FQ chapter 67

Fan Qing jolted. With that one sentence from Luan Ye, all his hesitation scattered. Luan Ping’s gaze had already shifted to him, landing directly on his face.

Inside, waves of emotion surged, but outwardly, Fan Qing forced himself to remain composed. He nodded slightly, steady and polite:

“Hello, Auntie. My name is Fan Qing.”

There was a trace of scrutiny in Luan Ping’s eyes, but her tone and expression stayed calm.

“Hello.”

Fan Qing unconsciously straightened his back, trying to look less nervous than he felt.

This sudden encounter with Luan Ye’s mother was far too unexpected. He was dressed simply—just a white T-shirt and sweatpants. They had just eaten hotpot, and there was still a faint smell of broth clinging to his clothes. When Luan Ye’s mom looked at him, he even worried if any soup had splashed on him earlier.

The real question was, what to say next? Should he introduce himself more formally? But here, in this place?

“On a business trip?” Luan Ye cut in.

“Need to order a batch of machines, so I came to inspect. Been walking all day… the shoes I wore weren’t suitable.”

The shop assistant came over with a bag containing the shoes. As Luan Ping reached out, Luan Ye extended his hand first, taking the bag from the assistant.

Luan Ping’s hand paused for a second before falling back.

“Make sure you put on a band-aid before wearing them,” the shop assistant reminded, “don’t hurt the wound again.”

“Is it serious?” Luan Ye frowned.

“Just a little scrape,” Luan Ping dismissed it lightly, then continued, “And you? Why are you back? When are you leaving?”

Their conversation felt delicate, strained—Fan Qing couldn’t tell if it was because they hadn’t seen each other in so long or because of the past. He glanced at Luan Ye, who stayed quiet for a few seconds before only answering the latter question:

“I’m not leaving.”

“What?” Luan Ping’s brow furrowed slightly.

“This time I’m not going anywhere. I plan to stay here—where are you staying? We’ll take you back first.”

The topic shift was so abrupt that Fan Qing instantly recognized it for what it was: Luan Ye trying to avoid the question.

Luan Ping probably noticed too. She named a hotel, then added, “It’s not that serious, the hotel isn’t far. I can just take a taxi.”

Luan Ye fell silent, at a loss for words.

It was obvious she didn’t need to rely on her son, which made this sudden reunion feel even more distant. For a moment, Luan Ye wasn’t sure how to begin.

“I’ve already called a car,” Fan Qing broke in.

Luan Ye turned to him. Fan Qing glanced at his phone and quickly added, “Two minutes away. Should we wait outside?”

Luan Ye looked at him for two seconds, then smiled slightly and turned to his mother.

Luan Ping clearly hadn’t expected Fan Qing to react so quickly, and she froze briefly.

“Let’s go,” Luan Ye said.

When they left the mall, the car arrived just in time. As he got in, Fan Qing glanced at the reflection in the window glass—thankfully, his clothes looked clean enough.

Luan Ping sat in the passenger seat, while Luan Ye and Fan Qing sat in the back. The hotel was only a little over a kilometer away. The car was silent. Luan Ye sat watching his mother’s straight posture, her hair neatly clipped back, not a strand out of place.

Fan Qing, seizing the moment, squeezed his hand, signaling him to say something.

“Did you come alone?” Luan Ye finally asked.

“With two young assistants,” Luan Ping said from the front seat. “We walked all day, they were exhausted, so I let them rest at the hotel.”

“And you didn’t walk all day too?” Luan Ye asked.

Luan Ping was caught off guard, then smiled faintly. “I can manage.”

In Luan Ye’s memory, his mother never admitted to being tired. When she first started her tea business, the factory only had twenty or thirty workers. She’d wake up at five in the morning and return home near midnight, like an iron woman who never wore out.

“You’ve been in the U.S. these years?” she asked.

“Not entirely,” Luan Ye replied. “Sometimes all over the world.”

“Traveling for photos?”

Luan Ye quickly turned to her. “How did you know?”

“Sometimes I see magazines.” She paused. “Your photos appear often, don’t they? Even your photographer’s bio.”

Luan Ye froze. “Which magazines?”

She named two internationally renowned photography magazines—both in English, rare in China, let alone easily found. Yet she remembered the names clearly.

Luan Ye opened his mouth but said nothing. A pang hit his chest.

Sensing it, Luan Ping fell silent for a long time. The car grew heavy with quiet.

In this atmosphere, Fan Qing didn’t dare speak. Instead, he opened WeChat and typed a message in his and Luan Ye’s chat window.

The vibration would be obvious if he sent it back and forth, so he didn’t send it—he just nudged Luan Ye’s knee lightly.

Luan Ye glanced down.

Fan Qing: [Walk her upstairs later.]

Luan Ye raised an eyebrow. Fan Qing deleted it and typed again: [You’ve always wanted to talk with her, haven’t you?]

Luan Ye hesitated, unsure how to answer. Fan Qing deleted it again, writing instead: [Too sudden, right? You weren’t prepared.]

So clever. Luan Ye couldn’t help but smile.

Fan Qing: [She must really want to talk to you.]

Luan Ye froze, then looked at Fan Qing, silently mouthing: I think she’ll hit me.

Fan Qing chuckled quietly, typing one last line: [I think she misses you.]

…

At the hotel, as they got out, Luan Ping turned to Luan Ye.

“Where are you two staying?”

“By the university,” Luan Ye said. “Not far.”

She nodded.

Fan Qing glanced at Luan Ye, who finally said, “I’ll walk you up.”

Luan Ping hesitated, then gave her tacit approval.

“I’ll check if there’s a pharmacy nearby,” Fan Qing added. “It shouldn’t be far.”

Luan Ye smiled, and when his mother turned away, he quickly squeezed Fan Qing’s hand.

Luan Ping had already changed into the flat shoes she’d just bought, walking ahead. It was clear she wanted to appear steady, but her right foot had a faint limp. Luan Ye walked beside her, wanting to offer support, but she strode firmly forward, refusing to lean on her son.

Her room was on the 11th floor—a suite. On the coffee table were a kettle and some medicine: melatonin and calming drops.

“Insomnia?” Luan Ye asked, putting the medicine back down.

“Sometimes. Comes with age.”

She changed into slippers, rinsed the tea set with hot water, and began to brew tea.

“How have you been all these years abroad?” she asked.

Luan Ye pressed his lips together, not answering. Instead, he asked, “And you?”

“The usual.” She placed a rinsed teacup in front of him.

“This time back, where do you plan to stay?”

“Not sure yet. Shanghai, Nanjing, or…” He paused. “Maybe Hangzhou.”

Her hand paused, then she looked up. “You’ve thought about coming back to Hangzhou?”

“Many times,” he admitted with a smile.

The tea was ready. She poured him a cup. “So suddenly coming back—was it because of your boyfriend? What’s his name again?”

“Fan Qing.”

Luan Ye lifted the cup and took a sip. Black tea, rich and mellow—she must have brought it herself.

“Half the reason. The other half is…” He set the cup down, answering her earlier question. “I… wanted to come home.”

The room fell abruptly silent. She clearly hadn’t expected him to say that, and for a moment, she seemed dazed.

Just then, Luan Ye’s phone buzzed. He checked it.

Fan Qing: [Left the medicine at the front desk. Pick it up when you’re done talking.]

Luan Ye smiled and typed back: [You heading back? We’ve only just started, who knows when it’ll end.]

Fan Qing: [Got it.]

“Fan Qing?” Luan Ping spoke up again.

“Mhm.” Luan Ye set his phone aside.

“He looks very young,” she said. “He’s a student, isn’t he?”

“He’s turning nineteen. Studying in Nanjing.”

She smiled faintly. “No wonder. If not for him, I wouldn’t have run into you tonight.”

“I wanted to wait until I was ready to see you,” Luan Ye admitted. “Tonight was a bit sudden.”

She refilled his cup. “Ready for what?”

“Afraid you’d hit me.”

“…Honestly.” She let out a helpless laugh. “The last time I hit you, you were what, seven or eight?”

He looked down at the amber tea, smiling. “I was afraid you were still angry, that you didn’t want to see me.”

Back then, their last meeting had ended in a huge argument, nearly severing their bond as mother and son. Luan Ye’s refusal to back down had cost him dearly—only to prove, in the end, that she had been right all along.

He hadn’t dared—or perhaps hadn’t had the courage—to see her.

“I was angry then.”

She set down the teapot. Inside, the tea leaves drifted up and down slowly.

“After your father and I divorced, I managed the tea business alone. That period was… exhausting. I couldn’t take proper care of you. Your father never let it go, always fighting for custody. I had no choice but to send you away.”

“I thought at least that way, you’d have a better education, a wider world to see. And maybe… it could make up for the shortcomings of me and your father.”

Luan Ye looked at her gently. “I never felt you owed me anything.”

“I know.” She exhaled softly. “But back then, I always felt guilty. You were so young—parents divorced, then sent overseas… So I just hoped you could live a better life.”

Luan Ye didn’t say anything.

“But after all the effort it took to get into college, you told me you were dating a boy… I felt like you were treating your life like a joke.”

Luan Ping tugged at the corner of her mouth before letting it fall. “Later, when I thought about it, maybe it wasn’t just anger back then. There was guilt, too.”

“I kept thinking, if I had been by your side to take care of you, maybe you wouldn’t have… turned out that way.”

The shock, mixed with guilt she couldn’t put into words—the unwillingness to admit that sending her son away, supposedly for his own good, had instead turned him into a homosexual…

All these emotions tangled together, making her lose control back then.

“I’ve always wondered if it was my fault. That I threw you abroad and didn’t care for you, and that’s what made you…”

“It’s not that.” Luan Ye cut her off. “I just like men… it has nothing to do with any of that.”

This time, Luan Ping didn’t lose her temper like she had years ago. She only nodded slowly.

“Later, once I calmed down, there wasn’t really a reason to contact you. After the things we said back then… I assumed you felt the same.”

She refilled the teapot. In the rising fragrance of tea, her voice dropped lower.

“You and I are too alike—stubborn, unwilling to yield. Sometimes we clearly know in our hearts we should bow our heads a little, but… we don’t know how to say it.”

Luan Ye took a sip of tea, suppressing the sour ache rising in his chest.

“The longer it goes on, the less you want to speak.”

Luan Ping drank as well. “So today, you coming up here to talk to me—it surprised me.”

“Fan Qing told me to,” Luan Ye said. “He said… you must miss me.”

After a moment, Luan Ping smiled faintly.

“You’re speaking up for him.”

“No need for me to.” Luan Ye also smiled. “He probably did pretty well tonight.”

“Not bad,” Luan Ping chuckled, taking another sip of tea. After a while, she added:

“You never came back. I thought you… were still with Bai Mingcheng.”

“You broke up?” she asked.

This time, Luan Ye stayed silent longer before suddenly speaking.

“The reason I didn’t contact you before wasn’t just stubbornness—well, maybe a little.”

He held the teacup, feeling the warmth through the thin porcelain.

“When I came in just now, your first question was how I’ve been these past years…”

He looked at his mother. “I don’t know how to answer.”

He really didn’t know how to describe to her those chaotic, bewildering years.

Under the green trees in front of the stage, Fan Qing’s voice rose in his memory:

Don’t run away from love, Luan Ye.

At last, he spoke, hesitating. “I… was sick.”