CS - 63

The bucket of popcorn in Lin Zhexia’s hands was only half-empty by the time the movie reached its midpoint.

Although Chi Yao’s gaze had been fixed on the big screen, it felt as if he were constantly monitoring her. The moment she set down the popcorn, his fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest: “Finished eating?”

“…”

“Are you even watching the movie seriously?” Lin Zhexia wiped her hands with a wet wipe. “Why are you thinking about…”

“About what?” he asked.

Her voice dropped, embarrassed: “Holding hands.”

Chi Yao, however, remained completely at ease. After waiting for ages without Lin Zhexia taking the initiative to hold his hand, he extended his arm further and reached for hers: “That’s not entirely accurate.”

“?”

“All I’ve been thinking about… isn’t just holding hands.”

“…”

Lin Zhexia’s fingers stiffened slightly.

She wanted to call him a “pervert,” but the words hovered on her lips, and she lacked the courage to say them.

On the big screen, the movie had reached its climax, and the protagonists were gradually turning the tide against all odds.

Lin Zhexia tried her best to ignore what Chi Yao had just said and refocused on the movie’s plot. Unfortunately, the person beside her didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the film. The young man rested one hand under his chin while holding her hand with the other, occasionally squeezing her finger joints—reminding her that “we’re holding hands right now.”

This caused Lin Zhexia to repeatedly lose focus every time she tried to immerse herself in the movie. After being squeezed a couple of times, she snapped out of it again: “… “

“I don’t want to hold your hand anymore,” she finally blurted out, exasperated. “You’re distracting me from watching the movie.”

Chi Yao showed no intention of letting go: “Do you watch movies with your hands?”

Lin Zhexia: “… “

Chi Yao: “Or am I covering your eyes?”

Neither was true.

But still, it was very distracting.

Unable to come up with a more formal excuse, she could only mutter: “Then stop… stop moving around so much.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than Chi Yao, dissatisfied with their current hand-holding position, slowly slipped his fingers out from between hers and adjusted his grip, firmly enclosing her hand within his palm.

Lin Zhexia gave up.

She felt that reasoning with this person was impossible.

In the end, she didn’t understand what the movie was about, nor did she grasp the story development—it came to her in broken fragments. After the credits rolled, she threw away the empty popcorn bucket and followed the crowd out.

The cinema was located inside a mall, which happened to be the largest shopping center in the university town.

Standing at the cinema entrance, Chi Yao asked her what she wanted to eat for dinner.

Lin Zhexia casually picked something, mainly because standing there with Chi Yao drew quite a bit of attention, and she desperately wanted to find a place to hide: “Let’s go to that restaurant across the way. It looks decent.”

After saying that, she scolded him: “You’re too conspicuous.”

Chi Yao: “?”

Lin Zhexia: “So many people are looking at you. Next time you go out with me, wear a mask.”

Chi Yao: “Do you think that’s appropriate?”

Lin Zhexia: “I think it’s fine.”

“But I think,” he drawled slightly, “… wearing a mask would be inconvenient.”

Lin Zhexia vaguely felt that his words carried some hidden meaning, but upon hearing them, she couldn’t pinpoint anything wrong.

After all, wearing a mask really was inconvenient.

It was troublesome for facial recognition on smartphones and for breathing.

The restaurant across the way required waiting in line. The mall was bustling with students from nearby schools who had gathered here after evening classes, making it livelier than usual.

Lin Zhexia wanted to use her phone to review vocabulary to pass the time, but when she took it out, she realized it was almost out of battery.

Just as she put her phone away, Chi Yao handed over his: “The password is still the same. Enter it yourself.”

Lin Zhexia took his phone and hesitated for a moment: “Oh.”

“But,” she said, inputting the familiar password, “there aren’t any apps on your phone that I need… “

No sooner had she finished speaking than the phone unlocked successfully.

The first app icon on the home screen was the vocabulary app she frequently used.

Not only was she surprised to see the vocabulary app,

She also noticed the phone’s wallpaper.

It was a photo of her. Taken on her 18th birthday, squatting beside hydrangeas, captured by Chi Yao as part of what he called a “landscape photo.”

Lin Zhexia: “So you did take a picture of me—back then you said it was a landscape photo, but clearly, I’m in it.”

Chi Yao casually replied: “Accidentally included. If you’re unhappy, you can crop yourself out.”

Lin Zhexia: “… “

This person was quite knowledgeable about photo editing software.

He knew not only how to retouch photos but also how to crop them.

Lin Zhexia carefully examined her profile in the photo. Rather than being upset about being photographed, she was more concerned about whether he had made her look unattractive.

After all, no one wants to appear ugly on their crush’s phone wallpaper.

“Let me see how you took it,” she said. “If it’s unflattering, I’ll crop myself out.”

To her surprise, Chi Yao’s photography skills weren’t bad.

In fact, it looked better than some of the photos she had posted on her social media.

After a while, Chi Yao asked: “How’s the photo?”

Lin Zhexia avoided his gaze: “It’s alright. I guess I’ll reluctantly allow you to include me.”

“But why do you have this app?” she asked before opening the vocabulary app. “Your major doesn’t study this.”

As she spoke, a group of people tried to squeeze through the queue, cutting across the line.

Chi Yao pulled her arm, drawing her closer: “My girlfriend’s major studies this.”

“…”

The number of people in front of them decreased.

As Lin Zhexia followed the waiter to find a seat, she wondered: Is this person really experiencing his first romance?

Otherwise, how… could he be so experienced?

With this question in mind, she observed Chi Yao’s every move throughout dinner.

She found that Chi Yao was indeed very skilled.

Skillfully pushing the dishes she liked toward her, noticing she wasn’t using her chopsticks much, and asking if she found the food unappetizing.

“No,” she shook her head, her gaze falling on the black hair tie around his wrist. “It’s delicious.”

“Lost your appetite?”

“My appetite is fine.”

She added, “Stop asking. It’s not the food’s fault.”

After a while, Lin Zhexia couldn’t help but subtly probe, using a casual tone: “During your senior year, besides taking care of Aunt Bai, what else did you do?”

Chi Yao answered in a tone fit for responding to an idiotic question: “School.”

“…”

“Of course, I know you were in school,” Lin Zhexia pressed. “Was there anything else?”

Chi Yao: “Eating, sleeping, breathing.”

“…”

“Besides those.”

Lin Zhexia clarified: “You pinky-promised me once. Were you secretly dating anyone in Beijing behind my back?”

Chi Yao smirked: “Do you think I have 48 hours in a day? Where would I find time to date?”

Lin Zhexia: “Who knows? Maybe you stole some time and dated anyway.”

Otherwise, how could he be so professional when dating her?

She never thought to download apps related to her major in advance and then find an unexpected opportunity to impress the other person.

That was such a calculated move.

The kind of calculated move someone who hadn’t dated multiple times wouldn’t think of.

Chi Yao countered: “Do you think I dated?”

Lin Zhexia, eating slowly, nodded: “It’s possible.”

“Originally, I planned to keep it from you,” he put down his chopsticks, looked up at her, and sighed lightly. “But since you’ve found out, I’ll tell the truth—I dated over a hundred people during my senior year.”

Lin Zhexia carefully calculated: “There are 365 days in total. So you averaged changing girlfriends every three days?”

Chi Yao laughed at her counting on her fingers: “Lin Zhexia.”

“What’s your brain made of to believe that?”

“…”

Only then did she realize that Chi Yao had been joking all along.

“It’s not my fault,” she muttered to herself. “With your face, changing every three days isn’t impossible.”

Chi Yao didn’t catch what she was muttering.

Setting aside his teasing and joking demeanor, he looked at her earnestly: “Never dated.”

“You’re the first.”

The last dish served was a dessert.

“Lemon milk pudding,” the waiter introduced. “Enjoy.”

Chi Yao didn’t like sweets, so all the dessert ended up in Lin Zhexia’s stomach.

Midway through, the phone beside her vibrated twice.

She was about to check it when she remembered it was Chi Yao’s phone: “Someone messaged you.”

Chi Yao shrugged: “See who it is.”

Lin Zhexia entered the password to unlock it: “He Yang.”

Upon hearing this name, Chi Yao said: “Ignore him.”

Lin Zhexia, feeling overly full and slow to react, obediently typed into the chat box: Chi Yao says to ignore you.

He Yang: ………

Lin Zhexia: … Um, sorry, can you pretend you didn’t see that? Let me recall it.

Before she could figure out how to explain the situation, He Yang quickly responded: Big Brother Xia?

Lin Zhexia: Yeah, it’s me.

Lin Zhexia: How did you guess so quickly?

He Yang: Haha

It felt strange typing under Chi Yao’s cat-head avatar. She added: Anyway, it’s what he said. I’m just relaying it. If you want to hold a grudge, blame him.

He Yang: Speechless.

He Yang: Want to delete friend.

He Yang probably guessed that the two of them were together, possibly even in an ambiguous situation where one was using the other’s phone.

But maintaining his persona as an unknowing innocent childhood friend, he casually asked: How are you two together? And you didn’t invite me?

Lin Zhexia didn’t know how to respond.

Logically speaking, since she and Chi Yao were dating, she could straightforwardly tell him, “We’re together.”

But perhaps because the person she was facing was He Yang—the He Yang who grew up with her and Chi Yao—their closeness made it difficult to bring up the topic.

If she told him that she and Chi Yao were together, it might shock him.

Lin Zhexia hadn’t figured out exactly how to phrase it, but her fingers moved faster than her thoughts, sending a vague reply: We’re just having dinner together. Next time, we’ll treat you.

He Yang replied: Alright, I’ll remember this meal. And I’ll remember today’s grudge.

“Forget about him,” Chi Yao said, seeing her chatting for so long. “What are you talking about?”

Lin Zhexia finished replying and turned off the screen: “Nothing. He just asked if we were together. I said we were having dinner together.”

After paying the bill, they returned via the same route.

The elevator required a turn, passing through a long corridor. At the end of the corridor, a half-open door led to a safety exit.

Lin Zhexia vaguely felt that this layout was familiar.

But she couldn’t pinpoint why.

Many places seemed to be arranged like this—malls or hotels.

There were many people waiting for the elevator. Lin Zhexia remembered something she had forgotten to tell him, so she tugged on Chi Yao’s hand: “Bend down. I have something to tell you.”

Chi Yao didn’t understand.

But he still bent down, leaning toward her.

Lin Zhexia tiptoed, leaned close to his ear, and quickly whispered: “You’re the first.”

…

The first boyfriend.

The first romance.

Also the first person she had liked since she didn’t yet understand what liking meant.

Chi Yao clearly hadn’t expected a continuation of their earlier conversation at the dining table, nor did he anticipate her asking him to bend down to say this.

After a brief moment of surprise, he stopped walking and didn’t proceed further.

Just as Lin Zhexia was about to ask, “Why did you stop?” the next second, she was uncontrollably pulled by him into the safety exit beside them—

People outside were still waiting for the elevator, and the various sounds filtered through the half-open safety door.

Outside, people came and went.

Her back pressed against the wall, and she was held tightly in Chi Yao’s embrace, separated from the crowd outside by just a door.

Chi Yao’s voice was close to her ear, low and carrying a certain hypnotic allure: “… Do you know what action wearing a mask makes inconvenient?”

Lin Zhexia’s mind went blank for a moment.

Then all her thoughts pointed to that single answer.

And then, she started to regret.

—She should have brought gum.

She belatedly realized that their current position and posture resembled the time in their second year of high school when she dragged him into a safety exit in Haicheng to give him a lucky charm.

Chi Yao lowered his head, approaching her. His neck bowed submissively, his throat moved slightly, and as he got closer, the familiar scent of laundry detergent, seemingly etched in her memory, wafted over.

“Want to try,” his voice became incredibly suggestive, dissolving between her lips, “… kissing your boyfriend?”

Chi Yao’s kiss mirrored his personality.

It carried a sense of pressure before landing, but the moment it touched, it became very gentle.

His lips carefully brushed against hers.

Lin Zhexia’s heartbeat skipped a beat, unsure how to react until Chi Yao reminded her: “Close your eyes.”

She closed her eyes.

All her senses heightened, and the sounds from outside the safety exit gradually faded.

The only thing left was the warmth of his lips and, halfway through the kiss, his increasingly playful nibbles.

He marked her territory-like, gently rolling over her lips. Occasionally, he lightly bit, then quickly released.

Thankfully, the last dish had been a dessert.

The taste of lemon milk pudding in Lin Zhexia’s mouth was gradually swept away by him.

“Tasted it.” Chi Yao said as he released her.

Lin Zhexia opened her eyes: “… What?”

Chi Yao raised his hand, his fingertip brushing against her flushed lips in a very suggestive manner: “That dessert just now.”