Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Short Circuit

Lin Jianyuan frowned for two seconds, then turned and snatched up another phone from the desk.

Pei Shuo yelped, "Bro! That’s my phone!"

But Lin Jianyuan didn’t smash it. He grabbed another fistful of air and jammed it into Pei Shuo’s charging port.

Then, genuinely stunned, he said, "It actually charges…"

Everyone: "…?"

Now Pei Shuo was truly worried.

He edged closer, voice as soothing as he could make it. "Bro, take it easy. Could you put the phone down?"

But Lin Jianyuan acted as if he hadn’t heard. He turned to the corner of the desk and said, "B-class? This is B-class? Looks about the same as Eye Vines—just as weak. You’re weak, too. Still, since it can charge a phone, I’ll let it slide."

Everyone looked toward where he was talking.

He was talking to… a squish toy.

He carried on a conversation with the rubber squish toy as if no one else existed; the looks around the room shifted from surprise to worry.

After a few words with the squish toy, he suddenly headed toward Qin Shi.

Qin Shi took a nervous step back.

Pei Shuo hurried over and grabbed his arm. "Bro!"

Worry written all over his face, Pei Shuo had no idea what to say that wouldn’t set him off.

Lin Jianyuan glanced at Pei Shuo, as if something had just occurred to him, then quickly said to Qin Shi, "Oh, it’s fine, don’t be nervous. I’m seeing things again—bit of OCD… Mm, could you step aside so I can fix something?"

At a loss, Qin Shi looked to the others. They were just as bewildered. Only Pei Shuo kept hold of Lin Jianyuan’s arm and silently mouthed, "It’s okay."

After calming the others, Pei Shuo said to Lin Jianyuan, "Go ahead, Bro. Need a hand?"

Lin Jianyuan: "You can see it?"

Pei Shuo froze. "See what?"

Lin Jianyuan pushed his hand away, bent down, and ducked under the desk. "Told you—these are my hallucinations. How could you possibly see them…"

He crouched under Qin Shi’s desk, fiddling with God knew what.

Everyone was equal parts curious and uneasy, but no one dared approach, afraid of spooking him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Pei Shuo waved the others off, his look saying, I’ll watch him—get back to work.

They traded glances, then returned to their stations.

Someone let out a quiet sigh.

Lin Jianyuan set about tidying the Blood Threads writhing everywhere.

He patched the filaments sprouting from the phone into the mouse, the ones growing from the office chair into the tower, and the ones inside the keyboard into the monitor.

In short, he went for shortest paths and optimal routing—perfectly avoiding the kind of tangled lines that offended his eye enough to trigger an acute psychotic episode.

Once he’d tamed every Blood Thread in the office, Lin Jianyuan straightened and let out a long breath.

Much better.

Neat as a pin. A sight for sore eyes.

Best of all, every bloodshot filament mapped out like wiring—you draw on me, I draw on you—a self-sustaining closed loop!

Energy-efficient and eco-friendly!

In high spirits, Lin Jianyuan headed back to his desk, then turned to Pei Shuo as a thought struck him. “Did I just freak you guys out?”

Pei Shuo laughed. “It’s fine. Like you always say, who isn’t a little crazy at work?”

Qin Shi chimed in, “It was a bit sudden, sure, but you’re sick—can’t be helped. Next time, I suggest having your episode right in Jiang Chen’s office.”

Jiang Chen, who’d been lurking in the shadows on the second floor: “Watch it, you!”

Everyone cracked up.

Ever obliging, Lin Jianyuan said, “Got it, got it. I’ll see what I can do.”

Jiang Chen roared, “Lin Jianyuan!”

“What!”

“…” Jiang Chen swallowed, started, stopped, then finally blurted, “Take care of yourself! If you’re tired, go home and rest!”

“?” Lin Jianyuan pointed at himself, then stared at the others. “Did I hallucinate that?”

The others: “Pretty sure we hallucinated it too…”

Jiang Chen: “…”

By evening, another day of forced overtime had finally ground to an end.

Outside the subway, Pei Shuo said, “Let me walk you home.”

Lin Jianyuan joked, “What, you trying to pick me up?”

Pei Shuo’s face cracked. “I’m worried about you!”

“Enough, enough. Don’t trail your boss after hours. It’s not like they’ll pay you overtime.”

Pei Shuo looked at him, then at the plastic bag in his hand.

The bag held a whole bagful of air. Nobody knew why Lin Jianyuan was taking a sack of air home.

Nobody dared ask.

Pei Shuo’s gaze lingered on the air bag for a beat. He took a deep breath. “Alright. Just be careful on your way.”

Skip.

Fresh beef was sliced and simmered with pickled greens and spices into a pale, velvety yellow broth.

A handful of mint leaves was tossed in at the end. The bright, fresh green mounded like a little hill, a sharp counterpoint to the rich, tangy broth.

The steam coaxed out a cool, clean fragrance from the mint.

Leaning in the kitchen doorway, Lin Jianyuan’s eyes went wide. “You can cook mint with beef?!”

His roommate smiled. “Sure.”

—Truth be told, Lin Jianyuan hadn’t known it was mint either.

What he’d brought home, in fact, was Eye Vines.

More precisely, the tender leaves of Eye Vines.

Ever since the Eye Vines had been steeped in a tea of goji, chrysanthemum, and cassia seeds, they’d been growing like mad—blanketing the wall in the blink of an eye.

Some tender shoots, heedless of their own survival, had even crept onto Lin Jianyuan’s desk.

It got on his nerves, so he idly yanked off a few leaves.

The moment he plucked them he realized they were delicate, with a scent he knew from somewhere.

He couldn’t place it just then.

Anyway, the stuff grew fast, and he was the one raising it—no guilt at all about trimming.

He grabbed a big plastic bag and pinched off every tender leaf from the Eye Vines, stuffing the bag full to the brim.

He’d been wondering what use the thing could be. Back home, he tossed the bag onto the shoe cabinet. His roommate saw it and said:

“Your company handing out perks again?”

…And that’s how things spiraled into this.

His roommate was in the kitchen putting on his signature make-your-guts-dance routine; the heat from the pot teased the scent out of the Eye Vines leaves.

Lin Jianyuan tipped back his head and sniffed—once, twice, again—finally placing that familiar smell.

Mint!

Wait—he knew mint was good for the throat, but for eyes too?

He whipped out his phone to check. Hah—mint really does brighten the eyes!

Its aroma can stimulate the nerves around the eyes and ease visual fatigue; peppermint oil dilates local blood vessels and relieves dryness. Menthol and menthone help reduce inflammation and hasten the fading of ocular flare-ups.

In traditional Chinese medicine, mint also dispels wind-heat, clears the head and eyes, soothes the throat and vents rashes, eases a stifled liver and lifts the mood, detoxifies and reduces swelling…

—Case closed.

Why staring at Eye Vines eased eye strain and even sharpened his vision—case closed!

Because it was mint all along!

Which actually tracked. Mint is cute and hardy—perfect office greenery.

In his crazy eyes, vines sprouted from his coworkers’ sockets; in reality, he’d probably yanked a pot of office mint and forced it to root in herb tea.

Who knew how his coworkers felt watching that whole performance, haha.

Anyway, it all added up. The world was materialist after all.

Everything explained, he felt at ease again.

The mint-and-sour-pickled-beef hotpot hit the table, bubbling and burbling.

Lin Jianyuan set out bowls and chopsticks and brought over two bowls of rice.

The sour broth whetted the appetite, the mint was bright. The smell alone had him salivating.

“Dig in,” his roommate said, smiling.

“Eat!” He snapped up a piece of beef, stuffed it in his mouth, and—

—Holy—!

Mint-cloaked beef hit his tongue like a fragrance bomb.

The mint wasn’t as cool as he’d imagined—maybe the heat blew the chill away—leaving only the scent. An unbeatable, clean rush.

It shot straight to his crown, making him squint in bliss.

Then the sour.

The mildly spicy pickled greens, layered with other spices—the bright, tangy heat flooded his throat, blasted his appetite open, and settled warm in his gut with a solid, glowing burn.

And it was fresh.

Not MSG-fresh—fresh from tender beef and mint leaves, the ultimate crisp brightness.

He’d thought mint in beef hotpot was culinary heresy. Turns out it meshed perfectly.

A sip of hot broth, a bite of tender beef: aroma and taste taking separate flanks. The mint soared to his skull while the hot-and-sour warmth sank into his belly.

“Delicious” didn’t begin to cover it. His soul was about to ascend.

He kept his head down and tore in silently.

By contrast, his roommate ate with poise.

No chugging broth from the bowl; he spooned it up, one careful sip at a time.

Unhurried, exquisitely proper.

Compared to the steaming pot, he seemed more taken with Lin Jianyuan’s ravenous joy.

The corners of his mouth kept a slight curve. A coil of intestine curled around the spoon handle, tracing slow circles in the bowl.

“Tasty?” he asked, knowing full well, smiling softly.

“Godfather, sir!” Lin Jianyuan presented his empty bowl with both hands, solemn. “Please grant your child another bowl! Your child can do anything!”

His roommate blinked, snorted a laugh, and ladled him more.

“I’m serious.” After inhaling a third bowl of rice, he set it down and said reverently, “Your cooking’s amazing. Master, what do you actually do? Don’t tell me you’re in culinary school.”

“Mm,” his roommate said noncommittally.

Lin Jianyuan: “Then could you…”

Roommate: “Sure.”

Lin Jianyuan: “? I didn’t finish.”

Roommate: “You want me to cook for you, right?”

“Yeah, yeah…” He nodded vigorously. This roommate really got him.

Since they were here, he didn’t hem and haw. “Then for groceries, we…”

He’d meant to suggest a split, but then remembered his roommate was a student. He pivoted. “I’ll cover it. You don’t have to cook every day—just when you’ve got time, throw something together from the fridge. And tell me what you want to eat. I’ll buy it.”

Money was tight, but the food was so good he half believed a few more meals would cure his madness.

If he could eat like this every day, who needed antipsychotics?

He only worried it might be a burden. They were just roommates—the not-even-WeChat kind.

Why would the guy cook for him?

He remembered WeChat and wondered if he should ask again.

But his roommate propped his “chin” with a loop of intestine, tilted his “head,” and said, “Okay. Was work really tiring today?”

His mood dipped. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Roommate: “Then sleep early.”

He couldn’t see his roommate’s face, but he heard a note of urging in the voice.

It puzzled him, but he didn’t ask. He told himself he was overthinking.

Probably just casual concern.

Or… a change of subject?

“…” The squish-toy thief trembled in the backpack, not daring to speak.

That night, stuffed and happy, he got sleepy early, showered, and passed out.

Right on time, the meaty pink shadow arrived and gulped down his head, feasting.

“Why do you cook for him…” the squish-toy thief ventured, voicing the long-held question.

“Do you even have to ask?” The tender throat undulated, the pink digestive system mumbling around its swallows.

Squish toy: “?”

It didn’t understand, but saw the pink digestive system lift a loop of gut and lay it lightly across Lin Jianyuan’s lean collarbone.

The soft, sleek intestine, a snake without scales, cool and slick, slithered along his collarbone.

No one had fixed the AC. In just a tank top, he slept fitfully.

He rolled over, limbs draped over the pink digestive system.

He hugged the cool, soft mass, and his furrowed brow eased at last.

He even nudged his head deeper into its throat, cheek resting against the cool, velvety inner wall.

“…” The mouth holding his whole head quirked at the corners. It swallowed, pleased.

Squish toy: “………………”

Enough!

You two are getting filthier by the day!

Has anyone considered the feelings of your unwilling spectator!

……

Meanwhile, at the company two hours from Lin Jianyuan’s place—

In the building’s lowest depths, deeper and darker than the cavernous garage—

Thump—thud. Thump—thud.

A massive tumor pulsed, slow and steady, veined with vessels clinging like roots to feed it.

Thick arteries split into finer branches, down to a net of twitching capillary threads, their far ends probing in all directions to siphon human life.

Late at night, many floors still blazed with light.

The wage cattle burned their lives to light the sky, and the capillary threads surged, vibrant.

Life force poured in like tidewater. The tumor at the basement’s heart breathed deep, as if basking in sensual bliss.

Suddenly—thump.

It kicked hard, once.

No second beat.

Tumor: “?”

Perplexed, it writhed, its channels swelling and distending.

Thump.

Again, only the first beat. The second felt scooped out—gone?

Tumor: “???”

It reconciled its ledgers with the threads all night, and still couldn’t find where the problem lay.