Unforgettable Touch - Chapter 25

Chapter 25 – Sending You Home

Ran Buyue wanted to snatch all the meat skewers from Shu Zhenshan’s hands.

But he couldn’t get them.

Shu Zhenshan lifted the skewers higher, holding them just in front of Ran Buyue’s mouth.

Ran Buyue: “?”

He pulled harder—still couldn’t get them.

The two of them each grabbed a few skewers, looking like ancient warriors fighting over a sword.

“???” Ran Buyue looked at Shu Zhenshan in confusion.

Shu Zhenshan paused for a second and then let go.

“What’s your problem.” Ran Buyue snatched three skewers and started eating, head lowered.

Shu Zhenshan lowered his gaze and rubbed his fingertips together.

Zhan Yuran could feed him food, but he couldn’t.

“Wow! Marshmallows roasted by the great director himself!”

“So good!”

“Eating it with scallion pancakes is just heavenly.”

Ran Buyue walked past a phoenix tree and peeked around the corner—everyone was gathered around Zhan Yuran’s grill, showering compliments on his cooking.

“Yuran-ge, save one for me!” Ran Buyue shouted quickly.

Shu Zhenshan’s expression shifted slightly.

He used to hate sweets.

Ran Buyue stuffed the remaining meat and ginger into his mouth, and said generously, “Want to try Ah-Zhan’s cooking? He’s a national treasure.”

With that, he jogged off toward Zhan Yuran’s stall.

He squeezed into the crowd, obedient and eager like a child just out of school waiting at a street vendor. Zhan Yuran, like the friendly big brother next door, smiled gently and told him, “Almost ready.”

Shu Zhenshan silently watched Ran Buyue’s cheerful back for a long time before walking over.

As Shu Zhenshan approached, the crowd naturally parted. The laughter and chatter quieted noticeably.

A large marshmallow twisted obediently on Zhan Yuran’s skewer, crisping into a golden caramel shell with a few rolls over the fire. He placed the roasted marshmallow between two crackers and handed it to Ran Buyue, who took a bite straight from his hand. The fluffy marshmallow melted into white strands.

“So good.” Ran Buyue squinted in contentment, cupping the cookie sandwich with both hands and nibbling on it in small bites.

Shu Zhenshan walked up and stopped before them.

Ran Buyue leisurely swallowed the last bite of sweet marshmallow and put on a polite smile “Sorry, I forgot to introduce you two.”

He stepped beside Zhan Yuran and pointed at Shu Zhenshan. “Ah-Zhan, this is President Shu, our partner for the robotics project.”

Then he turned to Shu Zhenshan. “President Shu, you probably know Director Zhan? He’s my friend.”

Just two sentences clearly drew the lines of closeness and distance. The temperature around Shu Zhenshan dropped subtly, but he still wore a polite smile.

Shu Zhenshan shook hands with Zhan Yuran. “Didn’t expect to meet you here, Director Zhan.”

“I came for Ah-Ran’s studio opening—to share the joy,” said Zhan Yuran.

President Shu offered a compliment: “Director Zhan, always surrounded by talented friends.”

Zhan Yuran replied with a smile: “President Shu, such a sharp eye.”

The atmosphere was slightly odd, though it was hard to say exactly what felt off.

Ran Buyue told them to make themselves at home, and Zhan Yuran returned to his grill, cheerfully roasting skewers again. Soon, the greedy cats followed the scent back and packed the area tightly.

Zhan Yuran had excellent cooking skills and a talent for storytelling. His voice was warm and smooth—whatever he said made people want to hear more.

Everyone pestered him for entertainment gossip: who was dating who, who acted like a diva on set, whether that famously impotent-looking male star actually cheated…

Whatever they asked, Zhan Yuran would always tell a story, never naming names, but full of drama and suspense, making everyone itch for more.

Just as they were most hooked, Zhan Yuran would smile faintly and stop talking.

Only then did the group realize they’d been played. No one knew how much of what he’d said was true. They loudly complained that Director Zhan was too sly.

Zhan Yuran sprinkled turmeric on potato skewers, looking surprised. “Oh, then I’ll stop telling stories?”

The crowd wailed and begged—No!! You have to keep going!!

Ran Buyue was the loudest of them all.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell,” Zhan Yuran coaxed like a kindergarten teacher, handing a freshly grilled potato skewer to Ran Buyue.

Shu Zhenshan stood watching from a distance, inching closer. A designer sitting on the outer edge immediately gave up their seat in a panic. “President Shu, would you like to sit?”

“…” Shu Zhenshan said calmly, “No, thank you.”

He hadn’t been invited. He really didn’t belong here.

A girl with ombre blue-and-pink hair munched on meat skewers and sighed, “Director Zhan, your control of the fire is amazing! How did you learn this?”

Zhan Yuran smiled without answering.

Ran Buyue replied, “He’s been cooking since he was little. No wonder he’s so good.”

“Wow, that’s awesome,” everyone gushed. They teased that Director Zhan’s future girlfriend would be lucky, what a perfect husband he’d make.

The conversation veered in that direction, and someone finally asked, “So, Director Zhan, do you have a girlfriend now?”

Zhan Yuran had plenty of rumored flings—female celebrities, singers, influencers. Now that they finally had the real guy in front of them, who was also so easygoing, they couldn’t resist probing.

Zhan Yuran hesitated. “Ah… well…”

Seeing he wouldn’t answer, the boldest of them, Tian Xiaozhe, asked indirectly: “Boss, you definitely know the inside scoop. Whisper it to us!”

“So many questions.”

Ran Buyue spoke up, voice calm and just loud enough: “I hope you all have just as much to say during tomorrow’s team meeting—about your actual progress.”

“…” The crowd instantly shut up.

Shu Zhenshan suddenly wanted to leave.

The first time he met Zhan Yuran wasn’t in an office, at a film festival, or a venture capital meeting—it was many years ago by the shore of the Charles River.

He and Ran Buyue had just broken up—about 19 days, 13 hours, and 43 minutes after.

Shu Zhenshan, proud and aloof, never went back to exes. Since he’d been dumped so cleanly, he wouldn’t look back.

But business brought him to Boston for the third time in 19 days, so he took the chance to revisit the school.

He had a cold and wore a mask, a black knitted hat, plain clothes, thick-rimmed glasses. While taking calls, he wandered the campus.

He had little time—half an hour before his next flight.

His last two trips yielded nothing, so this time he was anxious.

Just one glimpse, and he’d leave.

He circled the lab building and another classroom building, but didn’t find him. Then he turned toward the Charles River.

It wasn’t long before he spotted Ran Buyue curled up on a bench.

Another man sat beside him.

From Shu Zhenshan’s angle, he couldn’t see Ran Buyue’s face, but he saw the other man’s side profile—handsome, refined features, gentle aura.

They were seated close, heads nearly touching, looking at a sketchpad on Ran Buyue’s lap. Whatever they were talking about, Ran Buyue was laughing freely.

What Shu Zhenshan couldn’t do—someone else could.

He sat far away, quietly glancing their way now and then. It wasn’t until his assistant called three times urging him to leave that he got up to catch his flight.

If he hadn’t been shot later, he might have returned to campus more often.

But clearly, Ran Buyue no longer needed him. He’d been right—he could live perfectly well without Shu Zhenshan. In fact, he was doing great.

Shu Zhenshan was happy for him.

That night at the Hong Kong private club, when he saw Ran Buyue and Zhan Yuran walking out of the VIP room together, close and familiar, he couldn’t pretend to feel nothing.

But no matter how turbulent his emotions, he wouldn’t let them show.

Shu Zhenshan knew his place. Six years had passed. His old lover had new friends, a team, a career, a life.

He might be allowed to briefly appear in his nights once every couple of months, but he had long since lost the right or position to stay by his side.

Zhan Yuran, like a preschool teacher, continued telling stories and feeding the “kids.”

Ran Buyue was the one most engrossed in his own world, slowly grilling two high-quality wagyu skewers in the corner of the large grill.

The wagyu sizzled with rich aroma.

Tian Xiaozhe tried to steal one, but Ran Buyue didn’t let her. He turned, scanning the crowd, seemingly looking for someone.

From under the tree, Shu Zhenshan met his eyes.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, something shifting in their gazes. Then Ran Buyue calmly looked away.

…Shu Zhenshan lowered his eyes and quietly left ROAM’s courtyard, heading back toward the Yanchuan Tech building.

“I just don’t like strangers in my home,” Ran Buyue replied calmly.

“What if I do go into your home?” Shu Zhenshan lowered his voice. “There are still seventeen days before the two-month mark. Before then, I won’t even touch you with a single finger.”

Ran Buyue paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and said, “I’m cold, and this soup is hot. If you don’t let go, I’ll pour it all over you.”

Shu Zhenshan looked at him, didn’t say a word, and finally let go of his hand.

Ran Buyue gripped the box tightly, got out of the car, and walked toward the unit entrance without looking back.

A couple of minutes later, he entered his home and set the box down. The warmth of the soup seeped through the thick cardboard, even heating the tile beneath it.

He looked at it for a moment, then pulled out his phone.

He tapped on the contacts screen, staring at the name “Shu Zhenshan” that had long been deleted, now only remembered in his head.

After a while, he sent a message to the assistant’s WeChat:
To: AAA-ROAM Assistant Xiaojiji
“Tell Shu Zhenshan, the soup is good. I’ve accepted it. He doesn’t need to deliver it himself next time.”

After sending it, Ran Buyue tossed the phone onto the couch and went to the kitchen.

He took out a spoon and a bowl, opened the soup container, and as soon as the lid came off, steam rushed up with a rich aroma—sweet dates, yam, pork ribs, and just the right hint of ginger. It was hearty and comforting.

Ran Buyue sipped a spoonful. The warmth slowly spread from the tip of his tongue, traveling all the way down his throat.

Outside, the rain still poured.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and looked out the window at the blurred night. The soup in his hand was hot, the streetlamp outside was dim, and his heart was a little confused.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure which burned hotter—the soup in his mouth, or the silence between them.