33: Wontons

“You’re leaving?”

“Now that your leg’s healed, how about a drink before you go?”

“Strange—going all Zen on us? Come back and party with us till dawn… You’re really leaving? Lame!”

As it neared 11 p.m., Zhou Langxing’s plan to sneak out was discovered by his friends. He managed to get away after drinking a glass of alcohol. Squeezing through the dance floor, his clothes and hair were a mess, and someone had even yanked off his cross necklace.

Qin Yan was right not to come. Though the place claimed to be a quiet bar, its opening night was the complete opposite—wild, packed, with people constantly on the dance floor.

Zhou Langxing ruffled his hair and stepped out the door.

His gaze swept over the street and froze on a silhouette.

It was Qin Yan.

He stood under the neon bar sign, the swirling colors bouncing chaotically off his face.

As if sensing something, Qin Yan slowly turned his head. A streak of crimson light swept across his features, like thick oil paint brushed over his eyelids.

Their eyes met. Qin Yan slightly lowered his head and gave an embarrassed smile.

Zhou Langxing was stunned.

He stood there frozen, hand still in his hair, stumbling over his words, “You—when did you get here? How long’ve you been waiting? Why didn’t you call me?”

Qin Yan didn’t want to make him feel guilty, so he said he just arrived.

As he spoke, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Zhou Langxing noticed the tiny gesture, walked closer, and said in a low voice, “I don’t believe you.”

Qin Yan gave in easily. “Ten minutes.”

Zhou Langxing squinted, unconvinced.

“Fine,” Qin Yan tilted his head and smiled lightly, “fifteen.”

“That I believe,” Zhou Langxing replied.

Qin Yan’s smile deepened. He looked Zhou Langxing up and down, teasing, “Did you get mugged?”

Zhou Langxing’s hair was tousled and puffy, covering one eye. His hair tie was gone, the necklace around his neck was gone, and the noisy trinkets on his clothes had some gaps too.

He gave a helpless smile. “That’s not even an exaggeration.”

Then he asked, “Why didn’t you come inside?”

The bar’s flashing sign was blinding. The two slowly walked out of the underground passage.

“I wanted to go in and find you, but…” Qin Yan scrunched up his nose in frustration.

“Too loud?” Zhou Langxing guessed.

Qin Yan glanced at him. “Yeah. Way too loud. Someone told me this was a nice quiet bar.”

Zhou Langxing sheepishly tapped his index finger to his nose. “Unexpected situation… But you could’ve called me!”

“With that noise, you think you’d hear your phone? I didn’t want to waste the effort. Anyway—”

Qin Yan suddenly stopped walking, and Zhou Langxing had to stop too. As Qin Yan leaned in, the faint citrus scent on his clothes drifted over. Zhou Langxing’s throat bobbed as he asked hoarsely, “Wh-what?”

Qin Yan sniffed the air seriously. “How many drinks?”

“One—” Zhou Langxing came back to himself. “One Yakult.”

“Seriously?” Qin Yan blinked.

“Seriously.” Zhou Langxing blinked back.

Now it was Qin Yan’s turn to say he didn’t believe him.

Zhou Langxing insisted he was telling the truth.

“I still don’t believe you.” Qin Yan eyed him. “You love ice-cold Coke. You’re telling me you didn’t have any? I don’t buy it. Since you chose to lie, you must’ve had alcohol.”

“Okay, fine! I surrender! I drank!”

Zhou Langxing raised his hands in defeat, putting on a pitiful face—but his eyes were smiling.

That grin, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, spread across his whole face.

He couldn’t hold it back anymore, the corners of his mouth curled up.

“One drink. Just one.”

He kept sneaking glances at the person beside him, then added, “I got caught trying to sneak out. Had no choice but to drink.”

Qin Yan looked at him, and the intensity of his gaze made Zhou Langxing feel jittery, weak, and overheated all at once.

“You’re not supposed to drink. Your leg just got better. What if it starts hurting again at night?”

He lowered his head and muttered, “A real friend wouldn’t force you to drink.”

Zhou Langxing was thrilled deep down. The fact that he still cared—that meant the world to him.

He pretended to be helpless. “Sounds like you and my dad would have a lot to talk about. Pretty sure you’ve labeled all my friends as party animals.”

Qin Yan lifted his chin high. “Aren’t they?”

“They are! No doubt about it.”

Zhou Langxing answered firmly, like he had already chosen between his friends and Qin Yan.

That made their invisible observer, Zhou Shurong, shake his head.

He used to say stuff like that all the time—telling Zhou Langxing to stay away from those rowdy friends. And every time, Zhou Langxing would shoot back with sarcastic jabs like, “Are you planning to buy beachfront property soon?”

That attitude was basically telling him to mind his own business.

Now Zhou Shurong felt like something was off, even physically uncomfortable. That kind of smug tone—wasn’t it usually his job to get under Zhou Langxing’s skin?

He adjusted his glasses. He didn’t get the chance to call him a “two-faced mutt” before Zhou Langxing clenched his fist and waggled it forward like a dumb lucky cat, then put on a deliberately fake high-pitched voice and said:

“Already drank it. Even if I wanted to puke, it’s too late. Can we move on?”

Qin Yan stifled a laugh. “Good attitude. We can move on.”

Zhou Langxing grinned again.

Zhou Shurong closed his eyes and looked away. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Stupid mutt. But damn good at making people smile.”

This new bar was downtown, and it only took thirty minutes to get to Qin Yan’s place. But this wasn’t the time to go home.

Qin Yan hailed a cab. When he gave the driver an unfamiliar address, Zhou Langxing curiously asked, “That’s where the wonton guy sets up shop?”

“Not exactly,” Qin Yan explained. “He follows a route. That’s his final stop.”

Zhou Langxing nodded in understanding. After a while, he asked, just to keep the conversation going, “Is it good?”

The moment he asked, he already knew the answer—because he saw Qin Yan’s face light up with unmistakable longing. It was such an unfamiliar look.

“So good! But I have work, can’t stay up late. I can only get it once or twice a week!”

Zhou Langxing’s curiosity was piqued.

He closed his eyes, digging through memories of those late-night wontons. Besides that one photo—were there any details he’d missed?

He thought he found one…

One night, he’d heard noise downstairs and gone to check. The kitchen light was on, and he saw a familiar figure moving around. He thought he got it.

“Bro, hungry?”

“Mm,” Zhou Shurong replied without even turning around.

“Noodles? Make me a bowl too. Add an egg. No scallions.”

“Mm.” When Zhou Shurong was focused, he didn’t talk much. Always seemed aloof.

Zhou Langxing rummaged through the fridge. No Coke left, just some carrot juice. He took a sip, immediately grimaced, and put it back.

Then he sprawled across the counter and started his sonic assault: “Is it done yet? Done yet? Done yet?”

Zhou Shurong, in a champagne-colored robe with the sleeves rolled up three times to reveal muscular forearms, stood by the pot, completely focused, face expressionless, totally immune to the noise.

After a moment, he solemnly brought out two bowls and set them on the counter.

Zhou Langxing excitedly leaned over, then let out a disappointed “Ah?”

“Not noodles?”

“No.”

“You don’t like noodles anymore?”

“No.”

Zhou Shurong still spoke curtly. He had just scooped up a wonton and placed it in his mouth, chewing slowly, a pensive look on his face.

Zhou Langxing unconsciously slowed his breathing and got serious too. He asked softly, “Well? Is it good?”

Zhou Shurong took a sip of water. There wasn’t much expression on his face—calm and gentle as usual. But Zhou Langxing knew he wasn’t satisfied.

Curious, he took a few bites. “Not bad. Isn’t this just Auntie’s cooking? You had her make wontons during the day just so you could have a late-night snack?”

Zhou Shurong put down his spoon, wiped his mouth, and stood to head upstairs. He only left behind a single sentence:

“Since you think it’s not bad, you can finish the rest.”

And so, Zhou Langxing, clutching his bloated stomach, didn’t fall asleep until 2 a.m.

…

As the memory faded, the car pulled up to the curb.

Just how good were these wontons, that even Zhou Shurong couldn’t forget them?

Zhou Langxing was intrigued.

Uncle Wei’s cart was parked in an unremarkable corner. As soon as they got out of the car, Zhou Shurong smelled a scent that was impossible to ignore. Familiar and incredibly appetizing. Maybe it had just been too long since he’d eaten them, but the aroma seemed even more tempting than before.

He was just about to follow the scent when something felt wrong.

He’d become a ghost—he wasn’t supposed to be able to smell human food!

“Uncle Wei!”

Qin Yan followed the aroma and happily called out when he spotted the cart.

Zhou Langxing caught a whiff of that strange, rich meat scent and reflexively swallowed.

So fragrant?

Unbelievable!

There’s no way this place shouldn’t be packed with customers!

But when he looked over, the front of the cart was completely empty—not a single customer.

Sitting atop the tricycle cart was a middle-aged man dressed in a navy-blue robe with black cloth shoes. He was slightly hunched over, looking humble and simple.

But his face—something was off.

How to describe it…

Stiff. His expression was far too unnatural, like he was wearing a fake mask.

Zhou Langxing walked closer, hesitating slightly.

Qin Yan had already happily bounded up. Zhou Shurong’s expression grew tense as he reached out a hand—yet couldn’t even grab a corner of his shirt.

Utterly powerless.

He clenched his fist, gritted his teeth, and stood motionless, staring hard at the hunched figure on the cart.

Fear ballooned in his stomach—heavy, paralyzing.

His soul shrieked in his mind:

“Run! Get out of here—!”

But Zhou Shurong couldn’t go. He couldn’t leave. Even though every cell in his body resisted, screamed, he forced himself to move forward.

One step.

Another.

Another…

He finally reached Qin Yan’s side, utterly exhausted, trembling with fear and weakness.

Uncle Wei’s gaze shifted from Qin Yan to Zhou Shurong.

In that instant, before he could even react, Zhou Shurong instinctively darted into Qin Yan’s shadow.

Beside them, the streetlamp flickered. In the dim yellow light, a swarm of tiny bugs danced.

Zhou Langxing used the light to observe Uncle Wei.

Dusty features, a pale-blue complexion, stiff expression. Half his hair had gone white, threads hung loose from his robe, there were worn patches at his knees. His black cloth shoes were neatly cleaned but slightly faded.

—The aura of poverty hit like a wave.

Uncle Wei forced a kind smile, lifted the pot lid, and opened a drawer. His voice was slow and hoarse,

“Look, I saved two portions just for you and your friend.”

Qin Yan beamed. “You sold out? You usually don’t until midnight!”

“Yeah, business was unusually good tonight.” He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. At this rate, he’d be able to gather the surgery money for his daughter.

“Maybe the meat was too good—everyone wanted some!”

“Thank you so much, Uncle Wei!”

As Uncle Wei ladled out two bowls of wontons, Qin Yan licked his lips in anticipation.

Translucent wrappers encased pink meat, glowing white with a blush of red, floating in rich white broth—too fragrant, too delicious.

Uncle Wei wiped his rough hands on his robe. “Ran out of scallions. Hope that’s okay.”

“Okay? What are you talking about—this is amazing!” Qin Yan inhaled deeply. “It’s been so long. Uncle, your cooking’s gotten even better!”

“Haha… must be the meat! Found an especially good batch!”

Qin Yan, afraid of burning himself, held the bowl carefully and blew on it.

Zhou Langxing didn’t mind the heat. Holding the bowl, he kept sneaking glances at Uncle Wei, still feeling uneasy. It made him more particular about the food in front of him.

But it smelled so good.

He couldn’t help wanting to try the broth.

It was just so tempting. Could there be illegal ingredients in it? He’d heard some shady vendors used poppy to enhance flavor.

“Kid, why do you keep staring at me?”

Zhou Langxing paused. “Your complexion… doesn’t look too good.”

Qin Yan looked closer too and gently asked, “Uncle, are you sure you’re fully recovered from your illness?”

“I-I’m fine now.”

So he’d been sick. Zhou Langxing finally understood. No wonder something seemed off. He lowered his guard a little.

Qin Yan felt the soup was cool enough and went to take a sip.

Just as his lips touched the rim of the bowl, he suddenly felt a force push from underneath—his vision blurred, and the bowl of wontons spilled to the ground.

Qin Yan froze, stunned.

A beat later, Zhou Langxing shouted in surprise—his bowl had also fallen.

“Ah… what just happened? It felt like someone knocked my bowl over.”

Qin Yan was confused.

There was no one else around.

Was it someone invisible?

A… ghost?

The temperature plummeted. Uncle Wei turned to look at Qin Yan’s shadow with a sinister glare. The shadow squirmed uneasily under his gaze.

Just as he reached out—

“Boss, the bill!”

His hand abruptly changed direction and picked up the QR code.

Zhou Langxing asked, “How much?”

Uncle Wei replied, “Not much—six yuan a bowl.”

Zhou Langxing transferred a full 100 yuan.

Hearing the pleasant chime of the payment notification, Uncle Wei’s eyes widened.

Zhou Langxing smiled. “Thanks for your kindness, Uncle, saving two bowls and waiting for us… no need for change. The extra can go toward—”

He glanced over at Qin Yan. Qin Yan was staring at the spilled wontons on the ground, looking dazed.

Zhou Langxing assumed he must really want to eat, and a soft, doting expression appeared on his face.

“—toward tomorrow. We’ll come again!”

Uncle Wei’s voice softened. “Alright, no problem! I’ll be waiting for you!”

Zhou Langxing thought to himself,

This counts as another date.

Zhou Shurong: “……”

He could practically hear the abacus clicking in someone’s head.

“Be sure to come back tomorrow night——”

The middle-aged man in a dark blue robe pedaled his tricycle away with a creaking sound, his voice drifting farther and farther into the night.

Qin Yan stood there in a daze.

Under the dim streetlamp, a twisted, flickering shadow stretched across the ground.

Zhou Shurong silently climbed out.

Clutching his chest, he stared at the figure riding off on the tricycle, still shaken.

A car drove past, and its headlights swept by, casting a pitch-black shadow that stretched long and indistinct. It was nearly impossible to make out, but it vaguely resembled a human shape.

Zhou Shurong’s eyes widened in shock.

A shadow…

This powerful ghost had a shadow.

Yes, he had a physical body. He could be seen by everyone, living like a normal person.

That hunched figure on the tricycle slowly disappeared from view, but Zhou Shurong still stared in that direction, a faint light flickering in his eyes.

A strange, mouthwatering aroma lingered in the air.

Qin Yan was still staring at the spilled wontons. Though they had fallen to the ground, the wrappers hadn’t broken, and the pink meat inside still looked quite appetizing.

“Don’t stare anymore. How about we eat them tomorrow instead? You’re off work anyway. Let’s go out for late-night snacks.”

Zhou Langxing carefully nudged Qin Yan’s hand hanging at his side.

“Late-night snacks?”

Zhou Shurong suddenly turned his head, his eyes locked dangerously on his clueless and foolish little brother. With a “polite” smile, he said:

“If you want to die, go enjoy it alone. Don’t drag innocent people with you.”

It was far too dangerous. No one knew how those two bowls of wontons were made, but the scent was the same as Uncle Wei’s. His gut told him—even ghosts would die if they ate them.

The meat…

Uncle Wei had mentioned several times how good the meat was.

Zhou Shurong wondered: could that meat stuffing have come from his own corpse?

Qin Yan finally looked away.

He stared at his reddened palm. “Langxing…”

“Yeah?”

“How did your bowl of wontons fall?”

At that, Zhou Langxing crossed his arms, his face flushing with anger. “Some jerk bumped into me! The road’s so wide, and he just had to squeeze past me. Didn’t even apologize!”

He looked left and right. The surroundings were quiet, no one around, and hardly any passing cars.

His voice lowered in hesitation. “…He better hope I don’t catch him.”

Zhou Shurong let out a cold snort.

Qin Yan was still staring at his palm. His lips moved, but no words came out.

After a while, he looked around as well, his gaze filled with longing, urgency, hope…

“Was that you?”

The words were soft, barely audible—like a wisp of breath ready to scatter.

Zhou Shurong stood there, pale and translucent under the dim light, like a mirror about to shatter.

He lowered his head, looking at his faintly see-through hands, and whispered, “It’s me.”

Qin Yan only heard Zhou Langxing.

“What did you just say?”

Qin Yan smiled. “It’s late. Let’s go home.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s grab a taxi then.”

Zhou Langxing pulled out his phone and started tapping on it.

Meanwhile, Qin Yan picked up the disposable bowl and spoon and tossed them in a nearby trash can. When he turned back around, he saw two stray dogs lured by the scent, devouring the fallen wontons ravenously.

He didn’t go back over—just watched them eat with savage hunger.

A sense of unease welled up inside him.

If the one who knocked over the bowls was Zhou Shurong, and he didn’t let them eat, why?

Was there something “special” about Uncle Wei’s wontons?

The aroma was even more tempting than before. Uncle Wei said it was because of the meat…

If it wasn’t pork, then meat like that would require a heavy dose of spices to mask any stench. But these wontons had a pure, savory aroma—meaty and rich, without even a hint of sesame oil.

So what kind of meat was it?

It didn’t smell like pork, beef, or lamb…

Suddenly, the two stray dogs began fighting over a bone from the wonton soup!

Their throats let out terrifying growls.

Zhou Langxing hurriedly tugged Qin Yan away, but Qin Yan kept looking back. Just as they were about to turn the corner, he saw the yellow dog clamp its jaws around the black dog’s neck, and the bone rolled downhill…

Under the dim streetlamp.

The bone was flat, with pointed ends. No matter how he looked at it, it resembled a vertebra. But from what animal?

A car arrived. Zhou Langxing nudged the distracted Qin Yan into the vehicle.

Then he shut the door.

Qin Yan tried to shake off the earlier scene, leaning against the window. “Aren’t you coming?”

Zhou Langxing grinned, the night breeze tousling his messy hair, partially covering his eyes. But between the strands, a faint glow shimmered.

“You forgot, we live in different directions. What, you want me to go home with you and sleep together?”

Qin Yan quickly withdrew and told him goodbye.

Zhou Langxing laughed, shoulders shaking.

Zhou Shurong stood beside the car, glancing at Qin Yan inside and then at Zhou Langxing outside, wishing he could split in two and escort them both home safely.

It wasn’t until becoming a ghost that he realized how dangerous the world had become.

After a moment’s thought, he pressed his hand to Zhou Langxing’s shoulder, keeping it there for a while before releasing a trace of yin energy, clinging to Zhou Langxing like a tracker.

Zhou Shurong’s power was weakened, so Zhou Langxing didn’t notice anything strange—at most, he probably thought a mosquito had landed on his shoulder.

Then, Zhou Shurong took off in pursuit of the car.

Hopefully, Zhou Langxing would go home properly and not end up partying all night at a bar again.