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Knock knock.
Mo Ran sits up, scratching the back of his head. He’s not expecting anyone. Thinking it must be some lost classmate or something, Mo Ran answers the door.
There’s no one there.
He nearly slams the door before he sees a container on the floor: a dark blue insulated bowl, meant to keep food hot or cold for long hours. Mo Ran picks it up and looks up and down the hall, but there’s still no one there.
He shuts the door and takes the container to his desk, unsealing it and inhaling the surprisingly delicious scent of wonton soup. It doesn’t smell as spicy as when he makes wontons himself, but he’s hungry, his mouth watering as he inspects the container for anything weird.
The soup is all he finds, even when he pokes his head outside the door a second time. No note, no return address. Mo Ran stares at the container. Should he check if it’s poisoned? Probably, but his part-time gig at the boba place a few blocks away from campus only pays so-so.
Mo Ran has eaten from more suspicious places.
After allowing himself three undisturbed wontons, Mo Ran starts thinking. Why would anyone do something nice for him anonymously? He has connections through Xue Zhengyong, but his company isn’t exactly at the top of their game; if they were, Mo Ran wouldn’t have to sling boba just to stop his uncle worrying about funds. A few people have tried to get to the Xues through him, but most prospects are interested in reforming that stray dog the Xues took in. They’d never do something so simple, especially not something that lacks reciprocation.
Other than such fleeting attentions, Mo Ran has always had to work for things. If he wanted someone to like him, he had to smile and play nice. If he wanted to get somewhere, he had to use every trick in the book just to get a foot in the door.
Try as he might, Mo Ran cannot think of anyone who would go out of their way to pull such a stunt.
He had mentioned something to Xue Meng earlier—Mengmeng, don’t leave me home alone, don’t you know I was counting on you to buy me dinner? I’ll starve!— but it was just a joke. No one overhearing him could possibly have thought he was serious. They’d have to be a total idiot, incapable of reading people and clueless about the teasing sarcasm shared between Mo Ran and his cousin.
Surely someone like that wouldn’t be hanging around on campus?
Mo Ran shrugs and shoves a wonton into his mouth, making a low sound of pleasure. It doesn’t matter. The wontons aren’t perfect, but they’re really good—food always tastes better when it’s free.
“You won’t believe what happened last night.”
“Not this again,” Xue Meng groans, pretending to vomit on his yuxiang tofu. “Just because I’m gone for the night, that doesn’t mean you can—”
“Mengmeng!” Mo Ran cries, laughing so hard he gasps. “Not like that.”
Mo Ran feels eyes on his neck, a searing gaze that causes him to turn. Chu Wanning is across the yard. He must be taking a break to eat at the same time as them. Was he so disturbed to hear someone laugh, or is it Mo Ran’s laugh he specifically loathes?
Ignoring such chastisement, Mo Ran pats Xue Meng’s shoulder. “No,” Mo Ran says, gaze swinging across to Shi Mei. “No, I think Shi Mei left me a gift on my doorstep last night.”
Xue Meng shrugs off Mo Ran’s touch. “What are you talking about, dickhead?”
“He’s the only one that would overhear me saying I was counting on you to buy me dinner,” Mo Ran explains to Xue Meng. “Only I don’t know why Shi Mei would leave me food and run away instead of eating it with me. What are you playing at?” Mo Ran turns to look expectantly at Shi Mei, whose noodles are frozen in midair, halfway to his mouth.
Slowly, methodically, Shi Mei puts the noodles in his mouth. He chews for a while and swallows. “No,” Shi Mei says slowly. “It wasn’t me.”
“You hesitated,” Mo Ran points out, leaning closer to Shi Mei. He’s beautiful. Shi Mei’s peach blossom eyes hold the light Mo Ran used to chase like a dog.
Key words: used to.
Shi Mei shakes his head again, but he doesn't argue, rolling his eyes and returning to his noodles. Mo Ran is sure it’s Shi Mei. He gave up on his crush because it had never been reciprocated, but what if Shi Mei is just shy? Mo Ran should find out. He should definitely pursue this.
“If you’re so concerned,” Mo Ran says, “how about some more tonight? I won't get paid till next week.”
Shi Mei chews his noodles. Mo Ran wonders what changed his mind, to make this sort of gesture for someone like Mo Ran.
That night, there’s a feather-light knock on the door. Mo Ran tries to catch Shi Mei in the act, but the knock is light enough that he dismisses it at first—delaying him just enough for Shi Mei to make his escape. Mo Ran picks up the wontons, smiles to himself, and shakes his head. He looks down the hall both ways, but upon seeing no evidence, Mo Ran shuts the door and sets the soup on his desk.
He pulls up Shi Mei’s WeChat.
thanks i mean it
Shi Mei’s typing indicator pops up quickly. Not me. I’m at Xue Meng’s.
Just as Mo Ran goes to make a serious accusation, he receives a chat from Xue Meng.
Shi Mei’s NOT your weirdo stalker freak
go bother someone else!!
Xue Meng is a lot of things, but he’s not anyone’s first call when they need someone to lie on their behalf. He sucks at it. Still, Mo Ran doesn’t know what to believe… How could it be anyone other than Shi Mei? Mo Ran doesn’t whine so much in front of others, not that he can recall.
The mystery unfurls.
At lunch the next day, Mo Ran is quieter than usual. Shi Mei and Xue Meng make sure to discuss hanging out the night before, likely for his benefit, but Mo Ran doesn’t fight, so the topic quickly turns to classes. While Xue Meng talks himself hoarse, Mo Ran makes all his most engaged noises and observes the area.
There’s no great places to hide in the courtyard. It’s a small area, made smaller still in the shadows cast by the haitang tree planted at its center. Floral bushes gather along the walls, and the table Mo Ran, Shi Mei, and Xue Meng share is technically only big enough for two people. They always steal the third chair from the table across the garden, since Chu Wanning doesn’t need it.
Not that Mo Ran would consider Chu Wanning as a suspect. The only reason they have the garden mostly to themselves is that no one else is willing to disturb Chu Wanning, but for some reason, Xue Meng adores him.
When Mo Ran first saw Chu-laoshi—facing the board; writing his cramped, harried characters; pants a bit looser in the legs than they should be, owing to the fact that they were untailored and had to cover the curve of his ass—he thought he’d adore Chu Wanning too. Finally, there just might be a professor he was willing to apply himself in front of, since Xue Meng liked his last class with the guy so much.
That dream lasted right up until Mo Ran received his first scathing critique. Reliving that time the most beautiful man alive called him ‘deficient and incapable of critical thought’ tends to put a damper on any lingering daydreams about Chu-laoshi’s assets.
Mo Ran lets his gaze slide subtly in Chu Wanning’s direction. He sits facing the haitang tree, as always, with a plate of pastries from the campus tea shop. It’s hard to judge at a distance, but they all look sweet and delicate. Chu Wanning looks sharp as ever, shoulders hunched like the slightest human contact would inconvenience him, a book open on the table in front of him. As Mo Ran watches, Chu Wanning takes a bite, the flaky dough disturbed by his teeth falling into the open pages.
He turns the page, ensuring those crumbs will instantly disappear into the spine of the book. Mo Ran ducks his head and laughs.
Fingers snap in front of his face. “You’re not even listening, are you?” Xue Meng asks, rolling his eyes as he shoves things haphazardly into his bag. “I wish I knew who brought you those stupid wontons, just so I could tell them you’re not worth it.” He gets up and starts in the direction of Chu Wanning, presumably to annoy him for the remaining five minutes of their break.
“Would you at least tell me who it is after?” Mo Ran calls after him.
Xue Meng flips Mo Ran off behind his back so Chu Wanning won’t see.
There are five stages of realizing your shitty former professor was also responsible for the first random act of kindness you can remember receiving in years.
Mo Ran sits with his denial for hours that night, holed up in his room alone. How can it be Chu Wanning? Yet it must be Chu Wanning, because Mo Ran has decent spatial awareness and a great memory for faces—there’s no one else that would have overheard and been available both times. Before today, he would’ve told anyone who asked: I’m definitely Chu-laoshi’s least favorite student ever!
It would make more sense if they were poisoned, but Mo Ran would’ve felt something by now, surely. Is he being pranked? Denial gives way to a flicker of anger. It’s difficult for Mo Ran to stay upset with anyone who offers him a little kindness, but maybe that’s what Chu Wanning was counting on. There’s no way someone as lofty and self-important as Chu Wanning would do a basic kindness for Mo Ran. For Xue Meng, maybe, but for an idiot deficient in critical thought? Not a chance.
There’s no hope for him. Maybe if he closes his eyes and falls asleep, Mo Ran will wake up from this nightmare to the sound of Chu-laoshi snapping his name from the front of class. He can apologize, and maybe he can ask for help on his paper before it’s too late.
No knock at the door tonight, which only strengthens his suspicions. If it was someone who just happened to gift Mo Ran wontons on days he happened to mention being hungry, they might come on days where he said nothing about it.
Mo Ran allows himself to roll off the bed, just once, grunting as he hits the floor. He kind of wants to roll more, but there’s not enough room—he’s barely small enough to fit in this space as is.
None of it makes any sense, but at last, Mo Ran reaches his acceptance. His strongest suspect is Chu Wanning, but even if he’s not the culprit, Mo Ran needs to get his focus back and work on his studies. He needs to end this preoccupation as soon as possible. The only way to guarantee a confession will be to catch him red-handed, so he makes a plan.
Once Chu Wanning is caught, he won’t be able to deny Mo Ran anything.
“I thought you said you’d rather die than enter this room again,” Xue Meng teases as he stuffs books into his bag.
Mo Ran grins, positioning himself so he can see Chu Wanning over Xue Meng’s shoulder. Though his stiff shoulders rise with every word from Mo Ran’s lips, Chu Wanning starts erasing a blank piece of the board, presumably to look busy while he eavesdrops.
He had no idea Chu-laoshi was such a gossip.
“You were running late,” Mo Ran says, reaching out to ruffle Xue Meng’s hair.
Xue Meng bats his hand back and nearly trips, which Mo Ran can’t help laughing at. “Like two minutes! Who are you, my mom?”
“I’m gonna tell Shenshen you’re starving me. Or that you’re failing, staying behind every day like this…”
“Shut up!” Xue Meng turns and waves at Chu Wanning’s taciturn backside. Sometimes Mo Ran is amazed at what Xue Meng is willing to put up with. “See you next week, Chu-laoshi!”
As Mo Ran walks out with Xue Meng, he says, “I hope Shi Mei leaves wontons again tonight.” He makes sure to say it loudly enough that Chu Wanning will hear it, but waits until they’re exiting the room, so that even the keenest ears couldn’t make out Xue Meng’s reply.
“Seriously, Mo Ran, did you hit your head? Shi Mei was with me when you got the last ones.”
“Right,” Mo Ran agrees, unable to help his smug expression. “My mistake.”
After pissing off three different students minding their own business, Mo Ran can see the flaws in his plan.
The two deliveries came at different times in the evening, so Mo Ran figured if he hurried back—much to Xue Meng’s extreme confusion and displeasure—he could set up by the door, listen for movement, and yank open the door whenever he heard someone coming by. With his ear pressed against the door, it blocks as much sound as a piece of paper.
It had seemed foolproof at the time, but it’s been more than three hours. A flicker of hope rises in his chest. Maybe his mystery benefactor isn’t Chu Wanning. Maybe all these thoughts he’s been having about Chu Wanning can stop. Maybe Mo Ran can go back to the easy, uncomplicated loathing from before.
Quiet, careful footsteps filter through the door. Mo Ran scrambles to his feet. These footsteps sounded much slower than the others, like someone who has a hard time walking.
Or someone who doesn’t want to be caught.
Palms sweating, heart practically in his throat, Mo Ran pulls open the door so hard he rocks back on his heels.
“It is you!” Mo Ran accuses. Chu Wanning, who was bent over to set down the container, drops it. The insulated bowl makes a painful thump, but doesn’t seem broken when Mo Ran glances down. Chu Wanning looks up and says nothing at all. After a moment of red-faced staring, he starts slowly turning away, as though if he can walk away subtly enough, Mo Ran might forget he’s visible to the human eye.
Not happening.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mo Ran asks, snatching Chu Wanning’s wrist and pulling him inside.
“You can’t just—”
“Can’t I?” Mo Ran asks, pinning Chu Wanning against the closed door. “You owe me an explanation, laoshi.”
Having the professor in his space feels more intimate than he thought it’d be. He struggles against Mo Ran’s hold for a moment, then stills, that pretty flush still high on his cheekbones, gaze downcast. Even his nose is elegant. Mo Ran has had dreams that started like this, right after he saw Chu Wanning in person for the first time.
“Nothing to say for yourself?”
Chu Wanning bites his lip. As much as he’s enjoyed pinning Chu Wanning down, lording their height difference over him in the low pitch of the lamplight, Mo Ran lets go, taking a step back and grinning. “Don’t be shy. Start at the beginning.”
The longer the silence drags on, the redder Chu Wanning gets. Finally, just when Mo Ran is worried he’ll actually explode, Chu Wanning’s hands curl into fists at his sides and he—
“You can’t just trap me in your room and make me do what you want!”
Mo Ran blinks. That’s not the description of this scene that he would have used. Has that scenario been on Chu Wanning’s mind this whole time?
Fascinated, Mo Ran turns his words over on his tongue. Looking at Chu Wanning now, he no longer seems as imperious and stately as he had the first time Mo Ran saw him standing at the board during class. This is no Chu-laoshi. Instead, Mo Ran finds himself faced for the first time with Chu Wanning the man. The picture of Chu Wanning in his mind forms anew, born from the crumbs he’s pressed into the spines of his books, fallen from the sickly sweet pastries he eats at least five days a week; from the hasty erasing of a blank spot on the whiteboard; from the insulated containers on Mo Ran’s doorstep.
He can’t forget the things Chu Wanning said, but he can ask about them sometime. Maybe when Chu Wanning is less red. He hasn’t stopped thinking about trapping Chu-laoshi in his room and making him do what he’s told since the words were spoken.
Mo Ran is doomed.
“If it was a peace offering,” Mo Ran says, stepping into Chu Wanning’s personal space again, “I’d like to receive those in person from now on.”
“P-Peace?” Chu Wanning chokes out. “I didn’t—you hate me! Why should I show up at your door and expect—”
Mo Ran covers Chu Wanning’s mouth with his palm, then leans down so he can press his words close to Chu Wanning’s ear, just to see if he responds. He’s familiar with the signs of someone being attracted to him, but this is Chu Wanning. Mo Ran is surely going mad.
“Since I’m a generous man,” Mo Ran intones, making sure to stay at a low, deep register, “I’ll make you an offer.”
He takes his hand off Chu Wanning’s mouth, leaning back so he can watch that sweet flush returning out of the angry red cheeks from before. Chu Wanning’s pupils are so dilated he almost looks high.
“What offer?” he asks.
Mo Ran kisses him. Chu Wanning gasps, fisting his hands in Mo Ran’s shirt, but he never bites, never turns his head. Instead, Chu Wanning kisses sweetly, if a bit clumsily. His hands slowly loosen and settle, palms flat, on Mo Ran’s chest.
When Mo Ran pulls back, Chu Wanning blinks muzzily at him. “What?”
“Stay for dinner, Wanning.” Mo Ran is only testing the waters with this form of address, but the syllables feel right on his tongue.
Chu Wanning glares, his phoenix eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Don’t be so familiar.”
With another kiss, Mo Ran shows Chu Wanning how familiar he can be. Chu Wanning’s words and tone don’t match, the ferocity abandoning him the instant Mo Ran gets a hand on the back of his neck; he melts, a willing and pliant participant as he sways in Mo Ran’s arms.
Mo Ran smiles against Chu Wanning’s lips. He’ll have to stay for dessert.