Sour Peach

Before Tong Xilin’s father passed, he offered no lingering words, only a string of digits—a phone number—and a name: Kong Ji. “If life gets too hard, go to him.” Leaving only this sentence, the man who had shown no emotion his entire life let a single tear fall. Tong Xilin wiped it away for him and gently closed his eyes. He saved the phone number for two years. He never intended to call it. Then an accident landed him in a hospital with a broken leg, utterly alone. He dialed the number, and the moment the call connected, he said, “I’m Tong Yuzhi’s son.” The man who came to the hospital was arrestingly handsome, but with a frivolous air that screamed trouble. He tilted Tong Xilin’s face up, studying him for a long moment before his lips curled into a casual, indifferent smirk. “Quite the resemblance.” “Any kindness I show you is predicated on the fact that you look like him.”