Chapter 18 – Master, I Want to Learn How to Make Soup

Before Zhuang Lin had the chance to properly sort through his youthful feelings, he had to shift his focus back to work.

At Zhuang Lin’s repeated and insistent requests, the song “Symphony” that Guan Lan had sung for him that day would also be included in his upcoming EP.

Guan Lan: “When people release an EP or a mini-album, it’s usually either three or five songs. You’re going with four—very bold, very unique.”

Zhuang Lin: “In music, four means prosperity.”

Guan Lan: “…Did you go to a fake America or something?”

Zhuang Lin: “Maybe.”

Guan Lan felt that Zhuang Lin had become a bit terrifying lately.

He wasn’t speaking to him in that confrontational tone anymore, nor was he habitually contradicting him. It was as if he had suddenly snapped out of that combative state he was in before. Now, his words were gentle, his behavior obedient—whatever Guan Lan said, he followed without question. He was extremely compliant.

Guan Lan didn’t think it was because Zhuang Lin had suddenly grasped the traditional etiquette of respecting hierarchy and decided to become a civilized, polite, model citizen. But he didn’t know the real reason either, so it made him feel a bit uneasy.

Guan Lan: “Alright, let’s release it then. Go eat something good and get ready to head into the studio.”

At first, Zhuang Lin didn’t understand why he needed to eat well just to go into a recording studio.

By midnight, he understood.

He was still in the studio.

Guan Lan didn’t lose his temper or yell. He just rolled up his sleeves, tossed the sheet music aside, and said, “Let’s do the chorus again.”

“Zhuang Lin, go drink some water, take a twenty-minute break, and then we’ll do it again.”

“The takeout’s here. Don’t eat in the studio. Come back in thirty minutes, and we’ll do it again.”

The other staff members were clearly used to his methods. Without a word of complaint, they all seemed prepared to work late into the night.

As a singer, Zhuang Lin couldn’t eat too much, as it would affect his vocal performance later. Guan Lan had ordered a lavish late-night meal for everyone, but for Zhuang Lin, there was only a glass of lemon water and a small convenience store sandwich.

Zhuang Lin nibbled on the sandwich, watching Guan Lan with a coffee in one hand and a hand-pulled pancake in the other, a bit of black pepper sauce smeared at the corner of his mouth. He watched as Guan Lan devoured the pancake in a few bites, then sipped his coffee while scrolling through Weibo, his serious expression softening into a relaxed smile.

Zhuang Lin stared at him, taking half an hour to finish the tiny sandwich, and ended up biting his own hand.

On one hand, Zhuang Lin thought it wasn’t appropriate to stare at him like that with so many people around. On the other hand, he thought, it’s not my fault—he’s just so good-looking, and I’m not blind.

Finally, by early morning, they were done.

Guan Lan: “You worked hard today. Should I drive you home?”

Zhuang Lin: “Sure.”

…Guan Lan thought he might have overthought things. This guy clearly hadn’t become any more considerate.

Little did he know, Zhuang Lin simply didn’t want to say goodbye to him. If Guan Lan had suggested, “Let’s go jogging around the Second Ring Road,” Zhuang Lin would’ve agreed without a second thought.

The Second Ring Road was nearly empty.

Zhuang Lin: “I guess I’ve seen Beijing at 3 a.m. now.”

Guan Lan smiled: “Actually, you did great today. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have taken this long. But Little Boss Yang gave me a deadline—the new song has to be released online by the end of the month. We can’t let the recent buzz die down. So, we had to push through.”

Zhuang Lin: “I understand. I’m fine with staying later.”

Guan Lan: “It seems Little Boss Yang has high hopes for you and wants to invest in your career.”

Zhuang Lin: “That’s all thanks to you.”

Guan Lan: “I never asked him to give you special treatment. Yang Peiqing—he’s a bit unreliable in other areas, but his eye for talent is spot on.”

An alarm bell went off in Zhuang Lin’s mind. He remembered Qi Fei mentioning that Guan Lan and Yang Peiqing had some kind of emotional entanglement.

Zhuang Lin: “What do you mean by ‘other areas’?”

Guan Lan turned to him with a teasing look: “Are you asking me for gossip about your boss?”

Who the hell cares about Yang Peiqing’s gossip!

But as he looked into Guan Lan’s bright, smiling eyes, he was mesmerized and forgot to retort.

Guan Lan drove into the neighborhood, slowing down and stopping in front of Zhuang Lin’s building.

Zhuang Lin had changed companies, so he no longer lived in his old place. He had moved into Tianlong’s artist apartments.

Guan Lan: “Alright, you worked hard today. Go get some rest.”

Zhuang Lin didn’t want to go upstairs. He would’ve rather stayed in the car with Guan Lan all night.

Zhuang Lin: “It’s so late. Are you really going to drive back? Why don’t you just stay here for the night?”

Guan Lan looked at him in surprise.

Zhuang Lin suddenly realized that his words could easily be interpreted as a universal sexual innuendo.

His feelings for Guan Lan were still in a pure, lofty state of spiritual admiration. He hadn’t even thought about taking things further. So, his slip of the tongue left him flustered.

But Guan Lan didn’t take it that way at all. He just thought it was strange how Zhuang Lin seemed to have suddenly mastered the art of social niceties, becoming so smooth and considerate.

Guan Lan: “Come on, staying at your place? That’s not appropriate. The roads are empty now. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

Zhuang Lin: “It’s not like you haven’t stayed at my place before.”

Guan Lan: “Yeah, that one time I stayed over, your manager looked at me like I’d stolen her prized cabbage.”

Zhuang Lin: “…”

He’d seen people self-deprecate, but never this harshly.

Guan Lan: “There are too many eyes around here. You’re at the point where you need to cover your face when you go out. What if someone takes a photo? If a scandal like this breaks out right after your debut, Yang Peiqing would skin me alive. Even if we manage to handle the PR and keep it out of the news, if reporters get hold of it, it’ll be a headache.”

Guan Lan: “Just go upstairs and get some sleep. You can go into the company a bit later tomorrow.”

Zhuang Lin slept terribly, of course.

Qian Zhongshu once said that the mind of an 18 or 19-year-old boy without a girlfriend is sometimes filthier than a public restroom.

A 23 or 24-year-old single man isn’t much better.

His thoughts about Guan Lan hadn’t yet ventured into that territory because he was still reeling from the dual shock of art and soul, and he hadn’t recovered yet. But tonight, that thought crossed his mind, and it was like opening the floodgates—his mind immediately filled with obscene images.

However, the material in his mind was limited. He kept replaying the few physical interactions they’d had: the time he sent a drunk Guan Lan home and searched for his keys, accidentally brushing against Guan Lan’s waist, and Guan Lan had pulled away; and of course, the time he carried Guan Lan across the river and touched his thigh.

What kind of physical contact was that? It was all through clothes! There hadn’t been a single moment of skin-to-skin contact—not even a handshake!

He cursed himself for being so rude when they first met—why didn’t he shake his hand!

In the end, Zhuang Lin spent the night thinking about the glimpse of Guan Lan’s neck and collarbone in his white shirt, and he was hard all night.

—

Zhuang Lin realized that Guan Lan had been right—Yang Peiqing seemed to have high hopes for him.

Today, when Zhuang Lin went to the company, he was called into Yang Peiqing’s office alone.

His boss first made small talk, discussing work and life in a vague manner, then started asking about Guan Lan. He asked how late Zhuang Lin had worked with Guan Lan the previous night, whether Guan Lan treated him well, how much they communicated, and whether they spent time together outside of work. Zhuang Lin almost thought this was a rival in love popping up out of nowhere. But then, Yang Peiqing shifted gears and started lecturing him about how young people should be eager to learn. He said that having a high-caliber producer like Guan Lan willing to mentor him was a rare opportunity, and he should seize it—communicate more, ask for advice, and make use of his free time. He added that Guan Lan often worked through meals, and as a young person, Zhuang Lin shouldn’t complain about staying late. If Guan Lan worked through the night, he should do the same—late-night work was efficient.

By the end, Zhuang Lin gave up trying to figure out Yang Peiqing’s intentions. He decided this probably wasn’t a love rival, so whatever—maybe he was just naturally this meddling.

Finally escaping Yang Peiqing’s office, Zhuang Lin made his way to Guan Lan’s office to say hello, only to find Guan Lan eating inside.

He realized this was the third time, including last night, that he’d seen Guan Lan eating takeout.

Zhuang Lin didn’t go in. Instead, he chatted with Ren Xiaofei at the door: “Does your boss always eat takeout?”

Ren Xiaofei: “If he doesn’t have a business dinner, he eats takeout twice a day. I don’t know about breakfast, but I doubt he cooks for himself. He probably buys it.”

Zhuang Lin asked with ulterior motives: “Does he live alone?”

Ren Xiaofei: “He’s not married, and his parents aren’t in Beijing, so of course he lives alone.”

Just because he’s not married doesn’t mean he can’t live with someone! Zhuang Lin thought Guan Lan’s assistant was incredibly naive.

Zhuang Lin: “His work is so demanding.”

Ren Xiaofei: “Actually, it’s not so busy that he doesn’t have time to go out for meals. He’s just lazy.”

Zhuang Lin: “…”

In the afternoon, Zhuang Lin had an interview with a website to promote his new song. On the way, Qi Fei explained the key points and precautions for the interview, talking until her lips were dry, only to find Zhuang Lin’s mind wandering.

Qi Fei felt a bit frustrated.

Zhuang Lin: “…I want to learn how to make soup.”

Qi Fei’s gaze sharpened like a knife: “Are you in a relationship?”

Zhuang Lin looked back without a hint of guilt: “When would I have time for a relationship? Can’t I just improve my quality of life?”

In truth, he didn’t give a damn about quality of life. When he was abroad, he ate whatever was available—bread, fried chicken, Lao Ganma sauce, ordering a large pizza to last the day. The only reason he hadn’t turned into a greasy, pimply fat guy was his good genes.

But Qi Fei didn’t know that.

Qi Fei: “Then I’ll hire a housekeeper for you, one who’s a good cook.”

Zhuang Lin: “I haven’t even made much money yet, and I’m already acting all high and mighty. Why hire a housekeeper? I want to learn myself.”

Qi Fei: “Don’t ask me. I don’t cook at home either. Why don’t you bring your mom over? Her cooking is amazing.”

Zhuang Lin: “She has her own business. I can’t just ask her to drop everything and come here to cook for me.”

Zhuang Lin: “Never mind. I was just saying.”

Thinking about how Guan Lan had been eating takeout today, he decided to call his mom when he got home.