AVRL 3

Although the fact that Yu Tingzhi had also come put Meng Chi in a bit of a foul mood, he still went out to see Song Min and, in the process, figured out the relationship between Song Min and Yu Tingzhi.

Song Min was unaware of the minor rear-end collision, so as soon as Meng Chi appeared, he enthusiastically introduced them to each other. He explained that Yu Tingzhi was the older brother who lived next door to him—their families had been neighbors for over a decade and were very close. That evening, he’d even had dinner at Yu Tingzhi’s place, and afterward, they’d headed back to school together, passing by here and stopping in for a look, just in time to catch Meng Chi’s tea ceremony performance.

Meng Chi and Yu Tingzhi exchanged a glance and a nod, and by some unspoken mutual understanding, neither mentioned the morning’s accident, as if they didn’t know each other and this was their first meeting.

After a short while, Meng Chi was called away by Yang Zile to help with more work, and Yu Tingzhi and Song Min left Youran Teahouse together.

When Yu Tingzhi drove Song Min back to his school dormitory, Song Min asked again if he’d like to come along to the porcelain factory on the outskirts.

“Grandpa Yu’s vase was broken, wasn’t it? We could go see if there’s anything suitable there,” Song Min added.

This time, Yu Tingzhi didn’t stay silent but asked, “What time did you arrange with Meng Chi?”

Song Min was a bit taken aback that Yu Tingzhi used Meng Chi’s full name, since he’d only introduced him as “Teacher Meng” earlier. But then he quickly realized that there was an introduction to the tea artists on the wall at Youran Teahouse, so it wasn’t strange that Yu Tingzhi had seen it.

Song Min said he hadn’t set a specific time with Meng Chi yet, but since he only had evening classes on Wednesday, they’d probably settle on that day. Yu Tingzhi thought for a moment and told him to let him know once the time was set.

Song Min was quite happy about this.

But Meng Chi was anything but happy. Still, he couldn’t very well turn Song Min down, so he had no choice but to grit his teeth and accept this wonderfully strange date that had gone from a twosome to a threesome.

On Wednesday morning, Meng Chi got up early, washed his hair, took a shower, changed his clothes, and even spritzed on a tiny bit of cologne.

To ensure the tea’s aroma remained uncontaminated, tea artists generally avoided scented hand creams, perfumes, and the like. Meng Chi even used unscented hand soap and body wash. The sandalwood-scented cologne he’d dug out was a gift Yang Zile had received from somewhere; because its fragrance was subtle and elegant, reminiscent of the sandalwood incense Meng Chi often burned, he allowed himself that single spritz. Anyway, his master Yang Zhengfeng would be performing today, so no one would care whether he smelled nice or not.

“Why are you up so early today? And wearing cologne? Where are you off to?” Yang Zile shuffled out of the second bedroom with a bedhead and spotted Meng Chi standing in the kitchen with a cup of honey pomelo tea.

Meng Chi gave a casual “mm” without saying where he was going. After finishing his homemade honey pomelo tea and wiping his mouth with a tissue, he was about to head out.

“Hey, hey, wait for me,” Yang Zile immediately grabbed his schoolbag and chased after him, asking Meng Chi to drop him off at school on the way.

“I’m not driving,” Meng Chi said.

Originally, he had planned to drive, but since it was out of the way, Song Min had said Yu Tingzhi would drive over from school to pick him up, saving Meng Chi the hassle of going back and forth, so Meng Chi had no choice but to agree.

Yang Zile wasn’t disappointed. As he followed Meng Chi into the elevator, he asked, “Have you thought about that thing I mentioned?”

“What thing?” Meng Chi asked.

“You know, being a model for She Shan.” Yang Zile got excited just talking about it. “I looked it up. She Shan might not be a big-name photographer, but he’s won quite a few awards.”

The name She Shan was both familiar and unfamiliar to Meng Chi—familiar because he’d heard it and seen him before; unfamiliar because that was seven years ago.

Seven years ago, Meng Chi was still a drifter doing odd jobs here and there. He’d washed dishes at restaurants, peddled alcohol at taverns, and even worked as a life model at an art studio—the kind that kept his pants on.

It was then that he’d run into She Shan, a photographer scouting for inspiration. For some reason, She Shan saw something in Meng Chi, insisting he had a peculiar quality. He followed Meng Chi around for three days, begging him to model for a photo series he wanted to enter in a competition.

Meng Chi was strapped for cash and couldn’t shake him off, so he agreed.

She Shan found a random patch of overgrown wilderness on the outskirts as the shooting location, brought in a bunch of brambles, wrapped and tied them around, and had Meng Chi take off his clothes and roll around in the wild grass, shooting a series he titled Wild Spring.

Afterward, She Shan paid Meng Chi a fee and even took him to Youran Tea Shop for a drink. It was there that Meng Chi saw Yang Zhengfeng casually brewing tea with a purple clay pot—and more importantly, the help-wanted sign behind him: “Apprentice wanted, room and board included.”

And so Meng Chi stayed.

That stay lasted seven years. He went from a hired helper to Yang Zhengfeng’s apprentice, becoming part of Youran Teahouse.

He didn’t know if She Shan had won any awards with that series; they hadn’t exchanged contact information at the time. In the beginning, Meng Chi even suspected that this unreliable man might not really be a photographer but some kind of con artist. If it hadn’t been for the prompt payment, Meng Chi wouldn’t have agreed.

Now, if She Shan hadn’t recognized Meng Chi from that suddenly viral video, their paths might never have crossed again in this lifetime.

“Besides, it’s not your first time working with him. And this time, we can ride on his coattails—he’s got at least two hundred thousand followers on Weibo,” Yang Zile said. “That video only got some buzz because marketing accounts reposted it. Our teahouse’s Weibo barely gained any followers at all. Look at the shop now—crowds are thinning out again.”

That was true enough. Internet traffic comes and goes fast; relying on one accidental viral moment to keep customers coming in would be wishful thinking. Otherwise, brick-and-mortar businesses wouldn’t be so deserted and facing closure left and right.

Even so, Meng Chi still didn’t want to cash in on that kind of hype.

“Just focus on your studies. Why worry about all this? Can’t we still support you? Do I really have to sell my body?” Meng Chi said.

By now, they’d reached the entrance of the residential complex. His remark drew glances from several elderly women nearby. Yang Zile, used to Meng Chi’s way of talking, chuckled and said, “This isn’t selling your body—at most, it’s cashing in on your looks.”

Meng Chi clicked his tongue and raised his hand as if to cuff him, but Yang Zile darted away. “I’m off to school! I’ll give you one more day to think it over!”

“Hey, you little brat.” Meng Chi lifted his leg as if to kick him, just as his phone started buzzing.

Five minutes later, a silver-gray Lexus ES pulled up in front of the gate of the residential complex where Meng Chi lived.

Near Youran Teahouse, in another residential area, Yang Zhengfeng owned a small villa. When Meng Chi first arrived, as an apprentice, he’d lived in the teahouse itself, responsible for opening and closing it each day.

Later, after a break-in at the shop, Meng Chi got slightly injured while trying to retrieve a set of purple clay teapots that Yang Zhengfeng had treasured for years. Yang Zhengfeng then formally took him on as a disciple and invited him to live at his home.

He lived there for three years. When Meng Chi turned twenty and obtained his初级 tea artist certification, he moved out of that small villa and rented a two-bedroom apartment in Jingya Residential Complex, where he’d lived ever since.

Because it was close to the affiliated high school, and because Yang Zile couldn’t stand his father’s nagging, he’d also moved in with Meng Chi. The two of them usually only went back together for Sunday dinners at the villa.

Jingya Residential Complex wasn’t a high-end neighborhood, so nice cars were rare. Thus, when this silver-gray Lexus ES pulled up in front of Meng Chi, he couldn’t help but give it a second look.

Not for any particular reason—two years ago, when he was buying his own car, this very model had been his first choice, but it was over his budget, so he’d settled for the Audi instead.

Before the car had even come to a complete stop, Song Min, sitting in the passenger seat, rolled down the window and greeted Meng Chi with a beaming smile.

Through the wide-open window, Meng Chi naturally saw Yu Tingzhi as well. In contrast to Song Min’s cheerful expression, Yu Tingzhi’s face was decidedly cold.

As Meng Chi walked over quickly, he thought to himself that this Teacher Yu must be quite well-off, with a nice car like this.

“Teacher Meng, have you had breakfast?” Song Min turned his head and asked as Meng Chi opened the back door and got in. “I bought hot milk and a panini.”

Perhaps because years of smelling tea had honed his sense of smell, Meng Chi was very particular about scents. As soon as he opened the car door, he detected, beneath the light woody fragrance of the car’s air freshener, a hint of milk and the smell of food.

Actually, Yu Tingzhi’s car freshener had a very pleasant scent that completely masked the leather smell, but once mixed with the food odors, it wasn’t quite as pleasant.

Still, that minor unpleasantness became irrelevant when he heard that Song Min had also prepared breakfast for him.

Unfortunately, Meng Chi had already eaten.

“I’ve already eaten,” Meng Chi said, then noticed that Song Min was only wearing a round-neck sweatshirt. He added, “You shouldn’t wear so little—it’s windy out in the suburbs; you might catch a cold.”

“It’s okay, I brought a jacket,” Song Min said with a smile, tilting his chin toward the back seat. “It’s right there.”

Only then did Meng Chi notice a paper bag from a luxury brand sitting on the back seat, containing a beige cotton jacket.

So Song Min was from a well-off family too—well, that made sense, since he was Yu Tingzhi’s neighbor.

Meng Chi nodded and said no more. But as he withdrew his gaze, he caught Yu Tingzhi’s eyes in the rearview mirror. After a one-second pause, Meng Chi offered a faint smile and looked away.

The car pulled away smoothly, with only the muted roar of the engine, mostly blocked by the windows.

Song Min sipped his milk through a straw, occasionally chatting with Yu Tingzhi about school courses and amusing classroom anecdotes. Yu Tingzhi’s responses were brief. Only when Song Min complained that he hadn’t managed to enroll in Yu Tingzhi’s art history or philosophy classes and had ended up with other instructors whose lectures made him drowsy did Yu Tingzhi remark that, given his major, those courses weren’t really necessary.

“But I’m genuinely interested in those subjects,” Song Min said. “Teacher Chen’s lectures are so boring—nothing like your clear and accessible explanations.”

To this flattery, Yu Tingzhi remained silent. Meng Chi, who had been ignored all along, found it a bit hard to take. Just as they passed a certain intersection, he noticed Yu Tingzhi signal and change lanes. Clearing his throat, Meng Chi spoke up: “Don’t take Xinjian Street. It’s a rough road at this hour.”

Yu Tingzhi glanced at him in the rearview mirror, gave an “mm,” and said, “I know.”

Meng Chi regretted it the moment he said it. Of course Yu Tingzhi knew how rough Xinjian Street was—they’d had a rear-end collision there just three days ago.

He said nothing more, turning his head to look at the traffic outside. The car fell into a brief silence. A few minutes later, after they’d left the urban area, Yu Tingzhi suddenly pulled over at a fork in the road.

“What’s wrong?” Song Min asked.

“I’m not very familiar with this stretch of road,” Yu Tingzhi said. “Let Teacher Meng sit in the front.”

Song Min was taken aback, and so was Meng Chi. He thought to say, “You could just use the GPS,” but Song Min had already obediently opened his door.

Through the narrow frame of the rearview mirror, Meng Chi could only see Yu Tingzhi’s lowered eyelids, his expression obscured beneath long lashes.

After switching seats, the light woody fragrance became stronger, and so did the food smells—not a pleasant combination.

Meng Chi pulled the seatbelt across, but the buckle didn’t catch, and for some reason the belt got stuck. As he fiddled with it using his right hand, a shadow suddenly fell over him.

A warm, light breeze swept past, and the complex, unpleasant odors were replaced by a warm yet cool oceanic scent. Meng Chi instinctively leaned back until his back pressed against the seat, with nowhere to retreat, and found himself staring at Yu Tingzhi’s magnified profile in front of him.

To be fair, Yu Tingzhi’s face truly was “dream guy” material, especially his eyes—with thin, wide eyelids and upturned outer corners that weren’t sharp but carried a cool, elegant charm. His irises were slightly light, appearing a pale brown in the sunlight, translucent as glass. The longer you looked, the more it seemed they could steal your soul away.

Even if Meng Chi wasn’t typically drawn to this type, he couldn’t resist the assault of such striking beauty.

The close proximity lasted only a moment—perhaps just a few seconds—before Yu Tingzhi had adjusted the seatbelt, clicked it into the buckle, and sat back in his seat. But that faint oceanic scent lingered in Meng Chi’s nostrils, refusing to dissipate.

Sitting in the back earlier, he hadn’t noticed. Now, in the passenger seat, even with his face turned toward the window, his peripheral vision inevitably caught Yu Tingzhi’s hands resting on the steering wheel.

Meng Chi suddenly recalled a TV drama that said a man looked his best in three moments. He couldn’t remember the other two, but one was driving with one hand on the wheel.

Right now, Yu Tingzhi was steering with both hands and still looked good—but what Meng Chi cared about were those two hands.

The injured areas had healed, swelling gone, restoring their original smooth contours, with only a very faint purplish mark remaining. Under the bright sunlight, those hands sometimes tensed, sometimes relaxed, like a living work of art, that purple mark the imperfect beauty of imperfection.

“Teacher Meng, which way should we go?” Yu Tingzhi suddenly asked, interrupting Meng Chi’s surreptitious glances.

Meng Chi blinked, focused on the road ahead, and answered, “Turn right up ahead.”

Yu Tingzhi turned the wheel, and the car veered right. By now they’d entered the suburbs; the tall city buildings on either side had vanished, replaced by woods just beginning to sprout green buds.

“Do you come here often to pick out tea ware?” Yu Tingzhi asked again.

“Yes, he does!”

Before Meng Chi could speak, Song Min from the back seat answered for him. “Teacher Meng says the porcelain from the kilns around here is just as good as the big-name factories, and since it’s close by, it’s only natural to support local brands.”

Meng Chi neither confirmed nor denied it. He turned his head to look at Song Min, his signature roguish grin appearing on his face. “Hey, Song Min, can you stop calling me ‘Teacher’? I’m not even two years older than you, and you’re making me sound like a generation older. Besides, I’m no teacher—now Teacher Yu over there is the real deal.”

Song Min laughed from the back seat. “Brother Tingzhi is indeed a teacher, but not exactly mine.”

Since he’d never taught him.

“If I don’t call you Teacher Meng, then… hmm…”

While Song Min was pondering a suitable alternative, Yu Tingzhi suddenly said to Meng Chi, “In that case, don’t call me Teacher Yu either.”

Meng Chi raised an eyebrow slightly, thinking, Why are you butting in now?

Noticing his gaze, Yu Tingzhi glanced sideways and added, “Just call me ‘ge ge,’ the way Song Min does.”