Unmatched Chapter 40
byChapter 40 A Thousand Times Over
Zhao Shuyi suspected his ears were malfunctioning, but clearly, the problem lay with Xie Qi, not him.
Like a machine with a program error, Xie Qi froze the moment he finished speaking.
Just then, the music reached a crescendo, the piano striking a dramatic, heart-stopping chord. Xie Qi’s eyes flashed with panic as he belatedly realized he had lost control and revealed something. He spun around abruptly and fled the scene.
Zhao Shuyi was still in shock, unable to process what “I’ve liked you for over ten years” meant, when Xie Yuran, who had witnessed the entire exchange, suddenly pulled him away: “Shuyi Ge, let’s go cut the cake first—is cutting the cake okay?”
More and more eyes were scanning their direction, leaving no room for delay. Xie Yuran didn’t give them a chance to cause an awkward scene in public, subtly pushing Zhao Shuyi to follow Xie Qi.
Under the scrutiny of the crowd, they stood together.
One was stunned, the other stiff.
Surrounding them were seven or eight close friends and relatives, including Xie Yuran. In front of them stood a towering seven-tier cream cake. Zhao Shuyi glanced at the person beside him.
If Xie Qi’s state just moments ago was forced cheerfulness, now he couldn’t even manage that. He pretended to be composed, not daring to look at Zhao Shuyi, focusing all his attention on the candles handed to him by the waiter. He carefully placed them and lit them one by one.
—The process was wrong.
He should have said a few words of birthday remarks first to liven the atmosphere.
But in his panic, Xie Qi couldn’t bother with the preamble. He instructed the staff to dim the lights. Most of the lights in the banquet hall immediately went out, the candlelight flickered, and the music switched to the birthday song.
“Happy birthday to you…”
“Happy birthday…”
Xie Yuran led the singing. As the chorus began, some people laughed and clapped, and the atmosphere naturally warmed up.
It was time to make a wish.
A friend offered him the microphone, assuming Xie Qi would say a few words, but he didn’t take it. He stood silently before the cake stand, his eyes trembling with the flickering candlelight.
Zhao Shuyi was the closest and could clearly see his expression. But the incident had happened too suddenly—the unexpected truth and the abrupt, incomplete confession that wasn’t quite a confession—had also left Zhao Shuyi bewildered.
The pair of lovers standing side by side, receiving countless envious glances from the entire room, were both unable to smile.
Zhao Shuyi suspected that Xie Qi had misspoken earlier, or perhaps it was some kind of strange prank.
What was “like”? What did “over ten years” mean?
How old were they ten years ago?
The person Xie Qi had a crush on…
Could it be him?
—What kind of joke was this?
But if it really was a joke, Xie Qi should be laughing by now. Why was he still staring blankly at the candles? The birthday song had played twice, and he still hadn’t completed the wish-making process.
“Xie Qi.” Zhao Shuyi prompted, “Don’t you know what to wish for?”
His voice was very low, yet it sounded like thunder following a flash of lightning. Xie Qi suddenly snapped back to reality, his face alternating between red and white. He glanced at Zhao Shuyi, quickly lowered his head, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands together in the posture of making a wish.
Unfortunately, there were too many people tonight; there was no chance to clarify things immediately.
Fortunately, there were too many people tonight; there was no need to clarify things immediately.
No one knew what Xie Qi wished for. He lowered his head to blow out the candles, and his friends gathered around, helping him extinguish the flames.
The lights came back on, the crystal chandelier sparkling like a dream, and the surrounding well-wishes were the muffled sounds of that dream.
The accompaniment changed to a cheerful tune. Xie Qi finally managed a smile, a mechanical smile, his facial muscles obeying his brain’s command, adjusting to a standard angle that revealed no genuine emotion.
But at least the necessary tasks were done. The latter half of the party was more relaxed. Guests ate, drank, and socialized. Some prepared to leave, while others prepared to change clothes for the garden party that followed.
After cutting the cake, Zhao Shuyi returned to his seat.
Xie Yuran remained seated beside him, glancing at him every few minutes, seemingly fully prepared to tell him all of Xie Qi’s secrets, holding nothing back, the moment he asked a question.
However, Zhao Shuyi didn’t ask a single word.
Xie Qi also didn’t come over again; he was avoiding Zhao Shuyi. It wasn’t until the dinner ended and the remaining guests moved downstairs to the garden for the second round of celebrations that Zhao Shuyi prepared to leave. The moment he stood up, he noticed Xie Qi’s gaze suddenly fall on him, as if he had been “monitoring” this side the whole time, reacting instantly.
Zhao Shuyi followed that gaze. Xie Qi finally stopped hiding—everyone was heading downstairs, and there was only one exit to the banquet hall. Xie Qi was seeing guests off at the door, so he couldn’t avoid him even if he wanted to.
In their countless past confrontations of varying degrees, Xie Qi had lost too many times to count. But all those previous failures combined were not as complete a defeat as the “I’ve liked you for over ten years” from tonight.
After seeing off the guests, Zhao Shuyi was the last one to approach.
Both the confessor and the recipient had expressions that were hard to describe, neither deriving any joy from this event that should have been sweet.
Zhao Shuyi still felt a lack of reality, disbelief, even confusion.
“Aren’t you going to explain?” Zhao Shuyi asked.
Xie Qi was silent for a moment: “Let’s talk somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Back to the room to change clothes.”
Xie Qi walked ahead, his back tense and straight under Zhao Shuyi’s silent gaze.
They each had a room in the hotel, but they weren’t assigned together. This was because Xie Qi needed to receive friends at any time, which might be noisy and disturb Zhao Shuyi’s rest.
When they entered Xie Qi’s room, it was already past nine o’clock. The night outside the window was thick. The stage lights in the garden downstairs lit up. Someone was playing the guitar on stage, and laughter drifted through the window. It sounded like someone had fallen into the water below, followed by a splash from the pool and a burst of laughter, making the silence in their room seem even more profound, like death.
Xie Qi had said he was returning to change clothes, but he stood by the closet, motionless, seemingly finding it difficult to speak.
Zhao Shuyi asked, “You’re not joking?”
“Do you think it’s funny?”
“It’s alright.”
“…”
Xie Qi fell silent again.
Zhao Shuyi asked, “Is ‘over ten years’ true? Which year did it start? Middle school?”
“Eighth grade,” Xie Qi answered softly.
Zhao Shuyi nodded: “Which day in eighth grade? Why do you like me?”
He sounded like an officer interrogating a criminal, uncomfortably calm. Xie Qi had been emotionally unstable all evening, and now he felt even worse: “Can you change your tone?”
He could, but Zhao Shuyi wasn’t sure what tone would be better. At least “calmness” would never be wrong.
“Then I won’t ask. You tell me yourself,” he said.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Xie Qi looked mortified. “You don’t care anyway, don’t force me to humiliate myself.”
Zhao Shuyi maintained his tone: “Then how long are you going to hide it? Never tell me?”
“Yes, taking it to the grave,” Xie Qi scoffed. “You’re just curious, you want to hear my joke, right?”
He didn’t have to phrase it as a question.
But despite his negative tone, his eyes were still fixed on Zhao Shuyi, trying to catch even a trace of emotion on that cold face.
Zhao Shuyi used to soften toward him before, so why was he suddenly so cold today? It was as if he was tired of the hot-and-cold game, and now there would only be coldness.
Xie Qi didn’t understand and wanted to probe. But Zhao Shuyi offered no explanation, instead going along with him: “Yes, I am curious. I want to hear the joke.”
Zhao Shuyi took a step forward, cornering him against the closet: “Tell me.”
“…”
They had kissed many times in similar positions before, so as soon as Zhao Shuyi got close, Xie Qi instinctively felt his throat tighten, wanting to lean in for a kiss.
“Which day in eighth grade… I forgot,” Xie Qi said, his voice trembling. “I like you because… maybe I liked you long ago, but it wasn’t until that day that I suddenly realized my feelings for you weren’t friendship, they were love.”
It seemed like a day when autumn leaves were falling.
Or perhaps it was a snowy day.
Xie Qi had seen Zhao Shuyi almost every day since he could remember. Initially, it was in kindergarten. He wanted to make the handsome and cool Little Shuyi Ge his best friend, so he showed off his feathers like a little peacock in front of him. Although the adults all said he was a genius, Zhao Shuyi actually disliked his unclear speech, calling him “Lisp-tongue.”
Though disappointed, he still liked Zhao Shuyi. There was no boy more perfect than Shuyi Ge. He knew everything and was especially good at fighting.
Later, in primary school, they were in the same class and assigned to sit together. Xie Qi was excited and always wanted to play with Zhao Shuyi. But perhaps because he was too annoying, too loud and rowdy, Zhao Shuyi actually complained to the teacher to change seats, abandoning him.
For the first time, Xie Qi slightly disliked Zhao Shuyi—Zhao Shuyi’s new deskmate was ugly and clumsy, inferior to him in every way. His only advantage was that he was quiet. Did Zhao Shuyi like mute people? He had terrible taste.
Once the dislike started, it gained momentum. Xie Qi watched Zhao Shuyi every day, picking out his faults, finding his shortcomings, opposing him, and fighting him—see? Who said there was no boy better than Zhao Shuyi? Xie Qi himself was.
Zhao Shuyi had a dog, a Samoyed. Xie Qi didn’t know its name, only hearing Zhao Shuyi call it “Stupid Dog” every day.
Xie Qi really liked the Samoyed and often secretly fed it. So, it was never aggressive toward Xie Qi and was very affectionate. Every time Zhao Shuyi discovered this, he would jump up in anger, calling the dog a traitor for defecting to the enemy. Xie Qi was even happier.
Unfortunately, the dog later ran away, and Zhao Shuyi was sad for a long time.
Xie Qi wanted to comfort him but couldn’t bring himself to. They weren’t good friends; they were mortal enemies.
After primary school, they attended the same middle school.
Zhao Shuyi had grown taller. Xie Qi was a year younger and developed a bit later. Once, Xie Qi was shocked to find that he had to look up at Zhao Shuyi, even if only slightly. But Zhao Shuyi’s condescending gaze was so smug, as if Xie Qi would never escape his grasp.
—It was true.
Even later, when Xie Qi grew taller, caught up, and even surpassed Zhao Shuyi, it still didn’t matter. He couldn’t feel smug looking down at Zhao Shuyi. He felt nervous, breathless, and a little guilty.
Xie Qi didn’t understand why.
But the more he felt this way, the more he had to act self-righteous. Otherwise, how was he different from the girl from the next class who blushed and slipped a love letter to Zhao Shuyi? She couldn’t even catch her breath, shrinking her shoulders and lowering her head the moment she saw Zhao Shuyi, looking silly and embarrassing.
But Zhao Shuyi spoke softly to that silly girl, a treatment Xie Qi had never received.
Zhao Shuyi was truly asking for a beating. Xie Qi wanted to pick a fight every day.
The sudden realization of love seemed to stem from a fight where he accidentally kissed Zhao Shuyi’s neck.
The memory was very clear. Precisely because it was so clear, it made him doubt its authenticity.
It had likely been romanticized a thousand times over in his countless recollections, and was already distorted.
It was a certain day in eighth grade.
Xie Qi had flipped Zhao Shuyi onto the playground. The moment his lips touched Zhao Shuyi’s skin, his heart suddenly skipped a beat. He didn’t realize what had happened, instinctively wanting to press his lips harder, but the moment that thought appeared, Xie Qi jumped up as if electrocuted, his face flushed, and he fled in panic.
Afterward, things started developing in a strange direction.
He discovered that Zhao Shuyi’s skin was very fair. It wasn’t the fairest he had ever seen, but it was the most dazzling, always making him afraid to look a second time after the first glance.
He also discovered that Zhao Shuyi liked to frown and was especially good at acting cool. While he complained, “Why are you acting cool?” he couldn’t help but provoke Zhao Shuyi repeatedly, just to hear him coolly curse him out.
“Day one of my secret crush,” the eighth-grade Xie Qi wrote in his diary with ambition, “I will definitely win him over within ten days.”
Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned. He didn’t win him over in ten days.
Nor in ten years.
Twenty-six-year-old Xie Qi was already accustomed to the taste of unrequited love, but the heartbreak seemed to have no bottom; it could still drop after hitting rock bottom.
Falling, falling, falling.
Zhao Shuyi stood on the high ground, truly sounding like he had just heard a joke, staring at Xie Qi’s reddened eyes: “Are you sure? Did you ever try to win me over?”