Shi Yumin’s words exploded like a thunderclap in Xia Xinghe’s chest, and as the smoke cleared, certain overlooked details began surfacing.
No wonder Bai Qingzhou had accepted his wish so straightforwardly. No wonder he had already thought of what reward he wanted. No wonder he knew about the meeting with Shi Yumin—Xia Xinghe had never even told him that it was scheduled for the next day, yet Bai Qingzhou had said “good luck tomorrow.”
Then why did he do all this?
Xia Xinghe couldn’t figure it out.
The feelings were vague, hard to describe, and quietly bubbling up inside him like little blisters. His lips parted slightly, unsure what to say. There was a moment of silence, which Shi Yumin broke.
She asked softly, “Are you two friends?”
Friends?
Xia Xinghe opened his mouth and said, “…Yes.”
Though, in front of the word “friends,” there were two modifiers: ex and boy.
His dazed reaction confirmed for Shi Yumin that the two hadn’t reconciled yet.
She didn’t bring up the romantic stuff again, just sighed and said, “Xiao Zhou is really something. He never told me you two were friends. I only found out after I decided I liked your manuscript.”
“He’s just like that—does everything silently without saying a word. Can’t express himself well, but deep down, I’m sure he still cares about you.”
“Oh, right. Look at this—he even wrote this full business analysis for your story. It’s several pages long.”
Xia Xinghe stared at the document Shi Yumin showed him, his hands tightening beneath his sleeves.
Shi Yumin meant well—she was intentionally guiding the conversation to help them make up. But she didn’t know the full story between them, and she’d forgotten a simple truth: “a three-foot-thick layer of ice doesn’t form in a day.”
There had been so many moments of hope and disappointment in the past—until eventually, he’d given up completely. Xia Xinghe may have been moved now, but he no longer believed Bai Qingzhou still cared about him.
He couldn’t read Bai Qingzhou’s thoughts, didn’t know why he was helping him now. Maybe it was just like that time he’d impulsively pursued him—it could be a fleeting whim. Still, Xia Xinghe understood the basic courtesy of repaying kindness.
He had already drawn clear boundaries between them. Knowing that Bai Qingzhou had written such a long report for him only made him feel more indebted. He didn’t want to accept his help for nothing, and now he didn’t even know how to face him.
Shi Yumin chatted with Xia Xinghe a while longer, but he remained a little distracted. As the sky gradually darkened, she stopped holding him back, let out a quiet sigh, and gently told him to head home early.
Xia Xinghe responded with a soft “Okay,” lowered his head, and walked out of the office building. The sky outside was heavy and gloomy. After a moment of hesitation, he called Bai Qingzhou.
The dial tone rang several times—Bai Qingzhou was probably busy and didn’t pick up.
As the wait stretched on, Xia Xinghe’s overheated mind gradually cooled down.
After all, even if Bai Qingzhou answered, what would he say?
Thank you? Sorry? Over the phone, none of that would come out right.
Xia Xinghe stared at his phone for a long time before finally deciding to send a WeChat message.
[Little Bamboo: Thank you.]
[Little Bamboo: What do you want to eat? I’ll make it for you.]
Bai Qingzhou seemed really busy that day. He didn’t reply until evening, and even then, his reply was just two words: “Anything’s fine.” Not even a punctuation mark.
Xia Xinghe sent another: [Time?]
[Bai: You decide]
Still just two words. Not a single one extra.
Normally, Xia Xinghe would’ve rolled his eyes and silently complained: Would it kill you to type a couple more characters? But this time, feeling guilty, he saw Bai Qingzhou’s cold tone and lowered his own stance even more.
[Little Bamboo: Then how about the afternoon the day after tomorrow? I remember you’re off then, right?]
[Little Bamboo: Three-cup chicken? Pork rib and lotus root soup? A seared steak? Brown sugar glutinous rice cakes?]
Bai Qingzhou replied with just one word:
[Bai: Okay]
Seeing the message, Xia Xinghe finally let out a soft breath of relief.
…..
The next morning, Xia Xinghe went to the supermarket early and bought a ton of ingredients—two large bags full. Besides food for cooking, there were also all sorts of snacks and toys for Bamboo. Panting and hauling the bags, he arrived at Bai Qingzhou’s place, only to find when he knocked that Bai Qingzhou still wasn’t up. He opened the door in his pajamas.
Xia Xinghe checked his watch: exactly eleven o’clock.
It was the time they had agreed on, but seeing Bai Qingzhou’s cold expression, he quickly apologized, “Sorry, I… I didn’t know you were still asleep.”
His voice was low like he’d done something wrong, and his drooping eyes were full of caution. Bai Qingzhou furrowed his brows slightly and stared at him for two seconds. Then, seeing the large bags in his hands, he finally stepped aside to let him in.
Bai Qingzhou might look lean and tall, but he had the kind of perfect build that clothes slimmed down and revealed strong muscles underneath. The loose pajamas couldn’t hide the sculpted lines of his body.
“Sit,” he said plainly.
He turned and walked into the bedroom. When he came back out, fully dressed, he found Xia Xinghe sitting on the couch like a student being disciplined—legs together, back straight, head lowered.
Bai Qingzhou loosened the top button of his shirt with long fingers and walked over. “Why are you here?”
Sitting on the very edge of the couch, Xia Xinghe immediately stood up when he heard the question. He held up the bag like it was a peace offering. “Didn’t we agree… I’d cook for you?”
He glanced up at Bai Qingzhou, nervous. “If today’s not a good time, I can come another—”
“Must’ve been hard.”
Bai Qingzhou cut him off and rubbed at his tired brow. “Sorry. Someone in my department called in sick yesterday. I had several surgeries in a row and just got back. I didn’t have time to tell you.”
“It’s okay, really,” Xia Xinghe shook his head quickly and asked tentatively, “So… can I cook today?”
Bai Qingzhou gave a soft “mm,” and Xia Xinghe immediately ran into the kitchen, lugging the food.
Washing, chopping, marinating—he did everything by himself.
Bai Qingzhou rolled up his sleeves to help, but Xia Xinghe nudged him out with his elbow.
“No, no need,” he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his voice clearly turning him down. “Let me do it. You go rest.”
“….”
Bai Qingzhou seemed like he wanted to say something more, but Xia Xinghe had already pushed him down onto the living room couch.
The kitchen filled with the clanging of pots and the hum of the range hood. Xia Xinghe, all on his own, finished cooking a full table of dishes.
By noon, everything was ready and on the table.
Xia Xinghe even pulled out Bai Qingzhou’s chair for him and set his utensils.
“Try the pork ribs—I pressure cooked them so they’re super tender.”
“And this brown sugar glutinous rice cake—it’s handmade. I remember you liked it.”
“And the chicken wings…”
With the shared serving chopsticks, Xia Xinghe kept placing food into Bai Qingzhou’s bowl until it was piled high.
Ribs, wings, fish… and a side bowl of beautifully colored lotus root soup.
Bai Qingzhou furrowed his brow and put down his chopsticks. Xia Xinghe froze and quickly asked, “You don’t like it? I can—”
Mid-sentence, he fell silent.
Bai Qingzhou had grabbed his wrist.
The warmth of his hand passed through skin. Bai Qingzhou looked down, staring at one of Xia Xinghe’s fingers. “What’s this?”
There was a fresh, tiny cut.
Xia Xinghe gave an embarrassed chuckle and dropped his gaze. “It’s nothing… I just accidentally nicked it earlier…”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Bai Qingzhou asked.
“…”
Xia Xinghe pressed his lips together, unsure how to answer.
A sudden silence fell between them. The only thing that felt real was the warmth on his wrist. Bai Qingzhou stared at the small wound for a long time, then finally let go.
“My mom talked to you,” he said.
It was phrased as a question but spoken with certainty.
Xia Xinghe’s arm hovered mid-air, then quickly pulled back.
He instinctively pressed the cut again. A sharp pain followed.
“Thank you,” he murmured with his head down. “You really helped me this time. I don’t know how to repay you…”
The downcast tone made Bai Qingzhou frown deeper. He suddenly cut in, his voice turning cold with displeasure.
“I don’t know what she told you,” Bai Qingzhou said, “but whatever it was, don’t take it to heart.”
“Yes, I recommended your story to her, but it was just something I casually mentioned after reading it. It wasn’t about your feelings.”
“And my mom’s been in this industry for over ten years. She doesn’t make unprofitable deals. She wouldn’t sign a project she doesn’t like just because of me. So whether it was accepted or not depended on your own merit. You don’t have to thank me.”
He paused, then added, “I also don’t think your writing’s that great. It’s full of flaws and weak points—just slightly better than the generic trash dramas out there. Don’t overthink it.”
The tone was still sharp, the expression still indifferent. Xia Xinghe looked up, stunned, but when he met Bai Qingzhou’s pale eyes, it was like he suddenly saw a trace of gentleness beneath all the harshness.
He didn’t know when Bai Qingzhou had found out he’d been upset about the copyright situation. He still didn’t understand why Bai Qingzhou had recommended his work. But after seeing the detailed analysis report he wrote, he knew what Bai Qingzhou was doing wasn’t as casual as he made it sound.
That was something no one could grasp just from Bai Qingzhou’s cold words or expressions.
Xia Xinghe suddenly realized—perhaps Bai Qingzhou deliberately used harsh words and acted cold and indifferent just so he wouldn’t feel burdened with guilt.
Xia Xinghe’s heart felt like it had been soaked in lemon water—sour and tight. Memories, bitter and sweet, flashed before his eyes. He tried hard to suppress it, but he could still clearly feel his heart fluttering.
His heartbeat pounded like a drum, and he had to admit: after all these years, he was still moved by Bai Qingzhou.