FQ chapter 32

Ten minutes before 1 p.m., Luan Ye made a pot of jasmine tea in the tearoom and waited for Fan Qing in the courtyard.

He hadn’t even finished a cup when the courtyard gate opened. Fan Qing walked in, paused upon seeing Luan Ye, then continued forward.

Luan Ye checked the time—three minutes to one.

Even if he didn’t want to come, as long as he’d agreed, he wouldn’t back out.

That was Fan Qing.

Like now—even though he clearly hesitated upon seeing him, he still stood a couple meters in front of Luan Ye.

Much farther than the last time they’d checked scores together.

“Are we printing photos today?” Fan Qing asked directly.

No beating around the bush.

“Pretty punctual,” Luan Ye said instead. “Have you eaten?”

“I have.” Fan Qing continued, “Once we print, we’ll start framing, right?”

“What did you eat?”

“Fried rice,” Fan Qing glanced at him.

“Did you make it yourself?” Luan Ye took a sip of tea and kept asking.

“…Yeah.” Fan Qing sounded a bit exasperated. “Egg fried rice. Cooked and ate it myself. Tasted good. Didn’t give any to Laifu. Anything else you wanna ask?”

Luan Ye laughed. “Nope.”

Fan Qing smiled a little too. “You just wanted to chat with someone, didn’t you?”

“Just making conversation. You walked in and started talking about work,” Luan Ye said. “Felt like I was playing Yang Bailao opposite Huang Shiren.”

Fan Qing blinked.

“Let’s print the edited photos first,” Luan Ye finally got up and started giving instructions. “Trim off the excess borders if they look good, then frame them.”

Fan Qing nodded. “Where do we do it? In your—”

He suddenly got a bit nervous, hesitated a few seconds, then finished, “In your room?”

Luan Ye was sipping tea and didn’t speak right away. Once he finished, he set the cup down and answered:

“No need. I’ll bring the laptop down. We’ll do it in the tearoom.”

There weren’t many photos left to edit, and none needed major retouching. Luan Ye spent over two hours finishing the rest, then took on the role of tea-pouring supervisor while Fan Qing worked.

Ever since coming in—apart from answering a few pointless questions from Luan Ye at the start—Fan Qing had been very quiet. Quietly trimming prints, quietly framing. He looked completely focused.

He had always been a quiet guy. Whether guiding tourists or in daily life, he wasn’t someone who forced conversation.

But he didn’t go out of his way to avoid it either.

Luan Ye watched him for a while, poured him half a cup of floral tea, and when it ran low, refilled it.

Fan Qing finally paused and turned around.

Luan Ye handed him the cup. “Take a break if you’re tired.”

“I’m not.”

Fan Qing looked at Luan Ye’s hand holding the cup—long fingers, pale against the light green porcelain.

He reached out, inevitably brushing Luan Ye’s fingertips.

They were warm. Along with the body heat came a faint tingle, like a tiny electric current.

Fan Qing quickly took the cup and sipped. “We should be able to finish today.”

“Until what time?”

Fan Qing checked the clock. “Seven, probably.”

“We can do the rest tomorrow.”

“No need,” Fan Qing said.

Luan Ye didn’t reply—just nodded.

“I just want them to get their photos sooner and be done with it,” Fan Qing said after a moment, turning to look at him. “You’ve been busy for days…”

“Mmh,” Luan Ye smiled. “You focus on your part.”

Fan Qing didn’t immediately move. He looked at Luan Ye for a while.

“If you keep staring, it’ll be eight,” Luan Ye said.

Fan Qing finally turned around.

Once he stopped slacking off, his work speed picked up. They paused for dinner. Qiao Feibai had plans and left early, so it was just the three of them at the table.

Luan Ye told Granny Mu they could inform people to pick up their photos the next day. She was delighted.

“That fast? I’ll tell them to come tomorrow then.”

“They’re all in the tearoom,” Luan Ye said. “Let them pick their own. If someone else picks it up, make sure they keep track so things don’t get mixed up.”

“Got it.” Granny Mu was brisk. “A few people even said they want to invite you over for dinner when they get their photos.”

“They want to invite me?” Luan Ye turned.

“Yes, you.” Granny Mu grinned. “They told me—‘that Xiao Lan fellow who took the pictures is staying at your place, right? Invite him over, he worked so hard…’”

“Lan?” Luan Ye repeated.

Fan Qing chuckled while eating, and Luan Ye glanced at him.

Granny Mu laughed too. “Yeah, Lan.”

“Le-wu-an—Luan,” Luan Ye said helplessly. “Xiao Luan.”

“Oh, we locals can’t say that,” she waved. “I’ll tell them to call you Xiao Ye instead.”

Fan Qing kept laughing all through dinner and into the evening as they returned to work. Luan Ye stared at him. “Was it really that funny?”

Fan Qing shook his head, but couldn’t stop smiling. “Xiao Lan.”

Luan Ye stared at him for a second, then suddenly reached out toward his face.

Fan Qing’s smile froze. His whole body tensed and he instinctively backed up a bit.

Luan Ye’s hand paused midair.

Fan Qing quickly caught himself and stopped moving.

Luan Ye continued forward gently, fingers brushing softly past Fan Qing’s ear before withdrawing.

“Paper scrap,” he said, opening his palm. “Probably got stuck while working.”

“…Oh.” Fan Qing’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked down at the tiny scrap in Luan Ye’s hand. “Yeah, probably.”

The mood suddenly became a little strange. Fan Qing stared at Luan Ye’s hand, forgetting all about “Xiao Lan” and “Xiao Luan.”

Why’d you dodge?! What’d you think he was going to do—he didn’t even drink today!

Fortunately, the awkward atmosphere didn’t last. It was broken by a vibration from Luan Ye’s phone.

He blew gently, brushing the paper scrap away. “We’ll clean tomorrow. For now, back to work, Xiao Fan.”

Fan Qing responded and sat back at the desk, watching Luan Ye leave the tearoom with his phone before returning his gaze to the table.

It was awkward. Really awkward.

His relationship with Luan Ye—still weird. Get too close, and it felt off. Keep a distance, and it felt even weirder.

Fan Qing sighed and lowered his head to keep working.

In the courtyard, Luan Ye checked his phone. Xu Song had sent two messages: a Weibo link, and: “This is you, right?”

Luan Ye opened the link.

“Visited Xuehu Village and saw someone volunteering to take memorial portraits for all the elderly. All the elders waited quietly, calmly, and happily. Maybe this is the true meaning of photography—capturing the traces of living, comforting the eternity of parting.”

His heart sank.

Several photos were attached—mostly of the elderly, some of makeup artists Qu Jie and Da Yao. One photo had him in it, but the camera covered his face, revealing only a side profile and his tied-up hair.

The final photo was of Fan Qing—just as he turned his face toward the lens, steady and striking.

Luan Ye reviewed the post again. Confirming there were no clear shots of his face, he finally exhaled and closed the images.

The poster seemed to be a small travel blogger. There were hundreds of reposts and comments, mostly expressing admiration and surprise. One user asked:

“Blogger, is the person in the last photo the photographer? He looks so young.”

The blogger replied:

“No, that’s the assistant. I really wanted to interview the photographer, but this young man came over and asked us not to take photos of him. I think it was his personal choice.”

Luan Ye was stunned, reading that line over and over.

Once in photography mode, he focused entirely through the lens, oblivious to his surroundings. That day had been especially hectic—he’d barely left the camera.

When had they taken the photo? When had Fan Qing gone over to stop them?

He had no idea.

Smiling, he sighed and saved the last photo of Fan Qing, then finally replied to Xu Song:

Luan Ye: “Yeah, how’d you even recognize me?”

Xu Song immediately called.

The moment the call connected, he said, “I checked eight or nine times. Even if I didn’t recognize you, I’d recognize the camera and lens—I bought them.”

“Fair enough.” Luan Ye laughed. “You’re my sponsor.”

“You ran off just to take memorial portraits in some village?” Xu Song still sounded stunned. “Why? After what happened before—”

He paused for a few seconds, then added quietly, “After that incident, I thought you’d never shoot portraits again.”

“The situation is complicated. I can’t explain it over the phone.” Compared to Xu Song’s cautious tone, Luan Ye sounded much calmer. “Anyway, it’s not for an exhibition or a competition. No one will even know I took the photos.”

“…You can still take photos for exhibitions and competitions.” Xu Song let out a deep sigh. “It’s been so many years, Luan Ye. There’s no need.”

Luan Ye gave a small smile and didn’t respond.

“No wonder you changed cameras. When you asked me to help, I thought you were buying it for someone else.”

“Such an expensive camera—who would I be buying that for?”

“For that recipient of yours—what’s his name? Fan something—Fan Qing.” Xu Song laughed. “I thought you’d gone off and had a fling. Turns out it’s volunteer work.”

Luan Ye smiled and turned to glance at the teahouse. It was getting dark, the lights inside were on, and through the glass, Fan Qing’s profile was clearly visible.

He didn’t speak for a long time. Xu Song sensed something off.

“Wait, don’t tell me it really is a fling? Who is he, what does he do, how did you meet?”

Luan Ye sighed. “You sound like my mom.”

“I just don’t want you getting scammed,” Xu Song chuckled.

“…I wouldn’t call it a fling,” Luan Ye finally replied.

Even though this was the city of romantic encounters, Luan Ye hadn’t come here with that intention—nor had he approached Fan Qing with that in mind.

He hadn’t planned on getting to know anyone, much less start a relationship.

Because what he said to Fan Qing at the foot of the snow mountain wasn’t entirely a joke.

But things afterward gradually got out of hand, and he did start to feel that Fan Qing… was interesting.

Still, he didn’t know if Fan Qing really liked men, or was just curious because he’d overheard his preferences—Fan Qing probably wasn’t sure himself.

After all, just one kiss without even tongue, when drunk, had thrown Fan Qing completely off. The guy had been out of sorts ever since.

And then there was his own past—so complicated that explaining it would probably have to start from the creation of the world…

If Fan Qing was just a curious, eighteen-year-old boy who’d had one drunken kiss and a vague crush, he shouldn’t have to carry the burden of someone else’s mess: someone who might leave this place at any moment, and had even considered leaving this world entirely.

That is—his past, his future, himself altogether—

To Fan Qing, it would all be a burden.

After all, he often felt like all he ever did was burden others.

Luan Ye, don’t be like this, don’t be like that. Why do you always hurt those who love you? Why are you always causing trouble?

“Forget it.” Luan Ye opened his eyes and forced himself to push those voices out of his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He didn’t want to go on, and Xu Song immediately changed the subject.

“Okay. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about that post I saw. Do you think Bai Mingchuan will…”

“He probably won’t,” Luan Ye thought for a moment. “It hasn’t spread much, and he doesn’t use Weibo.”

Wasting time on social media was meaningless to someone like Bai Mingchuan.

Xu Song breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

After hanging up, Luan Ye didn’t head back right away. He searched a few keywords on various social platforms and confirmed there were only two or three posts similar to what Xu Song had sent—his was already the most circulated.

He put away his phone, and behind him, the teahouse glass was knocked on twice.

Turning around, he saw Fan Qing standing at the door. “It’s done.”

Not only had the photos been processed, the teahouse had also been cleaned. All the photo frames were arranged neatly—it looked quite impressive.

“Everything’s sorted. Just waiting for them to pick it up now,” Fan Qing said.

“Alright.” Luan Ye glanced over the scene, then looked back at Fan Qing.

“When we were shooting earlier… did you tell tourists not to take pictures of me?” Luan Ye asked.

“I just reminded them,” Fan Qing replied quickly, a little caught off guard. “Why?”

“Why?” Luan Ye looked at him intently.

“I just… felt like you didn’t want to be photographed,” Fan Qing answered. “You came here alone, used my address for deliveries, and then there was that… creditor.”

“I figured being photographed might cause you trouble.”

Luan Ye stared at him for a moment, a hint of a smile in his eyes, before turning back to the photos.

“So many photos. You’ve worked hard.”

Hearing those words reminded Fan Qing of what Granny Mu had said, and he couldn’t help but grin. “You too… Xiao Lan.”

“Ugh.” Luan Ye shot him a look. “Enough already, Xiao Fan.”

They both laughed for a long while before Fan Qing finally stopped and said, “Well… I’ll get going now.”

“I’ll walk you out,” said Luan Ye.

Fan Qing was about to say “no need,” but Luan Ye added, “Actually, never mind. I’ll walk you to the door. Too lazy to go farther.”

He was so blunt that Fan Qing didn’t even know how to refuse.

They walked to the door together. As Fan Qing stepped outside, Luan Ye suddenly called out his name.

“Fan Qing.”

His tone was serious. Fan Qing turned to look at him. In the fading light, Luan Ye’s expression was calm and composed.

“I asked Qiao Feibai yesterday,” Luan Ye continued. “He said that red wine from Qu Jie is probably about 15% alcohol—twice that of beer.”

“We drank quite a lot that night. Almost a bottle per person.”

Fan Qing didn’t know what he was trying to say, nor how he should react—he just looked at Luan Ye.

“So getting drunk was totally normal,” Luan Ye looked at him.

“No need to dwell on it.”

Fan Qing stood there, unsure whether to step forward or back. He pressed his lips together but didn’t know what to say.

No need to dwell on it, Fan Qing.

A wave of relief—and a bit of… disappointment.

“And,” Luan Ye smiled faintly, “I’ll be taking a break these next few days. I’ll contact you when I feel like going out again.”

Every time Luan Ye mentioned taking a break, Fan Qing couldn’t help but grow alert. He looked up quickly.

“You’re… okay, right?”

The last time Luan Ye took a break was because… he’d had an episode.

“I’m fine. Just tired these past few days—don’t feel like going out.”

Luan Ye still wore that calm smile. He looked no different than usual.

Fan Qing’s hand still rested on the door, unmoving, eyes on Luan Ye.

“How long will you rest?”

“Two, three days—maybe three, four—maybe four or five…” Luan Ye sighed. “Once I’m done resting, I’ll start bothering you again. Be ready to answer my calls.”

Fan Qing looked at him for a moment, then finally let go of the door.

“Alright.”