Drunk On The Night Breeze - Chapter 23

Chapter 23

As the song ended, Tao Zhi didn’t say much. He didn’t try to organize a speech or a transition; he simply looked toward Ruan Lingfeng and raised an eyebrow. The slight awkwardness he’d displayed at the start was now completely gone.

Tao Zhi didn’t speak, but Ruan Lingfeng could uncannily understand his current state of mind—not counting the few staff members and waiters listening from the sidelines, Ruan Lingfeng was the sole audience member for this performance. Tao Zhi wanted feedback.

So, Ruan Lingfeng broke into applause. He finally saw Tao Zhi’s face light up on stage, revealing a satisfied and triumphant expression.

Immediately, a new accompaniment began to play.

It sounded familiar, and Ruan Lingfeng quickly recognized it: Coldplay’s “Things I Don’t Understand.” Compared to the band’s major hits, not many people listened to this one; it was somewhat niche, yet it was a song he loved dearly. He even used it as his ringtone—the kind people would hear when they called him.

Unless he was being incredibly vain, this song was likely hand-picked by Tao Zhi.

But Tao Zhi had only called him a few times, yet he had remembered his ringtone.

Ruan Lingfeng’s heart softened once more.

The red-haired youth on stage continued to sing. His usual aggressive aura seemed diluted by the music. The dim, yellow beams of the small stage hit him, lending him an unexpected touch of gentleness.

Ruan Lingfeng watched him intently.

He rarely heard Tao Zhi sing purely in English. It was a rare treat; his pronunciation was quite pure. Perhaps due to his vocal tone, the song lacked the “world-weary enlightenment” of someone who had seen it all, sounding instead both relaxed and resolute.

“…All my wrong from right.Or my day from night.Or my dark from light.But I love this life…”

The subsequent songs confirmed Ruan Lingfeng’s suspicion: Tao Zhi had indeed curated the setlist specifically. Of course, Tao Zhi’s method of screening was blunt and direct: aside from the first song being Ruan Lingfeng’s ringtone, the others were either tracks he had shared on his social feed or mentioned casually in conversation.

Tao Zhi, the top-tier idol singer, was spending an entire evening singing other people’s songs just for him. He had taken the concept of “catering to someone’s tastes” to the extreme. With various languages and genres involved, if one had to call this a “live show,” it would be hard to find a cohesive theme for it.

Ruan Lingfeng listened attentively, but in the gaps between songs, he wondered: was Tao Zhi having fun? In music, Tao Zhi was indeed very inclusive, but he was a singer after all… Like when they went to hear Xie Jiashu, Ruan Lingfeng could clearly feel Tao Zhi’s inexplicable competitive streak.

So, after a certain song ended, Ruan Lingfeng waved toward the stage.

“What’s up?” Tao Zhi had slung a guitar over his shoulder halfway through. As he asked, he casually strummed the pick across the strings.

Fearing he wouldn’t be heard clearly, Ruan Lingfeng cupped his hands around his mouth like a small megaphone and shouted: “I want to hear you sing—”

“You really think I’m a jukebox?” Tao Zhi was generous, though. “What do you want to hear?”

“I want to hear you sing your own songs!”

Tao Zhi hadn’t expected this request and froze for a moment.

Ruan Lingfeng continued to shout: “Tao Zhi is also a singer I like!”

It was the truth. Setting aside everything else—the past pleasantries and unpleasantries, or their professional partnership—Tao Zhi was a singer Ruan Lingfeng listened to frequently.

Tao Zhi felt a buzz in his head. Why was Ruan Lingfeng suddenly confessing to him? No, wait, was it a confession? It had to be, right? He’s so… as expected of a flighty Omega. What should he say now?

Did this birthday gift give the other guy some kind of misconception? Honestly, shouldn’t he keep his distance from people who were interested in him? Does this make him a “scumbag” (zha nan)—playing along even though he doesn’t feel that way? No, wait, he only prepared this small performance to thank Ruan Lingfeng for taking care of him before, plus it was his birthday… he didn’t mean anything else by it.

In a split second, his mind raced through a thousand thoughts.

Tao Zhi didn’t realize his hand was gripping the mic stand a little too tightly.

His composure was in shambles, but he pulled out his most arrogant expression: “What are you yelling for? I can hear you just fine from this distance… It’s normal to like me. I had nearly ten million followers on Weibo not long after my debut; it’s not weird that you’re one of them.”

However, the few remaining staff members in the shop broke into teasing boos.

Tao Zhi was easily riled up: “Quiet! Quiet!”

Ruan Lingfeng also began to catch on and burst into laughter. A waiter, who clearly enjoyed the drama, directly handed a microphone to Ruan Lingfeng so he wouldn’t have to shout across the room.

Ruan Lingfeng took the mic without hesitation. His voice was laced with laughter, clearly finding it amusing to tease Tao Zhi: “Actually, I bought your first EP when it came out… Your songs are truly great, and you really are a singer I like. But I think it’s better if I just stick to the music, because as for you personally…”

Tao Zhi’s face immediately darkened: “What’s wrong with me personally?”

Ruan Lingfeng didn’t answer, he just laughed.

“Stop laughing, what the hell is so funny?” Tao Zhi began to fume in “impotent rage,” turning to the two waiters: “I’m docking your pay, I’m telling you.”

Tao Zhi remembered when he and Ruan Lingfeng weren’t close—back when they were at each other’s throats. Ruan Lingfeng had told him he was “not ordinary, but very confident.” Was it happening again? But it wasn’t entirely his fault, was it? This Omega’s way of doing things was always hard to predict with common logic. He’d released pheromones at him repeatedly, was always nice to him, said things that were easily misunderstood, and then always denied it.

What was this? Did he really not mean it, or was he “fishing” for him? Why was he always like this?

Of course, it would be better if he didn’t mean it. After agonizing over it for a long time, the conclusion Tao Zhi had reached was that they could just be friends. He felt that an Omega like Ruan Lingfeng—who was much older, experienced, and open-minded—even if he did like him, probably wouldn’t want a stable relationship. Tao Zhi still couldn’t accept a relationship that wasn’t a sincere exchange of hearts. Even if he felt that as friends he wouldn’t interfere in Ruan Lingfeng’s business, if the fire spread to himself… no.

He felt their current way of interacting was fine. He absolutely didn’t want to get into a relationship that would be troublesome and hard to accept.

But how could he say that? He’d just be mocked as a “confident average man” again.

The phone in his pocket suddenly vibrated. He should have put it aside since he was singing, but he’d hurried onto the stage and forgotten. While being interrupted by a call during a performance is annoying, this call was a well-timed “rain after a drought.”

It was a delivery driver. Tao Zhi answered the call, took off his guitar, talked to the driver, and jumped off the stage. As he passed Ruan Lingfeng, he shot him an unreadable cold glare.

It only made Ruan Lingfeng laugh harder.

When Tao Zhi returned, he was carrying a cake box. It wasn’t large, maybe about two pounds.

He placed the box on Ruan Lingfeng’s table with a scowl, looking like someone who was owed five million dollars. “The birthday boy is the boss. Come on, unbox the cake.”

Ruan Lingfeng truly hadn’t expected a cake. A bowl of longevity noodles and a private live show had already made him feel more satisfied than ever before. When he saw Tao Zhi head out with a phone call, he’d simply assumed there was some urgent business.

It turned out he was getting a cake.

Ruan Lingfeng opened the box and carefully lifted out the cream cake. The design wasn’t flashy at all; it was simple, with a top layer covered in fruit.

Tao Zhi still looked grumpy, but his voice was much softer: “I was going to ask about your favorite flavors tomorrow before ordering, but everything was too rushed. I just ordered one on short notice, but this shop shouldn’t be a miss… Here, put the candle in.”

As he spoke, Tao Zhi handed a candle to Ruan Lingfeng.

Ruan Lingfeng took just one, placed it in the center, and lit it.

The lights in the bistro tactfully dimmed at that exact moment.

The candlelight flickered, and the sweet aroma of fresh cream and fruit filled the air. The usually explosive Alpha youth spoke with a rare, soft whisper: “Quick, make a wish.”

Ruan Lingfeng closed his eyes as told, but he didn’t make a wish immediately. He thought to himself: I’ve had the best birthday ever.