Chapter 20

Bai Yiyi’s panic didn’t last long. His owner quickly picked up his eating pace again, and in short order, he swept through the two dishes and the pot of rice like a whirlwind, leaving nothing behind.

It looked like a success. Though he hadn’t managed a single bite for himself, Bai Yiyi was still content enough to let out a satisfied sigh.

Feeding someone really did lift the spirits.

His owner seemed pretty pleased too. He briskly washed up the dishes, grabbed a bottle of pineapple beer from the fridge, and called out to him. “Tangyuan, come on. Let’s take a walk in the secret garden up on the rooftop. It’ll help with digestion.”

A secret garden? That sounded amazing.

Bai Yiyi hopped onto Yan Tuo’s shoulder with eager anticipation.

Well, damn. From the sixth floor all the way to the seventeenth-floor rooftop, and his owner didn’t even take the elevator. With those long legs of his, he bounded up two or three steps at a time.

What boundless energy… Bai Yiyi thought to himself quietly.

When they reached the secret garden, Bai Yiyi took in the wobbly lounge chair in front of him, the small wooden table missing a corner, the sun umbrella on the verge of splitting at the seams, and the scattered, half-dead potted plants all around…

He once again regretted that his bird body lacked the ability to roll its eyes. Secret or not, was this really worthy of the name “garden”?

Men’s words really were the biggest liars.

His owner clearly didn’t give a damn about any of that. He waved a hand over the lounge chair to brush off the dust, then stretched out and reclined on it with total ease.

After a brief daze, he picked up the pineapple beer and smartly knocked the cap against the table to pop it open. Then he tilted his head back and chugged several gulps.

Such smooth moves…

Bai Yiyi stood on the little wooden table, his gaze fixed on that sliding Adam’s apple. He couldn’t help swallowing a mouthful of saliva.

He was craving the beer… and, of course, craving the man too.

The little pet stared at his owner while the owner gazed off at the last fading streak of sunset on the horizon. They lingered in that serene moment until his owner pulled out his phone and dialed his old buddy.

“Hongqing, your auntie’s from C Province, right?”

He wasn’t sure what came back from the other end, but his owner continued. “Heh, how could I not know? Those stir-fried shredded potatoes had that signature slightly charred, faintly bitter edge—the kind you get from a proper wok toss. Hits your tongue and you know it. Folks outside C Province don’t eat it like that.”

Bai Yiyi perked up at his owner’s critique of the cooking. Curiosity piqued, he fluttered over to perch by the man’s ear and shamelessly eavesdropped.

Hua Hongqing’s voice came through the phone. “What, she cooked for you too?”

“Yeah. I’d picked up some groceries today planning to cook myself, but an emergency at work pulled me out the door. Left everything sitting in the kitchen. Guess Auntie couldn’t stand seeing it go to waste and took pity on us poor souls with no family around. Whipped up a whole meal for us.”

“That’s strange. The lady I usually have got roped into helping my mom with my sister-in-law’s postpartum recovery. This one’s pretty new—I haven’t even tried her cooking yet. Last time I gave her the keys, I asked how often she’d swing by your place to clean. She mumbled around it. Didn’t peg her for the diligent type.”

“Hongqing, thank her for me. This flavor…”

He didn’t get the words out, but the guy on the other end knew him inside out. “You… missing Auntie Yu?”

Yan Tuo didn’t answer straight. He paused for a good long while before murmuring softly, “It’s exactly like Mom’s. That charred spiciness. As a kid, I hated it and always griped—got an earful from Dad for it. Who knew I’d crave it later… and never get the chance again.”

Picking up on the downcast tone, Hua Hongqing deliberately lightened the mood with nonsense. “Then you oughta marry yourself a C Province girl to make it for you every day. Out of your whole Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves lineup of blind dates, not a single one from there?”

Goddamn Forty Thieves—clearly, the blind date jokes weren’t ever dying with his buddy. Yan Tuo chuckled. “Nope, haven’t run into one yet. But next time I get set up with a girl from C Province, I’ll definitely give her some bonus points right off the bat.”

Bai Yiyi, right there by his ear, had the sudden urge to gnaw on a nail—or claw, anyway. He twitched his talons, scheming to himself: What about a C Province… young guy? The kind who makes wok-tossed greens exactly like Grandma’s—would that earn some bonus points?

While his mind raced ahead at eight hundred miles an hour, his owner wrapped up the chat and hung up. He poured a bit of pineapple beer into the bottle cap. “Tangyuan, keep me company for a drink?”

With that, he went still. Quietly, he stared off at the stars blinking into view across the brightening sky, lost in thought.

Bai Yiyi fluttered back to the small wooden table. He flicked out his little bird tongue for a lick of the crisp, refreshing beer, then turned to gaze at his own personal male god.

In his eyes, Yan Tuo suddenly seemed like a towering one-point-nine-meter baby—alone in the world, so lonely that his only companion was a pet bird. A dense wave of pity and heartache welled up in Bai Yiyi’s chest, rippling outward in endless circles.

Once that impulse to hug him bubbled up, there was no shoving it back down. Emboldened by his bird form, Bai Yiyi finally mustered his courage. He flew in close, wings splayed wide, and flopped right onto the side of the man’s face. He pressed himself tight, pouring all his comforting warmth into the contact.

Yan Tuo came back to himself, registering the uncharacteristic affection from his fluffy white dumpling. A smile tugged unconsciously at the corners of his mouth. He turned his head ever so slightly—and planted a solid kiss right there.

Bai Yiyi had been fully immersed in the tender, caring vibe when the kiss landed out of nowhere—smack on his beak. Rounding up, didn’t that count as his first kiss?

His brain flatlined. No, wait—had to be that hasty lick of beer hitting him now. He was drunk, right?

How else to explain the mush in his head, like it was filled with congealed batter? His claws felt like they were treading on piles of clouds, going all soft and wobbly…

“…Yan Tuo.”

“Mm?”

“…L… like.”

“…Heh, picking up new words? Sun Lei teach you that, or Zhao Ge?”

“…Like… Yan… Tuo.”

“Ha, got it. I like you too, little guy. You’re a clever little rascal.”

Under the canopy of midsummer stars, man and bird murmured softly to each other.

~~~

Bai Yiyi laid low for a couple of days after that close call with getting caught in human form. But with his points hovering just over eighty and no further gains in sight, the itch to spend them grew too strong to ignore.

Truth be told, it was his internet addiction flaring up. He’d gone a full month without before, no big deal. But ever since regaining his human shape and sneaking online every night, the habit had come roaring back.

That night, he held out until nearly one in the morning. Then, with practiced ease, he shifted forms, snatched up the laptop, and ducked into the bathroom. He fired it up and logged on.

Shi You was online around the clock, practically a digital ghost. Bai Yiyi hit him up for a few old photos from that Tibet trip, passing them off as his own travel stories to send to his mom. They bantered back and forth for a bit.

When he checked his email next, He Ze hadn’t just replied—he’d fired off three emails in quick succession. Anxiety bled from every line.

Had to be the pressure from that “Green” series he’d shared?

“Green”—the “azure” of traditional ink painting. It was Bai Yiyi’s planned quartet: spring, summer, autumn, winter. He’d used nothing but green mineral pigments, but drawing on the Chinese ink technique of evoking five colors from black, he layered shades thick and thin for a rendering that burst with vibrant hues.

Blending in Western sketch methods for perspective and form, it was really just a fun Sino-Western mashup he’d doodled on a whim. He never expected it’d catch the eye of a bigwig in the art world. Not only did the guy rave publicly, he even commented straight on Bai Yiyi’s Weibo: He Ze’s got real spirit—worthy of being my closed-door disciple? Can’t wait for the autumn and winter scrolls of “Green” to feast my eyes.

The buzz online had been pretty huge. Even a total shut-in like Bai Yiyi had caught wind of the whole saga. His so-called friend had a habit of passing off others’ work as his own, and now it was blowing up bigger than ever?

Bai Yiyi had been painting for a solid sixteen years since age seven. Once he hit art school, he’d pretty much cut ties with the outside world. Surf the net or hole up painting—that was it. Over the last couple years, he’d honed a style all his own: wildly imaginative, with colors both romantic and utterly unique.

There were still over two years until the deadline. If this guy kept freelancing off him, what then? In two years, plagiarize Bai Yiyi’s own style to keep up the lie?

It stuck in his craw like a fishbone. He’d never even haggled with the guy over money—he could’ve pocketed whatever cut he wanted. So why steal his name?

Now it had snowballed to this mess, leaving Bai Yiyi—the actual victim—looking like the one who owed him. People hounding for updates, all while He Ze kept calling him “friend.” It left him nauseated and choked with frustration.

No clue how to respond to those emails. He left them alone.

He remembered filming a video while painting the spring and summer pieces. After a long hiatus, he logged into his artist live stream account to tweak it—make sure no tells slipped through.

Sure enough, the comments had clocked the issue. But since he’d never shown his face, the art fans were just speculating: Was this uploader “2” the hot young painter He Ze making waves lately?

Bai Yiyi felt a surge of irritation. Whether out of ignorance at first or forced into it later, having his hard work claimed as someone else’s was infuriating no matter what. The impulse to yank the video down flipped on its head.

With these paintings blowing up, things could drag in even more eyes down the line. Better safe than sorry—he’d keep the video up on the streaming platform as backup proof.

After changing his handle to “2 (Not He Ze),” Bai Yiyi logged out. With his last twenty minutes, he sped through two episodes of the latest anime at triple speed. Utterly satisfied, he put everything back and shifted back to bird form.

The next evening, he’d planned to repeat the routine. But he ended up waiting until his eyes could barely stay open—and still, his owner sat at the desk under the glow of the lamp, reading a book and jotting notes.

Bai Yiyi bounced and turned around, glanced at the book cover—it was a copy of Social Psychology (Law). He then looked at the open page of the notebook, where the top line in big characters read: Renmin University Psychology On-the-job Postgraduate Training Class.

As expected of my male god—he’s a role model for our generation.

Bai Yiyi felt profound respect.

Busy as hell, still a 30-year solo single dog, and yet you can squeeze out time for grad school?

Regardless of Bai Yiyi’s thoughts, the master’s two consecutive nights of late-night reading caused his plan to transform into a human and go online to fall through. Every time, before he even started washing up, his owner had already drowsily gone to visit Duke Zhou.

That Thursday afternoon was an ordinary workday afternoon, yet it somehow felt a little unusual.