Chapter 32: Late-Night Snack

Although Yin Mengxi had previously heard Xiao Zhi say that he and Tang Fei were just “friends,” the scene earlier still left her feeling as if she’d swallowed a hundred lemons, sourness numbing her tongue. She didn’t realize that what fueled this reaction was the quietly burgeoning possessiveness in her heart—her selfless admiration for him was fading away, and she was gradually becoming both greedy and unreasonable.

Drifting along with the crowd, she ate the exquisite and delicious birthday cake, then drifted through the end of the day’s rehearsal. By the time she finished tidying up backstage and stepped outside, he was already gone. It was Sunday, so rehearsals ended a bit earlier than usual—actors could leave at eight, while the crew stayed until half past.

She left the theater with the seniors on duty. Outside, it was already dark. Zechuan asked if she wanted to grab something to eat, but she shook her head, saying she had homework to finish and couldn’t go. He responded with an “Oh,” sounding a bit disappointed.

After bidding everyone farewell, she walked alone on the path from Xiaohongding back to the dormitory. She was about to return when she suddenly changed her mind, overcome by an inexplicable anxiety that made her restless. She suddenly wanted to see him very much.

—Where was he? Had he gone out to celebrate his birthday with friends?

She took out her phone, opened QQ, and typed a message to ask him, but after composing it, she couldn’t send it. Eventually, she deleted everything and wandered back and forth on the road, clutching her phone silently.

… Maybe she should try her luck at the library.

Even if he wasn’t there, that space always had a calming effect on her.

At five minutes to nine, she swiped into the library.

For more than half a semester, she’d only been coming to borrow and return books, never studying in the reference room. Surprisingly, the route she knew best led to the Literature and Arts Bookstore. Up the stairs to the second floor, turn right, and walk all the way to the farthest corner.

As soon as she entered, she looked toward his usual spot—and like a dream, he was really there. His familiar figure was bathed in the warm glow of a desk lamp, even the clear lines of his shoulder blades looked beautiful.

Her heart immediately settled, the anxiety washing away slightly. Silently, she sat down not too close, not too far behind him. The familiar distance gave her a sense of safety, yet also a lingering dissatisfaction.

Just as she sat down, he stood up, apparently heading to the bookshelves to find a new book. When he glanced over and saw her, she wasn’t sure if he smiled.

He nodded at her in greeting, and she bowed slightly from her seat as usual, which seemed to amuse him again. She hoped he would come over and talk to her, but in reality, he went to fetch a book. His figure disappeared behind the tall shelves, returning about ten minutes later with two books, resuming his original position.

Her spirits sank again, her emotions rising and falling pitifully. But before they could hit rock bottom, she saw him glance back at her. He pointed to the empty seat beside him and waved his phone at her.

She froze, then felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Opening it, she saw a message from him—

“Come sit?”

The hundred lemons flew out of Earth’s orbit instantly. Her heart pounded wildly, and her trembling hands typed back, “Okay.” She couldn’t tell whether it was excitement or nervousness making her shake.

She walked over with her backpack, the fixed distance she’d maintained for over a semester shrinking step by step. Now, there was no one else around him, just an empty seat waiting for her. Thoughtfully, he pulled out the chair for her. When their eyes met, his carried a warm smile, and she was certain her face was red, her ears subtly heating up.

“… Senior.”

She greeted him softly. He simply nodded; she knew talking wasn’t allowed in the library, so she quietly sat beside him, taking out her Introduction to Journalism and On Freedom of Publication , opening them silently and bowing her head to read.

He was right beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his long, elegant hands flipping through pages. His book was much thicker than hers, something called History of Song-Jin-Yuan Literary Criticism —what was “criticism history”? A history of criticizing others?

She didn’t understand, but bubbles of happiness filled her heart. She couldn’t focus on her textbooks, stealing glances at him instead. Soon, he noticed. The hand closest to her tapped lightly on the table twice. Before she could react, she heard him whisper softly beside her, “Read your book.”

… Like a good-tempered teacher catching a student daydreaming in class.

She realized she’d been caught, her face turning even redder. As she lowered her head to study, romantic imaginings unfolded in her mind. For a fleeting moment, an overly absurd thought crossed her mind—

Were they…

… a little bit like a couple now?

At exactly ten o’clock, the music of Going Home began to play.

Time with him always seemed to pass especially quickly. An hour blinked by, and she even suspected the library clock was broken, deliberately conspiring against her. As he stood to gather his things, she did the same. For the first time, she naturally walked beside him out of the reference room, down the stairs together, their footsteps synchronized.

May was the transition between spring and summer, the perfect balance of warmth and coolness. Together, they exited the library, the enchanting night breeze stirring hearts.

She didn’t want to part ways with him, yet she didn’t know how to delay hearing him say “goodbye.” Starting conversations wasn’t her forte; she had to wrack her brain to find an awkward opening.

“Senior, are you hungry?” she blurted out suddenly. “… I’ll treat you to a late-night snack.”

… Truly a failed attempt at small talk.

He probably didn’t expect her to say that. He glanced at her and asked, “Are you hungry?”

Her face flushed again, but thankfully, the darkness of the night concealed it. Pretending to be calm, she said, “No… I just think since today’s your birthday, we should celebrate a bit.”

He smiled and replied, “No need,” adding, “I’ve never been one for rituals. Let’s keep it casual.”

“Let’s go,” she persisted timidly, her voice carrying a hint of pleading. “… I’m kind of craving food too.”

She didn’t realize it, but that was flirtation—subtle, hazy, unmistakably flirtation. A girl to a boy, a secret admirer to the one she liked. He could have refused, but looking down at her, he found her as adorable as a little rabbit. Her eyes were bright now, and if he rejected her, they might dim.

… Better not let them dim.

“All right.”

He sighed and agreed.

So at quarter past ten, they entered a Ningbo-style restaurant near Daxue Road.

The shop wasn’t large, but it was clean. The owner, originally from Ningbo, served authentic dishes. Many students frequented the place, and business was always good. It was late tonight, though, and aside from them, there were only one or two other tables occupied. The owner said they closed at eleven, so they should order quickly if they wanted anything.

Late-night snacks shouldn’t be too heavy, so Yin Mengxi ordered sweet red bean glutinous rice balls and water chestnut cake. Xiao Zhi, sitting across from her, didn’t seem particularly interested in anything. She pursed her lips and asked, “Senior, did you eat noodles today?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No.”

“How about ordering some yellow croaker noodles?” she suggested cautiously. “You should eat noodles on your birthday. I tried yellow croaker noodles last time—they were pretty good.”

He smiled and said, “Alright, then yellow croaker noodles.”

She loved being granted by him, feeling a special kind of satisfaction. When the waiter came to take their order, her tone was lighter than usual—he could tell she was in a good mood.

“Is it that good?” he teased, misunderstanding the reason for her joy.

“It’s alright…” she said shyly, aware that she’d exposed too much tonight. Embarrassed, she touched her nose. “I just don’t know if Senior likes the taste of Ningbo cuisine.”

“I quite like it,” he casually chatted with her. “My grandparents are from Zhejiang, and they cook in that style.”

She was startled—it was the first time she’d heard about his family. A gentle happiness quietly expanded within her; she felt herself getting closer to him.

“Did Senior grow up in Zhejiang when you were little?” she asked. “I always thought you were local.”

“My parents’ generation moved here,” he poured her a glass of complimentary cold tea from the table. “Every year we’d spend some time back in Zhejiang, but not for long.”

She accepted the teacup with both hands, trying to pour him some too. He gently stopped her and poured it himself.

“What about you?” he asked. “Where are you from?”

Ah.

This question struck a soft spot, making her flustered.

“I’m from a bit further south,” she said vaguely, her gaze shifting. “A lesser-known place… you probably haven’t heard of it.”

Despite her efforts to conceal it, her subtle unease was easily detected. He understood and didn’t press further, letting the topic drop. Coincidentally, the owner personally brought their dishes at that moment—her dessert and his noodles arrived together, beautifully presented, hot and cold.

Relieved, she quickly changed the subject, urging him to try the bowl of yellow croaker noodles. He picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of fish meat. Even such a mundane action appeared elegant and refined, heart-stirring.

“Hmm,” he nodded. “Very tasty.”

She didn’t know how much of that was true. He was so gentle and accommodating—he wouldn’t criticize it to her face even if it wasn’t good. She could only hope the noodles carried some auspicious meaning to make up for any potential shortcomings in flavor.

“I didn’t know today was your birthday. If I had known, I would’ve prepared something…”

She suddenly spoke again, her voice subdued.

“… Sorry for being so rushed today.”

It sounded like an explanation, tinged with guilt. Through the rising steam of the noodle bowl, he looked at her, increasingly convinced of his earlier judgment. She truly was very obedient and easily bullied.

“Why apologize?” he sighed again. “It’s not like it has to be a big deal. Besides, I don’t have a habit of celebrating birthdays specifically.”

He spoke sincerely, but she seemed not to have heard him, her spoon motionless in the bowl of glutinous rice balls.

“Next year, I’ll remember,” she suddenly looked up, her eyes meeting his directly, wanting to look away but forcing herself not to. “Next year… I’ll give you a gift.”

The words were cryptic yet as straightforward as she could manage. Her eyes were red, and she looked both awkward and nervous, more like a bullied little rabbit.

—He couldn’t reject her.

She would be hurt.

“All right,” he swallowed his intended refusal and went along with her. “When’s your birthday?”

She was startled, unprepared for the question. “Huh?”

“We’ll exchange gifts,” he smiled, thoughtful and considerate, protecting her fragile adoration perfectly. “Can’t have you losing out.”

At those words, she laughed, the redness in her eyes fading, revealing adorable dimples on her cheeks, adding a charming liveliness.

“I’m February sixteenth,” she pursed her lips, her gaze both shy and expectant. “We’ll go by the solar calendar.”

The clarification seemed to ensure he wouldn’t get it wrong.

“Got it,” he chuckled again, his gaze warmer than usual. “Let’s eat.”

Another wave of heart-fluttering surged—a hundredfold stronger. At this moment, she felt as if she were already falling deeply in love. Unrequited love was like walking blindly down a dark path, stubbornly fumbling forward, only to—

… Discover a warm ray of light.