Around the time of the Spring Festival, University A had already let out for the holiday. Then an epidemic broke out without warning, and cities across the country began closing down one after another.

Xiao Mu was stranded at his uncle’s house, under quarantine. The shopping mall where Ye Yuncheng worked was temporarily shut down as well. Fang Zhuo, unable to buy face masks, stayed at home calmly and studied.

The work stoppage didn’t have much of a financial impact on Ye Yuncheng — after all, he didn’t have a shop lease to pay, and he had accumulated a certain amount of savings beforehand, enough to see them through the immediate difficulty.

It was simply that with all this sudden free time, he didn’t know what to do with himself, so he shifted his focus to updating his short videos and developing new recipes.

Fang Zhuo, out of curiosity — and because it was somewhat related to her field of study — decided, at Yan Lie’s encouragement, to try and research the mysterious algorithms behind short video apps.

The result: after scrolling through videos for several days, she hadn’t figured out the algorithm at all, but she had thoroughly studied a hundred different ways to make cake.

Yan Lie followed along with the tutorials and tried his hand at it, dreaming of unlocking his culinary skills — but without exception, every attempt ended in failure.

He sent Ye Yuncheng a video call in great distress, saying mournfully that he had been eating food with a strange eggy smell, which he could not properly name, for over a week now, and that he had no desire to eat anything sweet for the next six months.

Ye Yuncheng was both amused and sympathetic. He told Yan Lie to prop his phone up at the edge of the stove, and then walked him through cooking step by step.

The two of them were closeted in the kitchen, exchanging guidance in soft, focused tones for half the day, utterly absorbed. Fang Zhuo passed by the background several times and was completely ignored by both of them.

Very well — Yan Lie had thoroughly become part of this family.

Fang Zhuo thought wryly to herself: Yan Lie’s motives for approaching her in the first place had not been pure, and now he had gone and claimed himself a free uncle.

Because the epidemic situation in City A was not very serious, and no new patients had been found in the city center, Ye Yuncheng took the opportunity of going out to buy groceries in the evening to drop off some food at Yan Lie’s place.

That evening, as a gesture of thanks, Yan Lie brought Ye Yuncheng along to play video games, wanting him to experience the kind of fun that was typical among young students at this stage.

Ye Yuncheng seemed to be fairly good at it — though of course, it was equally possible that Yan Lie was simply very skilled at flattery and coaxing.

Listening to the patient, encouraging guidance coming through the speaker, Fang Zhuo recorded Yan Lie’s attentive, even fawning behavior and uploaded it to her categorized social media updates.

The next morning, Ye Yuncheng was still on the phone with Yan Lie playing the game together. Fang Zhuo couldn’t resist joining in for a while, only to discover that she was completely unsuited to this kind of MOBA game.

Her fierce competitive instincts meant she couldn’t accept the repeated deaths and crushing defeats of her character… and yet she was terrible at it.

Two hours later, she deleted the game entirely and let out a long breath of suppressed frustration.

What was the point of playing games? Better to study.

Meanwhile, things were far less tranquil in City B.

The epidemic’s impact on businesses was enormous. All the contracts that Yan Chengli had signed previously were impossible to fulfill on schedule, and he had been run ragged for days. He had barely managed to renegotiate the delivery timeline with his business partners, yet still felt uneasy and anxious, always sensing that something had been overlooked.

On careful reflection, this anxiety mostly stemmed from Yan Lie.

The more the world panicked, the more worried they became. Even though the several phone calls they made to Yan Lie had all been met with reassurances that he was safe, the unease in their hearts refused to settle.

When Yan Lie was small, they had never worried like this.

Yan Chengli surmised that perhaps back then, their life experience and state of mind had not yet fully grasped what it meant to be responsible as parents. And now — he wasn’t sure if it was already too late.

In the evening, a rare stretch of quiet appeared, and Yan Chengli sat in his study, brewed a cup of tea, shut the door, and quietly peeked at Yan Lie’s social media updates.

Yan Lie used to enjoy posting on WeChat Moments, but lately he seemed to update that less often, and was using QQ more frequently instead.

WeChat turned up nothing of note, so Yan Chengli switched over to look at Yan Lie’s QQ status updates.

During the epidemic, Yan Lie’s update frequency had increased — a passable method of letting people know he was safe.

Yan Chengli scrolled straight to the bottom and began reading from the earliest posts.

Lord Lie Name: [Image] Fifth failed cake — is this even reasonable?! [Grimacing face]

Wei Something: Stop struggling. You’re not cut out for the kitchen. Keep at it and you’ll be walking into the fire department instead.

Mousse Cake: Lielie, is it because you miss me? [Docile]

Ye Yuncheng: How did it turn out like this? Let me take a look.

Lord Lie Name replied to Ye Yuncheng: [Aggrieved]

Yan Chengli looked at the image, his heart aching with a sour sort of sadness. Because of the epidemic, the household helper couldn’t come, and Yan Lie was alone at home — he couldn’t even get a proper meal. How pitiful.

He switched to his banking app and transferred ten thousand yuan to Yan Lie, telling him to feel free to order delivery, not to worry about the price — there would always be shops still open in City A.

After sending the money, he went back to the update list and continued scrolling upward.

Lord Lie Name: [Image] Dinner provided by Uncle! And a recipe he sent along. [Cupping cheeks] Thank you, Uncle!

A string of classmates chimed in below, saying they missed Uncle’s braised dishes very much and asking when his shop was going to reopen.

The image showed a small handwritten note.

Yan Chengli zoomed in on the detail and could just make out the blurry words: “Divide the chicken broth and put it in the freezer. When you’re hungry you can use it as a base stock to cook noodles.” “Live shrimp that were frozen directly can last relatively longer. When cooking them, there’s no need to thaw first, and remember to add salt.” “The freshly pickled sour vegetables — rinse them before eating. And try to eat less instant noodles. They’re not healthy.” …

There was much more. It was clear that Ye Yuncheng had given Yan Lie considerable material support, and had also put a great deal of care into it.

Yan Chengli drew a deep breath — moved, and yet with something complicated running through his feelings.

He waited a moment, then felt his phone vibrate, and eagerly switched back to the WeChat chat screen.

In the pinned conversation, without even tapping to open it, he could see the reply.

Lielie: ? I still have money. No need to transfer.

Lielie: [Image] My personal savings.

Aloof in tone.

No anticipated thanks. No face-cupping emojis.

Yan Chengli felt a prick at his heart, though he could not show it. He stared at the image for two seconds — well, say what you will, the boy had quite a bit of money saved. Worthy of being his son!

Yan Chengli cleared his throat and began typing with abundant warmth.

Yan Li: Are you doing all right at home by yourself?

Lielie: Pretty good.

Yan Li: Is there anything you’re having trouble adjusting to? Do you feel bored?

Lielie: Not really. No need for you to worry about me.

As expected, the conversation ground to a halt once again.

Yan Chengli clicked his tongue, the tip of his tongue dry and bitter. He lifted the water glass from the table and took a small sip, feeling deeply out of sorts.

He clicked back into Yan Lie’s QQ updates — and now only the most recent post remained.

Lord Lie Name: Uncle’s game record. [Image] So impressive! [Excited]

The comments section was even more lively than before. Most of the male students seemed to enjoy this kind of game, even the top students. Especially during the epidemic lockdown, stuck at home, with few other forms of entertainment.

Mousse Cake: Not bad at all! Let’s play together next time!

Zhao Acceleration: Cake won’t do. Cake’s skill level is terrifying.

Azure August: Lie — help me climb the rankings. Senior will pass you the student council president position next semester.

Playful Kid: How much does this carry cost? I heard he’s pretty good. [Doge]

At this point, Yan Chengli wasn’t just a little sour — he felt as though the top of his skull was about to be blown off by some nameless gust of air.

He pressed his hand to the bridge of his nose, shut his eyes, and told himself to be calm. It was just a game they played together.

But he truly could not understand it — why did Yan Lie act obedient and lively with the parents of other people, using emojis with ease, while with himself, Yan Lie was as stiff and distant as if they were conducting official business?

He had never appeared in Yan Lie’s WeChat Moments. Ye Yuncheng, on the other hand, had achieved a three-in-a-row streak.

The last one to achieve that had been Fang Zhuo.

At the thought of Fang Zhuo, Yan Chengli’s entire body gave a small shiver.

He clicked into Fang Zhuo’s updates to see if she had recently posted anything related to Yan Lie.

She had — a video just over a minute long, which thoroughly opened the door to a new world for Yan Chengli.

In the video was a tone of voice he had never once received: soft and patient, calling out with sweetness in every utterance.

“Uncle, come this way — follow me, yes, that’s right.”

“Uncle, here — let me heal you.” “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll get revenge for you.”

“Amazing, Uncle — you’re so clever! This must be a natural gift!”

Yan Chengli didn’t play games himself, but he knew about them. His assistant had once told him: among men, in those years, the most sincere form of friendship was an invitation to play games together.

And the most solid bond of all was not insulting someone for being terrible at the game while you were playing with them.

Yan Chengli’s composure collapsed.

In that very moment of collapse, he recalled that his assistant had also said: nowadays, games were almost becoming a form of socializing among young people.

Yan Chengli couldn’t sit still. He stood up and paced a circle around his desk. In the end, unable to suppress the upheaval in his heart, he raised his phone, pressed his finger down hard, and sent a message to Yan Lie.

Yan Li: Do you have time right now?

Lord Lie Name: More or less. Is there something you need?

Yan Li: Could you bring me along to play a game?

The other side went silent for a long time.

Yan Chengli felt that silence was a comparison being made — between himself and Ye Yuncheng.

While he waited, he searched for the name of the game and clicked to download it.

To his surprise, the game was quite large — several gigabytes — and would take a long time to load.

He hurriedly messaged Yan Lie again to reschedule, saying they’d do it in half an hour.

Yan Lie still didn’t reply.

Yan Lie had simply switched from WeChat to QQ to find Fang Zhuo and debrief her on the situation.

Lord Lie Name: Did my dad contact you again? Did you give him ideas?

Little Sun: No? What happened?

Lord Lie Name: Something’s off with him. He’s asking me to play games with him?

Lord Lie Name: What is this? Is he being sarcastic? I’m already in university — so what if I play games occasionally? Is that really so unacceptable? [Head hurts]

Little Sun: Ah? Let me ask him?

Lord Lie Name: He must have gone through my QQ. But I only posted one thing about games?

Lord Lie Name: I’m going to block him.

Fang Zhuo had a faint inkling that it wasn’t what Yan Lie thought.

She felt she perhaps understood Yan Chengli’s way of thinking to some degree — frightening as that was.

Little Sun: Uncle, may I ask — are you trying to play a game, or are you objecting to him playing games?

Yan Li: Play a game!

Yan Li: I heard that playing games can bring people closer together!

Little Sun: Really? Who said so?

Yan Li: It’s true! A young person said so.

Yan Chengli replied with such certainty, even using multiple exclamation marks. Fang Zhuo herself wasn’t very versed in this area and couldn’t say for certain. She could only pass the message word for word to Yan Lie, telling him to bring his dad along for some gaming later.

Yan Lie seemed deeply resistant; he struggled for half a minute before submitting and saying “fine.”

This was a matter of emotional exchange between father and son — Fang Zhuo didn’t pay it much further attention.

Just before she went to sleep, she suddenly remembered, and casually checked Yan Lie’s latest update.

Lord Lie Name: My rank dropped [outrageous]. High price for a booster! [Frantic]

…Fang Zhuo had a feeling he had actually gone and blocked Yan Chengli after all.

From this, she came to understand one truth: games do not bring people closer. At least not when the person is terrible at them.