The extracted coffee was poured into pre-chilled containers by a pair of clean, slender hands.
This step helped lock in the beverage’s delicate aroma. At the same time, Su Pu retrieved milk from the fridge, carefully checking its temperature.
Ouyang, following his movements, continued the presentation: “For this brew, we’ve chosen Icebock milk, which is fresh and sweet, yet light. Imagine with us, floating above a field of roses, clouds drifting lazily over the blossoms.”
The timer started. Su Pu began frothing the milk.
His skill produced a dense, velvety foam, and he started the formal preparation of tasting cups for the judges.
The chilled coffee filled two-thirds of each glass, topped with a thick, smooth foam.
Su Pu’s movements were fluid and precise, his expression focused, completely immersed in his own coffee paradise.
His craftsmanship was exact, each pour perfectly measured—a combination of innate talent and relentless practice.
The tasting cups were quickly prepared, foam and coffee layered clearly, forming a straight, unbroken line where they met.
Judges who noticed this detail smiled in quiet appreciation.
Now, “Flower Soul” was ready, awaiting its witnesses.
Ouyang announced, “In the deep of autumn, the soil holds the soul of the flowers, clouds float above to protect them… Through this coffee, we wish to pay tribute to the roses in bloom, and to the soil that nurtured them—”
“Please join us in savoring the roses of the night, and the ‘Flower Soul’ of autumn!”
Ouyang’s voice trembled slightly from nerves, but it only added sincerity to the presentation.
The judges set aside their score sheets, taking their cups to taste.
Most commercial coffees that emphasize floral notes rely on dried flowers or floral jams to heighten the aroma.
But the young barista had dared to preserve the bean’s natural fragrance as much as possible, letting the sweet creaminess of the milk foam carry the subtle floral notes.
Wasn’t this, in itself, a tribute to the Flower Goddess?
Beauty doesn’t need myth or admiration—it should be inherent, just as coffee’s charm lies in its authenticity, not in superficial embellishments.
“Um, excuse me… I’m not a judge, but may I have a cup?”
The voice startled Su Pu. From the first note, he lifted his head sharply, spotting the figure out of place in the crowd.
Li Jichuan sat casually in his wheelchair, lips curved in a small smile, eyes fixed on the barista.
Normally, he hated public events, hated being the center of attention.
Yet now, he willingly drew gazes from everyone around, all for a cup of coffee.
He couldn’t resist coffee, and certainly not the person who made it.
Unable to think of any reason not to taste it, he cherished the fleeting moment—he wanted that first sip as soon as the cup was ready.
“Flower Soul” coffee.
He was the muse.
The little mute’s nose flushed instantly. He hadn’t been nervous while making the coffee, and the cups were already sent out—but now, he felt shy.
It was the man in the wheelchair, looking so striking, that made him falter.
In a sharp suit, exuding charisma as if the world belonged beneath his shoes.
A single smile, and Su Pu’s heart wavered.
There was exactly one cup left for tasting. Clutching it, Su Pu carefully navigated through the crowd, approaching him.
Li Jichuan accepted the cup. Their fingers brushed lightly, sharing warmth.
Their eyes met, and Su Pu quickly looked away, while Li Jichuan stared directly at him, confident he’d make the little barista blush.
The coffee hit the palate—so unexpectedly soft, like tasting the world’s most precious rose petal. The foam burst instantly, leaving a mouthful of sweet, refreshing floral aroma.
Li Jichuan recalled that night—the damp, cool air, running across the city to flower shops, carrying massive bouquets of roses with Anderson.
It had all been a tribute to the Flower Goddess, a salute to the Flower Soul.
Su Pu was moved, but didn’t confine this feeling to one person. The Goddess’s love was sown across the world. Every blooming flower carried her blessing.
Li Jichuan tasted the coffee, letting out a soft laugh.
“You really know how to use flowers to honor the divine,” he murmured.
The young barista, cheeks burning crimson, returned to the prep station to thank the audience and judges.
After the competition, while judges tallied votes, contestants handled media interviews and photos—chaotic but exhilarating.
Li Jichuan and Anderson found a quiet corner to work, laptops open.
Anderson tapped the keyboard, then suddenly laughed.
Li Jichuan frowned, already anticipating trouble.
“If you’re busy, leave… even if you’re not, just leave.”
Anderson’s public demeanor was cold, but with friends like these, all mischief surfaced.
“No, I want to stay and get to know you better,” he said, eyes twinkling. “How many surprises of yours am I still unaware of?”
Li Jichuan snatched the tablet, waving it. “Go away!”
“Sorry, today I have multiple roles—I’m still your chauffeur.”
Anderson remained calm, giving him a look that said: “You’re done for—you’re falling in love.”
Li Jichuan ignored him, burying himself in work.
Soon, the main stage announced the Best Barista award was about to be revealed.
Anderson pushed Li Jichuan’s wheelchair to the front row.
All contestants gathered as the organizers began announcing the results.
Li Jichuan sat there, dry-mouthed, tugging at his collar several times. The clothes felt too tight, suffocating.
A twinge of regret: why bother with fairness? He should flaunt the biggest sponsor power and get Su Pu a trophy he deserved.
After all, the little mute had poured heart and soul into preparation, growing visibly thinner with exhaustion.
Su Pu worked tirelessly; even the gods and Flower Goddess should side with him, showing favor and indulgence…
Li Jichuan held his breath, waiting.
Finally, Su Pu and Ouyang’s names were called. The certificate went to Ouyang first, then the organizers handed Su Pu the second-place trophy.
“‘Flower Soul’ has been unanimously chosen as the first by the judges. However, a barista’s skill is not only reflected in coffee-making techniques, but also in interaction and communication with customers. In this aspect, this barista still has room to grow…”
The Best Barista title considered overall ability. Su Pu accepted the trophy, utterly incredulous.
Aside from public speaking, he had never imagined he could achieve such a high rank, receiving so much recognition.
The second-place prize money was thirty thousand yuan. Su Pu immediately gave half to Ouyang.
Ouyang hesitated, waving it off.
“I can’t take this much—I only did a small part. Besides, you wrote all the scripts—I just read them. It’s too much, Su Ge…”
Su Pu frowned, insistently shoving the envelope into his arms.
[For your grandmother!]
Ouyang’s grandmother was frail, having raised him alone. Despite scholarships, he worked tirelessly, sending money home each month. Their mutual devotion was something Su Pu admired deeply.
“My grandma doesn’t need this much…” Ouyang’s hands softened.
Seeing this, Su Pu pressed the envelope into his arms firmly.
[Keep it—I have other matters.]
Ouyang held the money, his palms burning. “Other matters? The competition’s over…”
Su Pu smiled, waving to him, heading to find his husband.
[Wait here—I’m going to buy something, be right back.] he typed to Li Jichuan.
Li Jichuan, about to head home, paused at the message. “Buy something? Need money?”
Su Pu shook his head.
[No, no.]
[Stay here, don’t go, wait for me!]
The little mute darted off, leaving Li Jichuan a lone, puzzled figure.
After a moment, he felt a strange satisfaction—just having Su Pu ask him to wait was enough.
Li Jichuan called Anderson, moving the car outside.
“Go back first, I’m not leaving yet.”
Anderson paused. “Why? If I go back now, I’ll lose my parking spot.”
“Su Pu told me to wait, so I’m not leaving.”
Li Jichuan hung up, resuming work on his laptop, but a fleeting, odd thought crossed his mind.
Do those dogs tied outside supermarkets, waiting for their owners, feel the same way as he does?