·
Li Kuiyi had no idea why Qi Yu’s mother was suddenly bringing this up, but she had a vague sense that nothing good was coming.
Treating a classmate to a meal wasn’t something she needed to hide, but that didn’t mean she wanted everyone to know about it either. Now the entire room had its eyes on her — a mix of awkwardness, mild concern, and scattered curiosity.
“Mom—” Qi Yu called out helplessly. It was the first time he had spoken since they entered the private room.
“What is it?” Chen Xiujin tilted her head and looked at her son with an odd expression. “Is this a question that can’t be asked?”
Li Kuiyi’s eyes shifted slightly. Calmly and evenly, she said: “It’s fine, Auntie. I was the one who treated Qi Yu to that meal.” She paused, then continued, “Qi Yu helped me print some competition-level math materials. I wanted to thank him, so I took him out for a meal just outside the school gate.”
“I see.” The corners of Chen Xiujin’s thin lips curved upward slightly, as though she were smiling warmly. “No wonder Qi Yu suddenly asked me for permission to eat off campus. He doesn’t usually do that, especially during exam periods — he normally wouldn’t just go out and eat casually.”
“…”
Everyone went a little blank. They weren’t sure which was more startling — the word “permission” or the word “casually.” The private room fell so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Only Gao Guang, whether out of nerves or boredom, had his right hand resting on the table, his index finger tapping steadily, producing a soft, rhythmic little sound.
Zhou Fanghua was sitting beside Li Kuiyi. Under the table, she quietly hooked one of Li Kuiyi’s fingers in her own.
Li Kuiyi’s brow furrowed slightly. She looked directly at Chen Xiujin and asked gently: “Did Qi Yu… upset his stomach?”
Chen Xiujin’s gaze shifted a fraction. She let out an almost imperceptible sigh and said: “No, nothing like that. It’s just that I rarely let him eat things that are heavily oiled or spicy — it’s not good for the digestive system.” She then swept her eyes over the table, her tone light. “Which is also why I specifically chose this restaurant today. What they do best here is Huaiyang cuisine — all very mild and clean. I hope that suits everyone’s palate?”
Although it was phrased as a question, her tone carried a quiet certainty that left no room for disagreement.
Who would dare say it didn’t suit them? Everyone nodded along again, murmuring that yes, of course, it would suit them just fine. Xia Leyi stepped in to smooth things over, saying with a smile: “Huaiyang cuisine is the main cuisine at state banquets — if it suits all those important figures, it’ll certainly suit us.”
Chen Xiujin gave a small nod. “Good, then.”
She rose to her feet, picked up her bag, and said: “Today is Qi Yu’s birthday, and I want to thank all of you for coming. I have some matters to attend to, so I’ll leave Qi Yu to be your host tonight. I hope everyone eats well and has a wonderful time.”
On hearing this, the group exchanged quiet, barely concealed looks of relief. They stood up and offered the expected courteous protests: “Auntie, you’re leaving? Why not stay and eat with us?”
Of course, no one dared make the polite protests too convincing, for fear of actually talking her into staying.
“No, no, you young people enjoy yourselves.”
With that settled, everyone wisely dropped the formalities and stopped trying to persuade her. Zhou Ce and Gao Guang even cheerfully offered: “Auntie, let us walk you out.”
Before Chen Xiujin could respond, Qi Yu pressed them back and said quietly: “I’ll go.”
No one was about to compete with the woman’s own son for the job, so Zhou Ce and Gao Guang stayed put. Everyone said their goodbyes, and once Chen Xiujin and Qi Yu had left the private room and were presumably a decent distance away, the whole group let out one long collective sigh. Gao Guang was particularly dramatic about it — he clutched his fist and pounded his own chest like he couldn’t breathe: “Somebody get me a ventilator. I’m not going to make it!”
Xia Leyi looked over at Li Kuiyi and shrugged. “I told you, right? That family keeps things strict. But I don’t think Teacher Chen was targeting you specifically — don’t take it to heart.”
Li Kuiyi shook her head with a smile. “I won’t.”
Zhou Fanghua rested her head gently on Li Kuiyi’s shoulder and whispered very quietly: “That scared me to death. If she had been questioning me like that, I probably would have cried.”
No sooner had she finished speaking than Gao Guang interjected, curling his hand into a makeshift microphone and conducting an interview: “Warrior Li Kui, how were you feeling just now?”
Li Kuiyi thought about it for a moment: “I was worried he’d upset his stomach and I’d be the one paying for it.”
Everyone: “…”
Meanwhile, Chen Xiujin too had waited until the elevator doors closed before letting her expression fall. In a cold voice, she said to Qi Yu: “Haven’t I told you to keep your distance from those classmates of yours? They couldn’t even get into No. 1 High School, and they spend all day fooling around without any sense of propriety — sooner or later they’ll drag you down with them.”
Qi Yu had heard this speech more times than he could count. Right now he had no desire to respond or argue. He said nothing, his face blank and still. It wasn’t until they reached the basement parking garage and Chen Xiujin walked to the car and pulled the door open that he finally spoke, in a tone of complete detachment: “Goodbye.”
“Are you angry?” Chen Xiujin finally sensed something, setting her bag in the car and shooting him a glance.
“Wasn’t that what we agreed on?” Qi Yu suddenly found his temper, his voice louder than usual. “You said you’d say hello to them and then leave. Why did you have to go around asking all those questions?”
“All those questions? I only asked about that girl — you call that going around asking questions?”
Chen Xiujin rarely saw her son talk back to her, and her displeasure was evident.
“But the things you said made it sound like you were blaming her. She doesn’t know what my usual diet is — weren’t you deliberately making things difficult for her? You weren’t just making it difficult for her, you were making it difficult for me too. What is she going to think of me now?” Qi Yu turned his head away in frustration.
Chen Xiujin was a teacher by profession and keenly perceptive — she caught something in Qi Yu’s words that gave her pause, and her expression turned somber. “What does it matter what other people think of you? You just need to focus on your own affairs. Unless… that girl means something more to you than usual — is that why her opinion matters so much?”
Hearing this, Qi Yu was flooded at once with embarrassment, indignation, and something close to grief. His face went crimson, and a breath lodged in his chest with nowhere to go, yet he had no idea how to refute it. After a long, strangled silence, he finally gave a mocking little smile: “How would I dare? If I put anything less than a hundred percent of my attention on my studies, you and Dad would throw me out of the house.”
“Qi Yu!” Chen Xiujin’s temper flared. She opened her mouth to scold him, then closed it, drawing a long breath — visibly holding her anger down. “Today is your birthday. I don’t want it to end badly. We can discuss whatever needs to be discussed when you get home. Your friends are waiting for you upstairs. Go.”
With that, she got into the car and closed the door. As she buckled her seatbelt, she looked up and said coldly: “Be back by ten tonight. Don’t make me be the one to contact you.”
The car pulled away and disappeared from view. Qi Yu wrapped his arms around his head and slowly sank into a crouch, curling into himself in the middle of that vast, empty parking garage.
He didn’t know how to go back up and face his friends — Li Kuiyi in particular. He could already imagine how silent and painful this dinner was going to be.
He had never celebrated his birthday with friends before. In past years it had always been dinner out with his parents, blowing out candles and cutting cake. This occasion was something he had spent months negotiating his parents into allowing — trading on his middle school entrance exam results.
He had been looking forward to it for so long.
And now he didn’t want this birthday at all. He just wanted to become an ostrich and stay here without moving, burying his head in the ground.
He had no idea how much time passed before his phone in his pocket started to vibrate. He didn’t want to deal with it, but it kept going and wouldn’t stop, so he finally lifted his head from his knees, sniffled, fished out the phone, and swiped it open — it was a string of messages from the group chat titled “Wishing Our Little Sovereign a Blessed Birthday.”
Gao Guang: Where’s the little sovereign? Has he starved to death out there? Who’s going to pay the bill then?
Followed by everyone lining up in formation.
Zhou Ce: Where’s the little sovereign? Has he starved to death out there? Who’s going to pay the bill then?
Xia Leyi: Where’s the little sovereign? Has he starved to death out there? Who’s going to pay the bill then?
Li Kuiyi: Where’s the little sovereign? Has he starved to death out there? Who’s going to pay the bill then?
Zhou Fanghua: Where’s the little sovereign? Has he starved to death out there? Who’s going to pay the bill then?
…
Qi Yu stared at the screen and let out a wry smile.
Everyone was still joking around. Did that mean they weren’t blaming him?
No matter what — running away wouldn’t solve anything. He got to his feet.
Back on the floor with the private room, he stopped first at the restroom, washed his face, and spent a moment in front of the mirror composing his expression.
But he was still anxious.
Standing in front of the private room door, he reached out a hesitant hand — and then heard from inside a burst of cheering. Someone’s voice rang out, barely decipherable: “Come on, tell us everything! Every single detail!”
What was going on in there?
He pushed the door open. The laughter surged louder at once. The boys had Zhang Chuang surrounded and were clapping rhythmically, chanting: “First kiss! First kiss! First kiss…”
When they saw Qi Yu come in, the noise still didn’t stop. Zhou Ce came over and slung an arm around his neck, grinning: “We’re playing Truth or Dare. Zhang Chuang just lost.”
They… seemed not to be thinking about what his mother had done?
On the table, the food had all been brought out, but only the three girls were seated. Zhang Chuang’s chair had a crocodile chomping-hand toy on it, and Gao Guang’s chair had a stack of game cards — each card printed with either a “Truth” or “Dare” prompt.
Qi Yu carefully glanced at Li Kuiyi. She was sitting half-turned, watching the boys corner Zhang Chuang with Xia Leyi and Zhou Fanghua, a smile at the corners of her mouth, eyes bright.
He hesitated, unsure whether to go over and apologize to her.
This was genuinely difficult.
If he didn’t apologize, his conscience wouldn’t leave him alone. But if he did, he was afraid of breaking the pleasant atmosphere.
Trapped in the corner, Zhang Chuang — over a meter eighty-seven, and solidly built — was somehow blushing in embarrassment. After squirming for a while, he finally opened his mouth: “So, in the second year of middle school, at Green Water Park — there was nobody around, so I just… gave a quick kiss. That’s all.”
“Ugh—” The boys expressed their dissatisfaction with a round of jeers. Most of them had never been in a relationship, and everyone was bursting with curiosity about this kind of thing. Gao Guang blinked his small eyes, brimming with the desire to know: “What did it feel like? Describe it.”
“Soft,” Zhang Chuang said, concise and to the point.
Gao Guang pursed his lips: “I already know it was soft. What else did it feel like?”
Zhang Chuang was disinclined to say more, brushing it off: “Nothing else. Just soft.”
Everyone made a scoffing sound, then drifted back to their seats to start the next round.
Qi Yu decided to stop overthinking things. Making sure everyone had a good time was what mattered most right now. So, in his capacity as host — awkwardly, and a little shyly — he spoke up: “Everyone should eat first. The food’s going to get cold.”
“Aren’t we waiting for He Youyuan?” Xia Leyi asked.
Gao Guang made a dismissive sound: “Why wait for him? He’s a dog — just toss him some bones.”
Everyone laughed, thoroughly unkindly, but in the end their consciences got the better of them and they each pulled out their phones, sending their messages one after another.
Zhou Ce: He-dog, you there? Come eat your bones.
Zhang Chuang: He-dog, you there? Come eat your bones.
Gao Guang: He-dog, you there? Come eat your bones.
…
He Youyuan: Get lost.
He Youyuan: There’s a bit of traffic. Start without me, save me some.
Zhang Chuang: Save you what? How about big bones?
Zhou Ce: Save you what? How about big bones?
…
Not knowing when He Youyuan would arrive, and famished from all the exams, everyone went ahead and started eating. Though the teasing was all in good fun, they still asked the server to bring a few clean bowls and plates and spooned a little of each dish into them, setting it aside for him.
The card game continued through dinner. The crocodile toy made its way around the table, and when it reached Li Kuiyi, she chose a tooth and pressed down — and with a snap, the crocodile bit.
Gao Guang was thrilled. He immediately asked: “Quick! Truth or Dare?”
Li Kuiyi thought for a moment. “Truth.”
With truth, you could always make something up if you couldn’t answer honestly. With dare, if you couldn’t do it, there was simply no getting out of it.
“Good. Pick a number between one and fifty.”
“Seven.”
Li Kuiyi had always liked the number seven — she thought it felt nimble and quick.
Gao Guang flipped through the cards quickly, found card number seven, gave a sly little laugh, then put on an expression of extreme seriousness, and read the prompt aloud: “Of everyone here, which person of the opposite gender do you like the most?”
Everyone immediately zeroed in on Li Kuiyi with the gleam of gossip in their eyes. For students at this age, beyond food and studying, what they cared most about was who liked whom, who had a crush on whom, who had started dating whom. Zhou Ce even shook his head with theatrical regret and sighed: “What a shame — the most handsome dog isn’t here.”
Who would want to like him anyway, Li Kuiyi thought.
She blinked, thought for two seconds, and said: “Qi Yu.”
“Ohhh—” Everyone erupted, slapping the table.
Qi Yu’s face went red in an instant.
Li Kuiyi’s expression didn’t change. She picked up a piece of pan-fried hairtail fish, placed it in her small dish, and started eating.
Her reason for choosing Qi Yu was simple: she wanted to let him know that she wasn’t angry with him over what his mother had done. She wasn’t completely indifferent to it — she simply didn’t want to take it out on the wrong person.
Zhang Chuang smiled along, but then picked up his phone and quietly sent a message to He Youyuan: “We’re playing Truth or Dare. You-Know-Who lost. She was asked which guy here she likes best. Guess what she said?”
He Youyuan: …
He Youyuan: Not guessing.
Fine, suit yourself. Zhang Chuang put down the phone.
A moment later, a message popped up.
He Youyuan: Definitely not you.
Another pause.
He Youyuan: Don’t care to know.
And then again.
He Youyuan: Why are you all playing such a boring game?
Zhang Chuang happily took a bite of his crab roe lion’s head meatball and ignored him completely.
The questions that followed were one after another increasingly absurd. When Xia Leyi lost and drew card forty-two, it asked which finger she usually used to pick her nose. Xia Leyi was struggling to keep a straight face and hadn’t even answered when Gao Guang gave up entirely, twisting around and covering his eyes and shouting: “Don’t answer! Don’t answer! In my mind, my goddess never picks her nose!”
Xia Leyi nodded gravely and agreed: “Correct. I never pick my nose.”
Curiously, everyone let her off the hook just like that — perhaps because they truly couldn’t bear to shatter the beautiful illusion.
He Youyuan finally appeared, fashionably late, with the meal already half over.
The boys started up their racket again — where’ve you been, you wandering stray, out there causing trouble this late and not going home. Zhang Chuang even pointed directly at the food set aside for him and announced: “Son, look what your daddy saved you.”
He Youyuan’s gaze swept across Li Kuiyi without pausing, then moved on. He set down his school bag, went over, and kicked Zhang Chuang: “If the son’s a dog, what does that make the father?”
“Still your daddy,” Zhang Chuang said, smug.
Xia Leyi silently rolled her eyes and leaned over to Li Kuiyi and Zhou Fanghua to murmur: “I genuinely cannot understand why boys have such a deep and abiding obsession with being each other’s fathers.”
Li Kuiyi and Zhou Fanghua both nodded — deeply, wholeheartedly: truly pointless.
Then Zhou Ce jumped up and announced: “Don’t let him off the hook — he came late, so he has to face the consequences. Truth or Dare.”
He Youyuan cracked open a pine nut and tossed it in his mouth, then leaned back in his chair and said without hesitation: “Truth.”
There was no need to bother with the number selection this time — Gao Guang just set the stack of cards in front of him and told him to draw one.
The question he drew was: What was the most recent thing that made you cry?
He Youyuan’s mouth twitched. Was this really a coincidence? He felt like he was living inside The Truman Show, being watched from every angle — Sour-Face Pineapple was probably some pre-programmed NPC…
He couldn’t help himself and stole a glance at her, his eyes darting away as he did. But she caught it — it was as if she had known he was going to look, because she met his gaze directly.
Done for, He Youyuan thought. He shouldn’t have looked. Now she would know for certain that he had been crying that day.
So embarrassing.
But since he’d already disgraced himself in front of her, he absolutely could not lose face in front of his brothers too. He drew a breath, and in an instant composed himself into a pose of breezy nonchalance: “Cry? That’d probably be when I was born.”
“Get out of here — if you can’t play, don’t play!” The boys crumpled their napkins into balls and pelted him with them. Zhang Chuang snorted and immediately pulled the rug out from under him: “What’s the point of putting on an act — like none of us have ever seen you cry.”
The reminder triggered a simultaneous dawning recognition across the group, and everyone let out one long collective “ohhhh”: “Right, didn’t you cry just a few months ago?”
“Zhang Chuang, go to hell.” He Youyuan had clearly remembered something he’d rather forget, his face darkening considerably.
The incident had taken place at their middle school graduation party. At everyone’s insistence, He Youyuan had drunk two cans of beer, gotten drunk — and, as no one could have predicted, this particular drunk got weepy. Not just his own weeping, either, but clinging to Qi Yu and weeping, and sobbing at him: “Qi Yu, my older brother really made a mess of things for the Ming dynasty!”
Qi Yu: “…”
Sober up, man — I’m Qi Yu, not the historical Zhu Qiyu.
Their classmates had nearly lost their minds laughing. His brothers, naturally, had not wasted this golden opportunity — phones out, they recorded the entire priceless scene, then played it back for him the moment he was sober, mocking him to his face. He had to treat them all to dinner before they agreed to delete the video.
He Youyuan now felt truly aggrieved. So he got to humiliate himself differently in front of girls versus in front of his brothers?
Since he’d failed the first question, He Youyuan was required to draw again.
This question was: Share one tip or technique you’ve used to pursue someone you like.
Having embarrassed himself in the last round, He Youyuan was naturally out to reclaim his dignity. He laced his fingers behind his head, utterly self-satisfied, and spoke in that particular smug drawl of his: “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve never pursued anyone.”
Laughable. Did they think this face of his was just for decoration? That he would actually have to go out of his way chasing after people?
This managed to provoke the room. Gao Guang collected all the cards immediately: “Boring. Truly boring. I’m telling you, we never should’ve let him play — he’s more full of himself than a suitcase of hot air.”
He Youyuan raised an eyebrow and gave him a sidelong look: “Don’t mistake things you don’t understand for other people showing off.”
Everyone: “…”
The disgrace of it! The boys exchanged glances, cracked their knuckles, and readied themselves to give this person a good thrashing. It was at this moment that Qi Yu — who had barely said a word all evening — cut in: “But what if? What if you met a girl you liked? You still wouldn’t pursue her?”
The boys lowered their fists, willing to hear him out.
He Youyuan shook his head and said again: “Wouldn’t pursue her.”
“So you’d just let things pass you by?” Qi Yu frowned slightly and pressed.
“Of course not. If I were the one who fell for someone first, I wouldn’t pursue her, and I wouldn’t tell her — but I’d make her gradually fall for me on her own, and then she could come after me. Wouldn’t that work just as well?” He Youyuan spread his hands, perfectly self-assured.
Everyone: “…”
What a piece of work this guy was.
And yet no one could actually argue with him, because this particular piece of work genuinely was good-looking, and having a girl fall for him would be effortless — so for him, the plan was entirely viable.
This was truly intolerable. And the cake had just been brought in, which was fortunate — the boys seized their moment, descended as one, and smeared He Youyuan’s face thoroughly with frosting.
There. Now he couldn’t go around flaunting that face of his.
Dinner ended just past eight, and it was far too early to go home. They decided to move on to karaoke. Conveniently, there was a venue called Star Sky KTV in the building above the restaurant, and the group relocated there without a hitch.
They booked a large room. Gao Guang and Zhang Chuang each immediately seized a microphone and launched into a wailing, howling rendition of Beyond’s “Broad Sea and Sky,” putting their entire bodies into the line “Forgive me for a lifetime of wildness and a love of freedom.” To be fair, Zhang Chuang actually sang quite well — he had the spirit of it. Gao Guang, however, was another matter entirely: he sang worse than he talked, and yet afterward he still went around asking everyone: “How was that? Was my Cantonese pronunciation accurate?”
Li Kuiyi had assumed someone like He Youyuan would dominate the microphone, but to her surprise, once inside the KTV, he simply slouched into a corner of the sofa as if too languid to move, the swirling colored lights drifting across his clean-washed face, making his features look all the more refined and handsome.
Eventually, at everyone’s insistence, he did sing — a song called “Love Like a Narcissus.”
The song was originally written for a female voice, its melancholy, winding melody telling the story of love’s helplessness and regret. Sung in his young man’s voice, it took on an altogether different quality — something reckless and headlong, as though he truly might, like a narcissus, bloom quietly and steadfastly outside the window of the person he loved, clean and supple and unyielding in the cold and snowy silence of winter.
The boys swiped his microphone away, declaring he was too alluring, that even his singing had a quality of covert seduction.
Gao Guang then made a fuss for Xia Leyi to go next. Xia Leyi shot him a sharp look but didn’t hesitate — she took the microphone. She didn’t queue up a song; she just started singing along with whatever was already playing. Watching her confidence, Li Kuiyi had assumed she could really sing — she was wrong. Xia Leyi couldn’t find the melody at all, yet sang with such tremendous force that she turned “Hair Like Snow” into something that sounded more like “Hair Like Iron.”
Everyone was struggling desperately not to burst out laughing, and the room filled with suppressed, rustling snickers. Xia Leyi paid none of it any mind and fearlessly sang the entire song to the end.
When she finished, everyone applauded her thunderously, in tribute to her courage. Xia Leyi accepted the acclaim like a princess, miming a curtsy, then sat back down on the sofa and returned to eating from the fruit platter.
Li Kuiyi also chose a song. Since everyone had already queued up plenty of Zhou Jielun’s songs, she skipped those and picked “Mischief” instead. Fang Zhixiao was deeply devoted to the Taiwanese drama “It Started with a Kiss,” having watched it more times than she could count, and not content to watch alone, she had always insisted on watching it with Li Kuiyi too. It was because of that drama’s male lead that Fang Zhixiao had developed her fascination with unattainable, lofty figures.
When the intro started, everyone instinctively felt something was off — was this a sweet little love song?
Li Kuiyi singing a sweet little love song?
Well, that was hard to picture.
But she really did begin to sing. Li Kuiyi wasn’t an especially skilled singer, just someone who stayed in key, but the voice of a fifteen-year-old girl carried something like the scent of a green apple — perfectly suited to the atmosphere of tentative longing and inexperience that the song held. At first no one could quite adjust to the image of a seemingly stern top student earnestly singing about “believing in the meaning of love,” but as they listened, one by one they found themselves thinking back to some half-forgotten, ambiguous closeness of their own.
At this age, who hadn’t liked someone?
The breathless flutter of youth — nothing in the world could quite compare to it.
Partway through, during an instrumental break, Li Kuiyi felt thirsty and leaned over to spear a couple pieces of fruit. She was still chewing when the second half began, and in her scramble to keep up, she had barely swallowed before opening her mouth — and the melody soared completely off into outer space.
She couldn’t help it herself. She buried her face in Zhou Fanghua’s shoulder, laughing with embarrassed delight.
He Youyuan sat in the dim corner, watching that profile, and silently lifted the corner of his own mouth. The KTV’s low, shifting light was an excellent cover. He tilted his head freely and watched the rotating stars fall across her face, scattering a soft, faint glow.
She picked up the microphone again and found her way back into the melody, each word and syllable making its way into his ears.
I think I have slowly started to like you
Because I have the courage that love requires…
A surge of restlessness hit him all at once, like magma rolling through his blood. He Youyuan suddenly stood up, pushed open the door of the private room, and walked out.
The air outside was far better — less crowded, less pressing. The KTV corridor was lined all over with bright, mirror-like tiles in shades of blue and violet, and his reflection fragmented across that strange, glittering wall — impossible to make out clearly no matter how he looked.
But why impossible?
He knew perfectly well where his agitation came from: it came from her.
He disliked this feeling, genuinely. He would apologize to her, and once the apology was done, everything between them — their whole shared past — would be wiped clean. After that, he wanted no more entanglement with her. The two of them should be like strangers; it would be better for everyone. It should be easy enough, after all — she had said that night that she didn’t like him. Thank goodness she didn’t. If she did, things would get complicated…
Still thinking this, He Youyuan went into the restroom and washed his face.
When he returned to the private room, he found Li Kuiyi and Zhou Fanghua duetting on “One of Us Is Like Summer, One of Us Like Autumn.” He looked away at once — he meant what he said. Starting from this very moment, he was going to stop paying her any attention.
When they grew tired of singing, they turned the lights on, lowered the music to serve as background sound, and the boys crowded around the coffee table to play board games, while Gao Guang and Qi Yu joined the girls and asked Xia Leyi to read their astrological charts. Xia Leyi looked at Qi Yu’s natal chart and exclaimed: “Oh dear — your Saturn is in Cancer. You’re going to have an extremely difficult time finding a girlfriend…”
Qi Yu: “…”
Gao Guang cheerfully slapped him on the shoulder and offered comfort: “No matter, no matter. Skip the girlfriend, go get into university.”
They played until past ten before anyone stretched and started complaining about heading home.
At this hour, it wasn’t safe to let the girls go home alone, so the boys talked it over and agreed to see them each home if the routes were close.
Li Kuiyi lived in the same part of the city’s east side as Qi Yu, He Youyuan, and Zhou Ce, so they shared one taxi. Zhou Fanghua and Xia Leyi both lived in the south of the city and were seen off by Gao Guang and the others.
Everyone was tired from an evening of fun and rode in silence, eyes closed, dozing. The first stop was at Champion Residence, where Zhou Ce yawned and climbed out — and before he’d quite gotten his bearings, he heard He Youyuan telling the driver: “Take us to Yuqing Garden on Huayuan Street.”
Zhou Ce looked bewildered. “You’re not getting out?”
He Youyuan replied with complete certainty: “I’m seeing someone home.” Then the door clicked shut.
Qi Yu: “…”
Li Kuiyi: “…”
The taxi drove off. Zhou Ce was still standing there, stupefied: couldn’t Qi Yu see her home? And on closer reflection — how did this guy know she lived at Yuqing Garden?
He had the sensation of having stumbled onto a monumental piece of gossip. His drowsiness evaporated entirely. He pulled out his phone and started sharing…
Qi Yu had been hoping to use this little bit of time alone with Li Kuiyi to apologize to her, but a wrench had been thrown into the plan at the last moment. He pinched the dead phone in his trouser pocket and leaned wearily against the headrest.
Things never seemed to go the way he wanted.
In only a few minutes, they arrived at the entrance to Li Kuiyi’s residential complex.
He Youyuan got out of the car as if it were his own home — nimble and decisive, faster than Li Kuiyi herself — and then gave Qi Yu a casual wave: “Get home safely.”
Qi Yu: “…”
Li Kuiyi: “…”
This person really had no shame whatsoever.
Qi Yu lowered his eyes and said goodbye.
The taxi moved on toward its next destination.
Li Kuiyi and He Youyuan stood watching the car disappear into the darkness ahead, then turned around — and accidentally met each other’s gaze, which they both immediately averted. They stood there, heads bowed, looking at the ground.
The security booth at the complex entrance still had its light on; someone inside was probably watching television, and faint, muddled sounds drifted out every now and then. The road had no more cars or pedestrians now, only some fallen leaves heaped at the edge of the curb, which a gust of night wind suddenly caught and lifted, spinning them briefly in the air before they tumbled back to the ground with a clean, crystalline rustle — like a scattering of broken gold.
He Youyuan looked up at her, and for a moment went blank: why had he come again?
Oh, right. To apologize. Apologize, and then go his own way, she goes hers — yes.
He Youyuan slid his school bag from his shoulder, unzipped it, and reached inside to rummage around. It was only then that Li Kuiyi noticed his bag, which had always looked rather light, was now bulging and heavy. What had he put in it?
He pulled out a gold box and held it out to her: “For you.”
Li Kuiyi didn’t know what it was. She looked down and saw the word “GODIVA” printed across the gold box, with a ribbon tied on the left side.
Oh. Chocolate.
She recognized the brand — it was quite expensive, if she remembered correctly.
She had guessed he was probably here to apologize, but a gift this costly was not something she could accept. She pushed the chocolate back toward him and said: “I don’t want this.”
He Youyuan promptly shoved the box back into her arms — just as she had done to him that other evening — taking her arm and wrapping it around the box so it wouldn’t fall, and said in a rough, forceful voice: “You have to!”
Li Kuiyi: “…”
Was this honestly his idea of an apology?
He Youyuan also realized his tone was wrong. He swallowed, fidgeted uncertainly with the hem of his jacket — and then turned back around, reached into his large black school bag again, and this time pulled out a bouquet of flowers.
Li Kuiyi’s eyes flew wide open.
He… he wasn’t here to apologize. He was here to confess his feelings?
Before Li Kuiyi had time to recover from the shock, He Youyuan had already tucked the flowers into her arms too, lifting her other arm to hold them in place. The flowers had been squashed inside the bag and came out somewhat bedraggled, petals bent at odd angles. He reached out and straightened them one by one, then carefully smoothed out the wrapping paper.
Only then did he look into her eyes.
What was he here to do again? Oh right, to apologize…
The tips of He Youyuan’s ears went faintly warm. His lips moved slightly, and he was just about to speak — when all at once, in the clear dark brightness of her eyes, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection.
His breath shuddered. His mind went blank for one suspended moment, and he completely forgot what he had meant to say. The words that came out were not what he had planned: “Li Kuiyi, I — I want to make up. Can we make up?”