Chapter 29

Ji Xiunian remained in the doorway. Zhou Lang looked entirely unbothered. “Well, we’re both here. Let’s have a meal together.”

As one of the four most infamous phrases in the country, “well, we’re already here” carried an almost magical force—ordinary people simply couldn’t refuse it.

Ji Xiunian was no exception.

She stepped into the private room and sat down, flipping through the menu. “What do you want to eat?”

Zhou Lang flipped to the last page. “They do hotpot here too. Hotpot?”

“Sure. How spicy?”

“…Mm. Medium.”

Ji Xiunian was mild-mannered by nature, yet she loved hotpot and could handle serious heat.

Back then, Zhou Lang had always deferred to her tastes at mealtimes.

Zhou Lang pushed the menu toward her. “You order. I can’t be bothered to read it.”

Ji Xiunian didn’t stand on ceremony, ticking off a few dishes and placing the order.

The waiter took the menu, poured the tea, and slipped out, closing the door behind him. Silence settled over the private room.

Ji Xiunian, ill at ease, said, “I’ll open the window.”

Zhou Lang looked perfectly composed. “Go ahead.”

By the time she returned from the window, Zhou Lang had poured her a glass of sour plum juice. “How long have you been doing the matchmaking circuit?”

Ji Xiunian: “…Not long.”

“The guy today is a friend of mine. I lost a match to him a few days ago, so I came in his place. I never expected to run into you.”

“It surprised me too.”

“Mm. Met anyone promising so far?”

“They’ve all been more or less the same.”

Their tones were as easy as old friends chatting.

But this was hardly a topic one should discuss with an ex-girlfriend.

“Let’s drop it,” Ji Xiunian cut in decisively. “The exhibition is coming up soon.”

Zhou Lang gave her a knowing look. “Mm, I know. My senior brother told me—asked me to help drum up some sponsorship.”

Ji Xiunian was a little surprised. “Don’t you have rather a lot on your plate already?”

Zhou Lang arched a brow, entirely without modesty. “The capable get saddled with more. Can’t be helped.”

Fortunately the hotpot broth arrived soon after, sparing them any further small talk about work.

While they waited for the food, Zhou Lang went to the restroom.

The dishes arrived quickly, along with the condiments, and the waiter thoughtfully asked if they needed anything else.

“Scallions and garlic for me, and a sesame-oil dip, please.”

“And your companion?”

“Same for her—and add a side of cilantro, thank you.”

“Of course.”

The red broth bubbled, the meat slices giving off an irresistible aroma.

Soon, Zhou Lang returned.

She glanced at the condiment bowl in front of her, then at Ji Xiunian’s, and stood up to swap them. “Here—yours.”

“What?”

“The waiter must have mixed them up.”

“Don’t you like cilantro?”

“Isn’t cilantro yours?”

They asked the question in perfect unison—and both froze.

Zhou Lang looked lost. “I thought you liked it. Our first…”

Their first real date had been hotpot.

Hoping to seem unfussy and adventurous, to leave a perfect impression on her girlfriend, she had—upon seeing Ji Xiunian pick up cilantro—promptly loaded half a bowl of her most hated cilantro as well.

And then… then the whole way home she’d reeked of hotpot mixed with cilantro. Never mind kissing her girlfriend—she hadn’t even dared take her hand.

So that night, the person who’d been nervous and clumsily pretending behind careful disguises—she hadn’t been the only one, had she?

Ji Xiunian lowered her lashes, voice flat. “Tastes change. I’ll have the waiter bring a replacement.”

Zhou Lang pushed the cilantro-free bowl back. “Mm, it’s fine. Let’s leave it.”

She picked up a slice of beef and dipped it in the sauce. The cilantro flavor was impossible to ignore—unfamiliar, and yet familiar.

And achingly nostalgic.

The hotpot steamed, red broth roiling. Zhou Lang swished meat with the strainer and fished it out after a few passes. “Quick, grab it!”

Halfway through, Ji Xiunian set down her chopsticks—no sooner had she hurried a few slices into her bowl than Zhou Lang was straining another batch, telling her to keep taking, until she was completely flustered.

At last she couldn’t help laughing. “That’s enough.” She took the ladle from Zhou Lang’s hand. “Let me.”

Zhou Lang made a soft sound of assent. Couldn’t help stealing a couple more glances at her, then quickly lowered her head.

The hotpot stretched on slowly, nearly an hour and a half.

The medium-spicy broth grew hotter as it cooked. Halfway through, Zhou Lang felt a dull ache in her stomach, wave after wave.

She pressed quietly at the painful spot and drank several glasses of water in a row before reaching for her chopsticks again, feigning nonchalance—but Ji Xiunian caught her hand.

Ji Xiunian stared at her ashen face. “What’s wrong?”

Zhou Lang smiled. “Nothing.” The word had zero persuasive power.

Ji Xiunian held her gaze, voice low and steady. “Where does it hurt? Your stomach?”

“Mm… I think so. My place is nearby—I’ll go home and take some medicine.”

“Let me take you to a hospital.”

“No need. It’s nothing serious.”

Ji Xiunian was quiet a moment, then finally nodded. “I’ll take you home.”

Zhou Lang’s hand brushed the two ballet tickets in her bag. A shame. She shouldn’t have ordered hotpot. She could have “happened” to produce two more tickets otherwise.

“Are you all right? Can you walk?”

“I can. It’s fine.”

Zhou Lang looked away. Mm… if only she’d had wine today too—then she could have pretended to be drunk. Leaning on Ji Xiunian while completely sober… how mortifying would that be.

Ji Xiunian, unable to stop checking on her, settled the bill and drove straight to Zhou Lang’s apartment.

She’d been here once before, so it didn’t feel unfamiliar. The only difference was that last time Zhou Lang had been drunk, and she hadn’t had to face her.

Zhou Lang had been about to use the fingerprint lock; on second thought, she fished the spare key out from under the throw blanket, unlocked the door, and put it back.

Inside, she pulled a few boxes of medicine from the storage box under the coffee table, shook out a couple of pills, twisted open a bottle of water, and swallowed them down in one go.

She moved too fast for Ji Xiunian to stop her, who could only stare in shock: “You’re taking medicine with plain bottled water?”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s the only water I have.”

Ji Xiunian’s brow creased. She checked the kitchen—not even a kettle for boiling water—then opened the fridge: nothing but iced water and beer.

She turned, and asked suddenly, “Is this all you ever drink?”

In that instant, reason told Zhou Lang to say no. Instead she heard herself answer, perfectly casual, “Yeah.”

Ji Xiunian pressed her lips together. But she had always kept her emotions tightly reined; she only gave her one long look and said, “Go lie down in the bedroom for a while.”

Zhou Lang had rarely seen her angry—never at her, certainly. Somehow she found it almost novel. “Mm… okay.”

Ji Xiunian shooed her into the bedroom, did another circuit of the kitchen, confirmed there wasn’t so much as a piece of tableware, picked up her bag, and left.

Zhou Lang lay down and was asleep before long. When she woke again, not a sound came from the living room. She climbed out of bed and opened the door to look. The living room was empty.

The bedroom door stood half open; she stood in the doorway, light and shadow falling in patches across her.

Then someone stepped out of the kitchen. “What are you standing there for?”

…Why did she look like a pet abandoned by its owner.

Ji Xiunian had twisted her hair up with a silk scarf, two loose strands framing her face, sleeves rolled up, a basin of water in her hands.

Zhou Lang blinked. “You were in the kitchen?”

Ji Xiunian nodded. “Mm. Go rest.”

Zhou Lang studied her a moment before nodding. Soon the fragrance of mushroom and greens congee drifted from the kitchen—but she fell asleep once more.

Her insomnia always grew severe with the change of seasons; she hadn’t slept properly in days.

Between sleep and waking, Zhou Lang felt the mattress dip—someone had sat down beside her. A soft voice: “The congee’s in the kitchen. It’s still warm. I’m leaving now.” More words followed, but she couldn’t make them out. That presence lingered only an instant before fading away.

Only the last sentence came through clearly, soft as a sigh: “Is this really how you take care of yourself…”

Early the next morning, Ji Xiunian met Yan Yisheng at the badminton courts.

Yan Yisheng had heard about the blind date and asked, gossipy, “So? So? Was the weekend’s match any good? How were the looks? Pass muster?”

Before Ji Xiunian could answer, another voice cut in on her behalf: “Looks, you say? Do I pass muster?”

“Oh—Zhou Lang, what brings you here?” Yan Yisheng greeted her with a laugh. “I wasn’t asking you. As if your looks were ever in question.”

Zhou Lang handed them each a bottle of water. “Well, the person she met through matchmaking was me.”

“Pfft!” Yan Yisheng, mid-sip, nearly sprayed out the entire mouthful.

“You two…” What kind of soap-opera twist was this—running into your ex-girlfriend at a blind date?!

“It’s not what you think,” Ji Xiunian said flatly.

“It’s true, though,” Zhou Lang said. “She did come to my place.”

“…Right. I’m clearly a third wheel here. I’ll just make myself scarce—take all the time you need.”

Ji Xiunian turned to Zhou Lang, but before she could speak, Zhou Lang cut in: “Fancy a game?”

“I was just about to rest, actually.”

“Fine, then I’ll keep chatting with Yan Yisheng. Yesterday—”

“Play.”

“Gladly.”

Zhou Lang picked up her racket. Serve, bounce, return. Shuttlecocks flew every which way across the court.

Yan Yisheng watched from the sidelines and saw everything perfectly. She muttered under her breath, “The sour stench of damned love… she’s even feeding Niannian easy shots on the court.”

But after only a few rallies, Ji Xiunian stopped. “I’m tired. That’s enough for me.”

Zhou Lang arched a brow. “Fine by me. Actually, I was just about to say… um, that congee you made yesterday…”

“What about it?”

Zhou Lang paused. “Mm… the taste was… passable.”

Though why had there only been one bowl… Far, far too little. But it was enough to dissolve the last of her hesitation.

Then she turned her face aside and drew a deep breath. “…Mm. Thank you.” Her hand quietly tightened around her racket.

Ji Xiunian nodded. “My cooking is mediocre. No need to thank me—it was hardly any trouble. Enjoy your game; I have a class, so I’ll be going.”

Zhou Lang: “…”

She hadn’t expected Ji Xiunian to throw her own words back at her—the very “hardly any trouble” she’d used on her, back when she’d applied medicine for her.

She stood where she was, watching the figure slowly recede. Then, as if finally making up her mind, she pressed her lips together—and a smile broke through despite herself.

Even if she ran, it wouldn’t matter. This was the person she intended to hold on to, tight and unyielding.

She raised a hand, measuring the distance with her fingertips against that retreating back.

Mm. Just the right size to close her hand around.