Chapter 61: I LEARNED TO COOK OUT OF PURE GRIEF

He settled on something simple.

A cream oversized long sleeve, dark straight leg trousers, white sneakers. Clean and unremarkable.

The glasses went on, thin framed and unassuming, the kind that changed a face without trying too hard.

Light makeup, just enough to shift the familiar angles into something less identifiable.

No wig today.

His own dark hair, worn as it was.

He looked at himself in the mirror.

Not Guiying.

Not quite Tang XiaoYu either.

Just a nondescript, unbothered person heading to a friend’s apartment for lunch.

He picked up his phone, his card, and his keys, and headed downstairs.

Wang Chengli was in the entrance hall.

He looked at Guiying.

Guiying looked at him.

"I’m going to see a friend." Guiying said.

"Of course, Master Xue," Wang Chengli said. "Shall I arrange the car?"

"I’ll take a cab," Guiying said. "I’ll be back before dinner."

Wang Chengli looked at him with the particular expression of someone who had several thoughts and was choosing, as always, to express none of them.

"Of course," he said. "Please take care."

Guiying headed out.

The cab ride took twenty minutes.

He spent them watching the city move past the window and thinking about nothing in particular, which was a luxury he had only recently learned to allow himself. In the Xue household there had always been something to calculate, something to survive, something to prepare for.

But in Liuxian’s mansion there was always something to plan, something to invest in, something to move forward.

There was a stark difference.

Sitting in a cab going to have lunch with his only friend on a Monday afternoon with nowhere urgent to be was, by the standards of his life, an extraordinary thing.

He let himself feel that for a moment.

Then the cab stopped.

He looked up.

The building was exactly what he expected from Yang Limo, which was to say it was quietly excessive and entirely tasteful and would have been annoying if the person who lived in it was not so genuinely unbothered by his own wealth.

He texted Limo from the lobby.

"I’m downstairs."

The reply came in four seconds.

"BABY!!!! come up come up come up 38th floor!!!!"

Guiying looked at the message.

Then he got in the elevator.

The doors opened directly into the apartment.

The first thing he noticed was the smell.

Something was cooking.

Something that smelled like it had been cooking for a while and had opinions about being good. Garlic and ginger and something deeper underneath, the particular smell of a Chinese kitchen being operated by someone who actually knew what they were doing.

The second thing he noticed was Limo, appearing from the kitchen in an apron that said WORLD’S OKAYEST CHEF, holding a spatula, looking extremely pleased with himself.

"Baby! You actually came!"

"I did say I was coming," Guiying said, stepping inside and looking around. The apartment was large and already lived in, photographs on the shelf, a guitar case leaning against the wall, the comfortable disorder of someone who had unpacked with feeling rather than method. "This place is nice."

"My dad got it for me," Limo said, already heading back to the kitchen. "Which means he definitely had it inspected and probably has the wifi password. Come sit, food’s almost ready."

Guiying followed him to the kitchen and sat at the counter.

"You cook now?" he said.

"I’ve been cooking for three years," Limo said, with the dignity of someone who had earned this. "Canadian Chinese food is a crime against humanity. It’s not bad but sometimes it lacks the taste of home. I had no choice but to learn." He lifted the lid off a pot and steam rose. "Braised pork belly, steamed egg, cucumber with garlic and chili. I also made rice. Don’t look at me like that." 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"I’m not looking at you like anything," Guiying said.

"You have the face you make when you’re surprised," Limo said.

"I don’t have a face."

"You have so many faces," Limo said cheerfully, and began plating.

Guiying watched him move around the kitchen with the ease of someone who had spent three years feeding himself and had become genuinely good at it, and felt something warm and quiet settle in his chest.

Limo set two plates on the counter and pulled up a stool across from Guiying.

"Eat first," he said. "Then you can tell me everything I missed."

Guiying picked up his chopsticks.

The braised pork belly was, objectively, excellent.

"This is good," Guiying said, with some surprise.

"I know," Limo said simply.

They ate for a while in the comfortable silence of two people who had never needed to fill every gap with words. Then Limo pointed his chopsticks at Guiying.

"Okay. Three years. Go."

Guiying looked at him. "You first."

"Why me first?"

"Because you went somewhere interesting. I stayed here and suffered."

Limo laughed. "Fine." He leaned back on his stool. "Canada was cold. Like genuinely, offensively cold. I wore four layers for the first winter and still nearly died." He shook his head. "The music program was good though. Really good. I learned things I couldn’t have learned here, production, arrangement, working with live bands. It changed the way I hear everything." He paused. "But the food. Baby. The food."

"Don’t call me baby," Guiying said.

"The food was tragic," Limo continued, ignoring him completely. "I spent the first six months homesick for dumplings specifically. Not even good dumplings. Just any dumplings. I would have cried over frozen supermarket dumplings."

"So you learned to cook."

"I learned to cook," Limo confirmed. "Out of pure grief." He pointed at the braised pork belly. "This recipe took me eight months to get right. Eight months, Guiying. My Canadian neighbours thought I was running some kind of experiment."

Guiying ate another piece. "The suffering was worth it."

Limo looked pleased. "Your turn."

Guiying thought about the last three years. What he could say and what he couldn’t. The shape of it without the parts that weren’t his to share yet.

"I survived." he said.