out of control

The "Encounter" restaurant was sparsely populated in the afternoon, with sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street and casting slanted spots of light on the smooth wooden floor.

The air was filled with the aroma of roasted coffee beans and the sweetness of desserts. Qi Shuo stood behind the bar, intently wiping a bone china coffee cup, his movements precise and mechanical.

His eyelashes were lowered, and the lines of his profile appeared too clear in the soft afternoon light, even revealing a hint of cold and tiredness.

Several days have passed since that spring rain. Life continues as usual, going back and forth between the hospital, the restaurant, and home. It's as if that damp evening, sitting silently opposite Tan Huaiyu, is just an insignificant and vague interlude in his mind.

But he knew that something was different. That brief, cool rainy night was like a pebble thrown into a lake of his heart; even after the ripples subsided, the traces remained beneath the surface.

"Brother Shuo," his colleague Alin leaned over with the order book, lowering her voice with a hint of gossipy excitement, "Look, the third booth by the window, that really handsome guy is here again."

Qi Shuo paused almost imperceptibly while wiping, then resumed his normal actions without looking up, simply humming in acknowledgment that he had heard.

"This is... the third time this week, right?" Arlene glanced over out of the corner of her eye and continued muttering, "Every time she orders the cheapest Americano, and sits there for the whole afternoon, with thick books in her hands, looking so serious. It's just... her complexion doesn't seem too good, too pale, like jade. She's pretty, but I always feel like... she looks a little unhealthy?"

She clicked her tongue. "Besides, it seems like he always sits in that spot, at that angle, where he can see right over the bar..."

Qi Shuo didn't reply, but simply placed the wiped cup back on the cup holder. He knew, of course, that Tan Huaiyu had arrived.

From the moment he pushed open the door, his faded light gray hoodie and his slightly dull brown hair, even indoors, caught his eye. Tan Huaiyu always kept his head down, went straight to his usual corner booth, put down his backpack, took out his books, ordered the cheapest Americano, and then immersed himself in his own world, as quiet as a painting.

Only occasionally would he raise his head, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping across the bar, lingering for a moment before quickly lowering again, his thick eyelashes concealing all the emotions in his eyes.

These "chance encounters" became frequent and regular after that rainy night. Qi Shuo couldn't figure out what Tan Huaiyu was up to. Was it a coincidence? Was it deliberate? Or... some kind of habitual place to stay after becoming homeless?

He didn't know, and subconsciously didn't want to delve into it.

Every time he saw that figure sitting quietly in the corner, a very subtle, indescribable feeling of unease would pass through his heart, like an almost invisible ripple on a calm surface of water, which he would then forcefully suppress. He chose to ignore it, just as he didn't see the dust floating in the air.

He delegated taking orders, delivering food, and settling payments to other waiters, never approaching that area himself. It was a silent yet crystal-clear demarcation.

Today seemed different. Instead of the usual textbooks or workbooks, Tan Huaiyu had a thick, seemingly old English novel laid out before him. He read slowly, his brow slightly furrowed, his slender fingers unconsciously tracing the edges of the pages. Occasionally, he would pause, pick up a pen, and jot something down in his notebook.

Sunlight streamed through the glass window, falling on his lowered profile and outlining his delicate features. It also made his excessively pale skin appear almost transparent, and the faint dark circles under his eyes were clearly visible in the light.

He looked very focused, but the tips of his fingers holding the pen seemed to be slightly white from the force he was applying.

Qi Shuo's gaze once again involuntarily swept over that corner before quickly returning. He turned and went to the kitchen to check the ingredients, moving a little faster than usual, as if trying to shake off the inexplicable irritation in his heart.

As it approached 3 p.m., the number of customers dwindled. Arlene went behind the bar to tidy up, leaving Qi Shuo alone at the front desk for the time being.

Qi Shuo looked down at the drinks menu and walked towards his seat.

Qi Shuo could clearly see the tired shadows under his eyelids, his pale lips were chapped from dehydration, and he could even smell a very faint scent on him, like cheap laundry detergent mixed with old book pages.

Tan Huaiyu wasn't wearing his school uniform today; his light gray hoodie was a bit too big, making him look even thinner.

The air seemed to freeze for a moment. The warm yellow light above the bar shone between the two of them, flickering on and off.

"No classes today?" Qi Shuo spoke first.

"Yes, I took a few days off."

Qi Shuo nodded and poured him a cup of hot water: "Be careful, it's hot."

Tan Huaiyu was taken aback, but obediently accepted it.

"Thank you, Brother Qi Shuo."

Qi Shuo nodded, his gaze falling on the book in his hand: "Can you understand it?"

“There are some parts I don’t quite understand.” Tan Huaiyu continued, his voice still steady, but if you listened carefully, you could detect a very faint, tentative tension. “Especially in the parts where the psychological descriptions shift, the tense and the tone of voice… it’s very subtle.”

As he spoke, he finally raised his eyes and looked at Qi Shuo. His amber eyes appeared somewhat pale under the light, lacking the deliberate, alluring innocence of the past, as well as the empty, lifeless stillness of the rainy night. Only a pure bewilderment at knowledge remained, along with a barely perceptible... expectation?

Or rather, it was a faint hope of finding someone to discuss things with, someone who might understand what he was saying.

Qi Shuo met his gaze. That look was so pure and direct that it made him feel somewhat uneasy.

He was used to Tan Huaiyu's pretense, his obsession, his gloom, and even his do-or-die calm in the rainy night, but he was not used to the look in his eyes that was almost "normal" and filled with academic confusion.

This left him momentarily at a loss for how to react. Should he continue to remain indifferent and distance himself? Or... should he treat him as an ordinary customer asking a question?

Silence spread between the two. The jazz music changed, and the saxophone's languid melody spiraled upwards.

Finally, Qi Shuo looked away, picked up the rag again, and casually wiped the already shiny countertop, his voice flat and emotionless: "Read it a few more times. Consider the context, pay attention to the characters' emotional changes and the narrative perspective."

He paused, then added, his tone still cold, "Finding a reliable translation to compare with will be helpful."

This was the least personal and most "business-like" advice he could give.

Tan Huaiyu's eyes seemed to brighten slightly, a faint and fleeting glimmer. His fingers tightened around the water glass, his fingertips turning even paler with the effort.

"Okay." He responded softly, without saying thank you again, only nodding.

Qi Shuo watched him disappear back into the sunlit corner, watched him carefully place the water glass on the table, and then pick up the heavy book again and start reading.

This time, his profile seemed less tense, and his slightly furrowed brows relaxed a bit.

Qi Shuo withdrew his gaze and continued his work, but his mind was far from calm. That cup of hot water, those few words about books, were like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, creating ripples far greater than he had expected.

He found that he had actually remembered the detail of Tan Huaiyu's fingertips turning white, the tired bluish-black under his eyes, and the fleeting, almost fragile light in his eyes when he mentioned that book.

This is wrong. This is going too far.

He should, as before, completely ignore and sever all ties. Tan Huaiyu is Tan Zhong's son, and one of the root causes of the tragedy is someone he should hate and stay away from.

Any leniency, any concern, would be a betrayal of Shanshan, a betrayal of all the blood and tears of the past.

Even if he was also a victim.

But that slender figure, that earnest look in his eyes as he talked about a difficult book with a puzzled expression, that lonely figure standing at the entrance of a convenience store in the rainy night with only meager luggage beside him... these images uncontrollably intertwined and surfaced in his mind.

He closed his eyes tightly, threw the rag into the sink, making a slight sound.

He couldn't think about it anymore. He turned and headed towards the kitchen, needing to do something else to distract himself.

As evening approached and darkness fell, the restaurant became increasingly crowded with customers.

Qi Shuo was busy taking orders, delivering food, and clearing tables, deliberately avoiding looking at that corner.

As the evening rush hour subsided, he carried a tray to clear the table of leftovers from a customer's meal. His gaze inadvertently swept over the table and noticed that Tan Huaiyu's booth was empty. The cup of hot water had long since cooled, leaving only half-empty pieces on the table. The thick copy of "Tender Is the Night" and the notebook were also gone.

They're gone. Qi Shuo felt a strange sense of relief, but then a faint sense of melancholy, which he himself didn't even notice, quietly crept into his heart.

He walked over and silently tidied up the booth. The table was clean, except for the glass water glass, which had a shallow ring of water stains on the inside. He picked up the glass, his fingertips touching the inside; it was icy cold. Completely different from the scalding temperature when he poured it out.

He took the cup back to the kitchen to be washed. The water washed over the cup, washing away the last trace. Just like that person who came and went, leaving nothing behind except that cup of unfinished cold water.

By the time he finished work, it was completely dark. The spring night air was chilly. Qi Shuo pushed his bicycle out of the alley behind the restaurant, the streetlights casting long shadows of him. He habitually headed towards the subway station, but stopped at an intersection.

On the other side of the intersection, under the dim streetlights, a small, makeshift shed for spicy hot pot stall steamed with heat. A few simple plastic tables and chairs were set up along the sidewalk, where a few students and migrant workers returning home late sat scattered about. And at the small table furthest inside, sat a familiar figure.

It's Tan Huaiyu.

In front of him sat a steaming bowl of cheap-looking mala tang (a type of spicy hot pot), its broth a rich, red oil, with a few pieces of greens and meatballs floating on top. He ate quickly, or rather, hastily, his head bowed, almost burying his face in the bowl, his chopsticks rummaging through the liquid, but barely picking up anything. Beside him lay his schoolbag and the thick book, *Tender Is the Night*.

He wore a thin gray hoodie that looked rather bare in the night wind. The streetlights cast their light on him, outlining his thin shoulder blades and slightly hunched back.

Qi Shuo stood in the shadows, watching the scene unfold. He saw Tan Huaiyu's nose, slightly red from the steam, his eyes glistening with tears from the chili oil, and his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly as he swallowed… It was an almost panicked, embarrassed way of eating, a stark contrast to his quiet reading in the restaurant.

Qi Shuo suddenly remembered Arlene's mutterings from that afternoon: "She always orders the cheapest Americano..."

I recalled Tan Huaiyu saying in the rainy night that he had "exchanged his inheritance rights for a sum of money, a house, and a car," and the scene of him sitting at a cheap roadside stall, wolfing down a bowl of spicy hot pot.

Given Tan Huaiyu's personality, he would probably keep all these things. What he would keep them for is unknown, but what is certain is that Tan Huaiyu is a very patient person, and these things must be for future planning.

A complex mix of emotions welled up in Qi Shuo's heart. It wasn't sympathy, he told himself, absolutely not.

That was merely a… cold observation. Tan Huaiyu chose a difficult path; it was his own choice, and he should bear the consequences himself.

But... looking at him now, Qi Shuo couldn't help but recall himself many years ago, when he was also in a cold night, struggling for a bowl of hot soup noodles and worrying about a little money for living expenses, looking utterly miserable.

At that time, he still had Sister Jin, Xiao Jue, and Shan Shan, and he needed to grit his teeth and persevere.

And Tan Huaiyu… what does he have? An uncle who wants to squeeze every last drop of value out of him? A magnificent but cold so-called “home” that wants to devour him alive?

The thought made Qi Shuo's heart clench, bringing a sharp, dull pain. He abruptly turned his eyes away, no longer looking at the lonely figure eating under the streetlight.

I can't watch anymore. This has nothing to do with him.

Whether Tan Huaiyu lives or dies, whether he lives in luxury or is destitute on the streets, is none of Qi Shuo's business. Between them lies a blood feud and an irreconcilable wound.

He took a deep breath, no longer hesitated, hopped on his bicycle, pushed off, and the wheels spun, quickly leaving the intersection and disappearing into the deep night.

He left that figure, that dim streetlamp, that steaming bowl of spicy hot pot, and that untimely, chilling feeling in his heart far behind.

The wheels rolled over the road, making a rhythmic rustling sound. The city's neon lights flowed alongside, forming blurry bands of light.

Qi Shuo rode very fast, the night wind billowing his coat and bringing a chill. He forced himself to focus on the road ahead, on whether to turn left or right at the next intersection, on the list of groceries he needed to buy tomorrow... on anything that could distract him from thinking about that overly pale face under the streetlights, and those slightly trembling, overly forceful fingers holding the thermos.

However, some images, once they enter one's field of vision, are like a brand, difficult to erase easily.

The glass of water, now cold and unfinished. The thick, difficult English book. The frail silhouette, hastily swallowing under the solitary lamp.

They were silent, yet heavy as mountains, pressing down on his heart, casting an indescribable, dark shadow over what should have been a peaceful night of returning home.

He knew that something was slowly and uncontrollably sliding toward a direction he could neither predict nor control.

And he had no choice but to pedal faster to escape that uncomfortable scene.