Kiss you at Sunset (BL) - Chapter 12

On the surface, Zhou Shiluo appeared calm, showing no trace of embarrassment. But in reality, he was dying inside, wishing he could either find a hole to crawl into or time-travel back to smack his past self for changing that nickname.

Yang Dachao might not have seen through him, but if he couldn’t even hear the awkwardness in the air, his forty-plus years of life would have been wasted. He glanced at Zhou Shiluo in surprise and turned to Yang Jin. “You two know each other?”

Yang Jin responded with a light “mm” and reminded him, “Old Man Tan’s grandson.”

Yang Dachao didn’t immediately react. He racked his brain for a while before suddenly realizing who Yang Jin meant by “Old Man Tan.” His eyes widened. “You’re from Xiaocui’s family?”

Zhou Shiluo had no memory of the man in front of him, but from the way he spoke, he could guess that the “Xiaocui” he mentioned was his mother—Tan Cui.

Once Yang Dachao sorted out the connection, he immediately became enthusiastic. “You’ve grown so tall! Last time I saw you, you had just learned to walk. I wonder if you remember who I am—I’m Yang Jin’s uncle. Your mom and I grew up together in the village.”

After saying that, he sensibly added, “You probably don’t remember me. I left when I was eighteen and haven’t been back in over twenty years. I lost contact with most people.”

Zhou Shiluo forced a stiff smile. He hated these kinds of questions about childhood memories the most.

The main reason he avoided going back to the countryside was that every time he did, from one end of the village to the other, anyone he met would ask: “Do you remember who I am?”

Every single time, he wanted to scream, Who the hell cares?

Completely oblivious to Zhou Shiluo’s irritation, Yang Dachao kept talking to himself. “Wait a minute, didn’t your mom marry some rich old man? But his surname wasn’t Wu, right? Was it Wang? Or Zhou? Neither seems right…”

That comment instantly hit Zhou Shiluo’s sore spot, and his expression darkened.

Yes, his dad was older than his mom—by a full ten years—but when those words came from someone else’s mouth, the meaning completely changed. It sounded like they were equating Tan Cui with those women who would do anything for money.

But in reality, his parents had both been in their first marriage. Back then, Zhou Chongde had traveled back and forth between the north and south every week for a full year and seven months just to court Tan Cui.

Some people, however, never looked beyond the surface.

He remembered how, when he was little, Tan Cui would always come home fuming after attending gatherings with Zhou Chongde. Eventually, she started refusing to go with him altogether.

As a result, the two grew further and further apart until Zhou Chongde, unable to bear the loneliness, cheated—leading to their divorce.

Since that moment, Zhou Shiluo had sworn that to avoid unnecessary trouble in the future, he would only date someone close to his age. Neither too old nor too young.

If the age gap was too large, people would assume it wasn’t real love—that it was about money, or worse, that they were being kept. If the person was too young, it would feel like raising a kid.

Yang Jin knew Zhou Shiluo’s temper, so before he could explode, he decisively cut off Yang Dachao.

“He was surnamed Wu,” Yang Jin said, his tone clearly displeased as he frowned slightly. “Uncle, hurry up and finish setting up the bed. Didn’t you have other things to do later?”

Reminded of his mahjong appointment, Yang Dachao quickly abandoned the small talk and focused on moving the mattress inside with Yang Jin.

Zhou Shiluo had just bought the apartment and hadn’t had time to furnish it. The place looked extremely spacious, almost too big with how sparsely it was set up.

Yang Dachao, barely settled for two minutes, suddenly let out a “Yo!” and started inspecting the place like a supervisor on a site visit. After circling the room, he asked, “This place is pretty big. How many square meters?”

The previous conversation was still stuck in Zhou Shiluo’s chest like a lump, and he didn’t feel like talking to Yang Dachao at all.

But out of courtesy, he answered in a noticeably cool tone, “Eighty square meters. The usable space is around sixty.”

Hearing this, Yang Dachao raised his voice in admiration, “That’s plenty! Owning a place this big in the capital, and a school district apartment at that, must’ve cost a fortune!”

Zhou Shiluo was speechless. He instinctively looked toward Yang Jin, hoping he’d hurry up and get his uncle out of here.

But Yang Jin had no intention of helping. He stood quietly to the side, acting completely uninvolved.

“Well, of course,” Yang Dachao continued. “Your family’s got money. Even if you bought ten of these, your dad could afford it.”

Zhou Shiluo caught a hint of sourness in his tone, and whatever faint goodwill he had initially felt toward him vanished completely. He no longer wanted to engage, only hoping they would finish setting up the bed soon—so he could anonymously leave a negative review for the installation service.

“Master Yang, how much longer will this take? I’ve got something urgent to do.” Zhou Shiluo casually made up an excuse.

Ever since learning about Zhou Shiluo’s background, Yang Dachao had become much more casual in addressing him, switching from “Mr. Wu” to “Little Wu.”

He lazily pulled out the cigarette he had just put away and lit it right inside the apartment without asking. Taking a drag, he said, “Half an hour, tops.”

Zhou Shiluo didn’t want to start a fight so early in the morning. He figured half an hour would pass soon enough. Watching Yang Dachao puff away as he worked, he quietly moved to the window and opened it for ventilation.

At that moment, he felt an intense gaze on him from the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he turned and locked eyes with Yang Jin.

Yang Jin looked at him in astonishment, his expression one of sheer disbelief, as if he had just discovered a new species.

Zhou Shiluo had no idea why, but recalling the Daniel Wu incident from earlier, embarrassment crept up again. He quickly averted his gaze, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

Even while working, Yang Dachao couldn’t keep his mouth shut. His nicotine addiction was heavy—one cigarette after another. Even with the windows open, the smell lingered.

He asked about everything—his family’s health, his job, his love life.

If Zhou Shiluo felt like answering, he’d say a couple of words. If he didn’t, he’d just reply with a single syllable or not respond at all.

Annoying as he was, Yang Dachao was undeniably efficient. With Yang Jin assisting, they finished assembling the bed in less than half an hour, barely needing Zhou Shiluo’s help.

Zhou Shiluo unconsciously sighed in relief. Watching the two of them sweat through the task, he offered politely, “Master Yang, thanks for the hard work. Want some water before you go?”

Yang Dachao, throat dry from smoking, waved a hand. “Nah, I’ll just use the bathroom real quick.”

He walked off coughing, eventually hacking up a glob of phlegm.

Zhou Shiluo frowned, suppressing his discomfort.

Yang Jin, meanwhile, had been standing quietly this whole time, and they hadn’t exchanged a single proper word since meeting.

Glancing at Yang Jin’s dirt-covered hands, Zhou Shiluo hesitated. They’d be seeing each other again that evening for Jiang Yutang’s birthday, so maybe he should break the ice first.

“Your hands are filthy. Want to wash them in the kitchen?” he offered.

Yang Jin glanced at him, then at his hands, and gave a soft “mm” before heading to the kitchen.

Yet, Zhou Shiluo didn’t hear any running water. Puzzled, he followed—and found Yang Jin standing still, staring at a mess of egg yolk on the floor.

Zhou Shiluo had long forgotten about that. He hesitated for two seconds, then calmly grabbed a tissue and cleaned it up.

When he finished, he noticed Yang Jin was now staring at something else—the frying pan, where a burnt-black egg sat.

Just as he was about to ask what was so fascinating, Yang Jin frowned slightly, looking at him like he was an idiot.

“How have you even survived this long?”