The perfectly good idol-drama vibe was ruined the moment Jiang Tongyan opened his mouth, turning it into a comedic skit.
In fact, he did it on purpose—he didn’t want to see Qian Xiaoke cry. That kind of melodramatic role didn’t suit someone so cute.
“How can you say that?” Qian Xiaoke swatted him, then wriggled out of his arms. “Don’t curse my husband.”
Jiang Tongyan chuckled inwardly: Protecting me, huh?
Little did he know, in Qian Xiaoke’s mind, the ‘husband’ role wasn’t his yet.
“Alright, wipe your snot,” Jiang Tongyan said, taking the tissue from him and rubbing his nose hard. “Gross.”
Qian Xiaoke stared at him, still mumbling apologies.
“Stop it, or I’ll cut your tongue off,” Jiang Tongyan said, finishing the wipe. He held the tissue in one hand and grabbed Qian Xiaoke’s umbrella-holding hand with the other, leading him to a trash can to toss it. “Cry again, and I’ll throw you in here.”
Qian Xiaoke saw him seriously threatening him and burst into a teary laugh. “Then I’ll see you off tomorrow.”
“You? Seeing me off? Forget it.” Jiang Tongyan actually wanted Qian Xiaoke to send him off, but Qian Xiaoke didn’t have a car. The airport was far—sure, he could pay for a cab there, but the return? Qian Xiaoke, that penny-pincher, wouldn’t shell out for a ride back, switching buses and subways multiple times. Just thinking about it sounded exhausting.
Jiang Tongyan didn’t want him to go through that—he was being considerate.
But to Qian Xiaoke, it sounded like he was being called a bother, so he just pouted and dropped it.
They stood under the umbrella at the neighbourhood gate. The rain poured fiercely, making it hard to hail a cab.
Waiting by the roadside, Jiang Tongyan said, “I’m fine. I’ve already booked a doctor—going back, I’ll get a proper one to check me out.”
Proper doctor?
Qian Xiaoke tilted his head at him. “You saying I’m not proper?”
“What do you think?” Jiang Tongyan grinned at him.
Whether Qian Xiaoke was proper or not, they both knew the answer.
Qian Xiaoke turned back, staring at a nearby puddle. He heard Jiang Tongyan say, “You don’t need to feel guilty. I’m partly to blame too.”
It was true, their beginning was a mistake.
Not entirely alcohol’s fault—they’d drunk a lot the night before, but the next day, they weren’t so out of it that they couldn’t think. Looking back, they both had impure intentions, each trying to take advantage of the other, which led to this huge mess.
It was a lesson from fate.
Good, in a way—it taught them something, though the cost was steep.
“Xiaoke.”
Qian Xiaoke looked at Jiang Tongyan. It was the first time he’d called him without his surname—pretty intimate.
“Hm?”
“Let’s call our treatment done here,” Jiang Tongyan said. “We both know what this time’s been about.”
Jiang Tongyan had misunderstood—he thought Qian Xiaoke was also out to take advantage of him. But really, Qian Xiaoke’s goal was pure and simple: just healing him.
“Tomorrow, when I’m back, the doctor will give me a plan. You don’t need to worry,” Jiang Tongyan said. He found the rainy day annoying, making his heart feel damp. “Forget what should be forgotten, let go of what should be let go.”
Now it was Jiang Tongyan’s turn to play the tragic lead, but Qian Xiaoke wasn’t buying into the drama.
“The taxi’s here,” Qian Xiaoke said as a taxi pulled up. Jiang Tongyan got in and looked at Qian Xiaoke standing there, reluctant to leave but forced to go. “Head back.”
At that moment, Jiang Tongyan felt a bit dead inside. He resolved not to contact Qian Xiaoke again until he was fully healed.
But men’s resolutions are sometimes like a fart—released, sniffed, and gone.
One hour after parting with Qian Xiaoke, back at his hotel, Jiang Tongyan missed him so much he got hard.
Ten hours after parting, on the way to the airport, he suddenly realised he didn’t even have Qian Xiaoke’s phone number. He immediately called Cheng Sen to get it.
Twenty hours after parting, at 30,000 feet, staring at the clouds, he pictured Qian Xiaoke rolling happily on them.
Barely separated, Jiang Tongyan missed Qian Xiaoke like crazy.
All his prior decisions vanished the moment he landed in New York.
Off the plane, he tried contacting Qian Xiaoke right away. However, Qian Xiaoke looked at the strange string of numbers and searched on the computer. He found that it was an international call and refused to answer.
He figured no one from abroad would call him—until half an hour later, it hit him: Could it be Jiang Tongyan?
Probably not.
Qian Xiaoke thought: Why would Jiang Tongyan call me? He wouldn’t think of me.
At that thought, he felt a tiny pang of disappointment. Even if Jiang Tongyan said he would come back someday, who knew how long ‘someday’ was? Back in New York, with all his friends and family, he would soon forget a boring, useless guy like him. By their next meeting, Jiang Tongyan might not even recall his name.
That thought stung a bit.
Qian Xiaoke didn’t answer Jiang Tongyan’s call. Both clutched their phones, lost in their own wild thoughts.
Back home, unpacking, Jiang Tongyan suddenly spotted a small coin pouch with a husky face on it in his suitcase.
Qian Xiaoke had given it to him that night they ate barbecue.
They’d stuffed themselves, strolling back to Qian Xiaoke’s place, passing street stalls with cheap trinkets. The pouch was 12 yuan—Qian Xiaoke said the dog face had his vibe and bought it for him.
Back then, Jiang Tongyan had scoffed at it. Now, it felt precious.
He sat on the carpet, holding the pouch and grinning stupidly. His phone rang—work, notifying him about tomorrow’s meeting.
The last handover meeting at this company—after that, he would start the resignation process.
Jiang Tongyan got up, circled a date on his calendar.
He planned to return to China two months from then, though he wasn’t sure it would pan out.
After the call, he checked his phone again, added Qian Xiaoke on WeChat—no response from the kid.
Jiang Tongyan panicked, messaging Cheng Sen: Tell Qian Xiaoke to hurry up and accept my friend request!
Cheng Sen was floored: What? You two haven’t even added each other yet? What’ve you been doing?
In Cheng Sen’s mind, they were already a thing. But Jiang Tongyan was asking for Qian Xiaoke’s number before leaving, and now begging him to push Qian Xiaoke to accept his request—what was this?
Were they playing some game?
Had he misunderstood? Were they not dating, just casual hookups?
It didn’t add up, no matter how he looked at it.
Cheng Sen couldn’t fathom that his sharp-minded work friend and future partner turned brain-dead around his company’s little receptionist.
Burdened with duty, Cheng Sen had to go to Qian Xiaoke. As a friend, he was truly breaking his heart for Jiang Tongyan.
Jiang Tongyan, having unpacked, didn’t want to move. He sat on the carpet, sipping water, staring out the window, waiting for Qian Xiaoke to approve his request.
The trip had been tiring—he should’ve showered and slept, but until Qian Xiaoke accepted his request, he couldn’t relax for a minute.
That song got it right—love’s a tormenting thing.
Way too tormenting.
By now, Jiang Tongyan had totally forgotten his vow not to contact Qian Xiaoke until he was healed.
His phone pinged. He grabbed it fast.
Qian Xiaoke had accepted his friend request and sent a pig-head emoji.
A pink pig with a question mark.
Question mark my ass! Jiang Tongyan thought. Shouldn’t he send a kiss emoji instead?
He sent a voice message: “What’re you up to? Why didn’t you pick up my call?”
Qian Xiaoke was at work, glanced around to make sure no one was near, then listened.
He replied in text: At work. You need something?
I need something to be able to call you? What kind of person are you!?
Jiang Tongyan started getting mad again.
After all this time together, he’d figured it out—if he ended up with Qian Xiaoke, he might age prematurely from the stress, maybe even hit menopause early.
Knowing that, he still couldn’t stop himself from wanting to reach out.
Jiang Tongyan roasted himself inwardly, then kept chatting.
“Can’t I call you for no reason?” Jiang Tongyan said. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow afternoon.”
Hearing about the doctor, Qian Xiaoke got nervous early.
Jiang Tongyan wanted to chat more, but after a few lines, Qian Xiaoke got busy.
Fine, be busy—Jiang Tongyan huffed, rolled his eyes, and went to shower.
He suddenly felt like he was in a long-distance relationship with Qian Xiaoke. Far apart, but… kinda fun.
In the shower, he checked himself in the mirror, poked at his frustrating organ, and sighed.
With the time difference between China and New York, Jiang Tongyan started adjusting his clock. Whenever he remembered, he would message Qian Xiaoke on WeChat.
He used to only use WeChat for work with people back home—no emojis ever. But for Qian Xiaoke, he had saved a bunch, sending one whenever he remembered.
So childish.
The next day, Jiang Tongyan saw the doctor. He got a physical first, confirming the issue wasn’t there. He was relieved and then went to a psychologist.
It was embarrassing, but he laid it all out—how he went limp, how he had half risen then flopped, how he had nearly triumphed only to wilt at the last second.
He held nothing back, spilling every detail.
He wasn’t sure if the therapist was just comforting him, but she said it was just stress—relax, and he’d see big improvements.
Jiang Tongyan didn’t buy it. With a wave, he booked a full therapy course, then messaged Qian Xiaoke to report.
Jiang Tongyan: What’re you doing? I saw the doctor.
Qian Xiaoke replied: Whoa, whoa, whoa! I know who Shen Huiming is now!
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