Chapter 15

The city's street lights receded one by one, and the car was so quiet that the only sound was the bass echo of the tires rolling over the ground.

The car was supposed to take everyone back to the hotel, but they didn't go in that direction.

Zou Ping noticed it and sat up straighter.

"This is not the way to the hotel." She said slowly.

Miao Zhan drove intently, his tone still gentle: "Teacher Shao accompanied Tang Junrui to the hospital. I have already arranged for the other children to go down. There are three cars, point-to-point direct delivery. Each car has a professional escort and is positioned throughout the journey. You don't have to worry about safety issues."

Zou Ping frowned: "But no teacher is here. What if a child feels uncomfortable in the middle of the night, or needs to see a teacher for something..."

"Ms. Zou," he turned his head slightly to glance at her, his eyes firm, "Please trust me. The people I've found are more professional than us and can handle emergencies more quickly. If you insist on going back to the hotel tonight, it might cause unnecessary stress to the children."

Zou Ping didn't say anything, but just tapped the window frame lightly with her fingertips.

After a long silence, she said slowly, "If there is any problem, tell me the first time."

"Yes." Miao Zhan answered quickly.

"You're not telling me because you think it's important, it's everything." She added, her tone calm, but with an unquestionable persistence.

Miao Zhan nodded gently: "I understand."

The car slid into the familiar underground garage of the residential complex. Zou Ping realized that it was Tang Yuchuan's apartment. She was being sent home.

She turned to look at him.

Miao Zhan finally stopped the car, turned off the engine, and unbuckled his seatbelt. He looked at her and said calmly, "Mr. Tang today is more worthy of your concern."

The car was silent for a few seconds.

Zou Ping did not get out of the car immediately. She lightly tapped the door handle with her fingers, her fingertips feeling slightly cold.

"Is he still drinking?" she whispered.

Miao Zhan didn't answer directly, but simply said, "I tried to persuade him, but it was no use. The situation tonight is special, and he... isn't feeling well."

She didn't ask any more questions.

He just nodded, pushed the door and got out.

The wind rushed in from a vent in the underground garage, carrying with it the remaining heat from the city at night and a hint of anxiety.

Her back was straight, but her steps were light.

It was as if he was forcing himself to restrain himself, or as if he had already become accustomed to this critical point.

The elevator went straight to the top floor, and the familiar metal door slid open before my eyes. The corridor was empty, and the lights were quietly on, soft but silent.

Zou Ping stood at the door and knocked twice, but no one responded.

She paused, then grasped the doorknob. It wasn't locked, so she pushed it gently and it opened.

A faint aroma of sour tomatoes wafted towards her face, mixed with the barely perceptible scent of alcohol in the air, but it wasn't pungent. This alone was completely different from the man she had imagined, someone who'd been drinking to the point of losing control.

She walked slowly into the living room, her steps very light.

The lights are on.

The living room is not big, but it is spotless. There are several empty wine bottles on the glass coffee table, four or five bottles, with the bottoms facing outwards, neatly arranged in a row, like a geometric pattern with precisely measured angles.

Taking two more steps forward, her eyes fell on the dining table.

——Tomato beef brisket.

One plate, two plates...more than ten plates, served in different containers, but all with the same dish.

Red, shiny tomatoes; neatly cut beef brisket, the soup has a slightly cool aroma, as if it was just cooked not long ago, but also as if it has been cold for a long time.

There was an apron hanging by the stove, with some sauce splashed on the corner of the cuff, hanging quietly.

Zou Ping stood there and watched for a few seconds before she heard a slight sound coming from the sofa on her right.

Tang Yuchuan sat there leaning back, his head tilted back, his eyes half closed, his brows tightly knitted, as if he had a stomachache, or as if he was trying hard to hold himself together and not collapse.

He heard the door open and turned his head to look.

Under the light, his face was pale, and there was a layer of red fatigue in his eyes. The alcohol had long gone, and what remained was an unspeakable emptiness.

"Why are you back at this time?"

His voice was hoarse, as if he had just woken up, or as if he had finally fallen silent after talking too much nonsense.

Zou Ping didn't answer. Her gaze paused on his face for a moment, then swept over the tomato beef brisket.

"What's this for? Why are you making so many servings of one dish?"

Tang Yuchuan leaned against the corner of the sofa, rubbing his stomach with his head down, without looking at her.

He didn't say anything and didn't stand up, as if the question was not directed at him at all.

She took a few steps closer and her eyes fell on his hands, which were clenched tightly around his abdomen. They were faintly pale and it was obvious that he was trying hard to hold back.

"Tang Yuchuan."

He raised his head when he heard the voice. There was a deep layer of drunkenness in his eyes, with red bloodshot spreading in his eyes, but his mind was still barely clear.

"...She's married." He suddenly whispered.

The voice was almost pulled out from the throat, as if it had been held back for a long time before finally finding a gap.

Zou Ping didn't move, but just looked at him gently. There was no surprise in her eyes, but it seemed as if she should have guessed something long ago.

"White Moonlight? Or ex?" She tried to keep her tone calm. She remembered what he said, "When you paint... it reminds me of someone." At that time, she had a vague guess.

He nodded, then slowly shook his head: "More than that. She was my first love. We broke up fifteen years ago, and she's the only girlfriend I've ever had."

The light shone on him, casting a faint shadow.

"When she was nineteen, she told me she couldn't cook and didn't want to eat the nanny's cooking. She wanted to be able to eat the tomato beef brisket I made every day at home. So she forced me to learn. At that time, I couldn't even boil water, so she sat at the kitchen door, laughing and calling me stupid."

When he said this, his voice was soft, as if he was talking about someone else's youth, and as if he could not help looking back.

"I really learned it... and I did it for more than a year. After that, I cooked every time I went home - even if no one was eating."

"You're drunk."

"Yeah." He nodded slowly, "I did a lot today."

He paused, then continued, "I used to think I lost her because I was ignorant, didn't love her enough, was too proud, and didn't understand anything. But now I know I didn't lose her at all. Perhaps I was never what she wanted. Of course, no one in this world is inseparable from anyone else."

Zou Ping looked at him without saying a word.

He cast his eyes towards the table of beef brisket with tomatoes, smiled, and whispered, "I learned how to cook her favorite dishes. Later, I also learned how to make soup, steam fish, and bake cakes... In the end, she married..."

He didn't know what to call that person, nor did he know how to describe this complicated relationship. He also never understood Tan Jing's choice.

In the first few years after the breakup, he always wanted an answer.

But she said she had made her choice and that his doing so would bring her trouble.

"If your girlfriend is harassed by her ex-boyfriend every day, what do you think her lover would think?" she said to him.

So he completely withdrew from her life and only heard from her occasionally.

It seems like it's fine like this.

He finally adjusted to the distant yet distinct relationship between them, as if they were standing on different shores, gazing at each other across an invisible surface. That distance was both a barrier and a tacit understanding, as omnipresent as air, yet intangible.

But she just wouldn't let him go and insisted on intervening in his life again in another identity.

What on earth is going on? He thought to himself, is he going to have to call me "Mom" again?

Zou Ping watched Tang Yuchuan quietly as he unscrewed the cap from the wine bottle and casually swallowed a few pills from the medicine bottle. At that moment, the room was filled with the smell of alcohol and a hint of bitterness. She didn't speak immediately, but simply stood there silently, her eyes revealing a hint of helplessness and forbearance.

"You are like this..." Her voice was very soft, as if she was confirming, or as if she was talking to herself.

Tang Yuchuan didn't look up, but just responded softly, his eyes blurred and tired.

She took a deep breath, turned around, and said in a voice so faint that it was almost inaudible: "This will only make your stomach feel worse."

"Get up," she said.

Tang Yuchuan didn't move.

"If you have a stomachache, don't sit here and lie down on the bed." She walked to his side, her tone expressionless.

Tang Yuchuan suddenly reached out and hugged Zou Ping. His strength was not strong, but it felt heavy, like a burden on his heart.

Zou Ping stepped back subconsciously and said softly, "I'm not her, I'm Zou Ping."

He lowered his head and said in a hoarse voice: "I know you like me very much, right?"

Zou Ping felt the fatigue and fragility in his eyes, and her heart suddenly softened.

She responded softly: "I like you. Many people like you. You are very nice."

After hearing this, Tang Yuchuan suddenly seemed to realize something and let go of her. His tone was light but decisive, "You are also very good. You must be exhausted after tossing and turning all day today. Go to bed early."

Zou Ping steadied herself and said softly, "Let me help you back to your room first."

He shook his head and stood up, walking a little unsteadily but maintaining an upright posture. "No, I can do it myself. Don't blame yourself for the sketching. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. You've done a great job today."

She nodded and watched him walk into the room, but her mood could not calm down for a long time.

She sat down in the seat where Tang Yuchuan had just sat, and her fingers moved around among the wine bottles - four were empty, one was half full, and they were arranged very neatly with the bottle mouths facing outwards.

Zou Ping sighed softly, picked up the garbage bag, put the bottles in one by one, and then found a rag to wipe the coffee table.

The tabletop wasn't dirty, with barely any fingerprints or wine stains, as if he'd wiped it down before drinking. It was so impeccably clean that one couldn't help but wonder if he was meticulously controlling even a breakdown.

She felt a little blocked and a little sour in her heart.

He was clearly drunk, but he wasn't messy at all. He didn't smash a cup, talk incoherently, or pass out drunkenly. Instead, he sat there quietly, enduring the stomachache until his face turned pale, cooking the pain into a dozen tomato-based sirloin dishes, which he placed on a long table.

She walked to the dining table, stood for a moment, then pulled out a chair and sat down.

The food on the table was still warm because there was a constant temperature plate underneath. She didn't notice it at first, but now when she put her palm on it, she could feel the warmth.

She picked up a piece of beef brisket and put it in her mouth.

It's so tender, stewed to perfection, you barely need to chew a single bite. The tomato's tartness is perfectly balanced, neither greasy nor bland, and the broth is thick, tinged with the sweetness of onions and carrots. The whole dish, like the person, is restrained, precise, and gentle.

Zou Ping ate a few pieces one after another, and suddenly lost her appetite.

It’s not that it’s not delicious, but... it’s too delicious.

She swallowed the last bite, but her throat felt dry.

She remembered what Tang Yuchuan had just said. She started learning to cook at the age of nineteen and studied for more than a year.

Later, I learned a lot more and practiced it for many years.

All of them are learned to be done for one person.

Now that person is no longer with her, he still remembers the recipes, what she likes to eat, and what she said.

How long can one delay the feeling of liking someone? How long ago did the feeling have to be planted for it to linger like a vine even after it was lost?

She suddenly felt a little envious of the girl.

I also feel a little... sorry for Tang Yuchuan now.

Food cannot be wasted.

Zou Ping stood up and rummaged through the kitchen, finding a few crisper boxes. She then brought down freezer bags from the top shelf of the cupboard and neatly packaged the plates of beef brisket with tomatoes. She filled each box completely, carefully wiping the edges clean before sealing.

Her movements were quiet, just like the way she dealt with her emotions—no noise, no interruptions, no commotion.

The refrigerator was originally empty, with only a few bottles of water in it, and there was only a bag of frozen dumplings in the freezer, which looked like they had been bought a long time ago.

Now the layers are filled with tomato brisket.

She finally closed the refrigerator door with a gentle "click", as if adding a bit of liveliness to this empty home.

The kitchen returned to silence, the lights were still soft, and the smell of tomatoes and spices lingered in the air.