With several cafeteria serving windows available, why did it have to be such a coincidence.
Truly a tangled fate of past grievances.
Song Rong lowered the corners of his mouth, ladled out a portion of edamame stir-fried with loofah and a portion of green pepper and shredded potatoes according to Gu Xuanlang’s request, and muttered to himself that this meal lacked even a shred of meat and was far too vegetarian.
As a result, lacking a filter on his mouth, he blurted it out directly. “Not having some meat dishes?”
Gu Xuanlang’s gaze lingered on the food basins for two turns, then lifted, landing naturally on Song Rong. “Add a portion of braised pork.”
The steaming braised pork was glossy and red, with a perfect mix of fat and lean meat. Just looking at it was enough to make someone’s appetite stir.
The handyman didn’t say a word, picked up the serving spoon, and efficiently went to work.
Serving food had also taught him some experience. Song Rong knew very well that a single large scoop like this could yield around ten pieces of meat. Just as he was about to pour them into Gu Xuanlang’s tray, he heard him lower his voice and say the two words “Thank you,” sounding so polite it was almost as if they were strangers.
The resentment that had built up over a long period of the silent treatment surged up instantly along with the aroma of the meat.
Song Rong bit his lower lip, and a bizarre thought popped out like mushrooms after rain: The serving spoon is in my hands, why should I let Gu Xuanlang eat this much meat?
Thus, his hand accidentally shook.
Only seven pieces of meat remained.
That deep and complex resentment toward Gu Xuanlang made this moment feel no less than a battle between heaven and man inside his mind: The kind little matsutake hoped his lover could eat his fill and eat well during the days of their mutual cold war, while the evil little matsutake hoped he would stay hungry, deserving nothing, even if he starved to death.
The two little matsutakes beat each other up inside Song Rong’s head for a moment.
In the end, the kind little matsutake was beaten to death by the evil little matsutake.
Song Rong shook his hand once more.
Only four pieces of braised pork ultimately landed in Gu Xuanlang’s tray, and all of them were mostly fat with very little lean meat.
Gu Xuanlang: “…”
Just as the evil little mushroom was feeling refreshed, high-spirited, and puffed up with pride over Gu Xuanlang getting the short end of the stick, the tall man standing right behind him suddenly let out a light chuckle.
Long hair.
Gold-rimmed glasses.
And white gloves that he almost never took off.
Song Rong recognized him; that person was Kui Qing, the head of the Surveillance Division’s Archives Group, and also the senior whom Huazi called Brother Qing.
Kui Qing took a step forward, unhurriedly squeezing Gu Xuanlang to the side, and smiled brightly at Song Rong. “I’ll also take a portion of braised pork.”
Knowing that everyone in Dormitory 101 held this fungal senior in high respect, Song Rong didn’t dare to be negligent and scooped up a full spoonful.
Gu Xuanlang looked at the mountain of braised pork piled high on Kui Qing’s tray, then looked at the meager four pieces in his own tray, and furrowed his brows at Song Rong.
Still, he didn’t say a word.
Kui Qing seemed to be placating him. “Wait a moment and we’ll eat together.”
Having said that, he didn’t rush off either, instead looking toward the biased handyman. “Song Rong, right?”
The named handyman nodded in surprise.
Kui Qing still smiled. “Mr. Song.”
Feeling unworthy of such an honorific title from a senior, Song Rong hurriedly corrected him. “Ah, you can just call me Xiao Song or Xiao Rong.”
Kui Qing accepted happily, his tone growing even more cordial. “Xiao Rong, it’s like this. Our Archives Group has recently been updating the Special Species Manual, and when we reached the section on the ancient state of Shu, we got stuck on the entry for Dajing. We can’t find this reign title in any official or unofficial histories, so we have no choice but to ask some colleagues who used to live there to give an oral reconstruction. Are you free these few days? Can you come over and help out?”
His voice was gentle, yet brook no refusal.
Seeing that Group Leader Kui Qing had brought up work matters, the other colleagues who had come to eat found it inappropriate to urge him further and tacitly walked over to queue at other windows.
Song Rong widened his eyes, unable to understand for a moment how a senior with whom he had no intersection could have such a detailed understanding of his past, until he caught sight of the silent Gu Xuanlang and remembered that this fellow might have dropped a word or two.
Kui Qing followed his gaze to the colleague who had joined today. “You two are old acquaintances. Just right, you can keep each other company.”
Gu Xuanlang lifted his eyelids.
Learning that that fellow was also going to be involved, Song Rong subconsciously declined politely. “I have shifts scheduled these few days…”
“Xiao Rong, it’s rare for the Archives Group to have a place where they need you, and Group Leader Kui Qing came personally to invite you. Don’t turn it down.” The one who agreed on his behalf was Lao Ou, the head chef who had unexpectedly reaped a mountain of high-end ingredients and now found Song Rong more and more adorable the more he looked at him. “I’ll go talk to Lao Fan and just count it as your full attendance.”
Kui Qing curved his eyes and brows. “The Archives Group also has a subsidy for you.”
No need to do physical labor, plus getting a subsidy…
Song Rong was strongly tempted.
In the end, he nodded very lightly.
Kui Qing revealed a satisfied smile and fished his phone out of his pocket. “Let’s add WeChat, I’ll pull you into the group chat. They’re having a meeting this afternoon, and I’ll send you the location.”
Hearing this, Song Rong lowered his eyelashes in embarrassment. “Well, my phone can’t download apps. Therefore, I don’t have WeChat…”
His most rustic elderly phone could only use the web version even when browsing forums normally.
Kui Qing showed a look of sudden realization.
He raised a hand to fiddle with his bangs, whether unintentionally or intentionally, and assigned a task to Gu Xuanlang. “Then I’ll just have to trouble Mr. Gu to come pick up Xiao Rong.”
＊
After the cafeteria’s lunch peak came the staff mealtime.
Song Rong dealt with a few bites carelessly, then packed up his personal items and hurried out through the staff exit. Although Gu Xuanlang had promised Kui Qing that he would come pick him up for the meeting, the two of them were still in the middle of a cold war, and verbal promises might not necessarily hold weight. He had already prepared himself to ask his way all the way to the Archives Group’s meeting location.
Before he had walked many steps, he saw a person standing in front of the announcement board. Although the backlight made it difficult to make out the person’s facial features, Song Rong was far too familiar with that silhouette.
Gu Xuanlang’s shoulders and back were held as straight as a board, his head tilted back slightly as he looked at the promotional photos on the announcement board. His grey trench coat emitted a cool-toned sheen in the sunlight, with his cuffs rolled up to his forearms, exposing a distinct section of well-defined wrists.
Song Rong’s footsteps paused.
If he remembered correctly, the announcement board’s theme had been changed just a few days ago to display the cafeteria staff’s styling photos.
He had joined late, so his photo was placed in the very corner, and it was a candid shot Zhang Xiaojiao had taken of him when he wasn’t paying attention: in the photo, he was standing on tiptoe to reach a seasoning box higher up, with half of his apron tie coming loose. Because he was still speaking, his mouth was slightly open and his eyes were wide open, looking very much like a fish washed ashore.
Every time he passed by, Song Rong couldn’t bear to look directly at it.
Yet Gu Xuanlang was studying it closely at this very moment.
At a certain second, the man seemed to sense the gaze from behind and slowly turned his head. The instant their eyes met, Song Rong felt as though the fluorescent light in the staff exit behind him had suddenly dimmed.
Then, it brightened again.
Song Rong lowered his head and quickened his pace, while inwardly praying that that stone would chase after him.
Gu Xuanlang did not let down this silent prayer.
He took a stride forward and blocked Song Rong’s path. “I’ll take you to the meeting room.”
His tone was exceptionally formal and serious, completely devoid of any warmth, and didn’t resemble a conversation between romantic partners at all.
Song Rong couldn’t help frowning.
In a daze, Xiang Xun’s speculation rang in his ears once more: Actually, Gu Xuanlang had long since unilaterally declared a breakup with him and had zero intention of reconciling.
Song Rong shook his head frantically, trying to stop his wild thoughts, but the flurry of head-shaking only left dark spots flickering before his eyes. His steps drifted, his body listed to one side, and he tumbled straight toward the side.
Fortunately, Gu Xuanlang was quick-witted and steady-handed, catching him. “What’s wrong?”
That voice was lower than before, and his tone finally carried a hint of fluctuation, presumably anxiety and concern.
Song Rong pulled his hand away and took half a step back with feigned indifference. “It’s fine, old habit.”
“Old habit?” Gu Xuanlang stared at his shoulders, which were so thin they clearly showed the bone structure, and repeated it with a definitive tone. “You didn’t use to be like this before.”
Song Rong was stunned.
He said “before.”
He still remembered “before.”
His mood improving slightly, Song Rong waved a hand dismissively. “I’m really fine, let’s go.”
The two of them walked side by side just like that.
At this time of day, the path leading to the Surveillance Division’s office building was very quiet. There were no people around, not even a stray bird. Song Rong could hear the footsteps of the two of them, one light and one heavy, like an out-of-sync tune.
Stealing glances at Gu Xuanlang out of the corner of his eye several times, Song Rong finally couldn’t hold it in anymore and started the conversation. “Where have you been all these years?”
Gu Xuanlang beside him remained as tight-lipped as ever. “In the mountains.”
He added. “The mountains around Luofu City.”
Song Rong let out an “Oh.” “Then why did you come out of the mountains again?”
He had heard of Luofu City; the spiritual energy there was abundant, making it very suitable for spirits and monsters to cultivate. It was just that Gu Xuanlang had long since passed the transformation stage, and he didn’t know what he was still clinging to spiritual energy for.
Gu Xuanlang explained with enduring patience. “The place where I lived caught up with urban development and construction, and they plan to convert it into…”
He paused. “A public latrine.”
Seeing the other person reveal a somewhat thwarted expression, Song Rong curved the corner of his mouth. “Isn’t that place quite suitable for you, then?”
The stone in the latrine, stinky and hard.
Gu Xuanlang, who had been teased with this line long ago, gave a bland reaction. “Avoid stereotypes.”
Song Rong didn’t continue with this topic.
Feeling that Gu Xuanlang seemed to have relaxed, he couldn’t help asking one more question. “Then why did you come to Huai’an City?”
He desperately wanted to hear a reply connected to himself.
But someone’s answer was overly bureaucratic. “The policies here are relatively friendly toward monsters.”
Song Rong: “…”
Two thousand years without seeing each other, and the boyfriend who used to appreciate flowers under the moonlight and live a carefree life as a recluse had started talking about policies.
He had no choice but to muddle along with the conversation. “Then how long have you been in Huai’an City?”
Regarding his whereabouts during this period, Gu Xuanlang played tai chi. “I answered all these questions in the Surveillance Division’s interrogation room and detention room. If you’re interested, you can ask someone over there to apply to review the interrogation records.”
Song Rong hummed unhappily: As expected, breaking the ice and all that were just illusions; his boyfriend in the middle of a cold war had no plans to make up with him yet.
Soon, Gu Xuanlang led him to a stop in front of the room at the very corner of the third floor. “Here.”
As a core department of the Special Management Bureau, the Surveillance Division had quite a large office area, but because the Archives Group undertook relatively fewer fieldwork missions, they were assigned to the very top floor, and the meeting room was also temporarily converted from a sundry room.
Song Rong had never participated in such a formal academic activity, and his whole person was visibly nervous, trailing step by step behind Gu Xuanlang.
By then, the meeting room was already packed full of people, many of whom were looking around out of curiosity. Catching sight of the umbrella Song Rong was hugging, someone turned their head and asked, “Is it raining outside again?”
The seat neighbor replied. “No.”
The questioner poked his chin toward the timid unfamiliar face. “Then why are you bringing an umbrella…”
The seat neighbor glanced at Song Rong and quickly reached a conclusion. “Must be a mushroom person, right? Ugh, mushroom people are all like this, no matter where they go, they like carrying an umbrella with them.”
The truth was indeed so.
For weak little mushrooms like them who possessed no self-preservation abilities, being able to unfurl an umbrella when encountering danger was practically equivalent to saving their lives.
Song Rong anxiously clutched his life-saving artifact tight. This long-handled black umbrella was a gift Xiang Xun had given him on the day he first moved into the dormitory, saying it was a promotional freebie for buying a whole box of milk at the supermarket, with the brand’s promotional slogan “A cup every day, tall and strong” printed on the canopy, making people feel rather embarrassed.
Especially for someone as slender-framed as Song Rong.
He even silently swore that once he started getting paid and saving money in the future, he would definitely drink a cup of milk every day.
Ahem.
Getting sidetracked.
Gu Xuanlang had already walked far ahead.
Song Rong was just planning to catch up when he saw an Archives Group liaison officer guiding that fellow toward the front row. “Mr. Gu, your seat is over here.”