Chapter Thirty-One – Elusive

Time rushed by, far too swiftly. Unbeknownst to him, Su Yihui had already been working at the restaurant for over a month. Gradually, he adapted to the environment and the tasks. Perhaps because the age gap among the staff was not so great, there were plenty of topics to talk about. Yet, by nature, he was reticent and preferred not to say much, always quietly going about his own business. Fortunately, his work required little verbal communication.

Yihui’s duties were varied; besides assisting in the kitchen, he was also responsible for tidying the dining hall and several private rooms. The restaurant was small, so naturally, the staff was few: the owner and her girlfriend, two chefs in the kitchen, and the newly hired Yihui—five in all.

The owner, Cheng Shuguang, who had been rather cold towards Yihui at first, gradually changed his attitude, even showing subtle care and concern. The “boss lady”? Though everyone in the restaurant referred to her as such, she was merely Cheng Shuguang’s girlfriend; they were not married.

Yihui had heard from the two kitchen chefs that Cheng Shuguang didn’t actually like her, and was rumored to be homosexual. The girlfriend, it seemed, was only a cover for appearances.

Their families were old friends; their fathers had served in the military together. Cheng Shuguang’s father, during a mission, was injured rescuing his comrade, suffering a bullet wound to the right leg. Due to delayed treatment, he was left disabled and honorably discharged.

Later, both men married, and to repay the favor, they arranged a childhood betrothal, promising the daughter to the other’s son.

Perhaps it was fate; she had always been close to Cheng Shuguang since childhood, from kindergarten to university, always at the same school and in the same class.

Yet, strangely, both well past thirty, neither had any intention of marrying. Despite their parents’ anxiety, they had their own plans.

Cheng Shuguang insisted on prioritizing his career, while his girlfriend supported him unconditionally. Rumors about his orientation never troubled her—perhaps she dared not let them trouble her.

As for Cheng Shuguang’s girlfriend, she was a rare gentle soul, courteous to all, never arrogant nor servile. Each time the two married middle-aged chefs saw her, their eyes lit up—but only with admiration, never crossing the line or speaking disrespectfully.

Her name was unknown to Yihui; outsiders simply called her “boss lady.” Cheng Shuguang, when addressing her, always used vague words like “you” or “hey.”

In Yihui’s eyes, they did not resemble lovers, nor old couples whose passion had faded—just extremely respectful.

—Have you eaten yet?
—Not yet.
—Then I’ll go to the kitchen and make you something.
—Thank you.

Such exchanges, polite to the extreme, yet utterly devoid of warmth.

With the arrival of summer break, business boomed, lasting from ten in the morning until two in the afternoon. It was often a frenzied rush, hands and feet moving in tandem. Yihui scarcely had time to eat, and when the meal hour passed, his appetite vanished. Unlike the two chefs, who, when hungry, would casually pick a few bites from the customers’ dishes—no one would notice. Cheng Shuguang and his girlfriend’s stomachs had long adapted to delayed lunches.

“Yihui, go eat now.”

Yihui was clearing dishes in the hall when the voice called out behind him. Deep, slightly hoarse, sounding older than his years. In that voice, one seemed to hear unspoken burdens, glimpses of past hardships.

“There’s just one table left—I’ll finish up and then eat.” Yihui held a gray rag, bent over, meticulously wiping every corner of the square table. Then he gently placed the tableware into the blue plastic basket on the cart.

The weather outside was pleasant; the monsoon rains had briefly ceased. The cement ground was still damp, not yet dry. Sunlight fought its way through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled shadows indoors.

“Leave it for later—take care of yourself.” Yihui turned to see Cheng Shuguang standing behind him. “You’re so thin; if you don’t eat more, you won’t handle the work.”

I don’t want my employee to faint from hunger.

Yihui stared at him, surprised. It was the first time in over a month that the boss had spoken to him about anything beyond work. And, crucially, the words were full of concern.

But surely, it was just simple concern for an employee?

“I’ll take the dishes to the kitchen, then eat,” Yihui replied with a forced smile.

“I’ll do it,” Cheng Shuguang said, reaching for the cart’s handle. His palm brushed against Yihui’s hand.

They looked at each other, unexpectedly.

There was a subtle sense of something unspoken.

Yihui quickly withdrew his hand, lowered his head, and followed the lines of the floor tiles toward the kitchen.

Perhaps it was the heat, but his hand and face burned.

That afternoon, guests dwindled; after mealtime, the restaurant was nearly empty. Sometimes, a few online orders broke the quiet of the afternoon.

Earlier, due to understaffing, online ordering had not been available. With Yihui’s arrival, the busy atmosphere eased a little.

The restaurant launched a few afternoon tea promotions, and with the summer heat, business quickly picked up, threatening to surpass in-person dining.

The computer notification sounded twice in succession. The boss and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen.

Yihui took the receipts from the automatic printer to the kitchen, asking the chefs to prepare drinks and ice cream.

“That’s the boss lady’s job—we don’t know how,” said the slightly plump chef.

The other chef sat slumped on a stool, dozing. Yihui dared not wake him.

In truth, they had reason for their reluctance. Cooking was their specialty, but delicate pastries and drinks were beyond their training. They had tried once, but the customer complained the taste was wrong, resulting in a refund.

Yihui pushed open the sliding door and headed upstairs to find the boss lady.

“What am I supposed to do with you?”

Turning the corner at the stairs, a deliberately lowered voice drifted down the narrow corridor toward Yihui.

“If you don’t agree… then let’s stay as we are. Just being with you… I’m content,” the boss lady pleaded, her voice choked.

Yihui stood behind the wall, unable to advance or retreat.

In his hesitation, she appeared in his line of sight. She glanced at him, then quickly looked away. He lowered his gaze to avoid the awkwardness.

“Boss lady, there’s an order,” Yihui said, his voice trembling.

She sniffed, wiped away the moisture, and responded before heading downstairs.

“Boss, are you alright?” Yihui asked instinctively. “I think I just…”

Emotionally blunt, Yihui unwittingly exposed their awkward moment.

“Mind your own business,” Cheng Shuguang said, visibly annoyed. “Don’t meddle where you shouldn’t.”

The words struck like lightning, leaving Yihui stunned. Sensitive and introverted, he always spoke and acted with caution.

“Oh…” Unable to continue, he anxiously clenched his hands, as if that might ease his tension.

From afternoon till evening, the three carried their own worries, distracted and absent-minded.

“Yihui, wait.” Cheng Shuguang called him from behind. “Take this food home,” he said, handing him a packed supper.

That afternoon’s conversation weighed on Cheng Shuguang. The sorrows long buried in his heart, the secrets he could never speak, were like a tower of needles, struck daily. After days, its scarred surface was shocking. He deeply regretted venting his suppressed emotions on Yihui, but could not explain why.

Yihui’s frail appearance was truly pitiful. From afar, he hardly looked like a nineteen-year-old boy. His hair was a bit long, falling by his ears, bangs just millimeters above his eyes. Through the strands, his eyes shone with sorrow. A delicate nose, pale lips, a slender chin—he could have been a maiden in the bloom of youth. His tea-colored hair made his skin even more porcelain white. He resembled his mother; perhaps all her best genes had been passed to him, along with her self-doubt.

Yihui took the food, dazed, and nodded in thanks. He was still anxious, but seeing Cheng Shuguang’s calm expression, his tightly wound heart gradually relaxed.

“Boss, why don’t we get any?” the two middle-aged chefs grumbled.

“You steal food from the customers all the time—think I haven’t noticed?” Cheng Shuguang replied impatiently. “If you want to eat, pay for it.” With that, he pushed between them and walked inside.

“I’m telling you, Yihui, the boss treats you differently,” the plump chef said. “We’ve worked here for years and never gotten that kind of treatment.”

Yihui caught the undertone, saw the man ready for a speech, gave a mechanical smile, and turned away.

His words, their words, filled Yihui’s mind in an instant.

Cheng Shuguang—a man hard to fathom.

On the subway home, Yihui sat in a nearly empty carriage. His thoughts and worries grew larger and larger.