Chapter 28: Garlic Chives

Yan Tuo coaxed him in a soft voice, his deep tone laced with an indescribable gentleness.

“Don’t be scared. It won’t be too tight. It’ll feel a little strange at first, but just hang in there and it’ll get comfortable soon. Stand still—I’ll help you put it on.”

Bai Yiyi felt a mix of shyness and joy, his mind a jumbled mess as images from all sorts of playful scenarios bubbled up unbidden. The one clear thought cutting through the chaos was which hand engagement rings went on.

Men’s on the left, women’s on the right?

He lifted his left claw in a one-legged crane stance, his wings instinctively covering his head. It was just too embarrassing…

Delighted by the little guy’s eager cooperation, Yan Tuo’s lips curved into a faint smile. He carefully slipped the bullet-casing anklet onto Bai Dumpling’s left claw, twisting it this way and that to ensure a proper, comfortable fit. Satisfied, he picked up the pliers and crimped the open end shut.

“Mm, good job, Tangyuan!”

Bai Yiyi plopped down onto his haunches and awkwardly hoisted his claw over his round belly to finally get a good look at the leg ring.

Gleaming with a rough, brassy luster on his pink bird leg, it carried a wild sort of beauty. Etched clearly upon it was a string of Arabic numerals, followed by a tiny signature: “Yan.”

That single character seemed to sear itself straight into his heart.

“…Yan… Tuo,” Bai Yiyi murmured, unable to hold back. Inwardly, he added, …I do.

His feeder chuckled and gave the white belly a couple of casual rubs before tossing the remaining casings and tools back into their box. He flipped open his book and dove back into his graduate exam prep.

Left to his own devices, Bai Yiyi happily admired his new accessory for a good long while before hitting a new snag.

He’d received such a precious gift—he had to return the favor somehow. But trapped in bird form and flat broke, how on earth was he supposed to pull off a proper present?

He stewed over it for ages, right up until Wednesday, Yan Tuo’s actual birthday. With no better ideas, Bai Yiyi settled on the tried-and-true: transform into human form and whip up a feast to show his appreciation.

That morning, Yan Tuo rose as usual to head to work. He reached the entryway with no sign of the white dumpling clamoring to see him off. Curious, he wandered back to the bedroom and prodded the little guy curled up by the pillow. Nothing—not even a twitch.

After a two-minute wait and another poke, it still lay there with eyes squeezed shut, dead to the world. Yan Tuo let it be and headed out alone, figuring it’d enjoy a lazy day sleeping in.

Bai Yiyi, feigning sleep to stay behind, had planned a full-on cleaning blitz. He’d spend ten or twenty points to hold human form for hours on end, scrubbing the apartment until it gleamed spotless.

But a quick check with the system left him stunned. This was way harder than he’d imagined—practically impossible.

Points for staying human didn’t add up linearly; they ballooned geometrically over time.

First hour: two points. Second: four. Third: sixteen.

A fourth? Forget it. Even if he wrung the system out like a rag, he couldn’t scrape together enough energy. He’d plunge past -100 and poof—gone.

Talk about an ironclad overlord’s clause.

What could he do?

Whatever felt right.

Three full hours were out of reach with his current eighty-two points. One bad drain could drop him below the passing line, and what then if an emergency popped up later? How was he supposed to survive?

Damn—the system chime rang out suddenly.

In that split second of griping over the unfair terms, his points had dipped to seventy-eight.

Even worse odds now.

Looks like two hours flat was his absolute max.

Bai Yiyi flitted back and forth through the rooms, scouting and scheming every detail. The moment he shifted to human form, he’d hit the ground running, squeezing every second to nail his plans.

He toughed it out until nearly four in the afternoon, then timed his transformation perfectly and snapped into combat mode.

He threw brine on to simmer in the kitchen, then tore through cleaning, sorting, and tidying. By the time the place looked brand new again, nearly an hour was gone.

Dinner was next on the docket.

The menu was locked in ahead of time: those packs of silken tofu in the fridge were perfect for mapo tofu, the frozen chicken lower down could become mouthwatering chicken, a quick stir-fry of bok choy, and a light winter melon meatball soup to cut the richness.

That brine simmering from the jump? He’d flashed back to their Secret Garden escapades—what if the god wanted some upstairs fun after dinner? Booze without snacks was a crime.

Brine-treated chicken wings and feet, plus peanuts—a killer bar dish.

He poured on the speed and gave it his all, cruising smoothly until mapo tofu hit a glitch: the fridge had scallions aplenty but zero garlic chives.

Mapo tofu without garlic chives? Soulless. As a total neat freak, he couldn’t stomach it.

He eyed the clock, recalled the fresh market downstairs from their last outing together, and made the call: grocery run.

He bolted to the closet for pants. No way was he raiding the god’s underwear drawer, so he yanked on a pair of casual shorts and scrounged a handful of coins from every nook and cranny before blowing downstairs like the wind.

The little community market charged a premium over the wet market, of course—a small bunch of garlic chives set him back three bucks. The lady boss eyed his unfamiliar face and tried reeling him in as a regular.

“Tall drink of water like you, so pretty and all—just garlic chives? Pork’s on special today. Want two pounds sliced up?”

??

What, was she blind as a bat?

Bai Yiyi glanced down at his T-shirt and shorts combo, and it hit him—this must be that trendy no-bottoms look all the stylish girls rocked. Paired with his long, lean, pale legs? And two months without a trim, his bangs teetering on ear-length bob territory?

No wonder.

No time for corrections. He paid up, bobbed his head vaguely, and hustled home to dodge any more stares at his getup.

With ingredients complete, the mapo tofu came together flawlessly.

He minced the fermented black beans razor-fine to dodge any chili skins messing with the texture, fried them up fragrant with the ground pork, then added fresh broth to simmer.

The diced tofu had soaked in cold salted water for twenty minutes, fully infused with flavor—no need to stir once added. Fire control was key now; too hot and the tofu toughened, so a gentle simmer did the trick.

A splash of light soy for umami, dark soy for color, a thin slurry to thicken. The sauce hit peak richness: porky savoriness melding with silky tofu tenderness, numbing heat and spice crashing together, all capped by the crisp, fresh pop of garlic chives. Poured over steaming white rice? Chef’s kiss.

Anyone who loved the stuff knew it was peak rice annihilation material.

Everything squared away right on the two-hour mark. Now, the wait.

Not five minutes past six, and the feeder was home. But Bai Yiyi’s disappointment spiked at the tagalong trailing behind—their cozy duo (plus bird) evening in the tank.

“…Tangyuan can’t put away much anyway, so why bother picking it up?”

Hua Hongqing had just groused from the entryway when he spotted the laden dining table. Surprise colored his voice. “…This? Auntie whip it up? Or did you finally stash a cooking girlfriend in your golden house?”

Yan Tuo’s gaze fixed on the mapo tofu, a touch distracted. “Golden house for a beauty, sure. Doghouse? Who’s that blind… Probably the auntie.”

The doghouse line clued Hua Hongqing in on the apartment’s glow-up. He did a quick spin. “Gotta bump the auntie’s pay—this place is spotless, night and day from before. Finally feels like a human lives here.”

Yan Tuo tossed out another thanks before adding, “Home cooking’s ready—no need to eat out. Those fancy starred spots? Not half as good as what your auntie makes.”

Hua Hongqing inhaled the savory aromas wafting through the air, and his stomach let out a timely rumble. Anticipation lit his face.

They took their seats—lifelong buds needed no formalities. Hua Hongqing speared the mouthwatering chicken first bite, and it lived up to the hype: sour-sweet-numbing-spicy perfection flooding his mouth with saliva. He garbled out praise around it.

“Fuck, this is killer. Next time, have her make me a batch.”

Yan Tuo skipped tasting for now, first picking out a few rice grains for the white dumpling, then meticulously tearing a piece of greens and draping it over top.

Only then did he spoon a heaping ladle of tofu gravy over his rice and plow through it. That little bowl vanished in no time.

By the time he returned from a kitchen refill and resettled, Hua Hongqing had sampled everything. He eyed Yan Tuo askance.

“You’ve scarfed like this since we were kids, and we’ve ordered this stuff plenty. Never seen you demolish it this hard. If that’s your dating style, mystery solved on the eternal singledom.”

“Not authentic. No garlic chives—trash.”

Yan Tuo paused mid-chew. Had he ever even bought garlic chives?

He pictured the long green tops on pale bulbs. Scallions or chives? Seemed like… yeah.

He shrugged it off and dove back into rice annihilation.

Bai Yiyi watched him in delighted surprise, thrilled at their matching tastes. The name slipped out unbidden. “Yan Tuo.”

Hua Hongqing nearly choked on a meatball, his eyes bugging out like headlights.

“Tuo… Tuozi, my ears working right? Did… did Tangyuan just say your name?”

Yan Tuo responded naturally. “Mm, what’s up?”

Hua Hongqing simply couldn’t believe it. He had loved and raised birds for more than a decade, but he had never seen a goldfinch mimic speech so clearly.

He hadn’t even heard of such a thing before.

Shock was written all over his face. “What do you mean, ‘what’s up’? This is a hibiscus bird, not a parrot. It’s actually mimicking speech, and you’re asking what’s up? Did… did you teach it?”

Yan Tuo looked equally baffled. “Wasn’t it you? It picked it up shortly after arriving. And it knows a lot more than that. I was even planning to ask you sometime just how intelligent this bird can get.”

He then gave a brief rundown of Tangyuan’s performance at the city bureau. Hua Hongqing very nearly began questioning his entire existence.

“Holy crap, there’s no way I could’ve taught it that. This thing has to be possessed to be that smart, doesn’t it? Didn’t they say animals stopped turning into spirits after the founding of the country?”

His childhood friend bombarded him with a rapid-fire trio of questions, but Yan Tuo had no answers. He simply shrugged with an air of indifference, suggesting they let nature take its course.

This left the bird enthusiast beside him positively itching with curiosity. He abandoned his meal entirely, racking his brains for ways to coax the little white dumpling into talking.