SG 18

Inside the box was a custom wooden base with the “Starfish Pottery” logo engraved on it. Chu Baiyan arranged the plate on the desk in his room, he admired it for a while, then took out his phone, took a few pictures, grabbed his car keys and left.

After summer vacation started, the audience for the first show each day became larger than usual. Chu Baiyan slowly swam down from the surface of the water with his long tail trailing behind him. He saw Yan Anqing sitting in his usual spot and waved at him. He couldn’t tell if Yan Anqing waved back, but he knew Yan Anqing could definitely see him.

When the first show ended and he finished his shower in the dressing room, Chu Baiyan checked his phone. At this hour, Yan Anqing should’ve already gone back to his shop. He opened WeChat, tapped the bamboo avatar at the top of his chats, picked one of the mermaid plate photos he’d taken that morning, and sent it to Yan Anqing.

He stared at the chat window for a while. The screen showed “The other person is typing,” but no reply came.

Yan Anqing saw the photo, but he didn’t know what to say. He had almost no experience using WeChat. Before meeting Chu Baiyan, he barely needed to contact anyone. He used WeChat only to collect red envelopes and had never really chatted there.

He instinctively typed two words, “Thank you,” but felt it was wrong and deleted them. After hesitating for a while, he replaced them with “Looks nice.”

Five minutes later, Chu Baiyan’s phone chimed. His eyes ran back and forth over those two plain words several times. He replied, “Looks really nice,” and added two thumbs-up emojis.

This time Yan Anqing replied quickly. It was a smiling face with blushing cheeks and curved eyes. He must’ve figured out how to use stickers from Chu Baiyan’s last message and picked one directly from the emoji list.

For most people, emojis were just decorations to make words seem livelier. Only Chu Baiyan knew that the emoji Yan Anqing picked meant his real face right now looked exactly like that, smiling at his phone with crescent eyes.

The starfish Chu Baiyan had ordered through the aquarium’s supplier wouldn’t arrive until the day after tomorrow. He planned to bring them then and surprise Yan Anqing.

Before going to bed that night, Chu Baiyan sent a message to tell Yan Anqing that he wouldn’t come tomorrow morning, but he’d come in the afternoon the day after.

Yan Anqing liked everything to have a fixed, predictable schedule. He didn’t ask why Chu Baiyan wouldn’t come tomorrow morning. He only confirmed that Chu Baiyan would come in the afternoon the day after. Knowing the exact time made him feel calm.

He typed “Okay,” looked at it for a while, then added another curved-eye smile emoji.

“Good night, sweet dreams.” The reply popped up under his “Okay.”

Only then did Yan Anqing realize people could say good night on WeChat. He typed “Good night,” picked a sleeping-moon emoji, and sent it with satisfaction.

The air conditioner’s fan made a faint white noise. The closed windows blocked the cicadas outside. Yan Anqing rubbed the corner of his blanket between his fingers, and his mind soon drifted off.

The curtains weren’t fully drawn. Soft morning light spilled into the room through the gap. As the brightness grew through his eyelids, Yan Anqing blinked himself awake. He had slept well.

Yawning, he grabbed his phone and sent Chu Baiyan a “Good morning.” When he opened the curtains and saw the sunny weather, he added a “Sun” emoji.

He opened the window for air, washed up in a good mood, went into the kitchen, put mung beans on the stove, placed buns in the steamer, poured half a glass of warm water and drank it, then went downstairs to fire the kiln.

His phone had been on silent overnight. By the time Chu Baiyan saw those two messages, two hours had passed. He didn’t type. He squinted lazily, collected his thoughts, and sent a voice message.

“I just woke up and saw your messages, good morning.”

A smiling-eyes emoji popped up almost instantly.

When the noon performance ended, Chu Baiyan got a message from the starfish supplier saying the ones he ordered had been delivered to the aquarium caretaker. He hurried over. Four starfish were packed in two clear plastic boxes, and the caretaker had also given him two bags of special salt.

He carried the boxes back to the break room and had just set them on the table when a coworker heading out for water noticed them.

“You’re keeping starfish?”

“They’re for a friend.”

The female coworker nodded in realization. “Oh right, you asked us last time what kind of gift to get your friend, and you picked starfish?”

“He likes starfish.” Chu Baiyan lifted one of the boxes and looked at the starfish lying still on the bottom, wondering if Yan Anqing would be happy when he saw them.

“Your friend’s interesting,” the coworker said, then suddenly remembered something. “When you went to buy pottery, did you notice the handsome guy running the pottery shop across the street? I think he also keeps a tank of starfish.”

She’d glanced at it that day but hadn’t looked closely. People who kept starfish were rare, so it stuck in her mind. She hadn’t expected Chu Baiyan’s friend to like them too.

“His shop’s even called ‘Starfish Pottery,’” another coworker added, opening a video she’d just seen. “Look, this person bought something from that guy’s shop, she didn’t get a discount, then went online to complain the prices were too high. She said the same kind of mug is ten yuan online, but costs dozens in the shop, and told everyone to avoid it.”

“Let me see.” The first coworker leaned over. “It’s true. That guy didn’t force her to buy anything. If she thinks it’s cheaper online, she should just buy it online. What’s there to warn people about?”

“Mugs that cost ten yuan online use printed decals before glazing. They’re mass-produced. Every piece at ‘Starfish Pottery’ has hand-painted or carved designs. It takes days from shaping the clay to firing it. The cost’s higher, so of course it’s not cheap.”

Chu Baiyan couldn’t help wanting to defend Yan Anqing. Watching him make pottery these past few days, he’d learned how complicated it really was.

Some customers in the shop had also asked why online versions were cheaper. After hearing Yan Anqing’s explanation, Chu Baiyan found out that the cheap ones online used pre-made decals that were glazed and fired, cutting the production time in half.

Only after seeing the process himself did he realize that paying a few dozen yuan for a handmade cup was just paying for the labor.

“Xiao Chu knows his stuff,” a coworker said approvingly.

The other woman turned off the video and nodded. “Exactly. People buy handmade pottery because every piece’s unique. Some folks feel cheated if they don’t get a bargain, so they lash out instead. I’ve bought a few pieces from him for my friend before, and everyone loved them.”

“Next time you go there, take more photos for me. I’ll post them and see if anyone else wants to order. We should support the guy’s business. He comes here often anyway, it’s kind of like us supporting him back.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. He’s obviously here for Xiao Chu.” Another coworker picked up her cup and laughed as the two of them walked off together.

When the final show ended that afternoon, Chu Baiyan drove home, grabbed the two boxes of starfish, and went to see Yan Anqing.

By evening, the sun was already sinking, but the heat hadn’t faded. Even under the shade of the trees, Chu Baiyan was sweating by the time he reached the door of “Starfish Pottery.”

As the “Welcome” greeting sounded, Yan Anqing looked up and finally saw the familiar figure.

“You’re keeping starfish?” He stared at the two boxes in Chu Baiyan’s hands.

“They’re for you.” Chu Baiyan set the boxes and the salt packets on the counter.

Yan Anqing’s attention was drawn completely to the four starfish inside. But when his peripheral vision caught the sweat on Chu Baiyan’s forehead, he still grabbed a tissue and handed it to him along with a bottle of water.

Chu Baiyan took the tissue, wiped his face casually, twisted the cap open, and drank.

When Yan Anqing noticed a drop of sweat left on the side of his face, almost about to fall, he reached out and brushed it off with his fingertip.

His finger and Chu Baiyan’s skin touched for an instant. The droplet disappeared, and heat flared across his hand, making him pull back quickly. He rubbed his fingers and lowered his head again to look at the starfish.