The alcohol definitely made Zhu Lianzhen more straightforward, but it didn’t stop him from occasionally spouting nonsense. After Tan Qing gave a serious explanation, Zhu Lianzhen finally believed it: this guy really wasn’t short on money.
“Then why take on so much work? Your assistant looks like he’s about to drop dead.”
“I have more than one assistant. They work in shifts.”
“But you’ve only got one body.”
“Huh?”
“Huh what—can’t understand plain speech?”
“Xiao Zhu, thank you for caring about me.”
“…”
“Xiao Zhu?”
“What took you two so long?” Koty asked when they finally came back. Their expressions were a bit off—Zhu Lianzhen was frowning, seemingly upset about something again, while Tan Qing followed behind with a relaxed smile, calling out, “Xiao Zhu?”
Zhu Lianzhen acted like he didn’t hear a thing. He sat down and downed a glass of sparkling wine.
Tan Qing looked around. “Where’s the leader?”
“He said he was hungry and went out to buy skewers,” Koty replied.
Tan Qing frowned. “It’s snowing heavily out there. Are any shops even open at this hour?”
Hearing this crucial question, Koty froze. He glanced at the table, cluttered with empty bottles Ji Yunting had left behind.
He thought, Crap.
“I’ll go look for him.” Tan Qing stood up decisively.
Koty immediately followed. “I’ll go too!”
Thinking it was probably time to pay and head home anyway, Zhu Lianzhen put on his coat and followed them, calling out to Fu Rong, “Let’s go!”
Outside, the heavy snow showed no signs of stopping. The group made their way along the snow-covered path toward the road, but there was no sign of Ji Yunting. Only after rounding a corner did they notice seven or eight people gathered on the roadside.
In this kind of miserable weather, just walking was hard enough. Yet these people still had the energy to pull out their phones and take pictures, all aiming their cameras in the same direction.
Zhu Lianzhen’s sixth sense kicked in. “Do you guys think Ting-ge might…”
Tan Qing: “Mm.”
Koty: “Yeah, I think he’s over there too.”
Fu Rong: “What if he got hit by a car and died?”
They quickened their pace, circling the crowd from the side. When they finally saw what was happening, every single one of them sucked in a sharp breath—
Cold, slushy snow was coming down in chaotic sheets, and even cars were driving cautiously. But right in the middle of the slippery road lay a man, shamelessly flailing his limbs… No—to be precise, he was performing a perfectly executed backstroke. His arms and legs moved in sync with powerful, graceful strokes. His rhythm was steady. His face glowed with an almost transcendent bliss.
The members looked at each other. Knowing each other far too well, they all recognized the same thought in each other’s eyes: Should we just pretend we don’t know him?
Though they all really wanted to turn around and walk away, the leader was still a public figure. If a passerby recognized him, it would definitely embarrass the entire Acemon group. On top of that, before they came, Pei Qiao had specifically told them to keep Ji Yunting’s alcohol intake under control.
In the end, they all pulled on their hats and masks to completely cover their faces, then went over together to forcefully drag Ji Yunting away, fleeing the “scene of the crime” as quickly as possible.
Back in Koty’s car, the group scrambled for tissues to wipe the dirty snow off Ji Yunting’s face. But he still looked furious, like they’d rudely interrupted a swimming session. Zhu Lianzhen, clearly irritated, shoved him. “He’s in the way. Throw him in the trunk.”
Koty was just about to take action when Tan Qing stopped them. “If he gets injured, it’d be bad. Just put up with it.”
They couldn’t keep drinking after this mess. Thankfully, Tan Qing hadn’t touched a drop and could drive everyone home. Zhu Lianzhen’s place was the farthest, so after the others had been dropped off, only the two of them remained in the car.
Zhu Lianzhen sat in the back seat, watching the blizzard outside the window.
The roads were extremely difficult to navigate. Some areas with heavier snowfall had already been temporarily closed off, forcing Tan Qing to take a detour. Zhu Lianzhen glanced at the time on his phone—it was nearly midnight. If he remembered right, they’d gotten in the car around 9:30.
Doing the math, and factoring in the weather and the distance between their homes, it would probably take Tan Qing another two hours just to get back.
Zhu Lianzhen started to feel conflicted. Driving in this kind of snow wasn’t safe, and he didn’t want Tan Qing taking that risk. The only real option was to let him stay the night at his place.
But given their history, he couldn’t immediately find the right words. Phrases like “Sleep at my place” or “Why not stay the night?” sounded way too suggestive.
Before he could come up with a tactful way to say it, Tan Qing spoke first. “Xiao Zhu, can I stay over tonight? The roads are too slippery, so it’s not safe to keep driving.”
There was no more need to hesitate. Zhu Lianzhen agreed right away. “Sure.”
When they opened the door and stepped inside, the first thing they heard was a soft meow. A snow-white Persian cat trotted over, rubbing against Zhu Lianzhen’s feet and begging for food.
“Naisi.”[mfn]“Naisi” (奶司) is “Nice” written in Chinese. The first character means “milk” (as the cat is white)[/mfn] Tan Qing shrugged off his cold coat. He crouched down with a smile and reached out to the cat. “Long time no see.”
Naisi sniffed his wrist a few times, then affectionately bumped its fluffy head against Tan Qing’s palm, asking for pets.
Tan Qing stroked its back. “It still remembers me.”
Zhu Lianzhen replied, “Not necessarily. It’s affectionate with everyone.”
Zhu Lianzhen took a shower, and when he came out, the aroma of hot soup and spices drifted through the air. The kitchen was semi-open, so from the stairs, he could see Tan Qing’s back as he chopped vegetables. Tan Qing turned his head and said, “I saw tomatoes and bean sprouts in the fridge, so I’m making you some hangover soup.”
All the groceries in the fridge had been bought by the housekeeper who usually did the cooking. Zhu Lianzhen hated tomatoes, but he wasn’t exactly a picky eater—he just had specific aversions. “Don’t add ginger or coriander.”
Making the soup didn’t require much attention, so Tan Qing often let his eyes wander around the room. Now and then, something would catch his eye. “I think I have the same coffee machine.”
Zhu Lianzhen: “That’s the extra one you bought and gave me.”
A moment later, Tan Qing noticed something else. “That tableware set inside looks beautiful.”
Zhu Lianzhen: “…You brought that too.”
“What’s that white machine?”
“A so-called self-cleaning cold-press juicer,” Zhu Lianzhen said. “Broke after one use. I’m too lazy to fix it.”
“I bought it?”
“Who else would give me something so useless?”
The soup pot began to bubble. The two of them fell into a brief silence before Tan Qing mused, “This kitchen kind of feels like I rented it out to you.”
Zhu Lianzhen snapped, “You sure know how to make yourself at home fast!”
At that moment, something came to mind.
Back then, Tan Qing’s gifts had mostly been practical—pots and pans, pillows, earphones, keyboards, even a hoverboard… He hadn’t thought much of them at the time, but over the years, he’d developed an odd attachment to those everyday items. When they eventually wore out and needed to be replaced, he would feel reluctant to throw them away.
He often found himself wondering which things had come from Tan Qing. Even after Tan Qing was no longer around, traces of him remained everywhere, like a slow invasion called “habit.”
Zhu Lianzhen frequently hesitated but always ended up keeping those things. In his view, anything given by someone else carried emotions, whether joy, anger, sorrow, or happiness.
Every shared memory with others had shaped the person he was now. If he completely rejected his past feelings just because of a breakup, it would be like denying a part of himself.
And he wasn’t willing to lie to himself like that.
The tomato soup was ready. He took a few sips and found the taste milder than expected—less sweet and sour. The consistency was just right, and there were no large chunks of tomato to ruin the texture. It avoided everything he usually disliked about tomato soup.
Zhu Lianzhen praised, “You’ve got some skills. How long did it take to make this?”
“I didn’t keep track of the time, just let it simmer on low heat. Does it taste good?” Tan Qing tore open a packet of thin noodles as he continued, “The tomatoes were stir-fried first with rock sugar and butter. The bean sprouts were blanched quickly over high heat, then taken out immediately.”
Zhu Lianzhen couldn’t be bothered to remember. “Too much trouble.”
Tan Qing tilted his head slightly, watching as Zhu Lianzhen drank the soup. The moment their eyes happened to meet, he quickly looked away and lowered his head with a small smile. Zhu Lianzhen immediately caught the movement and got the feeling Tan Qing was up to something. “What are you laughing at?”
“I just remembered something trivial.” Tan Qing dropped the thin white noodles into the soup pot. “Back then, you asked me to teach you how to cook. You always asked about every step in detail, but never actually followed my instructions. Then, when you messed up, you blamed me for it.”
The way he put it made Zhu Lianzhen sound like a complete scoundrel, but he had no way to refute it.
That really was how it happened. It must’ve been seven or eight years ago, right after they debuted. Back then, all the members lived together. On rest days, no one took care of their meals, and going out to eat usually meant risking being recognized, so they ended up experimenting chaotically in the dorm kitchen.
No one had expected that Tan Qing actually knew how to cook. He skillfully arranged ingredients on separate plates, heated oil in the pan, mixed sauces, and stir-fried everything in one smooth motion. Zhu Lianzhen stood by, completely mesmerized—he could barely fry an egg without burning it, yet Tan Qing even knew how to clean and prepare a whole fish!
Overjoyed, Zhu Lianzhen had immediately extended a sincere invitation, “If you ever quit being an idol, come be my personal chef!”
Whenever he had free time, Zhu Lianzhen would pester Tan Qing to teach him how to cook, starting from how to cut vegetables and gradually working his way up. But his skills had a clear limit. He couldn’t tolerate complicated techniques, and he was terrified of hot oil splattering on his skin. As a result, he demanded that Tan Qing come up with cooking methods that were simple, tasty, and ideally required only a microwave.
Of course, Tan Qing couldn’t make that happen. In the end, he told Zhu Lianzhen to just tell him what he wanted to eat, and he’d cook it for him.
Left with no other choice, Zhu Lianzhen tried figuring it out on his own. He was a complete beginner, but that didn’t stop him from dreaming big. The moment he learned to make a few cold dishes, he boldly declared war on Tan Qing: One day, my cooking will surpass yours!
And then, nothing ever came of it.
Thinking back on those moments, Zhu Lianzhen realized he hadn’t cooked in a long time. It was just too much hassle.
“I don’t know why you insisted on treating me like a rival when it came to cooking,” Tan Qing said slowly. “There was no need for that, was there?”
Zhu Lianzhen took another sip of soup. “You’re the one who refused to teach me properly. You turned a simple minced meat eggplant dish into a ten-step process. You were just afraid I’d improve too fast and surpass you.”
Tan Qing responded casually, “Even if you surpassed me, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t stop me from enjoying cooking for you.”
The edge of the soup bowl pressed against his lips, and Zhu Lianzhen froze for a moment.
Before Tan Qing could look his way, he quickly downed the rest of the soup in one go. The color of the tomatoes seemed to spread to his face as well.
He tossed the bowl into the sink and grabbed a can of cat food from the shelf. “I’m going to feed Naisi.”
With that, he hurried out of the kitchen.
What does he mean, “I enjoy cooking for you”?
Zhu Lianzhen had never considered that the reason Tan Qing always made such elaborate dishes was so he would enjoy eating them more.
But thinking about it logically, that idea was ridiculous. Back then, he had only been fifteen or sixteen, while Tan Qing had just come of age. Their relationship wouldn’t be confirmed until much later—there was no way Tan Qing could’ve been interested in him that early.
After sorting through his thoughts, Zhu Lianzhen realized he’d misunderstood. Tan Qing had probably just been expressing a general love for cooking. If he replaced the “you” in Tan Qing’s words with “you guys” or “everyone,” the meaning didn’t change at all.
Zhu Lianzhen took a deep breath and promptly dismissed his self-indulgent assumptions.
–
The blizzard lasted all night.
Zhu Lianzhen slept in until late morning. His phone buzzed on the pillow beside him. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the screen—it was a message from Pei Qiao in the group chat, asking about their whereabouts the night before.
She’d attached a blurry screenshot from a video and was demanding, “Is this Ji Yunting?”
Pei Qiao already knew they’d gone out drinking and had originally been worried they’d get into a drunken fight and end up in the entertainment headlines. But when she woke up and checked the news, she saw a familiar face in the local section.
“Drunken Man Swims on Flat Ground in a Blizzard…” Pei Qiao read the headline aloud. Even though the man’s eyes were pixelated, she could easily recognize him from his build, hairstyle, and the tall figures who appeared at the end of the video—wasn’t this her number one troublemaking boy group?
She wasn’t the only sharp-eyed one; fans had recognized them even faster. The only reason it hadn’t gone viral yet was the embarrassing nature of the incident. Still, in various fan circles, rumors were already spreading that “all five of them had been drinking together.”
Zhu Lianzhen didn’t reply to her message. He got out of bed and went to knock on the guest room door. After waiting for a while, there was still no response from inside.
Tan Qing wasn’t one to sleep in. Pushing the door open, he found the bed neatly made, without a single trace of anyone having slept there.
When he went downstairs, he found a few transparent food covers set out on the dining table. Underneath them were a bacon and fried egg sandwich, a bowl of peach and oat salad, and a cup of iced coffee—all made by Tan Qing.
A note was left on the table:
[Xiao Zhu,
I went to work.]
Zhu Lianzhen stared at the elegant, confident handwriting and suddenly felt a little irritated. He crumpled the note into a ball.
There should be a limit to this whole guest-acting-like-the-host thing! Why was this guy leaving notes like it was his own place?
But after holding the crumpled paper in his hand for a while, Zhu Lianzhen ended up smoothing it out and placing it neatly into a drawer.
He’d always thought Tan Qing had an outdated sense of ceremony. A message like that could easily be sent via WeChat, yet Tan Qing insisted on writing it down.
When Zhu Lianzhen had once asked why, the answer had been: “Electronic messages can be erased with a single delete key. Handwritten notes feel more like real communication.”
Hundreds, even thousands of chat records could vanish in an instant, but a few handwritten words could be kept for years.
Zhu Lianzhen used to find it troublesome—sticky notes would often end up chewed by the cat, leaving shredded scraps all over the floor. Yet somehow, he always found himself saving them. By the time he realized it, the drawer had already filled with a layer of them.
He glanced at the drawer now, then shut it with a touch of distaste.
—Nothing but nonsense inside. Not a single note worth keeping.
