After a year of training, Zhou Zhuoyuan had become a pro player who could hold his own in most games.
They had moved out of the dorms, and Pei He finally got to live the life where Zhou Zhuoyuan was the first thing he saw every morning.
Pei He’s major had far lighter coursework by comparison, so he joined the College Student Union to fill the time when Zhou Zhuoyuan couldn’t be with him. After a year, he had successfully risen to the rank of Deputy Head.
Even as Deputy Head, Pei He occasionally came home later than Zhou Zhuoyuan because of events. That day, when he walked in, Zhou Zhuoyuan had already finished studying and gone to bed. His face was flushed bright red as he clutched his phone and let loose a stream of curses.
Zhou Zhuoyuan had an impressive vocabulary, but his opponent was spewing even filthier language. He gradually fell behind, his voice growing hoarse and his fingers trembling with rage.
Pei He: “!”
He snatched Zhou Zhuoyuan’s phone and unloaded a barrage right into the mic.
Zhou Zhuoyuan caught his breath, sat up straight, grabbed Pei He’s arm, and jumped into the fight.
They kept at it straight through till the end of the match. They lost badly, but their verbal smackdown was a total rout.
Still flushed with anger, Zhou Zhuoyuan wrapped his arms around the warm Pei He. “Why didn’t you even ask what happened?”
Pei He arched a brow. “What’s there to ask? He was bullying you—of course I’d stick up for you.”
All of Zhou Zhuoyuan’s fury melted away, replaced by a rush of warmth. His eyes curved into a smile, and he was just about to say something when Pei He’s phone rang.
Pei He pulled it out, scowling. It was an unknown number—who the hell had the nerve to call at a time like this?
He held it to his ear, ready to tear into a scammer if that’s what it was.
Zhou Zhuoyuan let go and watched from the side.
Pei He’s scowl slowly faded, replaced by a dark, unreadable expression.
His eyes, now shadowed, met Zhou Zhuoyuan’s. “It’s Qinglan.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan froze for a second.
Pei He’s voice came out rough. “He’s back. Wants to see you. Asks if you’re still willing to meet him.”
~~~
The Worry-Free Jade was still tucked inside that Lucky Pouch. Zhou Zhuoyuan boxed it up, then set off—one hand carrying the box, the other clasped in Pei He’s.
He Qinglan was back in his favorite white button-down, sleeves rolled up with the cuffs undone, his long fingers gripping two gift bags.
Zhou Zhuoyuan stopped short, refusing to take another step.
They had agreed to meet in the park near campus. It was a weekday, so there weren’t many people around. He Qinglan stepped through the dappled tree shadows and held out the bags. “Souvenirs from Country A for you two.”
It was as if all the lies and secrets had never happened—like back in high school, no matter where he went, he always came home with gifts for his roommates.
Zhou Zhuoyuan glanced at Pei He, who made no move to respond. With a shrug, he reached out and took both bags. “Thanks.”
A tremor ran through He Qinglan’s pale eyes. He drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Little Yuan. Back then, when I said I didn’t like you… it was all a lie. I know it’s not right to ask this, but… would you be willing to start over with me?”
Pei He’s hand—the one holding Zhou Zhuoyuan’s—had gone clammy with sweat. He ground his teeth. “Don’t push your luck. I told you yesterday—Little Yuan’s with me now! We’re not breaking up!”
He Qinglan’s face drained of color. Pei He had told him, all right. A year ago, he’d spotted them on that cruise ship and already suspected. He’d just been clinging to a shred of hope.
And now, Zhou Zhuoyuan had said nothing to contradict it.
He Qinglan forced a brittle smile. “My apologies.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan lifted his hand. A breeze lifted his stray locks of hair, and the box holding the Worry-Free Jade swayed lightly in the air. “Your Worry-Free Jade. Returned to its rightful owner.”
~~~
Back home, Pei He was still brooding. Zhou Zhuoyuan teased him. “What, are you some jealous demon refined from a vat of vinegar? Didn’t I just turn him down flat?”
“I am that jealous demon…” In the past, Pei He had no right to be jealous—he could only bottle it up and bash his head against a wall. Now that he had the right? He was going to savor every bitter bite.
He pulled Zhou Zhuoyuan into his arms and grumbled against one soft ear. “You attract too much attention. And you’re always so passive about these things. Sometimes I wonder if you really like me, or if you just think you do because I like you. I mean, before you dated Qinglan, you acted like you hated my guts. It was only after I played matchmaker for you two that you warmed up to me a little.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan racked his brain, his expression turning complicated. “Back in my previous life, before I even realized I was gay, I saw you on TV and felt this spark of fondness. Then you had to go and embarrass me when I was just trying to be polite? I’m not into that kind of thing.”
Pei He blinked, stunned. He hadn’t realized he’d started so far ahead on Zhou Zhuoyuan’s affection meter. Regret hit him like a truck. “It’s all my fault. If I’d been your first crush, you never would’ve been that heartbroken when Qinglan left.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan didn’t know whether to be shocked by his bizarre logic—that developing even a little fondness for Pei He meant Pei He was supposed to be his first love—or moved by that final sentence.
Dinnertime was fast approaching, and the mouthwatering aroma of neighbors’ cooking drifted in through the window. Satisfied with the answer, Pei He tied on his apron and headed to the kitchen to make dinner.
Zhou Zhuoyuan sat in the living room, idly flipping through a book. The warm orange-red glow of the sunset spilled across the room, and he couldn’t help but look up, his gaze settling on the busy figure in the kitchen.
This house was much larger than his rental apartment in North City, yet it didn’t feel empty in the slightest.
It was wonderful.
His home had someone who loved him, too.
