The next morning, Wen Di woke up feeling refreshed and stretched lazily. Sleep had washed away his irritability and anger; the unpleasantness of the previous night had vanished. Life once again became vibrant and beautiful.
When he got up, the bed beside him was already empty. He walked out of the bedroom and saw Bian Cheng sitting at the dining table with dark circles under his eyes, drinking an energy-boosting drink from the coffee machine Yu Jingyi had given them. On the left side of the table were steaming buns, fried dough sticks, and soy milk; on the right was a bag of toast and milk—a true fusion of Chinese and Western breakfast styles.
“You got up early to buy this?” Wen Di asked.
Bian Cheng nodded, motioning for him to sit down and eat. His gestures were listless, and there was little life in his eyes.
Wen Di slid into a chair, feeling good to have breakfast ready as soon as he woke up.
Before long, Jiang Yu pushed open the door and greeted loudly, “Good morning!”
“Good morning!” Wen Di replied.
“Good morning…” Bian Cheng said.
Jiang Yu sat next to Wen Di, grabbed a meat bun, and took a bite. Wen Di drank half a carton of milk before noticing the person across from him, whose eyes were half-closed and looked drowsy.
“Didn’t sleep well last night?” Wen Di asked.
Bian Cheng slowly raised his head, the movement resembling the sloth from Zootopia: “Do you know that you snore?”
Wen Di thought for a moment. “My roommates have mentioned it. Is it loud?”
“It’s like you’ve got a mortar in your throat.”
Wen Di swallowed a mouthful of milk. “Is it really that exaggerated?”
Bian Cheng confirmed with silence.
Wen Di asked awkwardly, “Did it disturb you?”
“It’s fine,” Bian Cheng replied. “Do you want buns or toast?”
“Toast,” he said, picking up a slice. “Is there any jam or something?”
“There’s strawberry jam.” Bian Cheng got up, opened the cabinet, and handed Wen Di an unopened jar of jam.
Wen Di took it and tried to twist it open but failed. He wrapped it with his clothes and twisted it again, but it still wouldn’t budge. He walked into the kitchen, put on rubber gloves used for washing dishes, and used all his remaining strength. Still, he couldn’t succeed. This was too strange—normally, the final push should have done it.
“It seems stuck,” Wen Di said.
“Give it to me,” Bian Cheng said.
Wen Di handed Bian Cheng the jar. He took it and first gave it a casual twist, realizing he had underestimated his opponent. Then he began twisting with effort, but it still wouldn’t open. Wen Di saw the veins on Bian Cheng’s arms bulging, yet the jam still didn’t give him face.
“It’s fine,” Wen Di said. “I’ll just eat the toast plain.”
Bian Cheng nodded, placed his hands under the table, and asked, “Are you going to the library today?”
“Yes,” Wen Di replied. “Are you going to school?”
“En. I did some research, and there’s a Qizhi School[footnote]Qizhi School (启智学校) can be literally translated as “Enlightenment School” or “School of Wisdom.” In this context, it’s a special education school for students with an intellectual disability.[/footnote] near Xinjiekou that seems pretty good. Today, I’ll let Jiang Yu attend a class there to try it out. After my meeting, I’ll pick him up,” Bian Cheng said. “Shall we have dinner together tonight? I found a nice restaurant.”
“Okay ah.”
After finishing breakfast, Wen Di cleaned up the food scraps on the table and noticed that the breakfast in front of Bian Cheng remained untouched. “Aren’t you eating breakfast?”
“I’ll eat later.”
Wen Di paused for a moment before asking, “You’re not still trying to open that jar, are you?”
Bian Cheng didn’t answer. Wen Di suddenly bent down to look under the table and, sure enough, the two hands on the opposite side were still tightly twisting the jam bottle.
The air fell silent for a few seconds before Bian Cheng explained, “I wasn’t twisting in the right direction earlier.”
“En, en.”
“This is the first time something like this has happened.”
“I know, the bottle is not designed well.” Wen Di comforted him.
This reason obviously did not convince Bian Cheng, but he temporarily put down the jar.
“Hurry up and take Jiang Yu to school,” Wen Di said.
A day at the library was just like any other, reviewing literature, doing miscellaneous tasks, and writing a monograph for his advisor. Except for a trip to the music store and Heqing Garden outside the school gates, Wen Di spent the rest of his time diligently supplementing his knowledge in new fields.
By the time the sunlight outside the window faded, and the evening breeze gently blew, the surrounding students began getting up to have dinner. Only then did Wen Di stand, stretch lazily, move his muscles, and glance at his phone. Bian Cheng had sent a message, saying he was driving back with Jiang Yu. Wen Di told them to wait at the school gate and, after getting into the car, asked expectantly, “Where are we going?”
After driving for a while, Bian Cheng pulled into a Shunde[footnote]a district of the city of Foshan, Guangdong province[/footnote] cuisine restaurant. The three of them found a booth toward the back and sat down. Wen Di scanned the QR code, opened the menu, and scrolled through it happily. “I can tell at a glance that this is what I like to eat.”
Bian Cheng gave him a surprised look. “Of course, you told me before.”
Wen Di let out a questioning sound in the middle of ordering.
“That time we went to the concert, and you fell asleep,” Bian Cheng reminded him. “We discussed our preferences.”
Hearing the words ‘fell asleep’, Wen Di displayed a painful expression, recalling the embarrassing moment. This man never knew how to discard the dross and select the essence, always offering unnecessary details.[footnote]去其糟粕取其精华 (lit.: Discard the dross and select the essence): to retain the valuable parts while discarding the bad ones.[/footnote]
The effect was quite good; that date had left a deep impression on him that he immediately recalled various details.
“Now meals are based on my preferences?” Wen Di felt as if he was in another world. “If I’m the only one eating happily, and you’re eating food you don’t like, wouldn’t every bite be a blow to my conscience…”
“Not at all.”
“You’re contradicting yourself,” Wen Di pointed out.
“I don’t like flowers, but if someone I like gives them to me, I’d still be happy to receive them. I don’t like certain dishes, but eating them with someone I like makes them taste good,” Bian Cheng said. “I don’t like ‘Gone with the Wind’, but if I watch it with someone I like, that would still be romantic.”
Wen Di looked at him for a long time, and then asked the question that had troubled him for a long time: “What’s wrong with you?”
Bian Cheng quickly glanced at the rubber band in his hand. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Your relationship skills fluctuate wildly, polarizing to extremes. Tour verbal artistry really makes it clear.”
Bian Cheng mentally translated this for a while, concluding it was a criticism of his performance yesterday and a compliment for what he had just done. He thought of the painful experience of being criticized yesterday—relying only on negative feedback without specific explanations made it impossible to improve. He decided to hold a review meeting. “By the way, I haven’t asked yet—why exactly were you angry yesterday?”
Wen Di asked as he placed the order: “Which time are you specifically referring to?”
“I understood the two times regarding the accommodation arrangements and sleeping,” Bian Cheng said, “but why did you criticize me during the time I taught you?”
Wen Di cast a deep look at him, then realized he genuinely didn’t know. “I feel like you look down on my math level.” Wen Di said.
Bian Cheng looked at him in shock. “Did I?”
“Then what were you doing?”
“I was explaining why topology is difficult to understand,” Bian Cheng said. “It’s normal for liberal arts students not to grasp it.”
That didn’t sound quite right either. Wen Di asked suspiciously, “You’re not one of those people, ba. The kind of people who think studying liberal arts doesn’t require much intelligence, and that being good at science is true intelligence, right?”
Bian Cheng’s expression was as if someone had just testified against him for a capital crime in court. “How could that be? These are just two different fields requiring different abilities. If you ask me to write an article full of emotion, I wouldn’t be able to do it either. Besides, from a practical perspective, math isn’t necessarily better than literature.”
“Really?”
“Although some mathematical theories have found applications in other fields, like how the Schwarz inequality proved the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, the problems I research are quite niche and obscure, without necessarily having practical value. I study them simply because they’re interesting—it’s hardly about advancing technology, let alone contributing to humanity,” Bian Cheng said. “Moreover, pure mathematics research isn’t very highly regarded. You can look up how many academicians in the two academies specialize in pure mathematics, or how much funding the National Natural Science Foundation allocates to these projects every year. Status and funding are directly linked. Song Yuchi’s advisor received 30 million yuan for Phase I of a major science project last year and even gave a representative speech at the faculty conference. The total funding I could apply for in my entire career wouldn’t reach that scale. From any perspective, I have no grounds to belittle my colleagues in the Faculty of Literature.”
Wen Di blinked his eyes and suddenly felt a bit like a petty person: “Oh.”
“Maybe my wording was problematic,” Bian Cheng said, “but that wasn’t my intention.”
“Okay.” Wen Di said.
“If in the future…”
“It’s fine,” Wen Di interrupted. “I understand your thoughts now. No matter how you phrase things in the future, I won’t misunderstand again.”
Bian Cheng looked at him, then placed his hand on Wen Di’s and gave it a firm squeeze.
“The steamed-pot chicken is here,” he said. “Hurry up and eat.”
Because the signature dishes all looked incredibly tempting, they had accidentally ordered too much. The restaurant was generous with the rice too. Wen Di, having been taught since childhood not to waste food, ate more than half a bowl but still couldn’t finish. Every grain is hard-earned, but maintaining stomach health was more important.
Jiang Yu was still savoring his food, so he looked at his phone for a while.
Yu Jingyi had sent him a message saying the results of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs interview were out and she got the job. Wen Di replied with multiple exclamation marks, thinking that after years of misfortune, a glimmer of light had finally appeared. They had to celebrate a little. He asked You Jun when he was free. Since it was a farewell party for Yu Jingyi, the busy person surprisingly replied that she was free anytime.
They spent a while choosing a restaurant, and by the time Jiang Yu finished eating, Bian Cheng waved for the waiter to bring the bill. Wen Di looked down at the table and suddenly realized something. He glanced at his own utensils, then at Bian Cheng’s, and his face alternated between shock, confusion, and panic.
“You…” He stared at his empty rice bowl. “You ate my leftover rice?”
Bian Cheng was just paying with his phone and turned back upon hearing this: “What’s wrong? Are you still hungry?”
“No…” Wen Di said, “You… actually ate my leftover rice?”
The other party was getting more and more confused: “Should I order another bowl for you?”
Wen Di stared at him. The urge to snap the rubber band and to kiss him was equally strong, but because the child was nearby, he didn’t do either of the two.
Remembering the things he had left in the living room corner when he returned to Heqing Garden at noon, Wen Di smiled. “Let’s go home.”
After entering the house, Jiang Yu went straight to the bedroom to watch cartoons as usual. Wen Di had planned to grab something from the living room but was suddenly distracted by something extra near the doorway.
“What’s this?” He pointed to the new addition to the family of trash bins.
“Where you throw your garbage.” Bian Cheng said.
Wen Di tilted his head, observing the new trash can. There were already enough places to throw things away at home, and they opened up a new one for him?
“You don’t need to sort things anymore, just throw them here,” Bian Cheng said.
Wen Di felt like he had just heard the sound of an asteroid hitting the Earth. Garbage… no need to sort?
“Just leave it for me to sort,” Bian Cheng said, then pointed to the bathroom. “After you shower, no need to mop the floor, just call me over. You can even eat snacks in the bedroom, as long as…”
“After I finish eating, I call you over to clean up?”
Bian Cheng nodded. Wen Di felt like a slave owner with a personal attendant. “This is too troublesome…”
“These rules are our living habits, not yours,” Bian Cheng said. “Jiang Yu and I have higher standards for cleanliness than most people, so we don’t find it troublesome to do it. But you’re different. Since I set the standard, it’s my responsibility to clean.”
Wen Di stared at him for a moment and then smiled.
“What’s wrong?”
“Garbage sorting is a bit annoying,” Wen Di said, “but once you get used to it, it’s not so bad. Just think of it as contributing to environmental protection.”
Bian Cheng’s gaze lingered on his face, intense and long. For a moment, Wen Di thought he was going to kiss him, but Bian Cheng’s peripheral vision caught something in the corner of the living room, and he suddenly stopped moving. “What’s that?”
Wen Di was startled; his hormones had gotten the best of him. He almost forgot about the gift he had left there. He looked at Bian Cheng, his face suddenly serious as he said, “I have something for you.”
Bian Cheng’s face suddenly showed a look of fear—fear?—which confused Wen Di. But he still walked to the corner and took out a black violin case that had been leaning against the wall. He opened the case, took out the contents, and handed it to Bian Cheng with both hands. “It’s for you.”
Bian Cheng looked down to see a black violin.
“Silent violin,” Wen Di added, then pointed to a port at the end of the violin, “Plug in headphones here, and you can hear your own playing. If you want to play it out loud, you can connect it to a speaker.” He thought for a moment and said, “Or maybe not.”
Bian Cheng held the violin and gently ran his fingers along the maple neck. When he turned back to look at Wen Di, his gaze was filled with such gratitude, as though Wen Di had saved his life.
“No need to be so dramatic,” Wen Di said, “It’s just a small gift.”
“Thank you,” Bian Cheng said, “For someone who loves money so much…”
“No need to thank me,” Wen Di interrupted.
Bian Cheng carefully took the violin back to the bedroom, placing it side by side with his old friend.
Wen Di crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching Bian Cheng place the gift and return to his normal expression. Suddenly, he asked, “Why did you look so scared just now?”
Bian Cheng straightened up and walked over to him. “I thought you were going to divorce me.”
Wen Di was startled: “Why?”
Bian Cheng raised his wrist and there was a faint red mark under the rubber band.
Wen Di held his wrist, removed the rubber band, and began massaging the spots where it had snapped with his fingers. “What are you thinking?” Wen Di said. “Even if there are things we don’t align on, it wouldn’t lead to divorce. Living together naturally requires compromise, and you’ve already done very well.”
“But there are some things I might not be able to change,” Bian Cheng said. “Sometimes, I might still say strange things without realizing it.”
“En…” Wen Di thought carefully and shrugged, “It’s okay if you can’t change.”
“Don’t you think it’s a flaw?”
“A flaw doesn’t always need to be fixed,” Wen Di said with a smile, looking at him. “Sometimes, if you try to smooth out the imperfections, the originally perfect places may become less perfect.”
The other person looked at him for a long, long time, so long that he thought time had frozen at that moment.
Then Bian Cheng said, “I love you.”
Wen Di stared at him without saying a word, silently counting in his heart.
One second, two seconds, three seconds, four seconds, five seconds.
Bian Cheng felt like his heartbeat was about to stop.
“I love you too,” Wen Di said.
Bian Cheng looked at the faint smile at the corner of his mouth and suddenly had a flash of insight; his emotional intelligence, which had been dormant for a long time, reached its peak—this guy was retaliating for how slow he had been to respond in their relationship before: “You were waited so long on purpose ba.”
Wen Di burst out laughing, and then Bian Cheng slipped the rubber band onto his hand and gave it a snap.
The laughter stopped, but the smile lingered. He raised his arm and wrapped it around Bian Cheng’s shoulder. “About the snoring, I’ll go to the hospital and see if it can be fixed.”
Bian Cheng stretched out his hand and hugged his waist, feeling something in his chest had swelled to the limit: “I won’t be easily woken up when I’m tired.”
Wen Di looked up at him. Just as he was about to say something, the person in front of him leaned in and pressed their lips together. Strong arms tightly embraced him, and he felt as though his entire body was enveloped by something powerful. His limbs felt like they were on fire, the places they touched burning hot. During a brief pause in the kiss, that hand wandered elsewhere, and the flames quickly spread across his whole body. His limbs felt like they were on fire, and the places they touched were burning hot. During a brief pause in the kiss, that hand wandered elsewhere, and the flames quickly spread across his whole body.
The weather hadn’t warmed yet, but the air in the small room was still filled with the heat of the body. The walls were thin, so even undressing was done with the utmost care. Not wanting to make a sound, the person on top of him covered his mouth. Although he could breathe, the speed could not keep up with the excessive consumption of oxygen. At the very last moment, he lifted a hand to pull away the fingers on his lips, and as soon as the restraint was lifted, he took a deep breath.
The room was still quiet under the moonlight, except for the sound of breathing.
After a long time, Wen Di spoke. “We need to buy Xiao Yu a pair of noise-canceling headphones.”
T/N: Title is from The Merchant of Venice, Act 4, Scene 1. The literal translation for the title ‘我们的意志是园圃里的园丁’ would be ‘Our will is the gardener in the garden.’
