BFILWY CH 3

Chapter 3: The Shattered Heart

He Zhifan was in a great mood today, feeling very cheerful. This time, he was touring with the orchestra. After finally returning to the country, he had arranged several meals with family, relatives, classmates, and friends. Only Ye Qinghe, the busy person, managed to squeeze out time for dinner on the last day before He Zhifan had to leave.

“Hey, at last week’s middle school reunion, a lot of people showed up. Zhuang Zi even asked me why you didn’t come,” He Zhifan said. For some reason, he had developed the habit of adding a “zi” to everyone’s nickname—Ye Zi, Zhuang Zi—and even called his own older brother “Ge Zi.”

“I was in the south for a meeting last week. I couldn’t make it, so I didn’t go,” Ye Qinghe replied.

“Heard from Zhuang Zi that you haven’t been to a reunion in years. I thought you’d come this time for my sake, but it looks like you still didn’t show up. Deng Shanshan even came to ask me twice why you weren’t there. Seems like she’s still thinking about you all these years,” He Zhifan said, poking at his food, “What’s this mud? Pumpkin?”

“Sweet potato, maybe?” Ye Qinghe said, uncertain, licking the salad on his fork before asking, “Who is Deng Shanshan?”

“I think it’s pumpkin,” He Zhifan said, taking another bite before replying, “Deng Shanshan was the class president for three years, and sat next to you for one year. How do you not remember her? She’d probably cry if she knew.”

“Oh,” Ye Qinghe shrugged, “Wasn’t I your deskmate?”

“I was your deskmate in elementary school,” He Zhifan rolled his eyes and, with gloves on, bit into a chicken wing. “Your memory’s really bad. You’re only thirty, and you’re already losing it?”

“I don’t really think about the past much,” Ye Qinghe changed the subject, “Only two months here, and you’re leaving so soon? Isn’t your mom going to scold you?”

“I can’t help it,” He Zhifan followed along with Ye Qinghe’s change of topic, “During this tour, the agency in Vienna sent a new person. The arrangements weren’t done well, and the schedule here in the country was too tight with Japan’s schedule. The later leg of the tour to Austria was already booked, and couldn’t be changed, so we had to charter a flight. I’m flying out in the early morning. I’ve already checked in my luggage. After we finish eating, I’ll head straight to the airport.”

“He Zhifan, you’re really working hard, but your orchestra’s fame is really growing. I went to listen the other day, and the encore calls just wouldn’t stop. Your conductor ^[1]kept coming out to bow,” Ye Qinghe said.

“What do you mean ‘your conductor’? Don’t just make stuff up,” He Zhifan scolded, “And don’t call him ‘Whistle.'”

“You can call me Ye Zi, but I can’t call him ‘Whistle’? You’re so biased,” Ye Qinghe teased his friend. “The conductor you’re talking about is surnamed Shao, so what’s wrong with calling him ‘Conductor Shao’?” Ye Qinghe particularly emphasized the first three syllables, feeling that his remark was cleverly double-edged and innocent at the same time.

“He doesn’t like it,” He Zhifan said in a low voice.

“I don’t like calling him ‘Young Master’ either,” Ye Qinghe couldn’t resist replying. He groped around the table for a bottle and asked, “Which one is the pepper shaker? The round one or the square one?”

“The square one,” He Zhifan replied casually.

Ye Qinghe took the square shaker, sprinkled some pepper into his dish, and put it back on the table. He then took a sip of soup, hesitated for a moment, and said nothing further.

He Zhifan continued to talk about his orchestra’s matters, mentioning how this year they were hiring new members. The process was troublesome, and he’d originally thought the music industry would be straightforward, but it turned out to be just as messy. Some people who couldn’t perform well tried to use connections to get by, a real modern version of “filling the ranks with incompetent people.” Ye Qinghe casually sipped his soup, replying with half-hearted “Mm, yeah, right, I see,” in a way that showed he wasn’t paying much attention. He thought he could hide his distraction in the darkness, but there was no way to fool He Zhifan’s sharp ears.

Since seeing Brian earlier at the red curtain, Ye Qinghe had been a little lost in thought. He felt a strange sense of familiarity with Brian’s appearance. It wasn’t because he knew him—he was sure this was the first time he’d seen this waiter—but the way Brian held his head up or tilted it slightly, with his half-closed eyes showing a hint of white, gently swaying left and right as if searching for the source of sound, gave Ye Qinghe an oddly misplaced sense of irritation. It was like walking down the road and suddenly hearing a snap, then looking down to find you’d stepped on and crushed a large snail. There was a bit of that “I didn’t mean to” apologetic feeling, but it was also unsettling and disgusting, leaving him with a sense of unease that made it hard to continue eating.

“Where’s the pepper?” He Zhifan suddenly asked Ye Qinghe for the pepper. Before Ye Qinghe could speak, He Zhifan had already grabbed the square shaker from the table and swiftly sprinkled some into his plate.

“Hey, hey, hey! The pepper’s in the round shaker,” Ye Qinghe tried to stop him, but it was already too late.

“Why didn’t you say it earlier?” He Zhifan took a bite, then spat it out, complaining, “Ugh, it’s too salty. Didn’t you also put too much salt earlier? Why didn’t you say anything? Have you finished your soup? Your taste buds must be off.”

Ye Qinghe let out a long sigh, feeling a little blocked in his chest.

“What’s wrong? Can’t bear for me to leave?” He Zhifan, sharp as always, heard Ye Qinghe’s sigh and couldn’t help but tease, “If you can’t bear it, just say it. I can stay and keep you company a little longer.”

“Keep me company?” Ye Qinghe asked, “What about your ‘Whistle’?”

“Why do you keep bringing him up?” He Zhifan’s heart became unsettled when Ye Qinghe mentioned Shao Ye again. He retaliated with his usual tactic of accusing others first, “Stop trying to change the subject. You’re acting strange tonight. What’s wrong, in a bad mood?”

Ye Qinghe fell silent again.

In fact, he had been in a bad mood for six years, and at this moment, he felt a small, foolish urge to confess.

Perhaps it was the empathy brought on by the darkness, or perhaps the guilt that had accumulated over the years, but on this day—after drinking a bowl of incredibly salty soup—it felt as though something was finally about to erupt.

He stared at the dark expanse before him, his fingers anxiously rubbing the long handle of his spoon. After a pause, he finally spoke, “I’ve done a lot of bad things in the past. Among them, there’s one thing that was especially bad.”

His voice was light, as if speaking in this way could somehow make the biting torment a little less severe.

(To be continued…)