Chapter 41
Ti Xiao thought, looking back through history and all, there were plenty of people who daydreamed about their crush every day, drove their fantasies to the edges of the universe, and always hoped for some “output” in return.
But when it came to the crucial moment and they turned into a scared little goldfish? Probably no one else but him. Even if there were others, none would be as timid as he was.
And when exactly had he ever said, “When spring comes, I’ll work out with you”???
“Work out my ass.” Ti Xiao’s face flushed red. Fighting his desires, he practically kicked the other person out with all limbs, “When did I ever say something like that?”
Just as he kicked off the covers, he was pulled back in, bundled up with the blanket. A heated kiss landed on his cheek.
“Before, when we had hotpot, at the supermarket,” Xiao Yao said, kissing him again.
That was before the New Year, when they weren’t together yet. Ti Xiao had caught a cold when they planned to have hotpot, and Xiao Yao casually asked if he wanted to go running. Ti Xiao just said, “Maybe when spring comes.”
He himself had forgotten that, but Xiao Yao had remembered everything—the time, place, people, and the whole story…
That damn pervert…
Ti Xiao was too embarrassed and flailed around wildly in his arms.
“No, no…,” Ti Xiao stammered. “Spring hasn’t even arrived yet. It’s only early March…”
“Ah, the little swallow hasn’t come back from the south yet, hasn’t built a nest under our eaves…”
He just said whatever came to mind.
“Spring Equinox, spring equinox. Don’t you know the spring equinox is when spring officially arrives? March 21st… Didn’t you study geography? Three two one one two three… Ah, don’t bite my face…”
The geography knowledge he hadn’t used in years was suddenly scraped out from his barren brain.
Though he was loudly protesting with words, his body betrayed him completely—he instinctively responded to the kiss, even wanting more.
Just as his mind was about to be completely conquered by the flirtations of Qingming, Ti Xiao suddenly snapped awake, pushing Xiao Yao away desperately. “No, no! I have things to do tomorrow! Tomorrow… tomorrow is your mother’s…”
He almost cried halfway through the sentence. “No way. No matter what, it’s not okay!”
Just as he finished speaking, the hold on him suddenly loosened, followed by a low, calm voice: “Aren’t you getting a little too worked up?”
“Ah?” Ti Xiao was stunned a moment before coming to, then quickly dropped his head.
Xiao Yao looked at him with innocent eyes and tilted his head to meet his gaze. “Nervous?”
Actually, Ti Xiao’s inner drama was almost done. After flailing for a while, Xiao Yao was just holding him wrapped in the blanket, gently kissing him a few times, with no further moves. It was all Ti Xiao’s wild imagination.
“No, no…” Ti Xiao looked away. “Let’s just sleep. Nothing’s wrong…”
“Don’t worry.” Xiao Yao lightly rubbed Ti Xiao’s nose. “Even though I really like you, if you’re not comfortable with this kind of thing, I won’t do it.” Then he gently patted the top of Ti Xiao’s head to soothe him.
Ti Xiao had no words. Honestly, he was quite willing… but…
Well, that’s just who he was—Timid Xiao.
March nights weren’t very warm yet. The faint scent of flowers drifted in through the window, accompanied by a cool breeze.
The bedroom bed faced the window directly. The night breeze helped clear Ti Xiao’s mind a bit, but his face still flushed red. Like a little goldfish, he squirmed and turned his face away.
“Go to sleep!”
Xiao Yao smiled, helped tuck the blanket around him, then turned off the light. “Sleep well, goodnight. I’ll wake you up in the morning.”
In the deep darkness, Ti Xiao finally relaxed, but just as he let down his guard, the bed beside him sank as Xiao Yao flipped him over and pulled him into a tight embrace.
“Don’t forget March 21st,” Xiao Yao whispered in his ear, a teasing tone in his voice.
Ti Xiao: “…”
What the hell was this March 21st nonsense? What if he wanted to break up?
Before Ti Xiao even fell asleep, the numbers kept running through his dreams—one, two, three, three, two, one—like a military training chant, just missing the “one, two, three, four.”
It was a nightmare that wouldn’t let go—truly bizarre.
While Ti Xiao dreamed of numbers, Xiao Yao was having a very different dream.
A woman with a tear-shaped beauty mark under her eye, features as delicate as a painting, looked like she had stepped right out of a traditional ink wash artwork. She held a calligraphy brush patiently teaching young Xiao Yao how to write.
“The strokes here should be fast, no dragging,” her voice gentle and warm.
“Like this?” Young Xiao Yao, still a kid with innocent features and a soft voice, replied, “It looks kind of messy…”
The mother and son stood by a table, each holding a brush, splashing ink across the paper. Not far off, Xiao Zhou sat on the couch, smiling warmly at his wife and child, his eyes full of affection.
The three of them painted a picture of harmony and happiness.
“Very good, little Yao,” the woman said, pinching his cheek gently. “Mom’s going out now. I’ll be back tonight.”
“Not having Dad walk you out?”
“Little Yao, be good. Your dad’s got things to do. Mom’s leaving now.”
The scene shifted. Spring rain pattered down, slowly soaking the road like ink spreading across paper, gently staining it a blood-red.
Red and blue lights flashed through the rainy night. Voices were drowned out by sirens. The rain blurred everything—the scene, the sounds, the woman’s face, and the final whispered name: “Little Yao.”
In the dream, Xiao Yao watched as a bystander, standing off to the side observing these moments. When the blood spread to his feet, he suddenly woke with a start.
He gasped a few times, rubbing his slightly aching forehead.
Outside, the soft sound of rain hitting leaves came through the window. After midnight, Xuancheng welcomed its first spring rain, washing away much of the flower scent.
Xiao Yao quietly slipped out of bed and went to the living room to pour himself a glass of water.
Years ago, he used to have this dream often. After going abroad, it rarely came back, especially in recent years.
“Could it be because I saw Xiao Zhou today?” Xiao Yao took a long sip of water and slowly paced toward the painting on the living room wall, beneath the blooming water lilies.
The water lilies blossomed in summer nights. Occasionally, fireflies would flutter by. The brushwork was delicate, just like the gentle touch of the artist.
This was the last painting his mother finished before she passed.
Under the dim yellow light of the living room lamp, Xiao Yao sipped his water while gazing at the painting. For a moment, he was lost in thought, only realizing the glass was empty when he raised it to his lips again and found no water.
As he set the glass down, it clinked against the glass on the coffee table. From the bedroom, Ti Xiao sneezed and seemed to mumble something like “one, two, three.”
The glass reflected the warm yellow light. Xiao Yao’s gaze shifted toward the bedroom, and he could just make out Ti Xiao tossing and turning on the bed.
The gentle rustling sounded as delicate as knitting needles. Xiao Yao’s lips curved unconsciously, savoring a moment of peaceful time.
Ti Xiao was traveling through his “one, two, three” dream, sleeping soundly. Xiao Yao brushed aside the bangs on his forehead and studied his soft, round face for a while. Then he tucked the blanket in properly, pushing Ti Xiao’s arms and legs back under it.
Finally, he pulled him into a tight hug, sneaked a kiss, and together they drifted off to sleep.
When they woke, it was still before dawn. The eastern sky was just starting to brighten with the faint light of early morning. The rain that had fallen all night had stopped, and the air still carried the scent of wet earth.
Ti Xiao knew exactly what he needed to do this morning — it was very, very important.
He slapped his own cheek lightly and forced himself awake, wrapping a blanket around himself as he sat in the passenger seat.
Xiao Yao had gotten up early, holding two bunches of fresh red roses in his hands. The flowers looked freshly cut, still covered in dew, and their intoxicating fragrance helped Ti Xiao wake up a little.
“Why roses?” Ti Xiao wondered aloud.
The bright red color puzzled him. Usually, for visiting graves, one should bring more subdued-colored flowers. The ones he quietly looked up last night were mostly bird-of-paradise or calla lilies.
Why would Xiao Yao be so careless? That didn’t seem right.
Ti Xiao frowned. “Shouldn’t we get something lighter in color?”
“These were her favorites,” Xiao Yao said as he reversed the car. “When we go see her, it’s better to bring what she liked.”
Xiao Zhou used to buy her favorite red roses when he confessed his love, proposed, celebrated birthdays, or marked anniversaries.
By the time they arrived at the cemetery, the sky was fully bright. Ti Xiao and Xiao Yao had woken very early, but they still weren’t the first to arrive.
A large bunch of roses was already placed at the base of Xiao Yao’s mother’s tombstone — several times the number of flowers Xiao Yao had brought.
She was gone, leaving behind a scent that couldn’t be grasped and a lingering sense of apology.
Xiao Yao knelt down, moved the large bouquet aside, and placed the flowers he brought in the center. He smiled faintly, then reached up and lightly traced the carved grooves on the tombstone.
Ti Xiao had never seen him like this before. A deep tenderness welled up at the corners of Xiao Yao’s eyes. Ti Xiao quietly wiped his own eyes.
At some point, rain started falling again, but luckily Ti Xiao had brought an umbrella. He opened it and held it over Xiao Yao’s head.
Footsteps approached from not far away — Sheng Xiao and Du Liyue. The two elders were dressed formally, each holding a single rose, walking steadily toward them.
“Xiao Yao, Xiao Xiao,” Sheng Xiao nodded at the two younger people, then slowly placed their flowers by the tombstone with his wife.
The old lady’s eyes were a little red. After wiping his face, Ti Xiao quickly handed her some tissues. “Grandma, here.”
“Oh, don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re acting like a kid,” Sheng Xiao said as he took the tissues to wipe his wife’s tears. Though his voice held a hint of complaint, his actions were patient and gentle.
The pain of losing a loved one is something outsiders can hardly understand.
Gradually, more of Xiao Yao’s friends arrived. Li Yi had put away his usual carefree attitude and stood beside the Wen family twins.
Winter was giving way to early spring. The chill was still there but no longer biting; the breeze brought a touch of spring.
Xuancheng Cemetery was prime real estate. In front of the excellent feng shui plot stood several people, all holding red roses — some more, some less. The fiery red was the only color in sight.
The cemetery was very quiet, filled only with the sounds of rain, wind, and breathing.
