On the way home after dance practice, Tan Qing passed by a flower shop.
His eyes were drawn to a bouquet of white peonies and tulips, delicately accented with dusty miller. It looked elegant and refined.
He bought the bouquet and brought it home. As soon as he walked through the door, a girl came running up to him, cheerfully announcing, “Ge, I finished all my Chinese homework!”
“Mm.” Tan Qing took off his jacket and hung it up. “What about your other subjects?”
Tan Xiao stayed silent, her gaze drifting away.
“Why are you pretending not to hear?” Tan Qing asked again. “Did you finish the others too?”
“Don’t be such a buzzkill. Last time, you promised to reward me after I finished my Chinese homework.” Tan Xiao’s pleading voice carried a hint of anticipation as she blinked rapidly, acting cute. “So, did you bring Lian-ge’s autograph?”
“Hold on.” Tan Qing went into the bedroom first and put the dozen or so photos into a drawer, keeping only the white card with a signature in hand. When he came back, he handed it to Tan Xiao. “He was pretty happy when he heard you’re his fan.”
Tan Xiao took it and noticed that in the upper left corner, Zhu Lianzhen had even handwritten “To Tan Xiao.” She was so flattered that she pretended to sob, thanking Tan Qing for helping her succeed in being a fangirl.
In the living room, Tan Qing ground coffee beans. The aroma quickly filled the entire apartment. Tan Xiao didn’t like bitterness, but she enjoyed watching her brother’s methodical process.
Lately, she’d been observing Tan Qing a lot.
Unlike the version of him on TV—always wearing a perfect smile and speaking eloquently—the real Tan Qing didn’t talk much and rarely joked. There was one part of him, though, that matched the public’s image: he was a workaholic.
As long as his eyes were open, he was working. One night, Tan Xiao got hungry and secretly ordered a late-night snack. When she left her room to pick it up, she was surprised to see Tan Qing drinking coffee and reading a script. He showed no signs of fatigue, and by 7 AM the next morning, he was full of energy, heading off to an appearance.
During his time off, Tan Xiao never saw him engage in any special leisure activities. He simply did quiet things—puzzles, books, movies, tending to potted plants… or spending time alone in the study examining strange metal objects she didn’t understand.
Occasionally, he’d also check on her winter break homework progress, just to keep her from procrastinating and scrambling before school started again.
All in all, life with him was peaceful.
Tan Xiao had originally thought that someone at Tan Qing’s income level would live lavishly in private, but the truth was, he had very little desire to spend. He only bought the essentials.
“We’re about to start closed-door dance practice soon, so I won’t have time to take you back to Beijing,” Tan Qing said. “Remember to keep an eye on the time and buy your high-speed rail ticket early.”
“Okay.” Tan Xiao had originally wanted to invite her brother over for a meal at her place when he had time, but considering that he and their father hadn’t had contact in twenty years, both sides would likely find a meeting awkward. So, she gave up on the idea.
A long time ago, Tan Xiao had been very surprised to learn she had a half-brother. When she was little, she loved rummaging through the drawers at home like she was treasure hunting. One day, she discovered a thick photo album in a solid wooden box. Inside were pictures of her father with a young boy.
At the time, her father looked very young, and the boy in his arms had delicate features. Out of curiosity, Tan Xiao went to ask her mother about it. That was when she found out her father had been divorced.
As a child, Tan Xiao didn’t understand what “divorced” meant. She was just thrilled to learn she had a brother. She had always dreamed of having siblings to play with every day. But when she asked if her brother could come live with them, her father had only coaxed her gently and changed the subject.
One day, she secretly overheard her parents talking. From what she could gather, the ex-wife had passed away, and the boy left behind was still in high school, with no adults around to care for him.
Maybe her father had his own reasons for not stepping in personally. Instead, he had sent a friend to handle the funeral and other matters. Tan Xiao pestered her parents for a long time before her father finally agreed to let her meet her brother once.
Later, Tan Xiao figured her father had probably just wanted her to check in on Tan Qing for him.
Since they were total strangers at the time, that meeting hadn’t involved much conversation. What Tan Xiao remembered most was that her brother looked even better in person than in the photos, and that he was very tall. When he spoke to her, he squatted down to her level, and before they parted, he gave her a big bag of snacks.
Fortunately, she had remembered to ask Tan Qing for his phone number back then. After that, they stayed in touch from time to time. Tan Qing had told her not to let anyone know about their relationship, as it might affect their father’s work in the entertainment industry.
So even when Acemon debuted and became a nationwide sensation, known by everyone, Tan Xiao held back from bragging about it to her friends.
But she had almost let it slip recently. She had planned a surprise for her brother’s birthday with good intentions, but ended up being photographed by reporters, who turned it into a dating rumor. The company had to step in and clarify.
At school, quite a few people, based on her last name and family background, guessed that she was the girl in the photo.
Luckily, they didn’t look alike. Both of them took after their own mothers. Tan Qing had deep-set features, with a kind of refined mischief in his handsomeness, while Tan Xiao had a cheerful air, with curved, smiling eyes full of infectious energy.
After finishing his coffee, Tan Qing stayed in the study. It wasn’t until dinnertime that he came out, hooking one finger around a black plastic bag and telling Tan Xiao, “I forgot to steam the rice. I’ll go buy two portions from the restaurant downstairs.”
“I’ll go. If you get recognized, it’ll be a hassle.” Tan Xiao snatched the black bag from Tan Qing’s hand. “Do you have any other trash? I’ll throw it out too.”
The sky had already darkened, and there were still bits of unmelted ice at the edges of the road.
Tan Xiao stood in front of four differently colored trash bins, completely stumped.
She looked down and searched the sorting rules on her phone. After tossing out the kitchen waste and recyclables, one bag remained—the one Tan Qing had just brought from the study.
She opened it to check: scrap paper, rusty utility knife blades, glitter, and… modeling clay?
Tan Xiao reached in and picked up a piece. It felt dry and soft, not quite like the texture of modeling clay. She paused for a moment, then realized it was probably air-dry clay. She’d played with it before.
Tan Qing had molded it into a four-pointed star, bright yellow, with a slightly raised center. It was actually kind of cute.
Dinner was two dishes and a soup, simple in appearance but definitely on par with something from a high-end restaurant in terms of taste. Tan Xiao guessed her brother had learned to cook from his mother and tried to probe subtly, only to find out he was self-taught.
“She often worked late and came home exhausted, so I’d make dinner for the two of us after school,” Tan Qing said. “Later, she had throat issues and had to stay in the hospital for surgery. I happened to be on break, so I had time every day to experiment with new recipes and would bring them to her.”
Tan Xiao knew that Tan Qing’s mother had passed away from illness, so she didn’t ask any further, afraid of bringing down the mood at the dinner table, and quickly changed the subject.
She held her phone and scrolled through Weibo, where she saw a video posted by a fan of Zhu Lianzhen. The caption was short: Chuunibyou kid.
The video was blurry, clearly something from years ago.
It was a behind-the-scenes clip. Zhu Lianzhen looked about thirteen or fourteen, with a youthful face, wearing loose clothes, lazily eating snacks in a lounge. When a reporter approached and greeted him, he responded with a “Yo,” clearly trying to act cool.
The reporter asked, “What do you think of the leader being the center?”
Zhu Lianzhen: “It’s great.”
The reporter teased, “Everyone likes being in the center position. Why don’t you go for it?”
Zhu Lianzhen raised an eyebrow, a trace of arrogance in his eyes. “If I stood in the center, wouldn’t that make the others look like my backup dancers?”
The reporter laughed. “You’re pretty cocky, huh.”
Zhu Lianzhen scoffed. “I’m just speaking the truth. The center’s part isn’t even as good as the main dancer’s. At least I have my own solo.”
At the time, he had just entered puberty, and his voice hadn’t changed much. He also liked to speak in a deliberately higher pitch, making him sound like a chuunibyou kid asking for a punch. But with such a naturally likable face, his charm only intensified on camera. His arrogance somehow made his youthful cuteness stand out even more.
Tan Xiao had the video on speaker, and when Zhu Lianzhen said the others looked like his backup dancers, she heard Tan Qing chuckle softly.
Tan Xiao felt a bit embarrassed, inexplicably developing a sense of obligation, like “fans have to take responsibility for their idol’s actions.” She tried to comfort her brother, “You all danced really well. I’ve never seen anyone better than—”
Before she could finish the second half of the compliment, Tan Qing interrupted her. “He’d still say the same thing now.”
Tan Qing stood up to clear the dishes, the curve at the corner of his lips not yet fully faded.
Realizing that her brother didn’t seem to take her words of comfort to heart and instead brought up something seemingly unrelated, Tan Xiao was momentarily puzzled.
After a while, she figured it out. The “same thing” he mentioned probably referred to Zhu Lianzhen’s cocky comments from back when he was a teenager.
After washing the dishes, Tan Qing picked up the bouquet of fresh flowers he’d bought earlier and returned to the study. A large bookshelf took up half a wall, but it was actually a hidden door. When pulled open, it revealed an extra room behind it.
The space was square, just a few meters across, dimly lit by a yellow floor lamp. Against the wall stood an offering table, holding a black-and-white memorial portrait.
His mother had loved all kinds of flowers when she was alive, so Tan Qing bought a bouquet every day to place in front of her photo, and stayed there for a while.
It wasn’t about reminiscing. The room was narrow and enclosed—something that might have felt suffocating to others—but Tan Qing found it comfortable.
Beneath the table sat an old accordion, the instrument Tan Qing had practiced frequently during high school. Unfortunately, he’d never felt much passion for it, and after his mother passed, he never touched it again.
Aside from the accordion, his mother had also tried to get him to study vocal music, hoping he could fulfill her own youthful regret of never learning to sing properly.
Tan Qing had a decent voice and a bit of musical talent, but just like with the accordion, he had no real interest.
That lack of interest didn’t stop him from doing it well, though. And if he hadn’t followed his mother’s arrangements, he wouldn’t have met Zhu Lianzhen so early on.
Every weekend in high school, he went to music lessons on time.
One morning, it had just rained, and the air was thick with the scent of soil. Between the subway station and the building where his lessons were held was a long flight of stairs. When Tan Qing looked up, he caught sight of a boy at the top launching himself down on a skateboard.
Judging by his height and face shape, he looked like a middle schooler—right at that fearless age. Others might not have known his skateboarding skills, but watching such a dangerous move, it was hard not to break into a cold sweat for him.
Tan Qing’s eyes were drawn to the boy, and he paused on a step. He watched as the boy glided down most of the staircase smoothly on his skateboard, momentarily forgetting to move forward.
As they brushed past each other, a gust of wind swept by Tan Qing’s ear.
He didn’t know if it was just his imagination, but for a brief moment, it felt like his eyes met the boy’s.
Snapping back to reality, Tan Qing continued walking up the stairs. Suddenly, a clattering noise sounded behind him.
He turned around and saw that the boy had apparently misstepped while skating, tripped on a step, and fallen hard onto the ground. His skateboard had flown several meters away.
Just as Tan Qing was about to go help him up, an unexpected scene unfolded in front of him—
The boy gritted his teeth through the pain, shifted his grip on the ground, and spun smoothly as if no one were watching. Then, with a burst of effort, he pushed himself up, wobbling to his feet. Tilting his head slightly, he feigned composure and stomped on the skateboard, flicking it up into the air.
“……”
The whole sequence was done in one fluid motion yet was so incomprehensible that Tan Qing forgot to walk away.
It wasn’t until the boy picked up his skateboard and shot a sneaky glance in his direction that Tan Qing realized he had probably felt embarrassed by the fall and was using dance-like moves to salvage his fragile ego in front of a stranger.
“……” Tan Qing turned away in silence, pretending he hadn’t seen a thing.
After that, every weekend, Tan Qing somehow always ran into that boy. He never paid much attention to his face, but just a glimpse of his trendy outfit from the corner of his eye was enough to recognize him.
It wasn’t just some “one-sided encounter.”
Even before they formally introduced themselves, they had already passed by each other countless times.
