The Pampered Young Master Is Adored at Art School - Chapter 9

Dylan’s hand remained clenched for a long while.

“I really can’t read a single word, every little square looks exactly the same,” he said, feigning a look of pure confusion. “But this dish looks delicious.”

Su Zhan withdrew his hand, subconsciously rubbing his wrist. The palm of Dylan’s hand had been frighteningly hot.

The two of them headed to a Chinese supermarket, following the recipe Xu Chenjian had provided. Since Su Zhan spoke Chinese, he was quick at finding items, weaving through the aisles while Dylan followed behind, pushing the shopping cart.

At a corner, Su Zhan suddenly vanished.

Dylan looked around, but there was no sign of him in the surrounding aisles.

Suddenly, a faint aroma wafted over—the sweet scent of roasted meat. It was well past lunchtime, and the smell was irresistible. He heard someone treading softly, deliberately slowing their pace.

Dylan’s shoulders relaxed. He waited to see what kind of surprise the little kitten had in store for him.

Suddenly, a grilled sausage peeked over Dylan’s shoulder, entering his field of vision. A pale, slender hand held the bamboo skewer.

On a sudden impulse, Dylan grabbed Su Zhan’s hand and leaned in to take a bite of the sausage. His hand almost completely encased Su Zhan’s.

“Take it and eat it yourself…” Su Zhan said, feeling embarrassed as he tried to pull his hand away.

Su Zhan had always thought his hands were quite large—after all, he could play a ninth on the piano—but held in Dylan’s grip, his hand felt like a plush doll. He couldn’t even find a point of leverage to break free.

Is being tall and big really that great? Su Zhan felt a flicker of annoyance, staring at Dylan with wide, rounded eyes.

He thought he looked intimidating, but from Dylan’s bird’s-eye view, it was a different story altogether. He looked like a paper tiger, appearing both adorable and pitiful.

Dylan slowly let go, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I thought this was some kind of Chinese dining tradition.”

Culture shock was certainly a convenient excuse.

Su Zhan’s hands were soft. Even though they were a man’s hands, they were white and supple.

Dylan wanted to bite them. He wanted to leave teeth marks on Su Zhan’s knuckles, like a pink ring. He suddenly felt an urge to buy Su Zhan a real ring.

This wasn’t the first time he had touched Su Zhan’s hand. The first time was when he caught the flowers, which lasted only a second. The second time was during the dance, but he had been too focused on interrupting that unwarranted performance.

This time was different. Su Zhan had reached out to him first.

Dylan’s heart felt full again; Su Zhan was taking the initiative to move toward him. He felt lucky about the choices he had made.

This time, when Dylan drove to the bottom of Su Zhan’s apartment building, he wasn’t just dropping him off. He had been invited inside.

Su Zhan had asked Dylan up to his apartment. Cooking at home was the most convenient option, as he already had the cooking wine and other essentials needed for Chinese cuisine.

He had rented this apartment for nearly three years, and it had long since stopped feeling like a temporary residence. It felt like a home. The furniture featured bold, jumping colors that unintentionally created an Art Deco vibe, reflecting the owner’s sophisticated taste.

Su Zhan entered first, gesturing for Dylan to come in. He looked like the leading man of a languid old movie, the most elegant piece of art in the entire room.

The first thing Dylan noticed was a quilt folded neatly on the dark green velvet sofa. It was perfectly square and tidy.

Looking at that quilt, the tension of suspicion in his heart eased slightly. At least that person hadn’t slept in the bed last night.

“Looking at the posters? Which one interests you?” Su Zhan called out from the open kitchen. “Let’s cook first. Later, if you see a poster you like, I’ll give it to you.”

Su Zhan couldn’t think of anything else in the room worth Dylan’s prolonged attention besides the posters and brochures. While his furniture wasn’t generic Ikea stuff, it was nowhere near the caliber of the pieces in Dylan’s office.

After some thought, he concluded it must be because Dylan was a theater fan. An engineering student with such good taste and shared hobbies? Su Zhan’s appreciation for Dylan grew a bit more.

He followed Dylan’s gaze to a poster for Metropolis. “You like sci-fi?”

As Dylan took the groceries out one by one, he offered his critique of the film. “It’s very imaginative, and the religious metaphors are striking.”

Su Zhan’s eyes lit up. He really had seen it. “Few people watch black-and-white silent films these days.”

“Yeah. That’s why the more I learn about that person, the more I like him,” Dylan said, taking out the ginger and slicing it according to Su Zhan’s instructions.

Su Zhan was surprised. “He likes movies too? I can recommend some ‘high-brow’ ones. They’re great for making a good impression.”

What a coincidence. All the skills Dylan needed to pursue someone could be trained right here.

“He’s an arts student,” Dylan said, his knife pausing. He looked up with a slight smile. Under the lights, his eyes shifted to a blue-green hue, making him look almost like a different person.

“A drama major,” Dylan added.

The movie titles Su Zhan was about to suggest got stuck in his throat. “But… but I’m the only Chinese student in the drama department.”

“He’s not from our school! Right?” Su Zhan said, having a sudden epiphany.

Dylan lowered his head and continued slicing ginger, letting out a soft hum that could have been an admission or a denial.

Su Zhan felt he had guessed correctly, but a faint sense of unease began to settle in. He wasn’t stupid. Many of Dylan’s actions today had crossed the line, but Su Zhan still couldn’t be sure what Dylan really meant. He could only keep cooking.

Su Zhan had never cooked before. His knife skills were so poor that a dead chicken would have stood up to protest the injustice. Dylan only had experience with “white people food”—simple meals like searing steaks—and was completely at a loss with Chinese dishes.

With the recipe in hand, Su Zhan held the ultimate power of interpretation. Like a young emperor commanding from a map, he directed Dylan on the order of operations.

As they cooked, Su Zhan’s previous suspicions were quickly forgotten. Chinese people seem to have a natural talent for culinary improvisation. After following the recipe for a few steps, Su Zhan began to freestyle. Feeling the pot was too dry, he instinctively added water.

He completely forgot that the recipe was for “Dry-Sautéed Chicken,” which was supposed to be dry.

Dylan had realized something was wrong long ago. However, seeing that the fun had reached a point where the recipe no longer mattered, he pretended to be clueless and played along.

By the end, the pot of chicken soup was something entirely different from dry-sautéed chicken.

Dylan found a block of curry, broke off a corner, and added it to thicken the sauce. The chicken could finally rest in peace.

“I know this isn’t Chinese food… but as you said, Chinese people respect food,” Dylan said, stirring the spoon. He found a small dipping dish as if he were in his own home and scooped out a bit of sauce for Su Zhan. “Want a taste?”

Su Zhan took the small dish, frowning. He blew on it for a long time, looking as though he were making a major life decision before finally taking a small lick.

It was delicious!

Su Zhan cheered up again. It turned out making Japanese curry was that simple—you could throw any mess in there and it would come out tasting standard! He could save quite a bit on his living expenses now.

“Wait, you know how to cook?” Su Zhan set the tasting dish aside and looked for a bowl, wanting to have some broth while it was still hot. But when he turned around, he saw Dylan using the same dish he had just used to taste the curry.

“I just used that!” Su Zhan cried out, his previous suspicions rushing back.

“Does it matter?” Dylan said calmly. “Didn’t I eat your ice cream before?”

“That was… that was because we had no choice,” Su Zhan stammered.

Is it true that Americans just don’t care about social distancing?

Su Zhan felt it was necessary to teach Dylan some basics. “We consider that a form of indirect kissing. The person you like will mind, so you can’t let him see you do that in the future.”

He explained in a low voice, feeling a bit awkward himself. Since Dylan didn’t seem to care, it made him look petty.

“So it’s fine as long as he doesn’t see it?” Dylan used the dish to taste the food again, letting Su Zhan’s words go in one ear and out the other. Anyway, he wasn’t kissing anyone else.

Su Zhan was displeased. “This is a serious matter. If you want to pursue someone sincerely, you can’t act one way to their face and another behind their back.”

Dylan put down the spoon and suddenly turned to look at Su Zhan very seriously. “This is really strange. According to your logic, I kissed you, but you didn’t kiss me. How is that possible?”

“It doesn’t count as kissing at all,” Dylan concluded.

Total nonsense!

Su Zhan felt powerless. He felt that if they were speaking Chinese, he could definitely argue his point, but using a foreign language felt like having a suppressor on his ability to express himself. He even began to wonder if Dylan would use some other twisted logic, like trying to redefine “boyfriend” as just a male friend.

The mind of an engineering student was truly difficult to comprehend.

“If you’re really that bold about it, I’ll go tell him and let him decide if he minds,” Su Zhan said, lifting his chin defiantly.

“Are you going to frame me?” Dylan’s eyes crinkled with laughter. “You don’t even know who he is.”

More mockery!

Su Zhan got even angrier. “There are ways. We Chinese students have ‘confession bots’ where we can post things. Students abroad are like one big family.”

“Okay, okay, hush money. I won’t do it again.” Dylan struck a pose like a statue. “Five thousand? Ten thousand?”

“Just kidding, I know I was wrong,” Dylan said, a rare touch of sincerity appearing on his face. “But, if I said I don’t know how to kiss, would I be discriminated against?”

As he finished the word kiss, his lips remained slightly parted, like an unintentional hint. His eyes were fixed directly on Su Zhan’s lips, without flinching or looking away.

Previously, Su Zhan could write things off as cultural differences or misunderstandings, but now the atmosphere was far too obvious, and the two of them were standing way too close.

Su Zhan suddenly turned cold, as if doused by a bucket of freezing water.

When people can’t get what they want, they often look for a substitute. Given the generous amount of money Dylan was paying him, it was hard to say if Dylan was trying to turn him into a replacement.

Su Zhan hadn’t reached the point where he was willing to sell himself.

His face chilled. “Dylan Foster, you shouldn’t flirt with everyone you meet. It’s not a good habit.”

“I was just thinking if I should learn a Chinese phrase first: Can I kiss you?” Dylan made an excuse. “I really don’t flirt with everyone I meet.”

He sounded genuinely aggrieved.

Su Zhan began to wonder if he was overthinking things again, biting his spoon in frustration.

Just then, his phone vibrated. It was Xu Chenjian.

And it was a video call!

Su Zhan panicked. It would be hard to explain why he was suddenly teaching a foreigner how to cook. He had never been one to meddle in other people’s business, and Xu Chenjian wouldn’t believe it. It wouldn’t take long for him to realize something was fishy, and he might even dig into Su Zhan’s financial situation!

Su Zhan snatched the spoon from Dylan’s hand and pushed him toward the bathroom. “Go hide in there! It’s my friend—no, my brother. Sometimes he likes to see what I’m doing, and I don’t want to explain too much to him.”

“Brother? Biological brother?” Dylan stood his ground. Su Zhan’s hands pushing him were soft, lacking any real force.

If Su Zhan didn’t give him a satisfactory answer, he wasn’t going anywhere.

He had seen that nickname on the screen earlier. It was the same person who had sent Su Zhan the recipe.

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