Lin Guilu · chat.title

Cafeteria second floor, 12:20 PM. You carry a tray with two meat dishes and one vegetable, finding a seat by the window. Gu Ye follows behind you, his tray piled twice as high as yours—braised ribs, sweet and sour pork tenderloin, dry-pot cauliflower, plus a soup you can't even name. He swiped the meal card you gave him, not even glancing at the price when he did—a beep, and he carried it away. You sit down, and he sits across from you. Just as you pick up your chopsticks, a figure slips into your peripheral vision. "Gu Ye-ge——" Luo Qingqing approaches holding a bowl of plain white rice, her tray holding only a pitiful serving of stir-fried cabbage. Sitting right beside Gu Ye, shoulder to shoulder, she smiles obediently and sweetly. "I'm out of money on my card, and my living allowance hasn't come in yet this month. Can I bum some food off you?" Your chopsticks pause for a beat. Gu Ye has already pushed the plate of sweet and sour pork toward her: "Eat, why be so polite with me?" After saying that, he glances at you, an expression you know all too well—don't overthink it. You lower your head and shovel two mouthfuls of rice; the cabbage is too salty, the rice is too hard, and your throat feels suffocatingly tight. Luo Qingqing eats while chatting with Gu Ye, talking about their high school days—who got married, which teacher transferred away, which boba shop went out of business. You can't get a word in. Gu Ye laughs loudly, showing his canine teeth, his shoulders shaking. When Luo Qingqing gets excited, she taps Gu Ye's forearm, letting her hand linger there for two extra seconds before pulling back. You set down your chopsticks. "Gu Ye." Your voice isn't loud. "Yeah?" He is still chewing on a rib. "If you two have so much to talk about, can you pick another place next time? I don't want to listen to this while I eat." You say it evenly, without curses or emotion, just stating a fact. You think you've exercised plenty of restraint. Yet Gu Ye's face darkens instantly. "What do you mean by that?" He slams his chopsticks onto the table, his voice abruptly spiking so high that half the cafeteria turns to look. "What's wrong with me having a meal with Qingqing? She ran out of money on her card and grabbed a bite with us, and you have to make a fuss about that too? When did you become so petty?" Beside him, Luo Qingqing tugs his sleeve, her voice as thin as a mosquito's buzz: "Gu Ye-ge, don't be mad, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have come... I'll leave right now..." "Stay seated." Gu Ye grabs her wrist, turning back toward you, raising his voice another two notches. "Can you not do this every single time? Qingqing and I grew up together; if anything were going to happen, it would've happened long ago. Are you ever going to quit being so paranoid every damn day? She's just a girl, why do you have to pick on her?" People around are watching, some laughing, some whispering among themselves. You sit there, clutching your chopsticks until your knuckles turn white. You want to say, "I never said anything about her bumming food," you want to say, "I said you two are too loud," you want to say, "I've been fucking holding this back for three years"—yet you say none of it. Because you know saying it is useless; Gu Ye won't listen anyway. You just suddenly feel exhausted. An exhaustion that seeps out from the crevices of your bones, accumulated over three whole years. "Gu Ye, keep your voice down," you say. "Why the hell should I keep it down? You did it, and I'm not even allowed to call you out on it?" Relentless, his voice booms as if staking a claim: "Let me tell you, Qingqing is my sister. If you can't accept her, then there's nothing more to say between us—" "Excuse me." A voice cuts in from the side, not loud, but steady—like a stone dropped into boiling water, instantly settling the surface. You look up. Someone has stood up from the neighboring table. Very tall, more than a head taller than you; sitting down, you have to tilt your head back to see his face—messy, milky-platinum hair, and beneath fragmented bangs, a pair of pale gray-green eyes, clear and cool, looking at people as though examining an exam problem. Lin Guilu. You know him—or rather, the entire school knows him. First in the class rank, always alone, always expressionless, always at that window seat in the library. You've never spoken to him, but you've seen him order just a single vegetable dish in the cafeteria, seen him thrust an umbrella into an old professor's hands on a rainy day before sprinting away in the downpour, seen him running on the track at eleven at night. He holds a bowl of tomato egg drop soup, likely just ladled and yet untouched. He looks at you first, then turns to Gu Ye, his tone completely flat: "This is a cafeteria. You're being too loud for me to enjoy my soup." Gu Ye stuns for a second. He probably never expected anyone to butt in. "Who the hell are you?" Gu Ye stands up. At 183 cm, he isn't short, but Lin Guilu is 188 cm; standing, Gu Ye still falls short. Lin Guilu doesn't answer him, simply setting the soup on the table. Looking straight into Gu Ye's eyes, he utters words that silence half the cafeteria: "You're spending his money, pampering your 'little sister,' and yelling at him in front of all these people. You think you're pretty justified, don't you?" His tone is utterly flat. Flat like he's stating a theorem. But every single word hits the mark. Gu Ye's face flushes crimson: "What business is it of yours? You—" "None of my business," Lin Guilu cuts him off. "Except your voice is too loud, and it's bothering me while I drink my soup." He pauses, then adds, "Also, the person next to you has said 'it's all my fault' three times now, every single time while you were yelling. Can't you tell what that means?" Luo Qingqing's face instantly drains of color. Gu Ye opens his mouth, completely unable to form a comeback. Lin Guilu picks up his bowl of tomato egg drop soup, glancing at you before leaving. Those pale gray-green eyes hold little warmth, but no malice either, like scanning an easy problem where the answer is immediately obvious. He walks away. Carrying his bowl, he sits at the furthest corner table of the cafeteria, his back turned to everyone, head lowered as he drinks his soup, as if what just happened had nothing whatsoever to do with him. Gu Ye is cursing beside you, Luo Qingqing is crying, and the crowd is murmuring—but you can no longer hear any of it. You sit there, staring at Lin Guilu's back. The cuffs of his dark gray hoodie are frayed, the heels of his shoes worn slightly crooked, and his tray holds just one vegetable dish and a bowl of free soup. He just got you out of a tight spot, then went right back to drinking a free bowl of tomato egg drop soup—which constitutes his entire lunch. You look down at the two meat dishes and one vegetable in front of you, look at the mountain of ribs and pork tenderloin in front of Gu Ye, and look at Luo Qingqing's freeloaded bowl of white rice. You suddenly want to laugh. Three years. You paid Gu Ye's tuition for three years, bought his sneakers for three years, transferred living expenses for three years, all in exchange for him screaming at you in public, "Why do you have to pick on her?" Meanwhile, an impoverished student whose name you barely know, drinking a bowl of tomato egg drop soup that costs less than a single cup of boba you'd buy for Gu Ye, stepped up to speak on your behalf. You turn and leave. Gu Ye shouts your name from behind, calling twice. You carry your tray to the return station, scrape away the leftovers, and set the tray down. Passing that corner table, your pace slows slightly. Lin Guilu is lowering his head to drink his soup, his spoon resting against the rim of the bowl with a faint clink. You sit down across from him. He looks up, gray-green eyes resting on you in silence, the spoon halting in the bowl. "My name is—" "I know what your name is," he says. You pause, taken aback. His face remains largely expressionless, but you notice the right corner of his mouth curving up just a fraction—so subtle you'd miss it if you weren't looking closely. You suddenly find this person pretty intriguing. Across the cafeteria, Gu Ye is still talking to Luo Qingqing, his voice drifting over in fragments—faint scraps of "throwing a tantrum," "it'll pass in a couple of days," and the like. You hear a single sentence and don't care to hear any more. You watch Lin Guilu finish that bowl of tomato egg drop soup, watch him dab his mouth with a napkin, watch him stand up, preparing to leave. "Lin Guilu." He stops. "Are you coming to the cafeteria tomorrow at noon too?" He looks at you for a moment, something flickering across those pale gray-green eyes—perhaps confusion, perhaps vigilance, perhaps a thought of "is there something wrong with this person?" In the end, he says: "...Yeah." "Then I'll come too," you say.