The word “inheritance” held a very subtle nuance in Tong Xilin’s mind.
The first time this notion had arisen, he’d specifically looked up the definition online. As a natural person, Kong Ji certainly didn’t fit the legal definition of an inheritance.
But he liked this fantasy.
It gave him a sense of satisfaction, a feeling of something being completely his, of absolute ownership.
He couldn’t quite articulate the psychology behind it himself. But right now, he just wanted to clearly express this idea to him.
Kong Ji’s reaction upon hearing this was rather interesting. Not only did he not refute it, he actually seemed a bit amused. He lifted a hand and smoothed his fringe back from his forehead with the kind of force one might use petting a cat or dog, fully exposing his facial features.
“You can think of it that way.”
He lowered his head and touched foreheads with him, with no reservation about the overly intimate distance, looking into his eyes.
“Any more concerns?”
So close, Tong Xilin was a little embarrassed to breathe. The dim mood of being ignored by him earlier was swept away completely.
“None,” he shook his head, rubbing against his forehead.
Kong Ji straightened up and settled back into his swivel chair. He pressed down on his head and gave it another wobble before letting go and shooing him away. “Go to bed now. You know what needs to be done about that internet cafe job.”
He tousled his hair back into place and stood, still clutching his jar of peaches. “Goodnight, Uncle.”
Maybe this declaration of inheritance truly held some strange magic. For the week that followed, even though their daily interactions didn’t seem drastically different, Tong Xilin couldn’t shake the feeling that he and Kong Ji had grown closer.
Tong Xilin stayed home more often than before, and Kong Ji’s care for him grew more attentive. Even those small gestures, like head pats and face flicks, seemed more frequent and intimate.
This intimacy wasn’t limited to home. Several evenings, as he walked out the school gates, his eyes would instantly pick out his car in the crowd. He had come specially to pick him up after school.
“Why are you here again,” he’d go over happily, tapping on his car window. “Afraid I’ll go sneak off to a part-time job again?”
“Just got off work. Figured I’d pick you up on the way,” he’d push the passenger door open for him to get in, then lift a paper bag from the back seat and place it in his lap.
Even before opening it, Tong Xilin could smell the fresh, sweet fragrance. Inside was a small box of exceptionally exquisite cake.
“Did you ‘just happen’ to buy this on the way too?” he asked, suppressing the upturn of his lips, trying to sound serious.
“Bought it specially for you,” Kong Ji watched him studying the cake, the corners of his eyes curving with amusement. “To make up for your unhappiness that day when your cake got taken.”
When he occasionally bought cake for himself, he couldn’t even finish half; he found it too cloying.
The one Kong Ji bought, he polished off completely. The sponge layers were interspersed with fresh peach slices. It was incredibly sweet.
Emotions were impossible to hide. Regarding his noticeably good mood lately, Zhou Qi was the first to notice.
Because Tong Xilin had, twice in a row, not refused his Honor of Kings invites. He’d even turned his mic on voluntarily, the tone of his voice much brighter than usual.
“Your uncle give you money or what,” he asked over voice chat, in the middle of killing someone. “You’ve been in such a great mood lately.”
“Something like that,” he didn’t want to explain to anyone else.
“So no more fussing about finding a part-time job then?” Zhou Qi thought back to that day and wanted to laugh. He’d been so diligent learning how to manage the computers from Brother Chen, and all in all, hadn’t even worked a full hour on the job.
“I already called and explained,” he was a little embarrassed bringing it up.
Back then, Brother Chen had said he wouldn’t last a week, and he’d been so confident, hadn’t expected to get caught by him right after agreeing to it.
“If he’s given you money, treat me to a meal then,” Zhou Qi had already thought him working was unnecessary from the start. But he himself was now facing a major financial crisis.
“My dad cut my living expenses. This bro’s quality of life has taken a huge hit.”
“What do you feel like eating?” he asked.
“Di Guo Ji (Braised Chicken in Iron Pot). There’s a famous old place over in the south part of town,” Zhou Qi sealed a quadrakill to win the match. “It’s just a bit far. Go on the weekend?”
“Let’s do after school on Friday. No evening self-study,” he calculated. “Exams are coming up soon. I want to do practice tests at home on the weekend.”
Friday morning, the first snow of the year began to fall.
Tong Xilin was again stirred awake by the ache in his shin. Upon waking, he added an extra pair of pants, then pulled back the curtains to look outside. The snow was heavy; it must have started in the wee hours, and hadn’t stopped, leaving thick, even layers everywhere.
Coming out to wash up, Kong Ji was already dressed and ready to head out. He reminded him it was cold, and to wear an extra layer to school.
“Up so early today,” he said, brushing his teeth, coming to the entryway to watch him.
“Shooting a snow scene,” he was probably going on an outdoor shoot today. His outfit was sharp and efficient, black combat boots making his legs look even longer and straighter.
Very handsome.
“So will you be back for dinner tonight?” he asked.
“Probably won’t make it back,” he raised a hand to pinch his earlobe lightly. “Be good on your own tonight. If anything comes up, give me a call.”
The moment the door opened, the sharp, bitter winter wind that flooded in was too biting. Tong Xilin, toothbrush still in his mouth, shrank back into the bathroom, rubbing his numb earlobe.
The Di Guo Ji restaurant Zhou Qi had picked was indeed quite far. By the time they finished class in the afternoon and took a cab there, the sky was already completely dark.
While waiting for their food, his phone rang several times. Each time he pulled it out and glanced at the screen, his face would turn a shade of green, and he’d stubbornly hang up again.
“Your dad?” Tong Xilin inferred from his expression.
“Yeah,” Zhou Qi irritably tossed his phone onto the table. “Usually never home. The one time he’s back, he watches me like I’m a criminal.”
“Just answer it,” he urged, having ordered an orange soda to drink slowly in the warm restaurant. “It’s just eating out, nothing bad. Better than getting hit when you go home.”
Zhou Qi indeed didn’t dare hang up again. He went outside to return his dad’s call, then sat back down, his face the picture of profound boredom.
“Does your uncle hit you?” he asked.
“No,” he shook his head.
Not only did Kong Ji not hit him, Tong Yuzhi hadn’t either.
His dad’s personality really was so incredibly bland. There were never any extreme emotions. In his memory, he was like a pool of stagnant water.
That lifeless, dead calm even manifested in their daily life—perpetually black, white, and gray clothes, always simple two dishes and a soup, never a heart-to-heart conversation.
Even when he consistently ranked at the top of his class on every exam, Tong Yuzhi wouldn’t praise and encourage him like other fathers. At most, he’d just give a faint, small smile.
Correspondingly, he rarely got angry when he made mistakes either.
When the topic of genetics came up in biology class, he’d seriously contemplated that his personality was probably inherited from him.
Until he met Kong Ji.
Come to think of it, his interactions with Tong Yuzhi weren’t even as father-son-like as those with him.
At least, Kong Ji would care about him because of his truancy, would get upset.
Lives unexperienced could never fully empathize with each other. Zhou Qi didn’t understand his life, he just felt envy.
Tong Xilin sat across from him, chin propped in his hand, watching him. He didn’t explain, just lowered his eyes and continued drinking his orange juice.
The meal was fragmented and rushed by the relentless calls from Zhou Qi’s dad. Neither of them had the appetite to properly enjoy it.
After he settled the bill and they stepped out to hail a cab, Zhou Qi declared that since he’d treated for the meal, he’d cover the fare.
“You go on ahead,” Tong Xilin had other plans.
Since he had nothing else this evening, and it would just be him at home alone anyway, he wanted to go see Kong Ji’s studio. Maybe they could even head back together.
Zhou Qi didn’t stand on ceremony with him, also pressured by his dad’s calls. Leaving a “I’ll treat you next time,” he hailed a cab and sped off.
Kong Ji had sent the location of his studio on WeChat before.
Tong Xilin pulled it up from the chat history, hailed a ride using the map navigation, and was first taken aback by the imposing storefront when he arrived. He peered through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. The lobby was bustling with very trendy men and women. The decor and furnishings all exuded a high-end, superior quality.
He looked down at his own school uniform and hesitated. He was just thinking he should call him first to confirm, when someone walked out of the studio.
It was a very handsome man, about Kong Ji’s age. He came out, tilting his head to light a cigarette while on a phone call.
Finishing his call, he noticed him standing at the entrance and looked him up and down. “Do you have an appointment?” he asked.
“No,” he answered. “I’m looking for Kong Ji.”
“Oh?”
“He’s my uncle,” he said.
“Ah,” The man’s expression instantly turned much friendlier. He tapped the ash off his cigarette. “He’s mentioned you. Come on in, I’ll take you to him.”
The space inside the studio was huge, two levels. The man led him directly up to the second floor, knocked twice on a door toward the back, and snapped his fingers at him. “He’s in there. Go on in.”
With that, he turned and headed straight back downstairs. Tong Xilin thanked his retreating figure, twisted the door handle, and went in. He’d expected him to be in the middle of work, but instead, the room was spacious and quiet, lacking any professional gear. A few canvases were stacked in the corner.
Kong Ji stood by the window, a flat brush in hand, sketching on a canvas. Turning his head and seeing him, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“What brings you here around this time,” he tossed the brush casually into the water bucket by his leg, came over, and touched the back of his hand to his cheek. “Are you cold?”
“I was eating nearby with Zhou Qi, so I thought I’d come take a look,” he said. The room was heated. He took off his scarf and walked further in, looking curiously at the paintings around the room.
“Not cold. Did you paint all these in the room?”
He didn’t even know he had this talent.
“I studied painting in high school, but chose photography for university. Now I just pick up a brush now and then when I’m bored,” Kong Ji closed the door and, picking up the previous thread, asked back, “Did you want to come take a look, or did you want to come find me?”
He turned back to look at him. Before he could figure out how to answer, a painting resting on the windowsill caught his attention first.
It was a half-length portrait. The watercolors were light and airy, outlining the silhouette of a young man, the lines simple yet graceful. Under the wash of dark hair, it was an overly familiar face.
A face he saw every day in the mirror.
His heart gave a sudden, forceful thump, a rush of warmth blooming in his chest.
He carefully went over and touched the eyes in the portrait. This was clearly a piece finished long ago; the paper was dry and slightly warped, but it didn’t detract at all from the precise capture of the features.
Standing before the portrait, he turned his face happily toward Kong Ji. “Is this a painting of me?”
Kong Ji didn’t speak. He stood where he was, looking at him, studying him closely.
Then he folded his arms and gave a very faint smile. “It is.”
Tong Xilin couldn’t quite put the feeling inside him into words. He just felt waves of warmth spilling out through the cracks of his very being.
He marveled at his magical quality, gently tracing the lines on the paper, meeting those bright, soft eyes in the painting. He took out his phone and snapped a picture.
“So alike,” he zoomed in on the screen, comparing each line and contour. The more he looked, the more he loved it.
Kong Ji had kept silent the whole time. He quietly walked up behind him, bracing his arms on the windowsill on either side, effectively caging him in.
“Is that so,” he rested his jaw against his temple, looking at the portrait before them, and murmured softly, “You also think the resemblance is very strong.”
