Tang Yu sat up and tried to cover Ji Qian’ang’s eyes. “Who said you could look? Get out.”
Ji Qian’ang leaned away and picked up a framed photograph from the bedside table. Tang Yu stood alone near a beach, smiling with his chin slightly raised, the red mole beneath it clearly visible.
“I’ve been here for days and haven’t seen you smile at anyone like this,” Ji Qian’ang teased. “It’s pleasant to look at. Why hide it?”
Not only had he looked, he was reviewing it. Furious, Tang Yu snatched the frame, stepped barefoot onto the floor, and shoved it onto the crowded shelf by the window.
Several objects tumbled down. A snow globe struck the floor and shattered, scattering glass beneath the ceiling light.
Among the white reflections, Ji Qian’ang noticed a flash of red. Tang Yu had not.
The amusement vanished from his face. He stepped in front of Tang Yu. “Don’t move. Was it important?”
Tang Yu owned many little ornaments, some bought on impulse and others given by classmates. He did not even know where the snow globe had come from, so he shook his head.
Ji Qian’ang gathered the larger shards and base, then nodded toward the tray. “Coconut chicken soup. Aunt Chen spent the afternoon making it. I’ll clean the rest.”
He left without closing the door.
With the snow globe broken, Tang Yu no longer knew where to direct his anger. “Ji! Don’t come into my room without permission again!”
Then he sat on the bed and drank the warm soup.
***
Friday’s timetable included home economics.
Tang Yu would join almost any school activity, but cooking was his most catastrophic weakness. He had hoped to partner with Tian Qianxing, who was equally hopeless but at least would not leave him to destroy a worktop alone.
Instead, partners were assigned by desk.
Tang Yu covered his face. It was only dessert, he told himself. How difficult could it be? If necessary, he could pretend he knew what he was doing.
The classroom occupied the old building’s ground floor, with banyan trees outside. Mascarpone, ladyfingers, espresso, eggs, and sugar waited on each station.
Wearing an apron, Tang Yu stood with both hands in his pockets and touched nothing.
Ji Qian’ang had already washed his hands. “You’re not helping?”
“Something this trivial isn’t worth my effort.”
Across the room, Tian Qianxing blew flour everywhere while his partner rolled her eyes. Two girls nearby had finished their cheese mixture and kept glancing toward Tang Yu’s station.
Ji Qian’ang poured egg whites into a bowl and began whisking. His long fingers moved the wire whisk quickly and steadily, looking entirely at ease.
Tang Yu studied him. How did the young master of a shipping family become so skilled in a kitchen?
Ji Qian’ang raised a brow. “Do you not want to cook, or can you not cook?”
Heat rushed into Tang Yu’s face. “Who says I can’t?”
He grabbed the sugar and moved to pour it into the bowl. “How many seconds of sugar do we add?”
Ji Qian’ang snatched the bag away. “What?”
“I asked how many seconds.”
In eighteen years, Ji Qian’ang had never met anyone who measured seasoning in seconds. He was beginning to understand why the Tang family had hired a companion. Their classmates stared too.
After a heavy silence, Ji Qian’ang said, “You should whisk the egg whites.”
Tang Yu stared into the bowl. “I’ll handle another stage.”
“Which stage?”
His gaze swept the ingredients before landing on the cocoa powder. “That. It goes on at the end.”
Ji Qian’ang’s mouth twitched. The expression was more infuriating than open laughter. Tang Yu punched his arm. “What was that look?”
“Nothing.”
Before Tang Yu could retort, Miss Leung approached in her floral apron. She was the gentlest teacher in school but had no tolerance for spectators.
“Qian’ang is working so hard alone. Tang Yu, you must participate. Divide the work: Qian’ang makes the cheese filling, and you prepare the coffee mixture and dip the ladyfingers.”
The espresso and rum were already mixed in a shallow dish. Tang Yu washed his hands again, put on gloves, and lowered a sugar-coated ladyfinger into it. He waited, turned it, then lifted it out.
The biscuit had become a dead caterpillar. It broke apart and splashed coffee over both their sleeves.
Tang Yu grabbed another, dipped it for one second, and smiled as if he had solved the problem. The middle remained dry. When he turned it and pressed too hard, it crumbled completely.
Ji Qian’ang demonstrated with a fresh biscuit and laid it neatly in the mold. “Like this.”
“I know.”
“Do another.”
This time Tang Yu copied him properly. When Miss Leung returned, she smiled. “Beautiful! Tang Yu, your hands are very skillful. You should join in more often.”
Tang Yu merely nodded.
Ji Qian’ang had finished beating the yolks and sugar, and the meringue was ready to fold into them. He handed Tang Yu a rubber spatula.
“You do it.”
“Do what?”
“Fold gently. Bring it up from the bottom.”
Tang Yu scraped too forcefully, splashing cheese mixture onto the counter. He tried again, equally stubborn. The meringue was still uneven, while the filling was already losing air.
Without warning, Ji Qian’ang covered Tang Yu’s hand with his own.
Tang Yu went rigid, his mind turning blank.
Ji Qian’ang was a head taller, and his hand engulfed Tang Yu’s. His palm was furnace-hot against Tang Yu’s cold fingers.
Guiding him, Ji Qian’ang slowly folded the mixture from the bottom, stroke after patient stroke.
“Shouldn’t it be done like this,” he murmured, “Chef Tang?”