Click.
After dropping that earth-shattering statement, Sophie winked at Ming Ying, then sauntered off.
As for Ming Ying, once thunderstruck by those words, he could no longer hear a thing.
But while he couldn’t hear, he could still move.
Almost at lightning speed he bent over to sit, then focused intently on studying the Chinese Encyclopedia in his hands, right there on the coffee table…
For a moment, no one spoke.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ming Ying saw the trousers of the suit next to him shift — Silas had sat down across from him.
Ming Ying frowned.
The next second, he heard the man opposite ask, “Ming, did you break up?”
Ming Ying: “…”
“When did it happen?”
Ming Ying: “…”
When did it happen…
Ha. Asking a question he already knew the answer to. Ming Ying suddenly felt annoyed, so his tone wasn’t very good. He said, “Just, recently.”
Silas frowned. “Recently?”
“…Mm.”
“How recently?”
Fuck.
Ming Ying secretly clenched his fists. No, he couldn’t just keep being led by the nose like this. Damn, it was so frustrating.
Seeing Ming Ying keep his head down and say nothing, Silas lifted the corner of his mouth. “Ming, was Sophie telling the truth?”
“…”
Silas raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Would you mind telling me who that person is?”
“…”
Again with that teasing tone… Ming Ying silently ground his teeth.
His rebellious streak began to stir. So what if he was the School Board Director? Even if he were the President of the United States, he couldn’t just amuse himself at my expense for no reason.
So out of nowhere, student Ming Ying plucked up a little courage and suddenly let out a laugh.
At the same time, recalling Mark’s scumbag lines, he looked up with feigned nonchalance and said, “Actually, I don’t really remember, and I don’t care. It’s not like they cheated on me. We were just using each other. I cheated on them too.”
“…”
The air went silent again.
Ming Ying saw that Mr. Aston’s expression hadn’t changed much; a faint smile still lingered on his face.
But the smile at the corner of Ming Ying’s own mouth was a little forced.
Because he could sense that the person opposite was like some lofty elder, tolerating a child’s lie.
Perhaps his so-called clever lie had already been seen through in a second.
Deflated, Ming Ying lowered his head back to his Chinese Encyclopedia.
Then the next second, Ming Ying saw the person opposite suddenly stand up, walk over — and pat his head.
Pat.
His.
Head.
!!!
What the hell!!!
The whole movement lasted barely three seconds, but it froze Ming Ying’s fingers mid-page-turn. Ten thousand horses stampeded through his heart, yet his brain couldn’t string together a single complete thought.
What was this?
Did he give him permission to touch him?
In his twenty-two years, the number of people who had touched Ming Ying’s head since he became self-aware could be counted on one hand (before that didn’t count because he was too cute and nearly got petted bald). In short, straight man Ming Ying’s inner world suffered a massive blow from that three-second gesture and couldn’t snap out of it for ages!
Until — the culprit asked from the kitchen, “Ming, what would you like for lunch?”
“…”
Ming Ying snapped the book shut, feeling he should make his stance clear.
So he stood, slipped on his slippers, and strode into the kitchen with a very grave expression.
Just as Ming Ying was mentally rehearsing an eighteen-round verbal brawl with the School Board Director, he suddenly stopped dead.
— Mr. Aston was actually putting on an apron in the kitchen.
Holy shit.
Ming Ying stood there in shock, unable to tear his eyes away.
The man’s height and long legs made the black apron look like a tailcoat on him.
Silas seemed to sense his stare, slightly turned his face, and raised an eyebrow. “Ming, what are you looking at?”
“…”
Ming Ying blinked and told the truth. “I was just wondering if I’ll make it out of this house alive today.”
After all, Mr. Aston personally cooking was a sight he had never seen on any school forum or gossip rag.
Silas let out a laugh and gestured at him. “Go sit over there and wait.”
“Oh.”
Ming Ying obediently went to wait at the counter.
Only after he’d sat down did it hit him. Shit, why was he listening to him?
…But he really was curious.
So Ming Ying propped his chin on his hand and watched Mr. Aston bustling around the kitchen.
Aston’s proficiency at cooking caught Ming Ying completely off guard. His movements were crisp and efficient. In a few swift moves, he had several shrimps cleaned until translucent and smooth. A few more moves, and scallions, ginger, and garlic were inexplicably minced and smashed…
“You’re making Chinese food?” Ming Ying asked, curious.
“Ming.” Silas set down the knife, braced his hands on the counter, and looked at him. “Change how you address me.”
Change how you address me.
Ming Ying paused. Change what? Drop the formal “you”?
“You…” The tip of Ming Ying’s tongue twisted.
Damn. Why did it feel like a grave act of disrespect?!
But Silas just laughed, didn’t press further, and went back to chopping. “Limited ingredients today, so we’ll keep it simple.”
As a culinary disaster, Ming Ying naturally nodded. “Anything’s fine with me.”
“Mm.”
After sitting there a while, Ming Ying’s brain finally caught up. He stood and asked, “Do you need any help?”
“…”
Silas glanced back at him. “Ming, I appreciate the offer. But I don’t currently plan on replacing the smoke alarm.”
“…”
Fuck.
Ming Ying’s mouth twitched. He wanted to retort that it was an accident, but given how sensitive the topic was and the risk of dragging XI into it, he had to swallow it, sit back down, and grumble inwardly.
He suddenly felt that being disrespectful wasn’t so hard after all.
However, when several plates of aromatic, beautifully presented dishes were finally served, Ming Ying’s stomach betrayed its master ahead of schedule.
“It’s this good?” Ming Ying’s eyes sparkled after one bite of the Drunken Shrimp.
Silas glanced at him. “You seem surprised?”
Ming Ying tapped his chopsticks. “Well, you know, everyone says you’re —”
Halfway through, Ming Ying realized he should shut up.
Silas narrowed his eyes. “Says I’m what?”
“Uh, nothing.” Ming Ying shoved some rice into his mouth, looking a little guilty.
It really was nothing. Just that you step out to ten cars waiting, eight hundred servants at home, and even eat with golden bowls.
Who would have thought such a man drove himself to work, cooked for himself, and lived in such a modest place…
But… being this skilled in the kitchen meant he definitely cooked often.
For some reason, Ming Ying suddenly thought of his chats with XI again.
Extrapolating from the cooking alone, with XI’s level of roguish proficiency, that man’s romantic history probably stretched from New York to Shanghai…
Otherwise, why would he say those things to him?
At that thought, Ming Ying frowned and sneakily stole another glance at the person opposite.
— And was caught red-handed!
“Uh.” Ming Ying felt a little awkward.
Silas was magnanimous. “Ming, if you want to look at me, you can look up.”
“I…”
“No charge.”
“…”
Ming Ying retorted, “I’m not looking at you.”
“Then what are you looking at?”
Ming Ying’s mouth twitched. “I’m looking at the… cutlery behind you. Yeah, the cutlery. It’s nice-looking.”
Silas, chopsticks in hand, turned to glance at the knives hanging on the wall, then settled his gaze back on Ming Ying. “Would you like me to take them down so you can bring them home?”
Huh?
Giving him knives?
Ming Ying hastily waved his hands. “No, no.”
“Ming, if you want something, just say so.”
Wtf… What did I say I wanted!!
Ming Ying simmered.
“I really don’t.” Ming Ying picked a shrimp from his bowl. “Not everything that looks good needs to be brought home.”
The moment he said that, Silas suddenly laughed.
Ming Ying paused. He heard the man opposite say, “Hm. You’re right.”
“…”
Ming Ying kept eating. After a big bowl, he was stuffed and kept drinking water. Silas suddenly called, “Ming.”
“Ah?” Ming Ying looked up.
Silas said, “If you’re full, no need to force yourself.”
Ming Ying glanced at his bowl, still with a little rice left. “But there’s still some left…”
The upbringing drilled into him from childhood was never to waste food.
Then Silas suddenly said, “You served yourself this bowl of rice, didn’t you?”
Huh?
Ming Ying nodded, a little confused.
“I thought you knew your own appetite.”
“…”
Ming Ying looked down.
Silas set his chopsticks aside. “From a scientific perspective, eating until seventy percent full at lunch is best for your health. Do you often eat like this?”
What… why were they suddenly talking about health tips…
“Stop eating,” Silas said with a frown.
What could Ming Ying say…
He put down his chopsticks. “Alright.”
Silas cleared his bowl and chopsticks. Then, as they emerged from the kitchen, Ming Ying figured he could finally leave. Who knew the man would say behind him, “Now we can talk.”
Wtf…
Again? Talk about what? Why were there so many things to talk about?
Ming Ying turned with a frown. “I really don’t think that’s necessary… I don’t really want to…”
Before he could finish stammering, Silas cut in. “Ming, I meant your studies. And your plan for joining the Thomas Project Team.”
“…”
Damn.
Ming Ying clenched his fists. Damn it.
Yet, that damn man had already turned and headed for the sofa.
Ming Ying stood rooted.
Silas looked back. “Ming?”
Ming Ying lifted his chin and suddenly declared, “Mr. Aston, I think this is unfair!”
His expression was so earnest that Silas studied his face for a good five seconds, then laughed. “What do you want to say?”
This smile was different from before. The man’s features relaxed, as if he were genuinely smiling, making the Eastern bone structure in his face even more pronounced.
“You’re mixed-race?”
For some reason, Ming Ying blurted that out.
Silas gave an “Mm.” “My grandmother is Chinese.”
No wonder. His Chinese was so good, and his brand of roguishness was so high-level — nothing like a foreigner.
Ming Ying cleared his throat. “What I wanted to say is, you’ve been steering this whole conversation. I have questions too.”
Silas looked at him, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Alright. But if we’re going by fairness, we each answer one question from the other, then ask one. That’s fair, isn’t it? Ming.”
Ming Ying’s gut screamed trap, but after running it through his head several times, he honestly couldn’t find it. “…Yes.”
“Good, then it’s my turn to ask you.”
— Wait?
Wait a minute…
What just happened?
How did it become his turn to ask him?
“No, I haven’t even —”
Before Ming Ying could finish, he suddenly remembered asking about Silas being mixed-race a minute ago. His eyes flew wide. “That counts?”
“How does it not count?” Silas frowned. “Ming, if we’re playing the question game, we follow the rules. Any problem?”
…Can’t outtalk you.
Ming Ying lifted his chin, steeled his heart. “Ask away.”
He thought to himself, he was pretty impressive, daring to speak to the School Board Director like that.
But Ming Ying could more or less guess what Aston would ask. It had to be about XI, right? Fine, if he asked, he’d just deny it to the death — classic Ming Ying. If he didn’t want to do something, nothing could budge him. Turtle-shelling was his security blanket.
Only, he never expected Silas to not even care about that. Instead, the man walked back from the sofa over to him and laughed. “That nervous? Then I won’t ask.”
“…”
Wtf, what kind of person was this???
“Uh, no, go ahead.” Ming Ying looked ready to face his execution.
Silas glanced at him, then said with perfect rationality, “Ming, if possible, I need to know whether you’re currently single, and whether you’ve ever had simultaneous romantic or sexual relationships with multiple people at the same time.”
“Not answering is fine.” Silas was incredibly considerate. “I completely understand.”
A buzz rang through Ming Ying’s skull, his brain lurching from that sentence.
Fuck.
This really counted as openly harassing a male student, didn’t it? It absolutely did!
And what the hell kind of question was that? Did he look like that kind of person???
And furthermore, what was there to understand? Was that something you could just understand?!
“I don’t have —”
A half-truth slipped out instinctively. But catching Aston’s eye, Ming Ying thought, No, absolutely cannot lose face in front of this guy.
Besides, what kind of decent person asked a question like that?
So the “don’t have” took a detour on his tongue. “I’m not currently in a romantic relationship with anyone.”
One sentence, loaded with infinite possibilities.
Not currently in a romantic relationship implied he might have been before. Not a romantic relationship could mean a purely physical one, and could also mean multiple physical relationships at the same time.
No matter how you interpreted it, he didn’t lose face.
But Silas just chuckled and said, “Mm.”
Mm, my ass…
“And you?” Ming Ying shot back reflexively.
Silas looked up, succinct. “I don’t have any.”
Then he added, “If online dating doesn’t count.”
Ming Ying: “…”
Fuck.
He turned his face away and scoffed. But in that instant, Ming Ying suddenly realized what he and Aston were discussing, and he jolted in alarm.
Wait, why was this scene so weird?!
Why was he (a student / male) standing in ASTON’s (a School Board Director / male) house, discussing with ASTON (School Board Director / male) whether they had sexual or romantic relationships???
This was way too gay!
No, this was just plain gay!
Horrifying. Ming Ying hurriedly steered back. “Um… Professor, no, Mr. Aston, let’s just talk about academic stuff?”
Silas noticed the kid’s panic and didn’t push. He just nodded. “Alright. What questions do you have?”
What questions could Ming Ying have? But at this moment, he had to squeeze one out even if he had none.
“I, um, I worked on some of my project assignments last night.”
Ming Ying went to the sofa, pulled open his bag, and fished out his tablet.
He sat on the rug, scrolling through the tablet for his assignments. From the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow fall over him.
Ming Ying frowned. Where the hell had he saved yesterday’s work?
The more flustered you are, the easier it is to mess up.
He didn’t know what he tapped, but suddenly, Ming Ying’s tablet “sounded” off.
“Ha~ ah~”
Holy shit.
Ming Ying turned to stone, nearly tossing the tablet across the room.
That grating sound echoed through the quiet living room. With his lightning brain, Ming Ying reacted fast and hit the power button.
In just one second, Ming Ying knew — it was that damn Mark!
His tablet had only ever been lent to Mark!
“Ming.” He heard the person behind him say. “Look at me.”
Ming Ying: “…”
Cheeks burning red, Ming Ying didn’t dare raise his head. “Th-That… that was a misunderstanding.”
“Hm. I can pretend I didn’t hear it.”
Ming Ying ruffled his hair and blurted out, “Thank you.”
To which Silas sat down across from him. “Hm. How do you plan to thank me?”
Ming Ying: “…”
What the — why was this conversation swerving more and more off the rails?
Ming Ying: “Uh, how about you ask me another question?”
At least I don’t have to tell the truth. Ming Ying’s little schemes kicked in. Silas’s lips curved and he actually asked, “Ming, how do you communicate with people you have a physical relationship with?”
Huh? Huh? Huh?
“Just… chat, phone calls.” Ming Ying recited it like a menu, all guilty. “And voice messages.”
“Alright. I understand.”
What do you mean you understand…
Ming Ying was truly scared now. He felt like he had dug himself into yet another hole.
This moment of dopamine-overload was his body’s signal to run.
Ming Ying stuffed the damn tablet into his bag, then grabbed the sofa to get up. “Teacher. No, Professor. No, shit.”
Silas laughed.
Ming Ying: “Mr. Aston, I’m gonna… I’m gonna head back now.”
Silas didn’t stop him, just rising as well. “I’ll drive you.”
“No need, I already called a cab!” Ming Ying said hastily.
Silas glanced at him, nodding. “Then I’ll see you off.”
Ming Ying: “…”
Damn.
So the two of them stepped outside, walked to the curb, and stood there.
Staring at the empty road.
Silas: “Ming, your cab?”
Ming Ying waved a hand. “…Still summoning one.”
“…”
At last, a bright yellow taxi appeared across the street. The moment it pulled over, Ming Ying dove inside like a mouse into its hole.
Only by leaving the airspace around Aston could he breathe.
Ming Ying gulped down air.
Finally, back at his apartment, his mood settled a little, his heart rate returning to normal.
He tossed his bag aside. He had no energy left to settle accounts with Mark. He just crashed on the sofa, planning to rest a bit and clear his head.
But the second he lay down, his phone buzzed.
Ming Ying frowned, reached over, and couldn’t help but widen his eyes.
XI: [6′ voice message]
