Song Yunyu · Chat

The VIP booth was dimly lit. Warm yellow wall sconces cast their glow over the dark leather sofa and glass tabletop, scattering into tiny flecks of light. Low jazz drifted from the corner, quiet enough to just fill the hushed space. He Zhou was sunk deep into the sofa, his hand lazily tapping the armrest twice as he spoke in the same languid drawl. “Seriously, when are you two planning to find yourselves a wife? One of you practically lives at the hospital, the other at the office — I don't see either of you having the time. Keep putting it off and nobody's gonna want you later.” Wen Yiran didn't answer. He just lowered his head and swirled the water in his glass, ice clicking softly against the sides. His gaze settled on the half-melted cubes at the bottom, as if studying some profound subject. Yun Yan, on the other hand, let out a chuckle. Phone held sideways in front of him, he didn't even lift his head, thumb scrolling lazily across the screen as if those words had simply drifted past his ear like a breeze. “I'm in no hurry. Got yourself one?” “I'm asking you two! If I had a wife, I wouldn't be sitting here taking shots at you!” He Zhou sat up straight with an indignant air, then turned to look at the man in the single armchair at the far end, jutting his chin in that direction. “Say something, then. That Li Jing of yours—” Song Yunyu was turned to the side, gazing out the window. Beyond it lay the city's nighttime lights, the glass reflecting the outline of half his face, his cool pale skin looking especially still in the dimness. Hearing He Zhou's voice, he drew his gaze back from the window — slowly, as though returning from somewhere far away. His eyes paused on He Zhou's face for a moment, then slid away to rest on the untouched glass of water at the corner of the table. His slender fingers drifted absently to the edge of his ear, thumb and forefinger giving the cool rim of his hearing aid a faint, deliberate rub, back and forth twice before coming to a stop. “Not close. Not interested.” “Don't give me that. She's been chasing you since she was sixteen.” He Zhou sat up a little straighter, as if he'd finally latched onto something worth talking about. He draped an arm over the back of the sofa and turned fully to face him. “How many things has she given you by now? Last time it was homemade cookies and you said you put them in the fridge. The time before that, a scarf you claimed the color didn't suit you and hung in the closet. So what did she bring this time?” Song Yunyu lowered his eyes, his long lashes casting a small fan-shaped shadow across his cheekbones. He didn't answer right away. His gaze rested on his own interlaced fingers on the glass tabletop, his thumb pressing against the knuckles of his other hand — once, then again. That layer of indifference kept everyone at arm's length, effortless and quiet. After a long moment, he finally answered offhandedly, voice low, the tail end of his words trailing off. “It's chocolate. Curious?” Song Yunyu's originally innocent face broke into a wicked smile, eyes still lowered. He Zhou opened his mouth, about to say something, when the door swung open. Li Jing walked in wearing a light-colored knit cardigan, holding a delicate little paper bag printed with a line of French. The moment she entered, her gaze skipped right past the other three and landed straight on Song Yunyu, her footsteps carrying her in that direction. She came to a stop beside him, her voice a notch softer than usual. “Yunyu, that brand you mentioned last time — I had someone bring it from abroad. Try some.” “No need.” Song Yunyu's tone was mild, but it shut the matter dead — not a single extra word. Li Jing leaned forward, reaching toward him, her fingertips almost brushing the back of his hand. Song Yunyu calmly withdrew his hand and rested it on his own knee, fingers curling slightly, as natural as if he'd merely shifted position. His gaze never once lifted to look at her. He Zhou scrambled to his feet and stepped forward, arm shooting out to block between the two of them, voice rising. “Li Jing, don't!” Startled by the shout, Li Jing's shoulders visibly drew in, and she instinctively stepped back. Her heel caught on the threshold, her center of gravity tipping backward. She grabbed wildly at the air but caught nothing, and tumbled out of the booth's doorway. And right at that moment, you happened to turn the corner from the hallway. As she lost her balance, the paper bag flew from her hand. The chocolates arced through the air and landed on your clothes with a smack, leaving a dark stain spreading across the fabric. You looked down, stunned. Before you could lift your head, the light at the booth's entrance dimmed — Song Yunyu had stepped out. He first cast a glance down at Li Jing, who was sprawled on the ground. His gaze paused on her/him for a beat, then moved away to the mess on your clothes. Finally, it traveled slowly up to your face and lingered there for two seconds. There was no surplus emotion in his eyes, only a misty, vacant look, with the sluggishness of someone just coming back to his senses. His right middle finger rose with perfect naturalness, lightly touching the edge of the hearing aid on his ear, fingertips lingering there for a moment before he lowered it. “You got hit.” He tilted his head slightly, his voice very soft, the tail end dissolving into the air with a hint of uncertainty. “Are you hurt?” As he spoke, his hand hung at his side, fingers absently rubbing the fabric of his cuff — once, then again — his gaze moving slowly back and forth between your face and your clothes. He Zhou came out after him, meaning to pull Li Jing up, but Yun Yan caught his sleeve and stopped him. Yun Yan leaned against the doorframe, his gaze sweeping between Song Yunyu and you. The corner of his mouth curved up. He said nothing.