Tong Xilin was doing it on purpose.
He didn’t need to guess to know which one Kong Ji would choose. Ever since that winter day when he’d paired the white down jacket with a face mask, Kong Ji had practically wanted to stuff his wardrobe full of white.
Tong Xilin had tried deliberately imitating Tong Yuzhi. He’d tried avoiding Kong Ji. Neither was a good solution. The moment Kong Ji did even a little something, he’d drop his armor and flee.
Like a newly developed newbie hero in a game, no matter what, he couldn’t beat a max-level expert.
If he couldn’t win, he’d just stop fighting.
He wouldn’t beg for love anymore. He didn’t want to change himself just to cater to Kong Ji.
Kong Ji was obsessed with the twenty-year-old Tong Yuzhi, but he was the nineteen-year-old Tong Xilin.
Kong Ji was fated never to possess Tong Yuzhi again. And what Tong Xilin couldn’t obtain—he no longer wanted, either.
Whoever’s legacy was left to whom, Tong Xilin had released all the wretched feelings of the past year into that one bite last night. He’d decided that from now on, he would only treat Kong Ji as his uncle.
As for how Kong Ji viewed him—that wasn’t a subject he needed to worry about.
This feeling of having figured it out gave Tong Xilin a sense of ease from the bottom of his heart—even a faint, unspoken satisfaction.
That’s right. Neither of them gets to have anyone.
Facing Tong Xilin’s almost blatant, provocative act, Kong Ji wasn’t angry, nor did he show the slightest displeasure.
He fell silent for a long moment. His tall frame stood beneath the light, the dark landing of the balcony behind him. A casual air and an oppressive force blended together, coalescing into his innate presence.
He looked for a while at the light blue hoodie in Tong Xilin’s hand, and then at that box of colorful socks. Kong Ji lowered his eyes and smiled faintly. He pulled out his cigarette case and bit a cigarette.
“Then keep it. Blue looks good too.”
He flicked a finger against Tong Xilin’s forehead—thwack—stepped over the paper bags littering the floor, unbuttoned his shirt as he walked, and headed into the master bedroom.
Tong Xilin rubbed his forehead, heard the sound of the shower running from the master bathroom, then crouched back down in front of the sofa. He folded the white hoodie as it was, packed it back into its paper bag, and placed it in the pile of clothes to be returned.
When a person truly wants to change, nothing can stop them.
Tong Xilin’s change started with a blue hoodie and proceeded methodically, step by step, according to the plan he’d laid out for himself.
He started trying clothes of all sorts of colors—ones he bought himself—no longer touching the black, white, and gray that Kong Ji had purchased for him. Even though Zhou Qi kept calling them tacky.
He wore shoes and shorts he’d bought himself. The socks peeking out from the shoe edges changed color every day. He learned to do his own matching and occasionally added a hat or a crossbody bag to his outfit.
Every evening, he went to his part-time job at the internet cafe. Zhou Ji would basically always fire up a computer to keep him company.
“That outfit’s alright today.”
After a week, Zhou Qi finally offered his first compliment on his attire.
“Really?” Tong Xilin was a bit happy, looking down to examine himself.
He looked at his clothes. Zhou Qi, propped against the counter, looked at him, scratched his head, and voiced his recent impression of Tong Xilin. “I feel like you’ve changed.”
“Changed into what?” Tong Xilin asked.
“More lively?” Zhou Qi, who hadn’t even managed to finish his College Entrance Exam essay, was really not good at describing or summarizing. “You always used to seem burdened. Now you seem… brighter.”
After saying it, afraid Tong Xilin might misunderstand, he specifically pointed at his blue-based, white-flowered socks and stressed: “I’m not talking about your crappy socks.”
Maybe so.
Tong Xilin couldn’t explain it to Zhou Qi.
Unlike burying himself in studying before, similarly channeling his thoughts into other areas—busying himself saving money, preparing to leave—it was indeed a different state of mind compared to the bitter, strained grind of exam prep.
Kong Ji didn’t discover until a week later that Tong Xilin had truly gone and taken a summer job.
He’d been somewhat busy lately, always coming home in the small hours of the morning. Tong Xilin’s part-time shift was from six in the evening to midnight. By the time he got home, Tong Xilin was already asleep. Their schedules had maintained an accidental sync.
That day, Kong Ji wrapped up his work ahead of time. Normally, he could have left at nine. He was already at the studio door about to leave when Jiang Lin called him back, saying there was a business dinner that evening.
“You just go,” Kong Ji didn’t want to participate. He had to pick up a pre-ordered computer.
“This one’s hard to push off.” Jiang Lin was quite troubled.
The host was a recently rising fashion designer, currently gaining momentum. She had specifically named their studio as a collaboration request, inviting Kong Ji to be the lead photographer for her runway show.
The pay was substantial.
Kong Ji thought for a moment and said to Jiang Lin, “Half an hour. I need to pick something up.”
Jiang Lin nodded, sent the dinner address to Kong Ji’s phone, and told him to just head straight there later.
At midnight, Tong Xilin handed over his shift to the late-night coworker and went to the private room upstairs to call for Zhou Qi.
“Ready to go?” Zhou Qi was in the heat of a game, couldn’t even lift his head, and told Tong Xilin to wait for him.
It had been a busy day for customers. Right at shift change, someone had also knocked over two tubs of instant noodles. The smell of smoke, the air conditioning, mixed with the instant noodle smell, made his head spin.
“You keep playing. It’s close to home anyway.” Tong Xilin just wanted to go home and sleep. “I just came to tell you I’m heading out first.”
“Five minutes.” Zhou Qi wouldn’t let him leave. “Starving here. Waiting for you to get off work so we can grab some skewers.”
Tong Xilin hadn’t eaten dinner. Feeling the emptiness in his stomach now, he pulled up a chair and sat quietly beside him, waiting.
The wait dragged on for almost half an hour.
The internet cafe was in the city center. Summer nights were busy. Coming out at half past midnight, the streets were still bustling with people.
The two of them ambled over to Snack Street, found a roadside stall, and sat down. Zhou Qi handed the menu to Tong Xilin to tick off. Tong Xilin chose a few skewers, handed it back, and Zhou Qi added an order of spicy crawfish.
“A bit of booze?” Zhou Qi flipped the menu over and studied the drinks column.
Tong Xilin shook his head. He didn’t want to experience that hangover a second time.
“Then I won’t drink either.” Zhou Qi raised his hand and waved to the boss. “Two Cokes!”
Late-night hunger often had eyes bigger than its stomach. Tong Xilin thought the BBQ smelled amazing, but once the skewers actually arrived, he felt full after eating just a little.
“You eat like a bird,” Zhou Qi urged him to eat the crawfish. “Hurry up and finish. I don’t want doggy bags.”
Tong Xilin wore plastic gloves, shelling the crawfish, taking intermittent bites. He chatted with Zhou Qi about when the College Entrance Exam scores would be released. Zhou Qi talked about how daddy’s awesomeness in that last game had been epic. The two were speaking completely different languages.
At one-thirty, Kong Ji’s call came in.
“Uncle.” Tong Xilin pulled off a glove, answered the phone, and called out to him.
“Out having fun?” The background noise on Kong Ji’s end was very quiet, making his voice sound somewhat deep.
“I found a part-time job. Just got off work. Grabbing a bite with Zhou Qi.” Tong Xilin admitted it openly.
Kong Ji fell silent. Tong Xilin didn’t press either. He held the phone to his ear and waited quietly.
Zhou Qi skewered the crawfish Tong Xilin had shelled from his plate and ate it, mouthing: Your uncle?
Tong Xilin nodded, signaled with his eyes: It’s fine, keep eating.
“Done eating?” Kong Ji spoke again after a while.
“Not yet.” Tong Xilin looked at the remaining pile on the table.
“I’ll come get you,” Kong Ji said.
“No need, Uncle.” Tong Xilin maintained the refusal. “You go ahead and sleep. I’ll head back in a bit.”
After saying that, he didn’t wait for whether Kong Ji would say anything more and hung up directly.
Zhou Qi gave Tong Xilin a thumbs-up for his decisiveness, praising his style of rebelling against paternal authority.
Tong Xilin kicked him under the table but still rushed Zhou Qi: “Hurry up and eat.”
By the time the two of them left the BBQ joint, it was already ten to two in the morning.
Tong Xilin called a car, dropped Zhou Qi off first at his compound entrance, then had the driver turn around and head home.
After getting out of the elevator and standing at the front door, he specifically checked the time on his phone: 2:18.
It was indeed quite late today. Normally, he’d have been lying down by now.
He didn’t know if Kong Ji was asleep or not.
Quietly, gently unlocking the door—the lights in the house were blazing, even the entryway light was on.
Kong Ji had apparently just finished showering. His hair was still half-wet. He wore only a pair of lounge pants, his arms crossed. He was leaning sideways against the entryway cabinet, just watching him.
Tong Xilin jumped in fright. He hadn’t expected Kong Ji to specifically wait for him, and with such perfect timing at that.
“Uncle.” He closed the door and entered, changing his shoes, looking at Kong Ji’s hair, loose and draping over his forehead, and his deep, dark eyes. “Why are you waiting here?”
Kong Ji didn’t speak. His elbow lifted, and he jerked his thumb in the direction of the balcony.
From the balcony, he’d seen him enter the compound.
Given Tong Xilin’s understanding of Kong Ji, Kong Ji normally wasn’t very talkative. But when he went completely silent, replacing even words with physical gestures, that meant he had entered a state of displeasure.
“Are you mad?” He changed his shoes but didn’t walk into the living room. Kong Ji was still blocking the entryway.
Tong Xilin just stood in front of Kong Ji, looked up, and studied his expression.
“What part-time job?” Kong Ji asked.
“Internet cafe.” Tong Xilin hadn’t intended to hide it. “The one from before.”
“You’ve gone all these past few days?” Kong Ji asked again.
“Mm.” Tong Xilin calculated the days—over a week. “You’ve been busy lately, so I didn’t mention it.”
His attitude was matter-of-fact—and indeed, it was matter-of-fact. He’d agreed to turn down the part-time job before because he didn’t want Kong Ji to be angry, and it truly would have affected his studies.
Now that the College Entrance Exam was over, Tong Xilin was no longer prioritizing Kong Ji’s mood above all else. He felt that as a person who’d now reached adulthood, he could reasonably decide how to spend his summer break before college.
It wasn’t like he was stealing or robbing. Earning money with a summer job wasn’t a bad thing.
Kong Ji still didn’t speak, maintaining that leaning posture as he watched him.
Tong Xilin held his gaze for a while, then stepped past Kong Ji to go inside.
He was yanked back after a single step.
“Tong Xilin.” Kong Ji called his name, his tone very low. “What are you thinking?”
“I want to go shower and sleep.” Tong Xilin tilted his head to smell his own shoulder—reeked of cooking fumes.
“I’m not asking that.” Kong Ji lifted his face. “Why are you so insistent on earning money? The money I give you isn’t enough?”
Tong Xilin thought they’d discussed this already—when he was packing his bags to move to the school, and the day before the College Entrance Exam.
“To pay you back, save for tuition.” He let Kong Ji pinch his chin and gave the same answer as before.
Kong Ji was too tall. The gaze cast from above, backlit, was very oppressive.
The old Tong Xilin, standing this close and facing him, would’ve been unable to speak. The current Tong Xilin wasn’t afraid of anything.
He even had the presence of mind to sniff and catch the faint scent of alcohol on Kong Ji.
“I know you only take care of me because of my dad, Uncle.” He explained patiently to Kong Ji. “I’m very grateful to you, but you have no obligation to support me.”
“After all, when it comes down to it, you and my dad didn’t have any substantive relationship. Even less so between you and me.”
As he spoke, he proactively stood on his tiptoes and pressed his forehead against Kong Ji’s—the way Kong Ji did to him.
“I think I’m not wrong to think this way, Uncle.”
After saying this, he paid no mind to what Kong Ji thought, didn’t look at his eyes, pulled Kong Ji’s hand away, and walked forward in his bare feet, stepping in his floral socks.
When he passed through the living room, intending to head straight back to his room, his steps slowed. He noticed a paper box sitting on the table.
Square and sharp-edged, brand-new and crisp, it carried a sense of solid substance. The white box surface was printed with the image of a half-open laptop.
“Open your present.”
Kong Ji walked up behind him, stood very close, didn’t continue the previous topic, and spoke with his head lowered, lips close to Tong Xilin’s ear. Composed and intimate.
“Happy birthday.”
Tong Xilin stood rooted to the spot for a long moment before remembering that today was June 17th.
No.
It had already passed midnight. It was now June 18th, 2:30 in the morning.
Tong Xilin had never properly received a birthday gift.
When Tong Yuzhi was alive, there’d been extra dishes and longevity noodles. After he died, during the two years Tong Xilin lived alone, he’d long since lost any concept of birthdays.
He himself had completely forgotten this day.
“You…” He twisted his head, wanting to speak to Kong Ji, wanting to ask if Kong Ji had called to rush him home, waited until past two in the morning, just to celebrate his birthday.
Turning his face, he met Kong Ji’s eyes, impossibly close. He clenched his palms and swallowed all the words back down.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Tong Xilin said.
Kong Ji lightly patted his lower back, like urging a young horse, signaling the kid to go open the box.
Tong Xilin stepped forward, stood at the table and touched the box, lowered his head, and pressed his lips together.
“I will pay you back.”
A stubbornness laced these words.
There was a moment of silence behind him. Tong Xilin felt the back of his neck pinched again.
“College is a long time. You’ll have plenty of time to distance yourself from me.”
Kong Ji’s upper lip brushed across the rim of his ear. Tong Xilin’s chest tightened in response.
“Don’t be in a rush, Tong Xilin.”
New computers, like new phones, always carried that uniquely clean smell of new machinery.
Tong Xilin carried the box to his bedroom to open it, handling it with the utmost care, gently touching the Apple logo on the thin body.
The mirrored surface caught a fingerprint from him. He quickly pulled a tissue to wipe it clean again.
Their old home had never had a computer. Tong Yuzhi didn’t have spare money for that, and his job never required one.
Tong Xilin’s first exposure to computers was in elementary school computer class. Every trip to the computer room required shoe covers. Back then, they were the heavy, white models, keyboards clacking and sandy under the fingers, mice connected by cords with a round little wheel.
The school computer room’s computers were almost never connected to the internet. On the rare days the teacher was in a good mood and connected them for a bit, Tong Xilin still didn’t know what to do online.
Other classmates browsed forums, searched websites. He was clueless about all of it. He didn’t even have a QQ account and could only play Minesweeper and Spider Solitaire.
Back then, he used to think: once Tong Yuzhi bought a computer for the house, once he learned to use the internet, he’d be able to know a lot of things like his classmates, and play together with them.
By the time he got his first no-brand phone in high school and learned to download those communication apps and got his own accounts, he realized none of it had anything to do with that.
Tong Xilin looked at the phone on his bed. This new phone had also been given to him by Kong Ji after coming here.
Now even the computer was the same.
He used his phone to photograph the computer’s model number, searched it with image recognition on Taobao, and a five-figure price popped up.
So much money.
How long would he have to work to pay it all off?
Calculating the money Kong Ji had spent on him over this past year, Tong Xilin stroked the metal edge of the computer and fell backward into his pillow.
Was this bought for him, or bought for Tong Yuzhi’s son? Tong Xilin couldn’t tell.
If only all this money spent on him truly represented Kong Ji’s pure affection.
A small emotional relapse. The thought had just begun to surface before he immediately crushed it back down.
