Eating, meeting, kissing.
Like anything with a pattern, once is never enough. Although Qi Yang still couldn’t bring himself to call these outings “dates,” the truth was that over the early spring, spanning more than two months, he and Mu Yicong had gone on at least five such occasions.
That number sounded small, but considering that every month they had to set aside a week for taking Qi Xing to the doctor, two or three months only gave them eight or nine weeks total. With the new year beginning, each of them had to handle work and family matters, and Mu Yicong, in particular, had clearly gotten busier.
In the third month, when Qi Yang took Qi Xing to the villa, Mu Yicong couldn’t make it. The most disappointed person was Zou Meizhu. She had already planned that the next time Mu Yicong came to the villa to visit them, she would make him a proper table of dishes, but after waiting two or three days, she got nothing.
“Isn’t Yicong coming this time?” she asked Qi Yang, her eyes full of anticipation. Qi Yang was hanging sheets in the back courtyard of the villa. Qi Xing’s period had come early this month; she had woken up with blood all over her bottom, and even the mattress was soaked.
“‘Yicong’ now?” Qi Yang turned back to her with an amused look. “Getting pretty chummy with him, are you?”
“I wish I could adopt him as my godson.” Zou Meizhu put her hands on her hips. “What a good kid. Every time, whether we’ve met or not, he never shows up empty-handed. Those strawberries last time must have been from him too.”
Qi Yang knew his mother all too well. After only a few meetings, how could she be so devoted to Mu Yicong? She just liked living in a nice house and receiving gifts—all habits that Qi Dahai had spoiled her with. Give her a set of skincare products and she’d be happy; give her a box of strawberries and she’d be happy too.
That evening, curled up on the sofa with Qi Xing while she worked on her handcraft journal, Qi Yang chatted idly with Mu Yicong on WeChat. He told him about the mattress getting stained and asked what brand it was, saying he would buy a new one to replace it. Mu Yicong said he wasn’t sure, but told Qi Yang not to worry—the villa was usually maintained by a butler service company, so just contact them to handle it.
Qi Yang then relayed Zou Meizhu’s words to him. Mu Yicong could barely string a few sentences together in person, and his typing was even more minimalist: “No objections.” Qi Yang laughed: “No objections to being her godson?” Mu Yicong: “No objections to calling her Mom.” He didn’t emphasize the “god” in “godson,” only the “calling her Mom,” and his meaning couldn’t be clearer.
Qi Yang was no longer as sensitive or resistant to Mu Yicong’s lukewarm verbal jabs as before, so he just changed the subject: “Then you can call me Big Brother.” After typing and sending it, Qi Yang suddenly realized he had never asked Mu Yicong’s birthday, and didn’t even know if the man was older or younger than him.
What Qi Yang didn’t know, Mu Yicong did. On the morning of April 16th, just after Qi Yang arrived at Che Li and sat down, a large bouquet of flowers and a gift box were delivered.
Little Liu was at the front desk chatting idly with the new girl and signed for it casually. When he saw the recipient’s name, he whistled. “Brother Yang!” he shouted toward Qi Yang’s office. “You’ve got something going on and didn’t tell your little bro!”
Qi Yang walked over, looking puzzled. From a distance, he saw the bouquet was half a person tall, with simple and elegant white sandpaper wrapping, and a greeting card tucked in. He took down the card and opened it with one hand. Inside was typewritten text from the florist, a simple line: “Happy Birthday.”
“There’s a box too.” The front desk girl was as happy as if she had received the flowers herself, pushing the gift box forward with both hands. “Who is it, Brother?” Little Liu followed up with a knowing grin. “You’re always busy in the shop—when did this happen?”
Qi Yang didn’t take the bait. He weighed the box in his hand and told Little Liu, “Unpack the flowers and put them in the front desk vase.” “No way!” Little Liu quickly scooped up the bouquet and moved it aside. “This must be a hundred blooms—it’d be such a waste to take them apart. Leave them at the front desk for now; take them home after work.”
Qi Yang didn’t bother with how they arranged things. He took the card and the box back to his office, stared at the card for a while, then opened the box. It was a phone. The latest model this year, with the highest 2TB configuration.
Qi Yang slumped back into his chair and rubbed his forehead. He didn’t need to guess who had sent it.
Qi Yang wasn’t in the habit of celebrating his birthday. It wasn’t because of what had happened to his family—ten years ago, he hadn’t really celebrated it either. Zou Meizhu was scatterbrained, and Qi Yang himself didn’t care. When he was little, the day often passed several days before his family remembered his birthday was April 16th. So they’d just pick a day, cook a few extra dishes, and order a cake—that counted as making up for it.
Other than his family, Liu Dameng and Cui Wu also knew his birthday. In the early years when they were young, they would send each other a message to say happy birthday. But later, as life got busier, these formalities naturally faded away.
If Mu Yicong hadn’t sent something today, Qi Yang would have forgotten his own birthday again this year. He didn’t know how Mu Yicong had found out his birthday, just like Mu Yicong knew what days he worked, when he returned home from the villa, that he still lived in the same old neighborhood from ten years ago, and even which window in his house was his. Mu Yicong knew too much. One more birthday didn’t surprise Qi Yang anymore. Just as Mu Yicong had said, he knew Qi Yang better than Qi Yang thought.
After finishing a cigarette, he calmed down and sent Mu Yicong a message: “Thanks.” Mu Yicong didn’t reply. Ten minutes later, he called Qi Yang and asked, “Got it?” Qi Yang hummed in acknowledgment, reaching out to flick the card on the desk. “I’m out of town now and can’t make it back,” Mu Yicong said. “Buy yourself a cake and take it home to share with your family.” “Expense report?” Qi Yang asked. Mu Yicong chuckled. “Of course.”
The expense report joke was just a joke, but this feeling of being taken care of was truly strange. “When’s your birthday?” Qi Yang asked after a moment of silence. “November,” Mu Yicong said. “The tenth.” “So you’re younger than me,” Qi Yang drawled. “I’m half a year older than you,” Mu Yicong guessed what he was getting at. “Don’t even think about calling me big brother.” “What a shame,” Qi Yang replied with a smile.
The call didn’t last long. Mu Yicong was indeed busy, and Qi Yang could hear someone on the other end quietly calling “Manager Mu,” urging him to a meeting. After hanging up, Qi Yang twirled his own phone between two fingers and gave it a serious look. It was a model from four or five years ago; he didn’t like using phone cases, and the corners were already dented. He had never really noticed or cared before.
At the end of his shift, Qi Yang stood at the front desk for a moment, then decided to take the flowers to his car. He hadn’t wanted to take them—if Zou Meizhu saw, she would definitely overthink it and assume he had a girlfriend. Annoying. But in the end, he couldn’t bear to leave them at Che Li.
On the way home, he picked up two rideshare passengers. One of them was a chatterbox. Seeing the bouquet in the passenger seat, the guy craned his neck and struck up a conversation: “Going to see your girlfriend? Or did she send them?” Qi Yang curled the corner of his mouth, neither denying nor responding.
By the time he got home, Qi Yang had already come up with an explanation for Zou Meizhu: it was a company employee benefit, something every Che Li employee received on their birthday. Zou Meizhu first slapped her forehead and guiltily muttered, “Mom forgot it’s your birthday today.” She quickly tied on an apron to cook Qi Yang some egg noodles. Halfway through cooking, she came out holding chopsticks to examine the flowers. “Your company is something else—giving a bunch of big white flowers for a birthday… They do smell nice, though. Is it just flowers?”
Qi Xing was interested in anything pretty. When she saw Qi Yang bringing in an armful of flowers, she didn’t just stand blankly in the corner like usual. Instead, she came over, circled around them a few times, and gently touched them with her thin little hands. Qi Yang pulled out two stems for her to play with, and directly took the phone gift box into the bedroom, keeping it out of Zou Meizhu’s sight.
Mu Yicong came back a week later, in the middle of the night. Calling it midnight wasn’t quite accurate—it was just past twelve. Zou Meizhu had gone out to play mahjong, and Qi Xing was already asleep. Qi Yang was leaning against the headboard, scrolling on his phone. He aimlessly opened his chat with Mu Yicong and browsed their recent conversation. Suddenly, a new message from Mu Yicong popped up at the top of the screen: “Is it convenient to go out?” Qi Yang took a moment to register, then scrolled to the bottom. Seeing the message marked “just now,” he instinctively looked out the window and replied, “Convenient.” Then, as he got out of bed, he asked another question: “You’re back?”
Qi Xing didn’t need anyone when she was asleep, so it shouldn’t be a big problem if he just went downstairs to talk for a bit. Mu Yicong replied: “If it’s convenient, come pick me up. Just got off the plane.” Qi Yang’s hand, which had been about to pull back the curtain, stopped. He stood there for a moment, then first called Zou Meizhu to ask her to come home. After that, he pocketed the phone gift box that Mu Yicong had given him and headed out, typing back as he went downstairs: “Okay.”
From Qi Yang’s place to the airport wasn’t too far, but under normal driving conditions it took about half an hour. With fewer cars on the road at night, Qi Yang sped up a bit. When he drove up to the terminal, he spotted Mu Yicong’s tall, straight figure from a distance. That man always stood out in a crowd.
Qi Yang watched him and honked the horn. “I thought it might not be convenient for you to come out,” Mu Yicong said as he opened the passenger door and got in. “Where’s Qi Xing?” “My mom’s at home.” Qi Yang didn’t linger at the airport; he drove straight down the ramp heading into the city, then teased, “If you were really afraid I wasn’t convenient, you wouldn’t have asked.” “No choice,” Mu Yicong said. “I missed you very much.”
Qi Yang didn’t respond. He turned his head to look at him. Up until his last girlfriend, Qi Yang had always believed he wasn’t the type to express his feelings openly through words. Saying “I miss you” was something he never seemed to say directly. Sometimes, when a girl would act spoiled and call him sweet names while saying she missed him, he would even find it a little cringey. But now, hearing Mu Yicong’s straightforward “I missed you very much,” he felt something different from before.
Maybe he had become immune to Mu Yicong. Maybe he knew Mu Yicong was telling the truth. Or maybe it was because this had been the longest separation since they started their “trial dating,” and these past few days, he had been thinking about Mu Yicong a lot too.
Qi Yang turned the steering wheel, pulled over to the side of the road, reached into the back seat, grabbed the phone box, and tossed it into Mu Yicong’s lap. “Don’t like it?” Mu Yicong picked it up and looked at it, then glanced at the old phone in Qi Yang’s cupholder. It indeed hadn’t been replaced.
“It’s fine,” Qi Yang said. He had already organized the words he would use to return the gift over the past few days, so in response to Mu Yicong’s question, his pace was unhurried. “But I don’t want to accept it. I know you mean well. Birthday gifts are about reciprocity—this month you give me one, and when your birthday comes, I’ll give you one just the same. So I’m giving it back to you, not because I’m being pretentious. It’s just that for me right now, something worth nearly twenty thousand is a lot of pressure to reciprocate. I have to stretch every penny, Mu Yicong.”
Mu Yicong looked at him. His eyes, already dark and deep, seemed even more profound in the night. “I took the flowers home,” Qi Yang looked back at him, his gaze open and honest. “They’re pretty.”
