Desk-mate, Do You Like Me? - Chapter 59

Chapter 59

Li Mo slept profoundly, as if to expel all the anxiety and exhaustion accumulated in the first half of the night. There were no bizarre dreams, no feeling of floating weightlessness, only a solid darkness enveloped in warmth.

He was awakened by a subtle, pleasant sound and the faint aroma of food drifting in.

When he opened his eyes, there was a moment of disorientation. The light outside was already bright. The winter sun cast several bright patches on the floor through the gaps in the curtains. Tiny dust motes floated in the air. The darkness, coldness, and the loneliness that had almost consumed him the night before seemed like a distant nightmare.

The spot next to him was empty, but the pillow and duvet still held Xu Qing’s body warmth and that clean, cool scent.

Li Mo took a deep breath. His heart was filled with something full and steady.

He shuffled out of the bedroom in his slippers, and the aroma grew stronger—the unique, sweet scent of rice after prolonged simmering, mixed with a hint of savory ham shreds.

In the kitchen, Xu Qing had his back to him, standing by the stove, his head slightly lowered, concentrating on the bubbling earthenware pot.

He was wearing loose home clothes, his figure slender and tall. The morning light outlined the soft curves of his shoulders and neck. The white steam rising from the pot blurred his profile, yet filled the scene with an ineffable, peaceful sense of everyday life.

Li Mo didn’t make a sound, simply leaning against the doorframe, watching quietly.

In this moment, no words were needed. All the intense emotions and fragile insecurities of last night were quietly smoothed over in the ordinary morning light, settling into something deeper and more resilient.

Xu Qing seemed to sense his presence. He turned off the heat and looked at Li Mo, showing no surprise. He simply said, “Are you awake? Go wash up, the congee is ready.”

His voice carried a slight morning rasp, but to Li Mo’s ears, it was more beautiful than any music.

“Mhm,” Li Mo responded, his voice also slightly thick from sleep.

He walked over, not to the bathroom, but naturally embraced Xu Qing from behind, resting his chin on his lean shoulder, clinging to him like a large koala, and inhaling deeply the scent of him mixed with the fresh aroma of the congee.

“Xu Qing,” he called his name again, his tone affectionate.

“What is it now?” Xu Qing allowed the embrace, even adjusting his stance slightly to make him more comfortable.

“Nothing,” Li Mo rubbed his cheek against his neck, sighing contentedly. “I just think… it’s really good.”

Xu Qing didn’t press further. He simply raised his hand and gently patted the arm wrapped around his waist: “Go wash your face. The congee won’t taste good when it’s cold.”

Breakfast was simple ham congee, served with pickled cucumbers that Liu Lan had personally preserved and Xu Qing had brought back from his uncle’s house. They were crisp and refreshing.

The two sat across from each other at the dining table, eating quietly. Sunlight filled half the table, illuminating the glistening rice grains in the bowls and the inviting sheen on the pickled cucumbers.

Li Mo ate quickly, with an unusually good appetite. He had three bowls of congee, and only after finishing the last piece of pickled cucumber did he contentedly put down his bowl and chopsticks, his eyes bright as he looked at Xu Qing: “It’s the first day of the New Year today. Any plans?”

Usually on holidays like this, Li Mo would either be taken by Yu Wenxiu to various family gatherings he wasn’t interested in, or he would wander around aimlessly to pass the time alone.

But this year was different; he had Xu Qing.

Xu Qing slowly finished his last spoonful of congee, wiped his mouth, and then looked up at him: “What do you want to do?”

Li Mo immediately perked up, leaning forward, and started counting on his fingers: “Watch a movie? They say the special effects in the new sci-fi film are explosive! Or go to the arcade? I know a new one just opened…”

He spoke excitedly, and Xu Qing listened quietly, without interrupting. Eventually, Li Mo’s own voice gradually trailed off.

He looked at Xu Qing’s calm eyes and suddenly realized that those noisy, outward-seeking activities were perhaps not what he wanted most at this moment.

The outside world was lively, but it couldn’t compare to this home, warmed by the breakfast congee, with Xu Qing in it.

“I don’t think… there’s anything I particularly want to do,” Li Mo touched his nose, his tone softening, carrying an unconscious dependence. “What about you? What do you want to do? I’m fine with anything.”

Xu Qing looked at his sudden shift from high enthusiasm to “I’ll listen to you,” and a very faint smile flickered in his eyes.

He stood up, tidying the bowls and chopsticks while saying casually: “Uncle gave us some vegetables he grew himself yesterday, said they were very fresh. I’m worried they won’t be crisp anymore if we leave them. For lunch… let’s make dumplings.”

It wasn’t a question, but a simple statement.

Li Mo was momentarily stunned.

Making dumplings? The activity sounded so… ordinary, so common, even a bit too “down-to-earth.” Compared to the options he had just proposed, it was as bland as plain water.

Yet, this simple sentence was like a small stone dropped into the lake of his heart, sending out circle after circle of gentle ripples.

It meant they didn’t plan to go out. They would stay in this space with just the two of them, doing something that required time, teamwork, and was full of the warmth of daily life.

It meant that the ritual of “spending the New Year together” was continuing.

“Okay!” Li Mo instantly responded, with a joy he didn’t even realize was in his voice. “Making dumplings! I’m good at this!” He figuratively rolled up his sleeves, ready for action. “I can roll the wrappers really fast!”

Xu Qing raised an eyebrow at him, his eyes clearly spelling out “skepticism.”

Stung by the look, Li Mo’s competitive spirit flared up: “Hey, don’t you dare doubt me! I watched the housekeeper at home make them when I was little! Just wait, I’ll show you what ‘fast and round’ means!”

…

It turned out Li Mo’s “expertise” was highly diluted.

In the flour-dusted kitchen, Li Mo held the rolling pin, treating the small lump of kneaded dough as a formidable enemy. He confidently rolled it down, but the resulting wrappers were oddly shaped. They were either too thick at the edges and too thin in the middle, or they stuck directly to the rolling pin and couldn’t be pulled off. The promised “fast and round” wrappers were few and far between, mostly of uneven thickness and bizarre shapes.

In contrast, Xu Qing was responsible for the filling—minced meat, finely chopped vegetables, and seasoning. In his hands, everything was quickly mixed evenly, perfectly seasoned, and fragrant. Then he took the disobedient rolling pin from Li Mo, washed his hands, and started kneading the dough again, dividing it into small balls, pressing, and rolling the wrappers.

His movements were unhurried, even possessing a unique rhythm. The small dough balls spun quickly in his palms. With a few pushes of the rolling pin, perfectly round dumpling wrappers, slightly thicker in the center and thinner at the edges, flew out of his hands, neatly stacked on a lightly floured plate, like a group of small soldiers waiting for inspection.

Li Mo watched dumbfounded. The slight embarrassment from his boastful claims made him feel awkward. He tried to save face: “I… I haven’t practiced in a long time! I’m rusty!”

Xu Qing didn’t even lift his head, rolling another perfect dumpling wrapper onto the cutting board in front of him, his tone flat: “Mhm. Well, Master Li, you can handle the wrapping then.”

In the wrapping stage, Li Mo managed to regain some footing. Although he couldn’t roll the wrappers, his imitation skills were decent. Watching how Xu Qing added the filling and pinched the pleats, he followed suit. Although his finished dumplings were diverse in shape—some like chubby little figures, others like deflated balloons—they could at least stand steadily, with no risk of the filling leaking out.

One rolled, the other wrapped, with occasional brief exchanges.

“Is the filling too salty?”

“It’s just right.”

“The wrapper seems a bit dry?”

“Dip it in some water.”

Most of the time was spent in silence, only the gentle thud of the rolling pin hitting the cutting board and the faint sounds of people and cars from visiting friends and family outside the window.

The sunlight slanted in through the kitchen window, illuminating the flying flour particles in the air, as well as Xu Qing’s lowered, focused brows and the fine beads of sweat on Li Mo’s nose, caused by his “hard labor.”

Li Mo looked at Xu Qing’s fair, slender hands, slightly dusted with flour, skillfully creating one exquisite dumpling after another. Then he looked at the rows of clumsy “creations” in front of him. He felt no sense of failure from the comparison. Instead, he was filled with a massive, almost poignant sense of satisfaction.

He had never participated in such an… ordinary, yet so authentic family activity. No exotic delicacies, no toasts. Just flour, vegetables, meat filling, and the person next to him who was willing to waste time with him.

When the last dumpling was sealed in Xu Qing’s hands, turning into a plump “ingot,” neatly arranged on the floured plate, Li Mo let out a long sigh, looking at the collective “fruits of their labor.” A sense of accomplishment rose spontaneously.

“How about that?” He pointed to a few of the more decent-looking dumplings, asking Xu Qing with a slight boastfulness, “These few are mine. Not bad, right?”

Xu Qing glanced in the direction he pointed. Those few dumplings looked awkwardly out of place among the crowd of neat “ingots.” He nodded, giving him credit: “Mhm, edible.”

Li Mo let out a disgruntled “Tsk,” and reached out to pinch his cheek: “What kind of rating is that? Your standards are too high!”

Xu Qing tilted his head to dodge, but the smile in his eyes couldn’t be hidden.

At lunchtime, the two ate the dumplings they had made themselves. After boiling, the wrappers became semi-transparent, faintly revealing the color of the filling. The dumplings floated, plump and white, in the pot. Scooped out and served, dipped in vinegar and chili oil, one bite revealed the springiness of the wrapper and the savory juiciness of the filling, rolling down the throat with the broth.

Li Mo ate with particular relish. He not only picked out and ate all the oddly shaped ones he had made but also stole several of Xu Qing’s “standard ingots.”

“Delicious!” His mouth was full, and he mumbled his declaration for the umpteenth time, “Seriously, a million times better than any five-star hotel!”

Xu Qing watched him devour them and pushed two more dumplings from his own bowl toward him.

After the meal, Li Mo proactively took on the clean-up duty, humming a tuneless song. Xu Qing sat on the living room sofa, picking up a book he hadn’t finished earlier.

The sun was just right, warming his body. Li Mo finished cleaning, came over with a fresh, watery scent, and sat down next to Xu Qing, naturally leaning against him and yawning.

“Sleepy?” Xu Qing turned a page of his book, asking casually.

“A little,” Li Mo adjusted his position, resting his head by Xu Qing’s thigh, closing his eyes, his voice gradually dropping. “Woke up too early this morning…”

His voice grew softer and softer, his breathing slowly becoming even and deep.

Xu Qing put down the book, looking down at the person resting by his thigh. Li Mo looked very peaceful in his sleep, the usual flamboyance and occasional sharpness stripped away. His brows were relaxed, and he even had a trace of defenseless childishness. Sunlight fell on his face, clearly showing the shallow shadow cast by his long, thick eyelashes.

Xu Qing reached out and very lightly brushed away a strand of hair falling on his forehead, his movement careful not to wake him.

The living room fell silent again, only the slight sound of pages occasionally turning intertwined with Li Mo’s steady breathing.

Outside the window, it was the first day of the New Year. The sun shone brightly. The sounds of traffic and voices formed a vibrant and noisy world.

But in this small apartment, time seemed to stretch out, flowing slowly and tranquilly. Last night’s fireworks, tears, embrace, and promise had all transformed into today’s sunshine, congee, flour, and the present serene sleeping face.

Li Mo unconsciously nudged closer to Xu Qing in his sleep, seeking a warmer, more reliable anchor.

Xu Qing picked up the book again, but didn’t read. His gaze rested on the clear sky outside the window.

He thought, this is probably what “a peaceful life” looks like.

It doesn’t need to be grand and tumultuous, nor does it need to attract public attention. It is simply having a lamp lit for you in the ordinary smoke and fire of life, a bowl of hot congee waiting for you to taste, and a person who is willing to share this mundane yet real time with you, and, moreover, has promised a future.

His fingertips unconsciously gently twined around Li Mo’s soft hair scattered on the sofa.

The sun moved, painting their intertwined figures into a warm and lasting tableau.