The sky grew dark, and Song Que and Qin Wangye decided to stay the night at the villa.
They were assigned rooms on the third floor. There was a heated swimming pool on the terrace, but because of the chill of the late autumn night, no one wanted to go in.
Song Que’s room was directly across from Qin Wangye’s.
“Do you have any plans for tomorrow morning?” Qin Wangye asked.
The two had just reached the third floor. The wooden floor emitted a gentle, glazed luster under the lights.
“No,” Song Que said, pausing slightly. His voice lowered. “What about you, Brother Ye?”
Qin Wangye replied, “I do not have any either. In that case, I will take you fishing.”
“Do you know where?”
“I have already asked Vice President Wang everything I need to know.”
Song Que nodded. “All right.”
While speaking, Song Que pushed open his door. A small light was shining in the hallway, and the layout inside was very neat and clean. Qin Wangye looked behind Song Que, wondering what he was thinking. His eyes grew dark. Finally, he said, “Good night, Song Que.”
It was not Manager Song, but Song Que.
For a moment, Song Que felt a buzzing sensation as if he were being dragged back into deep memories.
During their student days, Qin Wangye excelled academically, firmly holding the top spot. He was by no means a monk, however; he spent plenty of time on the sports field. Consequently, he was often drafted by teachers to help grade papers or distribute handouts. Occasionally, when he arrived at Song Que’s desk, he would offer a low, “Song Que.”
It was calm and clear, stirring up turbulent waves in Song Que’s heart on those breezy afternoons.
Song Que had thought that the fate between them for this lifetime had reached its end.
But suddenly, his luck had become incredibly good.
Struck by the past, Song Que forgot how he had entered his room, and naturally, he also forgot to say his own, “Good night, Brother Ye.”
This left Qin Wangye standing there for several minutes.
Ha. Qin Wangye regained his senses and could not help but laugh to himself.
“Brother Ye” was not a rare term. He had never lacked friends from childhood to adulthood. People like Shao Fuguang, his childhood playmates, had chased after him calling him “Brother Ye” since they were toddlers. Later, it was classmates who admired him who followed suit, followed by thugs outside of school who called him “Brother Ye” after being beaten with his fists. Having listened to this for years, Qin Wangye should have been immune to it long ago.
Yet, when Song Que said it, it was different.
It was like someone scratching his heart with a feather, or like a spring breeze wrapping around willow catkins, brushing past the tip of his nose with a fresh and tranquil aura.
Beyond the heartbeat, Qin Wangye actually developed the illusion that Song Que had called him that many times before.
Qin Wangye pushed the door and entered.
In truth, that was no illusion.
In Song Que’s heart, it had echoed thousands of times.
After washing up, Song Que turned off the lights and lay in bed. Although the environment was unfamiliar, his mind was at peace, perhaps because he knew that Qin Wangye was only a hallway away.
His feelings for Qin Wangye were not as simple as just liking him. If possible, Song Que would have placed him on a shrine for worship. He never wished for a deity to cast a glance downward; he only wanted the deity to remain high above forever. Thus, Song Que had few impure thoughts regarding Qin Wangye. As for Mr. Qin, he was at the other extreme.
Qin Wangye did not close his eyes for three hours and had to take two cold showers.
What could be done about it? Qin Wangye slumped lazily on the sofa, wanting a cigarette. Did he really rush back to the country just to expand his business?
Qin Wangye opened his phone and flipped to a photo.
Shao Fuguang had sent this a month before he returned to the country. If not for that, Qin Wangye would have had to delay his return for another six months.
The photo was cluttered. It was something Shao Fuguang had taken to show off when Qin Wangye, feeling bored, had asked what they were doing. It was meant to show off the carefree life of Shao Fuguang and Gu Yushuo: grass, sunshine, champagne, and some wine banquet hosted at someone’s house. A wooden swing hung lonely in the upper right corner. When the photo was zoomed in, one could see behind the swing someone dressed in a white suit, standing tall and slender. Even with the blurred quality, it could not hide the delicate and indifferent features.
Qin Wangye’s leisurely pace had instantly been wound up like a spring. The springs, summers, autumns, and winters of six years shifted continuously around him. He walked through the surging river of time marked by the years, running hard behind the scenes where no one else could see. On the night of the welcome banquet at Yunding after his return, in the east corridor of the nineteenth floor, Qin Wangye stared fixedly at Song Que’s back, the ambition and greed in his eyes bordering on twisted.
He smiled silently. “Found you.”
Song Que woke up at seven in the morning. He dressed and went downstairs, but the lobby was still quiet.
The villa’s butler stepped forward and explained that Vice President Wang and the others had drunk alcohol last night and would likely not wake up until noon. He told the guests to feel free to help themselves and asked what they would like to eat.
“Egg noodles will do,” Song Que said.
Vice President Wang was fond of spicy food, so the chef had subconsciously followed his preference. As a result, the bowl of noodles served was floating with red chili oil.
Just as Song Que was debating whether to eat it, Qin Wangye came down from upstairs, looking sleepy and lazy. “I will eat this bowl. Make his portion without chili; keep it light.”
The butler quickly agreed.
Qin Wangye washed his face briefly and ran his fingers through his hair, which was still damp. He wore a dark gray high-neck sweater, his features deep and striking, and there was an indescribable arrogance and unrestrained spirit at the corners of his eyes and brows.
Song Que admired him earnestly, raising a big thumbs up in his heart.
“Brother Ye, why are you up so early?”
“Aren’t you quite early yourself?” Qin Wangye said. “You did not call me when you woke up.”
“It does not matter, you should sleep a bit longer,” Song Que said, seeing Qin Wangye yawning. “Take another nap.”
“No need,” Qin Wangye waved his hand. “Let us eat quickly, and when we are done, we will go fishing.”
Hearing this, Song Que felt a leap of joy in his heart.
The fishing gear here was fully equipped. Qin Wangye picked out two convenient rods, and they set off as soon as Song Que finished eating.
The fishing spot was not far from the villa. Once Vice President Wang had explained it, Qin Wangye could deduce the specific direction. Song Que followed him for a stretch and crossed a patch of wild grass before seeing the palm-shaped wild pond. The stones at the edges had been washed away, creating inward indentations. The lake water shimmered with a hint of blue amidst the vibrant green.
Some fish were swimming near the surface, visible to the naked eye.
Song Que said, “There!”
Seeing Song Que’s rare display of excitement, Qin Wangye laughed and asked, “Do you know how to fish?”
Song Que shook his head. “But I know how to use a net.”
“The lake water is too cold; no netting,” Qin Wangye said as he began to find a place to set up the equipment. “Wait for me to prepare the bait for you, then you can do it yourself.”
Song Que waited patiently by his side. “All right.”
Qin Wangye was fast and skilled. After mixing the bait and casting and retrieving the rod several times, he saw the float bobbing slightly, indicating that the fish had started biting. He gave his spot to Song Que. “Come.”
“Keep an eye on the float. Lift it the moment it sinks; use a bit of finesse.”
Song Que understood the principle, but wild fish were not easy to catch.
Even for Qin Wangye, after all the preparatory work was done, he had to wait half an hour before catching a small whitefish about a palm’s length.
“Even a mosquito has meat on it,” Qin Wangye said. His competitive spirit ignited, so he tossed it into the fish basket and continued fishing.
It was a meditative activity, and Song Que did not lack patience. Sitting to the left and right of Qin Wangye, surrounded by mountains and forests, the bird calls were ethereal, and there was a sense of peace and contentment.
The sun shifted positions. The area was already shaded and cool, and as the wind blew, it grew even colder.
A jacket, still warm from his body, was tossed into his arms, and Song Que caught it subconsciously.