutting his fingers, he ended up injuring the much more critical part—his face—using a razor so dull it was barely suitable for eyebrows. Yet now, that injury had become a reward for Lin Xin; every time it was exposed, it earned him a dose of gentle scolding and care that was uniquely his.

The “competition” (the dog) had been sent away.

Still, just when Lin Xin thought he had lucked out, life always found a way to strike back.

Cheng Shiyin personally helped him put on a medical mask, carefully covering the pea-sized wound on his chin. She then reminded him, “Whatever you do, don’t take off the mask while talking to me.”

“Why?” Lin Xin tilted his head in confusion, his finger already hooked under the edge of the mask. He thought to himself, This mask won’t be needed in a little while once the wound heals. Opportunities like this don’t come often.

Before he could lift it, Cheng Shiyin pressed his hand back down and explained, “Just listen to your voice—you don’t want us to cross-infect each other!”

Cross-infection? Lin Xin knew he’d only worn the mask to hide his stubble, and now that the stubble was gone, there was no reason to keep it on. He didn’t even have a cold—how could there be any talk of cross-infection?

Determined to prove his throat was fine, Lin Xin sang a few scales. The accuracy of the notes was irrelevant because, by the time he finished, even he began to wonder if he might be sick. His once “crystal-clear and melodious voice, like a babbling brook” (his own words), now sounded as if it were stuck in his throat with a thirty-year-old glob of phlegm. What began as a lie had somehow become reality.

But on closer reflection, Lin Xin’s throat wasn’t dry or itchy, his nose was clear, and he wasn’t running a fever. He had taken his temperature five or six times, and not once did it exceed normal by even half a degree. Apart from his raspy voice, he showed no other symptoms of a cold.

Ultimately, he arrived at this conclusion: he wasn’t sick. Instead, it must have been the result of eating too much salty food—like that tofu and fermented bean curd sandwich he’d eaten a week ago.

Only someone pretending to be asleep could come up with such an absurd conclusion.

When it came to “pretending,” Lin Xin was a master. He used this excuse to soothe himself, pretending not to notice yet another change. Meanwhile, he continued waking up early every day to shave, creating the impression that he had embraced an early-to-bed, early-to-rise, fitness-oriented lifestyle. The fitness routine, of course, was merely a cover to hide the fact that he was growing taller. Every time Cheng Shiyin noticed he had gained a little height, he would credit his “dedication to exercise.”

Cheng Shiyin’s cold was completely gone within three days, but Lin Xin’s mask remained firmly in place. His voice showed no signs of improvement, and it stayed just as hoarse as ever. As a result, Lin Xin began speaking less, his words sounding like sandpaper whenever he did speak. Over time, Cheng Shiyin grew used to this arrangement. Their communication relied more on eye contact than words.

Without Bebe around, the distance between the two on the couch returned to normal. However, to save Lin Xin from straining his voice, the distance gradually shrank until it was no more than the length of a TV remote.

Cheng Shiyin picked up the remote and started flipping channels, beginning with CCTV-1. After just a few clicks, she noticed something was off. She turned to Lin Xin and asked, “Is today New Year’s Eve?”

For young people with no school or nagging parents, it was hard enough to remember what day of the week it was, let alone the lunar calendar date. Lin Xin nodded and replied, “I forgot too.” Watching a pre-Spring Festival Gala show where a steaming plate of dumplings sat in front of the hosts, he casually suggested, “Why don’t we keep it simple and make some dumplings for tonight’s dinner?”

“New Year’s dinner.” Such a familiar yet distant phrase. Cheng Shiyin couldn’t even remember how many years had passed since she’d last had a reunion dinner with her family on New Year’s Eve. Even last year, when she was dating Gu Nian, he chose to go home to his family, leaving her to spend the evening alone.

Cheng Shiyin didn’t say much, but she nodded, her heart secretly brimming with joy.

With her approval, Lin Xin began rummaging through the freezer, boasting all the while, “I make the best dumplings. Almost as good as instant noodles—except, you know, without the flavor packets.” But after searching for a while, the atmosphere grew awkward. Closing the freezer, Lin Xin returned to the couch and admitted, “We don’t have any dumplings.”

Cheng Shiyin gave him a helpless look, then walked into the kitchen. A moment later, she came back with a cutting board and a bag of flour. “Then we’ll start from scratch and make our own,” she declared.

Obediently, Lin Xin went to wash his hands, returning with them held up as if he were a surgeon preparing for an operation. But surgeons weren’t chefs, and he sheepishly admitted, “Actually, I only know how to boil them.”

Cheng Shiyin sighed, half amused and half annoyed. She scooped a bowl of flour onto the board and said, “I’ll teach you.” It seemed she’d do anything for a proper New Year’s dinner.

“Make a well in the flour, like this, and pour water into the center… Watch my hands—knead it like this. Got it?” Cheng Shiyin patiently demonstrated, starting with slow movements before breaking them down into even smaller steps. Lin Xin, however, frowned as he watched, unable to figure out how the dough became smooth.

Lin Xin tried kneading the dough but quickly asked, “What’s your thumb supposed to be doing?” After several rounds of explanations, Cheng Shiyin finally gave up on teaching him how to knead. If she continued, they might not even have dumplings ready by the end of the Lantern Festival. Thus, Lin Xin was demoted from a culinary apprentice to a mere errand boy.

While Cheng Shiyin kneaded the dough, Lin Xin fetched water for her. As Cheng Shiyin seasoned the filling, Lin Xin handled the task of mincing the meat. Surprisingly, he showed a real talent for it—his strength and speed made him more effective than the meat grinder she hadn’t even bothered to take out. The two worked seamlessly together, and before long, the cutting board was covered with plump, neatly wrapped dumplings, ready for Lin Xin to finally shine at his specialty: boiling them.

At last, it was Lin Xin’s time to shine, and he took the opportunity to chat more amiably with Cheng Shiyin. But perhaps the New Year beast hadn’t yet been banished, as even the dumpling boiling didn’t go smoothly.

After dropping the dumplings into the boiling water, Lin Xin asked, “Do you want them served in soup, or with dipping sauce?”

“Dipping sauce,” Cheng Shiyin decided after a moment of thought.

Hearing this, Lin Xin bent down to retrieve some bowls and plates. Just as he did, the water came to a boil, bubbling furiously and spilling over the edge of the pot. Cheng Shiyin quickly stepped in, pouring cold water into the pot to calm the boil, but the stovetop had already become a chaotic mess.

Once the dipping sauce was ready, Lin Xin and Cheng Shiyin each carried their bowls to the dining table. Just as they left, the water boiled over again. Lin Xin dashed back to manage the situation, only to create another mess. After this second fiasco, Lin Xin decided he couldn’t leave the pot unattended for even a moment.

The third time the water boiled, Lin Xin stayed by the stove. However, when he reached for a bowl of cold water, he realized it was empty and had to refill it. Predictably, chaos ensued once more.

Cheng Shiyin finally understood how some people could burn down a kitchen even while following a recipe. She no longer trusted Lin Xin to handle the dumplings alone. Instead, she suggested, “I’ll watch the pot. You step back and get me a glass of water.”

As she spoke, Cheng Shiyin walked toward Lin Xin. Lin Xin stepped back to make room, but at that exact moment, Cheng Shiyin slipped on water that had spilled from the boiling pot earlier. She instinctively grabbed onto Lin Xin’s pants to steady herself, trying to resist the impending fall.

Lin Xin, caught between trying to support the falling Cheng Shiyin and holding onto his pants to prevent them from being pulled down, was in a frantic struggle. In the end, Cheng Shiyin barely managed to stay upright, but Lin Xin lost his balance and fell flat on his back.

Cheng Shiyin reached out to pull Lin Xin up but misjudged his weight, falling straight into his arms with a thud.

Rubbing her nose, Cheng Shiyin lifted her head, only to find herself inches away from Lin Xin’s face. The sudden lack of distance between them was startling. Only a couple of centimeters, supported by their strained necks, kept them from touching. Cheng Shiyin could even feel their eyelashes brushing together. For a moment, she forgot she was supposed to get up.

She stared straight into Lin Xin’s eyes, her gaze piercing as though she could see right through him. Lin Xin didn’t look away either; he met her gaze head-on. His thoughts were laid bare in front of her, leaving nothing to hide. The moment lingered, their silent exchange deepened by the charged atmosphere—until a “brother” in Lin Xin’s body decided it was time to join the scene.

Lin Xin forcefully calmed his emotions, trying to steady his pounding heart. In a soft voice, he asked, “Are you okay?”

His voice, though still slightly raspy, was no longer unpleasant. It was low and quiet, but those four words echoed in Cheng Shiyin’s mind, leaving her momentarily speechless. Only when Lin Xin repeated the question did she snap back to reality? Realizing how intently she had been staring at him, her ears turned red with embarrassment. She quickly struggled to get up.

Her flustered state showed in her clumsy movements. After a few failed attempts to rise, she had no choice but to use Lin Xin’s body for leverage. She placed her hand somewhere for support, but Lin Xin suddenly froze, his expression transforming into the iconic painting The Scream. His entire demeanor screamed despair, as though Death himself were counting down next to him.

Cheng Shiyin, utterly confused by Lin Xin’s reaction, grew worried. The spot she was using for support felt warm and firm, almost cylindrical.

Realizing exactly what Cheng Shiyin was thinking, Lin Xin immediately snapped out of his daze and shouted, “It’s the rolling pin! It fell earlier! Go check if the water is boiling—I’ll pick it up!”