Chapter 8: I Am the Protagonist?
It was nearly 1 AM by the time Su Lin returned home.
The bar had been terribly busy these past few days. His shift was originally supposed to end at 12, but it forcefully dragged on until 1.
Dragging legs that felt filled with lead, he walked up the stairs. The voice-activated lights in the stairwell had a poor connection; when he reached the third floor, it abruptly extinguished, plunging him into a brief darkness.
He didn’t stomp his feet forcefully. Instead, he quietly waited for his eyes to adjust, then, borrowing the faint light seeping in from the window outside, felt for his key and inserted it into the lock.
A soft “click” sounded, exceptionally clear in the night.
He walked inside and turned on the lights.
The illuminated lights instantly dispelled the darkness, also stinging his eyes that were dry from lack of sleep. He narrowed his eyes and closed the door behind him.
He took off his jacket and casually hung it on the rack to the side.
The living room wasn’t large, and the furnishings were simple. A sofa, a coffee table, a TV that was rarely turned on. The walls were a monotonous white, completely bare. This place didn’t look like a “home”; it was more like a fully functional relay station used for sleeping and resting one’s feet.
However, he really couldn’t be blamed for this, because he had only recently bought this apartment.
In the bar, he was that reticent, agilely-moving bartender. He could mix any drink a customer requested, could offer a tissue or a listening ear at the right time, but he never participated in his colleagues’ after-work late-night snacks, nor did he show excessive enthusiasm towards any customer who displayed goodwill.
His world had an invisible wall. Colleagues felt he was aloof and unapproachable; customers felt he was professional but lacked warmth. He had gotten used to these evaluations, or rather, he had long stopped caring about any evaluations.
He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Taking out a bottle of water, he twisted it open, tilted his head back, and downed several gulps. The ice-cold liquid slid down his throat, temporarily suppressing the thirst but failing to suppress the exhaustion seeping from his bones.
Actually, Su Lin had a secret.
A long time ago, he had awakened a special set of memories.
He was actually the protagonist in a bookāthe true young master of the Jiang family who was swapped at birth and had wandered outside for many years. In his memories, he returned to that family and, with some sort of paranoia he himself couldn’t understand, drove away the fake young master who had occupied his place for years. He even… absurdly, inextricably fell in love with his own eldest brother.
As for that notoriously flamboyant and free-spirited Second Young Master of the Jiang family, he became the interfering variable in this twisted relationship, ultimately being driven out of the house by “his” own meticulous design.
The ending of the story was “him” and his brother seemingly having a perfect union, living happily ever after.
When Su Lin recalled all this, there weren’t many ripples in his heart; he just treated it as an empty dream.
The self in that dream, who went mad over illusory emotions, made him feel alienated and deeply disgusted. He had already branded his current lifeāone fully within his own controlādeep into his soul.
He was used to being alone, used to this peace that solely belonged to him.
But when he thought of that arrogant and presumptuous Second Young Master in his dreams… an indescribable curiosity, or rather, an impulse to personally verify the absurd connection between that “empty dream” and reality, or perhaps some other reason, drove him to bizarrely resign from his original bartending job.
He came to the bar that Jiang Qing frequently lingered at in his memories, downgrading from a glamorous bartender to an ordinary waiter.
He thought that perhaps one day he could run into that Second Young Master. He’d treat it as tossing an insignificant pebble into his bland life, just to see what kind of ripples it could stir up.
What surprised even himself was that tonight, shortly after he had just adapted to the new environment, he unexpectedly ran into him.
Jiang Qing.
Just like in the dream.
He sat in the booth at the innermost part of the bar, his body leaning back slightly. Dim, blurry light flowed around him. He wore a black shirt, the top two buttons unfastened, cuffs casually rolled up to his forearms, revealing a section of cold-white wrists and a highly expensive watch on his wrist bone.
He absentmindedly swirled his wine glass, the ice cubes colliding with the glass wall to emit faint, crisp sounds.
Jiang Qing’s appearance was exceptionally outstanding, but his brow was shrouded in a faintly discernible layer of apathy, as if separated by impenetrable glass, isolating all the clamor and passion outside.
At this moment, he was turning his head slightly to listen to the person next to him speak. As if hearing something funny, he raised an eyebrow slightly.
Su Lin stood in the shadows not far away holding a tray, his gaze falling calmly onto Jiang Qing.
The dream, it seemed, wasn’t entirely baseless.
Just as he was pondering, a man called him over.
Su Lin understood the man’s intention almost instantly. He had seen that kind of look too many times in the barāa mix of alcohol-catalyzed lust and condescending slight. A look that treated him as an “item” that could be casually beckoned and perhaps carried ulterior motives.
If it were in the past, in any place he had worked, when faced with such obvious signals, he would unhesitatingly choose to pretend he didn’t hear, or deal with it using the most alienated attitude, and then swiftly turn and leave.
But…
Su Lin glanced at the figure in that boothāJiang Qing didn’t seem to notice the small episode over here, still turning his head to whisper with his friend on the other side. Suddenly, he picked up the dice cup, smiling flamboyantly.
An impulse, an almost rebellious impulse he had never experienced before, suddenly broke through the soil, shattering the taboo he had set for himself.
“Right away, sir.” Holding the half-empty tray, he stepped forward, walking out from the shadows.
Let it be like this.
Notice me just like this.
He walked closer.
The man in the floral shirt who called him over unabashedly patted the empty seat deliberately left beside him with a smug look on his face: “Come, sit here.” His tone was frivolous, as if calling a pet.
Su Lin didn’t sit down immediately. He nodded slightly, his gaze falling on the wine glasses and the messy fruit platter on the table.
Disgusting.
Truly disgusting.
He could feel a few gazes falling on him from the surroundingsācurious, evaluating, indifferent.
But uniquely, none belonged to him.
“What are you standing around for? Sit down!” The man in the floral shirt grew a bit impatient, reaching out to grab his wrist.
The booth in the corner seemed to finally notice the commotion over here. Su Lin got that long-awaited gaze exactly as he wished.
He saw that figure walking over step by step.
What will you do? he thought.
Unexpectedly, the other party helped him out of the predicament.
Watching the liquor pour down from the man’s sparse crown, sliding down that cheek twisted by shock and anger, Su Lin was stunned.
Time seemed to stretch out in that moment.
He saw Jiang Qing holding the empty wine bottle, his face devoid of expression, mouthing “I’m truly sorry,” yet his movements were crisp and decisive. Those few banknotes stuffed into the man’s collar looked somewhat eye-piercing in his gaze at this moment.
The anticipated swords drawn and bows bent didn’t occur. There was no tit-for-tat confrontation, nor was there cold ignorance.
He used a more direct, more… unexpected method.
The ice-cold liquor seemed to have drenched Su Lin from head to toe as well.
He took the opportunity to break free from the restraint, staggering backward and hiding himself back into the shadows. The red marks on his wrist from being squeezed still throbbed faintly, reminding him of his real embarrassment just now.
And Jiang Qing didn’t give him an extra glance, his attention seemingly entirely on that disheveled man.
“Is he a little friend Boss Wang brought along?”
“Don’t know him! Drank too much and mistook him for someone else!”
“That’s good then.” Jiang Qing placed the empty wine bottle upside down, emitting a crisp sound, putting a period to this farce.
This person, it seemed, wasn’t completely identical to the “Second Young Master” in his “dreams.”
This “verification” he had actively stepped into unfolded in a way that completely deviated from all his preconceptions.
When Jiang Qing left, Su Lin saw a bit of blood seeping from his knuckle.
That bloodstain was exceptionally striking against his cold, white skin.
Did he bump into something just now? All to help me out?
This discovery was like a tiny thorn, catching Su Lin off guard and piercing into his heart.
He subconsciously reached into his pocket. A box of Band-Aids lay quietly inside, something he habitually kept handy in case he accidentally cut himself while working.
But he didn’t move.
He just stood in place, watching that glaring red disappear behind the swaying light, shadows, and figures as Jiang Qing walked away. The Band-Aid in his pocket seemed to gain temperature, ironing against his fingertips, and also reminding him of his complex, indescribable state of mind at this moment.
This unexpected rescue, because of a trivial wound, seemed to become no longer purely “charity” or “a whim.”
And he himself, because he noticed this detail, could no longer simply use “bystander” and “verification” to define his actions and motives at this moment.
He remained standing in the shadows, only right now it seemed much messier than he had anticipated.
Translator’s Note:
- The dream wasn’t entirely baseless: The raw text uses the idiom “ē©ŗē©“ä¾é¢Ø” (Empty hole invites wind). It’s commonly used to mean “baseless rumors,” but originally and properly means “there must be a cause for a phenomenon” (if there is a hole, the wind will enter). Here, Su Lin realizes that his awakened memories of Jiang Qing in the novel are actually rooted in reality.
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