Chapter 31 – Would You Consider “Later”

It took him only ten minutes to recount everything.

Throughout Yan Ankuo’s narration, he remained composed, almost making Bian Ji feel as though he was listening to a story about a third party.

The glass of alcohol had long since been drained, and Bian Ji looked across at Yan Ankuo with quiet sadness, perhaps influenced by the alcohol. Suddenly, he pressed down on the cup Yan Ankuo was about to lift.

“Yan Ankuo,” Bian Ji stared into his eyes, “Where were you hurt?”

Confused, Yan Ankuo replied, “Where?”

“You mentioned taking many hits, right?”

“Oh, that’s all healed long ago.”

Bian Ji fell silent again. Yan Ankuo asked, “Suddenly talking about someone else’s affairs, does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No, I’m just quite surprised.” It was hard for Bian Ji to imagine such a calm and rational person having experienced something like this. He ran his hand through his hair, “Years of feelings, hard to let go, right?”

Bian Ji had never been with anyone for more than two years, finding it difficult to imagine what it felt like to spend so much time together.

Yan Ankuo knew this topic was tough to broach but necessary. “It was indeed a part of my life, but I don’t have the habit of looking back. Once things are over, they’re over. I won’t use old matters to toy with new people.”

This was practically an open declaration, leaving Bian Ji momentarily at a loss for words. Perhaps clouded by alcohol, he suddenly sat up straight, getting very close to Yan Ankuo. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”

Yan Ankuo didn’t answer, and Bian Ji placed his hand on top of Yan Ankuo’s which held the wine glass, speaking deliberately, “I’m thinking how fortunate it was that I was the one on duty during AD801.

“How fortunate that I stayed calm.

“That I didn’t let you get hurt.”

Bian Ji kept his gaze fixed on Yan Ankuo as he said these words.

Yan Ankuo felt his chest ache from the sincerity in the words, experiencing for the first time that talking about scars could be such a blissful thing.

Their eyes locked in a tangle that suggested nothing innocent. One more step forward, and the thin veil between them would be shattered. Thankfully, Yan Ankuo still retained a sliver of reason.

“Bian Ji, you’re exceptionally skilled at being loved. You have a humorous personality, genuine warmth, and gaining attention and affection comes effortlessly to you.” Yan Ankuo pulled back just in time, withdrawing his hand, saying somewhat brutally, “But you seem to never linger in any phase. I wonder, would you consider ‘later’?”

Bian Ji was taken aback, “What do you mean?”

“For instance, whether you’re willing to let your partner enter your life and social circle, whether you’re ready to share your family, scars, and vulnerabilities with someone you’ve just met.”

Yan Ankuo spoke with unusual seriousness, as if giving a complex lesson to a primary school student: “In contrast, I tend to think several steps ahead. I even considered before, finding someone similar to me, or at least from the same circle, to increase common topics and reduce life’s frictions.”

Bian Ji roughly understood what Yan Ankuo meant. These days, they had played enough of the cat-and-mouse game, one enjoying the thrill of being led along by the fishing line, the other controlling the pace and rhythm. No one had dared to lay their cards on the table. But today, Yan Ankuo broke that rule, laying out their biggest and almost insurmountable obstacle on the table for discussion.

“So, even when friends introduced me to others, they were all this type of person.” In such an ambiguous atmosphere, Yan Ankuo’s words seemed particularly unfeeling, “After all, working in this field has instilled in me many annoying occupational quirks — no clear work hours, nitpicking details, never conceding, strong control issues — these are fatal in relationships. It’s hard for me to imagine someone accepting them. Moreover, irrational parties or defendants often blame us for the outcome of cases, disrupting our lives. I doubt others could handle that.”

Bian Ji hadn’t expected him to list a series of flaws to support his point, saying helplessly, “If you put it that way, wouldn’t I be even less qualified for a normal relationship? As a flight attendant, we earn less than pilots, yet we endure the same sleepless nights and hardships. We’re constantly away, living in different places, with a monotonous living space but a vast working radius — triple kill?”

Amused by Bian Ji’s imitation of a gaming sound effect in English, Yan Ankuo laughed, “So, there might be someone more suitable for you.”

“You can’t say that,” Bian Ji was firm, “What defines ‘suitable’? If you like someone, you chase after them. If they reciprocate, that’s best; if they’re not ready to be with you, then either continue interacting or cut ties — it’s a simple matter. I don’t want to make too many assumptions about a relationship that hasn’t even started.”

“But I do,” Yan Ankuo leaned closer, his mouth only three centimeters from Bian Ji’s cheek, “I don’t have another five years to make mistakes. Before new feelings appear, I want to discuss all foreseeable risks. If that person is willing to take the risk, then that’s perfect…”

Bian Ji could tell who “that person” referred to, and he couldn’t deny that he wanted to pursue Yan Ankuo, but he had never pondered the future deeply.

Growing up moving between various provinces and families, Bian Ji had experienced many unpleasant moments. Consequently, he had become accustomed to uncertainty, pursuing independence and privacy with near obsession, which had been the catalyst for his breakups with previous partners.

Bian Ji tentatively asked, “What if that person is scared off after hearing your words?”

“In that case, cut losses promptly,” Yan Ankuo was calmly brutal.

Bian Ji was so close to Yan Ankuo that his brain felt torn apart by two forces. On one side was the desire to kiss him, on the other side, reason tugged at his nerves.

Looking into his eyes, Yan Ankuo asked, “So, can you accept what I’ve said?”

The thought of letting a completely different person fully into his life, social circle, family, scars, and vulnerabilities suddenly enveloped Bian Ji’s heart with a bitter and icy liquid. Layers of memories flooded over him, making it hard for him to breathe.

He lowered his head, “I… “

Yan Ankuo fell silent, and after a long while, sighed, saying, “If you haven’t figured out an answer, forget it. Let me send you home first.” When standing up, he helped Bian Ji retrieve his coat and draped it around him.

At the bar’s entrance, Bian Ji said he’d take a taxi, reminding Yan Ankuo to remember to call a designated driver.

Yan Ankuo didn’t refuse, agreeing. Before leaving, he asked, “Should we still say ‘next time’?”

Drunk and only now feeling the cold wind, Bian Ji asked slowly, “Why not?”

“In that case, I hope there will be a next time.” Whether intentionally or not, Yan Ankuo reverted to the formal address, “Mr. Bian.”

Bian Ji believed that Yan Ankuo’s sudden speech today was essentially a tactic to deter him.

Bian Ji accepted it all, not because he was cowardly, but because he recognized that the issue of “suitability” was something that deserved attention at this stage.

At least, Bian Ji thought that since Yan Ankuo raised those concerns, he had to take them seriously.

He wasn’t one to deliberate over things. His kindness towards Yan Ankuo stemmed largely from his liking for him, his desire, without additional complexities. Long-term planning was neither necessary nor feasible for him. Thus, before discussing their views on love with Yan Ankuo, he hadn’t carefully considered “later.”

After chasing him, after being together, sharing each other’s lives…these things that hadn’t crossed his mind suddenly became crucial.

Asking Bian Ji to contemplate these was akin to asking someone who had never passed math to derive Laplace’s formula. His mind was in chaos all night, unable to find an answer to the question Yan Ankuo had posed, and he reluctantly took two melatonin pills to help him sleep.

The next day, before his mind had fully awakened from its haze, his phone started buzzing incessantly.

Still dazed, Bian Ji fumbled for the coffee table, picked up his phone, and saw it was a new work arrangement, instructing him to teach emergency courses to new flight attendants. Absently, he replied with “okay.”

The airline company offered various types of training, one of which was having experienced staff share relevant experiences. Bian Ji had recently given an interview, earned double excellent grades in the year-end evaluation, and shot a New Year promotional video for the airline. Asking him to teach was almost a foregone conclusion.

The person on the other end confirmed the training time with him, but Bian Ji remembered Qiao Yuan’s trial was scheduled for the same day. Reluctantly, he prepared to negotiate with the administrative staff to change the time, only to receive a message from Qiao Yuan, telling him to focus on teaching and that they could gather after the trial.

Bian Ji asked how Qiao Yuan knew he had a temporary work assignment, to which Qiao Yuan sheepishly replied that Nie Hang had passed the message on.

Bian Ji thought about it and decided to inform Yan Ankuo, as sending a private message at this stage clearly wasn’t appropriate. Before figuring out those matters, he thought it was best to maintain a proper distance.

So, he dug up the long-unused four-person group chat and sent a blessing: “[On the 14th, I have to go for training. Sorry, I can’t attend the trial in person. Good luck, everyone.]”

Qiao Yuan quickly responded: “[Don’t worry, Attorney Yan and I are well-prepared.]”

Bian Ji sent a “victory” emoji.

A day passed, and Yan Ankuo didn’t reply to his group message.

Staring at the empty dialogue box, Bian Ji felt a bit uneasy, opening Yan Ankuo’s private chat window, intending to send an encouraging message. After some thought, he deleted it.

Just as he was about to exit, Bian Ji noticed the familiar nickname in the upper left corner showing “typing.” He watched that line of text for a long time until it returned to normal.