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Join the ServerThe name “Chu Siran” sat quietly at the very top of his message list, his jet-black avatar frame remaining completely silent.
Ji Xu rolled over to lie on his stomach on the sofa, resting his chin on the armrest and holding his phone upright before his face.
His fingers tapped away on the screen rapidly, making a tap-tap-tap sound like a woodpecker.
He typed at high speed, crackling away about winning eight matches and losing three today, mentioning how timely his shield was in that final team fight, complaining that the enemy Jungler was as dumb as a wandering jungle creep, and whining about how every teammate he got after a winning streak was more ridiculous than the last.
Every sentence was followed by three or four emojis—either a cat giving a thumbs-up or a round-faced stick figure jumping up and down.
Chu Siran’s replies were forever brief.
Most of the time it was “Mm” or “Okay,” and occasionally he’d reply with “Indeed” or “Not bad,” not even bothering to type a period.
Ji Xu sent over a string of messages, and after a minute or two, two or three words would pop up on the other end.
Anyone else might have found it boring long ago, but not Ji Xu.
Holding his phone before his eyes and looking at those two or three words sent back by Chu Siran, he always felt he could read something between the strokes.
Maybe the guy was just a man of few words who didn’t like typing, but after inviting him to pair up and sending a red packet today, he couldn’t possibly be completely uninterested.
Besides, even if the guy truly was just casually replying with a few words, Ji Xu wasn’t losing out—he had accepted an eight-hundred-and-eighty-eight-yuan red packet, so saying a few nice words wouldn’t cost him anything.
He converted his thoughts into text, sending: “I had so much fun playing today! Can I play with Gege again next time?”, followed by an eager, wide-eyed emoji.
This time Chu Siran replied a bit faster, a message popping up after about seven or eight seconds: “Anytime.”
Looking at those two words, the corners of Ji Xu’s mouth curved upward.
Leaning back, he clapped his phone against his chest and stared at the dust-covered ceiling light, mentally making calculations.
This guy was likely a big spender who didn’t lack money, generous with his cash, played games well, and though quiet, probably had a decent temper since he didn’t get annoyed after being chattered at all afternoon.
Such a gaming buddy was hard to find even with a lantern, so he definitely had to nurture this relationship well in the future.
As he thought, he picked up his phone again and sent: “Then call me whenever Gege is free, I’m available anytime,” followed by a row of little hearts.
Chu Siran replied with a period.
Ji Xu automatically translated this period into “Okay.”
The sky outside the window began to shift, transitioning from light blue to a warm orange-pink, the distant rooftops dyed with a gold border.
As Ji Xu chatted on, his stomach suddenly let out a rumble—not loud, but sounding exceptionally clear.
He pressed down on his stomach and realized that the bowl of porridge and buns from noon was already five or six hours ago.
Exiting the chat interface to check the time, it was seven past six; his phone battery had dropped to twenty percent, a red low-battery warning lit up in the top-left corner of the screen.
He climbed up from the sofa, plugged his phone into the charging cable, and got up to check the spare change box by the door.
When messaging Rong Du, he was squatting beside the shoe cabinet, clutching a few bills of spare change from the tin box in his hand.
“Rong Du, when are you coming back?” After sending the message, he leaned against the wall to wait, his fingers rubbing the edges of the banknotes.
The phone vibrated: “Probably after nine, no need to wait for me.”
A note followed: “There are still vegetables in the fridge, just heat them up.”
Ji Xu read that “after nine” twice, stuffed his phone into his pocket, and put on his shoes at the door.
The alley downstairs came alive at this hour, warm-colored lights switching on in the shops on both sides.
White steam from the spicy hot pot stall drifted upward, mixing with the scent of chili and Sichuan pepper as it seeped into his nostrils.
He picked a shop that looked relatively clean, took a plastic basket, and squatted in front of the display freezer to pick ingredients: dried tofu skin, lotus root slices, potatoes, enoki mushrooms, and luncheon meat.
After picking a few skewers of meat and veggies, the shopkeeper looked up at him as he handed them over and remarked, “Handsome young man, aren’t you?”
Ji Xu smiled, his ears turning slightly warm as he handed over the money.
When the spicy hot pot was served, it was steaming hot, red oil floating on the surface with a dense layer of sesame seeds sprinkled over it.
He snapped open disposable chopsticks and dug in, a thin layer of sweat breaking out on his forehead from the spice, the numbing sensation on his tongue spreading from his mouth all the way to the roots of his ears.
Halfway through eating, he looked up, his gaze passing through the red “Spicy Hot Pot” lettering stuck on the glass door of the small shop, landing on the display window of the dessert shop diagonally opposite.
Behind the glass stood a row of delicate cakes—piped with cream, topped with piled fruit, and glazed with chocolate—glowing under the warm yellow spotlights.
Chewing on the potato slice in his mouth, Ji Xu’s eyes remained glued to that row of cakes, unable to look away.
The one on the far left was a mango mille-feuille: golden crepe layers and white cream stacked into neat tiers, topped with large chunks of mango flesh and finely crushed pistachios, with a mint leaf tucked beside them.
Ji Xu lowered his head to continue eating his spicy hot pot, his chopsticks stirring the glass noodles in his bowl, yet the image of that mango mille-feuille kept lingering in his mind.
He glanced down at the charging port of his phone, then remembered the pitiably low figure on his account.
Setting down his chopsticks, he pulled out his phone, stared at the balance for a few seconds, and then swiped his thumb to open that red packet record.
Eight hundred and eighty-eight.
The numbers lay there quietly, as if telling him that he could afford a slice of cake.
Wiping his mouth, he pushed the bowl of spicy hot pot forward, stood up, and walked out.
As he pushed open the door of the dessert shop, a rush of cold air and sweet fragrance hit him simultaneously.
The clerk behind the counter was a young girl with a ponytail; seeing him walk in, her eyes lit up.
Ji Xu walked over to the counter, bent down to check the prices of the cakes in the glass display, his eyes lingering briefly on the mango mille-feuille.
Thirty-eight yuan.
He hesitated for about three seconds before looking up at the clerk with a smile: “I’d like a mango mille-feuille.”
The clerk girl nimbly retrieved the cake from the display case, packed it into a small white paper box, and tied a bow with a ribbon.
When Ji Xu carried the paper box out of the shop, it felt delightfully heavy in his hand, the sweet aroma of mango and cream wafting out through the cracks of the box.
By the time he returned to the rented apartment, dusk had settled completely, and the voice-activated lights in the stairwell required two stomps of his feet to light up.
Unlocking the door, he didn’t turn on the main living room light, placing the cake box carefully on the coffee table first.
Untying the ribbon and lifting the box lid, the mango mille-feuille lay inside quietly, neatly layered.
The golden crepe on top faintly reflected the twilight filtering in from the window, and the bright yellow mango chunks cut into even pieces made one’s mood brighten just looking at them.
Ji Xu leaned in closer to take a sniff, the sweet scent of cream instantly filling his nostrils.
Picking up the included small plastic fork, he aimed the tip at the mango chunk right in the middle of the cake, pressing against it without poking through for the longest time.
After a moment, he set the fork down, closed the box lid again, loosely wrapped the ribbon around it once, picked up the cake box, stood up, pulled open the refrigerator door, and placed it right in the middle shelf of the fridge.
He took another glance before closing the door—the white paper box lay quietly between the two shelves, flanked by a handful of greens and a box of eggs Rong Du had bought yesterday.
Ji Xu shut the fridge door and sat back on the sofa.
His phone was still plugged into the charging cable; he unplugged it to take a look—there were no new messages from Chu Siran.
Switching to his chat interface with Rong Du, the last message still remained on that “after nine”.
Placing his phone on the coffee table and resting his hands on his knees, he zoned out facing the empty living room for a while.
The sound of cars passing echoed outside, the rustle of tires rolling over the road approaching from far to near, then from near to far, before completely vanishing at the end of the alley.
Footsteps sounded in the stairwell—heavy and slow—stopping on a certain floor, followed by the sound of a key inserting into a lock, and a loud bang of a door closing.
Ji Xu pricked up his ears to listen for a long time, but the footsteps didn’t continue upward; it wasn’t Rong Du.
Shrinking back into the sofa, he held a cushion in his arms, resting his chin on the soft surface as his eyelids gradually grew heavy.
Not knowing how much time had passed, he dazedly felt for his phone again to take a look—8:43 PM.
Soon now, just a dozen more minutes.
He wanted to hold out a bit longer, but his body wouldn’t cooperate; the sofa was too soft, and a cool night breeze blew in through the window, feeling just right against his face.
Holding the cushion, he leaned his body sideways, tilting his head to rest against the corner of the sofa backrest; once his eyelids closed, they didn’t open again.
When Rong Du returned, the light in the living room was on.
Pushing open the door, he saw the white light from the ceiling lamp spilling over the whole room, Ji Xu’s phone placed on the coffee table with its charging cable dangling off the edge, the screen completely dark and quiet.
Ji Xu was slumped in the corner of the sofa, curled up into a small ball with his head buried in the cushion.
His cheek was pressed slightly out of shape by the pillow surface, his mouth parted a tiny bit, breathing evenly and deeply.
The hem of his T-shirt had rolled up a notch, exposing a small patch of skin on his waist that glowed fair under the lamp light.
Rong Du stood at the doorway watching him for a few seconds, unconsciously softening his footsteps.
He walked over and bent down, reaching one hand behind Ji Xu’s neck and passing the other beneath his knees, preparing to lift him up.
The moment his fingers touched Ji Xu’s back, Ji Xu’s eyelashes fluttered, his eyelids opening a crack with difficulty.
“Rong Du…” Ji Xu’s voice was soft and sticky, carrying the raspiness of having just woken up, his mouth opening as he mumbled indistinctly, “Why are you only coming back now?”
His eyes were half-open, a watery sheen hovering in his pupils, his focus scattering for a second before refocusing.
That sliver of conscious awareness after waking made him tilt his head back to lift his face from the cushion, leaving a shallow red crease pressed onto the bridge of his nose.
Rong Du squatted down beside him, his knees touching the floor, looking at Ji Xu on the sofa at eye level.
He reached out and ruffled Ji Xu’s hair; it was soft, carrying the faint lingering fragrance of shampoo: “Didn’t I tell you not to wait for me? What time is it? Go sleep in the bedroom if you’re tired.”
Ji Xu hugged the cushion in his arms even tighter, blinking hard as if trying to squeeze the sleepiness out of his eyes.
He turned his head to glance at his phone on the coffee table; the screen was dark, so he pressed the side button—9:23 PM.
“I bought a small cake,” he said, his voice still carrying a slight nasal tone from sleep, “I wanted to wait for you so we could eat it together.”
Rong Du’s movement paused.
He looked into Ji Xu’s eyes; those eyes still held the residual grogginess of sleep, yet they were bright, reflecting tiny fragments of the living room light.
Ji Xu sat up from the sofa, cross-legged, reaching out to grab the phone on the coffee table before pausing as if remembering something, turning to look at Rong Du: “I’ll go get it.”
Rong Du pressed his shoulders to push him back down onto the sofa: “I’ll get it.”
He stood up, walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and instantly saw that white paper box on the middle shelf.
When he brought the box out, his fingers touched the side of the paper box—it was cool, with a subtle scent of cream seeping out.
Returning to the living room, he set the cake box on the coffee table, untied the ribbon, and lifted the lid.
The mango mille-feuille lay inside perfectly intact, tiers of crepe and cream stacked neatly, the mango chunks glistening under the light.
Rong Du glanced at that clean cut—Ji Xu definitely hadn’t touched it before, not even grazing the edges.
He pulled out the plastic fork and handed it to Ji Xu.
Taking it, Ji Xu didn’t scoop the first bite into his own mouth; instead, he carved out a generous spoonful, a thick layer of cream and crepe impaled on the fork tips, with a chunk of mango teetering on the edge, holding the fork out toward Rong Du.
“You eat first.”
Rong Du looked at the spoon of cake extended before him, then looked at Ji Xu’s face.
Ji Xu’s eyes were bright and curved, the corners of his mouth carrying an expectant smile, holding the fork steadily without the slightest hesitation.
Lowering his head slightly, Rong Du took a bite.
The cream was dense, the crepe soft yet chewy, and the refreshing sweetness of the mango melted across his tongue, carrying a perfectly refreshing chill.
Watching Rong Du’s mouth move, Ji Xu hurriedly asked, “Is it good?”
Rong Du chewed twice, swallowed, and nodded: “Mm.”
Only then did Ji Xu stuff the remaining half spoonful into his own mouth, his cheeks puffing out as he chewed with narrowed eyes.
Rong Du sat on the edge of the sofa opposite him, taking another bite of the cake, leaving a dab of cream at the corner of his mouth.
Noticing it, Ji Xu pointed a finger at his own mouth: “Right here.”
Rong Du wiped it with his thumb, removing that dab of cream, a sweet aftertaste lingering on his fingertip.
Taking turns bite by bite, the two shared and finished that modest-sized mango mille-feuille.
For the last few bites, Ji Xu picked up the paper box directly and scraped it with his fork, cleaning off every bit of cream stuck to the edges before handing the box to Rong Du: “Your turn.”
Looking at the thin layer of cream smudges at the bottom of the box, Rong Du took it and scraped it once with the fork, stuffing it into his mouth.
Once the paper box was empty, Ji Xu folded it up, tossed it into the trash can, ran back to the sofa to sit down, and unconsciously touched the corner of his mouth with his fingers.
The sweet taste of cream and mango still lingered on the tip of his tongue.
Rong Du sat down beside him, the sofa dipping slightly, narrowing the distance between them to less than a fist’s width.
Turning his head to look at him, Rong Du’s gaze held a hint of scrutiny: “What did you do at home today?”
Leaning against the back of the sofa, Ji Xu tilted his head and thought: “Played games.”
He hesitated for a moment, ultimately keeping Chu Siran’s red packet to himself, choosing another phrasing instead: “Met a new friend, really good at playing games.”
“That’s nice,” Rong Du said.
He didn’t pry further, merely reaching out to smooth down the rolled-up hem of Ji Xu’s T-shirt, his palm pressing against Ji Xu’s waist through that thin layer of cotton fabric: “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
Ji Xu’s ears turned warm again, a wave of cozy heat radiating from where Rong Du’s palm pressed.
Shrinking his waist slightly, he leaned to the side, yet couldn’t help leaning back.
“We’ll see tomorrow,” he let out a yawn, genuinely tired this time, his eyelids growing too heavy to keep open.
Rong Du stood up and offered him a hand; Ji Xu took that hand to pull himself up, and the two walked into the bedroom one after the other.
By the time Ji Xu slid under the duvet, the honey scent on the pillow and blanket had faded.
Rong Du turned off the living room lights, washed up, walked back into the bedroom, and lay down on the other side of the bed.
The mattress vibrated slightly.
Half-asleep and half-awake, Ji Xu turned over to face Rong Du’s direction, his mouth moving as he mumbled something indistinctly, his voice too quiet for Rong Du to hear clearly.
Tilting his head, Rong Du looked at Ji Xu’s outline by the sliver of streetlamp light filtering through the curtain gap.
Ji Xu was already fast asleep, his eyelashes closed, his breathing shallow and steady, his lips slightly upturned as if still savoring the sweetness of the cake.
Rong Du watched him for a while, reached out to pull the duvet higher to cover his exposed shoulder, then closed his eyes, slowly sinking into sleep amidst the air mingled with the scent of honey and mango.
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Read : Transmigrated Into a World With a Wife
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