A Gentleman is Open-minded, While a Petty Person Sighs | Chapter 6 | Flowers and Predator Plants | Novela.app

Chapter 6 - Flowers and Predator Plants Before the age of six, Chang Ying was a child defined by fragility. He suffered from a perpetual malaise, the kind where a single cold caught in the spring would linger until autumn. Thin, sallow, and perpetually smelling of the bitter traditional decoctions used to regulate his constitution, he was a reclusive boy who preferred the company of books to the rowdy games of the courtyard. The other children avoided him; he was too slow to keep up, prone to coughing fits, and bruised as easily as a overripe peach. Only Tan Junzi sought him out. While Chang Ying remained silent, Junzi would chatter incessantly, weaving elaborate fantasies and staging one-man plays with her toys to entertain him. She would even snap off the tips of her grandfather Tan Zhengqi’s prized asparagus ferns, claiming they were "immortal herbs" that would cure his ailments if he ate them. Tan Zhengqi doted on the boy as well, often reminding Junzi, "He’s your little brother. You must protect him." Even as a child, Chang Ying was more observant than he let on. He studied people, and he studied Junzi most of all. He realized early that she possessed a fierce, almost maternal protective streak. She was the type who was moved by vulnerability but hardened by confrontation. If you appeared weak and tearful, she would treat you with boundless tenderness, stepping into the role of the protective elder sister. If you challenged her head-on, she would snap you like a dry twig. Perhaps Chang Ying had hidden his sharp edges too well for too long. Junzi never realized that the "delicate flower" of a younger brother she had raised had matured into a pitcher plant—a predator disguised as a bloom, waiting for the right moment to consume its prey. Chang Ying couldn't pinpoint exactly when his feelings for her shifted beyond the boundaries of friendship. Perhaps it was in their second year of middle school, or perhaps even earlier. Back then, the boys in class had begun to whisper about girls, ranking them by beauty. Chang Ying never joined those discussions, though he cared more than any of them. He lived in a state of agonizing contradiction: he hated hearing anyone speak ill of her, yet he loathed hearing them praise her beauty. Ideally, he wanted the world to recognize her worth, but he wanted to be the only one who truly knew the depths of it. He had asked himself if this was mere possessiveness. It wasn't that simple. It was a complex, tangled web of emotions that he eventually realized was simply called "love." But he never let it show. He knew Junzi too well; her heart had not yet "bloomed" in that sense. Though she seemed straightforward, she was intensely sensitive and maintained rigid personal boundaries. Chang Ying took pride in knowing exactly where those boundaries lay for different people. He took comfort in the fact that her walls were thinnest when it came to him, but they were still there. He had to move slowly. Loving someone in secret is a test of endurance, but Chang Ying was a master of restraint. He viewed it like fishing—a game of patience and observation. You wait for the bite, watch the float, and know exactly when to reel in. There was a craft to it: knowing how much tension to apply, when to give the line some slack to lure them deeper, and when to tighten the grip. He didn't mind spending a lifetime fishing for this one prize. He was an expert at concealing his desires—not just his possessiveness, but the darker, more visceral instincts of a teenage boy. He often wondered if Junzi would be terrified if she ever saw the person he truly was inside. He wasn't exactly a "gentleman" in his heart, but since he never resorted to deception or manipulation, he didn't consider himself a villain either. *** Zhang Da also liked Tan Junzi, but he knew he stood no chance. It wasn't because of Chang Ying; truth be told, Zhang Da didn't think much of the other boy. He knew Chang Ying’s family was wealthy, but Zhang Da’s father was a successful businessman as well. Aside from Chang Ying’s grandfather, Zhang Da viewed the rest of the Chang family’s assets as mere pocket change. The reason Zhang Da felt hopeless was because he believed he was a "rotten" person—rotten to the very core. His father ran a massive medical equipment business that dominated the province. His mother was a mistress, but his father treated his life like an imperial court, keeping a "First Wife" alongside a string of concubines in different cities. Zhang Da’s mother was simply the one stationed in Tongcheng. These women were all aware of each other’s existence. Consequently, his mother’s primary occupation was serving her husband for money and berating Zhang Da for being "useless." No matter how well he did, his mother would sneer, "That bitch’s son is doing better than you. If you don't shape up, the entire inheritance will go to those other families." He could never satisfy her. Yet, beyond her vitriol, she offered no guidance. When his father was away, she wouldn't come home for days, spending her nights at mahjong tables or with younger men. Zhang Da had grown used to the emptiness. But sometimes, a person stuck in a quagmire still wants to look at the sunflowers on the bank. He remembered a home visit during middle school. The homeroom teacher was supposed to come with the class monitor, but the monitor was busy, so Tan Junzi came along instead. It was a late afternoon when he led them to his house. His mother was fast asleep, conserving her energy for an all-night mahjong session. He had told her about the visit, but she clearly hadn't cared. She eventually emerged in a silk slip, yawning on the sofa. Before the teacher could even finish a sentence, his mother began a tirade, disparaging Zhang Da’s character and intellect in front of his peers. The insults were venomous, worse than anything a stepmother would say. She sounded unhinged. Zhang Da stood there, expressionless. His mind had already drifted; he was hungry and thinking about his homework. But then, Tan Junzi stood up abruptly. The western sun streamed through the window, illuminating her face and catching the fine, golden down on her skin. She looked directly at his mother. "Auntie, your son is actually brilliant at math," Junzi said firmly. "The final problem on the midterm was incredibly difficult, and he was the only one in class to get a perfect score. Besides that..." she paused, searching for more, "he’s a great athlete. He took third place in the high jump for our class." She continued, her voice steady, "I might not be very close with Zhang Da, but I can promise you he isn't the person you’re describing. I think he has qualities that we could all learn from." His mother merely brushed back her hair and laughed. The visit didn't change anything; in fact, after Junzi left, his mother screamed at him for "dating early" and called him heartless like his father. "Wake up, Mom," Zhang Da had said then. "Who would ever like someone like me?" For the first time, standing in that luxuriously decorated house, he felt utterly destitute. From that day on, Zhang Da began to watch Tan Junzi. He had worried she would spread rumors about his dysfunctional home, but she never breathed a word. She didn't even treat him differently. She didn't expect his gratitude, which almost disappointed him; he had hoped to at least be a topic of conversation for her. Instead, she didn't seem to think of him at all. This didn't stop his feelings from growing. He found himself longing to hear her defend him again, though they had no reason to speak. Before he started paying attention to her, he hadn't actually liked her much. She was beautiful, certainly—the boys often gossiped about her long, pale legs—but she seemed cold and arrogant. But as he watched her, that coldness became a provocation. It stirred a dark, pathological desire to conquer her, to pull her down from her pedestal and see those pristine legs stained with the same mud he lived in. He knew he was sick. In his fantasies, the quagmire always swallowed the sunflower. Even a "rotten" person can love someone, he told himself. Or perhaps, as long as you love someone, you aren't truly rotten yet. *** Chang Ying was staying at Junzi’s house because he knew her habits. Tan Junzi was the type who could fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. When they were children and shared a bed, she would offer to tell him a story, but she’d be snoring before she finished the first sentence. She slept like the dead; even a thunderstorm wouldn't wake her. It was a trait she shared with her grandfather. The only exception was when she had nightmares—usually after watching a horror movie. Despite her brave front, she was easily spooked. In elementary school, they had watched *Ghost Ship* together. During the gory scenes, she had protectively covered Chang Ying’s eyes, unaware that he wasn't scared at all. He had played along, gripping her arm and pretending to tremble, which only fueled her sense of duty to protect him. But late at night, the facade would crumble, and she would scream in her sleep. Chang Ying lay on the cramped folding bed, unable to sleep. Around midnight, as expected, he heard a muffled shout from her room: "Run! Get away!" He got up and entered her room. Junzi was thrashing under the covers, her legs kicking as if she were actually running. Her blanket had been kicked to the floor, and her pajama top had ridden up, exposing her midriff. Chang Ying stood there for a few seconds, watching her, before reaching out to pull her clothes down and tuck her in. He crouched by the bed and shook her. When she didn't wake, he shook her harder. She jolted awake, her eyes snapping open. Seeing it was him, her panic subsided. Chang Ying reached over and slowly turned on the bedside lamp. "What is it?" she asked, still groggy. Chang Ying smiled weakly. "I had a nightmare. I’m scared." Junzi blinked, trying to clear her head. "A nightmare? You’re so big now, yet you’re still like you were when we were kids." Chang Ying’s eyes crinkled as he lied effortlessly. "I dreamed about the man in the Floral Padded Jacket." Junzi shifted over in bed, patting the mattress to invite him to sit. "Don't be scared. Let’s talk for a bit until you’re sleepy, okay?" That "okay" was the same as it had always been—a soft, trailing note filled with genuine concern. But Chang Ying didn't sit. He was staring intently at the bedsheets. Junzi followed his gaze downward. Her period had leaked.