Chapter 35: “You know very well in your heart,” he…

The coffee shop was exceptionally busy today. From the moment they’d arrived at the shop in the morning, it hadn’t let up.

During the midday meal break, Tong Xilin and Qin Ji sat in the back kitchen eating takeout. Neither spoke. Each on a little stool, heads bent, wolfing down their food.

—Since coming to this part-time job, their eating speed had been drilled into them. The customer flow was what it was. Orders could come in at any time. You’d just sit down, pop open the takeout lid, the shop door would chime with a new customer, and you had to immediately get up and hustle.

Even though there were other baristas and servers in the shop, when customers kept streaming in right around mealtime, order after order, everyone had to pitch in.

Several times, by the time they finished running around, the food was ice cold. If you didn’t seize the moment to eat and rest yourself, don’t even count on anyone else looking out for you.

Tong Xilin never had a large appetite. Usually, he finished eating a bit faster than Qin Ji.

Today he picked at his food listlessly. He wasn’t even registering what he was putting in his mouth. He’d chew twice, then space out with a vacant look.

“Hurry and eat.” Qin Ji tapped his takeout container with chopsticks, peering over the edge of his own at Tong Xilin’s clearly distracted face. “Are you tired?”

“My eyelid keeps twitching.” Tong Xilin rubbed his right eye with his wrist. “What’s the date today?”

“The 10th.”

Tong Xilin fell silent. He stretched his arm out for Qin Ji to hit him.

Qin Ji, even while muttering “left eye fortune, right eye disaster,” still gave the back of his hand a rap with his chopstick.

After hitting him, Qin Ji smiled a little and said: “Homesick.”

“Hm?” Tong Xilin withdrew his hand and continued eating, glancing at him. “You are?”

“You.” Qin Ji said. “Only a couple days till New Year’s. You’ve started counting the dates.”

Counting dates and being homesick for the New Year had nothing to do with each other whatsoever.

Tong Xilin sped up his eating. After finishing, he cleaned up his trash, went to the restroom to wash his hands, and splashed water on his face.

He took out his phone to check the time. The flight Kong Ji had booked him was at 3 p.m.

It was 12:30 now. If he called a car and rushed to the airport right now, he’d make it.

“Tong Xilin!” Qin Ji called him from outside. People had come into the shop.

He answered, put his phone back into his apron pocket, and walked out quickly.

At 1 o’clock, he checked the time again. If the road wasn’t jammed, if security moved fast enough, he should still make it.

While calculating time like this, he was standing behind the order counter, smiling as he asked two young women what they’d like.

1:30.

2 o’clock.

The moment the time truly jumped to 15:00, a very soft “thump” went off in Tong Xilin’s heart—like the weightless stumble of a missed step in a dream, yet also the solid relief of waking up in time. All the anxiety and irritation that had simmered for most of the day dissipated peacefully. Everything, everything, was long past.

He hadn’t gone to catch the plane, after all.

Tong Xilin carried his tray toward the busing area. Turning past a pillar, as if blinded, half his body collided with it. Cups and plates crashed to the ground in a clatter. The customer’s unfinished cold drink splashed all over his pant leg.

This noise was too jarring. The soothing background music couldn’t mask it at all. The entire shop fell silent for a split second, heads craning to look this way.

“Tong Xilin?” Qin Ji hurried over, furrowing his brow, crouching down to help him clean up.

“What’s wrong with you today…”

He wanted to say “Why are you so out of it today,” but when he looked up and saw Tong Xilin’s red-rimmed eyes, the words died in his throat.

“Will they dock my pay?” Tong Xilin smiled helplessly and awkwardly.

“It’s fine.” Qin Ji soothed him quietly.

Their shifts today went until 9 p.m. When they left the shop, the water stain on his pants had long since dried, emitting waves of cloyingly sweet scent.

“Better now?” Qin Ji asked.

Tong Xilin thought he meant his pants and lifted his right calf: “Dried ages ago.”

“I’m asking about you.” Qin Ji tilted his head to observe Tong Xilin’s face. “You seemed like you were in a bad mood today.”

“Wasted some money.” Tong Xilin lowered his head as he walked. It was cold. He zipped his padded jacket all the way up, burying his chin in it. “Kind of stings.”

“The cup didn’t break, and the Shop Manager wasn’t in.” Qin Ji bumped his shoulder. “If no one checks the surveillance, it won’t be noticed.”

Tong Xilin couldn’t mention the plane ticket. He just nodded.

His heart still felt heavy. Kong Ji hadn’t sent any messages. He didn’t know if he was angry.

Or maybe he was already angry, and that’s why he couldn’t be bothered to message.

Back at the old building at 9:30, the couple on the first floor weren’t in their room. They’d bought ingredients themselves and were cooking hotpot in the kitchen.

The four exchanged greetings. They invited Tong Xilin and Qin Ji to join.

“We already ate.” Qin Ji never owed food-related favors. He politely declined with a smile. “Enjoy yourselves.”

They had just climbed halfway up the stairs when Kong Ji’s call came through.

Tong Xilin stared at the phone screen, standing still on the stairs for a good while.

Qin Ji turned back to look at him and urged: “Go back to the room and change your pants.”

This person was so meticulous and considerate. He knew that Tong Xilin probably needed a moment alone right now.

Back in the bedroom, the door closed, Tong Xilin rushed to answer just as the ringing was about to end. He said quietly: “Uncle.”

Kong Ji’s reaction was different from what he’d anticipated. He didn’t ask why Tong Xilin hadn’t come back. He wasn’t unhappy. It was as if the whole matter of the plane ticket had never even happened.

“Not at school?” His tone was easy, the same as how he usually spoke.

But Tong Xilin was genuinely stunned.

“You came here?” He immediately asked.

“What else could I do? The kid doesn’t want to come home.” Kong Ji laughed a little. The background had wind sounds. He was walking, breathing distinctly audible. “Even if you don’t want to see me, can’t I come see you?”

Tong Xilin bit his lip. After hesitating a few seconds, he told Kong Ji the truth: “School’s closed the dorms for break. I moved out.”

“Yeah, saw the dorm building was locked.” Kong Ji said. “Send me your location.”

“I’m really not going back.” Tong Xilin said.

“I know.” Kong Ji responded. “Just send it.”

From the school to the old building they rented was around a ten-minute walk.

The old building sat within an old residential compound. The location was hard to pinpoint. Tong Xilin changed into a different pair of pants and went downstairs, walking outside the compound gates to wait.

Tianjin hadn’t snowed today. Some salt-like flakes had drifted a while ago, but a real snow had been holding back, never falling. At this hour of the night, standing by the roadside was a bleak, dry kind of cold.

Kong Ji got out of the car. A tall, broad man. No luggage at all. He hadn’t brought a single thing.

The moment he saw Tong Xilin, he took off his scarf and wrapped it around Tong Xilin’s neck.

“It’s not cold.” Tong Xilin tugged it downward.

“Keep it on.” Kong Ji didn’t withdraw his hands, but also didn’t use the scarf to cover his face. He studied Tong Xilin carefully, cupping his chin. “Why are you getting thinner and thinner?”

Half a year without seeing each other—changes in height, weight were all very obvious. Couldn’t hide it from anyone.

Kong Ji’s gaze spread directly over his face. Tong Xilin, lashes lowered, tugged at the scarf again. He didn’t answer.

This time, when he tugged the scarf, Kong Ji caught his hand.

Tong Xilin tried to pull it back. Kong Ji’s grip was strong. He held Tong Xilin’s ring finger, pulling it before his own eyes to examine. His brow slowly furrowed.

He used a fingertip to scratch the little bump on Tong Xilin’s hand—on the side of the second knuckle, red and swollen.

It was a chilblain.

“How did you get this?” Kong Ji stared at him, his pupils dark and heavy. “What kind of part-time job are you doing?”

The chilblains were roots left from the old southern small town. When Tong Xilin was small, his face had even cracked from them. After he grew older, his face didn’t get them anymore, but they still popped up on his hands.

After following Kong Ji to the North, there was heating everywhere in winter and he didn’t need to do chores. They had never recurred.

Tianjin had heating too, but at the coffee shop he couldn’t avoid touching water. Sometimes he even had to help delivery trucks move stock, hit by cold air between inside and outside. He clearly hadn’t felt cold, but without realizing it, still got a patch.

“I’m used to it.” He put a little force into pulling his hand back, curling his fingertips into his coat pocket. “It gets better once the weather warms up.”

Kong Ji didn’t speak, just stood in front of him, staring.

The streetlight was behind him. Tong Xilin was shrouded in Kong Ji’s shadow. Head lowered, he also remained silent.

After a moment, Kong Ji’s voice leveled out again. He asked Tong Xilin: “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.” Tong Xilin’s voice came out muffled. “Did you, Uncle?”

“Take me to see where you’re staying.” Kong Ji stepped forward into the compound, not mentioning his own meal.

The streetlights in the old compound were old and in disrepair. More than half were out. The few still lit were dim and murky. There was no one else on the road. The compound seemed dark and silent.

The motion-sensor lights in the stairwell didn’t work either. Tong Xilin navigated through the pitch-black hallway and took out the key to open the door.

The couple had finished their hotpot but hadn’t cleaned up. The red broth, slick with oil, sat cooling in the pot. Used napkins and leftover food were a mess on the table. Some kind of broth or water had been spilled on the floor, stamped with a few messy, grimy shoe prints.

The two were cuddling on the couch, talking intimately. The guy had his arm around the girl, and she was laughing, leaning on his shoulder.

Seeing a stranger enter, the two immediately sat upright. They didn’t even greet, just got up and headed toward their room.

“I sleep upstairs.” Tong Xilin turned back to tell Kong Ji.

Kong Ji surveyed the layout inside the building, his gaze sweeping over the windows, grimed to a frosted blur. He didn’t make a sound.

Qin Ji was sitting on the edge of his bed scrolling through his phone. Seeing Tong Xilin come upstairs with Kong Ji was a big surprise, but he immediately stood up politely: “Uncle.”

Kong Ji looked at him, just like that first meeting at the dorm, the corner of his mouth lifting very slightly.

“I was just about to go down and shower.” Qin Ji smiled too, gesturing toward the second-floor bedroom. “Tong Xilin’s room is in the back. You two talk.”

He took his clothes and went downstairs. Tong Xilin opened the bedroom door. Kong Ji walked in, looking at this cramped space. Aside from an old wooden bed and a desk squeezed by the window, there wasn’t even room for a wardrobe.

“You live here?” He pinched a corner of the blanket, testing its thickness.

“Yeah.” Tong Xilin closed the door and continued standing by it with his hands in his pockets.

Kong Ji seemed lost in thought. Neither of them spoke. The entire second floor was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

In the past, back at Kong Ji’s home, maybe Kong Ji would’ve come over to press their foreheads together, pinch the back of his neck, communicating through overly intimate physical language.

But those ambiguous, intimate gestures—ever since they’d come back from visiting Tong Yuzhi’s grave—had unconsciously disappeared.

Kong Ji pulled the chair from the desk and sat down, gesturing for Tong Xilin to sit across from him: “Let’s talk.”

They did need to talk.

Tong Xilin didn’t resist. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, though his head remained lowered, unwilling to let Kong Ji see his face clearly.

“Tong Xilin.” Kong Ji called his name, voice very light. His upper body leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on his knees—a posture meant to close the distance.

“I’m listening.” Tong Xilin removed the scarf, not lifting his eyes. He folded it neatly in his lap.

“Why won’t you lift your head.” Kong Ji asked.

From just now until now, Tong Xilin had been avoiding Kong Ji’s gaze.

The motion of folding the scarf slowed for an instant. Tong Xilin’s lashes fluttered slowly. Gradually, he raised his eyes and met Kong Ji’s directly for the first time.

“You know very well in your heart,” he said, equally quiet, “don’t you, Uncle.”