Ye Yuhuan had wanted to say, If you’re really that embarrassed, we can have hot pot another day.
This time, unlike in the nurse’s office, it couldn’t be brushed off with a joke. Ye Yuhuan had read her fair share of yuri novels and knew that something like an indirect kiss was usually the start of something romantic.
But she and Song Zhiqing were just friends, with no romantic foundation whatsoever. It only served to create more awkwardness.
The problem was that they had both read too many yuri novels and had little to no actual relationship experience, making it easy for their imaginations to run wild.
Unlike Ye Yuhuan, who could calmly analyze the situation, Song Zhiqing felt like her mouth was going numb the entire way. Did that wretched lollipop have anesthetic in it? Damn it!
It wasn’t that she hadn’t considered running away, but fleeing would only make their next meeting even more awkward. Just the thought of having to explain why she’d run off was enough to make Song Zhiqing cringe so hard she could build a Barbie Dreamhouse.
Rather than do that, it was better to just throw caution to the wind and burn through all the awkwardness today, Song Zhiqing thought, resigning herself to her fate.
After they got home, Uncle Yu helped them carry their things upstairs and was about to leave. Seeing that she and Song Zhiqing were about to be left alone in the house, Ye Yuhuan quickly tried to stop him. “Uncle Yu, you should stay and eat with us. We bought way too much food for just the two of us.”
Uncle Yu waved his hand. “No, that’s alright. You young people have fun. An old guy like me won’t intrude.”
The two hadn’t spoken a word the whole way, so Uncle Yu guessed they’d had a small disagreement. It wasn’t anything serious, but they probably needed an opportunity to make up. His presence would only get in the way. The young miss had finally made such a good friend; he had to give them space to talk things out.
Ye Yuhuan wanted to insist, but Uncle Yu had already slipped nimbly out the door.
Song Zhiqing’s face was still red, though it had faded from the initial dramatic crimson to a light pink. She was still clutching the lollipop stick in her hand. Ye Yuhuan’s mouth started running again, and Song Zhiqing, thoroughly annoyed, turned her head away and plopped down on the sofa without looking at her.
Ye Yuhuan knew then that if they didn’t resolve this, Song Zhiqing’s blush wasn’t going to fade.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s nothing.”
Song Zhiqing’s eyes widened, and she blurted out, “Do you do this with other people often?”
Ye Yuhuan instinctively denied it. “Of course not. This is my first time.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Song Zhiqing’s face turned an even deeper shade of red.
What am I saying… Why is this getting weirder and weirder…
Ye Yuhuan took a deep breath and decided to stop beating around the bush. “We’re friends, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, that doesn’t mean friends can do just anything. What I mean is, neither of us did it on purpose, and it won’t lead to any feelings beyond friendship.”
“After all, you’re in love with Shangguan Xianxian, and I don’t like girls, so there’s no need for us to create unnecessary trouble for ourselves.”
Hearing Ye Yuhuan’s words did nothing to quell the fire in Song Zhiqing’s heart. What does who I like or who you like have to do with anything? she thought. Isn’t the point that the whole thing was just plain embarrassing?!
But what came out of her mouth was: “Then what kind of boys do you like?”
Ye Yuhuan was silent for a moment before answering honestly, “I don’t like boys, either.”
Song Zhiqing sat up straight in shock. “How can you not like boys or girls? Are you saying you don’t want to be in a relationship?”
Ye Yuhuan chuckled lightly. “Something like that.”
Song Zhiqing furrowed her brow, trying to understand. “So, you’re… like a nun?”
Ye Yuhuan tilted her head, thought for a second, and replied, “I guess so. In any case, I’ve never had any fantasies about romance.”
“But you’re my love guru!” Song Zhiqing exclaimed, completely baffled.
“And that’s why you can’t win over Shangguan Xianxian,” Ye Yuhuan said, turning her sharp wit on herself.
Song Zhiqing couldn’t disagree more. “I think your love advice is excellent. It’s good enough to be published as a relationship guide.”
She’d treated it like a priceless treasure the first time she saw it!
Seeing the conversation veering toward Song Zhiqing hailing her as a love master, Ye Yuhuan couldn’t take it anymore and made a “time out” gesture. “Okay, that’s enough. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion, but the important thing right now is that we need to start preparing the hot pot.”
Song Zhiqing reluctantly fell silent. She truly believed it. According to Ye Yuhuan’s plan, she felt she could win over anyone. The only reason she’d failed with Shangguan Xianxian was because Shangguan Xianxian simply didn’t understand love.
Of course, she subconsciously ignored all the various campus romance dramas she had witnessed over the past month.
Ye Yuhuan hadn’t been exaggerating to Uncle Yu; they really had bought too much food. She had specifically bought extra at the supermarket with him in mind, but now it looked like the leftovers would become her meals for the next few days.
Ye Yuhuan picked out a little of each vegetable, which together was just enough for her and Song Zhiqing.
Ye Yuhuan had no grand ambitions of having the great Miss Song wash her hands and make soup. In her mind, all Song Zhiqing needed to do was set the table at the end. However, Song Zhiqing was suddenly struck with a passion for the kitchen similar to the one she’d had in the supermarket. Ye Yuhuan could only stand by nervously and give instructions, terrified that Song Zhiqing would cut one of her meticulously cared-for hands.
It wasn’t that Song Zhiqing herself was particularly interested in cooking. At the Song residence, she would occasionally enter the kitchen, but only to tell the auntie what she suddenly felt like eating. As for actually touching the utensils that produced such delicious food, Song Zhiqing had never felt the urge.
Why would she? Was the auntie’s cooking not good enough, or were her music scores not interesting enough?
But strangely, whenever she was with Ye Yuhuan, she couldn’t help but want to participate in whatever Ye Yuhuan was doing. It seemed that just doing something with Ye Yuhuan was interesting enough.
Song Zhiqing wasn’t consciously aware of this. Right now, she was completely infuriated by the mangled potatoes she was cutting. She was doing exactly what Ye Yuhuan had told her to, so why were they still so ugly?
Song Zhiqing slammed the knife down on the cutting board in frustration and turned to Ye Yuhuan. “You show me how to do it.” Then, trying to save face, she added, “I think it’s probably this potato’s fault. It’s just a badly shaped potato.”
Three minutes later, a row of evenly sliced potato pieces appeared on the cutting board, looking all the more beautiful next to the pile of misshapen chunks Song Zhiqing had left behind.
Song Zhiqing cleared her throat. Ahem. She no longer had any desire to wield the kitchen knife. Those potatoes were just not cooperating. Besides, she found that watching Ye Yuhuan cut vegetables was also quite interesting. The hands that so often held books and pens were remarkably deft with a knife, moving with a kind of rhythmic grace.
So, it was probably better if she didn’t help after all.
Without Song Zhiqing’s “help,” Ye Yuhuan quickly finished chopping enough vegetables for two. She had prepared the sliced meats the night before, and aside from the shrimp paste, which she made fresh for better flavor, the rest didn’t take much effort.
When it came to mixing the dipping sauces, however, Song Zhiqing had quite a few opinions. Ye Yuhuan let her take the lead, only asking one question as she prepared the hot pot base: “Can you handle spicy food?”
Song Zhiqing nodded confidently.
So Ye Yuhuan added a little extra, though it wasn’t overwhelmingly spicy. After all, there was no need to hurt yourself with spice when eating hot pot.
A family recipe passed down through generations naturally had its magic. The red chili oil slowly melted under the heat, releasing an astonishing aroma born from over a dozen spices that had been simmered and stir-fried. Paired with the chilies Ye Yuhuan had specially selected, it dyed the rich bone broth a mouth-watering, brilliant red. First went in the potato slices, which took longer to cook, and the daikon radish, which tasted better the longer it simmered. Then came the hot pot essentials: fatty beef, shrimp paste, fatty lamb, and beef aorta. As for the tripe, everyone preferred it cooked to a different degree—some liked to pull it out after just seven seconds, while others believed thirteen seconds was when it was most delicious.
Song Zhiqing prepared two types of dipping sauces: a sesame oil-based one and a sesame paste-based one. These were the ultimate hot pot companions her parents had discovered after traveling the country and befriending all sorts of old gourmands—another kind of family recipe, in a sense.
Combined with the fresh ingredients and the perfect atmosphere, it was a flawless meal date—aside from the fact that the spiciness level slightly exceeded both of their tolerances.
After the meal, the two of them were half-lying on the fabric sofa, their lips bright red. And that was after chugging several bottles of soy milk to the rescue.
Ye Yuhuan was the first to speak. “Didn’t you say you could handle spicy food?”
Song Zhiqing pressed her lips against a glass of ice water, her words slightly muffled. “I said I can handle A-City’s spice. This is Sichuan spice. Are they even comparable?”
“Besides, Ye Yuhuan, you’re one to talk. You couldn’t even handle your own family recipe.”
“I haven’t had hot pot in years. I’m just a little out of practice. I’ll get back to my old self with a bit of training.”
Hearing this, Song Zhiqing’s eyes lit up. “So, we’ll do this again next time?”
“Deal. But first, you have to tell me your dipping sauce recipe.” Ye Yuhuan couldn’t stop thinking about Song Zhiqing’s sauce.
“And you have to tell me your hot pot recipe,” Song Zhiqing countered, equally interested in Ye Yuhuan’s hot pot base.
With that, they looked at each other and smiled, having reached a strategic cooperation agreement for the exchange of the Ye and Song family hot pot secrets.
After a while, Song Zhiqing moved her mouth away from the glass and looked at the faded old photographs in the living room. The curiosity that had been building since early September finally bubbled to the surface in the peaceful atmosphere. She turned, moved closer to Ye Yuhuan, and said softly, “Ye Yuhuan, can you tell me what you were like as a child? In return, I’ll tell you about my childhood.”
Perhaps because the atmosphere was just so pleasant, Ye Yuhuan didn’t overthink Song Zhiqing’s motives. Of course, a bigger reason was that she had never felt her childhood was something that needed to be completely hidden.
Even if it was rather heavy.
But not wanting to ruin the wonderful mood, she chose to share some of the less heavy parts. “My childhood… there wasn’t anything that different about it. My mother was from Sichuan, and she stayed in A-City after marrying my father. My father is a painter, so he was always traveling for inspiration or attending art exhibitions. Basically, he was rarely home all year round. My mother was an art teacher, and I learned to paint from her when I was little, but I stopped after she got sick. I was actually relieved. To be honest, I learn other things quickly, but painting… I could never get the hang of it. Everything I drew was a mess.”
“When I was little, I dreaded art class the most. My favorite thing was eating hot pot with my mom. We’d start with a clear broth and gradually add more spice. My mom was much more patient teaching me how to eat hot pot than she was teaching me how to paint. She always thought that as my father’s daughter, I was supposed to be some kind of painting prodigy.”
“While we ate hot pot, my mom would talk about her youth in Sichuan, about the streets there, the people there. It made me long to visit Sichuan. I finally went once after my middle school entrance exams and was disappointed to find it wasn’t as wonderful as she’d described.”
“That’s about it. There’s not much else to tell.”
The things not worth telling included the fact that her father’s so-called trips for inspiration were actually just a string of affairs.
That her mother had actually been her father’s student, and they had married after an accidental pregnancy.
That the so-called accidental pregnancy was actually her mother’s attempt to tie her father down—an attempt that failed, which was why her mother was sometimes warm and sometimes cold toward her.
That her mother’s illness was schizophrenia. That after her mother got sick, her father said their family must have a gene for mental illness, otherwise how could both sisters in the family have gotten sick? This caused her mother’s condition to worsen drastically, until she finally lost her life by accident amidst endless hallucinations.
Indeed, they were things not worth telling. They would only serve to upset people.
