AVRL 36

Yu Tingzhi’s left arm was pillowing the back of Meng Chi’s head, while his right arm rested across him; the two were face to face. The moment Meng Chi lifted his head he saw Yu Tingzhi’s sharply defined jawline and dry, slightly reddened lips.

Meng Chi remembered that last night he had been a good eight zhang away from him. He had no idea how they had ended up in such an intimate sleeping position.

After a moment of stunned silence, Meng Chi carefully lifted the hand that lay across his waist. He had just turned over, preparing to slip quietly out of the embrace, when the arm behind him grew heavy and pressed him right back in.

Thus their posture changed from face-to-face to a back-hugging hold.

“Awake?” Meng Chi tested the waters with a soft voice. Yet apart from the gentle breathing, there was no response.

The breathing of a sleeping person and a waking person was different. From this alone Meng Chi could be certain that Yu Tingzhi was not awake; the movement had been only an instinctive reaction.

He felt speechless for a second, then involuntarily began to speculate about how Yu Tingzhi had developed this habit of scooping people up and holding them while sleeping.

Yu Tingzhi’s breathing was long and even. Meng Chi could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, and he could also feel a light, warm stream of air circulating over the skin behind his ear, raising successive waves of tingling itch.

Right after waking in the morning one was already prone to a physiological reaction; now it was even stronger. While chanting sutras to himself, Meng Chi searched with his eyes for his phone—and then spotted a large patch of wet stains on the place where he had fallen asleep last night.

Shit.

Meng Chi cursed inwardly and immediately understood why he and Yu Tingzhi had ended up tangled together in sleep.

After cooling down last night he had forgotten to close the window. The wind and rain had gradually intensified, drifting in through that small crack. Most likely he had felt cold and subconsciously moved closer to the heat source.

Fortunately the spot where the phone lay had not been touched by the rain and had escaped unscathed.

Meng Chi arched his back slightly and stretched out his hand to reach for the phone. When he was just one finger’s width short, he kicked with his leg. At the same moment he grabbed the phone, his lower back also bumped into Yu Tingzhi’s chest—and his pert buttocks bumped into a certain something.

A soft yet heavy hum sounded in Yu Tingzhi’s throat. Meng Chi’s movements instantly froze. He concentrated all his attention on the faint rustling behind him. Sensing that Yu Tingzhi’s breathing had changed, Meng Chi knew that this time he was truly awake.

“Awake, huh,” Meng Chi said, phone in hand, and propelled his body upward, preparing to turn over and sit up.

But he and Yu Tingzhi had zero tacit understanding. Just as Yu Tingzhi was about to withdraw the hand resting on his waist, their movements one after the other caused Yu Tingzhi’s arm to brush past Meng Chi’s energetic little brother.

This time it was Meng Chi’s turn to draw a soft breath. He turned his eyes and met Yu Tingzhi’s now clear gaze, saying helplessly, “Teacher Yu, are you deliberately retaliating against me?”

Yu Tingzhi raised a brow, his gaze scraping once over the lower part of Meng Chi’s body: “Retaliating for you just now using your butt to push against me?”

“…”

Meng Chi sat up properly against the wall and looked at him speechlessly: “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Mm,” Yu Tingzhi said flatly. “But I hope you did it on purpose.”

Seeing the color of his eyes darken and a thin thread of desire surface, Meng Chi arched a brow, a faint smile lingering at the corners of his mouth: “Teacher Yu, this is a pure Buddhist ground. What are you thinking about?”

“Whatever you’re thinking is what I’m thinking,” Yu Tingzhi replied, playing Tai Chi with him.

Meng Chi gave a soft laugh: “I’m thinking it’s already late. The grandmaster will come to call us to get up any moment now.”

With that he flung aside the quilt, got out of bed, put on his clothes, and went out to wash up.

Five minutes later Meng Chi returned from washing up. Yu Tingzhi was still sitting on the bed, one long leg stretched out straight, the other bent, an arm resting on his knee as he stared blankly out the window.

Meng Chi hadn’t meant to, but when he looked over he unconsciously swept a glance at the lower part of Yu Tingzhi’s body, then arched a brow slightly: “Teacher Yu, isn’t your reaction a bit excessive?”

It still hadn’t gone down.

Yu Tingzhi: “Your underwear is too small.”

“…”

Meng Chi immediately recalled the size difference between their underwear and said in a half-unconvinced joking tone: “That’s just slander. Everything I buy is normal size. It’s your genes that are different from ordinary people.”

Recalling their previous discussion about genes, Yu Tingzhi laughed: “Thank you for the compliment.”

Meng Chi: “…”

Fine, I can’t out-talk you.

Last night there had been a night rain, yet today it had already cleared. The hour was still early, but bright sunlight was already piercing through the clouds, illuminating the gloomy dark ones.

Meng Chi was packing up the bedding that had been soaked last night, preparing to carry it out to the courtyard to dry, when the grandmaster arrived at the side room with his hands behind his back, calling them both to come eat breakfast and then set out to pick tea.

The moment he caught sight of the large water stains on the bedding, the grandmaster furrowed his brows: “What’s going on? You’re this old and still wetting the bed?”

Meng Chi: “…”

“What are you talking about? Do you take me for Yang Zile?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Yu Tingzhi under the long corridor laughing softly, looking at him with a face full of amusement. Meng Chi felt speechless to the extreme.

“If it wasn’t wetting the bed, how could you sleep once and still manage to wet the bed?” the grandmaster said.

Meng Chi: “Last night I forgot to close the window and a bit of rain drifted in.”

The grandmaster looked at him as if looking at an idiot: “The room had the heating on—why open the window?”

Meng Chi: “…It was a bit stuffy. Just airing it out a little.”

The grandmaster stared at him for a while. Seeing him with drooping brows and eyes, looking in a foul mood, he said nothing more, only told him to hurry and come eat, saying there were the sticky rice cakes he loved.

After breakfast the grandmaster led Meng Chi and Yu Tingzhi—each of the three carrying a bamboo tea-picking basket—up the mountain to pick fresh tea.

When he had first entered the temple, the grandmaster had discussed it with the abbot and opened up a small tea garden on the rear mountain, planting the local specialty Maofeng tea there.

This plot of land had been chosen by the grandmaster himself. The soil was fertile, the mountains high and the forests dense, the sunlight diffuse, the temperature cool and refreshing. The unique climate kept the place shrouded in clouds and mist year-round, and clumps of secluded orchids grew everywhere. The tea trees planted there were healthy and robust.

The grandmaster tended them carefully, regularly removing insects and weeds. The tea leaves produced were of excellent quality. Coupled with his own unique roasting methods, the finished dry tea had a rich fragrance and a sweet aftertaste—truly priceless.

It had rained last night, so the mountain path was muddy and the grass and trees were damp. If Meng Chi had not had the foresight to make Yu Tingzhi change out of those expensive clothes and shoes, tomorrow when he went down the mountain he would probably have had no choice but to wear the temple’s monastic robes.

Yu Tingzhi had never gone up a mountain to pick tea before, much less walked along an undeveloped mountain path through mud. He was not even as steady on his feet as the grandmaster; several times he nearly slipped.

On two of those occasions Meng Chi couldn’t stand watching anymore. He walked over beside him and reached out to grasp his forearm: “Let me support you.”

“No need,” Yu Tingzhi said.

Meng Chi laughed once, thinking to himself that his self-esteem was quite strong, yet still did not let go: “If you fall, we won’t be able to make tea today.”

Yu Tingzhi stopped and looked at him, then pulled his arm free from Meng Chi’s hand. Just as Meng Chi thought he was going to be stubborn again, the motion of withdrawing his hand stopped, and he turned his hand over to grasp Meng Chi’s wrist instead.

“Hold hands then,” he said.

Meng Chi: “…Fine.”

Perhaps because they were holding hands, afterward Yu Tingzhi walked the mountain path very steadily; his footsteps no longer faltered. Instead it was Meng Chi who, when passing through a thicket of thorns, nearly tripped. Fortunately Yu Tingzhi reacted lightning-fast and pulled his wrist back.

Ten minutes later the two finally reached the tea garden. The grandmaster, who had arrived first, looked back and saw them holding hands. With a face full of “I can’t bear to look,” he complained: “You two are acting just like little kids. What’s the matter—can’t walk without holding hands?”

Meng Chi: “…I was just afraid he’d fall.”

Since they had already reached the destination and the tea garden’s terrain was gentle, Meng Chi released his hand. Yet the residual warmth in his palm did not dissipate so quickly.

Yu Tingzhi had never picked tea before, so Meng Chi explained the key points to him: for example, only the bud tips, at most with a single fish leaf; and one could only break the bud and leaf with the index finger and thumb, never pinch them off with the nails, otherwise after the finished dry tea was steeped the broken ends would appear black, affecting the quality of the tea.

Yu Tingzhi listened carefully. Once he grasped the points he lowered his head and earnestly began plucking tea leaves.

After the dark clouds dispersed, although the temperature was not particularly high, the light was intense, making it hard to keep one’s eyes open under the sun.

Meng Chi had prepared early. When they set out he had brought both of the grandmaster’s bamboo-woven straw hats, as well as his own baseball cap.

The grandmaster had long since put his own straw hat on his head. Meng Chi glanced at Yu Tingzhi, put the other straw hat on himself, and then gave his own baseball cap to Yu Tingzhi.

Yu Tingzhi looked up at him: “Why is mine different from yours?”

“You want this one of mine?” Meng Chi asked him. “You don’t mind that it’s ugly?”

This kind of straw-woven hat was cheap and rough, uncommon in the city; only rural farmers still used them. A round crown, a wide brim, with a thin red string underneath for fastening—there was not the slightest aesthetic appeal; one could say it was country-bumpkin to the extreme.

Yet when Meng Chi wore it there was none of that rustic air. It was as if the straw hat neutralized the rebellious rogue energy on him, presenting him with a solid, simple quality, like an unadorned, sincere youth.

Yu Tingzhi felt that Meng Chi truly was a marvelous existence. When he entered banquets in suit and leather shoes he looked like a glamorous young master; when he sat at the tea table in wide robes and long sleeves he looked like an elegant, free-spirited artist; at this moment, wearing a straw hat and coarse cloth clothes, he looked like a pure and simple youth running wild in the fields.

All of these were him. No matter which version appeared, there was not the slightest sense of incongruity.

“Not ugly,” Yu Tingzhi said. “It suits you very well.”

Meng Chi lifted his eyes and shot him a glance: “Are you praising me or mocking me?”

“Praising you,” Yu Tingzhi nodded. “No matter how you dress, you look good.”

“…” Meng Chi felt speechless. “Teacher Yu, are you coaxing a child?”

Yu Tingzhi smiled and said the words “coaxing a little cat,” but because the grandmaster suddenly called Meng Chi’s name in a loud voice, saying his phone kept ringing, Meng Chi did not catch what Yu Tingzhi had said. After answering the grandmaster he asked him, “What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” Yu Tingzhi said.

Meng Chi did not ask further. He glanced at Yu Tingzhi’s face, which had been somewhat reddened by the sun, took the straw hat from his own head, and plopped it onto Yu Tingzhi’s.

“Then you take it. This one can block a bit more. With that fine skin of yours, don’t get sunburned.”

Yu Tingzhi held the brim, arched a brow, and glanced at Meng Chi. He looked at the honey-colored cheeks illuminated by the sunlight, the fine beads of sweat on the tip of that pert nose, glittering and dazzling.

As soon as Meng Chi finished speaking he prepared to go get his phone. The moment he turned, his wrist was suddenly caught by Yu Tingzhi.

“It seems you’re more delicate than I am,” Yu Tingzhi said, rubbing the red mark on his wrist bone with the pad of his finger. “Just now I only gripped a little harder and left a circle of red marks.”

Perhaps because the first time had made the second time familiar, Meng Chi lowered his eyes to look at their clasped hands, his mood calm: “It’s because your strength is too great.”

“Then next time I’ll be gentler.” At that, Yu Tingzhi paused for a moment, then asked again, “Can there be a next time?”

Meng Chi was slightly stunned, then lifted his eyes to meet Yu Tingzhi’s gaze. Under the shadow of the hat brim those eyes looked deep and focused. Meng Chi recalled their previous discussion about “next time.”

The two locked eyes in silence. Their gazes glued and intertwined; ambiguous feelings steamed and fermented in the sunlight, filling the space around them.

After a moment Meng Chi curved the corners of his mouth, thin lips parting lightly: “That depends on what kind of thing you’re talking about.”