The famous Western restaurant here was located three streets away from the school, and the private dining room was decorated with luxury and elegance.
In the middle of the long glass table, several fresh roses were inserted newly picked and intensely rich in their beauty, but Xuan Congnan only glanced at them once before shifting his gaze away, his brow slightly furrowed.
“You don’t like them?” Shen Qian thoughtfully noticed his look and said to the attendant who had followed them inside, “Change them to lilies.”
The attendant respectfully replied, “Certainly.”
“King crab, Wagyu ribeye, French foie gras, Japanese sashimi platter. That’ll be all for now, two portions of everything.” Shen Qian casually flipped through the menu with the poise of someone signing a multi-million-dollar contract. After ordering, he closed the menu and had another attendant go make the preparations.
“Very well, sir.” Before stepping back, the attendant asked Xuan Congnan, “Sir, is there anything else you need?”
Xuan Congnan silently handed the menu in his hand back to the attendant: “No.”
The attendant said, “Very well, please wait a moment, sirs.”
Prepared fruit desserts were set on the table, and Xuan Congnan picked up one with a toothpick and ate it.
Shen Qian said, “Nannan.”
Xuan Congnan raised his eyes: “Mn?”
He was quiet when eating, neither speaking nor smiling. After watching him for a little while, Shen Qian spoke softly first: “You look really nice like this.”
Xuan Congnan ate a second piece of dessert, swallowing very slowly: “Thank you.”
“Nannan, come here.” Shen Qian beckoned to Xuan Congnan.
After swallowing the small pieces of apple, Xuan Congnan stood up and walked toward Shen Qian. He grasped Shen Qian’s outstretched large hand, was pulled forward close, and sat sideways on his lap.
“Your mouth is dirty.” Shen Qian picked up the napkin and gently wiped the corner of his lips, just like taking care of a three-year-old child. “Dessert crumbs.”
He chuckled softly and said, “Why are you like a gluttonous cat.”
Xuan Congnan lowered his eyelashes in bashfulness, resting his hands on Shen Qian’s shoulders without moving. His boyfriend was wonderful, successful in his career, tall, and handsome.
The two of them met during the first semester of Xuan Congnan’s sophomore year.
After meeting twice, Shen Qian directly initiated his pursuit of Xuan Congnan. Sending fresh flowers one day and gifts the next, he always timed invitations for tea, meals, and outings with Xuan Congnan impeccably, never making any excessive physical moves.
Over time, Xuan Congnan developed quite a favorable impression of this gentlemanly, polite distance.
On May 20th of his sophomore second semester, he accepted Shen Qian’s pursuit.
Today marked a full year since they started dating.
“I mentioned yesterday that I was looking for you today, but you weren’t there.” Shen Qian wrapped his arm around him, effortlessly gripping that narrow waist.
The lilies replaced by the attendant exuded an elegant fragrance. The disgust of being lured home and subjected to the sticky, slimy gaze of the middle-aged man surnamed Zhang all quietly dissipated at this moment. Xuan Congnan felt he could share his unhappiness with his boyfriend.
Shen Qian was gentle and accommodating; he would counsel him.
“You know that during my freshman year, I moved out of the dorm and rented an apartment off-campus to live in. The space is relatively small and can’t fit my painting supplies, so many of my tools are still kept at my uncle’s place. Every time I leave home, I lock the door properly and only go back to get things when I need them. Today, Aunt suddenly called me and told me to go home. I didn’t want to go back, but she said Uncle was drunk and was going to smash open my bedroom door to get my Guanyin pendant…” Xuan Congnan calmly narrated everything that happened today, and Shen Qian listened quietly.
The next second, a warm kiss was imprinted on his lips. Xuan Congnan’s eyelashes fluttered as he stopped talking, his dark, crystal-clear eyes half-closed as he looked at the suddenly approaching Shen Qian. The kiss wasn’t deep, just a very light press. Xuan Congnan, being shy about such things, momentarily forgot how to speak.
“Nannan, don’t talk.” Shen Qian said, “Be a little quieter.”
A strange ripple welled up in Xuan Congnan’s heart.
Shen Qian said, “Today is our own time.”
Xuan Congnan: “Mn.”
The king crab was the first dish served it was huge. Xuan Congnan returned to his own seat and quietly rubbed his stomach.
Shen Qian put on disposable gloves, not letting Xuan Congnan do any work and telling him to just eat.
Crab meat was piled into the plate little by little, and Xuan Congnan didn’t stand on ceremony, saying a simple “thank you” before digging in.
Every couple’s interaction model is different, undergoing more or less changes over time. Yet Shen Qian constantly made Xuan Congnan feel unreal; he had never gotten angry throughout this entire year. No matter how busy he was, he would carve out time every weekend to accompany Xuan Congnan, making him a perfect boyfriend with stable emotions and meticulous attention to detail.
Xuan Congnan wanted a home of his own and wanted to build a family with Shen Qian.
Today, May 20th, was his 22nd birthday. The legal marriage age for males was precisely 22.
Everything was wonderful, except for one thing that Xuan Congnan couldn’t quite figure out.
Shen Qian always said strange things to him.
For instance, he would say to Xuan Congnan when the latter was having fun at the amusement park: “Nannan, don’t be too rowdy.”
Or just like when they first met and Xuan Congnan felt happy, Shen Qian would say: “Don’t smile.”
“Nannan.”
Xuan Congnan snapped out of his reverie: “Mn?”
Shen Qian said, “Didn’t you just say your rented apartment is small? Move over and live with me.”
Xuan Congnan shook his head and said, “We can’t cohabitate without getting married.”
Shen Qian smiled helplessly: “You keep using this phrase to put me off. I didn’t say that moving over means something has to happen between us, Nannan—I respect your wishes. It’s just that your place is too small and affects your living conditions.”
“It doesn’t affect anything.” Being as conservative as a modern college student—and a guy at that—Xuan Congnan felt embarrassed, but he stubbornly insisted, “Only after getting married and becoming a family can people live in the same house.”
Shen Qian asked, “Who taught you that?”
Xuan Congnan answered earnestly, “My mom, and my dad.”
Shen Qian shook his head, once again yielding to Xuan Congnan by letting him live alone in his rental apartment, though he coined a nickname for him: “Little old-fashioned bookworm.”
Dishes were served one after another. Xuan Congnan treated every bite of food like a worldly treasure, never dropping a single crumb.
“Brother Qian,” he called out.
Shen Qian was wiping his mouth with a napkin; hearing this, he raised his gaze and responded with a look.
Xuan Congnan asked earnestly, “Will we get married?”
Shen Qian froze, then looked surprised: “Why would you ask such a question?”
The answer to this sentence could be interpreted in two completely opposite ways.
First interpretation: Marriage is an inevitable condition without needing special confirmation; a partner will naturally give the other a sense of security, and they will definitely get married, making the question redundant.
Second interpretation: Marriage is not only not an inevitable condition, but it is also never within consideration. Thus, when asked, the partner’s answer carries disbelief and even feels the question is laughable.
From Shen Qian’s tone, Xuan Congnan heard the second interpretation. The idea of wanting to build a family with Shen Qian was like a flame meeting a flood, completely extinguishing into an icy chill.
“Just asking casually,” he replied indifferently.
The bright private room’s view suddenly turned dim, and Xuan Congnan turned his head. Tree branches outside the glass wall swayed as a dark cloud flew across the horizon, blocking out all the sunlight.
The cloud drifted past quickly, like spilled pencil lead dust scattered everywhere by the wind.
Every student taking art classes has to practice a specific ability: memorizing the sights and colors observed at a given moment in their minds, using observation, memory, and imagination to draw whatever picture they desire.
This ability is called “scene memory painting,” also known as “memory dictation.”
The pencil-dust clouds were blown away by a sudden gust of wind, coming and going in a hurry. It probably wouldn’t rain.
A moment later, the sun poked its face out again, flashing sharply into Xuan Congnan’s straight gaze and stinging his eyes until they ached.
Unzipping his washed-faded backpack, Xuan Congnan pulled out his flexible drawing board and sketchpad. The carbon powder of new charcoal pencils tends to be unevenly distributed and requires wearing in the core. He took a charcoal pencil that was already worn down to half the length of a thumb and quickly drew lines in his notebook, never raising his head once during the process.
It wasn’t the first time Shen Qian had seen him suddenly become so oblivious to his surroundings. Accustomed to it, he said, “Is drawing more important than me?”
Xuan Congnan: “Mn.”
Shen Qian was stunned, clearly hearing an answer different from usual.
He walked over and pressed down on Xuan Congnan’s sketchpad. Xuan Congnan was sitting on the sofa in front of an entire glass wall when a hand with distinct knuckles suddenly appeared on his sketchbook. He raised his gaze in displeasure.
The afternoon sunlight illuminated his long hair to near-translucency. Xuan Congnan’s delicate and flawless facial features resembled a mannequin’s, carrying a beauty that felt like he didn’t belong here nor in the mortal world.
Shen Qian stood, looking down at him from above, and saw emotion in his eyes.
Displeasure, blame, detachment.
Shen Qian squatted down, grasped Xuan Congnan’s hand, and asked with certainty, “Are you angry?”
Xuan Congnan said, “I’m drawing.”
Shen Qian asked, “And then?”
Xuan Congnan: “Don’t disturb me.”
Shen Qian didn’t understand art; he merely glanced casually at Xuan Congnan’s sketchpad.
Blue sky, green trees, a cross intersection, slow-paced pedestrians, orderly vehicles, dark clouds, and the sun.
In just over a dozen minutes, he had distributed everything he wanted onto this sheet of drawing paper, with depth and distinct layers.
Extremely stereoscopic.
Shen Qian said, “You drew it wrong.”
Xuan Congnan furrowed his brow and said, “What’s wrong with it?”
Shen Qian said, “Just now, the dark clouds completely blocked the sun, but you didn’t draw that.”
His finger pointed to the spot representing the sky, where the sun’s rays pierced through the dark clouds like golden thorns, spilling downward as if the next second would burst with myriad golden lights.
“Art has no right or wrong,” Xuan Congnan said. “What you described is what you saw, while what I drew is what I wanted.”
His attitude was firm, and this time it was Shen Qian’s turn to feel displeased.
“Nannan, you’re putting too much emotional expression in your eyes.” Sounding like he was correcting the mistake of an obedient lover, Shen Qian lowered his voice slightly and guided him patiently, “Calm down, let there be no warmth in your eyes.”
Xuan Congnan asked directly, “Are you looking at me?”
As if trying to see through the bottom of his eyes, Shen Qian unconsciously spoke a sentence.
Perhaps he wasn’t aware of it himself, but Xuan Congnan heard it crystal clear.
He said, “This way, you look like him.”
“Oh.” Xuan Congnan packed his drawing board and sketchpad into his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and replied calmly, “Shen Qian, let’s break up.”
He pulled open the private room door and walked out. A gentle breeze blew outside the hallway, causing his long hair to sway lightly.
A white car drove past at a steady speed, and Xuan Congnan glanced at it.
Through hundreds and thousands of practices, the “memory dictation” that had formed into muscle memory allowed him to recall the shape of the car logo: a powerful black steed enclosed within a shield, with a spacious car body. Xuan Congnan recognized this type of car—a Cayenne. Xuanye had rented one twice before.
The car window slowly rolled down by a fifth, revealing a pair of a man’s eyes in the back seat. He was wearing a hat and a black face mask.
The window gap was small, so Xuan Congnan couldn’t see clearly inside, nor did he want to look inside.
He walked quietly along the pavement, his long hair fluttering as he moved straight ahead.
As the Cayenne drove past, the man inside the car gazed gently in his direction.