Chapter 49

Chapter 49

“So,” the Beta girl waved her hand in front of Meng Shijiu. “Are you still playing?”

The rain outside continued to fall, though more lightly now. The streaks on the floor-to-ceiling window gradually dried, leaving behind a few winding traces.

When the server approached carrying a packaged paper bag, it dawned on the girl that he had chosen takeout.

She sighed inwardly at how beauty could be such a distraction—then immediately realized the person before her was likely about to leave. Her gaze fell on the paper bag in his hand.

It was exquisitely wrapped, tied with a slender cord, emitting a faint, sweet fragrance.

Meng Shijiu thanked the server but did not depart.

He glanced at her left hand—the star coin still rested safely in her palm. He shook his head gently. “Not playing anymore. I lost. What would you like to ask?”

The girl pressed a hand to her cheek and raised three fingers, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “So you’re obligated to answer three truths.”

Meng Shijiu’s brow arched slightly into a “go ahead” curve.

She raised one finger. “Your name?”

“Meng Shijiu.”

The girl tapped her chin. “How is it written?”

The gradually brightening daylight filtered through the window, mingling with the warm indoor light, falling upon the silver-haired youth seated by the window.

Light and shadow played across his form—some lines sharp and distinct, others soft and indistinct, like a freehand sketch.

He appeared to pause for a moment, then asked, “Have you heard of Meng Po?”

The girl shook her head.

Meng Shijiu traced the character "孟" on the tabletop, stroke by deliberate stroke, like a child engrossed in finger-painting during kindergarten—his normally fluid, decisive calligraphy now replaced by earnest, almost naive penmanship.

After finishing, he said, “This one.”

When she remained silent, he looked up to find her not gazing at the character he’d written, but studying him thoughtfully instead, asking curiously, “Who is Meng Po?”

“Is this your second question?” Meng Shijiu reminded her.

“That’s not fair,” the girl said, spreading her hands. “What I really want to know is the meaning behind your name.”

Meng Shijiu smiled. “The meaning of my name… isn’t it simply myself—sitting right here before you?”

“Wordplay,” the girl said.

“Excellent wordplay,” Meng Shijiu replied with a lazy shrug.

The girl was amused by this sudden self-praise. “Alright. If you say so.”

As if weary from all the talking—but adhering steadfastly to one of life’s great “never” principles—Meng Shijiu began to explain slowly, like a documentary narrator:

“Meng Po is the deity in legend who stands beside the Naihe Bridge after death. Each day, she serves a bowl of Meng Po Soup to the souls of the departed, erasing their memories so they may be reborn.”

The girl listened, grasping the gist. “That’s quite an obscure legend.”

Meng Shijiu continued. “Shi Jiu means ‘picking up a pot of wine.’”

“No other meaning?” the girl asked.

Meng Shijiu paused briefly, then tapped the cup beside him, maintaining his role as an emotionless commentator. “Look at this cup. When it holds water, it’s a water cup. When it holds tea, it’s a teacup. Only when it holds nothing is it truly itself. Shi Jiu means picking up an empty cup.”

The girl pondered. “Empty the cup first to make room for new things? One must discard past glories—including reputation, knowledge, and experience—and let go of past setbacks and failures, in order to move forward?”

Meng Shijiu: “Wow—you’re a genius.”

The girl: “…The way you praise me sounds deeply sarcastic.”

Meng Shijiu nodded, obediently dialing back the praise. “You’re very clever.”

The girl hesitated. “…Alright…”

Finally satisfied, she nodded.

Meng Shijiu smiled.

When he smiled, it was as if stars were falling—evoking the urge to reach out and catch them, even while knowing full well they couldn’t be caught.

The girl asked again, “But aren’t you called Shi Jiu—not Shi Kong, for ‘picking up emptiness’?”

“…Hmm. Because to the person who named me, I am already the ‘wine’ he cannot abandon—the ‘wine’ that will always exist.”

The girl: “Did he tell you that?”

Meng Shijiu said softly, “Everything I just said was told to me by him.”

“By the way,” Meng Shijiu smiled, “that was your second question.”

The girl was taken aback. “You’re such a cheapskate.”

Meng Shijiu nodded, unashamed.

The girl sighed. “Alright then—last question.”

“Just as you said—just as *he* said: a cup holding water is a water cup; holding tea, a teacup. If you were to name yourself, what name would you give yourself?”

Meng Shijiu didn’t hesitate. “Meng Shijiu.”

The girl: “Why?”

Meng Shijiu didn’t answer—only smiled at her.

…The girl realized this was already her fourth question.

She nodded regretfully, gazing at the seemingly serene and gentle youth before her. “Alright then. Well… goodbye?”

Meng Shijiu didn’t respond.

Backlit, the girl’s dark blue eyes appeared even clearer and brighter in the relative dimness.

Meng Shijiu: “Genius—care to play one more time?”

After a pause of several seconds, the girl smiled. “Of course, Great Sophist.”

She took the star coin back into her palm, magician-like, shifting its position several times. Then she extended both clenched fists, placing them once again before the silver-haired Alpha.

Meng Shijiu: “Right hand.”

The girl opened her hand—

Empty again.

Meng Shijiu looked toward her left hand.

The girl slowly opened her left hand—

Also empty.

"Oops, a tie," the girl added with a smile. "But I can give you a free 'truth' for your thoughts."

Meng Shijiu raised an eyebrow again. "Hmm? But I won't give you one for free."

The girl: "Of course I know that, you stingy thing."

The girl: "What do you want to ask?"

Meng Shijiu: "Your name."

The girl nodded, smiling faintly. "Sure. But since it's a tie, let's solve a riddle."

Meng Shijiu: "Go ahead."

The girl didn't speak.

She picked up the cup filled with water, slowly poured it into the nearby plant, then pointed at Meng Shijiu and herself.

That was the riddle.

The girl smiled. "Goodbye?"

Meng Shijiu also smiled. "Goodbye."

——

"The customer at table 32 has already paid for you," the server said softly, handing the umbrella to Meng Shijiu.

Meng Shijiu turned around and noticed Wen Yunye at table 32 had left at some point, leaving only Shen Huaixu.

Seeing him look over, Shen Huaixu gave him a gentle smile, his fox-like eyes slightly curved.

Meng Shijiu hooked his fingers around the paper bag and paused for a moment.

He only silently mouthed "thank you" to Shen Huaixu, then took the umbrella and turned to leave.

Outside the shop, the air on the street had lost its stifling heat, leaving only the freshness of a light drizzle.

The damp street reflected the light from the storefront, and shadows swayed slightly.

He had just leisurely opened his umbrella when a soft voice came from behind him—

"Mind sharing your umbrella?"

Before Meng Shijiu could turn around, a hand with distinct knuckles reached over and steadied the slightly wavering handle.

Under Meng Shijiu's gaze, water droplets slid down the wrist bone of the hand now holding the umbrella, disappearing into the folds of the newcomer's sleeve.

Meng Shijiu instinctively let go.

The umbrella shifted slightly, revealing a pair of heterochromatic eyes.

"Ding, ding, ding..." The sound of wind chimes was muffled inside the dessert shop's door.

Shen Huaixu's voice mingled with the sound of rain as he tilted the umbrella slightly toward Meng Shijiu before gently shifting his gaze over.

"Shijiu."

Meng Shijiu blinked slowly. "...Brother Shen."

"Hmm."

Shen Huaixu: "Take my car? I'll drive you back."

Meng Shijiu turned his face away and muttered softly, "..."

Too muffled to hear clearly. Shen Huaixu leaned closer. "Hmm?"

Meng Shijiu's voice grew even softer, but this time Shen Huaixu heard him clearly. The silver-haired Alpha said, "Who said I was going back?"

Shen Huaixu couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Alright. Then where does Shijiu want to go?"

The rain fell steadily.

"Don't." Meng Shijiu slowly tightened his grip on the umbrella but didn't move. "Know."

"Let."

"Go."

Shen Huaixu obediently released his hand.

Meng Shijiu was quite blunt. "Goodbye, Brother Shen."

...

Shen Huaixu stood outside the shop, on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling window where Meng Shijiu had been.

The glass clearly reflected the handsome profile of the heterochromatic Alpha, as well as his unreadable expression.

Shen Huaixu watched as the silver-haired Alpha hooked his fingers around the shopping bag, swaying the umbrella slightly. Under the umbrella, the ends of his silver hair swayed in a small arc as he walked lazily and slowly—so slowly that it seemed just a few quick steps could catch up to him.

And then he disappeared around the corner.

What did it resemble?

Like the moon on a cloudy night, suddenly vanishing.

...

Shen Huaixu walked with his umbrella toward the corner where the silver-haired Alpha had disappeared, as if retracing someone's steps in a futile attempt—like carving a mark on a moving boat to find a lost sword.

But perhaps this was the one time such a futile attempt actually worked.

As soon as Shen Huaixu turned the corner, his gaze swept through the rain and caught sight of that familiar figure.

The silver-haired Alpha stood casually on the steps at the corner, under a narrow overhang. Raindrops dripped down, splashing tiny droplets at his feet.

He had closed the umbrella, its tip unconsciously tapping the ground with a rhythmic, light sound.

Seeing Shen Huaixu appear, Meng Shijiu didn’t even bat an eye, as if he had long expected this reunion.

Shen Huaixu stepped closer, closing the gap until only half a step remained between them.

Standing on level ground, he was slightly lower than Meng Shijiu on the step, having to look up slightly to meet his eyes.

This was the first time Shen Huaixu had looked at Meng Shijiu from this angle. Raindrops landed on his lashes, and he instinctively narrowed his eyes.

When the silver-haired Alpha looked down, the coldness in those perpetually lazy eyes was unmistakable.

“What’s wrong?” Shen Huaixu asked.

Meng Shijiu replied, “I want to go back.”

Meng Shijiu continued tapping his umbrella. “Can’t walk. Don’t want to go anymore.”

Shen Huaixu smiled. “Want a ride?”

Meng Shijiu said, “Don’t want to take a car.”

He blurted out a blatant lie: “Carsick.”

Shen Huaixu offered, “Should I carry you?”

Meng Shijiu blinked rapidly, stubbornly insisting, “…Backsick.”

Shen Huaixu replied, “Hmm.”

The next moment, the Alpha, who had been maintaining a docile posture, suddenly paused. He abruptly stepped up to Meng Shijiu’s level, his tall frame closing in unexpectedly.

Meng Shijiu stepped back slightly, confused, his waist instinctively arching back in a subtle curve. As he looked up, his vision darkened—an umbrella was steadily held over both their heads.

The sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella suddenly sounded very close.

The Alpha who had stepped up didn't back away, looking down at him.

Meng Shijiu suddenly realized that when Shen Huaixu wasn’t smiling, his demeanor exuded a dangerous focus.

Before he could react, in the next instant, Shen Huaixu swept an arm around his waist and lifted him down entirely.

The sensation at his waist was both startlingly real and completely unexpected.

Meng Shijiu had to tilt his head back slightly, his silver hair brushing against Shen Huaixu’s shoulder. Their chests pressed together as the umbrella tilted at just the right angle, enveloping them in a private shadow.

*Clatter*—the umbrella in Meng Shijiu’s hand fell to the ground.

For a moment, Meng Shijiu was at a loss for words.

Shen Huaixu asked, “What now?”

“Still sick of me?”

Meng Shijiu stayed silent.

Shen Huaixu’s gentle voice came from behind his head: “What do you want, exactly?”

“Hold you? Carry you? Or take the car?”

Meng Shijiu remained quiet.

Shen Huaixu continued, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Before the words “take the car” could even be spoken, Meng Shijiu closed his eyes—so be it, then.

Suddenly, Meng Shijiu relaxed, sinking fully into Shen Huaixu’s arms.

Being lifted off the ground naturally brought a sense of unease, yet he seemed already accustomed to it, even casually reaching out to loop his arms around Shen Huaixu’s neck.

Holding him with one arm, Shen Huaixu couldn’t see Meng Shijiu’s expression but could clearly sense the sudden softening. This realization made the hand steadily holding the umbrella tremble almost imperceptibly, scattering the raindrops on its surface.

He tightened his arm around Meng Shijiu’s waist, as if trying to lock this unexpected surrender firmly in place.