CH 64

Chapter 64: Pejoy Biscuit Candles

Rejecting someone felt better than Yue Zhishi imagined.

The preliminary round for the law school started, and Yue Zhishi saw Nan Jia as soon as he went inside. She was in charge of running the preliminary round, and she got all of the contestants to line up and pick a number. There were about fifty of them. Yue Zhishi was in the back of the line, and when Nan Jia saw him, she gave him a smile, very softly saying jiayou.

“Which number are you?”

“49. Second from the last.” Yue Zhishi didn’t think it was a good or a bad number, even though many people thought those near the end would be at a disadvantage.

He and Jiang Yufan headed towards the back of the classroom, sitting down once they found a row of empty seats. Jiang Yufan was even more nervous than Yue Zhishi as he watched the other students go up and explain their inspirations — he even felt a bit suffocated, and he ran to open the back door behind their seats.

“This is so hard. Even the audition for my comedy play wasn’t so difficult.” He ran back to sit next to Yue Zhishi.

Yue Zhishi nodded. “Then that means you’re definitely talented at acting.”

Jiang Yufan comforted him too. “You can definitely get through. Don’t listen to that four-eyes and his nonsense.”

Yue Zhishi chuckled; he actually hadn’t been irritated by what Xu Lin said. On the contrary, his fighting spirit was ignited in a way: he hoped he could successfully enter the design team and compete against Xu Lin directly.

The law school’s contestants brought up their work one after another, explaining their thinking process. After receiving the theme of ‘lake’, everyone’s design styles were fundamentally the same and were just like Yue Zhishi’s designs from before. The most common colours were green, blue and lake green, and the designs leaned heavily on the gradient colours of water sleeves as well as other traditional Chinese styles. There were a few designs that were astonishingly similar. Yue Zhishi saw the judges whispering with their heads together, the looks on their faces not ideal.

“Their concepts are so similar.” Jiang Yufan knew he wasn’t an expert, so he only whispered as he sat next to Yue Zhishi. “I’d believe it if someone said they were all designed by the same person.”

Yue Zhishi nodded, and just as he was about to speak, a delicately pretty girl walked onto the stage. She wore a hanfu, and her voice was very thin and very timid — but one of her sentences captured Yue Zhishi’s attention.

“I made my outfit myself.”

The judges sitting below were also extremely surprised, all of them nodding. “You’ve done well. We wouldn’t have realised if you didn’t tell us.”

Jiang Yufan looked at her powerpoint and leaned closely to Yue Zhishi, saying, “But her designs aren’t too different from the ones earlier. It still gives off the feeling of Chinese water ink paintings.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Yue Zhishi explained, “The arts festival is a group competition between different schools, just like your comedy play. Each team needs to design, but they still need to create outfits for models to wear — so they also need someone who can construct the end product. Her chances of getting in are slightly higher.”

Jiang Yufan understood. But he felt like it was very strange: everyone around them who had yet to go up was continuously looking over their own powerpoint and design drafts, preparing their commentary. Only Yue Zhishi listened with great interest as other people presented their works, and he even noted down the contestant names and designs that he liked, as though he was a judge.

When it came time for Yue Zhishi to go up, he didn’t look too different from usual. He gave the judges below him a smile after he opened up his powerpoint, and he opened his speech very naturally. Jiang Yufan sat below, and he saw quite a few girls in the front rows lifting up their phones, cameras all faced towards Yue Zhishi.

“These are the five designs I created using the theme of ‘lake’.” His digital drawings were projected onto the screen: three sets of womenswear and two sets of menswear. The designs were dreamlike and coolly elegant. “I was inspired by the lake water at nightfall, so I used large areas of dark colours with silver decorations and light polarisation in my designs. The first outfit is a long satin dress. I’ve cut the dress so that it simulates the flowing of water, and the silver and blue polarisation reflects the shimmering nature of lake water.”

He simply explained his designs, and the judges nodded again and again. One of them particularly asked, “Your idea is very unique. Can you share with us your thinking process and the source of your inspiration?”

Yue Zhishi glanced at the backdoor as he listened to the judge’s question. Coincidentally, he saw someone enter the backdoor — and that person wasn’t a random someone. It just so happened to be his ‘source of inspiration’.

Song Yu was wearing a white button-down shirt and a large lead grey coat. Combined with his silver glasses, he looked both distinctive and refined, and he silently sat at the last row of seats, his eyes focused on Yue Zhishi.

“Inspiration…” Yue Zhishi, who’d originally been speaking smoothly, suddenly had his words stuck in his throat. His light-coloured cheeks were almost completely suffused with colour. Pursing his lips, he still gave them a very candid answer. “The inspiration came from someone very important to me.”

The few contestants below the stage started talking; they were all students in the law school, and it wasn’t a large circle. Yue Zhishi had been the most popular new student in the school since he started, and no one expected to hear such gossip during the preliminary round.

Jiang Yufan was first shocked — and then he frowned, thinking.

He felt it was very likely that the important person was Yue Zhishi’s older brother. After all, this child was an older brother-con who knew nothing else.

But he never thought Yue Zhishi would say his next sentence.

“I saw the lights from the lake reflected on that person’s face one night. It was very beautiful.”

Jiang Yufan thought it wasn’t his older brother after hearing that — but he still didn’t dare believe Yue Zhishi had a girl he liked and didn’t tell him. His heart hurt.

Yue Zhishi lowered his eyes, his eyelashes concealing some of his emotions. And yet his ears were still red, as though he’d transformed into a pure and bashful youth from the confident and easygoing designer from before. “…I was stunned. I was inspired at that moment. I initially thought the same as everyone else and confined my ‘lake’ to how it looked during the day: a pool with crystal clear green water. But a lake at night, with its flickers and glow, is also breathtaking. It’s aloof and mysterious.”

The judge nodded in praise. “Very good. Your idea is very rare, and you managed to convey the sense of beauty very well. Your background story is also quite engaging.” The people down below all laughed.

“All right. Next person, please.”

Yue Zhishi came down from the stage, but he didn’t go directly to sit next to Song Yu. He walked with his head lowered all the way to his previous seat; he felt very warm, so he unzipped his sweater, taking it off. He wore only a thin cotton shirt with long sleeves, and he flopped onto the desk. Jiang Yufan leaned in to speak to him, even slipping an arm around his shoulders.

From Song Yu’s perspective, the sight of Yue Zhishi from the back was always so cute — with his slightly curly hair, he looked like a stuffed toy.

“You’re too amazing. Your design is especially striking, I think you’ll definitely get into the team.” Jiang Yufan’s gossipy heart awakened. “But that important person you were just talking about… who is it, and why didn’t I know this person existed?”

“That…” Yue Zhishi couldn’t find a suitable reason to explain it away in the spur of the moment. Besides, his entire brain was currently filled with Song Yu.

His phone abruptly vibrated, and Yue Zhishi looked down to check.

[Gege: Put on your jacket.]

Once he saw that message, he finally couldn’t hold himself back from turning around.

Song Yu was steadily looking at him, his gaze warm. Yue Zhishi was very aware that his face was the same one he’d tried to hide in his designs; he didn’t want the model to look too similar to Song Yu. He’d edited his designs many times, and yet no matter how unrecognisably he changed them, there was no way he could conceal the heart that liked him.

He turned his head back to the front, and pulled his jacket back on.

The final person’s explanation finished at this moment, and the people around him all stood up to go outside. Some of them went towards the backdoor, while some of them headed to the front. Anyone who walked past Song Yu also looked at him, and after a good few people did the same thing, Yue Zhishi couldn’t sit still anymore. He rose up, walked towards Song Yu and stopped in front of him.

Seeing Yue Zhishi leaving, Jiang Yufan also followed behind. When he unexpectedly saw Song Yu, he hurriedly greeted him. “Senior, why’d you come?”

“I heard there was a preliminary round here. I just wanted to have a look.” Song Yu stood up as well, and he walked out of the classroom shoulder to shoulder with Yue Zhishi.

The outside sky was slowly darkening. In a hurry to have dinner with his girlfriend, Jiang Yufan rushed away, saying he’d bring something delicious back to the dorm for Yue Zhishi. Only the two of them remained, and Yue Zhishi shifted closer to Song Yu.

Song Yu thought he was cold and wanted to take off his own heavy coat. Yue Zhishi quickly realised what he was doing and stopped him. “My jacket’s very warm.” He pressed down on Song Yu’s arm before releasing it and continued to walk, sticking closely to him. He asked the same question Jiang Yufan had asked earlier. “Why’d you come?”

But Song Yu gave a different response.

“I came to see what good thing you managed to do by using me.”

There was a bit of teasing underlying his words, and Yue Zhishi felt apologetic — but he also felt Song Yu was being very cute. He couldn’t help but stroke his arm. “Then what did you think?”

Now, Song Yu didn’t tease him. He faintly nodded, his voice serious. “Very well designed. Maybe you can also try getting into that field.”

“I’m still far from doing it professionally.” Yue Zhishi felt his words were already very high praise. He puffed up in pride, like a balloon filled up with air that floated up to the sky. He wanted to hold hands, but he needed to hold back; there were too many people.

Song Yu took him to a very hidden little restaurant. It wasn’t on campus and was outside of the professors’ residential buildings, with most of its customers living in that neighbourhood. He ordered a chicken soup simmered in a clay pot, and it held meticulously stewed chestnuts and orange cordyceps militaris fungus. He also ordered a large portion of the stewed meat dish Yue Zhishi enjoyed, and the porcelain soup bowl was packed to the brim, a layer of bright and glossy chili oil poured over the top with white sesame seeds sprinkled everywhere.

Steaming bowls of rice were delivered, and Yue Zhishi poured a spoonful of the heavily aromatic sauce over his bowl. He mixed it all together and stuffed a large portion into his mouth — the rice, mixed with the sauce, was both flavourful and chewy, and it was a very simple and homey taste.

The stewed meat dish at this restaurant reminded Yue Zhishi of the Grandma’s Stewed Flavour in front of their high school. He had only eaten one bite, and yet he thought of why he’d needed to hide from the rain, thought of Song Yu picking him up from the corridor with his umbrella.

In a daze, Yue Zhishi thought — perhaps he’d already liked Song Yu by then, just a little. He just hadn’t realised.

Or else why would he have been afraid of staying at that corridor by himself after Song Yu graduated.

But if Yue Zhishi tried to look back on his feelings, he truly might not be able to find when his feelings started to change — because from the day he met Song Yu, he had already liked him, very much.

Song Yu ate a bit more than he usually did, so Yue Zhishi asked, “Do you really like this place? It feels like you have a good appetite.”

“I just felt like you would like this place.” Song Yu then explained, “I didn’t have time to eat lunch, so I’m eating both meals at the same time.”

Yue Zhishi was extremely unhappy at how he didn’t take care of himself. “You can’t be like that. You should’ve told me if you didn’t have time to eat, I could’ve delivered some food to you.”

“You had your preliminary round in the afternoon.”

The subtext underneath Song Yu’s words was quite clear, but Yue Zhishi refused to care. “You should’ve told me anyway. Nothing’s more important than you.”

His voice was a bit loud, and the couple next to them glanced at them before turning back to their own food.

Song Yu quietly pulled off the skin and bones from a piece of chicken with his chopsticks, dunking the flesh into the dipping sauce before placing it into Yue Zhishi’s bowl. It was like he was  both surrendering and consoling, and Yue Zhishi’s voice softened. “You need to tell me next time.”

“I will,” Song Yu said solemnly.

Yue Zhishi’s heart felt better, and he devoured the piece of chicken Song Yu gave him. He then said, “I’m going to remind you about all three meals in a day.”

“All right.”

Song Yu knew he didn’t need to say why he didn’t end up eating lunch; it would only worry Yue Zhishi. But he couldn’t hold back his tongue — and so he saw Yue Zhishi anxious for him, saw Yue Zhishi throw a small, rarely seen fit of temper for him.

Song Yu sometimes really needed a thing like this in order to prove something — so that his heart that increasingly craved Yue Zhishi could find a place to stand.

But in the end, he still didn’t want Yue Zhishi to be worried about him, so he added, “It’s only because I want to change research areas in the future. I might need to change research groups, so I want to quickly produce some results and pass as soon as possible. It’ll be fine after this busy period.”

It wasn’t that simple in reality. He’d stayed in his professor’s office from 3 to 5:30pm, listening as his professor said many things he wasn’t willing to hear — including things that weren’t related to his studies. He’d almost missed Yue Zhishi’s preliminary round because of it, but luckily Yue Zhishi was the second to the last person to present his designs.

Yue Zhishi understood Song Yu; he’d undertaken a large portion of the work in his previous group. His advisor must be reluctant to let him go.

“Then did your advisor agree to you leaving?”

Song Yu didn’t answer him directly, and he even carried a touch of emotions as he spoke.

“To be precise, he’s just my undergraduate advisor. I still haven’t graduated, and I haven’t started my postgraduate work yet. It’s not up to him to agree.”

Song Yu also said, “A different advisor is now in charge of the group I want to get into. I’ll most likely head to him once it’s confirmed I don’t need to take the postgraduate entrance exam.”

Yue Zhishi didn’t really understand his field, so he didn’t continue to query. “In any case, I’ll get angry if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“You never used to get angry,” Song Yu said, “unless you were sick.”

Yue Zhishi thought to himself, he didn’t get angry at Song Yu because he didn’t have the status to do so.

“I’ll get angry now, and I’ll even lose my temper at you.” Yue Zhishi propped up his chin with his hands. “What do you think?”

“As long as you don’t get sick, you can lose your temper however you’d like.”

There was no reason for Yue Zhishi’s heart not to weaken after hearing something like that. He couldn’t help it — he squeezed Song Yu’s ankles between his calves, covertly acting cutely spoiled.

After finishing their meal, they headed towards campus from the residential area’s entrance, holding hands for three minutes in the dim alleyways. It was such a short amount of time, but a layer of sweat still grew on the palm of Yue Zhishi’s hand. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was too nervous or if it was because he liked doing it too much — or maybe it was because of both those reasons.

They passed by the Plum Garden playground, and they saw the movie playing in the open air cinema as well as the large crowds of people. Yue Zhishi only then remembered today was Friday.

“There’s so many people.” He gazed at the cinema screen as he continued walking. He could vaguely see the faces of the male and female lead actors; it was a European romantic film.

With just a glimpse at his face, Song Yu knew Yue Zhishi wanted to go watch. He promptly headed in that direction without asking, and Yue Zhishi was like a small animal who couldn’t leave his master’s side, rushing immediately to him as soon as he walked in a different direction. He once again stuck closely to Song Yu’s arm.

“Are we going to watch the movie?” His voice was a bit excited.

“Mn.”

There were too many people, so Song Yu reached out a hand to lightly hold onto Yue Zhishi. There were already no spots to sit in; they could only stand and watch, and they stood at the tail end of a crowd of people. The male and female leads in the movie were strolling on the river bank at dusk, talking about a book they both liked. The female lead unexpectedly changed the subject and said today was her birthday. Yue Zhishi foolishly said to the screen, “What a coincidence. My birthday’s tomorrow.”

Song Yu’s mouth curled up, and he smoothened out Yue Zhishi’s hair that had been blown into a mess by the wind. He pulled up the hood of Yue Zhishi’s jacket for him and said he was going to buy some water, asking if there was anything Yue Zhishi wanted.

Yue Zhishi shook his head. It was rare for him to not request anything, only telling Song Yu to quickly come back.

More and more people started to arrive. Everyone huddled together within the darkness, many of them paired up into couples. Yue Zhishi even saw someone that looked like Qin Yan near the right hand side of the screen, but with so many people, he couldn’t see clearly. He rose up on his toes, curving his head over, and the guy that resembled Qin Yan was kissing his girlfriend just as he once again looked over.

Yue Zhishi’s face slightly flushed — it felt like he was peeping. When he dropped his feet back to the ground, he lost his balance and accidentally leaned backwards. A hand supported his lower back; without even turning his head around, he knew it was Song Yu.

“You’re back?”

Song Yu nodded. There was no water in the convenience store bag in his hand, only a box of cheesecake.

“I thought you didn’t like eating sweet stuff?” Yue Zhishi pulled out the cake, opening it. The fragrance of cream was very rich.

“I bought it for you.” Song Yu said, “It was the only cake without flour. Mom said she’d make and bring over your birthday cake tomorrow.”

“I know.” Yue Zhishi picked up the plastic spoon, wanting to take a bite, but Song Yu stopped him.

On the screen, the male lead sang happy birthday to the female lead. Song Yu asked, “Can we celebrate your birthday a day early?”

This request of his was very unreasonable, and came a bit rashly. No one would carry a small cake worth only a small amount of money, bought from the fridge of a convenience store, and ask the person they liked if they could consider today their birthday. There was no present, and no surprise.

But it just so happened that Yue Zhishi was someone who would definitely agree.

“Sure.” Standing in the midst of the multitude of people and cold wind, Yue Zhishi smiled very sweetly. On the big screen not too far away, the male lead pulled out a lighter — he used the tongue of flame as a candle, easing it closely to the female lead and saying, make a wish.

The screen’s brightness illuminated Yue Zhishi’s face. He asked Song Yu, “Since there’s no candle, are we still making a wish?”

“I do have candles.” Song Yu drew out a box of Pejoy biscuits from his pocket. If Yue Zhishi didn’t mention the issue of making a wish, he had decided to not reveal this stupid method of his. He didn’t want to admit that he’d stayed in the store for a further five minutes just to search for a candle replacement.

He inserted the slender matcha flavoured sticks into the cake, and then he said, “These are candles.”

Yue Zhishi didn’t contradict him, merely closing his eyes as he continued smiling. He then opened his eyes and blew, his acting realistic. Now that the biscuits had completed their jobs as candles, Song Yu took them out. “You can’t eat these.”

“Are they yummy?” Yue Zhishi curiously asked.

“They’re okay.” Song Yu didn’t want him to get greedy, even though Yue Zhishi was no longer the child who would cry if he couldn’t eat something.

Yue Zhishi took a bite of the cake and also fed Song Yu a mouthful. The male and female leads in the movie also finished their simple birthday celebration.

“Why did you want to celebrate it early?” Yue Zhishi asked, his voice muffled.

Song Yu quietly stood there for a moment, his eyes gazing into the distance. “There will be a lot of people tomorrow. Everyone will be coming to celebrate with you.”

Only then did Yue Zhishi understand. Song Yu wanted to celebrate one of his birthdays with him alone. Even if he was truly very busy with no time to eat and everything was distinctly unprepared and hasty — he still wanted it.

“It’s so cold, it’s so cold.” Yue Zhishi spoke extremely loudly on purpose. Some people around them twisted their heads over to look at him, and then he pretended to look like he was fooling around; he pulled open Song Yu’s coat and tunnelled in, saying, “Cover me up.”

Song Yu initially felt what he was doing was peculiar, but then he saw the people around them chuckling as they looked at the two of them before they turned back around to continue watching the movie. The sky was now fully dark — there weren’t too many people who were paying attention to what they were doing.

Yue Zhishi snuggled his face into his chest, his arms wrapping around his waist underneath the coat. His arms didn’t stay around him for long, and they soon released him.

“Am I considered nineteen years old now?”

Song Yu’s mouth revealed a hint of laughter. “Sure.”

He lifted a hand, ruffling the hair on Yue Zhishi’s forehead. His eyes were a bit unfocused. “Even now, I still remember how you looked when you were nine years old.”

“Only when I was nine?” Yue Zhishi asked, tilting his head.

“I remember how you looked when you were three, when you were four, when you were five…” Song Yu thought for a moment. “I think I remember how you looked every year.”

Yue Zhishi thought, perhaps in Song Yu’s eyes, he forever remained a child.

“Song Yu.” Yue Zhishi once again called his name, shifting closer slightly. He opened his mouth amid the noise of voices and movie dialogue — his voice was very soft, as though he was making a wish.

“When we were brothers, you were my older brother and I was your little brother. We weren’t equals. I needed you to take care of me, while you didn’t need anything.”

Song Yu silently listened, looking at his eyes.

“But we’re not like that anymore. I’m your boyfriend, and you are mine. We are now very much equals.”

“I need you. Can you need me too?”