Vivid

With that thought in mind, Chen Sheng acted accordingly. He had never been one to shortchange himself. Moreover, he once asked a monk what cultivation truly was, and the monk replied, “When you’re thirsty, drink water; when you’re hungry, eat; when you’re sleepy, sleep. That is cultivation.” Even though the monk had just stepped out of a Porsche at the time, his face radiant and plump, hardly fitting the image of an enlightened master, Chen Sheng still found his words profoundly reasonable. After all, he had read something similar in a book once.

When he awoke, Chen Sheng felt invigorated, all fatigue swept away, his spirit so lively that he almost had the urge to challenge a kangaroo to a duel. In the end, he managed to suppress such a reckless impulse. He simply couldn’t afford it. This was the real world, not some game where he could do as he pleased. Reality is reality; games are games. The two are utterly different, and Chen Sheng had always kept a clear distinction between them.

“Old Chen, are you awake?” Suddenly, a soft, sweet girl’s voice sounded right beside him. Chen Sheng’s heart skipped a beat—it was so close. Could it be that this little rascal had sleepwalked onto his sofa again last night? As the thought surfaced, his eyelids twitched. He stiffly turned his neck and eyes in the direction of the sound.

Relief washed over him. He saw Yu Youxin was on the sofa, but not the one he had slept on. She was curled up on the small sofa nearby, her petite figure almost melding into its cushions, as if she were part of the furniture itself. In her arms, she hugged an open book, completely absorbed—he couldn’t tell which novel it was. Lately, she’d been obsessed with reading fiction. She was likely entirely captivated now; one foot was bent on the sofa, the other swinging in the sunlight that streamed through the curtains, her pale, jade-like foot swaying like a living sculpture—unwittingly tugging at the heartstrings.

Her feet were as beautiful as a painting, as if they embodied all the world’s beauty.

It was truly indescribable in words; if forced to try, perhaps only the sound “slurp~” would do.

Chen Sheng turned away, his expression blank, as if entirely unmoved. This young girl was unworldly, staying at his place and even occupying his bed—he couldn’t allow himself to be equally naïve. After all, he was nearly thirty, no longer a boy. He had to be responsible for his words and deeds, to act sensibly and face reality. Every man has, at some point, yearned for a romantic, unforgettable love with a beautiful girl or a wealthy heiress, but a grown man must learn to recognize the truth. It’s best to let go of unrealistic fantasies. True maturity is knowing both when to hold on and when to let go.

Children from poor families grow up quickly, but in reality, they only learn survival skills sooner. True understanding comes after thirty, when life’s experiences have accumulated, and one no longer does things merely to move oneself. Yet there are exceptions—such as Chen Sheng. He understood these truths early on. When was that? After he mastered that peculiar exercise technique. Not only his sister, Chen Youyou, but everyone who knew him said his personality had changed drastically, as if he were a different person altogether.

“Yes, I’m awake. How long did I sleep?” Chen Sheng picked up the previous conversation, his tone calm.

“I don’t know. When I got back, you were sleeping like a little pig, even snuffling as if you wanted milk,” the novel-absorbed girl replied, carelessly tarnishing his image.

Chen Sheng rolled his eyes in response, then pulled up his sleeve to check his watch. He saw he’d only slept six hours. He immediately decided to sleep a bit more—two more hours, to make it eight, a number he found auspicious.

But then, glancing at the girl, he asked, “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

“Old Chen, is your black-hearted chef’s spirit rising again? If you want to cook your dark cuisine, just do it! No need to use me as an excuse!” Closing her book, the girl put on a look of mock terror, though her eyes danced with laughter.

Chen Sheng’s mood soured. “How is my cooking dark cuisine? Weren’t you the one always causing trouble in the kitchen?”

He glared at her, unable to help himself.

When it came to helping in the kitchen, she truly embodied the term “useless teammate.” Chen Sheng had developed a psychological shadow toward any team effort because of her.

“I was only trying to help!” Yu Youxin protested loudly. Where else could he find such a willing kitchen assistant within hundreds of miles?

Chen Sheng shot her a blank look and said nothing. He couldn’t be bothered to argue.

Hearing her spirited defense, he gave up on cooking altogether, flopped back onto the sofa, and decided to sleep instead. Let her starve, then!

“Old Chen, you’re going back to sleep again?” Her voice floated over, with every intention of disturbing his rest.

“I’m not sleeping, just lying down and contemplating life,” Chen Sheng replied, reluctant but ultimately choosing to answer.

“What life truths are you contemplating?” she asked, instantly curious.

“No truths in particular, but I have many insights about Lü Dongbin,” Chen Sheng replied, figuring there was no need to withhold now.

“Lü Dongbin? Who’s that?”

“Doesn’t matter who.”

“Then what does matter?”

“What matters is that he was often bitten by dogs,” Chen Sheng said, lips curling into a smirk.

As a doctor who was often complained about by patients’ families but praised by the patients themselves, Chen Sheng was adept at teasing people.

“Old Chen, are you insulting me?” The girl finally caught on. She’d heard the saying, “A dog bites Lü Dongbin, unable to recognize a good man’s heart.” It wasn’t a compliment.

“Of course not! Why would I insult you for no reason?” Chen Sheng denied flatly, then quickly changed the subject. “What novel are you reading?”

“It’s nothing special,” she replied.

“Then why are you so engrossed in it?”

“Oh, that’s because I realized—I could do just as well as the protagonist,” she answered, her tone deliberately earnest.