[1]

Song Yuzhang was the kind of person who could feel at ease anywhere; he could always carve out a bit of happiness for himself. After arriving in America, he adapted almost immediately. His English was now quite good—when he spoke, no one would guess he had only been learning for a few years, and people constantly praised his natural, pleasant pronunciation.

When someone complimented him like that, Meng Tingjing happened to be standing nearby. Hearing it pleased him greatly. He felt secretly proud, thinking it was all thanks to his excellent teaching at the beginning. Of course, he didn’t say this out loud, but neither did he hide it. When they got home, he walked around Song Yuzhang with his hands behind his back, his expression smug, clearly waiting to be praised.

Sitting on the sofa, propping his chin as he looked over his homework, Song Yuzhang didn’t even lift his head. “Come to think of it, it really is thanks to the teacher,” he said lazily. “Counterfeit—that’s the word, right? Seems like the first time I ever heard such a standard pronunciation of English was from someone… truly enlightening.”

Meng Tingjing paced back and forth, but instead of praise, he got an old grievance brought up. Luckily, his back was to Song Yuzhang, so he quickly lowered his head and slipped away without a sound.

Hearing his retreating footsteps, Song Yuzhang couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

From then on, Meng Tingjing’s arrogance vanished; he never again put on the airs of a teacher in front of Song Yuzhang.

[2]

University life turned out to be more relaxed than Song Yuzhang had expected—yet at the same time, the coursework was even heavier than in secondary school, and much harder. Group assignments were the most troublesome. Song Yuzhang wasn’t especially competitive in such matters, but he absolutely refused to drag his classmates down. So every night when he got home, he would burn the midnight oil.

Meng Tingjing came out of the bathroom in his robe and saw Song Yuzhang sitting cross-legged on the sofa barefoot, working on his assignments. He glanced over. “Postwar economic recovery? Giving such a difficult topic to a bunch of university students—what do they expect you to produce? You’re not Truman.”

“This is homework—homework, you understand? It’s not like I’m actually advising at the White House. The teacher’s just assessing my work.”

Song Yuzhang looked up and poked his chin with the end of his pen. “And you call yourself a university graduate? Which department were you from? Didn’t they teach you to watch your mouth?”

Meng Tingjing coaxed, “Why work so hard? I coasted through university.”

Song Yuzhang was slightly surprised—Meng Tingjing always acted as though he excelled at everything. “What did you study?”

“Mechanical design.”

“Oh, so you’re an engineer. My apologies.”

“I just studied casually. As long as you graduate, there’s no need to overexert yourself.”

Meng Tingjing placed both hands on Song Yuzhang’s shoulders and began kneading them. His shoulders were tense, but Meng Tingjing had strong hands and good technique. Song Yuzhang quickly relaxed, set down his pen, leaned back against the sofa, and closed his eyes to enjoy it.

“Since you’re studying, you should do it properly. Otherwise, isn’t it a waste of time and money?”

“That’s a sound idea, but you really do look exhausted,” Meng Tingjing said, eyeing the dark circles under his eyes. “How many nights has it been since you slept properly?”

Song Yuzhang hummed through his nose, the corner of his lips curving faintly. “Yeah, it’s been a while.”

He was wearing a loose pullover pajama top. Once he relaxed, his whole body gave off a sleepy, inviting air.

Meng Tingjing’s mind—and hands—were immediately tempted. His palm slipped quietly down along the soft collar, but after only a couple of strokes against smooth skin, Song Yuzhang caught his hand.

Tilting his head back and opening his eyes, Song Yuzhang met a pair of bright eyes clouded with desire and nearly laughed.

“Tingjing,” he said gently, “were you really bad at studying in university?”

Meng Tingjing instantly sensed danger but kept his composure. “Mm. I didn’t like studying.”

“Oh,” Song Yuzhang smiled, “not liking it doesn’t mean you weren’t good at it, right?”

Knowing he’d been exposed, Meng Tingjing stopped lying, though he still sounded self-assured. “I just saw how hard you were working and wanted to comfort you. It wouldn’t sound right if I said I graduated with first-class honors—you’d accuse me of showing off.”

Song Yuzhang continued smiling. “And you think that makes sense?”

Meng Tingjing immediately backed down, bending slightly. “Shall I make a cup of coffee for our hardworking student?”

Laughing, Song Yuzhang grabbed his hand and pushed him away. “Stop messing around. Go to sleep.”

After sending him off, Song Yuzhang returned to his studies. When he finally finished, he stretched and turned around, only to see Meng Tingjing lying on his side on the bed watching him, his expression carrying a hint of grievance. Song Yuzhang pressed his lips together to hold back a smile and walked over. “Sleeping beauty, waiting for a prince’s kiss?”

Meng Tingjing lifted his eyelids. “This is America. There are no princes.”

Seeing his handsome face put on such a petulant expression, Song Yuzhang found it both irritating and amusing. He picked him up and carried him to the bathroom.

While the bathtub was filling, Song Yuzhang leaned back in a chair in the corner, opening one eye. Meng Tingjing was bent over, rummaging through bottles to find essential oils for relaxation and sleep. He always did things seriously, his demeanor as composed as ever. Song Yuzhang curled his lips, slipped a foot out of his slipper, and rested it on Meng Tingjing’s back. Without turning around, Meng Tingjing replied in the same tone, “Don’t mess around.”

Song Yuzhang laughed, casually lighting a cigarette. “Back to being Cinderella again?”

Meng Tingjing turned his head and saw Song Yuzhang with a cigarette in his mouth, a teasing smile all over his face—he looked downright wicked. Reaching out, he smacked his calf lightly. “Is this what you study in university? These useless books?”

Song Yuzhang shook his head, the cigarette bobbing at his lips. “No, no—read them in secondary school.”

Meng Tingjing thought he hardly behaved like a university student at all—more like a mischievous child.

And yet, thinking of Song Yuzhang as childlike softened his heart completely. He rubbed his calf gently, then turned back to add a few drops of essential oil into the bath.

Song Yuzhang swung his ankle back and forth against Meng Tingjing’s back. Though there were plenty of servants at home, Meng Tingjing was particular and disliked having them enter the bedroom—especially when Song Yuzhang was around. He preferred to do everything himself, personally taking care of him.

Song Yuzhang didn’t object. Living together meant compromise; if Meng Tingjing liked doing these things, then let him. If he stopped him, Meng Tingjing would only be unhappy—this, too, was a form of consideration.

“All set.”

Meng Tingjing stood up. Song Yuzhang’s foot slipped off, and he rose as well, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “Thanks for your hard work.”

Meng Tingjing turned his face away, seeing no trace of teasing in Song Yuzhang’s expression. Something stirred in his chest, and he refused to take credit. “It’s nothing. Go wash up and sleep—you’ve got an early class tomorrow, don’t you?”

One of Song Yuzhang’s hands still rested on his shoulder. He held the cigarette between his lips, then slipped his other hand out of his loose sleeve. Lowering his head, he wriggled out of his top, tossing it over Meng Tingjing’s head. “Since you’ve come this far, help me bathe!”

Pulling the shirt off, Meng Tingjing saw him standing there bare-chested, cigarette in his mouth, smiling as he casually stepped out of his pants. He didn’t even bother using his hands—just pinned the fabric under one foot and let it slide down his legs.

Kicking off his trousers, Song Yuzhang sat on the edge of the tub, long legs stretched out, one hand stirring the water, the other holding the cigarette. He glanced sideways at Meng Tingjing with a half-smile. “What’s wrong? At the last moment, you’re not willing to put in the effort?”

Meng Tingjing swallowed. “You have an early class tomorrow…”

“What’s the point of university if you don’t skip a class or two?” Song Yuzhang stubbed out the cigarette and raised an eyebrow. “Cut the nonsense—are you in or not?”

Meng Tingjing’s lifelong ambition was to be a man devoted to domestic happiness. Faced with such an invitation, how could he refuse?

The two of them indulged fully, leaving both refreshed and satisfied, lying together on the bed afterward in close embrace.

“Tingjing,” Song Yuzhang said softly.

“Mm?” Meng Tingjing’s tone softened in response.

“Not angry anymore?”

“….”

“I was just worried about you.”

“Alright, alright, I know, I know—I appreciate it.”

Seeing Meng Tingjing’s face flush red, Song Yuzhang couldn’t help laughing. He patted his cheek. “I’m sleepy. Let’s sleep.”

Meng Tingjing had nothing to argue back with. Besides, after just now—everything so satisfying and sweet—he couldn’t exactly complain, even if it felt like swallowing bitterness in silence. Holding the warm, fragrant person in his arms, he restrained himself from kissing Song Yuzhang’s face, lest he be taken for some kind of lecher.

He really was just worried!

Meng Tingjing closed his eyes with pure intentions. The moment he did, something brushed against his lips—a kiss. He opened his eyes to see Song Yuzhang smiling faintly. “I know you mean well. Sleep.”

At once, all that bitterness vanished, as if replaced by a bowlful of honey. He murmured an “mm,” finally content, and gently kissed Song Yuzhang on the face—lightly, as though kissing a child.

[3]

As soon as summer vacation began, Song Yuzhang and Meng Tingjing returned to London and first went to visit Nie Bonian.

Nie Bonian was also on break. His health had recovered well, and taking advantage of the good weather, he was diligently practicing horseback riding. He was applying to private schools—rowing and rugby were too difficult to pick up quickly, but equestrian skills could earn extra points.

Song Yuzhang sat under an umbrella watching him train. The riding instructor kept a careful eye on him, and Nie Bonian himself was cautious. Compared to the last time they met, he had grown quite a bit.

After half an hour of practice, Nie Bonian dismounted to rest, jogging over and greeting Song Yuzhang properly.

“Brother Yuzhang, hello.”

Song Yuzhang took a towel from the side and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Tired?”

“A little.”

Now, Nie Bonian had learned not to be overly mature in front of adults—this, too, was a kind of obedience, though it tugged at the heart.

“Is the application to your new school going smoothly?”

“More or less. Auntie is doing her best to help smooth things over.”

“That’s good. If there’s any difficulty, you can talk to me too.”

Nie Bonian nodded with a seriousness beyond his years. “Thank you, Brother Yuzhang. I will.”

After drinking some water, he went back to training. Watching him, Song Yuzhang couldn’t help thinking of Nie Xueping—he had also been an excellent rider.

A hand settled on his shoulder. Song Yuzhang looked up. “Finished talking?”

“Mm.”

Meng Tingjing said, “She’s gone off to take care of something.”

Song Yuzhang was pleased to see that Meng Tingjing and Nie Qingyun could cooperate in business abroad. In a foreign land, people had to look out for each other, and it was rare that Meng Tingjing no longer felt awkward about it.

Song Yuzhang lifted his hand and briefly clasped Meng Tingjing’s. Though nothing was said, the meaning between them was clear.

Standing behind him, Meng Tingjing watched Nie Bonian ride for a while before commenting, “The boy rides well.”

“If you’re itching to try, you can go for a ride too,” Song Yuzhang said.

Meng Tingjing walked around and sat beside him. “If I’m going to ride, I’ll ride at home.”

Song Yuzhang thought that Meng Tingjing must also be remembering the past—those days at the racetrack, when he and Nie Xueping had competed fiercely for attention. It had been years ago, yet somehow it felt recent.

Now, Nie Xueping was gone, and instead, he and Meng Tingjing were here together watching Nie Bonian ride. Life was strange; no one could predict its turns.

From the corner of his eye, Meng Tingjing noticed the faint wistfulness on Song Yuzhang’s face but didn’t take it to heart. Over the course of a year, Song Yuzhang would only feel this way a handful of times—it was fleeting, nothing serious.

Sure enough, on the way back, that nostalgic expression had completely disappeared. Song Yuzhang spoke animatedly, “Today at Sister Qingyun’s house, I saw their television—it was in color! And it’s American-made. We’re in America—how did we not know?”

“Is that so? I’ll make a call when we get back and buy one.”

“That would be great! Watching the news will be so much more interesting!”

Song Yuzhang was full of excitement, his face bright with anticipation. Meng Tingjing smiled to himself. Song Yuzhang was naturally drawn to a colorful life—how could he dwell in the shadows of the past? In this life, the one beside him would be Meng Tingjing, not anyone else.

Noticing the subtle pride on Meng Tingjing’s face, Song Yuzhang secretly found it amusing. In business, Meng Tingjing was calculating and composed, yet outside of it, he could be surprisingly endearing—almost like a child.

The next day, Meng Tingjing had someone procure a color television. Song Yuzhang declared he loved it. The two of them watched TV all day, until their eyes grew sore and their heads spun, eventually falling asleep side by side on the sofa. The television played on for over ten hours, humming with heat, until in the middle of the night, its screen flickered—and it, too, seemed to fall asleep along with them.