Chapter 12: “You’re too selfish, Tong Yuzhi.”

Your dad.

Tong Yuzhi, Tong Yuzhi, Tong Yuzhi.

Tong Xilin wasn’t someone prone to extreme emotions. His personality rarely allowed him to experience intense fluctuations in an instant. But at this moment, he felt it.

Everything was related to Tong Yuzhi.

The scarf, fine. Those white clothes, fine. Even that painting, he could let it go. Those were all things Kong Ji gave him, carrying the details of the shared experiences between Kong Ji and Tong Yuzhi. It was their story, something that had happened in years before he even existed.

But why did even this bracelet—something he took the initiative to give Kong Ji—also, by such coincidence, connect to Tong Yuzhi?

The instant that massive emotional plummet hit, his first reaction wasn’t even anger; it was confusion and a stunned numbness. He stared blankly at Kong Ji, feeling all the joy in his heart slowly crystallize into ice shards.

“I really like it.” Kong Ji raised his wrist, brushing it against Tong Xilin’s chin.

Tong Xilin didn’t want to ask anything anymore. He nodded woodenly. “Glad you like it.”

Kong Ji must have genuinely liked this bracelet. He was someone who paid great attention to the aesthetics of his attire—clothes changed daily, hairstyle regularly maintained and styled, accessories always matched to the day’s outfit. But this bracelet, once he put it on, he never swapped it out.

Living under the same roof as him, Tong Xilin saw the bracelet he’d given flash every time Kong Ji moved his hand, yet he couldn’t feel happy about it. A bizarre, twisted thought sprang up: it was as if, after careful selection and gritting his teeth to spend the money, he had ultimately just helped Tong Yuzhi repair that broken chain. Especially since the money spent had been left to him by Tong Yuzhi. So even this feeling of resentment made Tong Xilin feel guilty and powerless.

Everyone has their own way of processing emotions. Zhou Qi vented through playing games. Tong Xilin didn’t have that habit; all he could do was bury himself in studying.

After evening self-study, Zhou Qi called him to wait until he finished his current game before leaving together. The game ended, yet Tong Xilin was still sprawled over his desk doing problems, hadn’t even packed his bag.

“Studying for the damn postgraduate exam?” Zhou Qi didn’t bring anything, just stuffed his phone in his pocket and stood up. “Let’s go.”

“Two more questions.” Tong Xilin didn’t move, calculating rapidly on scratch paper, numbing himself with the obsession of solving problems.

They left the school gate a full half-hour later than usual. Zhou Qi was a little hungry and wanted to grab some oden at the convenience store. Tong Xilin checked the time and went along.

Just as they stepped into the store, Kong Ji’s call came through.

“Class ran late?” he asked Tong Xilin.

“No.” Tong Xilin sat on a tall stool by the window. “Did some extra problems. What’s up, Uncle?”

“Normally, you’re already home by this time,” Kong Ji’s voice sounded leisurely through the speaker, accompanied by music from a Bluetooth speaker in the background. “I was worried something might have happened to you on the way, so I called to check.”

“Oh.” Tong Xilin propped himself up on his toes, swiveling the stool slightly, and responded softly.

“Want me to come pick you up?” Kong Ji asked again.

“No need.” Tong Xilin glanced at Zhou Qi, still selecting his food. “I’ll head back soon.”

Being infatuated with someone truly held no logic.

Hanging up the phone, Tong Xilin clutched the device, rubbing it in his palm. One concerned call from Kong Ji had already dissipated much of his gloom from the past few days.

“Hurry up and eat,” he urged Zhou Qi, who sat down with his cup. “My uncle called.”

“Uncle’s boy,” Zhou Qi jabbed a fish ball into his mouth.

Once Zhou Qi was full, as they were about to leave the store, Tong Xilin glanced at the row of chocolates on the shelf by the register and paused slightly.

“Do you eat chocolate?” he asked Zhou Qi.

“Grab some if you want.” Zhou Qi, who hadn’t skipped class recently, had a flush allowance again and handed his phone to the cashier to scan.

“My treat.” Tong Xilin took two Dove bars and shared one with Zhou Qi.

Chocolate from different brands tasted no different in his mouth—all equally sweet and cloying. He recalled the Lindt chocolates Kong Ji placed before Tong Yuzhi’s grave and still couldn’t imagine that the young Tong Yuzhi had actually liked this stuff.

Back home, the scent of frying eggs wafted from the kitchen. Kong Ji’s voice called out, “You’re back?”

Tong Xilin took off his jacket and went to look. Kong Ji was cooking noodles, the same plain egg noodles as the day he had a cold.

“Did you catch a cold?” Instinctively, he reached out to test Kong Ji’s forehead.

“No.” Kong Ji tilted his head, cooperating with the touch. “You said you stayed at school to do problems. It suddenly hit me—you’re in your final year of high school, the pressure’s high, your late-night snacks need to keep up.”

“Thanks, Uncle.” Tong Xilin curled his fingertips back into his palm. He wasn’t hungry, but his heart instantly warmed.

Just about to wash his hands and help with the bowls and chopsticks, Kong Ji suddenly lowered his head and sniffed near his face.

Tong Xilin was instantly frozen by an immobilizing spell, standing rigid, not daring to even blink, his eyes flitting nervously over the tall bridge of Kong Ji’s nose.

“Had some chocolate?” Kong Ji deliberately paused for two seconds, forcing Tong Xilin to meet his gaze before straightening up and asking with a smile.

“Had one piece.” Tong Xilin breathed lightly into his own palm—the scent of chocolate did indeed linger.

“Go change your clothes,” Kong Ji turned off the stove. “Come out and eat noodles after you change.”

Walking to the kitchen doorway, Tong Xilin couldn’t help but stop again. He turned his head and asked, “Did my dad really like chocolate?”

“He did.” Kong Ji took a Lindt ball from the fridge and tossed it to him. “Especially this brand.”

Tong Xilin responded with a muffled “Oh,” clutching the chocolate as he returned to his room and placed it on his desk. After staring at it for a moment, he pulled open a drawer and shoved the chocolate into the very depths of the drawer organizer.

This pattern of interaction, tinged with a faint hint of self-flagellation, repeated itself over and over throughout that winter.

“Tong Yuzhi” seemed to have become a strange code. Involuntarily, Tong Xilin would use anything related to Tong Yuzhi to observe Kong Ji’s reactions. Then he’d feel miserable. Then he’d study frantically. Then he’d continue the probing. He consciously used Kong Ji’s scarf to cover the lower half of his face. He’d occasionally go to the fridge and grab a Lindt ball. Conversations beginning with “My dad…” grew more and more frequent. He asked about more of Tong Yuzhi’s preferences, his personality, their relationship dynamics. He asked about the sides of Tong Yuzhi that even he, his biological son, had never seen.

In some subconscious corner of his mind he wasn’t even aware of, he was morbidly, unintentionally mirroring Tong Yuzhi in exchange for more intimate treatment from Kong Ji. Like a newly adopted puppy suddenly realizing its owner likes watching it stretch and roll over, then engraving that behavior into its acquired instincts.

This constant self-torment did have one benefit: during the final exams, Tong Xilin’s scores ranked among the top of the grade, completely unaffected.

Kong Ji rewarded him with a new phone, praising him: “Smart kid. When I was in high school, I didn’t do anything proper.”

“Really?” Tong Xilin rarely heard Kong Ji volunteer information about himself. Finding it novel, he asked, “I think you’re very capable.”

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t have ended up studying art,” Kong Ji tweaked his nose.

Tong Xilin laughed and let himself be tweaked, basking in Kong Ji’s unsparing positive praise, not flinching or dodging.

If Tong Xilin really were a dog, maybe he could have gradually gotten used to this life if it continued. But he was a person—a living, breathing person, with preferences and dislikes, with desires.

The turning point in his mindset came during the Spring Festival that year.

The New Year’s holiday was to Tong Xilin what his birthday was: a completely foreign concept. Over the past eighteen years, the most festive Spring Festival he had ever experienced was, ironically, after Tong Yuzhi was diagnosed and hospitalized. No matter how severe their conditions, the bedsides of other patients in the ward were always bustling during the New Year. Relatives of all sorts came to visit, carrying elaborate fruit baskets, bringing dumplings wrapped at home stored in thermal containers, laughing joyously, exchanging red envelopes with each other. Tong Xilin, holding the food he’d brought from the hospital cafeteria, sat next to Tong Yuzhi, watching them in a daze. He quietly asked, “Dad, do you want some dumplings?”

By then, Tong Yuzhi had been worn down by illness to skin and bones, often too uncomfortable to eat. The New Year held no meaning for him.

“This child is alone? No adult in the family to take care of him?” The family at the next bed looked at the father and son, finding it increasingly heartbreaking, muttering under their breath. Then they brought over half a thermos of boiled dumplings, warmly urging Tong Xilin to share them. Tong Xilin refused twice but couldn’t win against their insistence. He accepted, bowing in thanks, and offered one to Tong Yuzhi’s lips. Tong Yuzhi ate three, then shook his head, refusing more. Tong Xilin sat by the window, holding the lunchbox, and ate the remaining dumplings himself. Pork and celery filling. A little salty from the tears he hadn’t noticed falling into them.

The two years after Tong Yuzhi passed, the Spring Festival became Tong Xilin’s most detested holiday. Fireworks regulations in his small town weren’t strict. Amidst the relentless booming and crackling, he would scroll back and forth through delivery apps, ordering dumplings from the scant few small eateries still open. The high delivery fees stung a little. By the time the dumplings arrived, they were already half-cold, the skins sticking together in a gummy mess. He’d add some hot water to loosen them, stuff the burst-skin dumplings into his mouth one by one, watch the Spring Festival Gala alone, wait until midnight alone, turn off the lights and sleep alone.

So Kong Ji’s appearance was, for him, a complete and utter salvation. This year’s Spring Festival might be different.

Waking up on Lunar New Year’s Eve morning, Tong Xilin gazed at the clear blue sky outside the window, anticipation rising in his heart. He got up, washed, and knocked on Kong Ji’s door to ask if he wanted to put up spring couplets.

Kong Ji was in the walk-in closet changing. Seeing Tong Xilin enter, he came over and touched his face, then said, “I have to go home for a bit today.”

Tong Xilin was stunned before it suddenly hit him. Unlike him and Tong Yuzhi, Kong Ji—though he’d never mentioned it—definitely had parents and relatives.

“Ah,” he opened his mouth to respond. “Going to your parents’ place?”

“Mn.” Kong Ji seemed to be in a somewhat poor mood, appearing quieter than usual. He pulled Tong Xilin into a hug and patted his back. “It’s not very convenient to bring you with me. Stay home for lunch by yourself, okay?”

“I’m fine.” Tong Xilin cracked a grin. He was used to it.

Kong Ji smiled, affectionately touched foreheads with him, and took out a red envelope, pressing it into Tong Xilin’s hand. “Lucky money.”

The envelope was very thick, heavy in his palm. Tong Xilin didn’t refuse. He carefully hugged Kong Ji back—a very quick hug, yet quick as it was, it still made his ears burn. He softly thanked him, “Thank you, Uncle.”

Before leaving, Kong Ji gazed at Tong Xilin for a long moment. He probably felt it was pitiful to leave him alone at home for the New Year and promised again, “I’ll come back early tonight.”

After sending Kong Ji off, Tong Xilin wandered aimlessly around the empty house, then went to lie on Kong Ji’s bed, playing on his phone. Zhou Qi messaged him, inviting him to play Honor of Kings. Tong Xilin turned on his mic and asked, “Your dad stopped hitting you?”

“During the New Year? Even if he still hits me?” Zhou Qi’s place sounded very lively, probably relatives visiting. “He’s busy cooking in the kitchen, no time to bother with me.”

The Honor of Kings game scene also added festive New Year’s greetings. Caught up in the atmosphere, Tong Xilin felt his anticipation for Kong Ji’s return grow. He wasn’t feeling down, and he and Zhou Qi gifted each other the New Year limited edition skins.

At noon, Zhou Qi went off to eat. Just as Tong Xilin was about to order takeout, there was a knock at the door. A rider delivered a huge bag of food—ordered by Kong Ji.

Tong Xilin took a photo and sent it over; the containers spread across most of the table.

Kong Ji: Eat something first. If it doesn’t suit your taste, I’ll order more.

Even if Tong Xilin were an ox, he couldn’t eat this much. But he loved this feeling of being thought of, and drank an entire cup of chicken soup clean.

Maybe the heavy lunch went to his head. Tong Xilin planned to take a nap, then get up and clean. He was jolted awake by knocking. Outside, the sky was already dark. The house was pitch black. Outside the window reflected the myriad lights of the residential compound’s households.

Without bothering to turn on the lights, he rushed to answer the door in his slippers. Kong Ji leaned against the doorway, bringing in the winter chill, his body emanating a strong smell of alcohol.

“Uncle.” Tong Xilin reached out to support him. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” With a lift of his arm, Kong Ji directly pulled him into his embrace, burying his cold cheek deep into the crook of Tong Xilin’s neck, making him shiver.

“Let’s get inside first.” Suppressing the tremor in his heart, Tong Xilin guided him into the entryway.

The door closed, and the smell of alcohol intensified. Tong Xilin reached to turn on the light. Kong Ji pulled his arm down, pinning him against the wall in a posture similar to when he sniffed his temple, lifting Tong Xilin’s face to look at him.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, voice hoarse, thumb brushing across his cheek.

Tong Xilin stood frozen in a daze. The heart that had been anticipating all day sank heavily.

That look had appeared in Kong Ji’s eyes again. A look that was clearly fixed on him, yet seemed to see someone else through him.

“…Missed you,” he answered Kong Ji softly.

Kong Ji’s eyelashes quivered slightly, and a faint, somewhat sardonic smile emerged.

“You’re too selfish, Tong Yuzhi.” He buried his face in the crook of Tong Xilin’s neck again. “I missed you too.”