Chapter 16: “Because I am Tong Xilin, not…”

The holding of hands lasted only twenty seconds. Reaching the stairwell landing, Tong Xilin twisted his wrist, pulling himself free from Kong Ji’s grasp.

Kong Ji’s steps towards the stairs halted. He turned around to look at him.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Tong Xilin said.

The wind howled louder at the stairwell entrance. The school was too quiet, so quiet that even standing so close, they felt vast and distant, as if a transparent, drafty barrier stood between them. Kong Ji watched him for a moment, moved his lips as if to speak, when Zhou Qi, hands in his pockets, trotted over cheerfully. He bumped Tong Xilin’s shoulder, giving Kong Ji a thumbs-up. “Uncle, that was seriously cool.”

“Let’s go to the hospital,” Kong Ji said, glancing down at Zhou Qi’s leg, swallowing the words he was about to say.

“I’m really fine.” Zhou Qi had been beaten by his dad from childhood. He was tough and resilient now, experienced. He knew once the sharp pain faded, it’d just be a bruise for a couple of days, nothing more.

Kong Ji ignored him and walked straight downstairs. “Come on,” Tong Xilin patted Zhou Qi. “Get it checked out. It won’t take long.”

One adult, two kids. Kong Ji pulled open the driver’s side door and got in. Outside the car, Tong Xilin glanced at the front, then sat in the back with Zhou Qi.

The nearest People’s Hospital was just a few intersections from the school. Neither uncle nor nephew was very talkative. The whole ride consisted of Zhou Qi delivering scathing sarcasm about Wu Zihao, and Tong Xilin thanking him again. Zhou Qi told him to stop with the nonsense.

“I knew that guy was bad news.” Bored at a red light, he pulled out his phone to log into Honor of Kings. “From day one in the dorm, he was picking fights with you. Should’ve clocked him then. You stopped me, though.” He showed off his recent win streak to Tong Xilin. “Quick match?”

Tong Xilin smiled faintly, not wanting to discuss Wu Zihao anymore, nor in the mood for the game. Looking up, his gaze collided square with Kong Ji’s in the rearview mirror. Tong Xilin didn’t linger, as if his intention had always been to glance sideways. Like a dragonfly skimming water, his pause was fleeting before he shifted his eyes away.

As Zhou Qi had predicted, his leg was completely fine. Leaving the hospital, Kong Ji drove them directly to a restaurant for lunch. As in the car, he sat alone on one side, with Tong Xilin and Zhou Qi sitting opposite him.

A server brought the menus. Kong Ji leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the chair back, the other resting on the table edge as he tapped his phone replying to a message, gesturing with his chin towards the opposite side. Tong Xilin ordered a few dishes, then handed the menu to Zhou Qi. Zhou Qi flipped through a couple of pages and said, “It’s Lantern Festival, let’s get some dumplings.”

“Shouldn’t it be tangyuan?” Tong Xilin asked casually.

“Don’t like that stuff. Didn’t you say this morning you don’t like super sweet things either?” Halfway through, Zhou Qi caught himself and looked up at Kong Ji. “Uncle, any tradition you follow? Want to add tangyuan?”

Hearing “don’t like sweet things,” Kong Ji’s gaze lifted from his phone screen. But Tong Xilin wasn’t meeting his eyes, head lowered, studying the menu intently.

“No need,” he said, twirling his phone idly. “Order whatever you two want.”

The server left after taking the order, and the private room fell quiet. Zhou Qi, lacking table manners at home, would normally be sneakily playing a game in the back seat. But sitting face-to-face with Kong Ji now, who had just taken him to the hospital, he felt embarrassed to just bury his head in his phone. The satisfying part from school was over. Facing the silent Kong Ji, that feeling of low pressure crept back.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said. Not knowing what to say, sitting there dumbly felt stupid, so he grabbed his phone and temporarily retreated.

Watching him leave, Tong Xilin could feel Kong Ji’s constant gaze on him out of the corner of his eye, but he still didn’t reciprocate. He looked down at his hands, hanging his head, slowly pushing at the dead skin around his nails.

“Enjoying life on campus?” Kong Ji broke the silence. This was the first real sentence exchanged between them since Tong Xilin moved to the dorm. Given the Wu Zihao incident that had just happened, the question inevitably sounded sarcastic, no matter who heard it.

“It’s alright,” Tong Xilin changed his wording. “I’m adapting pretty well.”

“Don’t plan on moving back?” Kong Ji asked again.

“You just told Wu Zihao to move out,” Tong Xilin looked up at him. “Why are you still asking me this?”

“In front of outsiders, of course, I’m your support.” Kong Ji poured a glass of water, pushing it towards Tong Xilin with his fingertip against the base. “Privately, it’s different.”

What were those private feelings? Tong Xilin lowered his head again, continuing to pick at his nails.

Silence was a habit Tong Xilin had formed over many years, also an attitude, representing silent resistance. Kong Ji watched his lowered brows and eyes, that clean, delicate face that, when gazing at him before, always held poorly hidden adoration, now avoiding his gaze whenever possible. Still clearly young, yet so stubborn.

“Why didn’t you even say a word when you moved out?” He sighed internally, his tone involuntarily softening as he asked Tong Xilin again, “Were you in that much of a hurry to leave?” Tong Xilin’s nail-picking motion stopped. He thought for a moment, but couldn’t hold it in. “Didn’t you not ask me, either?” he asked quietly.

Not a single question, truly. If not for the Wu Zihao incident today, Tong Xilin felt that Kong Ji wouldn’t have contacted him at all until the College Entrance Exam.

“I don’t contact you, and you can go a full seven days without sending a single message.” Kong Ji laughed very lightly. “What if the Head Teacher hadn’t looked for me today?”

Then Tong Xilin would have continued ignoring him. He knew he had the ability and the resolve for that. Thinking this way, he and Kong Ji seemed somewhat similar after all.

“Move back,” Kong Ji said.

Tong Xilin shook his head. “No need, Uncle.”

“Why?” Kong Ji asked.

“College Entrance Exam.” Tong Xilin gave the same answer he’d given last time. When Kong Ji asked again, he repeated the reason. “Living on campus doesn’t affect my studies.”

This time, Kong Ji didn’t accept his reasoning. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, his eyes directly fixed on Tong Xilin. “You could do well without moving to the school dorm. You have the ability.” He pressed, “What’s the real reason?”

The real reason? Tong Xilin wasn’t someone who advocated for talking things out completely. Many questions never got answers, nor should they. Since he was little, chasing after Tong Yuzhi asking why he had no mother, Tong Yuzhi’s attitude had taught him this. He wouldn’t ask his former classmates why they ostracized him, just like he wouldn’t proactively clash with Wu Zihao now. He’d never wanted to ask Kong Ji clearly why he was so good to him—taking a grown kid he’d never even met home to raise, giving him school, giving him money, showing him meticulous care bordering on excessive intimacy.

Even after guessing the reason from that painting, he hadn’t intended to demand a clear explanation from Kong Ji. Even when Kong Ji, drunk, hugged him and called out Tong Yuzhi’s name, he hadn’t planned to lay it all bare, didn’t want an explanation. He only wanted to avoid it.

Because of what? Could someone like Kong Ji really not see the slightest hint?

“Because I don’t like sweet things.”

Suddenly, Tong Xilin didn’t want to play word games with Kong Ji anymore. He looked back at him seriously, enunciating each word clearly.

“I don’t like Lindt chocolates. I find them too cloying. All chocolates, I find cloying. Milk tea, I don’t like either. I don’t like it when you say I look just like my dad when I’m angry. I don’t like wearing a scarf covering half my face only for you to look at me with that expression. I don’t like that painting. Because I know who’s really in it. Even this bracelet—I don’t like it anymore.”

He looked at Kong Ji’s hand resting on the table, the bracelet he’d gifted still on his wrist. “I don’t like you constantly looking for traces of my dad in me. I don’t like that everything I do reminds you of him. Were you really so drunk that night you couldn’t recognize anyone, Uncle? When you came to my room that night and watched for so long—were you watching me, or my dad? Do you really have to ask me what the reason is?”

Tong Xilin poured out all the words he had pent up in his heart—things he had originally planned to take to his grave—in one breath, feeling a profound calm after the release.

“Because I am Tong Xilin, not Tong Yuzhi. Does this explanation make it clear?”

Kong Ji was silent for a long time. The faint, elegant fragrance in the booth spread between them—a warm-toned scent, yet Tong Xilin only felt a coldness in his nose.

“Some of your actions really cross the line, Uncle.” He sniffled lightly, lowering his head again to fiddle with his hands. “Touching foreheads, ruffling hair—it’s all far too ambiguous. I’m a student, but I understand everything. You, of course, understand even better. I don’t like this anymore.”

Some things could never be spoken out loud. Saying them plainly meant there was no going back to the pretense of ignorance. While packing to move into the dorm, Tong Xilin had thought: If he were a bit more selfish, if he just fully treated Kong Ji as the inheritance Tong Yuzhi left him and used his money to secure his own life, maybe it would be easier. But he couldn’t do it.

And as a result, even when he’d mentioned repaying Kong Ji, the shift in Kong Ji’s eyes, his expression, the mocking words he finally left him—”You really are just like your father”—he probably knew that sentence could wound him. Tong Xilin thought, now calmly, maybe that was true. So let it all be exposed. Save even having to wonder, when Kong Ji came today to back him up, whether he came to help him, Tong Xilin, or just a kid who looked too much like Tong Yuzhi.

Tong Xilin waited quietly, waiting for Kong Ji’s answer or explanation. But Kong Ji showed absolutely no intention of explaining. He didn’t show any of the expressions Tong Xilin had expected to see. He remained as nonchalant as ever, from his posture to the tone of his final question, asking faintly, “So, have you decided where to apply yet?”

Tong Xilin instinctively almost pursed his lips again but held himself back this time. “Not yet.” He mimicked Kong Ji’s attitude, answering with a calm tone. “As far away as possible.”

A server arriving with their meal knocked on the door and pushed a cart inside. Zhou Qi also returned. He’d finished a match in the restroom, scoring a stunning pentakill, and snapped his fingers happily at Tong Xilin. Tong Xilin lifted his cup and turned his head aside to drink, sipping slowly. The water, steeped with lemon slices, was so sour it tightened his throat. His nasal cavity and eye sockets also felt a tight, stinging soreness.