Chapter Text
In the kitchen, steam rose from the large pot and filled the entire space with the smell of meat and spices and fresh vegetables. Ming Luyi, with her floral apron that she still hadn't taken off, stood by the stove, stirring a wooden spoon in the pot with one hand and opening the salt shaker lid with the other.
From the living room, the voices of Grisha and her husband could be heard.
At first, Grisha's voice was quiet and hesitant. So quiet that Ming Luyi had to strain her ears to hear the words. The words, with that thick accent and clumsy pronunciations, were like a child just learning to walk. Each word came out of his mouth with caution and hesitation, but gradually his voice grew warmer.
Ming Luyi, while stirring the spoon in the pot, noticed that Grisha's tone had changed. That initial quietness had given way to a deeper and more confident voice, and he no longer paused as much. Sometimes, when he mispronounced a word, he himself laughed first, and Zhou Xingheng joined in.
Ming Luyi put the spoon down beside the pot.
An imperceptible frown settled on her forehead without her realizing it. Her hand remained on the pot handle for a moment, and her mind involuntarily went back a year.
After two weeks away, Mingrui had returned from the university camp, and during those two weeks, Ming Luyi would unconsciously find herself in front of her son's room every night before sleep, standing there for a long time like someone who had lost something, dazed and bewildered.
When Mingrui returned, Ming Luyi couldn't help herself and went forward and embraced him. So tightly that Mingrui jokingly complained: "Mom, I'm suffocating." And Ming Luyi just laughed in response.
From that day on, Ming Luyi would sometimes see her son late at night or early in the morning sitting in his room talking on the phone. His voice was quiet and gentle. So quiet that Ming Luyi could barely hear a murmur from behind the door. Sometimes he laughed. Sometimes he fell silent. Sometimes he stayed silent so long that Ming Luyi thought the call had ended, but a little later her son's voice would come again, warmer than before.
Once Ming Luyi couldn't hold herself back and asked: "Who are you talking to?"
Mingrui, without hiding anything, told her everything. About the Beijing seminar. About the man struggling with his laptop. About the café where every day at one o'clock he went with his new friend, Grisha. Finally, he showed her a photo of his foreign friend.
Ming Luyi remembered that photo. A man with blond hair and strong blue eyes standing next to Mingrui in the photo, both smiling.
When Ming Luyi looked at that photo that day, without realizing it, she smiled and her heart warmed. As far as she remembered, her child had a rather introverted and reserved personality and hardly connected with anyone other than her and his father, and now he had found someone, and Ming Luyi couldn't help but be happy for him.
A few months later, Mingrui suddenly decided to become independent.
Ming Luyi, thinking about that day's memory, couldn't hold back her frown. She lowered her head and stirred the food in the pot again, but her eyes were unfocused. When Zhou Mingrui had said he wanted to become independent, for the first time in 26 years of married life with her husband, a real argument broke out in the house. Not those small ordinary arguments that couples often have, but a long dispute that continued for several days.
Ming Luyi had always wished for a daughter. A daughter whose hair she could braid. A daughter to cook with. A daughter who, when she grew up, would sit beside her and talk about life. But China's one-child policy had stifled that wish in the bud.
Ming Luyi involuntarily turned her gaze toward the living room, from which the sound of argument still came. The shadow of sorrow showed in her brown pupils. Her straight black hair was tied behind her head, and some unruly strands had fallen on her forehead and around her ears, making her look more innocent despite her age. Thinking about the daughter she could have had—a daughter who would spoil her and her husband with her sweetness, a daughter she could take to the institute and teach music and painting, and talk to in moments of loneliness—Ming Luyi pressed her lips together and the sorrow in her chest deepened.
When the conditions for a second child permit became available, Mingrui had already grown too old, and Ming Luyi and Zhou Xingheng no longer had the age needed to care for a child, and although neither was willing to admit it, they had become more attached to their only son than they liked. And seeing Mingrui's decision to leave home ignited that attachment like fire to gasoline.
Neither Zhou Xingheng nor Ming Luyi wanted their son to go. Both had tried with all their might to convince Mingrui to stay. But fortunately for both of them, their child became excessively stubborn and headstrong when necessary. The same stubbornness he had inherited from his father, and once he made a decision, even a mountain couldn't move him.
Despite all the arguments and efforts of her and her husband, their son, with a calm and almost emotionless exterior but with a stubbornness visible in his eyes, just stood and listened, and when all their words were finished, he said only one sentence: "I've made my decision." And then he left, and a few weeks later, he rented the Wuhou apartment.
The first months were hard. Every day when Ming Luyi returned from the institute, she would look at Mingrui's empty room and wait. She waited for her son to return after experiencing the outside world.
But Mingrui didn't return.
Not that he didn't come home. He came. Once a week, sometimes once every two weeks, he visited them. He would sit with them for a while and talk about his work and projects, then get up and leave, and each time Ming Luyi would stand in front of the door watching him go for a long time and couldn't help feeling sad.
"He'll be fine." She took her gaze from the living room and turned back to the pot. She picked up the spoon again. "This is good. That he's not alone. That he's found someone. This is good." She repeated this like a mantra in her mind many times.
But her heart didn't agree with that statement.
Worry was in her chest like a thorn stuck in flesh. Not because Grisha might be a bad person. No. Grisha, with that polite face and that clumsy effort to speak, seemed like a good boy. But her son... Mingrui had always rarely interacted with anyone outside his family. Now a foreign boy from another country and another culture was living in his house, and Ming Luyi, no matter how hard she tried to be logical, couldn't hold back that maternal worry.
"Mom?" Ming Luyi was startled and quickly turned her head.
Mingrui was standing beside her. His delicate face, eighty percent similar to hers, had a trace of worry and a small frown was visible between his eyebrows.
"What's wrong?"
Ming Luyi looked at her son hesitantly for a few moments. But then, looking into those brown eyes that gleamed in the kitchen light, she decided to take the plunge.
"My son." She put the spoon in the pot and, leaning her hand on the edge of the stove, turned fully toward him. "This Grisha..."
Mingrui tilted his head. "What?"
"Are you...?" Ming Luyi sighed in surrender. "Are you happy?"
Mingrui fell silent and his eyebrows drew closer together. "What do you mean?"
"I mean... " Ming Luyi looked at the steaming pot and unconsciously pressed her hand harder on the counter. "You've moved in with a foreign boy. I... ah... I don't know. Just..."
"Mom, he's a good person."
"I know." Ming Luyi nodded. "I've seen him too. He's a polite boy. Well-mannered. He tries. But..."
"But what?"
"But you..." Ming Luyi looked at her son. "You've always rarely warmed up to anyone. Let alone bringing someone home. I... I just don't want you to..."
Zhou Mingrui suddenly smiled warmly. "Don't want what?"
"Don't want you to get hurt."
Mingrui laughed softly. Then he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around his mother's shoulders from behind and gently kissed her cheek.
"Mom. I know you worry. But you don't need to think about everything so much."
Ming Luyi froze for a moment. Then she laughed. That boy was clearly being spoiled in this situation.
"Okay, okay." Ming Luyi placed her hand on her son's hand. "Let go of me, I'm ruining the food."
Mingrui pulled back without a word. But the glint of mischief in his eyes didn't diminish even a bit.
Ming Luyi turned off the stove. Put the lid on the pot and headed for the kitchen door. "Go call your father and Grisha. Lunch is ready."
Lunch was eaten in silence, and the only sound heard was the clinking of chopsticks. At first, Grisha, seeing the chopsticks, tried with great hesitation to use them, but after several failed attempts, one of which caused some soup to spill on the table, Ming Luyi brought a fork for Grisha, which made the Ukrainian man look at her with gratitude.
When the plates were empty, Ming Luyi stood up while gathering the empty dishes. "I'll wash the dishes."
"I'll help too." Grisha immediately followed her.
Ming Luyi turned and smiled. "No sweetheart. You're a guest."
"But..." Grisha looked at the plates on the table. "I can't just sit. If you don't let me help, I'll feel uncomfortable."
Ming Luyi looked at him for a few moments. There was hesitation in her eyes. Then from behind Grisha, she saw Mingrui, who was smiling and shaking his head, silently signaling her to accept.
Ming Luyi nodded reluctantly. "Okay. But just dry the dishes. Washing is with me."
Grisha smiled. A sincere and happy smile in which there was not a trace of his initial shyness. "Okay."
Zhou Xingheng also stood up and pulled Mingrui by the arm from behind. "Come. There's something I need to talk to you about."
Mingrui, with a "here we go again" look, glanced at his father but didn't resist his arm's pull, and both went to the living room.
Ming Luyi shook her head with a sigh and, with Grisha's help, cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink and began washing them. Grisha, after clearing the table, stood beside her silently with a clean cloth.
From the living room, the sound of father and son arguing came.
First it was Zhou Xingheng's voice, calmly trying to explain something. Then Zhou Mingrui's voice followed with a tone that said, "No, that's not how it is."
Grisha, while drying a plate, tilted his head slightly. He tried to listen. But they spoke so fast that the words came and went like trains passing by, one after another, and he could only catch a few words here and there.
"...algorithm..."
"...no, that way..."
"...code..."
"...Dad..."
Grisha frowned. He blinked. Listened again. But again, he lost the thread of the conversation. Like someone lost in a forest who goes toward every sign he sees and then realizes it's another sign.
Ming Luyi glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Grisha, with a strange focus in his eyes, was frowning heavily, and his expression was like a student in an advanced class trying to follow his teacher's lessons, but the teacher spoke so strangely that he understood nothing.
Ming Luyi asked with amusement: "What's wrong?"
Grisha turned his head and smiled embarrassedly. "I was curious what they were talking about. But..." He lowered his head and ran the cloth over the plate. "They speak so fast. I can barely translate the words in my mind. And then..." He shrugged. "I lose the thread."
Ming Luyi tilted her head and listened for a few moments, then laughed softly. "They're arguing about game programming."
Grisha raised an eyebrow. "Game programming?"
"Yeah." Ming Luyi dipped another plate in the water. "Mingrui has loved computers since high school. He spent most of his time learning systems and programs. I don't know if he was influenced by his father or not. But... he always loved finding errors and opening every door in a system. Practically anything that could be opened."
Grisha nodded with curiosity.
Ming Luyi, as if suddenly remembering something, laughed. "Once..." She put down the plate she was holding. "He attacked his high school's computers and hacked them all. And made all the systems unusable for a whole month."
Grisha froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. So loudly that he had to hold his breath to control himself. "Seriously?"
Ming Luyi nodded. "Seriously."
"I can just imagine A-Rui's mischievous face back then."
Ming Luyi tried to keep herself calm but her trembling shoulders betrayed her. "At the time, not only was he not sorry for what he did, he even announced that the high school's systems were useless and gave a long speech to the principal and vice-principal about why his action had been beneficial for the school."
This time Grisha couldn't help himself and laughed out loud. Ming Luyi also joined him softly, bringing her hand in front of her mouth.
When both stopped laughing, Ming Luyi looked toward the living room. The sound of father and son arguing had grown even louder. "The school wasn't the only victim of Mingrui." Her tone was like someone taking pleasure in others' misfortune. "Since then, even Xingheng has always been the target of Mingrui's criticism." Remembering past memories, Ming Luyi's gaze filled with love. "Of course, in his teenage years, due to lack of experience, most of Mingrui's arguments were basically wrong. But over time..." She shook her head helplessly. "Gradually Mingrui turned out to be right, and seeing them argue for hours over an error or a line of code became a normal thing in the house."
"Dad! You're wrong!" As if to prove Ming Luyi's words, Zhou Mingrui's voice came from the living room at that very moment.
Ming Luyi chuckled softly and gestured with her eyebrow toward that direction. As if to say, "See? I told you."
Grisha also looked toward the living room. "A-Rui seems very eager to win this argument."
Ming Luyi suddenly turned her head toward the blond man. "Grisha..."
"Hmm?"
"Why do you call him A-Rui?"
Grisha froze for a moment.
His heart stopped for a second. Had Ming Luyi noticed? Had he done something wrong? Had that word and that way of calling him revealed something he shouldn't have?
He tried to stay calm. From the outside, nothing showed. But inside, a thousand thoughts were fighting.
Grisha lowered his head and slowly dried the last plate with the cloth. His half-blond hair fell over his blue eyes, which had grown darker, hiding his expression. "A year ago..." His voice was quiet. "When I lost my father, I was deeply sad and broken. I could barely stand to see anyone. I couldn't even talk to anyone."
Ming Luyi stopped washing and looked directly at Grisha.
"One night..." Grisha pulled the cloth over the plate harder than necessary. "A-Rui called me many times. He didn't give up until I answered." He put the plate in its place. His movements were completely mechanical. "And that night... when he saw how I was... without saying anything, he played guitar for me almost until morning."
Ming Luyi watched him in silence.
Grisha, lost in his memories, didn't notice the change in Ming Luyi's expression. Putting the last dish in the drying rack, he put the cloth aside and leaned his hands on the counter. He frowned, thinking about a past he thought he had left behind. "That was when I unconsciously called him that." His voice in the quiet kitchen was like a whisper barely heard. "When I started learning Chinese, I realized that the prefix 'A-' before someone's name is a kind of sign of intimacy and friendship." He looked at his hands. "And at that time, for me... A-Rui was the one I could call with the 'A-' prefix." He paused and took a deep breath to calm his nerves and emotions. "But when morning came and I realized what I had done, I tried to change it. But A-Rui said I could call him that. And he didn't mind."
Ming Luyi, looking at the pale face of the young man in front of her, her expression slowly grew sad.
She vaguely remembered that night. In fact, seeing Mingrui suddenly start playing guitar or painting in the middle of the night from insomnia or lack of focus had become a normal thing in the house. Ming Luyi and Zhou Xingheng never thought much about it.
But now, hearing Grisha's words at this moment, Ming Luyi understood something.
Her son had, in a way, without meaning to, become an anchor for the man in front of her. An anchor for someone lost in a storm. An anchor for someone who had lost his father and didn't know how to breathe without him.
Ming Luyi, remembering her own father whom she had lost more than twenty years ago, felt something catch in her throat.
She carefully reached out her hand and took Grisha's clenched fist that was on the counter in her hand.
Grisha, startled by the sudden touch, suddenly came out of his memories and raised his head.
Ming Luyi took both of Grisha's hands with her other hand and, due to the height difference, looked up at the blue and confused eyes of the man and a motherly smile formed on her lips.
"Grisha..."
"Auntie?"
"I..." Ming Luyi took a deep breath. "I don't know what kind of man your father was. I don't know what things he told you. What things he taught you. But..." Without taking her eyes off him, she gently stroked the back of the large man's hands. "But I can say that I'm happy! I'm happy that my son was by your side that night. I'm happy that he could help you."
Grisha froze.
"And I want to tell you something." Ming Luyi held his hands tighter. "You always have a place here. Whenever you want. Whenever you need. This house opens its door to you."
Grisha, the whole time, listened to Ming Luyi's words with a shocked expression. "Auntie..." Despite his efforts, he couldn't stop his voice from trembling.
"Shh!" Ming Luyi, seeing that cute and innocent face, laughed again. Finally she couldn't control herself and raised her hand and gently messed up Grisha's blond hair. "We'd better go to them before those two father and son start a real fight." And she walked ahead.
Grisha was still frozen in place. Involuntarily, like someone possessed, he raised his hand and touched the place that had just been messed up. Slowly, a smile formed on his lips.
"Maybe I really am lucky."
He fixed his hair that had just been stroked and messed up again with his hand, and in his heart a thought formed like a sprout emerging from the soil. "Maybe one day I can call Ming Luyi 'Mother' instead of 'Auntie'."
Thinking about this possibility, a wave of excitement and anticipation coiled in his heart. A glint of happiness shone in his blue pupils and he went toward the living room.
Actually, that day was supposed to be just a lunch party.
But Ming Luyi and Zhou Xingheng somehow managed to keep the two boys until evening.
After lunch, Zhou Xingheng pulled Zhou Mingrui to the living room and their argument, which had started before lunch, continued even after it.
Hours passed. Zhou Xingheng, with a patience that greatly surprised Grisha, argued with Mingrui about game design for a long time. Why what he said was correct. Why that error wasn't an error. Why that algorithm didn't work.
Mingrui, with a stubbornness that Grisha was seeing for the first time, answered back. With a tone that said, "No, that's not how it is." He frowned and somehow turned every one of his father's statements around until in the end it was proven that Zhou Xingheng was wrong.
Finally, when it seemed both could continue their argument until tomorrow, Ming Luyi, with a manner befitting a true Asian mother, silenced them both.
"Enough. You've tired each other out. Get up." Grisha guessed that if they were still in the kitchen, Ming Luyi would have used a spoon as a weapon to hit them.
Zhou Xingheng, forced by his wife's threat into a temporary ceasefire with his son, made Grisha play a console game with him.
At first Grisha took the controller hesitantly. "I don't know much."
Zhou Xingheng laughed. "It doesn't matter. You'll learn!" His tone was somewhat threatening.
The game began.
Every time Zhou Xingheng beat Grisha, he laughed out loud. So loud that Ming Luyi, sitting with Mingrui on another sofa, shook her head with a frown and Grisha accompanied him with an embarrassed expression.
On the other side, Zhou Mingrui had borrowed some yarn and a crochet hook from Ming Luyi, and while watching the game, they began to crochet.
His fingers moved slowly and expertly, and Ming Luyi beside him was knitting a scarf with the same yarn. And sometimes they whispered something to each other. The whole afternoon passed in such a warm and intimate atmosphere.
Near evening, Zhou Mingrui barely convinced his parents to let them go.
"Mom, we have to go..."
Ming Luyi resisted at first. But when she saw that Mingrui was serious, she surrendered and started gathering things. So much that Mingrui, with that huge amount of souvenirs and the half-knitted scarf in his hands, could barely walk.
"Mom, this much..."
"Shh! These are for you and Grisha."
Grisha also stood beside Zhou Mingrui with a smile, holding a bag full of fruit and sweets, thinking in his heart that this day was one of the best days of his life.
Chengdu's streets were very crowded at that time of day.
The taxi got stuck in traffic for a long time. The cars barely moved, and the sound of car horns and the murmur of pedestrians and passengers came from everywhere.
Grisha had pressed his face to the window and was staring thoughtlessly at the passing buildings and the yellowed trees on the sidewalk, and Zhou Mingrui beside him was looking at the road.
Neither made an effort to start a conversation. Both were lost in their own thoughts.
When they were near home, Zhou Mingrui suddenly stopped the taxi.
Grisha turned his head in surprise. "What's wrong?"
Zhou Mingrui, without turning his head, said: "I have something to do. I'll be a little late. Can you go back without me?"
Grisha looked at the smaller man's profile with hesitation in his eyes for a few moments. But in the end he just nodded. "Okay. Come soon."
"I will."
Grisha looked at him for a few more moments. Finally he picked up the souvenir bags from the trunk and got out. With the car door closing, the taxi drove off.
Grisha was left alone with the huge amount of souvenirs. He looked at the taxi's path for a few moments. Then he headed toward the building.
Grisha entered their dark home carrying Ming Luyi's souvenirs.
He turned on the living room light. The yellow and faint light fell on the sofas and the table and the carpet. He put the bags on the floor. First he took the groceries to the kitchen and put them in the fridge, then looked at the other things.
He hesitated for a few moments. Finally, with a sigh, he decided to go to Zhou Mingrui's room.
In fact, except for that night when Zhou Mingrui had the nightmare, this was the first time Grisha entered the smaller boy's room.
He opened the door. Turned on the light.
The room was completely tidy. Various textbooks and entertainment books were arranged in order on the study desk and shelves, and the paintings and small photo frames on the wall hadn't changed places, and from behind the half-open curtain, the darkness of night was visible.
He put the things on the bed. And at that very moment, his eye fell on the leather notebook with the brown cover on the bedside table.
The sketchbook was the same one in which Zhou Mingrui drew his nightmares.
Grisha unconsciously picked up the notebook. Under his fingers, the leather cover was soft and slightly worn. Curiosity pierced his mind like a thorn. He knew he shouldn't pry into Zhou Mingrui's privacy, but except for one of the drawings, he hadn't seen any of the others. That one drawing was of a man in a black priest's robe with a golden cross, standing alone in front of a large number of strange mythical creatures. The same drawing that Zhou Mingrui had sent him a year ago.
His hand rested on the notebook cover for a few moments. Then he took a deep breath. Then he put the notebook back in its place.
"No. This isn't right."
He left the room. Closed the door behind him.
He went to his room and without turning on any light, lay down on the bed. He placed one hand on his chest and the other on his forehead and stared at the ceiling in the darkness. Without even knowing exactly what he was thinking about. He sank into the silence of the room.
After a while, Grisha didn't know how long had passed, the sound of a knock came and then Zhou Mingrui's quiet voice from behind the door. "Grisha? Are you awake?"
Grisha came out of his thoughts. "Yeah. I'm awake."
The door opened.
Mingrui appeared in the doorway. He had something in his hand and was also holding his guitar with the other hand.
He turned on the room light.
Grisha closed his eyes for a moment at the sudden brightness and then opened them. In the room's light, he noticed a large paper cup and a takeout container in Zhou Mingrui's hand.
"Can I come in?"
Grisha nodded.
Zhou Mingrui sat on the edge of the bed. He placed the things in his hand in front of Grisha and placed his guitar on his knees.
Grisha raised an eyebrow. He opened the container.
The smell of food filled the room. The smell of meat and potatoes and cabbage mixed together. The smell of something familiar. The smell of something that reminded him of home.
Vareniki!
Grisha raised his head in shock and looked at Mingrui.
Zhou Mingrui, without turning his head, said: "Finding it was a bit hard. It might be a little cold."
Grisha looked at the food, then at Zhou Mingrui, then at the food again, repeating this several times.
He remembered that a few months ago in one of their video calls, he had briefly mentioned that he liked this food. It was just a passing mention, and he had completely forgotten about it afterward.
But Zhou Mingrui hadn't forgotten.
Grisha tried to offer some of the food to Mingrui. "You eat too."
Mingrui shook his head. "I ate outside. I brought this for you." His gaze was still on the corner of the room, avoiding looking at Grisha.
Grisha silently began to eat.
The food had gone cold a long time ago, but Grisha ate all of it without complaint. Beside his hand was a large cup full of coffee with whiskey that, strangely, was still steaming hot.
Zhou Mingrui didn't move even the slightest bit the whole time and didn't turn around. He just sat with the guitar on his knees and waited.
When Grisha finished eating, Mingrui said: "I haven't played in a long time. I want to practice tonight. Can you stay with me?"
Grisha, confused by tonight's behavior of Zhou Mingrui, agreed.
Zhou Mingrui silently placed his hand on Grisha's arm and gently guided him to lie down on his lap.
Grisha froze.
His heart pounded and his body involuntarily tensed. Like someone who doesn't know what to do. Zhou Mingrui stopped. But he didn't remove his hand. He didn't turn his head either. He stayed just as he had been when entering the room.
In Grisha's heart, a thousand thoughts were fighting. Is this right? Should I allow this?
Grisha hesitated for a while. His breath was caught in his chest and his heart was beating fast like a drum in his chest. "What... what does this mean?"
But then he allowed Zhou Mingrui to gently guide his body.
He placed his head on the smaller man's lap and tensed himself. This whole scene felt like a dream and made Grisha afraid that with the slightest movement he would wake up.
Mingrui tuned his guitar. And began to play.
The notes filled the room. Soft. Gentle. Like rain hitting glass. Like a breeze passing through leaves.
Grisha slowly remembered the song. The same music that a year ago, Zhou Mingrui had played for him. The same one he had heard from behind the phone on that dark night when he was feeling down. The same song that had made his tears flow without him wanting to.
His body relaxed and his breaths became steady. He gradually calmed down and allowed himself to rest without thinking.
After a while, the song ended.
Grisha, who had become sleepy, raised his head from Mingrui's lap and turned upward. He saw Zhou Mingrui's profile, still calmly looking ahead in the dim light of the room.
"I've never seen you sing." Maybe it was the effect of sleep that made him say such things.
Zhou Mingrui, after a short silence, answered: "No one is perfect. I can play guitar. But I'm not a good singer."
Grisha, at that moment, realized. He realized why Mingrui was doing this. That afternoon at the Zhou family home, when Zhou Xingheng said, "Do whatever you love," Grisha had briefly experienced an old sorrow at the memory of his own father.
Although he quickly suppressed his emotions, Zhou Mingrui had seen it, and now here he was.
Grisha's gaze lowered and where Mingrui couldn't see, it filled with affection and love. A gentle smile that was barely visible formed on his lips. "True. No one is perfect."
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall asleep on the other boy's lap, accompanied by Mingrui's music.
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