Because it was so incredibly sudden, Ming Ying frowned with a curse, scrambling to recall this epically dumb photo.
Luckily, his reaction time was fast enough; the photo was retracted the very instant the blue checkmarks indicating it had been read lit up.
Ming Ying didn’t see the “read” signal and just complained, “Damn, this crappy phone is seriously cursed.”
It almost made him look foolish again…
With a clatter, Ming Ying tossed his phone onto the table, his good mood nearly shattering into pieces.
Of course, it was just nearly.
The moment he picked up his chopsticks, that “nearly” disappeared.
Because quite unexpectedly, yet understandably, the beef noodles tasted spectacular. Ming Ying couldn’t hold it together from the first bite—a long-lost taste of home.
God knows how he had survived these past days gnawing on bread… He didn’t know what foreign seasonings were made of, but even the same noodles tasted completely different from the noodles back in China.
But this bowl was different. With one bite, Ming Ying felt as if he had returned to the aroma-filled Huanghe Road in Shanghai. He was overwhelmed by the deliciousness. To what extent?—he didn’t even want to free his hands to text XI.
Such is the nature of a foodie.
As he ate, Ming Ying wondered, if it’s this delicious, why aren’t there any other customers in the restaurant?
Had Americans already passed their meal time? Or were these people just uncultured, unable to appreciate fine cuisine?
…
On the other side, Silas’s gaze swept over the selfie that had been retracted from the screen.
He pulled out a napkin, wiped his hands, and then pressed his phone’s power button again.
The message had been retracted, and Ming Ying hadn’t sent anything new.
Leaving only a lonely “The message was deleted” hanging on the screen.
But Silas had seen it. It wasn’t any beef noodles, but a ridiculously foolish selfie of the young man.
His eyes were round, his gaze misty, his mouth slightly agape, like a bewildered fawn.
That kind of expression, paired with the send-then-retract tactic.
Like a scene out of a cliché movie.
He couldn’t help but give a wry smile, finally seeming to realize from this small gesture that this student’s intentions weren’t entirely innocent.
Logically, he shouldn’t have been so slow to notice, but perhaps Ming Ying had acted so genuinely naïve that it had caused a momentary lapse in his judgment.
The man sat up straight on the sofa, took a sip of tea, frowning slightly from the scalding liquid.
He began to examine himself.
Silas had met many people and had mentored a group of students many years ago. He had encountered ones like Ming Ying before, but strangely, none of those people remained in his contact list. He had no interest.
His life was compact, work busy, schedule rushed. Chatting on messaging apps was truly precious.
But looking back now, the time he had given this student over the past few days had definitively exceeded the normal range.
Especially at this exact moment, he had to admit, he really would have liked another glance at that foolish selfie.
This urge to explore was very odd, very unusual.
But Silas had no intention of suppressing it.
His code of conduct was never to contradict himself, and he always pursued absolute loyalty to his own thoughts. Therefore, with almost no internal resistance, he very calmly accepted this idea.
Thus, in that instant unbeknownst to Ming Ying, he became the first, and the only person—who harbored impure intentions towards Silas, had been noticed by the other party, yet still retained his contact information.
Perhaps due to too many buffs stacking up, Ming Ying couldn’t hold back a violent sneeze.
He grabbed a napkin from the side. The noodles before him were nearly finished. Looking up, he saw rain beginning to fall on the sky outside the glass window.
September in New York was, like Shanghai, a rainy season.
Add to that the nostalgia stirred by eating noodles, he lounged lazily over the table and opened his phone.
Due to the time difference, it wasn’t a good time to send messages to Ms. Chen Qinqin and Comrade Ming Jianguo. The childhood friends’ group chat was also out of the question, or he’d really fear his two brothers might literally die of shock.
Who else was left?
Mingo: Teacher XI, it’s raining again in New York today. The weather is so awful.
Mingo: [Puppy in Rain.jpg]
He waited for a while; the message remained unread.
Ming Ying called out for the waiter to come over and settle the bill.
Right at that moment, XI replied.
XI: If you don’t have an umbrella, you can borrow one from the owner.
Ming Ying burst out laughing. Ah, really, how strange, how was it that she always knew when he was being an idiot.
Mingo: Is Teacher a fortune teller? How come you can even guess I don’t have an umbrella?
Before he could receive a reply, a Chinese waiter came over and asked in familiar Chinese, “Hello, sir. Chinese, right?”
Ming Ying looked up, his face full of smiles. “Yeah, I’m from Shanghai.”
“I’m from Suzhou.” The waiter smiled. “Your voice sounded so familiar. Here for school?”
“Yeah, what a coincidence,” Ming Ying asked offhandedly, “Why are there so few people in the restaurant?”
“Because you’re our last guest for the day,” the young waiter said with a smile. “We actually only serve seven guests a day. You’re the eighth one.”
“Huh?” Ming Ying froze.
What did he mean, “only serve seven guests a day”?
A bad premonition hit him. He scratched his head. “Uh, I’ll pay the bill.”
The waiter laughed. “Alright, but there’s no need for you to pay this bill. Someone has already taken care of it. Have a nice day—it’s just started to drizzle outside, would you like an umbrella?”
Listening to the string of words from the waiter, Ming Ying couldn’t quite process it. “What? Someone already paid my bill?”
Instinctively, he looked around. But at this hour, and with how exclusive this restaurant was, his gaze couldn’t spot more than a couple of people.
Who would have paid his bill?
A little voice inside his head said: Could it be… XI?!
“Uh, could I ask, who paid my bill?” Ming Ying pressed.
The waiter smiled. “It was Mr. XI, one of our esteemed VIP guests. He’s already settled your bill.”
Holy crap, it was XI!
Wait, hold on—how was it Mr.?!
Wait again—what did he mean by “VIP guest”?
“Uh, sorry, just one moment,” Ming Ying grabbed his phone and started googling the restaurant’s name.
It was a classic case of “you don’t know until you search, and then you’re scared stiff.”
It turned out The Shanghai Alcove was a high-end, members-only restaurant. Its main business wasn’t dine-in but exclusive services—flying ingredients from around the world to New York, assembling a chef team with custom equipment, and going directly to serve VIP members in their own homes.
The membership criteria that Ming Ying found were shockingly high.
“Could I know… how much,” Ming Ying pointed at his empty bowl, feeling a pain in his gums, “this bowl of noodles was, roughly?”
The young waiter smiled kindly. “Four hundred and thirty US dollars.”
“…”
Ming Ying nearly died on the spot.
Holy hell, he had just eaten a bowl of beef noodles that cost over three thousand yuan!
Ming Ying no longer had the mind to ask about an umbrella, and he was even less focused on figuring out why the person who paid was Mr. XI instead of Ms. XI.
He hurriedly texted XI.
Mingo: XI, did you pay my bill? It’s so expensive…
A question came back from the other side.
XI: Did it not taste good?
Ming Ying facepalmed. He thought to himself, Sis, that’s not the point, whether it tasted good or not! Besides, for over three thousand bucks, how the heck could noodles taste bad?!
Mingo: We haven’t even met yet, and you’ve already gone to such expense. If anyone should be splurging, it should be me!
Mingo: [Puppy Sad.jpg]
After this message was sent and read, it took two minutes for a reply to come.
XI: Okay.
Huh?
Ming Ying froze. What did that mean? Okay what?
Did she mean to say… it’s okay for him to treat her to a meal?
Ming Ying felt a shiver run through him. Hesitating, he still chose to be honest.
Mingo: But my savings aren’t even enough for a few meals of beef noodles [Laughing Cry.jpg]
There was no reply from the other side.
Ming Ying could only smile and say goodbye to the young waiter, running off without even daring to take an umbrella.
Hurrying onto the subway, he sent XI another sticker.
Mingo: [Puppy Peeking.jpg]
XI: Busy.
Ming Ying sighed.
Mingo: Okay, but today, it was truly too generous of you! Really!
He thought XI wouldn’t reply again. Unexpectedly, his screen lit up once more.
XI: It wasn’t generous. Consider it payment for your selfie.
????????
WTF?!
Damn. Ming Ying was dumbstruck.
So XI had seen that epically idiotic selfie?!
For a moment, Ming Ying honestly couldn’t decide which was worse—eating a bowl of beef noodles that cost over three thousand yuan, or sending that incredibly ugly selfie to XI…
Just then, the English announcement came—his stop had arrived.
Ming Ying stepped off the train, and as a cold wind hit him, his footsteps suddenly halted. He thought again, was XI… joking with him?
It sounded like she didn’t hate that selfie, though…
So… should he reply to that?
And so, on a drizzly subway platform, an Asian youth stood rooted to the spot, frowning, becoming the only person around who dared to stand there holding his phone…
Ming Ying’s fingers flew as he typed.
Mingo: How could my selfie be worth that much…
Slap. Ming Ying mentally punched himself. This is so stupid, delete.
Mingo: So, does that mean… you liked my selfie?
Slap. Ming Ying mentally kicked himself. That’s way too direct, delete.
So, after carefully weighing his words, deleting and editing, his brain short-circuited—
Mingo: So, Teacher… I have other photos. Do you want to see them?
Mingo: Free of charge [Shy]
After sending this message with a straight face, Ming Ying was thoroughly creeped out by himself.
He hurriedly exited the chat interface, terrified that the reply would be “No,” “Don’t want to,” or “Not interested.”
Then he could really take that bowl of over three-thousand-yuan beef noodles and jump straight into the River Thames when he flew to the United Kingdom.
