Chapter 58: “Does liking you count as taking a wrong path?”

They returned home, each lugging a bag of purchases, by half-past ten.

After resolving the matter with Huang Lirong, there was always a peculiar surge of strength inside Tong Xilin’s heart—faint yet unmistakable. It was a fresh, new kind of spirit, a constant urge to change something.

Himself, or the environment around him.

So he went around and pulled open the curtains in every single room, letting the sunlight flood the interior in great, unrestrained washes. A swath of brilliant, golden light and shadow.

He turned the TV on, finding a program about the Spring Festival Gala’s preparations. He wasn’t really watching it; he just wanted the lively, bustling background noise. With the program providing a festive soundtrack, he took out some of the snacks and nuts they’d bought and arranged them on the coffee table.

Kong Ji’s home didn’t have serving dishes for pastries or snacks, let alone a proper fruit platter.

After setting everything up, he stood before the sofa, looking around. Even the festive New Year atmosphere felt considerably richer.

However, compared to the revamp happening on his side, the process of Kong Ji preparing the New Year’s Eve dinner in the kitchen was slightly more… chaotic.

He truly had never made dumplings.

Although the meat filling had been ground at the supermarket, the seasoning ratios and flavor balance all required experience.

When Tong Xilin changed into his loungewear and came out of the bedroom, he saw Kong Ji emerging from the study carrying a tablet.

Half a minute later, the sound of a video tutorial—”How to Season Dumpling Filling”—echoed from the tablet.

“You really don’t know a single thing, do you, Uncle?” Tong Xilin burst out laughing at the sight.

This version of Kong Ji, earnestly taking a lesson at the kitchen island, was completely different from the usual, ever-capable Kong Ji. It was immensely entertaining.

“Same as when I was cooking for you during the college entrance exams,” Kong Ji said, utterly absorbed in his learning, following the tutorial to add various ingredients to a bowl. “That’s why I didn’t finish cooking until late and only went to pick you up afterwards.”

He mentioned that day. Tong Xilin also had a vivid memory of it.

He’d finished an exam paper with single-minded focus, looked up, and the entire teaching building was silent and empty. Kong Ji was leaning against the classroom doorway, waiting for him.

Now, their roles were completely reversed.

Tong Xilin stood to the side, watching Kong Ji learn to make dumplings. Watching him tie a plain grey apron around his waist, his black sweater pushed up to his elbows. When he lowered his head to watch the video, his hair fell loosely forward, and the bracelet on his wrist swayed with his movements.

“Uncle,” Tong Xilin called again.

Kong Ji’s eyes were glued to the instructional video. He turned his head first, his gaze following a beat later. He looked at Tong Xilin, then reached out and dabbed a streak of flour onto his nose.

“Why are you so insistent on me coming home?” Tong Xilin asked.

“Where do all these ‘whys’ come from?” Kong Ji followed the video’s rhythm and added yeast to the bowl. “If you’ve got nothing to do, come help me knead the dough.”

Tong Xilin poked a little pit in the middle of the flour. Before Kong Ji could swat his hand, he’d already slipped away on his own.

Lunch was relatively simple. Kong Ji stir-fried two homestyle dishes and plated a few ready-to-eat deli items they’d bought. It was plenty for the two of them.

The dumplings were troublesome. From letting the dough rest to preparing the filling, it wasn’t until the afternoon that they could finally start wrapping them.

“Tong Xilin.” After getting everything ready, Kong Ji called him over to get to work.

“Just a sec.” Tong Xilin was curled up on the sofa, sending out red envelopes.

The department’s big group chat was doing a red envelope relay. The amounts weren’t large, just a bunch of classmates having fun for the holiday spirit—ten, twenty yuan or so—playing a game where the person who got the luckiest amount had to send the next one. The message history flashed upwards so fast it was impossible to tap on anything if you weren’t fast enough.

Qi Yuan missed several in a row and got flustered. He ended up sending a 200-yuan envelope in their little four-person dorm group chat.

Pang Xiaoda, the first to grab it, got seventeen yuan. He laughed at himself for that one and sent one too, tagging everyone to come grab some.

“Everyone” was just the four of them. Qin Ji was nowhere to be seen, not speaking in the group.

Tong Xilin grabbed forty-two from Qi Yuan’s envelope, then thirty-five from Pang Xiaoda’s. Feeling his luck was decent, he also sent 200 yuan into the group.

Then he sent the seventy-seven he’d “won” directly to Kong Ji.

Kong Ji was wrapping a dumpling. His phone lit up. Seeing the red envelope from Tong Xilin, he didn’t stand on ceremony, and opened it. Seeing the amount, he chuckled.

“Grabbed seventy-seven,” he immediately deployed his kid-praising tactics. “That’s impressive.”

“And you can even find a way to compliment that?” Tong Xilin was amused. He put his phone down, washed his hands, sat down, and started helping wrap dumplings.

The work itself required zero technical skill. Just mechanical, repetitive motions.

As he wrapped, Tong Xilin chatted idly with Kong Ji. He talked about last year at this time, learning to make dumplings with Qin Ji, how Qin Ji said his looked ugly. He talked about Qin Ji’s mom calling him and nearly making him cry. He talked about Zhou Qi calling, finding out he was making dumplings, and immediately declaring he was coming over after New Year’s.

He spoke whatever came to mind, purely sharing his thoughts.

And Kong Ji just purely listened.

When Tong Xilin finally got tired and his monologue came to a pause, Kong Ji spoke up and asked him: “Do you still feel sad about it?”

“About who?” Tong Xilin didn’t know who he was referring to.

“About Qin Ji.” Kong Ji said. “You mention that person a lot. You’re someone who values relationships too much at your core, Tong Xilin.”

Tong Xilin wasn’t sure how to answer.

When it came to Qin Ji, more than valuing the relationship, what he felt was more like a sense of… “whatever.”

It was awkward, yes. He’d wanted to maintain the friendship. Yet he could also cut ties decisively when it became clear it couldn’t be maintained. He felt grateful when Qin Ji helped him with his sprained ankle, but felt utterly chilled and baffled by Qin Ji’s final words.

But that was it. It stopped purely at the level of emotion.

After resolving the Huang Lirong issue, once that wave of emotion passed, mentioning Qin Ji now was just mentioning a classmate at school. Like mentioning Wu Zihao. No real waves.

Did that really count as valuing relationships deeply?

Tong Xilin pondered this label Kong Ji had placed on him, imagining how, in Kong Ji’s mind, he must be someone profoundly loyal, someone who would be devastated by a friend’s betrayal—given all the compromises he’d made for Qin Ji.

Tong Xilin did value friends.

But his appreciation and valuing of friends was still passive.

Like, if Zhou Qi didn’t contact him, Tong Xilin wouldn’t think to go seek him out. If Qi Yuan and Pang Xiaoda hadn’t sent red envelopes first, he wouldn’t have thought to initiate that kind of atmosphere. After Qin Ji’s self-confession, he tried to pull their relationship back to friendship. Finding it impossible, he didn’t fuss much and just let it go.

Tong Xilin felt that, most of the time, he was sluggish, even obtuse. Tong Yuzhi’s lifelong avoidance of the world had, to some extent, still affected him.

The only person who made him proactively want to change something, who made him waver back and forth time and again, seemed to be… only Kong Ji.

“Do I count as valuing relationships?” He pinched a dumpling shut, turning the question back on Kong Ji. “Mentally, I’ve already disowned Tong Yuzhi. Huang Lirong is blacklisted. I plan on never acknowledging her in this lifetime.”

“People say even if there’s no kindness in raising you, there’s kindness in giving birth to you. Treating my biological parents like this… can I really be considered someone with ‘feelings’?”

Kong Ji hadn’t expected to hear such words from Tong Xilin.

There was a heaviness to his words. Spoken by Tong Xilin in that light, flat tone, it almost carried a faint hint of madness completely unlike him.

A little… dangerous.

Like a small tree growing at the edge of a swamp. Though it’s always struggling to face the sun, to grow tall, to stay away from the mud’s wrapping and entanglement.

Still, surrounded by that environment, it’s hard to guarantee that some branch, at some unnoticed moment, won’t grow crooked.

“Look at me.” Kong Ji stopped the dumpling wrapper he was shaping, immediately cutting Tong Xilin off. He stared into his eyes.

Tong Xilin placed the finished dumpling properly, obediently lifting his gaze.

“You’re a very good kid, Tong Xilin.” Kong Ji told him, with solemn gravity. “All your actions have reasons behind them. In your growth, you haven’t taken a single wrong step down a crooked path. That’s something to be proud of.”

“Do you understand?”

Hearing Kong Ji say this kind of praise and affirmation—every single time, it layered something new within Tong Xilin’s heart.

He propped his elbows on the table, laced his hands together, and rested his chin on the backs of his hands, meeting Kong Ji’s eyes.

“Does liking you count as taking a wrong path?”

Tong Xilin asked, suddenly.

The interview program on TV was still going. The reporter’s enthusiastic, festive voice rose in pitch, echoing through the living room.

But the world beyond the TV screen seemed to have been hit by a pause button. Tong Xilin’s expression was serious. The light in his eyes was bright and direct, landing squarely in Kong Ji’s own.

The fact that Tong Xilin liked Kong Ji—Kong Ji had seen through it completely, fully aware for a long time.

But for it to be stated so openly like this—that was a first.

“You’re actually pretty terrible, Uncle.” Tong Xilin had started down this road, so he might as well keep going. “You understand everything. You’ve never told me anything clearly. You brought me here. You noticed I liked you. And you just comfortably treated me as a second Tong Yuzhi.”

“That’s what the old you did.”

“Then later, when I didn’t want to like you anymore, when I tested far away and didn’t want to come home, you started acting like a good uncle.”

“Really good. So good that Zhou Qi said you treat me like the apple of your eye.”

The spot between his eyebrows felt a bit itchy. Tong Xilin tilted his head and scratched it.

“Honestly, I don’t really get what you’re thinking,” he looked at Kong Ji again. “Or rather, I don’t get what you want.”

“When you bought me that plane ticket and I didn’t come back, and you flew straight over to talk to me that time… I still don’t understand why your attitude changed.”

“Now you’re always encouraging me, telling me to be myself, to experience life in my own way. I’ve done that.”

“So now, standing from my own perspective—Tong Xilin, not ‘Tong Yuzhi’s son’—I really want to know: What exactly are you thinking?”

Tong Xilin had been testing the waters a lot lately.

He’d noticed it. From the moment Kong Ji found out about Huang Lirong and flew to school to get him, that embrace was the start. The small, intimate gestures between them began multiplying again.

These gestures carried a tacit understanding between them, one that didn’t need to be spoken aloud: This was behavior that surpassed what a proper uncle should do.

Tong Xilin needed his comfort to help settle his emotions. And after settling, he didn’t pull away either.

He maintained this intimacy. He took the initiative to get closer, even more intimate, saying ambiguous things to Kong Ji.

Kong Ji didn’t refuse, didn’t accept, didn’t resist, but didn’t stop him either.

Just like right now, facing Tong Xilin’s questions.

Tong Xilin wasn’t in a hurry. He just looked at him.

They looked at each other for several seconds. Finally, Kong Ji picked up a small stack of dumpling wrappers from the table and dropped them onto Tong Xilin’s plate.

“All talk and no work?” He flicked the handle of the filling spoon over to him as well. “Slacking off.”

“Oh.” Tong Xilin picked up a wrapper and continued wrapping dumplings.

After finishing the few wrappers in front of him, he stopped again. He flopped onto the table and kept staring at Kong Ji.

“So? Can you tell me now?” Tong Xilin was persistent, chasing the answer. “Pretending to be all deep and silent at this point is useless, Uncle.”

Kong Ji was genuinely driven to laughter by the prodding.

“Tong Xilin,” he called out.

“Right here.” Tong Xilin answered instantly.

“I apologize to you.” Kong Ji brushed the back of his hand across Tong Xilin’s hair, his voice earnest. “For treating you like your father before.”

Tong Xilin was over that now. It didn’t bother him anymore. So he didn’t respond, just kept listening.

“Back then, I wasn’t purely an uncle. There were selfish motives. For my own sake.” Kong Ji sealed a dumpling and placed it neatly on the tray. “Now, I still have selfish motives. But they’re for your sake.”

“You’re just too young.”

“When I told you not to become Tong Yuzhi, not to pay for their mistakes—I meant that from the heart.”

“You’re young,” he repeated. “You’ve been to too few places, met too few people.”

“Someday in the future, if you meet someone more suitable for you…”

Kong Ji’s words couldn’t finish. Tong Xilin shook his head, cutting him off.

“I don’t understand that, and I don’t like hearing it.” He wrinkled his nose, sitting up straight from the table. “You can guide me from the position of an elder. But don’t make decisions for me, assuming what I’ll definitely do someday in the future.”

“What happens in the future is my business. Before it happens, nobody knows.”

“What I want to know right now is just one thing: Do you, or do you not, have other feelings for me?”