Propped on one elbow, Ji Qian'ang half sat up and glanced at Tang Yu. "Nothing. Just now, my hand went numb too."
"I couldn't exactly leave it hanging there, could I?"
Tang Yu was speechless. The man was even more glib than he had imagined. He rolled his eyes, climbed briskly off Ji Qian'ang, and held out a hand with a dark expression. "My phone."
Ji Qian'ang sat upright, still gripping it. "I can delete the recording, but on one condition."
"Say it." Tang Yu watched suspiciously, wondering what wicked idea he had now.
Ji Qian'ang's answer stunned him. "From now on, don't endure a stomachache in silence. If you can't eat, say so immediately."
"And..." Ji Qian'ang rose, dusted his trousers, and bent close to Tang Yu's face. "Don't call my name in your dreams."
Tang Yu withdrew the respect he had felt a second earlier. Red with anger, he snatched back his phone and looked away. "As if I wanted to call you. Lunatic."
Ji Qian'ang merely chuckled, and even the sound seemed ill-intentioned.
They soon washed and dressed, then went downstairs one behind the other. Aunt Liu had requested leave not only for Tang Yu but for Ji Qian'ang as well.
Tang Yu grew gloomier. During his two days of recovery, he would have to stare at this sharp-tongued study companion. Whether his stomach recovered was uncertain; what if Ji Qian'ang angered him sick first?
His friends kept reminding him online to prepare for the performance. Apart from the simultaneous-interpretation exercises Grandmother assigned, Tang Yu spent his days at the Steinway, playing the piece again and again.
The two rarely met directly in the vast residence. Ji Qian'ang never entered the music room, yet he was always appearing by a window or doorway.
Watching Tang Yu concentrate at the piano drew Ji Qian'ang back to the past.
There had been a piano in the Ji family's great hall. His father, Ji Xing, was always working, while his mother, Han Yarong, was often absent from his life. Whenever she finally returned, young Ji Qian'ang followed her and asked where she had gone and why she never took him.
She never answered directly. Worse, every time he asked, her next absence lasted longer. Unable to understand why, he eventually stopped daring to ask.
Once, after he had not seen her for three months, she came home and offered to teach him piano. Rare delight broke through his cold face. Wearing a white dress, she sat beside him and guided his angular fingers through every note.
While he was immersed in that rare warm melody, chaos erupted. Countless strangers stormed the house, armed and ferocious.
Ji Qian'ang stood bewildered. A gunshot cracked. A hole appeared in Han Yarong's white dress, endless scarlet welling from it. Then his own world went black.
When he woke, antiseptic burned his nose and he lay in a hospital bed. His mother was dead.
He saw her next when his aunt took him to the cemetery. Han Yarong's gentle smile had become a black-and-white photograph fixed to stone. He could not believe it. Only moments ago, it seemed, she had guided his hands and softly said, "Qian'ang, play with Mama."
The Ji family collapsed overnight. Ji Xing fled overseas, leaving Ji Qian'ang alone in the empty mansion. Every curse and every debt fell upon him. Former friends avoided him, while Huo Chi, who had grown up with him, was abroad.
Unwilling to burden anyone but out of options, Ji Qian'ang contacted Huo Chi with one request: take his aunt and younger sister overseas, and do not contact him unless necessary. The Huo elders pitied him and allowed Huo Chi to help.
Ji Qian'ang had now lived in Repulse Bay for a month and a half, since early September, without contacting a single old acquaintance.
Mist clouded his mismatched eyes. His gaze abruptly met Tang Yu's. Both looked away, and Tang Yu struck one wrong note.
After Han Yarong died, Ji Qian'ang never touched a piano again until the day he first entered the Tang residence and played Tang Yu's instrument, provoking Tang Yu's fury. His handler had told him to play but never explained why.
He had expected the music to make Tang Yu happy. Instead Tang Yu became angry. Though destitute, Ji Qian'ang's pride would not let him bow, so after Tang Yu's outburst he deliberately added words to provoke him further. How absurd.
That day, Ji Qian'ang returned to the side room and found a box on the nightstand. Inside was a slice of Black Forest cake dusted with cocoa. He did not know who left it. Though not hungry, he ate every crumb. By the end, his gums ached and red welts covered his body.
During their three days at home, Ji Qian'ang diligently supervised Tang Yu's meals. To improve his appetite, the former young master of a shipping family tied on an apron and cooked personally.
Tang Yu doubted what he could make. In his heart, no one's cooking could surpass Tang Yifeng's.
When Ji Qian'ang served the dishes, Tang Yu looked disdainful and had no intention of tasting them. But Ji Qian'ang threatened him with the recording, so he compromised.
Frowning, he tried the tomato, beef, and scrambled eggs. Ji Qian'ang's cooking was utterly ordinary—yet Tang Yu clearly ate far more than before over the following evenings.
One evening Tang Yu was absorbed in a handheld game on the sofa when a cup crashed from a cabinet. He flinched and sent the console flying as a shrill "Defeat!" sounded.
Ji Qian'ang stood by the cabinet examining the tin of New Zealand milk powder.
Tang Yu needled him. "What, Brother Qian'ang? Still not tall enough? Want milk powder to grow some more? Or are you mocking me?"
Ji Qian'ang snorted and arched a brow. "You're every bit as sensitive as the hollow of your waist."
Tang Yu fell silent. However cold or cutting his own words, Ji Qian'ang could always choke him speechless.
After several more games, he found Ji Qian'ang handling the milk powder in the kitchen, half a glass already mixed beside him. Wearing an apron at the counter, only his firm back and the rear of his head were visible.
For an instant Tang Yu saw Tang Yifeng preparing food for him. His voice softened. "Finished supplementing yourself?"
Ji Qian'ang turned and noticed the unusual tenderness in his eyes, as if Tang Yu were looking through his skin toward something buried deeper. "What are you looking at?" he demanded.
"Nothing."
Ji Qian'ang drained the half glass. "Mediocre. Drink fewer supplements like this."
Tang Yu clenched his hem and protested softly, "I still have another year to grow."
"You care that much about your height?"
"If I don't care about my height, should I care about you?" Tang Yu shot back under his breath and went upstairs.
Ji Qian'ang watched him leave, then looked at the milk-powder tin and touched the sealed sample packet hidden in his pocket. His expression darkened.
On Tuesday, Uncle Chen drove them to South Island High. After class, Ji Xuecha eagerly pulled Tang Yu to the rehearsal room to combine their parts.
Carrying both their bags, Ji Qian'ang followed within a few steps. Tang Yu said nothing, tacitly allowing it.
The school had finalized arrangements for the anniversary gala, to be held Friday evening on the beach at Repulse Bay. Luo Yueze worried over his electric guitar and their costumes.
Seated like a spectator in the corner, Ji Qian'ang suggested, "Why not visit the shops while you have time?"
Tang Yu finally glanced at him. Ji Xuecha sprang from her chair in delight. "Great idea! Shall we rehearse twice, then go?" Everyone agreed.
That afternoon they visited several stores and settled every costume, mostly following Ji Qian'ang's advice. Tang Yu had not expected him to care so much about something unrelated to himself.
On Friday, dusk spread over the sea at Repulse Bay, hot wind bending the palm fronds. A temporary stage stood at the center of the beach, the ocean behind it and rows of seats before it. Pale-blue ribbons decorated the chairs as the audience gradually filled them.
Their draw placed the act near the middle. Backstage, everyone adjusted costumes while the prop team handled the instruments.
Amid the crowded bustle, Tang Yu stood beside the curtain. His fair face was sharp and somber, with pale brows, a high nose, and mysterious obsidian eyes. The red mole beneath the point of his chin appeared only when he lifted his head.