Chapter 13: Why are your eyes so red?

Chapter 13: Why are your eyes so red?

In the kitchen, as Yin Li prepared the hangover remedy, the steam fogged up his glasses. Removing them, he noticed Bian Qiao entering.

Bian Qiao opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water, noticing Ying Li cleaning his glasses, he inquired, "Are you nearsighted?"

Yin Li commented, "A little bit."

His nearsightedness wasn't severe, only about a hundred degrees. He didn't wear his glasses often as they'd sometimes press into his nose bridge, causing discomfort. He'd usually put them on when using the computer. Earlier that morning, after finishing his proposal report in the dorm, he forgot to remove them.

Maybe it was the sudden absence of the glasses, but squinting, he observed Bian Qiao more closely. Deep-set eyes, dense lashes, and when not wearing glasses, his eyes were particularly captivating, constantly alluring. With glasses, he appeared more studious, innocent, and pure.

Approaching, Bian Qiao inquired, "What are you making?"

"A hangover remedy," Yin Li replied, "Shen Yao had too much to drink, and now he has a headache."

Bian Qiao looked surprised. "He's drunk?"

"Yes," Ying Li responded, putting on his glasses again, "He can't even walk straight."

Bian Qiao chuckled, "He didn't drink that much. How did he get so drunk?"

"I also..." Yin Li began, but was interrupted by two sneezes. He looked a bit worse for wear, "Excuse me."

Earlier, while preparing the hangover remedy, he had been sneezing repeatedly. Now, he felt distinctly unwell.

"It's alright," Bian Qiao inquired, "Is it ready?"

Pouring a bowl of the soup, Ying Li replied, "Yes, it's ready. I'll take it to him right now."

"Let me handle this," Bian Qiao suggested, "You should go and take a hot shower. You might be catching a cold."

Yin Li expressed his gratitude, "Thank you. Just leave the bowl in the kitchen after drinking. I'll wash it later."

"No problem," Bian Qiao said, taking the bowl from him.

Yin Li noticed he was wearing gloves, the kind made of leather, extending into his sleeves and disappearing under his shirt. The long knuckles wrapped within, exuding an unexpected allure.

Isn't it too early for gloves? Winter hasn't arrived yet, has it?

Then he remembered: Bian Qiao had a serious case of mysophobia and was prone to allergies. To protect himself, he'd cover up thoroughly, regardless of the season. There was an incident when he had an allergic reaction that turned his whole body red, landing him in the hospital, which deeply worried his fans.

Those sleek fingers encased in black leather gloves, combined with his scholarly face, reminded Yin Li of cinematic psychopathic killers – genteel and restrained on the outside but wicked to the core. However, he knew that couldn't be the case with Bian Qiao. Scrolling through social media, he'd noticed fans declaring Bian Qiao the kindest and most gentle member of their group.

Holding the bowl of sobering soup, Bian Qiao headed upstairs.

The room was pitch-black, with no lights on.

The bowl made a clear sound as it hit the tabletop, but the person on the bed remained still, eyes closed.

Shen Yao wasn't sleeping; in fact, he hadn't even tried.

He wasn't drunk. His mind was clear, and he had a high alcohol tolerance. He could handle a lot without getting drunk, and no one had forced him to drink heavily that night. It was just polite exchanges.

A brief nap in the car had left him more alert than tired. Seeing Yin Li's concerned expression earlier had tempted him to tease the man. But when Yin Li actually went to prepare the remedy, he felt regret, thinking he shouldn't have inconvenienced him, especially so late.

Just as he considered going to the kitchen to ask Yin Li to stop fussing, someone entered his room, prompting him to quickly feign sleep again.

Sensing a presence approaching, Shen Yao's eyelids pressed tighter, and his heart raced.

A sudden click, and the room was bathed in light, blindingly bright, causing him to squint reflexively.

After waiting a while with no sound or movement, Shen Yao's patience wore thin. Was the person just watching him? Or had they left?

Just as he was about to give in to curiosity, a voice said, "If you're not asleep, get up and drink the hangover remedy."

The chilling voice rang in his ears. Opening his eyes, he saw Bian Qiao and his face turned pale, "Why is it you?"

Standing beside the bed, Bian Qiao looked down at him, his gaze devoid of warmth. "You should be saying thank you, not questioning why it's me."

Shen Yao choked on his words for a moment, "…Thank you, Bian, the benevolent."

Bian Qiao offered his signature smile. "You're welcome. Just take the bowl down when you're done."

"Understood."

Shen Yao quirked a corner of his mouth. On the surface, Bian Qiao seemed amiable, courteous to everyone. Yet, deep down, he bore an air of superiority. Hailing from an esteemed artistic lineage, both his parents were renowned figures in their circle. Naturally, he looked down on those who came from non-traditional backgrounds, especially Shen Yao.

Shen Yao had spent several years as an underground singer, having performed in bars throughout Nancheng and even forming his own band. Despite years of grueling work and some rough edges developed along the way, he simply couldn't match the refinement of others in their group. It was only expected that Bian Qiao might find him lacking.

Bian Qiao's presence in the group was rather understated, never seeking attention, seemingly content and undemanding. In the eyes of fans, he could very well be a celestial being reincarnated.

Shen Yao hadn't interacted much with him. They had teamed up a few times during performances, and despite being in the group together for three months, their off-stage interactions were minimal. Thus, Shen Yao was quite surprised when Bian Qiao brought him the sobering soup.

Shen Yao gulped down the remedy in two swigs, then promptly washed the bowl as he descended the stairs.

The rain outside persisted. With Bian Qiao occupied delivering the hangover remedy, Yin Li took the opportunity to have a warm bath, dispelling the cold that gripped him. After changing into his pajamas and getting ready to dry his hair, a knock echoed from the door.

Upon opening it, the rich scent of gardenias overwhelmed him, dizzying in its intensity.

"Just had a shower?" Song Ji Mo cast him a glance.

The hot bath left Yin Li's cheeks flushed. His eyes shimmered with moisture, surrounded by delicate wisps of steam, making his skin look as soft and tender as tofu—easily impressionable.

Song Ji Mo's gaze subtly traced the dew-kissed collarbone of Yin Li, his expression darkening slightly. "Your pajamas seem a tad too big."

"Loose clothing is more comfortable," Yin Li replied. His sleepwear always ran a size larger, revealing a generous expanse of lustrous skin, extending from the chest down to his collarbone. A peach blossom-shaped birthmark appeared even more vivid against the flushed backdrop.

"Did you need something?"

Leaning against the door, Song Ji Mo inquired, "Did you forget something?"

"Hmm? What?" A moment of confusion flashed in Yin Li's crystal-clear eyes before recognition dawned. He'd forgotten about something Song Ji Mo had shared with him. Slightly chagrined, he admitted, "I almost forgot again..."

"May I come in and sit for a while?"

"Of course. Feel free to sit anywhere."

Song Ji Mo surveyed Yin Li's room, noting its neatness and order—much like its owner.

The computer on the desk was still on. Glancing at the screen, Song Ji Mo asked, "Writing something?"

"Yes, research for my thesis," Yin Li replied, tidying up a bit. "Have a seat. I'll just dry my hair."

The hair dryer roared as Ying Li quickly dried her hair. In the midst, she discreetly switched to her alternate account on Site C.

What Song Ji Mo shared with her was an mp3 file. She pressed play, and the intro was the sound of a pipa, powerful and impassioned, immediately capturing Ying Li's attention.

The pipa, as an instrument, seemed naturally suited for storytelling. Its ringing notes painted a scene of fluttering banners; instantly, Ying Li was immersed in an intense battlefield. Following that, war drums resonated, trumpets sounded, and five different voices conveyed the might of vast armies. A flawless high note pierced the sky, as if thrusting listeners into a time when wars raged endlessly.

When the battle ended, the pipa's tone dramatically softened, gently caressing every fallen soldier with its mournful melody. The song concluded as it began, with the sound of the pipa, bringing everything full circle.

The song's narrative was profoundly moving; by the end, a tear unknowingly hung at the corner of Ying Li's eye.

Song Ji Mo furrowed his brows, "Why are you crying?"

"Huh?" Ying Li quickly wiped away her tears and sniffled, "It's beautiful."

Song Ji Mo couldn't help but chuckle, "So beautiful that it made you cry?"

Ying Li nodded sheepishly.

Song Ji Mo remarked, "I just wanted to share a new song with you, not to make you cry."

"I'm just naturally emotional," Ying Li admitted. She was someone who easily empathized. Even a simple story could move her to tears, and she had an inherent weakness for patriotic songs, which often stirred her emotions deeply.

Her moistened eyes shimmered, reminiscent of a dew-kissed camellia, invoking the desire to cherish and protect. Her voice also held a hint of a sob.

Some people simply looked more beautiful when they cried.

A tender sensation scratched at Song Ji Mo's heart, his tone becoming softer, "This is the title track of our new album, and you're its first listener."

Ying Li's eyes widened in surprise, "What's the name of the song?"

"It's called 'A Dream of Mountains and Rivers'," Song Ji Mo replied. "It's our first attempt at traditional Chinese-style music. I'm curious about how it turned out."

Ying Li commented earnestly, "The pipa intro was captivating, I literally got goosebumps. The handling of the high notes in the chorus was masterful, with rich emotions and a high level of completeness. This song will definitely become a hit."

Song Ji Mo raised an eyebrow, "Such high praise. I almost forgot you studied music. Nan University's music program is renowned nationwide."

Nan University ranks among the top three in the nation overall, with faculty expertise surpassing many specialized music institutions. They've nurtured countless musical talents, and it was precisely for this reason that Ying Li had chosen Nan University without hesitation.

With a rhythmic tap of his fingers on his knee, Song Ji Mo inquired, "You're graduating next year, right? What do you plan to do after that?"

Ying Li's eyelashes trembled slightly, "I haven't decided yet..."

Song Ji Mo smiled, "That's okay. Take your time. It's getting late; you should get some rest."

"You too," Ying Li replied with a smile, "Thank you for sharing such a beautiful song with me."

Even after she had cried, she thanked him. Song Ji Mo found her intriguing, "I should go now."

Just as he finished speaking, there was another knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Ying Li went to answer.

After washing the dishes, Shen Yao had intended to head upstairs to sleep, but somehow found himself here. He'd never visited this room before, which used to be occupied by Aunt Mei, who treated them like her own sons.

As the door opened, Shen Yao was met with the familiar scent of gardenias. He paused mid-knock, holding his breath momentarily.

Ying Li's oversized pajamas made her appear younger by a couple of years. Her eyes were tinged with red, hints of tears at their corners. Her fluttering eyelashes reminded Shen Yao of a white, gentle rabbit he once kept; it was incredibly sweet and docile.

Taking a deep breath of the gardenia fragrance, Shen Yao's voice softened unconsciously, "Why are your eyes so red? Have you been crying?"

"Who is it? Shen Yao?" Recognizing the voice, Song Ji Mo approached.

"Song Ji Mo, what are you doing here?" Shen Yao's eyebrows furrowed into a frown, glancing at Ying Li's reddened eyes and darkening his expression, "Did he upset you?"

Author's note:

Shen Yao: My wife looks so beautiful when she cries. I wish I could be the one making her cry.