Who Was the Heartless One, Anyway???

"Where are you going?" the director shouted after him, signaling the cameraman with her eyes to follow.

Jiang Xun didn't look back, his trouser legs fluttering with the speed of his strides.

Only after leaving the courtyard did he realize the village was even more remote than he had imagined.

Rolling mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, with a handful of households scattered at their feet, their mud-brick houses huddled together at crooked angles.

A rutted dirt road ran through the middle, still muddy from last night's rain.

The air, at least, was incredibly fresh, carrying the mingled scent of vegetation and earth-a completely different world from the city where he had spent seventeen years.

But Jiang Xun wasn't in the mood to admire the scenery.

He barreled along the dirt road, his gaze sweeping back and forth like radar, and soon locked onto his target-

Two white box trucks were parked beneath the old locust tree at the village entrance, Beijing TV's logo emblazoned on their sides. Several people in production crew uniforms were unloading supplies.

Jiang Xun strode over, went around the crew members unloading the trucks, and headed straight for the back of one.

Sure enough, his nose hadn't been wrong.

Several stacks of boxed meals were neatly arranged in the cargo compartment, still wrapped in insulated bags.

A young production assistant was squatting beside them, shoveling down a boxed meal. He looked up at Jiang Xun and froze, his chopsticks still hanging from his mouth.

Before the production assistant could speak, Jiang Xun had reached out and taken the topmost box, the one labeled "Director."

He tore open the insulated bag and flipped up the lid, and the aroma of braised chicken leg hit him full in the face.

The meal was quite generous: a glossy chicken leg rested on the rice, flanked by stir-fried garlic scapes with pork and scrambled eggs with tomatoes, with a small carton of yogurt on the side.

Jiang Xun squatted beside the truck, grabbed a pair of chopsticks, and started shoveling food into his mouth.

The production assistant stared, dumbfounded. "Y-you're eating the director's-"

Jiang Xun's mouth was stuffed with rice, his cheeks bulging. "I know. I picked hers on purpose."

He really was starving. Those two bowls of watery porridge might as well have been nothing; they had only made the hollow in his stomach feel even bigger.

The portion was just enough to fill a growing seventeen-year-old boy's stomach. Jiang Xun demolished it, the rice and dishes disappearing at a visible rate.

The production assistant scrambled off to find the director.

Taking advantage of the interval, Jiang Xun deftly tucked two more boxed meals against his chest. He finished the last bite of chicken, tossed the empty container into the trash, and patted his stomach contentedly.

That was when the director finally came charging over in a fury.

"Y-you've already started eating!" The director slapped her thigh in anger.

Jiang Xun swallowed the meat in his mouth and licked his lips, still wanting more. "That chicken leg was nicely seasoned, just a little salty. Remember to tell them to go easy on the soy sauce next time."

The director: "..."

"Spit it out!"

"Would you still eat it if I did?" Jiang Xun tilted his head, his expression innocent enough to give someone a heart attack. "If you don't mind, I could try spitting some out for you."

The director's blood pressure shot up at a visible rate.

With two boxed meals tucked against his chest, Jiang Xun sauntered back.

Shen Wangjing was chopping firewood in the courtyard.

He had taken off his black short-sleeved shirt and was bare-chested, sweat running down the grooves of his back and glistening in the midday sun.

His swings were clean and decisive, every stroke carrying a vicious force. Each piece of wood split in two with a crack, chips flying everywhere.

Jiang Xun couldn't help stealing a couple more looks before walking to the low table and setting down the two boxed meals.

Grandpa Shen was dozing in his wheelchair. Catching the aroma, he blearily opened his eyes. "What's this?"

"Boxed meals." Jiang Xun lifted the lids, and the aroma immediately wafted out. "You take this one. It's got more food. The other one's for your grandson."

Once the lids were lifted, the rich, oily aroma of braised chicken filled the entire courtyard. The yellow dog wagged its tail so hard it looked ready to fly off.

Grandpa Shen stared at the meal for a long while, his cloudy eyes clearing for a rare instant. A thick, indistinct local accent emerged from his throat. "H-how much must this have cost? We can't afford this..."

"It didn't cost anything. Got it for free." Jiang Xun snapped apart the disposable chopsticks and pressed them into the old man's hand. "Eat up. The chicken won't taste as good cold."

Then he raised his head and tipped his chin toward Shen Wangjing, who was still chopping wood.

"Hey, come eat while it's hot, before this heartless production crew takes it away."

The production crew: "..."

Was there any justice left in the world? Who was the heartless one, anyway???

The axe in Shen Wangjing's hands stopped in midair. Sweat dripped from his jaw, landing on the wood chips by his feet and leaving a small damp mark.

He turned his head to glance at Jiang Xun, his gaze lingering on the two boxed meals for two seconds.

"I'm not hungry."

The axe fell, and another piece of wood split with a crack.

Jiang Xun rolled his eyes.

Not hungry, my ass. A guy that big, drinking one bowl of porridge so thin you could see your reflection in it? Something would be wrong with him if he weren't hungry.

He walked over and snatched the axe straight out of Shen Wangjing's hands.

Caught off guard, Shen Wangjing instinctively reached to take it back, but Jiang Xun had already tossed it onto the woodpile. He brushed the wood chips off his hands and planted himself in front of Shen Wangjing, hands on his hips.

"What is this, a triathlon? Who are you kidding with one bowl of watery porridge? Think you're Guanyin and can survive on dew?"

Jiang Xun's lips flew, words spilling out like machine-gun fire.

"Just go eat already and quit pretending. That chicken won't taste good cold. I risked getting hunted down by the director to snatch these for you. How can you do that to me and not eat?"

Under this barrage, Shen Wangjing's brows drew together.

His thin lips moved, probably wanting to say something, but faced with Jiang Xun's complete refusal to play by the rules, he clearly didn't know where to begin.

They stared at each other for a moment. In the end, Shen Wangjing walked over to the low table and sat down. Picking up his chopsticks, he first placed a piece of meat in his grandfather's bowl.