AVRL 8

Meng Chi’s heart seized, and he cursed “damn it” inwardly. He quickly propped himself up and sat upright, not forgetting to glance toward Yu Tingzhi’s crotch as he moved. Then he realized that the hard thing pressing against him wasn’t anything else—it was Yu Tingzhi’s phone.

“Are you okay?” Song Min rushed over. Seeing that Meng Chi had already gotten up, he turned to Yu Tingzhi and extended a hand.

Meng Chi brushed the clutter out of his mind, looked at Yu Tingzhi still sitting on the ground, and asked, “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Yu Tingzhi shook his head almost imperceptibly, didn’t take Song Min’s hand, but pushed himself up with his palm on the ground and brushed off the mud and gravel on his hand. Song Min, meanwhile, had already stepped in close to help brush the dirt off his clothes.

Meng Chi stood to the side watching, feeling a bit awkward. He didn’t look at Yu Tingzhi’s face, but let his gaze fall on his palm—and there he saw several red scratches near his little finger, with a bit of blood welling up.

The irritation from Yu Tingzhi’s teasing words just moments ago instantly subsided, replaced by a twinge of guilt.

This pair of dream hands had nothing but bad luck ever since they met him.

“Go wash it off.” Meng Chi pulled a light gray-blue handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over. “I’ll go ask Boss Qian for some medicine to treat it.”

Yu Tingzhi looked up at him, not missing the pity in Meng Chi’s eyes. After a beat, he reached out and took the handkerchief.

By the time Meng Chi returned with some iodine and had given the wounds a simple treatment, the peach-form washer that Boss Qian had taken away for repair was already finished.

The scratches on Yu Tingzhi’s palm were just shallow cuts from small stones; they stopped bleeding after a short while, though they remained a little red.

Even so, on the way back, Meng Chi thoughtfully offered to drive instead.

Yu Tingzhi looked at him for two seconds, then nodded, opened the passenger door, and got in.

On this trip to the porcelain factory, Song Min had bought a white covered bowl with a rice-paste hand-textured finish, a matching set of tasting cups, and the peach-form washer he’d found in the reject pile. Yu Tingzhi had purchased the bluish-black “tea dust” tea set. Only Meng Chi arrived empty-handed and left empty-handed—though not entirely, since he’d scored some goodwill points with his crush and even got to drive a car he’d once fancied.

Once seated in the driver’s seat, Meng Chi felt a little thrill of excitement. He fastened his seatbelt and started the car. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Yu Tingzhi hadn’t moved since getting in, while Song Min was fiddling with the two porcelain boxes in the back.

Meng Chi glanced at Yu Tingzhi, who was also looking at him.

“Seatbelt,” Meng Chi reminded him.

Yu Tingzhi didn’t move, just spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

Meng Chi: “…”

A bit exasperated, but since he was the one who’d caused the injury in the first place, Meng Chi had no choice but to unbuckle his own seatbelt, lean over, pull the belt across Yu Tingzhi, and click it into place.

“Thanks.”

Being so close, Yu Tingzhi’s breath was all over Meng Chi’s earlobe as he spoke.

A tingling, ticklish sensation spread through him. Meng Chi quickly pulled back to create some distance and retorted, not politely, “You’re welcome!”

A faint, barely detectable curve lifted the corner of Yu Tingzhi’s mouth. In his peripheral vision, he noticed a flush of pink creeping over Meng Chi’s earlobe, and the smile in his eyes deepened.

“There’s something wrong with the passenger seatbelt. Needs fixing,” he said.

Oh, I think it’s you who’s the problem.

Meng Chi huffed a laugh but said nothing. He cracked the window open a little, and after a while, the warmth on his earlobe finally subsided.

Song Min was probably tired. He leaned back in the rear seat, hugging the two porcelain boxes, and soon fell asleep. Meng Chi rolled the window back up and turned up the air conditioning.

As dusk fell, the car entered the city proper. Meng Chi drove directly to Zewu University and dropped Song Min off at his dormitory building. He initially offered to help carry the two porcelain boxes up, but Song Min declined, saying he could manage.

“I’m not that fragile,” Song Min said. “It’s getting late. You and Brother Tingzhi should head back early.”

Meng Chi didn’t insist and walked back out of the dormitory building. Instead of returning to where Yu Tingzhi’s car was parked, he headed straight for the campus exit.

“Where are you going?” Yu Tingzhi called after him.

Meng Chi turned his head and glanced at him. “I’ll take a cab back. You don’t need to drive me.”

Yu Tingzhi stood under the streetlight, watching him quietly for two seconds, then said, “I’m not trying to drive you.”

Meng Chi: “…”

Yu Tingzhi: “I want you to drive me.” ???

Meng Chi turned around. “What did you say?”

Yu Tingzhi squinted slightly. “I’m not wearing my glasses today. It’s dark out, and I can’t see well.”

Meng Chi: “…”

Fine.

Looking at the darkening sky, Meng Chi had no choice but to turn back and get into the driver’s seat of the Lexus again.

After pulling out of Zewu University, Meng Chi finally asked, “Where do you live?”

“Chaomuli Phase 2,” Yu Tingzhi said.

Meng Chi nodded. He knew that development—it was a high-end apartment complex developed by Huanxia Real Estate, not far from Zewu University, about a ten-minute drive.

After that, neither of them spoke again. Perhaps because the car’s interior scent, after a day of airing out, had returned to its fresh, elegant fragrance, the atmosphere was relatively relaxed.

Following Yu Tingzhi’s directions, Meng Chi drove into the Chaomuli underground parking garage and handed the keys back to Yu Tingzhi.

Yu Tingzhi took them and said, “Thanks.”

The temperature had dropped significantly at night, and a layer of condensation had formed on the car windows. When Meng Chi got out and shut the door, his hand came away wet. As he was wiping the moisture from his palm, Yu Tingzhi had somehow already circled around to stand before him, holding out a handkerchief.

Meng Chi glanced at it, his eyes brushing over the red scratches on his palm. Assuming Yu Tingzhi was returning his handkerchief, he took it, wiped his hands, and walked alongside him as they headed out.

“By the way, is your Mercedes fixed?”

“Mm, it’s been sent back already,” Yu Tingzhi said.

Meng Chi nodded, shook out the handkerchief, folded it neatly, and tucked it into his pocket. “What about the medical fees? How much were they?”

Yu Tingzhi glanced sideways at him, paused for a second, then said, “Forget it.”

Meng Chi stopped in his tracks, looking at those hands—old wounds unhealed, new ones added—and let out a dissatisfied tsk. “Teacher Yu, that’ll weigh on my conscience.”

They happened to stop at the boundary between light and shadow: Meng Chi stood in the light, Yu Tingzhi in the dark. Yu Tingzhi could see the hint of pouty displeasure on Meng Chi’s face, while his own expression remained completely hidden in the shadows.

They stood in silent standoff for two or three seconds, as if Yu Tingzhi had finally conceded. He pulled out his phone, opened WeChat, and brought up a QR code.

Meng Chi took a look—it wasn’t a payment QR code, but a friend-add QR code. At this point, Meng Chi didn’t bother being coy and scanned it, sending a friend request.

Meng Chi asked: “How much?”

Yu Tingzhi: “Two hundred fifty.”

“…”

Meng Chi looked up at Yu Tingzhi, speechless.

“Could be five twenty,” Yu Tingzhi added, a hint of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t pay much attention.”

Meng Chi: “…”

In the end, considering he’d caused Yu Tingzhi to get hurt a second time, Meng Chi transferred 520 yuan.

Staring at the yellow transfer notification in the chat, Meng Chi thought to himself that this number wasn’t really any better than two fifty.