Despite so small grievances between them, Shi Nian still took care of Tang Yanqing as she should. The next morning, after waking up, she got up and went to the bathroom to freshen up, then changed the water for the dried orange peel she had soaked.
He followed her in with light steps, and she could tell he was standing at the door.
In her mind, she could picture the scene: him leaning against the door fra with folded arms, one foot raised, his toe touching the ground.
A bit lazy, a bit trying to be cool.
She laughed to herself: What’s the point of showing off in the darkness if no one can see?
She pretended she didn’t know he was there, and continued to carefully change the water. Yet, the image before her grew ever clearer, making her furrow her brow... was she seeing it? And seeing it clearly.
She couldn’t help but sigh softly, and broke the ice first: "This dried orange peel is surely incredible. I heard my mom say that the taste of dried orange peel changes with age. Those under 10 years have a tangy aroma due to the fruit acid and moisture; between 10 and 20 years, the tanginess is gone, leaving just the fragrance; and after 20 years, you get pure aroma."
"I’ve changed the water several tis with this peel, yet it still slls fresh and fragrant. It must be at least over 10 years, or maybe even over 20 years old."
He smiled in the darkness, his heart feeling reassured.
He had instructed Gu Yong and the others to find the finest 30-year Guang Chen.
He had heard her speak of how her mom hesitated to use the expensive 10-year Guang Chen she bought for her father, feeling heartache inside, so he was determined she should at least have a taste of the 30-year-old.
As for the dozen or so 70-year-old Guang Chen jars stored at his ho, they don’t even need ntioning. Experts valued them at offering 20 million Hong Kong Dollars. He’s already planning to take those jars ho secretly and hide them.
In his heart, the dried orange peel was just fruit skin; the value wasn’t in the skin itself but in the word "Chen." "Chen" represented ti, hope embedded through repeated drying and selection over ti, the emotions poured in. That’s the essence of ti, that’s how people reveal their hearts with ti.
So in recent years, the price of Guang Chen rose dramatically. So treat it like Pu’er tea speculation, emphasizing the collection value of dried orange peel; yet for him, his willing acknowledgnt of this hype lies only in the word "Chen".
He still couldn’t speak, but she felt she could hear his soft laughter. Her hand paused, her heartbeat skipped a beat: "Could it be, did I guess right, it’s really over 20 years old?"
He silently sighed, stepped forward, and grabbed her wrist to lead her out.
The "20 years" or whatever number was really insignificant. He didn’t want her to fret over it.
Shi Nian couldn’t help but feel gratitude, following him back to the sofa, thinking a lot but ultimately only able to utter two words: "Thank you."
Sitting down, he took her hand and carefully wrote, "Not angry, okay?"
But she couldn’t decipher it, struggling to hold back the tickleness, only able to let out fragnted breaths and low soft laughs.
His heart surged with familiar unfamiliarity once again.
Since sorting out his feelings, he better understood this rush of unfamiliar yet familiar feelings—it was yearning, a desire to be close to her. Whenever she laughed like this, battling ticklishness, his heart would itch along with her. In such monts, he wished to hold her tight and make her laugh even more.
He took a deep breath, tried hard to write that sentence a few more tis.
Fortunately, "Not angry" had simple strokes, easily guessed. She finally figured it out, sighed softly in the dark, and carefully explained: "Actually, I’m not angry with you. Or rather, it’s not that you have done anything wrong."
How could she explain this delicate emotion?
It was a girl’s intuition telling her that this gentle, mischievous boy in the darkness had developed strange feelings toward her. She knew but absolutely couldn’t accept. Yet, the darkness inexplicably brought them closer, making it too late to pretend not knowing.
So all she could do was resist, cold-facedly try to forcibly distance themselves.
But, thinking objectively, this approach wasn’t necessarily the most appropriate, nor was it fair to him. The problems all stemd from her overly sharp intuition, yet utterly inexperienced in matters of love, unsure how to better manage such situations.
She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, "Do you know, I also feel that the ti we’ve relied on each other is a rare part of my life. I’m very grateful for your company, I really enjoy this mode of interaction."
"It’s just, I consider you as a younger brother. Though I don’t know your real age, I feel your character is like a younger brother. I want to protect you, take care of you. Do you understand?"
His ears rang.
Brother? Damn the brother!
He grabbed her hand again, and firmly wrote "No" on her palm!
Simple strokes, representing a profoundly intense emotion. She was startled. And after calming down, could only deliberately change the subject, laughingly asking: "All right, bla . Now, tell how old you are."
After asking his age, she could only sigh inwardly. So, he was indeed older than her, no wonder he reacted so intensely at the idea of being a younger brother.
Next, she asked his na.
He wrote repeatedly, but the strokes were too many for her to decipher imdiately, only knowing first it was three dots of water, then later four dots, couldn’t help but asked with a laugh: "Are you so thirsty for water invisibly?"
He was exasperated, and reluctantly let go of her hand.
If he kept insisting on writing, her palm would swell from scratching.
Yet she misunderstood, cautiously moved closer, and quietly asked: "Are you angry again? Okay, I know I’m clumsy in guessing. Won’t you write a few more tis?"
He sat in the dark, his eyes filled with indignation.
Said he was older than her, but her attitude still treated him as a younger brother, didn’t it?
She offered her little hand to him, placed it into his firmly clasped palm, deliberately opened it flat: "Write it again, I promise to guess hard."
His heart swelled with sour sweetness.
The identity he had always dared not reveal to her couldn’t help but erge, urging him to write down that na.
Ultimately, he still unwillingly wanted to know her real attitude toward the him online.
Was he really just an ordinary internet friend, really inferior to the policeman in her heart?
Could she only treat him as a younger brother, really have no other feelings?
He clenched his teeth and wrote the simplest stroke "Seven" on her palm.
She froze for a mont, then guessed randomly: "Seven? Seven what? Seven dwarves?"
He was so angry he wanted to bite her. She completely failed to connect it to the him online.
Taking a deep breath, he began to draw a swallow in her palm.
She tilted her head to feel, couldn’t help but ask: "Y? YYY?"
"Equation? YY? Or your na’s initials, surna Ye, Yin, Yue?"
Listening to her wild guesses, he was filled with grief.
She truly didn’t have a deep impression of him, really couldn’t imdiately link it to the him online? He thought she spent all her spare ti online with him, had confidently deduced she must not have ti to go out on dates, so definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.
Did he get it all wrong?
Even the word "policeman" she ntioned, he wasn’t entirely insensitive. He knew her father had many students, and heard Gu Yong ntion one particularly close to her family, reportedly her classmate...
Was it all a misunderstanding on his part, shouldn’t have lingered on her mind, shouldn’t have impulsively crossed the ocean to see her... Did this an all this shouldn’t have happened now?
For those three years, was he the only one feeling heartbeats, the only one misinterpreting the feelings?
The more he drew, the heavier his fingers beca, ultimately unable to continue, and released his grip.
Though he couldn’t speak, Shi Nian still sensed him suddenly becoming lonely.
She furrowed her brow: "Could it be, instead of writing the letter Y, you were drawing a bird?"
"Adding the front seven... Uh, what does it an, you’re trying to say your na is Seven Birds, or Niao Qi?"
Could anyone have such an odd na? Instead, it sounds like a nickna, like those of the group who kidnapped her, such as soone called Xiao Mao and another Gun Si, making it hard to discern their true identities.
Thinking of this, Shi Nian suddenly felt a jolt.
The suspicion she had before suddenly resurfaced. She had repressed it, reminding herself not to imagine everything was bad.
For example, what was his identity, if he was a captive too, how could he ask the kidnappers to make dried orange peel duck with high-grade ingredients?
Furthermore, he was almost daily called out alone by the kidnappers. She worried he might be interrogated, beaten, yet every ti he returned unscathed... what was he doing out there?
If she were just an ordinary girl, not naturally fond of reasoning, perhaps she wouldn’t think so much. Unfortunately, those were just hypotheticals, she couldn’t help but suspect him now.
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