Chapter 57 Part 1

Because of that little “interlude” earlier, the rest of the meal passed in unusual silence between the two of them.

Lu Ping tried several times to start a conversation, but the moment the thought arose, he felt so awkward that his brain seemed starved of oxygen. He could only quickly avert his gaze, lacking the courage to say even one more word to Shen Yuze.

His train of thought went like this: Want to talk—have to look straight into Shen Yuze’s eyes—then he’d see Shen Yuze’s nose—then focus on his lips—then think about the kiss…

Stop! Stop!! Stop!!!

To escape this embarrassment, Lu Ping could only bury his head and wolf down the sugar vinegar fried cake in front of him.

In the end, more than half of the hefty plate of fried cake ended up in Lu Ping’s stomach. He slumped in his chair, stuffed to the brim, only able to stretch his neck and burp.

Now he was neither a little mouse nor a little penguin anymore—he had turned into a white goose with its neck curved toward the sky, singing.

Shen Yuze found his appearance utterly amusing and took the initiative to suggest, “Want to take a stroll along the road?”

Lu Ping: “Is that okay? What about the car?”

“No problem. We’ll just leave the car here. Once we’ve wandered enough, we can call the driver to pick us up.”

Lu Ping rubbed his bloated belly, suspecting that if he got in the car right away, he might throw up. So he agreed to Shen Yuze’s proposal, and the two of them slowly made their way toward the alley entrance.

This was an old residential area, with streets and alleys crisscrossing everywhere. The people brushing past them were either students in school uniforms or office workers just getting off work. With no particular destination in mind, the two wandered aimlessly along the lanes, occasionally popping into interesting little shops.

Before dinner, Shen Yuze had left his tie and suit jacket in the car. Now he wore only a shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons undone. A night breeze blew by, parting the collar of his shirt and faintly revealing his Adam’s apple. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and his mature style of dress gave him a deceptive air of adulthood.

As they passed through the alleys, Lu Ping noticed several female students in school uniforms blushing and whispering furtively. Even some female office workers who had just gotten off work cast admiring glances at Shen Yuze…

All those gazes converged on Shen Yuze, who seemed oblivious. Only Lu Ping noticed, and a strange sour feeling welled up in his heart.

The boy suddenly stopped in his tracks, grabbed Shen Yuze’s hand, and turned into a small shop beside them.

The shop door closed behind them, cutting off the eager, probing looks from the girls who had been itching to strike up a conversation.

Lu Ping hadn’t checked the sign before entering; he’d just picked a shop at random. Only after stepping inside did he realize it was an old-style sweet soup shop.

Unlike the brightly lit, spacious milk tea shops that lined the streets nowadays, this sweet soup shop was shabby inside, with wooden tables and chairs, and a menu board hanging on the wall. Seeing customers enter, the owner—who had been jumping along to a weight-loss exercise video on her phone—turned her gaze to them and asked while still bouncing, “What’ll it be, kids?”

Lu Ping thought for a moment. “Do you have peach pulp?”

The owner replied, “It’s late today; only one bowl of peach pulp left.”

Lu Ping patted his stomach, figuring he could share a bowl with Shen Yuze. “That’s fine, just one bowl, with milk added.”

Owner: “Got it. Want an egg in it?”

“No need. How much?” Lu Ping pulled out his phone to pay.

Owner: “Fifteen.”

“Ten… what?? Fifteen?” Lu Ping was shocked. “It used to be three or five bucks!”

The owner huffed and puffed through her exercises while reasoning with him. “Kid, how long ago was ‘used to be’? Those street vendors had no overhead. My rent here’s expensive!” She turned her gaze to Shen Yuze behind him. “You’re his big brother, right? Since you’re working, don’t make your little brother pay. A random milk tea costs over twenty now. My milk peach pulp is the real deal—fifteen bucks, you think that’s pricey?”

Lu Ping didn’t even let Shen Yuze get a word in; he wasn’t about to play the sucker. “Then no milk—just give me a bowl with brown sugar… Since it’s the last one, how about a discount?”

After some haggling, the owner finally agreed to eight bucks for the bowl and scraped the bottom of the pot to give Lu Ping all the remaining peach pulp.

“That skinny kid sure knows how to haggle…” the owner muttered as she headed to the back kitchen. Soon, she returned with a disposable plastic bowl brimming with the sweet concoction called “peach pulp.”

It was thick and viscous, a translucent beige color, sprinkled with raisins and goji berries. Some indistinct brownish gel-like bits sank to the bottom, and a spoonful of brown sugar poured on just before serving made it look like something kids would love.

Lu Ping took a disposable spoon and muttered softly, “Who would’ve thought—peach pulp that used to be three bucks a bowl now costs ten!”

Shen Yuze said, “Who would’ve thought—you ate so much for dinner, and you can still keep eating.”

“That’s different!” Lu Ping corrected him earnestly. “Dinner is dinner; peach pulp is peach pulp!”

Shen Yuze: “So what exactly is peach pulp?”

“Huh, you guys up north don’t eat this?” Lu Ping was surprised. He stirred the plastic bowl with his spoon and scooped up some of the brownish gel from the bottom. “This is it—stuff that grows on peach trees. After rain, where the trunk cracks, this forms. Old folks say it’s the tears of peach blossoms, so peach pulp is also called peach flower tears.”

“What peach flower tears,” Shen Yuze realized. “It’s tree resin secreted by the peach tree. Where I’m from, we call it ‘peach gum.'”

“Close enough, close enough.” Lu Ping didn’t mind. “When I was little, I’d often see those street vendors peddling it—big stainless steel buckets strapped to both sides of their bike seats, covered with quilts. One side milk peach pulp, the other brown sugar peach pulp. Back then, three bucks for brown sugar, five for milk…”

That gang of seven- or eight-year-old little Wusun kids would race home from school early, sweaty from romping in the alleys. Hearing the vendor’s distant cry of “Peach pulp—peach pulp for sale—” they’d wheedle money from Mom for a bowl of ice-cold peach pulp. In winter, the vendor sold it hot, and they’d cradle it in their hands, reluctant to drink until the warmth nearly faded, then gulp it down.

The vendors didn’t come every day. On days without them, the kids would forage for peach pulp in the hills themselves. It only appeared after rain, like mushrooms—but while wild mushrooms weren’t safe to eat casually, peach pulp was fine to pick.

Fresh off the branches, it was sticky; kids would dig it out with their fingers, and it’d cling. Newly picked, it tasted like coffee-flavored gummy candy, but it needed washing and drying to store. Nowadays, wild peach trees were nearly extinct—either fenced into orchards or ornamental varieties just for flowers… If not for stumbling on this little shop, Lu Ping might have forgotten the taste of peach pulp altogether.

After hearing his description, Shen Yuze grew interested in the dessert.

Or, more precisely—he was interested in Lu Ping’s childhood.

He wanted to know Lu Ping’s stories from back then, every little detail of the sixteen years he’d missed.

Sadly, time couldn’t be rewound. He could only use this small bowl of peach pulp to imagine that barefoot little boy playing at the alley mouths.

Shen Yuze scooped a spoonful, slipped it into his mouth. The peach pulp was soft and smooth, the goji berries and raisins chewy, paired with the thick brown sugar—it was lively, sweet, just the thing kids loved.

But Shen Yuze didn’t like overly sweet things. After a taste, he pushed it back toward Lu Ping.

The spoon had already been used by Shen Yuze. Lu Ping asked the owner, “Could we get another spoon, please?”

The owner grunted along to her exercise video, clearly hearing but pretending not to.

Come on—two boys sharing an eight-buck bowl of peach pulp, and they want an extra spoon? Fat chance, skinny kid!

Lu Ping: “…”

Fine, whatever. He and Shen Yuze were both guys; sharing a spoon wasn’t a big deal… right?

The spoon handle still carried Shen Yuze’s body heat. Lu Ping scooped a spoonful and put it in his mouth. As the first bit of peach pulp slid down his throat, he didn’t taste a thing. This was what he’d been craving, yet his mind was consumed: Doesn’t this count as an indirect kiss with Shen Yuze? It doesn’t, right? Doesn’t, right? Doesn’t?

Feeling guilty as if he’d done something wrong, he sneaked a glance up at Shen Yuze—and met a pair of calm, steady eyes.

Shen Yuze had been watching him the whole time.

Lu Ping bit down on the spoon and mumbled, “Why are you staring at me?”

Shen Yuze smiled. “Just wondering if your stomach has a limit. You were so stuffed earlier you could barely walk, and now you’re cramming in a whole huge bowl.”

“I’m still growing.” Lu Ping said. “Gotta eat a lot to get tall.”

“How tall do you want to be?”

“At least… taller than you!” In his dreams, Lu Ping aimed big!

“Then you’ll have to work harder.” Shen Yuze “kindly” reminded him. “The family doctor measured my height the other day during my checkup—I grew another centimeter. I’m one-eighty-seven now. Oh, right—how tall are you?”

Lu Ping: “…A bit shorter than you.”

“A bit?” His tone lifted at the end.

Lu Ping emphasized: “Yeah, a bit.”

—When it came to self-deception, Lu Ping had never lost.

He kind of regretted not spending the extra five bucks on milk peach pulp. Milk helped you grow, after all—maybe one bowl today, and he’d wake up three centimeters taller tomorrow!

By the second half of the bowl, Lu Ping really couldn’t eat any more, but he hated to waste food. He slowed down, stirring it idly while chatting with Shen Yuze.

He looked at Shen Yuze. “Actually, I originally thought you might not win this competition.”

Shen Yuze: “That little faith in me?”

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” Lu Ping said. “It was Wang Shiya.” The more he spoke, the angrier he got; the afternoon’s pent-up frustration bubbled up again. “How did she end up a judge? And her scoring—it was obviously her messing with you on purpose! You don’t know, after the first round, the audience was booing like crazy. They said there was rigging, that Wang Shiya lowballed other contestants just to give you a high score!”

His voice rose gradually. Even the owner jumping her exercises got annoyed and cranked up the phone volume.

The sweet soup shop filled with the upbeat chants of “One-two-one” from the fitness video, mingling with the old wooden tables and chairs and the half-eaten brown sugar peach pulp. It was both dated and trendy, a bizarre fusion.

Shen Yuze wasn’t fazed by the odd atmosphere. Looking at the boy whose brows were knotted in fury, he said lightly, “With her abilities, that’s the best she can do.”

He didn’t tell Lu Ping about Wang Shiya’s pregnancy. The Shen family’s dirty laundry shouldn’t taint the ears of a kid from a harmonious home like Lu Ping.

Lu Ping still wanted justice for his friend. “Why does she have to shove herself into your face? Whatever issues she has with your dad or your mom—that’s their business. They three can sort it out themselves. Why drag you into it?”

See? Such simple logic—Lu Ping got it, but none of those three adults did.

“Maybe her brain just doesn’t work right.” Shen Yuze shook his head. “You know why I was late leaving today? She blocked me and said she wanted to promote me into debuting.”

Lu Ping: “？？？” He was shocked. His hand shook, and the spoon fell to the ground. The remaining peach gum in the bowl looked like it was no longer edible. “Is it the ‘debut’ that I’m thinking of?”

“Yeah. She has a media company and collaborates with some artist management agencies. She said that with my image and background, it would be easy if I wanted to take that path.”