The snails looked very clean. Yang Jianzhen put his hands into the soaking snails and rubbed them. The shells hit each other, making a crisp clicking sound. Because he was told to “learn well from the chef,” Ming Zhifei stood by Yang Jianzhen’s side to help.
“They need to soak for a while longer. We can probably eat them by evening,” Yang Jianzhen decided.
“But they look pretty clean,” Ming Zhifei said.
Yang Jianzhen scooped the snails out with a basket.
“See the fuzz in the water? They’re still not quite clean.”
Following the hint, Ming Zhifei noticed gray fuzz floating in the water. After rubbing and washing them a few more times, Yang Jianzhen poured the snails back into a clean basin and filled it with water to let them soak.
“Why are all these snails broken?” Ming Zhifei suddenly noticed that the snails weren’t whole; the tips of the shells were gone.
“Here?” Yang Jianzhen picked up a snail and pointed at the clearly broken tail end.
“Yes.”
“It seems you really haven’t eaten snails in a long time. These have had their tails cut off. If you don’t cut the tails, you can’t suck them out after they’re cooked.” Yang Jianzhen pursed his lips and made a sucking motion. For some reason, while doing this, he stared at Ming Zhifei’s lips.
Although Ming Zhifei wasn’t sensitive to atmospheres, being stared at while so close made his own attention drift to Yang Jianzhen’s lips. It felt undeniably strange.
Yang Jianzhen smiled and put the snail down. He washed his hands and said, “Zhifei, once I can go out, can I go with you to change your glasses?”
“My glasses are fine, they aren’t broken.” Yang Jianzhen’s topics always jumped around. Ming Zhifei had no idea why he suddenly mentioned glasses.
“Don’t you think your glasses frames are so big they cover half your face? It’s not very convenient for kissing.”
Seeing Ming Zhifei’s “what is he saying” expression again—looking as if his central processor had fallen into total chaos—Yang Jianzhen found it incredibly hard to stifle his laughter.
“The frames are too big?” Ming Zhifei completely failed to grasp Yang Jianzhen’s logic. Still deep in thought, he involuntarily repeated the words.
“Yes, look at these frames.” Yang Jianzhen casually took off Ming Zhifei’s glasses and held them up against his face to demonstrate. “They cover almost down to the bottom of your nose. And look.”
Yang Jianzhen placed his thumb on Ming Zhifei’s lips, slowly stroking from left to right. “If someone wanted to touch your lips like this before kissing you, the frames would get in the way.”
Ming Zhifei’s expression had moved beyond confusion to a slight frown; he looked as though he was doubting the very logic of the universe. But because his brain hadn’t finished processing, his body didn’t react at all—he didn’t even flinch.
How can someone be this oblivious to a move? Yang Jianzhen was struggling so hard to keep from laughing that it was painful.
“Who?” After his CPU whirred at high speeds for a while, Ming Zhifei finally found a breakthrough and asked the question.
“Just a ‘suppose someone,'” Yang Jianzhen said, handing the glasses back.
Ming Zhifei put them back on, his logic finally straightened out. He said, “The hypothesis is invalid. There is no such person, so I don’t need to change my glasses for that reason. Besides, I wouldn’t be wearing glasses while kissing anyway; I’d just take them off. No need to change them.”
“Oh? Do you kiss often?”
“No.” Ming Zhifei, who had just managed to untangle his thoughts, was thrown into disarray again by Yang Jianzhen’s new topic.
“Does it feel good when you kiss?”
Question after question left Ming Zhifei with zero reaction time. He shook his head subconsciously. He didn’t like kissing. He even found it a bit unhygienic—he had only ever kissed his ex-wife, but she didn’t like it either, so they usually just faked a quick brush of the lips to show they’d completed the process and called it a day.
“See, if someone really wanted to kiss you, they’d have to take off your glasses.” As Yang Jianzhen spoke, he removed the glasses again, cupped the back of Ming Zhifei’s head with one hand, and said, “Hold your head still like this, and then…”
Ming Zhifei watched as Yang Jianzhen drew close, lightly pressed his lips against his, pulled away slightly, and whispered against his mouth, “And then press against your lips like this and kiss you.”
Yang Jianzhen let go of him and asked with a smile, “Don’t you think there are too many steps?”
Standing there stiffly like a statue, Ming Zhifei felt his brain’s processor screaming with “error” pop-ups.
Yang Jianzhen didn’t say anything more to him. He simply started singing while processing the green-stemmed cauliflower in his hands. He skillfully sliced the cauliflower in half with a knife, plucked off the florets one by one, tore the small stems by hand, peeled the stalk, and sliced it into thin pieces before putting the ingredients into a basin to wash.
His singing voice wasn’t loud, but the lyrics were very clear: “Let’s say goodbye here, the train on the water is arriving at the station. On the road to the future, no one will ever return. Say goodbye, even if you’re reluctant, don’t look back. On the other side of that sea, there must be a hazy shore…
“Dream the gentlest dream, filled with the world’s hurried faces. In the vastness of time and space, among millions of people, listen to the heart. Losing all along the way, witnessing all through life. No matter how much scenery you’ve seen, let your eyes remain as clear as at the beginning, let love still move you…”
Ming Zhifei stood in place, watching him wash the small pieces of cauliflower. His singing voice was so beautiful that every word and sentence could be heard clearly. He had heard Yang Jianzhen hum the melody before, but he had never listened closely to the lyrics.
“Since meeting is a gift from time, then when parting, one must smile and keep the memories in the heart. Life is infinitely small, yet equally infinitely grand. Even if you spend your whole life searching or saying goodbye, it’s enough to move the heart…”
Yang Jianzhen’s singing suddenly stopped. Ming Zhifei saw him looking over in surprise. Panicking slightly, Yang Jianzhen dried his hands on his apron, reached out, took off Ming Zhifei’s glasses again, and used his thumb to repeatedly wipe away the teardrops appearing at the corners of Ming Zhifei’s eyes.
“Zhifei? I’m sorry, Zhifei, I won’t joke around like that anymore.” Yang Jianzhen looked remorseful as he whispered, “Don’t take it to heart. Heavens, I didn’t mean to make you cry…”
Was he crying? Ming Zhifei shook his head, wanting to tell Yang Jianzhen that he wasn’t crying, and it wasn’t his fault.
Yang Jianzhen couldn’t stop the tears from falling, so he pulled him into an embrace as if comforting a sad child, gently patting his back.
“I’m not crying. I haven’t cried since I was three years old,” Ming Zhifei emphasized.
“It’s okay, you can cry. It’s fine.” His voice was so gentle, like something that didn’t exist in Ming Zhifei’s memory, but only in the descriptions of his mother when he was a toddler.
Yang Jianzhen patted his back and said, “Everyone cries. You cry when you’re sad, and you cry when you’re happy… And when you’re being sexually harassed, of course you can cry.”
Ming Zhifei let out a tearful laugh. Yang Jianzhen held his shoulders, pulled him back a bit, and looked at his face. Being so close, Ming Zhifei could see his expression clearly.
The look in Yang Jianzhen’s eyes was something Ming Zhifei had never seen before—a look that was hard to describe, as if Yang Jianzhen were seeing only him. If he had to use a word, he could only use “real.”
On a stage seemingly covered by curtains, Ming Zhifei had once doubted that the world he saw was fake. His family, life, dreams, efforts, and all social relations felt fake—if they weren’t, why did everything change once he was still himself but had lost his external measurable value? He even questioned whether his own existence was real. In the eyes of others, he was an employee, a husband, a son, a son-in-law, a lead surgeon—but not him. So, what was “Ming Zhifei”?
Now, meeting Yang Jianzhen’s gaze without the barrier of lenses, the “reality” Ming Zhifei felt was this: his existence was confirmed. It was confirmed by Yang Jianzhen’s gaze—his existence itself, without any external conditions, was acknowledged.
Yang Jianzhen looked into Ming Zhifei’s eyes but was the first to look away. Ming Zhifei, with tears on his lashes yet smiling and staring intently at him, caused a wave of emotion to surge unexpectedly within Yang Jianzhen. The unfamiliar feeling made it suddenly impossible for him to bear Ming Zhifei’s unblinking, direct gaze.
His heart raced, and blood rushed to his head. Yang Jianzhen had never seen such eyes in his life; they were so clean, yet beautiful enough to swallow him whole. It made him feel a flicker of fear.
Facing Ming Zhifei, he couldn’t remain as composed and skillful as he was with others. This loss of control was enough to frighten him.
“Is the cauliflower washed?” Fortunately, Ming Zhifei changed the subject.
“Washed. We can stir-fry it in a bit. I need to crush some garlic and slice some chili.” Yang Jianzhen let go of Ming Zhifei’s shoulders.
“I’ll do that. You take a rest.” Ming Zhifei pointed to a chair nearby.
When Ming Zhifei crushed the garlic, pieces flew off and landed on the lap of the seated Yang Jianzhen. Ming Zhifei apologized and reached out, but he didn’t move to pick up the garlic that had fallen between Yang Jianzhen’s legs.
He’s not completely indifferent, Yang Jianzhen thought with a smile. As he picked up the garlic and handed it back, his fingertips brushed against Ming Zhifei’s palm, and he watched the way he awkwardly flinched.
“You sing very well,” Ming Zhifei said suddenly after slicing the garlic.
“If I didn’t sing well, how would so many customers request me?” Yang Jianzhen joked. This was one of his “golden bowls.”
“Do any customers want to hear the song you just sang?”
“No one has ever requested this song. It’s one I like. Most people who go to nightclubs like loud or upbeat songs,” Yang Jianzhen said. “Ah, but some ‘big brothers’ and ‘big sisters’ really like listening to revolutionary songs.”
“Singing revolutionary songs at a nightclub?” Ming Zhifei laughed.
“Interesting, right? That ‘big brother’ who said his wife doesn’t like being touched loved it when I sang revolutionary songs. Speaking of which, when he got drunk and started acting crazy, he cried and danced—he was a completely different person from when he first walked in,” Yang Jianzhen laughed. “The kind who drinks until he takes everything off.”
“Did you kiss him, too?”
The moment Ming Zhifei asked, he regretted it. He had no idea what state of mind had possessed him to ask such a thing.
Yang Jianzhen laughed and said, “Zhifei, I never kissed the customers.”