Chapter 50

Mu Yicong showed up carrying food—a Nanyang Star Hotel kraft paper takeout bag and a wooden box of red wine.

When the knock came, Qi Yang was still washing dishes in the kitchen. He’d hurriedly tidied up the place; not many people ever visited, and living alone with his family, he wasn’t exactly strict about housekeeping. But the moment Mu Yicong said he was coming over, Qi Yang suddenly saw dirt everywhere.

Water was boiling on the gas stove. Qi Yang had originally planned to just boil two bowls of noodles for convenience. But when he opened the door and saw what Mu Yicong was carrying, he told him to change his shoes first, then turned around and shut off the stove.

“Bringing a bottle of wine—who are you trying to impress?” Qi Yang rinsed a cup and poured him some water, glancing at the wine box. “Come over to my place for a solo drinking session?”

“For Aunt,” Mu Yicong said, setting everything down on the table and surveying the room.

What a waste of good stuff.

Qi Yang thought to himself. A set of mahjong would have suited her better than wine.

Qi Xing heard the commotion from her bedroom, cracked the door open, and peeked out.

Spotting Mu Yicong, she turned the door lock, came out, and circled around.

Qi Yang told her to say “Brother,” but as usual, she didn’t open her mouth. Instead, she came over and touched Mu Yicong’s jacket.

“Long time no see.” Mu Yicong crouched down to talk to her. “Remember me?”

Qi Xing pursed her lips. She still didn’t like eye contact. She glanced randomly at Mu Yicong, her fluffy hair a bit wild after Zou Meizhu had bathed her that afternoon. She lifted her arm and rubbed it messily.

“Like a woolly mammoth,” Qi Yang observed, watching Qi Xing’s state. He opened the Nanyang Star takeout box and moved the containers to heat up. “Can you tie hair?”

“Simple ones, yes,” Mu Yicong said.

“Simple is fine.” Qi Yang called from the kitchen. “Help me bundle all her hair up on her head. There’s a hair tie on her arm.”

Mu Yicong washed his hands, pulled out a chair, and tried to get Qi Xing to sit down.

Qi Xing was surprisingly cooperative. Just like when her brother tied her hair, she bowed her head and played with her stickers, letting Mu Yicong stand behind her and work.

Gathering the thick, soft hair into a bun, Mu Yicong gave it a serious look. It was a bit crooked.

But the little girl had delicate features, so crooked was still cute.

The more he looked, the more she looked like Qi Yang.

After admiring her, a smile surfaced on his face. He tapped Qi Xing’s nose. “Not a woolly mammoth. Your brother’s too crude.”

Qi Xing touched her nose, gave Mu Yicong another sticker, then slipped back into her room to keep playing.

Qi Yang stood at the stove, a cigarette clamped between his lips, lifting each lid one by one.

Mu Yicong had apparently ordered two set meals directly—from main dishes to desserts and fruit, everything included. Qi Xing had already eaten, and even if she hadn’t, she only ate a few bites anyway. There was no way he and Mu Yicong could finish it all.

He grabbed two random dishes and dumped them into a pot, stuffed the desserts into the fridge for Qi Xing and Zou Meizhu.

A hand suddenly landed on the back of his head—warm and dry—ruffling his hair.

Qi Yang looked back. Mu Yicong’s hand slid down and squeezed his neck.

“You two don’t have the same hair,” Mu Yicong said.

“Hers is fine, soft, and flat,” Qi Yang said, lowering his head to focus on the food. He tilted the cigarette toward the range hood, his speech a bit muffled.

“Mm.” Mu Yicong pinched his waist. “Yours is harder.”

Qi Yang was ticklish. Mu Yicong’s sudden touch made his whole body stiffen. He instinctively glanced toward the master bedroom.

Qi Xing hadn’t closed the door. Good thing she was facing away from them, sporting a lopsided messy bun.

He had just relaxed when it dawned on him—Mu Yicong’s words had a double meaning.

“At least it’s tougher than yours,” he grumbled, elbowing Mu Yicong away. Embarrassed inside, he refused to lose verbally, deliberately glancing downward at the other man.

Mu Yicong didn’t rise to the bait on that front and didn’t retort. Having teased Qi Yang, he was in an excellent mood.

He showed Qi Yang the sticker in his hand. “She gave me another one.”

“Keep it safe,” Qi Yang said, squinting as he blew out a puff of smoke. This time, he voluntarily told Mu Yicong about their family’s sticker culture. “She only gives stickers to people she likes. I don’t even have that many.”

Mu Yicong raised an eyebrow in surprise. Seeing this man jealous of his little sister was amusing. He casually tucked the sticker into Qi Yang’s pants pocket.

Qi Yang had originally thought that Mu Yicong’s sudden visit today must have had a purpose.

After all, they hadn’t seen each other for a while. The last time at the airport, they’d only hugged. Any further back, and they hadn’t even reached the level of that hotpot day.

Qi Yang considered himself cautious about getting intimate with Mu Yicong—still resisting as a straight guy.

So when he’d answered the phone, those kisses had come to mind. As he went into the kitchen to heat up the food, his back unconsciously tensed.

When his waist was pinched just now, even as he stiffened, a thought flashed through his mind: Zou Meizhu isn’t home, Qi Xing is absorbed in her journal like it’s a nine-to-five job, so she won’t come wandering out… If Mu Yicong kissed me right now, it wouldn’t be a big deal.

But Mu Yicong seemed to have no such intention.

After stuffing the sticker into his back pocket, he didn’t even cop a feel—just turned and walked out.

“Is that your room?” He nodded toward a closed side door and asked Qi Yang.

“Yeah.” Qi Yang gave his back a strange look. “Tired? You can go in and rest for a while. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

Mu Yicong didn’t say whether he was tired or not; he pushed the door open and went in.

Qi Yang’s bedroom was actually cleaner than the living room.

Ever since he was a kid, he hadn’t liked Zou Meizhu coming into his room. She was too lazy to bother tidying up for him anyway, so Qi Yang managed his own space—always in his own style.

Not that there was much style. During the toughest times, he’d sold off his computer and desk to pay off debts. For a while, his room had nothing but a bed and a wardrobe.

That was the scene when Mu Yicong walked in.

An empty room, a bare table, clothes all stored in the cabinet. Black curtains sealed off a private space, making it feel like a completely different world compared to the cluttered living room.

“What are you studying?” Qi Yang came over and leaned against the doorframe. “Someone hiding in the wardrobe?”

“You said my place has no human touch.” Mu Yicong picked up Qi Yang’s ashtray and examined it. “Your bedroom’s no different.”

“I didn’t used to be like this.” Qi Yang reached up and flicked on the light, then surveyed his room. “I used to have game posters up when I was a kid.”

On the whitewashed wall of the old house, faint rectangular marks from old posters could still be seen.

“Let’s eat.” Mu Yicong didn’t seem to have any real reason for coming in. He circled the room once, then brushed past Qi Yang’s shoulder and went back out.

Qi Yang stood with his arms crossed, watching him, a strange taste in his mouth. He pursed his lips and went to call Qi Xing from the master bedroom, telling her to come out and eat a few more bites.

Qi Xing’s eating really could be measured in bites.

Any little thing could distract her. She’d bite half a shrimp, then forget the other half still on her chopsticks. Mid-meal, she suddenly wanted water. She let go of her chopsticks, sending the shrimp and all tumbling to the floor.

Qi Xing crouched to pick them up. Qi Yang pulled her upright, gave her water, set the dirty chopsticks aside, scooped up a small piece of egg flan with a spoon, and put it back in her hand, watching her finish it.

Half a shrimp and two bites of egg, and Qi Xing was full again. She wanted to wash her hands. Qi Yang took her to do so, then picked out a pink macaron from the desserts Mu Yicong had brought and handed it to her.

Qi Xing looked at it, took it with her thin, small hand, then sat back down properly to eat.

Two more bites, and she stopped. She went to wash her hands again.

After getting through this tedious feeding ritual, seeing the child return to her room to work on her journal, Qi Yang could finally sit down and eat his own meal in peace.

Mu Yicong didn’t ask any questions throughout.

Normally, when they ate together, Qi Yang didn’t notice much. That day at the villa, Zou Meizhu had done all the talking, so he hadn’t paid close attention either. But today, watching this scene in Qi Yang’s home, it suddenly struck him—even back at the villa, Qi Yang had been the one feeding Qi Xing the whole time.

“When you’re not home, can she and Aunt eat properly?” Mu Yicong asked.

“She goes hungry,” Qi Yang said. “Eats a few bites if she feels like it. Mom doesn’t bother.”

Mu Yicong fell silent again.

“Kills your appetite, huh?” Qi Yang gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Mu Yicong picked up a shrimp and put it in his bowl.

Qi Yang looked down and peeled the shrimp. He’d suddenly lost his appetite too. He stood up and grabbed some fruit instead.

When Zou Meizhu played mahjong, it was always at least five hours. She wouldn’t be back before midnight, and all-nighters were common.

Today was no exception. From the moment Mu Yicong arrived until he was about to leave, she was nowhere to be seen.

Qi Yang washed another round of pots and bowls, storing the leftovers in the fridge for her to cook tomorrow.

He glanced at the time—9:30. “Come on, I’ll walk you down. Another half hour and Qi Xing should be in bed.”

He called Qi Xing out to say goodbye. She was busy with her stickers, twisting her neck but not moving.

Mu Yicong went over, leaned on the table to see what she was making, and gently squeezed the crooked bun he’d tied.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes. Stay put at home.” Qi Xing went over and squeezed it too. After instructing Qi Xing, he locked the master bedroom door from the outside.

Late May weather was neither hot nor cold. Qi Yang was wearing only a T-shirt. The moment he closed the front door, the dark, chilly stairwell hit them with a cold draft.

“The motion-sensor light’s been broken for years. Watch your step,” he warned Mu Yicong.

Mu Yicong didn’t move. “Why did you lock the door?”

“To avoid trouble,” Qi Yang explained briefly. “All the sharp stuff at home has to be locked up too.”

He started down the stairs as he spoke, but before he’d taken a single step, Mu Yicong grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, Qi Yang realized the distance between them had shrunk again. Mu Yicong pushed him against the wall, held his waist, and kissed him.

There it is.

Qi Yang didn’t have time to think about why that thought had even crossed his mind. He stood still, unmoving. The stairwell was dark, still right by his front door—not a sealed space. A neighbor might suddenly open their door, someone might come down the stairs at any moment.

Half the blood in his body seemed to rush to his ears, his auditory nerves stretched taut, almost able to hear his own heartbeat.

“…Are you out of your damn mind?” Qi Yang pushed Mu Yicong’s chest away a little, his voice low.

Mu Yicong kissed the bridge of his nose again. “Hm?”

“Nobody’s home, and you don’t make a move,” Qi Yang grabbed Mu Yicong’s tightening hand, “You just like doing it outdoors, don’t you?”

Mu Yicong let out a very soft laugh through his nose. In the darkness, it sounded particularly… something.

“I was trying to control myself. Not move too fast,” he told Qi Yang. “Didn’t want to scare you.”

“And this isn’t scary as hell now?” Qi Yang nearly laughed in anger.

“I’m saying—” Mu Yicong’s grip on his waist pulled him forward, pressing Qi Yang flush against him with no room to escape.

Qi Yang froze, his eyes widening slightly.

“But seeing you play the good big brother like this,” Mu Yicong bit his earlobe, “it’s hard to hold back.”