That drunken night was like a moderate rain shower. After the storm passed, life seemed to return to normal, yet silent changes were already taking place.
The next day, the two of them went together to see the house Bai Qingzhou had chosen. They finally decided to buy it jointly, with both their names written on the contract, and later to also have both names on the property certificate.
Xia Xinghe even looked up what the certificate looked like—red and official, hardly any different from a marriage license.
After signing the contract, on their way back, Xia Xinghe kept flipping through the papers, staring at the bright red fingerprints, and finally grinned at Bai Qingzhou. “Now I’ve tied you to me, Dr. Bai. Even if you scream yourself hoarse, I won’t let you go.”
Bai Qingzhou lowered his eyes and said nothing. But once they got home, he pressed Xia Xinghe down on the bed to show him firsthand what it really meant to scream oneself hoarse. They went at it from the afternoon until late at night, only stopping when it was fully dark outside.
At ten o’clock that night, faint noises of laughter and chatter drifted in from outside. Though the night had fallen, the city lights still illuminated the darkness.
After running around all day signing the contract, and then indulging wildly in the afternoon, both of them were exhausted now, lying in bed with their heads resting against each other.
Only a small lamp was left on in the bedroom. Xia Xinghe’s throat was still a bit hoarse as he lay on Bai Qingzhou’s arm, staring up at the ceiling.
“Bai Qingzhou,” he asked, “do you think this is real?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“It just feels a bit unbelievable. After being apart for so many years, we’re together again. It’s like a dream.”
“No sense of reality?”
“A little bit.”
Xia Xinghe deliberately poked Bai Qingzhou’s smooth, firm chest, joking with a smile: “So this time you’d better hold me tight, or else I’ll really run away and never come back.”
Bai Qingzhou gave a low laugh, his chest vibrating and making Xia Xinghe’s finger tingle.
“Like this?” He pulled Xia Xinghe closer with one arm.
“Not quite.”
Bai Qingzhou tightened his hold further. “How about now?”
“Still a little bit more.”
The night was quiet, the atmosphere surprisingly sweet. Xia Xinghe’s heart felt like it was melting, and then he saw Bai Qingzhou curve his lips faintly, leaning close to his ear.
Warm breath brushed his skin as Bai Qingzhou whispered: “Let me tell you a good trick.”
“What trick?”
“Think about the money in your bank account.”
“…?”
“Doesn’t it feel a lot more real now?”
Xia Xinghe: “…”
Too real.
Bai Qingzhou’s mouth was always this sharp—able to hit his sore spot in one strike.
The housing prices in Liaohu weren’t cheap. The two of them had only scraped together the down payment, which already emptied out all of Xia Xinghe’s little savings stash.
Just thinking about the mortgage they still had to pay made Xia Xinghe suddenly alert. He lay on the bed for a while, unable to sleep, then simply sat up with a swish and picked up his phone from the bedside table.
“What are you doing?”
Bai Qingzhou asked.
Xia Xinghe snapped back, “Writing to make money!”
……
He said it loudly enough, but since it was already quite late and he’d been exhausted from the whole day, he really didn’t have the energy. He barely typed two characters on his phone before giving up, tossed the phone aside, and slowly lay back down.
Bai Qingzhou looked at him with a half-smile. “Not writing anymore?”
Xia Xinghe pouted. “Isn’t it all your fault for bullying me too much!”
“Mhm.”
Bai Qingzhou chuckled. “I know I was wrong.”
Xia Xinghe muttered under his breath but still nestled into his arms. “Anyway, you’ll still dare to do it next time.”
Though he couldn’t get any writing done that night, Bai Qingzhou’s words had reminded Xia Xinghe: it had been a while, and he really should start a new story.
They say there’s no time like the present. Lying in Bai Qingzhou’s arms, Xia Xinghe began to plan again.
“How about I just start a new story tonight?”
“Up to you,” Bai Qingzhou said.
Once he decided, Xia Xinghe quickly drafted a synopsis on the site and posted a Weibo update.
【@Bamboo: Long time no see, everyone~ I’ve started a new story, hope you’ll support it!】
Even though he had already written so many stories, Xia Xinghe still felt nervous every time he launched a new one. After all, every story was a new journey, with both laughter and tears along the way.
Fortunately, the readers’ response was enthusiastic. Just a few minutes after posting, the comments flooded in like bamboo shoots after the rain.
【Aaaaahhh I’ve finally waited you out!】
【Bamboo, I’m here!! Bookmarking immediately!】
【I’m ready for the new story! jjyyyd!】
【? The one above, you’re acting strange.】
These adorable readers made Xia Xinghe laugh. Unable to hold it in, he showed Bai Qingzhou his phone.
“Look, look, look! This reader is so funny!”
“Hahaha, this one’s hilarious too!”
“These readers are just too creative!”
Xia Xinghe laughed until his stomach hurt, while Bai Qingzhou’s expression remained indifferent. Xia Xinghe blinked and suddenly remembered something, asking, “By the way, do you feel upset seeing these comments?”
There were a lot of comments under Xia Xinghe’s post. Besides the funny ones, many were confessions—things like “I love you” or “I want to marry you.” They were jokes, of course, but when there were too many of them, Xia Xinghe worried Bai Qingzhou might mind.
He stared straight at Bai Qingzhou, trying to read the smallest change in his face. Bai Qingzhou lowered his eyes calmly and spoke softly.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Anyway, I also…”
Xia Xinghe didn’t catch that. “What?”
“Nothing.” Bai Qingzhou rubbed his head. “Hungry? I’ll go make you some noodles.”
Tch, so cold, so boring.
Xia Xinghe pouted. But he really was hungry, so he didn’t hold back. “Thanks for the trouble, Dr Bai.”
Bai Qingzhou gave a nod, put on a jacket, and walked out. Soon, the sound of the range hood hummed from the kitchen. With that background noise, Xia Xinghe had no desire to get out of bed, so he just stayed lying there, playing on his phone.
There were tons of messages on Weibo. He replied to a few casually, then suddenly thought of that long-time reader with the gibberish username.
Since their last chat, they hadn’t talked again.
During this time, since Xia Xinghe hadn’t started a new story, he had no reason to reach out, and that reader wasn’t the proactive type either. Months had passed, and their chat history was still stuck at the same place.
Weibo notifications kept popping up. Xia Xinghe tapped into that reader’s homepage, but as always, there wasn’t a single post.
So mysterious.
Out of boredom, Xia Xinghe refreshed the page, only to notice that the reader’s username had suddenly changed.
It used to be a string of garbled letters: “nsxhss0905.”
But now, it had become: “wdxhss0523.”
Wasn’t this supposed to be system-generated gibberish? How could it change?
Or maybe it wasn’t gibberish at all?
Like discovering a new continent, Xia Xinghe curiously tried to decode it.
“ni si xia hua shuo shuo”? (You’d say something privately?)
“wo dei xian shou shi shui”? (I’ve got to tidy up who first?)
What the heck was that supposed to mean!
He tried piecing it together a few more times but had no clue. Muttering the letters and numbers under his breath, suddenly inspiration struck.
Wait—0523, May 23rd. Wasn’t that the day he and Bai Qingzhou got back together?
Then what about the letters?
xh—Xinghe?
But Xia Xinghe had never revealed his real name online.
A bold thought suddenly surfaced in his mind, one he didn’t dare confirm.
…This was too much of a coincidence.
No, but some things still didn’t add up.
There were too many possible abbreviations for the letters, not reliable enough. And if 0523 was May 23, then what was 0905?
Xia Xinghe thought hard, but he couldn’t recall any anniversary between them on that date.
Too many questions swirled in his head. He clicked into that reader’s profile, hoping to find a clue to prove his guess. Unfortunately, the profile was blank—no info filled in, location listed as overseas, and only the registration date, four years ago.
…So, it shouldn’t be Bai Qingzhou, right?
Looking back at their chat history, Xia Xinghe swallowed down the suspicion in his heart.
And setting aside the coincidence of the dates, the two didn’t give off the same feeling.
That reader didn’t say much, but every time they spoke, it was encouragement. Bai Qingzhou was different—aloof, and if he didn’t scold him, that was already considered good. How could he ever be so gentle and considerate?
Xia Xinghe shook his head, laughing at himself for overthinking, then raised his hand and sent that reader a private message. A “ding-dong” sounded as the phone on Bai Qingzhou’s bedside table lit up.
[@Bamboo: Long time no see ^ ^ I’ve started a new story, want to come take a look?]
The lock screen notification popped up clearly, and Xia Xinghe froze completely.
….
For a long time after, Xia Xinghe couldn’t bring himself to face the fact that the “garbled reader” was actually Bai Qingzhou.
Bai Qingzhou’s tongue was so venomous—after being together for so long, Xia Xinghe had hardly ever heard him say a nice word. But that reader was different. In his darkest, most despairing moments, it was only thanks to that reader’s encouragement that he’d been able to persist.
The impressions were too different. Xia Xinghe even doubted whether he’d seen wrong. But once the curtain was lifted just a little, more and more details kept spilling out.
Xia Xinghe finally understood why Bai Qingzhou had known he was upset about not selling adaptation rights before, why he knew his works so well, why he always happened to appear when he was at his lowest, and why he had stayed by his side all these years.
Even after writing stories for so many years, Xia Xinghe found himself unable to describe his feelings in words—sour, swelling, overwhelming. Half complaining about why Bai Qingzhou was so stuffy, unwilling to tell him even this, and half secretly moved—so it turned out, in all those years when he hadn’t known, this seemingly cold man had been silently supporting him from behind.
…..
Time flew, and three months later, by the end of August, as the muggy summer drew to a close, new good news arrived.
The TV adaptation of A Dog’ Life Among Humans had finished its early preparations, and the filming start date was just around the corner.
Seeing his “child” about to appear on screen, Xia Xinghe felt both nervous and excited. Just then, the book’s ISBN was approved, and the copyright holders hoped he would hold a signing event to help with promotion. After thinking it over for a long time, Xia Xinghe finally agreed.
Not long after he sent back his confirmation, a message from Yanmai came through.
[Editor Yanmai: Really?!]
[Editor Yanmai: That’s amazing, wuwuwu!]
[Editor Yanmai: You turned down so many event invitations before, I thought you just didn’t want to go!]
Xia Xinghe let out a soft sigh.
[Little Bamboo: It’s true.]
He had never met his readers in person before. Maybe it was just like with Bai Qingzhou—the more he cared, the more nervous he became, not knowing how to communicate. Even when posting a Weibo, he would deliberate over every word, let alone meeting offline.
But things were different now. Xia Xinghe had gradually realized the importance of communication. Clumsily, he was learning, and he also wanted to meet these friends who had been by his side all along.
Of course, there was also one more thing he had always wanted to do.
After making arrangements with Yanmai, Xia Xinghe opened Weibo and sent a message to that garbled reader.
[@Bamboo: I’m going to hold a signing event, do you have time?]
[@Bamboo: We’ve known each other so long, let’s meet up~]
The message sent successfully, and Xia Xinghe quietly curved his lips.
He wanted to see just how long Bai Qingzhou could keep pretending.