Chapter 40#
Zhang Xingchuan cried out, and he was truly gifted at it. Sometimes Tan Xiao found something about him disagreeable, and after a good cry together, everything felt agreeable again.
Today Tan Xiao had disliked that little performance of his — but once it was over, he thought: well, a performance is just a performance. Nobody’s a saint. Who can say that every word they speak comes straight from the heart?
Besides, when Zhang Xingchuan first got together with him, he’d had no idea about the complicated background lurking behind Tan Xiao. Strictly speaking, Tan Xiao had won Zhang Xingchuan’s heart first — the man had loved him so blindly he’d lost all reason, showering him with gold coins — and only then had Tan Xiao let him know he was no ordinary broke student.
With everything that had happened since, a less steadfast person would have had their whole life upended by the relationship, and probably would have vanished without a trace long ago, vowing never to cross paths again in any future lifetime.
So for him to now take issue with Zhang Xingchuan saying something he didn’t mean — that was deeply unfair to Zhang Xingchuan. The man hadn’t originally planned to date someone like him. He’d fallen for a pure-hearted, penniless college boy. Tan Xiao was neither pure-hearted nor penniless.
If the legal system were advanced enough, Zhang Xingchuan could probably sue him for fraudulent marriage. What a luckless CEO.
Zhang Xingchuan said, “What are you thinking about? Your mind just drifted all the way to the Southern Hemisphere.”
Tan Xiao said, “If I don’t let my mind wander somewhere else, I’ll start crying.”
Zhang Xingchuan said, “Then cry louder.”
Tan Xiao really did start sobbing — it honestly felt amazing.
“My pillowcase is real silk,” Tan Xiao suddenly remembered he was about to be poor, and said, “if it gets wet it’ll be ruined.”
Zhang Xingchuan sat him upright so he could cry sitting up.
Tan Xiao said, “You’re actually pretty good to me.”
Zhang Xingchuan couldn’t take it. “I’ll just kiss you to death, you and your non-stop mouth.”
Tan Xiao said, “Don’t just talk about it — come on then.”
Zhang Xingchuan really did kiss him within an inch of his life.
The two of them were simply compatible — nothing more needed saying. You could only call them a pair of lucky men, who had met and found in each other their destined partners.
Lawyer Hua was moving things along on her end. Tan Xiao waited calmly for her news; it wasn’t yet time for him to step into the next stage, and he still had more than half a month to enjoy himself. During the day he stayed home reading and playing games, and when he felt restless he’d head to campus to find people for a basketball game. If he couldn’t find anyone at Qingda, he’d go to the university next door — he was soon eating at both canteens and making friends at both schools.
One day, while he was hanging around next door, he ran into the King of Tall Tales, who had come to visit his girlfriend.
The King — Chen Shu — was now a fourth-year architecture student, five years in the program, still two years to go. He’d gone to watch the autumn recruitment fair for something to do and came back with his whole worldview shattered.
“People are fighting tooth and nail for design institute offers,” Chen Shu said, “and what’s even worth fighting for? The monthly salary is less than your red packets to me. Are they racing each other to go starve in there?”
Tan Xiao said, “What are your plans after graduation? Going to do a master’s?”
“Already guaranteed a spot,” Chen Shu said, throwing up his hands, “can’t get out of it now.”
Tan Xiao asked in all seriousness: “Can I be jealous of you?”
Chen Shu burst out laughing.
He was sitting on a rock on the other school’s campus; Tan Xiao sat astride his own bicycle. There were even more tourists here than at their own school. By the lakeside, a family was taking photos and asked Chen Shu to help with a group shot.
When Chen Shu came back, Tan Xiao asked, “What does your girlfriend say about all this?”
It was an older-girl-younger-boy relationship. By the time Chen Shu finished his undergraduate degree, his girlfriend would have completed her computer science master’s.
Chen Shu suddenly grew a little downcast. “Her parents are both in Shenzhen. After graduation, she’ll go back to Shenzhen to work.”
Tan Xiao didn’t know what to say. He’d always enjoyed watching and hearing about other people’s love stories. Over his years of study, he’d witnessed and heard of quite a few romances that had ended in the face of reality. With two years still left before graduation, he already felt sad on behalf of this young couple soon to be parted like swallows scattering in the wind.
Chen Shu said, “Senior, can I ride your bicycle? It’s so cool, every time I see it I want to have a go.”
Tan Xiao usually treated it like a treasure — he’d carefully pick the best parking spot, doing his best to keep anyone from bumping it, let alone actually riding it.
But right now he felt that Chen Shu was pitiable — the poor King of Sorrows.
“Fine, one ride,” Tan Xiao climbed off and stepped aside. “Be careful.”
Chen Shu happily got on. Knowing his senior would be anxious, he only circled the lake once and came back promptly, returning the bike to Senior Tan Xiao.
“So cool.” Having tried it, Chen Shu liked it even more. He envied his senior for having such a good husband — though his own wife wasn’t bad either, he thought. “Actually, I married pretty well too. My girlfriend landed a pre-offer from Yachang’s early-admissions batch — the only one in her cohort.”
That was genuinely impressive. But Tan Xiao didn’t dare respond — he was afraid Chen Shu was on the verge of a breakup and just talking nonsense.
“She’ll go there first and wait for me,” Chen Shu said, “and I’ll join her once I graduate. Have you been to Shenzhen? I went once when I accompanied her home to visit her family. The sea is beautiful, there are so many flowers, the city feels so new — it’s a wonderful place.”
Tan Xiao broke into a grin. “I’ve been. It really is a wonderful place.”
Wait. Hold on.
“Then what were you sad about just now?” Tan Xiao said. “You were just trying to get my sympathy so you could ride my bike, weren’t you?”
Chen Shu said, “Yep. Told you I’m full of tricks. Senior — hey, Senior, don’t walk away!”
Zhang Xingchuan was in his office with nothing to do, actively looking for something to occupy himself, when a message from Tan Xiao came in.
Tan Xiao: I just got emotionally played.
Zhang Xingchuan: Oh? Tell me more.
Seeing the instant reply, Tan Xiao knew he wasn’t busy. He immediately dropped the topic of irrelevant parties and asked: Can I come to the company and freeload a CEO boxed lunch?
Zhang Xingchuan: Get over here.
But by the time Tan Xiao arrived, a senior executive had shown up looking for Zhang Xingchuan, and the two of them had moved to a small conference room.
Tan Xiao greeted Secretary Feng and a few others, then went to the doorway of the CEO’s office and peeked in. Their little moth orchid had just come into bloom for the year — the root system was full and healthy, a new flower spike was pushing up, though buds hadn’t formed yet. The whole plant looked glossy and lush under Zhang Xingchuan’s care.
He only looked; he didn’t go inside. He went over to glance at the conference room too, with no idea how long they’d be.
Zhang Xingchuan had already spotted him. After a while, he finally finished talking with his colleague and saw the man out — still thinking of Tan Xiao waiting for him to eat — only to find Tan Xiao wasn’t waiting at all. He’d already gone to the staff cafeteria with Secretary Feng.
Tan Xiao had left Wencheng nearly a month ago, yet he genuinely missed the staff canteen’s all-you-can-eat buffet. The food wasn’t anything special — what he missed was the camaraderie of eating there with colleagues who had fought side by side.
“This is exactly it,” Tan Xiao said. “It really is terrible. How can it be this consistently terrible.”
Secretary Feng — that fitness devotee — heaped a plate of greens for himself and started munching away with the stoic contentment of a cow.
Tan Xiao ate his terrible food with great relish. When he spotted colleagues he recognised, he’d wave at them from across the room; they’d wave back, or smile and nod.
There was one exception: Tan Xiao waved, and Vice President Sun picked up his tray and walked straight over.
Secretary Feng, who had been peacefully grazing on his greens, suddenly looked as if he’d swallowed a fly.
He was seated across from Tan Xiao, and VP Sun also wanted to sit across from Tan Xiao — which meant he had no choice but to sit next to Secretary Feng.
Tan Xiao hadn’t wanted to eat with VP Sun either, but the man had come all this way, so he had to at least be civil: “Good afternoon, VP Sun.”
“You’re back?” VP Sun assumed Tan Xiao had returned to work at Wencheng. “Did your postdoc application fall through?”
This is exactly it, Tan Xiao thought. It really is terrible. How can it be this consistently terrible.
“VP Sun,” Secretary Feng said, suddenly raising his heavy artillery, “did no one ever teach you how to talk to people?”
VP Sun said, “I wasn’t talking to you. I’m Tan Xiao’s superior — is showing concern for him not allowed?”
Secretary Feng said coldly, “Former superior. How long ago was that.”
“Can’t be bothered with you.” VP Sun looked at Tan Xiao. “Don’t go to the CEO’s office — you’re a Finance graduate, you’d be a much better fit under me than running errands over there.”
Tan Xiao, for the first time, saw Secretary Feng go red in the face — clearly about to explode with rage.
“Stop!” Tan Xiao said. “If you two keep bickering, I’ll tell Zhang Xingchuan and get you both in trouble.”
VP Sun said, “Tell him what? Is there a company rule against bickering?”
Tan Xiao said, “No, but I can make a false accusation. I’ll say you’re both secretly in love with me.”
VP Sun and Secretary Feng nearly fainted.
During the time Tan Xiao had worked at Wencheng — when the whole company had united against the foreign hotel group — he’d already figured it out: VP Sun and Secretary Feng had no real substantive conflict between them.
Back then, Secretary Feng had just joined Wencheng, entered the CEO’s office, caught the CEO’s eye, and quickly rose in his esteem.
Meanwhile, when Tan Xiao ended his winter internship and left the Financial Division, VP Sun lost his buffer with Zhang Xingchuan and started once again making the occasional paranoid assumption about him. By bad luck, the new go-between that the CEO had dispatched — Secretary Feng — was a blunt, straight-talking type. They’d clashed verbally the very first time they met. VP Sun, who could say remarkably cutting things without thinking, lost badly when it actually came to an argument and was so infuriated by Secretary Feng that he went slightly unhinged.
The two had developed a minor grudge, and had left behind a legendary entry in the Wencheng office gossip group: Noble Consort Sun vs. Answering Consort Feng.
“Stop bickering,” Tan Xiao said. “Harmony brings prosperity. We all went through hardship together as colleagues — whatever misunderstanding there was, let it go.”
VP Sun and Secretary Feng both wore expressions that said they couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge each other.
Tan Xiao added, “My postdoc application went through. I start next month.”
“Congratulations,” VP Sun said, allowing a small smile. “Rich kids can afford to focus on their studies. Stop coming here to be a workhorse.”
Secretary Feng’s expression made it obvious he wanted to snap at him again.
“There’s something to that,” Tan Xiao said. “Though I’m about to have no money.”
Secretary Feng looked at him, puzzled.
VP Sun said, “What happened?”
Tan Xiao said, “It’s a bit complicated to explain. In short: I’m cutting ties with my family. From here on I’m self-reliant — no more risk of being strung up on a lamppost.”
Secretary Feng’s jaw dropped. As much as he could understand it… how could anyone be this deep in love.
VP Sun was even more incredulous: “All for Zhang Xingchuan? Have you lost your mind?”
Secretary Feng closed his jaw. If it was for the CEO… well… that was his idol, after all… still, no — too lovesick.
“Is it done already?” Secretary Feng said. “Have you thought it through properly?”
VP Sun said, “Think it over again.”
The two of them shot each other a look.
Secretary Feng was Tan Xiao’s friend; VP Sun had no real friends at the company. Tan Xiao could tell them these things without worrying it would spread.
Tan Xiao said, “I’ve thought long and hard. This is my own decision.”
Secretary Feng said, “Are you worried the CEO would feel insecure — like he can’t match you financially?”
VP Sun grew curious, glancing between Secretary Feng and Tan Xiao. He’d known Tan Xiao was some second-generation rich kid with a fancy car, but the specifics of what kind, he wasn’t clear on.
Tan Xiao said, “Of course not — he’s not that petty. It’s that I don’t want to keep going on this way. I can’t have it all. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. I want freedom and a sense of self. And people who get things without working for them don’t deserve those things — not really.”
“…” Secretary Feng was quiet for a moment. The troubles of a young master, he thought. I really cannot relate.
But as a friend — and with something he genuinely cared about and was curious about — he asked: “The money you already have, that comes from the trust fund payouts, right? After cutting ties, do you have to give it back?”
At that, VP Sun understood, and interjected: “Past distributions from a fund are gifts. Of course you don’t return them. How much are we talking?”
Tan Xiao gave an embarrassed little laugh and didn’t answer.
Secretary Feng glanced sideways at VP Sun. “How much money do you have?”
VP Sun pressed his lips tightly together.
Zhang Xingchuan called Tan Xiao. Tan Xiao said goodbye to the two of them and went back to find the CEO.
With Tan Xiao gone, VP Sun and Secretary Feng had no one to bicker at; an awkward silence fell between them. After a moment:
VP Sun asked, “What does Tan Xiao’s family do? Trust funds and all that?”
“You don’t know?” Secretary Feng said. “Then what were you doing sticking your nose in just now.”
VP Sun gave a cold snort. “I could go tell Zhang Xingchuan I’m making a false accusation too — say that you are secretly in love with Tan Xiao.”
Secretary Feng: “…Are you unwell?”
VP Sun, convinced he had obtained a nuclear weapon, picked up his tray and strode away with an air of supreme self-importance.
Tan Xiao returned to the CEO’s office. Zhang Xingchuan, hearing he’d already eaten in the canteen, had no choice but to start on his boxed lunch alone.
The moment Tan Xiao walked in, he began lodging complaints.
“The people at Wencheng have it too hard — slaving away at work, and they can’t even get a decent meal. How can the canteen be that terrible?” Tan Xiao said accusingly. “It’s like you personally cooked it yourself in the back kitchen.”
Zhang Xingchuan took a metaphorical arrow to the knee. “Alright, alright — I get just how bad it is.”
Tan Xiao said, “If you get it, then do something about it.”
Zhang Xingchuan was going to do something about it, but: “Who’s the CEO here — me or you?”
Tan Xiao said, “Who’s Tan Xiao here — me or you?”
Zhang Xingchuan didn’t quite follow.
Tan Xiao said, “Tan Xiao has worked in market operations at Wencheng, served as a Financial Division specialist, been the CEO’s assistant, and functioned as an all-in-one administrative coordinator in the CEO’s office. So I ask you: does Tan Xiao or does Tan Xiao not have the standing to make a request on behalf of Wencheng’s employees — that the staff canteen please start making food that tastes good?”
Zhang Xingchuan’s chopsticks froze in midair. He broke into a cold sweat. “Do you have to elevate it to that level?”
“It really is terrible,” Tan Xiao said, coming to sit beside him and patting his shoulder. “Xiao Zhang, this needs to be rectified.”
Zhang Xingchuan could only say, “Understood, Tan Xiao. Xiao Zhang has noted it.”
He then asked, “Who played with your feelings this morning?”
“My friend — the architecture undergrad,” Tan Xiao said. “He wanted to ride my bike, so he tricked me into thinking he was about to break up with his girlfriend.”
Zhang Xingchuan laughed. “And you fell for it, just like that. You really are easy to fool.”
Tan Xiao said, “Knowing it was a trick doesn’t make it bad news, though. At least he’s not actually breaking up — it’s best if people in love don’t have to separate.”
After Zhang Xingchuan finished eating, he switched the partition glass to frosted, and the two of them started playing games.
Actually playing games.
Since leaving Wencheng, Tan Xiao had found himself with a lot of free time, and people need entertainment. He’d watched short dramas, gone through a blind box phase — alternating for half a month between being a regular dog and a gambling dog — and had recently started playing an online mobile game: a skill-based version of Werewolf with social elements. Zhang Xingchuan could play with him when he wasn’t busy.
They played three rounds. When lunch break ended, Tan Xiao switched the glass back to clear and said, “I’m heading out.”
Zhang Xingchuan said, “Coming to pick me up from work tonight?”
“I’ll let you know later,” Tan Xiao said. “I’m going back to hang out with your parents for a bit now.”
Zhang Xingchuan held up his phone. “Don’t get them into this game — some of the younger players will bully them mercilessly.”
“It’s not this.” Tan Xiao said. “Bead art. Mrs. Jiang loves it — she’s planning to make one of you.”
Zhang Xingchuan said, “What’s that?”
Tan Xiao said, “Can’t explain it to you. I’m going.”
He knows he can’t explain it before he’s even tried? Zhang Xingchuan thought. That’s fine — Xiao Zhang has strong independent learning abilities.
By November, the house had accumulated quite a collection of bead art pieces. Mrs. Jiang had made Zhang Xingchuan and Tan Xiao. Old Zhang had made Mrs. Jiang and himself. The auntie had made her daughter, who was at school back in their hometown.
Tan Xiao had made a whole pile of abstract meme faces.
Zhang Xingchuan, self-taught, had made one of the Wencheng mascot, and then another… thing.
“What is this? Are you writing code in bead art?” Tan Xiao couldn’t make sense of it, turning it this way and that. He couldn’t tell what it was — chocolate-coloured beads spelling out the words “if” and “else,” and cream-coloured beads forming a few simple words and symbols.
Zhang Xingchuan had thought it was very romantic when he was making it. Tan Xiao not understanding was fine — he’d just explain.
A conditional expression of love: you input happiness, I output laughter with you; you input sadness, I output a hug; your state determines my output — in short, I love you very much.
“It’s just…” Zhang Xingchuan finally understood a little of how Tan Xiao felt. Sometimes there were things the post-2000s generation played with, and when he asked about them, Tan Xiao would say: can’t explain it to you. And wasn’t that exactly right — this was precisely unexplainable.
Zhang Xingchuan tossed the bead-coded declaration aside and said, “Doesn’t matter. I love you.”
Tan Xiao dug through his pile of meme bead pieces and held one up — it was a bead-art Zhang Fei: Same here, bro!
Zhang Xingchuan: “…”
What was the point of bead art. Not romantic at all.