The Daughter-In-Law Is So Pitiful? Just Take Her Home and Pamper Her! - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Anniversary Celebration

The rotating barber pole outside the shop was wrapped in red silk by Sister Lin, spinning loops of festive glow into the twilight.

Chen Mi crouched at the entrance, adjusting the sign that read: “Anniversary Sale – 50% Off Everything!” Behind him, he could hear Xu Yao haggling with the hardware store owner.

“Fifty! Just fifty!” the hardware shop owner slapped his bald head. “Renting this speaker for one day usually costs at least a hundred and twenty—”

Xu Yao said nothing, cigarette between his lips, his thumb casually scraping the blade of a razor. The hardware boss immediately caved: “Alright, thirty! Not a cent lower!”

Xu Yao neatly pulled out the exact amount—thirty yuan, not a coin more, not a coin less—slapped it on the table, grabbed the speaker, and left without another word.

Back at the shop, just as he finished setting up the speaker, Sister Lin called, “Xiao Xu, hurry over—we’re just waiting on you!”

Xu Yao answered and took a seat at the dining table, right next to Chen Mi.

Sister Lin began pouring drinks. The clear glass jar she brought was filled with dark purple-red liquid, with plump waxberries floating on the surface. Chen Mi took a cautious sip—the sweetness melted across his tongue, a far cry from the harsh burn of the homemade spirits back home.

“Sweet, right?” Sister Lin winked proudly. “Family recipe. Even kids can drink it…”

“I’m twenty, not a kid,” Chen Mi muttered, but he couldn’t resist taking another big gulp.

The warm liquid slid from his throat to his stomach, reminding him of the warmth he felt when he used to crawl into Xu Yao’s bed at night. The thought alone made his ears turn red.

Xu Yao let out a soft snort and reached for Chen Mi’s glass. “Alright, that’s enough—”

Before he could finish, Uncle Li hollered teasingly. “Old Xu, you jealous?”

“Come on, Xiao Mi, Uncle’ll fill you up again!” In the blink of an eye, another glass was pushed into Chen Mi’s hand. The neon light refracted through the wine, making it look like a cup of melted ruby.

A few rounds in, Chen Mi stared up at the ceiling and realized the cobwebs were glowing.

By the fifth glass, Xu Yao’s usually fierce face looked especially good—particularly that scar over his right brow, curling like a crescent moon into his temple.

“…Spinning…” Chen Mi muttered, grabbing a fistful of Xu Yao’s shirt. The cotton wrinkled in his grip, carrying the scent of hair dye and minty cigarettes. His forehead dropped onto Xu Yao’s shoulder.

“Serves you right,” Xu Yao muttered gruffly, but wrapped an arm around him anyway to steady his swaying frame. Chen Mi inhaled deeply. Beneath the sweet wine, Xu Yao’s scent was like sunbaked leather dipped in snowmelt.

The lively dinner table suddenly fell silent. Chen Mi looked up and saw Sister Lin place her wine glass down with a sharp clink, while the invited neighbors all stared at them, wide-eyed.

“Xu Yao…” Chen Mi heard his own voice, floating as if from far away. “Do you know… what sound a truck makes when it hits someone?”

Xu Yao’s arm stiffened instantly. He turned to the guests and said flatly, “Sorry for the poor hospitality tonight. I’ll host again another day.”

Chen Mi started giggling, his fingertip poking at Xu Yao’s chest. So strange—he was the one who was drunk, so why was Xu Yao’s heartbeat loud as a drum?

“Like a watermelon…” Chen Mi traced an arc in the air, his finger brushing sweat on Xu Yao’s collarbone. “…falling from the third floor. Red. Smashed…” The images bubbled up in his mind, swollen by alcohol.

“My dad’s gold chain flew into a sewer. His gold watch didn’t fall though—it got stuck in the grate. I crouched nearby counting… counting his fingers… One was missing…”

His throat caught. He grabbed Xu Yao’s right hand and pressed it against his left ribs. Even through his hoodie, the raised scar could be felt. “Here! He broke it… Doctor said, two centimeters to the side and…”

The scar beneath Xu Yao’s palm writhed like a centipede. Xu Yao suddenly clenched his hand. Chen Mi hissed in pain, but then laughed, loud and bright: “…Why are you shaking? I’m not gonna die.”

Something wet landed on his face. Chen Mi blinked in confusion, only realizing he was crying when Xu Yao roughly wiped the tears from his eye with a thumb.

That thumb was thick with calluses, rough enough to sting. On impulse, Chen Mi opened his mouth and bit it. Xu Yao inhaled sharply.

“What are you, a dog?” Xu Yao cursed lowly, but didn’t pull away. Chen Mi released his bite and pressed the hand against his flushed cheek, rubbing it gently. So cool—just like the damp towel his mother used to place on his forehead when he had a fever.

Too drunk to sit straight, Chen Mi collapsed into Xu Yao’s arms. As he fell, his lips brushed the mole on Xu Yao’s collarbone. Xu Yao tensed, his hand instinctively cupping the back of Chen Mi’s head, pressing him even closer.

The calico cat suddenly leapt onto the table, knocking over Chen Mi’s wine glass. The fuchsia liquid dripped across the tabletop, staining Chen Mi’s jeans. He dazedly looked down, only for Xu Yao to lift his chin and turn his face up again.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Xu Yao’s voice was low and hoarse, thumb brushing the wine from Chen Mi’s lips.

Chen Mi smiled foolishly, his reactions dulled by the alcohol. He reached out and gently traced the scar on Xu Yao’s brow. “This… looks nice… like a crescent moon…”

Xu Yao suddenly grabbed his wrist and pinned him down in the barber chair. The rainbow lights from the rotating pole washed over their faces. Chen Mi saw a storm brewing in Xu Yao’s eyes—like the ocean before a typhoon.

“Look carefully,” Xu Yao leaned down, nose almost touching his, “and see who it is that’s holding you right now.”

Chen Mi blinked. Through the haze of drunkenness, Xu Yao’s face overlapped with, then separated from, the vicious ones in his memory. He wrapped his arms around Xu Yao’s neck and buried his face in the familiar minty-smoke-scented crook.

“It’s you… only you… Xu Yao…”

Xu Yao’s hand rested on the small of Chen Mi’s back, feeling each jutting vertebra through the thin hoodie. The boy clung to him, breath sweet with wine, puffing hot air against his neck.

“Let go. I’ll take you upstairs.” Xu Yao tried prying his arms off, but Chen Mi clung tighter like an octopus.

“Don’t want the attic…” the drunk boy slurred, nuzzling under his chin. “It’s cold…” He even shivered theatrically, though it was unclear if it was real or just for sympathy. (Truthfully, it wasn’t cold—it just wasn’t as warm as Xu Yao’s arms.)

Xu Yao clicked his tongue and half-dragged, half-carried him toward his room. Chen Mi’s legs gave out, and he nearly collapsed—Xu Yao caught him by the waist. The slimness of that waist startled him. He frowned. “Still so skinny, you ungrateful brat.”

“I’m not skinny anymore…” Chen Mi suddenly lifted his hoodie and grabbed Xu Yao’s hand, pressing it to his stomach. “Feel… it’s soft now…”

His skin, soaked in alcohol, was burning hot like a coal. Xu Yao flinched as if shocked, but Chen Mi stubbornly pulled his hand back.

His fingertips sank into a soft patch of flesh—it was true, he’d gained a little weight since he first arrived.

Xu Yao’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Suddenly, he remembered Sister Lin joking, “Xiao Mi’s waist—makes even the girls jealous.”