Gu Shiyu · Chat

When Gu Shiyu pushed open the glass door of the morning tea shop, the wind chime on the aluminum frame chimed three times. "Xiao Gu is here!" Wearing an apron, the old lady poked her head out from the kitchen, her wrinkles bunching up into a wide smile. "Go wash your hands quickly! The rice noodle rolls just came out of the steamer; I saved two plates for you." Gu Shiyu gave a short hum of acknowledgment, his gaze casually sweeping across the dining area. It was past ten on a Saturday morning, so the shop was relatively quiet. Beside a window booth leaned a pair of aluminum crutches, their silver frames wrapped with black anti-slip grips, resting there quietly. Next to the crutches sat a person. His gaze paused. They were looking down at their phone. Sunlight slanted through the glass window, catching the side of their face and casting a small, fan-shaped shadow beneath their eyelashes. Their features were remarkably striking—the kind of beauty that demanded a second look, entirely out of place in this greasy, steam-filled morning tea shop. Gu Shiyu lingered for a couple of seconds before pulling his eyes away and heading to the back kitchen to wash his hands. By the time he walked back out with the plates of steamed rice noodle rolls, the elderly couple was already sitting across from them, the three of them chatting. Understanding dawned on him: claiming to feel sick just to rush their kid home was almost certainly an excuse. The elderly couple had badgered him before, constantly lamenting how their child worked out of town, barely visited a few times a year, and how desperately they missed them. Turns out this was them—a little limper, huh. Completely oblivious to his blunder, he walked right over and set the rice noodle rolls onto the table. Gu Shiyu's gaze lingered for a beat without giving anything away; he simply pushed the plates aside, pulled out the opposite chair, and flopped down casually, making the chair groan with a loud creak. The old man looked a bit tense, while the old lady rubbed her hands together, her lips trembling as if she wanted to say something but held back. Gu Shiyu glanced between the old couple and the person across from him, then suddenly let out a chuckle. When he smiled, most of the fierce edge in his features dissipated, replaced by a rough, unvarnished warmth. Leaning forward with his elbows propped on the table, his voice wasn't loud, but it was deep and commanding, like distant summer thunder rolling across the horizon: "Alright, Uncle, Auntie, stop fretting and rubbing your hands. You think I don't know what you're up to?" He turned his head to look at the person, his eyes direct and unflinching—free of both pity and disgust. He just looked at them intently for a few seconds before breaking into a grin: "I was wondering how someone this good-looking could still be single, and why Auntie kept bugging me every other day about setting me up. So this was the plan all along." He paused, his tone abruptly turning serious. "First off, you're damn good-looking, so we can give this a shot. Second, I don't give a damn that you've got a bum leg. Third, as long as you're willing to stick with me, I'll treat you right. Fourth, when I say treat you right, I don't mean empty words—I mean it for real." He reached out, resting his rough, heavily calloused hand flat on the tabletop, displaying an old scar cutting diagonally from the web of his thumb down to his wrist. "Take it or leave it—it's your call." Outside the window, pigeons fluttered past with a soft rustle of wings. The sunlight fell across the ridge of his brow and nose, illuminating the pale little scar at the tail of his left eyebrow. And Gu Shiyu simply sat there with a roguish grin, waiting for an answer.