◎Moon◎
Same side, same foot.
Chun Zao hadn’t expected this to happen to someone who had won the military training excellence award in her first year of high school. In any case, for the remaining stretch to the school gate, she became an uncontrollable self-heating pack, unable to achieve coordinated limb movement while walking.
She must be overthinking…
Hopefully, she was just overthinking.
Yuan Ye noticed her prolonged silence: “Why aren’t you talking anymore?”
Inexplicably resistant to making eye contact with him again, and somewhat annoyed at her abnormal behavior, Chun Zao scanned the small stalls scattered across the street: “You stopped talking first, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” The boy seemed to just realize this, thinking for a moment: “Oh, right, I did.”
There was laughter in his voice: “Sorry.”
The red pedestrian figure on the traffic light remained motionless, indicating the path was temporarily blocked.
“Was there something wrong with what I said just now?”
He said it directly!
Her face, which had just cooled in the night breeze, flushed red again.
Chun Zao acted as if nothing was wrong, deliberately making her tone light: “Not at all.”
Yuan Ye observed her for a few seconds, then said slowly: “I’ve never had very specific feelings about eating. It seems like I can eat anything, but I don’t have anything I particularly like either. It might be related to childhood experiences—every time we ate, my dad would ask about studying and grades, and later my mom…”
He stopped there, seemingly unwilling to continue further.
Chun Zao looked up in surprise.
So that’s what he meant.
The one with a guilty conscience was herself, and she had unintentionally brought up those sad old matters.
“Actually,” Chun Zao became uneasy, instinctively comforting: “I’m the same way, I—”
She avoided the term “mom”: “My parents also often ask about my grades during meals…”
She completely empathized.
At those times, even if the table was full of delicacies, everything would become tasteless and hard to swallow; sometimes, tears of grievance would even drip into the rice bowl.
“But I still have things I love to eat,” like foods with no nutrition but that truly satisfy human cravings—high sugar, high fat, high calorie treats: “Otherwise it would be a bit impossible to live.”
By the end, her voice grew smaller and smaller.
When desires are suppressed for too long, there are only two outlets: self-numbing or explosive release.
But Yuan Ye always maintained an unusual calm: “Is that so?”
“Yes.” Chun Zao looked at him.
The boy also looked at her: “Then treat me to something you like.”
Chun Zao was stunned. After a moment, the little green figure began moving in her vision, and she curved her lips: “Okay.”
—
Chun Zao chose fried chicken strips, the super-large portion.
Fried skewers were unseemly, milk tea was inappropriate—her options were already limited.
Fortunately, her favorite fried chicken strip place hadn’t closed yet.
The taste was naturally beyond reproach, and every day before and after evening self-study it would be surrounded by layers of students.
After staring at the sizzling, bubbling oil for a while, Chun Zao turned to look for Yuan Ye.
The boy stood by the curb, head slightly lowered, quietly scrolling on his phone. The streetlight’s glow covered him like a cone-shaped bottle filled with water, his black hair moving slightly in the wind, like a frame from an art film, inexplicably somewhat lonely and desolate—impossible, Chun Zao quickly shook off this strange thought. Passing students were all looking at him.
Look, there were even people greeting him.
Oh? A second person greeting him appeared.
After the second time smiling and responding to an acquaintance, the boy’s face turned toward her.
Chun Zao immediately turned around, asking the boss when it would be ready, repeatedly emphasizing “don’t overcook it.”
She wanted to prove to Yuan Ye that there were indeed unforgettable delicacies in the world—how could there be no specific feeling of deliciousness?
Watching the fragrant, tender inside and crispy outside golden chicken strips gradually filling the largest paper bag, Chun Zao’s appetite was also stirred. She swallowed some saliva, her gaze following the boss’s hand to the toothpick container nearby.
He pulled out two bamboo picks. Just as he was about to put them both in the paper bag, the girl stopped him: “One is enough.”
The boss looked at her strangely, removed one, then took the bills she handed over and transferred the hot fried chicken strips to her.
Chun Zao squeezed out of the crowd, jogged back to Yuan Ye, holding up the bag with both hands: “Ready, here you go.”
Yuan Ye was surprised by the size of the package in her hands: “This much?”
Chun Zao said matter-of-factly: “It’s okay. Take your time eating it.” It would all be finished eventually, she added in her mind.
Yuan Ye took it in his hands, his slender fingers opening the bag.
When he discovered there was only one bamboo pick inside, he glanced at Chun Zao: “Aren’t you eating?”