Hate The Bright Moon Chapter 5
byThe video connected. Before Chen Shilü could say anything, Chi Huang, seeing him in a suit and tie today with slicked-back hair and a powdered face, whistled sharply and suggestively.
Chen Shilü, however, looked serious and told him, “Don’t make a sound yet.” Then he slipped the phone into his pocket.
On the way, an acquaintance from Qisheng Group greeted him, “Director Chen, is the presentation over for today?”
“Not yet, a colleague is handling it. I’m stepping out to take a call.”
“Go ahead.”
After the brief exchange, he entered the elevator, went downstairs, and only took the phone out in the garden below, finally looking directly at Chi Huang.
He couldn’t tell where Chi Huang was. The light was dim in the middle of the afternoon, and the face on the screen was slightly furrowed, clearly displeased.
“Director Chen, you’re putting on quite the airs, aren’t you?”
If anyone else had said that, Chen Shilü might have been annoyed, but for someone who was actively trying to hook him, he always had more patience: “My apologies, I was just in a meeting with a client. It wasn’t convenient to take a video call.”
“Oh, you’re busy. I’ll hang up then…”
Chen Shilü stopped him: “I’m out now.”
“I don’t have anything important to say,” Chi Huang showed a hint of a smile, “Does Director Chen have time during work hours to listen to my nonsense?”
Chen Shilü smiled too: “I’m actually a little tired from work. What nonsense? Tell me about it.”
“I just wanted to tell you that yesterday’s movie was terrible. It wasted my time.”
“Is that so? I’m truly sorry about that. I saw good reviews and was planning to go see it tomorrow.”
Chi Huang was a little speechless, watching him calmly talk nonsense instead of getting to the point. This person was being overly pretentious, but Chi Huang wasn’t the patient type. He said directly, “I thought you might be free tomorrow. Since you’re planning to watch a movie, forget it.”
“You just said it was terrible. I definitely trust your taste.” Chen Shilü figured the other person was about to get annoyed if he teased him further, so he said, “If you’re asking me out, I’ll make time tomorrow, no matter what.”
“Tomorrow we…” Chi Huang paused for a long time, his face alternating between white and blue from the screen light. It looked like he was currently searching for a place for a date.
This was truly a spur-of-the-moment decision, completely unprepared.
Chen Shilü was about to say that if he really didn’t know where to go, he could arrange it, when Chi Huang sent him a link to an exhibition at an Art Museum: “Want to see a photography exhibition?”
It didn’t matter what they did, but unexpectedly, Chi Huang happened to pick a place Chen Shilü had always wanted to visit but hadn’t found the time for.
After agreeing to meet at the Art Museum entrance at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, Chi Huang hung up decisively.
The agreed time was neither too early nor too late, so Chen Shilü slept comfortably before getting up. He washed up, tidied himself, and chose a loose, tea-colored casual suit, simply paired with a brown horse-leather chest bag. He left the house right on time.
He found driving troublesome, so he called a ride-share.
He had barely gotten into the car when he received a message from Chi Huang, asking where he was.
“In the car. Why?” For a split second, Chen Shilü thought Chi Huang might stand him up. He wouldn’t be surprised if that happened with someone like him.
Unexpectedly, Chi Huang sent a photo of the Art Museum entrance, saying, “I’m here.”
Chen Shilü checked the time: “It’s not even nine-thirty yet.”
“I didn’t look at the time when I left. I arrived early.”
Chen Shilü had met people with no sense of time or planning, but Chi Huang was a first. He could only say, “I’ll ask the driver to hurry.”
When he finally arrived at the Art Museum, Chen Shilü stepped out of the car and saw Chi Huang squatting casually on the steps outside the entrance, chewing on something and looking down at him.
He looked similar to how he did at the Bar that night: Chi Huang wore loose jeans, a zip-up tracksuit top pulled all the way up, his fringe covering half his eyes, and the ends of his hair scattered casually on the back of his neck.
As he got closer, Chen Shilü realized he wasn’t chewing on a cigarette, but a lollipop.
Chi Huang brazenly scanned him from head to toe, then leaned in and asked, “You don’t wear a tie if it’s not a workday?”
Suddenly, Chen Shilü knew the lollipop was strawberry flavored, which abruptly reminded him of the kiss at the Bar, but they were in public now.
Chen Shilü lifted his eyelids and glanced at him: “Are ties your specific fetish?”
Chi Huang raised an eyebrow: “Not really, I was just asking.” He held up his phone. “I bought the tickets. Let’s go in.”
Walking beside him, Chen Shilü looked down at the sneakers on Chi Huang’s feet, then raised his gaze to the faint silver stud earring on his earlobe. He hadn’t noticed that night, but now it seemed Chi Huang was definitely over six feet one. Chen Shilü was about five feet eleven, so the height difference was quite noticeable.
The exhibition had been running for a while, and since it was morning, the gallery wasn’t too crowded.
Before becoming “Director Chen,” Chen Shilü wasn’t this busy. On weekends when he didn’t want to date, he enjoyed visiting different galleries, watching a play, or listening to a concert alone. Come to think of it, few people he met seemed to share similar interests.
He asked Chi Huang, who was quietly following beside him, “Do you like photography?”
“No. I just saw you take good photos and guessed you might be interested.”
So he had considered him? Chen Shilü said, “You look like you’re paying close attention.”
“Ah, I’m just giving my eyes a focal point. I’m not actually looking.” Chi Huang turned his head to look at him.
Chen Shilü: “…”
Chi Huang smiled: “Don’t mind me. If you like it, take your time looking. I’ll keep you company.”
It was an exhibition by a foreign photographer, featuring minimalist geometric compositions and candy-colored palettes, which was very pleasing to someone like Chen Shilü, who suffered from mild obsessive-compulsive disorder.
As he looked, he chatted with Chi Huang: “What do you like?”
“I don’t like anything.”
Chen Shilü’s gaze shifted from the photo to his face: “Everyone must like something, right? I saw your WeChat profile picture and thought you liked riding motorcycles.”
“Motorcycles…” This time Chi Huang hesitated for a moment. “Not really. It’s just that there’s nothing else fun to do.”
Chen Shilü couldn’t tell if he was serious or just trying to look profound and cool. But he understood that young people had this need to show off. Everyone goes through it. He played along: “Then you must be quite bored.”
“Exactly,” he said, drooping his eyes listlessly, practically writing “bored” on his face.
“Big brother!”
Chen Shilü looked down in response and saw a little girl with pigtails. Chi Huang immediately changed his expression, squatting down with a beaming smile: “We meet again, sweetie.”
“Yes, but my mom and I have to leave now.” The little girl pointed to the woman next to her with the hand holding a lollipop.
“Goodbye then. I forgot to thank you for the lollipop earlier.”
“You’re welcome. I have more, do you want one?”
After a small interlude, Chi Huang had two more lollipops in his hand. He offered one to Chen Shilü, who waved it off: “Sorry, I’m controlling my sugar intake.”
Chi Huang put both into his pocket.
“You’re quite popular with kids.”
“I’m more popular with adults, aren’t I?”
“Yes.” Chi Huang was indeed likable. Few people could make deliberate flattery seem so natural and cute, and of course, that face contributed significantly. “Too bad I don’t have a lollipop for you.”
“No way,” Chi Huang leaned close to his ear, “You have one too.”
Chen Shilü paused for a second before realizing what the young man was referring to. He calmly curled his lips and replied, “It’s not strawberry flavored. Do you still want to eat it?”
Chen Shilü’s perpetually well-dressed appearance was quite sexy, but Chi Huang disliked his affected, pretentious demeanor. He had said that deliberately to startle him, but he hadn’t expected the man to respond with such a vulgar remark.
How interesting.
But Chi Huang didn’t engage further and walked ahead alone.
Chen Shilü’s interest shifted from the photography to him. He watched Chi Huang’s back: hands in his pockets as he walked, shoulders slumped, exuding a lazy, devil-may-care attitude that completely wasted his excellent height and straight back.
Chen Shilü started having other thoughts.
Generally, he wouldn’t pursue deep or long-term relationships with men who were overly attractive. Usually, they would go straight to the point, then part ways forever.
This was because beautiful people, regardless of gender, were usually spoiled by everyone into being quite self-important and self-centered. Unfortunately, Chen Shilü, despite his seemingly humble and kind demeanor, acted based on his own feelings. The one thing he couldn’t do was compromise himself to humor others.
When he was younger and more lustful, he could force himself to endure it. Now, gradually entering middle age, the allure of mere physical beauty had significantly decreased, and the things he was willing to tolerate for the sake of beauty were increasingly limited.
Chi Huang was different. Whether intentional or innate, he adopted a pleasing posture and considered other people’s feelings. Being with a handsome guy who was also likable was always pleasant. Chen Shilü wanted to establish a long-term, friendly “cooperative relationship” with him, rather than a one-time use, even if it meant putting in a little extra effort.
So, he removed the trip to the hotel from today’s itinerary. The plan changed to eating, drinking coffee, chatting, and watching a movie to deepen their mutual understanding. Based on his experience, the faster things started, the faster they ended. Taking things slowly meant they could become “friends.”
However, the weather didn’t cooperate. As they left the Art Museum, it started to drizzle.
Chen Shilü regretted his moment of laziness when he decided not to drive. Now, ride-share apps showed long queues.
As for where to go next, he asked Chi Huang, “Are you hungry?”
Chi Huang countered, “Are you hungry?”
“Not really.” He had eaten before leaving, and it had only been three hours.
“The car is here. Let’s go.” Chi Huang walked to the curb in the rain and got into a taxi.
When did he call a car? Chen Shilü didn’t know. Where were they going? Chi Huang hadn’t said. But with the rain falling, Chen Shilü had no other choice and followed him into the car.
The car had driven for a while, and Chi Huang looked completely nonchalant, seemingly not intending to tell him their destination. Chen Shilü, sitting in the back, inadvertently saw the navigation destination: a chain hair salon. What were they going to a hair salon for? Could Chi Huang be a shill for the shop, trying to get him to buy a membership?
He immediately dismissed that bizarre thought and simply asked, “Where are we going?”
Chi Huang seemed surprised by his confusion: “Where else? We’re going to my place, of course.”