Sun Wenqu could already guess how this conversation would go.
A father full of bitter disappointment, looking down from on high at his useless son: unfilial, worthless, a flashy waste of the family’s effort, blind to his father’s care, spending all his time messing around with men…
Plenty to say.
It wasn’t like Sun Wenqu didn’t know what kind of person he was. His father’s accusations, some he couldn’t accept but had no way to argue against, or even if he did argue, it would just be called defiance. Others, he actually agreed with.
But he never admitted anything. First, because it was pointless. Second, because admitting would only convince his father that he should submit.
Liking men, that was sure to come up too. But from experience, his father usually saved that for later in the lecture, as a side point, proof of how much trouble his uselessness caused the family. Sun Wenqu never expected him to open this ultimatum-style meeting with that line.
And the wording was strange.
Little boyfriend?
Wandering all over the mountains?
“What do you mean?” Sun Wenqu frowned at him.
“Still pretending. You’ve always been good at that.” His father sneered again.
Sun Wenqu stayed silent. The only mountain trip he’d taken recently was Crow Ridge. If that’s what his father meant, then the “little boyfriend” could only be… Fang Chi?
F*ck.
That’s not a little boyfriend, that’s a slave and son rolled into one!
But even if he was a boyfriend, how would his father know?
“I was with a group of friends, over twenty people, Liangzi, Bowen, Luo Peng, all of them…” Sun Wenqu started to explain, then stopped and smirked. “This came from Li Bowen, didn’t it?”
“Doesn’t matter who told me.” His father sat steady. “If you still want to rely on this family, you’d better clean up your mess. Settle down! Stop wasting your life on eating, drinking, playing around. Ever since you were a child I’ve…”
“Li Bowen said I was running around the mountains with a little boyfriend?” Sun Wenqu cut him off, repeating the question.
“When I’m talking!” His father’s eyes bulged, palm slamming the table beside him. “You dare interrupt? This disgusting hobby of yours, we’ve tolerated it, but you still have the face to keep asking questions!”
Sun Wenqu didn’t say anything.
“I’m telling you,” his father pointed at him, “without me, with the way you are, you couldn’t survive a single day! If this time you don’t behave and do as I say, you can go beg for food! And don’t think you can count on your mother or those friends of yours either! I’ve already given everyone the word!”
Sun Wenqu looked at his father in silence. Sun Yao and his mother had both told him to come back and have a good talk with his dad.
A good talk.
Looking at the situation now, clearly his father’s idea wasn’t the same as theirs. His father hadn’t planned to calmly lay things out and talk like he imagined.
“Have a good talk”, that seemed to be just a one-sided demand placed on him.
“Did you hear me!” his father barked, eyes fixed on him.
“I can…” Sun Wenqu finally opened his mouth, forcing down the gloom weighing on him from the absurd “little boyfriend” and his father’s completely one-sided accusations. “If I seriously try doing something, not pottery, would that be okay?”
“No! The road has already been paved for you at home!” his father raised his voice. “Look at yourself, what else can you do? Ignorant, undisciplined, besides fooling around with men, what are you even capable of? What can you do!”
Sun Wenqu felt he was pretty calm, but for some reason his hands were trembling badly.
He turned, opened the door. “Then I’ll go beg.”
“What did you say!” his father roared.
His mother and Sun Yao were both in the living room, looking up at the second-floor landing. They heard that shout clearly.
“Wenqu!” Sun Yao frowned immediately, lowered her voice. “What’s wrong with you!”
“I’ll go beg,” Sun Wenqu’s voice wasn’t loud, but everyone in the house could hear him. “If one day I want to make pottery, it’ll be because I want to, because I’m willing, not because someone forced me.”
“Naïve.” His father’s voice dropped cold.
“Mm,” Sun Wenqu walked downstairs, “that’s my only strength, something I gave myself.”
Fang Chi was in a great mood today. After training, showering, and changing, his whole body felt light, like even his steps had a spring in them.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
He hopped a couple of steps toward his bag.
Bounce away the crow’s feet.
“Uncle Xiang, I’m heading out!” he called toward Chen Xiang, who was talking to a student.
“This kid.” Chen Xiang laughed. “Want me to take you to eat something good later?”
“No need,” Fang Chi grinned. “I’ve got to review tonight.”
“Wow.” Chen Xiang said.
Actually, Fang Chi’s grades weren’t bad, always middling. After senior year started, Old Li had pushed him hard and he’d improved quite a bit. Still, though their school had a century of history, it wasn’t exactly a top school. With their ranking, getting into a really good university was out of reach.
Fang Chi had been thinking, maybe he should give it another push, but he’d never really committed. These past two days, after Sun Wenqu explained problems to him, probably because he’d been too lazy to ask teachers, he got nervous under Sun Wenqu’s tutoring, had to listen carefully, and suddenly things became a lot clearer. That’s what finally made him decide to go all out for these last six months.
He was just mulling over whether to cook noodles for dinner, when he stepped out of the club and barely got two steps before something small smacked against his face.
Startled, he spun around, but saw nothing. He touched his face, no feeling. Just as he was about to move on, smack, it hit again.
This time he saw it clearly. Something small flew from the right, hit him, then fell to the ground, it was a crumpled bit of paper.
“F*ck!” He whipped his head around to the right.
Under a lamppost on the sidewalk stood someone, leaning casually, a faint smile at the corner of his lips, looking right at him.
“You, what are you doing here?” Fang Chi was shocked. The temperature had dropped that afternoon, yet Sun Wenqu was still only in the casual jacket he’d worn in the morning, a shirt underneath, standing there in the wind.
“Come on.” Sun Wenqu rubbed his hands. “I’ll treat you to food.”
“What food?” Fang Chi stared at him. “And what did you just hit me with?”
“This.” Sun Wenqu flicked his fingers, and another little paper ball hit Fang Chi square on the nose. “Candy wrapper.”
Fang Chi rubbed his nose with a frown. “Not a bad aim.”
“Mm, almost never miss,” Sun Wenqu smiled. “Besides piano, chess, calligraphy, painting, pottery, this is my sixth bullsh*t god-tier skill.”
“…That’s quite a drop in tier,” Fang Chi said, remembering the time he went to borrow money and Sun Wenqu had pegged him in the face with a paper airplane.
Sun Wenqu flagged down a cab, got in, and gave an address. Fang Chi recognized it as near Sun Wenqu’s housing complex. He couldn’t think of any restaurant around there that a spoiled brat like Sun Wenqu would fancy.
“What are we eating?” Fang Chi asked.
“Shumai. Chen Ji Shumai.”
“Oh,” Fang Chi nodded. “The one you liked so much you wrote it down and stuck it on your wall?”
“Exactly.” Sun Wenqu grinned.
Fang Chi imagined a tiny roadside shop with greasy tables and chairs. But after getting out of the cab, Sun Wenqu led him through a maze of narrow alleys, twisting and turning until they emerged from the other side, then around a couple more corners.
“You trying to traffic me? If I had to come back on my own, I’d never find the way,” Fang Chi said. “This is what you call ‘shumai by the door’?”
“Yeah, trafficking.” Sun Wenqu turned his head and flashed him a grin. “Little pretty boy, lost your virgin? Makes it easier to set the price…”
“N…” Fang Chi, preoccupied with wondering where the shumai shop was, nearly blurted out no along with him.
Sun Wenqu laughed for a good while, then slung an arm over his shoulder, pointed ahead. “There. That’s it.”
It was a tiny twenty-square-meter shumai shop. Nothing special to look at, but crowded. The first floor was full, so Sun Wenqu led him upstairs.
The second floor was an attic with a sloped ceiling, only two tables occupied. There was a free table by the window.
“Eating shumai feels like a pilgrimage,” Fang Chi muttered as he sat down.
“It’s good,” Sun Wenqu said. “You’ll like it.”
The waiter followed them up, no menu in hand, just leaned on the table: “What fillings, how many baskets?”
“One basket of each,” Sun Wenqu said. “And bring some of your special house liquor.”
“Got it.” The waiter nodded and went downstairs.
“I don’t drink,” Fang Chi said quietly. “I’ve got to study tonight.”
“I do.” Sun Wenqu smiled.
“Then you’ll still explain problems for me? If not, I’ll just go home and study on my own tonight.”
“I will,” Sun Wenqu leaned back. “I’m not drinking much. Anyway, as long as it’s not mixed, it’s fine.”
“Oh.” Fang Chi looked out the window. “Why’d you suddenly think of treating me to shumai today?”
“Afraid I won’t get another chance later.” Sun Wenqu smiled. “I wanted shumai, but tomorrow I’ll take you for something else.”
“Hm?” Fang Chi didn’t quite get it.
“Don’t ask.” Sun Wenqu stretched. “Troubles.”
Fang Chi didn’t press. He just felt like Sun Wenqu was acting strange today, that same faint loneliness from when he leaned against the car that day seemed to linger around him.
When the waiter brought up the shumai, Fang Chi jumped. Two towering stacks, eight baskets in all, dropped onto the little table, completely blocking the person across from him.
“That many?” Fang Chi peered through the gap between the stacks at Sun Wenqu.
“Yeah. Different skins, different fillings.” Sun Wenqu propped his chin in his hand, peering back at him through the gap. “And that’s not even all of it.”
“You think we can finish all that!” Fang Chi exclaimed.
“A day’s worth of training, of course you can,” Sun Wenqu chuckled. “Didn’t you just do endurance drills this afternoon?”
“…How’d you know?” Fang Chi was startled.
“What don’t I know?” Sun Wenqu calmly set out the baskets. “I’m your real dad.”
“You went this afternoon?” Fang Chi asked.
“Yeah.” Sun Wenqu smiled. “You were really focused, I went in and out of the club a dozen times and you never noticed me.”
“You… were there all afternoon?” Fang Chi was shocked.
“Yeah, from noon till just now.” Sun Wenqu picked up a shumai. “Eat, hurry. Cold they won’t be as good.”
“Oh.” Fang Chi stuffed one in his mouth. Muffled, he said, “Didn’t you have something to do?”
“Met someone, finished the talk, left. Didn’t even get lunch.” Sun Wenqu bit into a shumai. “Ugh, starving.”
“You didn’t eat during the meeting?” Fang Chi frowned.
“Don’t ask.” Sun Wenqu frowned too. “Just focus on eating, this stuff’s amazing.”
Fang Chi swallowed, and it really was good, different from homemade ones. He ate another. “Pretty tasty.”
After one basket, he couldn’t help asking again: “You really didn’t eat after the meeting? And why didn’t you just go home?”
“Didn’t feel like it,” Sun Wenqu looked at him. “Didn’t want to go back. Why the club? Nowhere else to go. Why didn’t I say hi? Because you were dripping sweat and might’ve sprayed me. Any more questions?”
“…No.” Fang Chi ducked his head and focused on eating.
Truth was, he was hungry too. After a full day of training, he usually went home and cooked up a whole pot of noodles. Today’s shumai baskets were small, four to a basket, but with eight total, it was a lot. Even eating his fill, he couldn’t finish them.
As for Sun Wenqu, who’d said he was starving, he only ate six before putting down his chopsticks, sipping liquor slowly.
“Don’t you need dishes with that?” Fang Chi asked.
“A master like me kills without a knife,” Sun Wenqu took a sip. “Drinks without food.”
Fang Chi said nothing. He couldn’t find a way to respond to that line.
The shumai really were good. The leftovers, Sun Wenqu packed to take home, saying he’d reheat them for a late-night snack.
When it came time to pay, Fang Chi saw him peel several big bills from his wallet and was stunned. After the waiter left, he asked, “How much was it?”
“Twenty-five a basket. Why?” Sun Wenqu said.
“Twenty-five each, for four shumai?!” Fang Chi stared, whispering. “That’s over five yuan for one dumpling the size of my thumb!”
“And yet you couldn’t finish them,” Sun Wenqu drawled.
“That’s not the point!” Fang Chi frowned. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have eaten so many. Five-plus yuan a thumb-sized shumai…”
That line sent Sun Wenqu into a fit of laughter that lasted all the way out the shop.
“Some drinker you are,” Fang Chi sighed. “Wind’s strong, quit laughing.”
“Hey, Fang Little Chi,” Sun Wenqu slung an arm around his shoulders, leaning in. “You can be pretty funny sometimes.”
Fang Chi didn’t respond. The moment Sun Wenqu leaned in, his whole body stiffened, his tongue knotted. If he weren’t afraid of Sun Wenqu cracking another sharp line, he’d have shoved him off.
“You should trade notes with your Uncle Liangzi,” Sun Wenqu went on. “I brought him here once too. He thought the shumai were too small. First thing out of his mouth was: f*ck, this place, shu–shumai’s awesome, order basket after basket.”
Sun Wenqu’s imitation of Ma Liang’s voice was spot on. Fang Chi couldn’t hold back and laughed, the two of them chuckling like idiots all the way back, not even knowing what spell they were under.
Back at Sun Wenqu’s place, Fang Chi carried his schoolbag into the study, ready to get started.
“You go ahead and write. Anything you don’t understand, leave it,” Sun Wenqu said. “I’ll shower, sober up a bit.”
“You’re not drunk, are you?” Fang Chi glanced at him.
“Not drunk, no,” Sun Wenqu tugged at the corner of his mouth, “but, well, the alcohol…”
“Liquid courage for cowards. All right, go shower, hurry.” Fang Chi quickly got up and shut the study door.
Hearing Sun Wenqu’s footsteps heading to the bathroom, he lowered his head and started doing problems, he still had a pile of English homework due tomorrow.
It seemed Sun Wenqu had lit incense in the study earlier. As Fang Chi wrote, he could smell a faint scent lingering, it was actually quite pleasant.
He looked around and spotted the incense burner on the desk, already burned out, only a few small rings of ash left. It was set in a delicate white ceramic tray.
Fang Ying had said Sun Wenqu did pottery, but Fang Chi had never seen any. In this apartment, aside from this incense tray, there were no other ceramics.
He picked it up for a look, pretty. He wondered if it was made by Sun Wenqu. Its design was simple: a square shape, each side curving inward slightly, looking like a chubby four-pointed star, with a touch of modern style.
When Sun Wenqu finished his sobering shower, he pushed open the study door. “Finished?”
“…How could I be that fast?” Fang Chi kept writing. “Still need a while. Why?”
“Then keep writing. I just wanted to know, if it’s still a while, I’ll grab a quick nap.” Sun Wenqu said.
“Still tipsy?” Fang Chi looked at him.
“Nothing to do with the alcohol.” Sun Wenqu smiled. “I’m just tired, kind of… worn out in the heart.”
“Oh.” Fang Chi didn’t really get what that meant, but nodded anyway. “Then go sleep.”
“Wake me when you’re done.” Sun Wenqu said, closing the study door.
Fang Chi hunched over the big black desk, one that really helped him focus, for nearly three hours. Since Sun Wenqu was curled up on the sofa, sleeping soundly, Fang Chi barely took a break, finishing all the homework he’d piled up these past two days, except for a few problems he couldn’t solve and an English essay he couldn’t write.
Checking the time, he stood to stretch. His head was spinning a little, not sure if from the problems or from exhaustion.
Sun Wenqu was still asleep. Fang Chi walked to the sofa, hesitating about waking him.
He didn’t really understand what “worn out in the heart” meant, but Sun Wenqu’s sleep didn’t look very deep. His hand covered his eyes, and through the gaps in his fingers, his eyelashes trembled lightly.
Fang Chi cleared his throat softly, just about to speak, when Sun Wenqu opened his eyes, voice nasal: “Finished?”
“Mm. Not many I couldn’t do today.” Fang Chi said.
Sun Wenqu sat up, stretched, rolled his neck side to side. When he turned his head, Fang Chi noticed a tiny mark behind his ear.
Very small, though he’d known Sun Wenqu for quite a while, it was the first time he realized Sun Wenqu had a tattoo in such a hidden spot, not just his lower back but even behind the ear.
“What are you looking at?” Sun Wenqu stood.
“Is that a tattoo?” Fang Chi pointed at his ear.
“This?” Sun Wenqu touched behind his ear. “Yeah. I’d forgotten about it till you mentioned. Want to see?”
“N-no… no need.” Fang Chi felt awkward. Sun Wenqu’s skin was pale, and when he turned his head, the curve of his neck was strikingly beautiful. Fang Chi quickly pulled his gaze away.
“Then let’s go over the problems.” Sun Wenqu yawned, heading into the study.
Fang Chi followed. Sun Wenqu was already half-leaning over the desk, scanning his homework.
“Biggest problem today is this one.” Fang Chi pulled out the English test paper. “Picture-based essay. Couldn’t write a thing.”
Sun Wenqu glanced at the prompt and chuckled. “Your English level is basically just ‘is Fang Chi, 18 years old this year’, huh?”
“Not that bad.” Fang Chi grinned. Sun Wenqu’s English sounded different than his usual voice, really pleasant. “I can at least understand, like… gravity.”
“Hm?” Sun Wenqu blinked, then burst out laughing once he realized. He laughed for quite a while.
“How about you write me a sample,” Fang Chi suggested, “something simple. I’ll expand on it.”
“Why not just copy it directly if I write it?” Sun Wenqu clicked his tongue, picked up pen and paper. “Fine, I’ll draft one.”
“Mm.” Fang Chi responded.
Sun Wenqu twirled the pen in his fingers, then bent his head and started writing.
The moment Fang Chi saw the first word, he wanted to snatch his English paper back.
Sun Wenqu’s handwriting in English was beautiful, smooth little loops, not the sharp, elongated kind, but soft, round, plump ones. It stood in stark contrast with the bold, vigorous calligraphy hanging on the wall behind him.
At first Fang Chi meant to follow along with the content, but his focus kept getting drawn to the writing itself. He stared, a little entranced.
The room was quiet. Only the faint scratch scratch of Sun Wenqu’s pen moving across the paper.
Suddenly Fang Chi felt something indescribable. Sitting so close, he could smell the faint coconut scent on Sun Wenqu’s body, even feel the rhythm of his breathing.
“Pretty?” Sun Wenqu suddenly stopped, turned his head to look at him.
“Mm?” Fang Chi was caught off guard.
“The writing.” Sun Wenqu said softly.
“Ah.” Fang Chi met his eyes, his own voice tight. “Pretty… kind of chubby.”
Sun Wenqu smiled but said nothing.
Fang Chi didn’t speak either. They’d been face-to-face at close distance before, but this time the feeling was completely different.
Time and thought seemed to pause, all caught in the curve of Sun Wenqu’s smile.
“Hey.” Sun Wenqu murmured.
“Huh?” Fang Chi answered.
Sun Wenqu leaned closer and brushed his lips lightly against Fang Chi’s.
