Unforgettable Touch - Chapter 17

Chapter 17 – Cold War, Hot War

Shu Zhenshan had never been good at opening up to others. In fact, for a long time, he was completely closed off.

In the second grade, his father sent him to the U.S. for school. The school was located in a Midwestern City he had never heard of before. He was the only Chinese student there, instantly becoming the “center of attention.”

In the dull school life, the biggest source of amusement was a new kid everyone could freely pick on—a black-haired, dark-eyed child who couldn’t even speak proper English, had no power or connections locally, and could be bullied without consequence. That was far more entertaining than provoking the red-nosed alcoholic teacher.

Classmates mimicked Shu Zhenshan’s accent and butchered his Chinese name, giving him nicknames—this was already the gentlest kind of bullying.

Because the area had experienced a yellow fever outbreak in the 19th century, they called Shu Zhenshan “Yellow Fever.” They played a game during breaks called “Attack the Virus,” led by the older kids, while the younger ones followed like vultures waiting to land a kick. The drunken teacher even watched from afar with amusement.

The worst incident left Shu Zhenshan’s nose and mouth bleeding, staining an entire bucket of water red.

At home, he was accompanied by a nanny who couldn’t speak English. The neighborhood was rough—gangs ran rampant, and carrying guns was legal. Shootings were frequent. In fifth grade, Shu Zhenshan was walking home from the grocery store when his bag was suddenly yanked hard. A sharp pain hit his leg—exploded canned tomatoes smeared all over his legs, red pulp running down. He didn’t even remember how he made it home, only that he had slammed the door shut, his heart racing uncontrollably for a long time, ears ringing with phantom gunshots.

At first, he had no way to fight back. But he learned fast. Anyone who hit him—he’d find a way to hit back. It didn’t matter if he came away bruised and bloody; one day, he would win. His street-fighting skills were all honed in elementary school.

He grew fast too. In just a few years, he shot up to nearly 1.7 meters tall—a standout even among white kids his age. By the time he reached upper grades, no one dared mess with him anymore.

Back then, Shu Zhenshan had no desire to communicate with anyone. He was like a tightly sealed metal canister, compressing and repressing everything inside. All of it—everything he had—was earned through grit and sheer willpower.

Thanks to his outstanding grades and athletic ability, he got into a private middle school. While his family didn’t support him in other ways, they made sure he had enough money.

Each stage of life presented new challenges. The higher the level of the school, the more invisible the pressure became. Often, even the ones exerting that pressure weren’t aware of it themselves. His classmates mostly came from wealthy families—polite, sunny, refined. But behind the scenes, their actions and words were far from noble.

Compared to physical violence, this kind of cruelty was like invisible needles piercing the heart.

Later, some of his classmates got into drugs and nearly dragged him down with them.

Shu Zhenshan often thought, any one of the things he’d been through could’ve killed him. But somehow, he survived.

As a kid, he naively believed his family was trying to toughen him up. Every Spring Festival when he returned home, his father was never there—always busy elsewhere with various excuses. Shu would pay respects to his mother first, then visit his uncles, who would shower him with gifts, antiques, and the treatment fit for a wealthy heir, though he had long stopped caring about those vanity things.

His uncles had asked if he wanted to return to China and study at an international school with his cousins. It would’ve been a comfortable life. But perhaps out of defiance toward his father, Shu Zhenshan refused. The more his father tried to grind him down, the more Shu wanted to prove he could thrive anywhere—and slap him in the face with success.

In the following years, Shu Zhenshan rarely returned home. As the eldest son of the conglomerate, he remained abroad, far from the center of power, showing no intention of taking over. His father expressed dissatisfaction in messages a few times but never pushed hard. He simply let him be.

In high school, Shu Zhenshan transformed rapidly. He became confident, approachable, and dazzling—tall, strong, mature like a man, yet still carrying a bit of youthful arrogance.

He was like a rock—layer after layer forged around himself. He built himself up, polished himself into a gemstone, a sculpture. But he never showed anyone his inner core.

Until he met Ran Buyue.

Shu Zhenshan couldn’t explain why, but from the very first night they met, he opened up to Ran. That wasn’t like him at all. Maybe it was because the “Little Spider” exoskeleton Ran dreamed up was exactly what Shu had secretly wished for in his childhood—

To become stronger. To be understood.

They spent many days talking, arguing, and sleeping together—but hardly ever talked about love.

Shu had never been loved growing up, so he didn’t know what love looked like. He just wanted to stay by Ran’s side, skin to skin, never apart. Did that count?

In high school and college, Shu Zhenshan received confessions—usually two types: bashful roses or blunt invitations to sleep together. Neither interested him.

Clearly, Ran Buyue was just as clueless about love. Even after getting into a relationship, their “romance” remained awkward.

What were they supposed to do when dating? They had no idea.

They rarely had endless chats or snuggled while whispering sweet nothings. That kind of couple behavior was incomprehensible to them.

Most of their time was spent on their research. Meetings, arguments, s3x—a cycle on repeat. Honestly, it wasn’t much different from before they got together.

Eventually, Shu realized this couldn’t continue—at least not if it meant dragging Ran into madness with him.

Because when Ran got into work mode, he was like one of those spinning lotus birthday candles—no eating, drinking, or sleeping. He’d keep burning until he broke down.

One night in bed, Shu Zhenshan was shocked to find that Ran’s waist was barely two palms wide—he could circle it with both hands.

When had he gotten so thin? The contrast between their body types was practically brutal. If anyone walked in on them mid-act, they’d probably report Shu Zhenshan for abuse.

Ran tossed Shu’s shirt aside and bit down hard on his chest, leaving two distinct canine marks, grumbling, “Shu, you’re too stubborn. Precision can never be refined infinitely. The goal you’ve set far exceeds commercial demands…”

Shu gently pressed Ran’s waist—he could easily feel his ribs. Just skin stretched tightly over bone.

“Hurry up,” Ran said impatiently, hooking his leg around Shu’s waist. He tilted his face up, eyes shimmering with desire like the nighttime sea.

“I didn’t pass out last time—you lost. Wanna bet again tonight?”

Last time… what was that again? Shu’s fingers traced slowly over Ran’s skin before he remembered their ridiculous wager.

They’d argued intensely over a sensor circuit design. The fight spilled over into the bedroom that night.

Shu, confident in his design, got so frustrated he snapped: If I can screw you unconscious tonight, you have to go with my plan.

A stupid threat, but Ran had immediately responded: Bring it on! Try me! Eyes full of defiance.

Shu Zhenshan, fuming with suppressed rage, didn’t hold back that night. They went at it for hours, and somehow Ran Buyue clung to consciousness the entire time. Afterward, Shu carried him to the bathroom. Ran, half-asleep on his chest, murmured, “I… won… you’ll… use my… circuit…” then immediately fell into deep sleep.

The brat clearly enjoyed it and was convinced Shu Zhenshan couldn’t make him pass out—this time, he was openly smug about it.

Shu thought back on what Ran had eaten that day: a smoothie in the morning, a bowl of greens at lunch, and barely a bite of the steak Shu brought for dinner. Ran had skipped it for a tutorial, then straight into a brainstorming session. The cold steak had turned into a brick and, being picky, Ran didn’t eat it. Shu ended up finishing it himself.

Shu said, “No bet tonight.”

Ran sat up, displeased. “Huh? Why not?”

Why? Because at the rate you’re eating, you’ll pass out without me even touching you.

Ran eyed Shu’s crotch and muttered curiously, “You’re clearly still up for it… Don’t tell me…”

His expression twisted with concern. “You’re not going easy on me, are you? Planning to give in to my circuit design?”

Shu: “…”

“That won’t do,” Ran said solemnly. “We need sportsmanship.”

Shu: “?”

Ran hesitated, then offered: “Hmm… How about two warm-up rounds first?”

Shu didn’t answer. He just grabbed Ran’s slender wrists, crossed them, and slipped him into a hoodie like a potato sack.

Five minutes later, the two of them sat fully dressed on the bed, staring at each other.

From Ran’s look, it was obvious he was preparing a speech—probably intending to analyze Shu’s sexual decline from physiological, psychological, and environmental angles.

Shu patted Ran’s head and said calmly, “We’re not doing it anymore.”

Ran rattled off, “Given you’re not even 22, the chance of hormonal imbalance or chronic disease is low. From observation, your mental state seems healthy, unlikely to be suffering from anxiety or low self-esteem. But your lifestyle…”

Shu grabbed Ran like a cat and placed him on the scale.

121 pounds—roughly 55 kilograms.

“When you hit 60 kilos, we’ll do it again,” he said, pointing at the painfully low number.

Ran: “…”

From that day on, Shu took full control of Ran’s meals.

But it turned out to be far harder than expected.

Shu finally realized Ran hated eating. Whether it was school cafeteria food or fancy restaurant dishes, Ran chewed through them like an old cow, slow and listless, barely opening his mouth—and always forgetting to keep eating after two bites. Furious, Shu would chase him across campus with a lunchbox, forcing him to finish every bite before letting him go to class.

Eventually, Shu switched strategies and started cooking himself.

That’s when the magic of statistics came in. Shu plotted Ran’s food preferences and created a roughly right-skewed Gaussian distribution. Certain odd spices and ingredients ranked at the top.

After three days of kitchen experiments, Shu served a dish of ginger-braised pork ribs with potatoes replaced by sliced ginger.

Ran looked at the strange combo, hesitant. “…You made this?”

“Eat first,” Shu ordered.

Ran Buyue took a cautious bite. His eyes lit up, his tone flipped 180 degrees. “You made this?!”

“Yes.” Shu sighed in relief—then sighed again.

My boyfriend has pica.

And worse—I only just realized it.

From then on, Shu handled all of Ran’s meals, checking regularly for weight gain and gradually mapping out his picky tastes.

Shu felt guilty. He’d ignored Ran for too long. Not eating well, poor sleep, underweight—these had always been issues, but he hadn’t noticed.

Even after dating so long, they barely knew each other.

They didn’t even make love like a normal couple. Even in bed, they tied everything to their projects—arguing until someone fainted, declaring the winner’s design would be followed.

Shu told himself it was fine. They were just an unconventional couple who needed time to grow into those boring, normal couple routines.

They had time, he thought. They could chase their dreams first and enjoy life later. They had their whole lives ahead of them.

But what they didn’t know was that the time they had left together was already running out.