Chapter 11

Fei Bolin set the things down on the cabinet first, and in the same glance, he spotted the row of trophies and certificates that were obviously arranged on purpose.

Without changing his expression, he swapped into the new slippers prepared beside him, then bent down to help Wen Fu up. "Been waiting long?"

"Don't know," Wen Fu said.

He hadn't paid attention to how long he'd been waiting there.

Wen Fu looked back at the little stool some distance behind him. It seemed like he'd gradually shifted to sitting by the door while he waited.

Fei Bolin carried the things to the kitchen, and on the way, he swept a glance over Wen Fu's place, almost reflexively picking up on something off.

It was way too bare.

He silently set down the groceries and asked Wen Fu, "Where's the bathroom?"

Wen Fu pointed to the left. Seeing Fei Bolin was heading there, he started to follow right on his heels, but Fei Bolin turned and instructed him, "Go boil some water."

"Oh."

That one tail turned and went back.

Fei Bolin washed his hands at the sink, listening to the sounds from the kitchen. He stepped out of the bathroom, turned to the side, and casually opened a door to one of the rooms.

Good. It was a study so messy there was no place to step. That was more like it.

Wen Fu had clearly shoved everything he couldn't tidy up in the living room in here before he arrived.

He started picking up the sheet music under his feet, gathering books, drafts, and thesis papers all the way to the printer, accumulating a thick stack in his hands. Then, based on Wen Fu's old habits and the marks on the papers, he sorted all the sheets and placed them on the desk.

Next were the books.

All the books lying open on the floor were expertly labeled with page numbers by Fei Bolin, then closed and sorted into academic, lifestyle, and entertainment categories. Finally, based on the borrowing dates, he stuck sticky notes on the library books that needed returning soon.

Fei Bolin moved the music stand and chair to a spot with sunlight, so Wen Fu wouldn't hide in a dark corner writing songs all day. He folded the thin blanket and placed it where Wen Fu usually sat. The guitar lying on the floor was also put away on its proper stand by Fei Bolin. The process was so familiar that finishing all this only took ten minutes.

And Wen Fu had been standing in the doorway watching him work for the past few minutes.

When Fei Bolin opened the cabinet full of envelopes, Wen Fu said softly, "Those are letters from fans."

He closed the cabinet and suddenly heard Wen Fu ask, "My…"

Fei Bolin didn't catch it. "What?"

Wen Fu shook his head again.

Wen Fu's voice was always very quiet. If he didn't want to say something a second time, he absolutely wouldn't open his mouth again.

Fei Bolin said, "Take me to see your room."

Wen Fu was silent for a second, as if hesitating. He glanced at Fei Bolin's expression, then still led him to open the master bedroom door.

Since he didn't have many everyday clothes, there was no walk-in closet at home. He'd used the largest room as a music room. The second-largest was now the master bedroom, and the only wardrobe in the house was in there.

The room looked fairly normal for now. The comforter was spread neatly on the bed. Besides an air conditioner, you couldn't find anything extra.

Wen Fu stood beside Fei Bolin, glanced at him, figured he might get away with it, and was just about to ask "Shall we go?" when he saw Fei Bolin step into the room, heading straight for the wardrobe.

The wardrobe had two compartments, each with upper and lower shelves, making four partitioned spaces in total.

Fei Bolin deliberated between the left and right compartments, then randomly opened one of the wardrobe doors.

A pile of clothes Wen Fu had balled up immediately came tumbling down, scattering around Fei Bolin's slippers.

Wen Fu turned around and smoothed the already neat corner of the comforter over and over.

Fei Bolin: "…"

"Dirty clothes?" Fei Bolin asked.

"They're washed," Wen Fu answered with his back to him.

He just didn't know how to fold clothes.

He'd already learned to turn his living space from a filthy dump into a very clean dump.

Fei Bolin thought this, comforting himself. Fine, at least it was progress.

"Go take all the food out of the packaging and put it on plates," Fei Bolin instructed as he picked up the clothes. "Keep the meat and vegetables separate."

Wen Fu vanished from the room in an instant.

Fei Bolin took off his jacket and placed it at the foot of the bed, then sat on the edge and started folding Wen Fu's clothes, one piece at a time.

By the time he'd finished folding all the clothes in this side of the wardrobe, a faint sense of foreboding crept into his heart.

None of these clothes were the ones he'd previously asked Stella to bring over for Wen Fu.

He focused his gaze on the other compartment's door.

Three seconds later, Fei Bolin stood before the pushed-open wardrobe door.

A mountain of luxury clothing, large and small, still sealed in their packaging, came cascading down like an avalanche, clattering as it all tumbled out of the wardrobe.

Wen Fu, who happened to have finished dividing all the food onto plates in the kitchen and was about to go report to Fei Bolin in the room, heard this commotion. Without a word, he retreated to the kitchen and quietly closed the door.

Another twenty minutes passed, right at mealtime, when Fei Bolin finally emerged from the bedroom.

The moment the kitchen door opened, Wen Fu darted out from under his arm and hid in the living room, swiftly turning on an anime and pretending to watch it intently.

The midday sun shone in through the floor-to-ceiling window, casting a pale gold light on Wen Fu's fluttering hair tips. His eyes were fixed intently on the TV screen, his ears occasionally twitching unconsciously.

Fei Bolin stared at this scene for a moment, as if transported back to countless imagined scenes from the past.

The noodles with gravy were quickly ready. Wen Fu scurried back to the dining table as soon as he smelled the aroma. Fei Bolin pushed the bowl of hand-pulled noodles, the gravy almost overflowing the rim, in front of him. "Careful, it's hot."

Wen Fu didn't respond. He picked up a huge chopstickful and was about to stuff it into his mouth when he heard Fei Bolin's cold voice. "Small bites."

"…Oh."

Wen Fu put down his chopsticks, picked up a normal-sized bite again, put it in his mouth, and chewed slowly.

Only then did Fei Bolin wander over to the cabinet by the entryway, bending down to look at Wen Fu's trophies and certificates one by one.

Seeing him walk away, Wen Fu's heart stirred. He quickly swallowed his first bite of noodles, immediately picked up another huge chopstickful, opened his mouth wide, and was about to dive in headfirst when Fei Bolin, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, spoke with his usual sternness, "Eat properly."

Wen Fu: "…"

At this, he gave up resentfully and ate properly, one polite bite at a time.

Fei Bolin started looking from the very first trophy. It was the championship Wen Fu won in his junior year at a provincial music competition. Fei Bolin remembered that competition. He'd burned videos from the audition interviews to the elimination rounds and the final round onto discs and kept them in the apartment across the way, along with photos of Wen Fu receiving the award.

During his undergraduate years, Wen Fu wasn't a music major. A finance student defeating a host of music majors his own age by playing the violin to take the top spot was a minor sensation in the industry back then. Wen Fu was dragged in front of the camera for photos right after receiving the award, his collar still untidy, holding the trophy without smiling, like he'd just woken up from bed.

Next was the certificate for the national scholarship Wen Fu received the same year. Fei Bolin had specifically gone to his college's official website and public account back then to find the photo of Wen Fu receiving the award with the dean. The downloaded and printed photo became another one of the many collectibles he kept at home.

The next two were trophies from several joint competitions officially organized through each school's Music Academy. In Fei Bolin's memory, the themes varied—some were for popular original music, some for classical—and Wen Fu had competed in more than just these two. He looked more carefully and realized Wen Fu had hidden the trophies from every second- and third-place finish, keeping them off the shelf entirely, leaving only the first-place trophies on display.

Further back were some national-level competition honor certificates, as well as awards Wen Fu had received from more prestigious music variety shows and performance events since his debut.

The most weighty was undoubtedly the Jinjing Award, the top domestic music prize. Wen Fu was the youngest winner ever for Best Male Singer, so he'd placed this trophy in the very first spot by the entrance.

That same year, Wen Fu was also nominated for Best Arrangement. Unfortunately, a renowned senior in the industry ultimately won the award with his comeback work. Wen Fu didn't get a trophy, so there was nothing to display for Fei Bolin to see.

Fei Bolin remembered that night during the live broadcast when the winner for that category was announced. The director specifically cut to Wen Fu, waiting to capture his reaction.

After receiving the previous trophy on stage, Wen Fu had stepped down, put on very large sunglasses and a baseball cap, revealing only the sharp, thin lower half of his face. Everyone thought he was hiding his eyes from the camera to avoid losing control of his emotions. Only Fei Bolin could tell from the screen that Wen Fu was seizing the chance to nap—before the awards ceremony, he'd already run three days straight of commercial performances and variety competitions without a break.

Fei Bolin remembered every scene or record from when each trophy on the cabinet was won clearly. He reached out and gently traced the engraved characters, then turned his head and noticed the wall calendar hanging on the door.

When he'd entered earlier, he'd been too focused on Wen Fu. Fei Bolin hadn't noticed this thing on the door at all.

He flipped through it casually and found there were over thirty sheets of the wall calendar stacked together, each covering one month. It happened to span the three years from when Wen Fu first gained some fame and started running around doing commercial performances until now. Every sheet was densely covered in tiny writing.

The writing was too dense and small. There were traces of Wen Fu's writing under almost every date. Even though Fei Bolin was only two steps away from the wall calendar, he couldn't make it out. So he stepped forward, randomly chose one month's sheet, and leaned in for a closer look.

Under May 1, 2023, it read: Chuan, Mianyang, Jingkai District, Wanda Plaza (x)

Under May 2, 2023, it read: Chuan, Mianyang, City Center, Maoye Department Store (x)

Under May 4, 2023, it read: Dian, Kunming City, Panlong District, Tongde Plaza (x)

Under May 5, 2023, it read: Lu, Qingdao, Sifang District, Xinglong Commercial Building (x)

Under May 6, 2023, it read: Lu, Linyi City, Lanshan District, Central Building (x)

Under May 8, 2023, it read: E, Wuhan City, Jiang'an District, Tiandi Yifang (x)

Under May 9, 2023, it read: E, Wuhan City, Wuchang District, Dream Times (x)

…

Wen Fu's handwriting had never been good since his student days, his characters written crookedly. Fei Bolin looked for a while and gradually realized this was Wen Fu recording the location of every commercial performance he'd run.

The agency booking Wen Fu's commercial performances didn't care about prestige. From local TV station galas and celebrations all the way down to gigs in small-county commercial venues, Wen Fu had performed at every level. The one consistent thing—probably his own preference—was this: outside of satellite TV appearances, whenever those gigs took him to a Department Store Building, he never played the same one twice.

His behavior of traveling all over the country to these spots and recording them on the calendar even had a bit of a stamp-collecting feel to it.

Only, Fei Bolin didn't understand. Every place name Wen Fu had been to on here, precise down to the district, county, and specific building, was marked with an 'x' at the end of the record.

He patiently flipped through all the wall calendar sheets. He didn't look at each place Wen Fu had written down individually, but searched to see if any line would end with a checkmark.

However, he didn't find one even when he flipped to the last page.

Hundreds of commercial districts, office buildings, even department store plazas—not a single name had a checkmark after it.

Fei Bolin stared at the wall calendar before him. Some answer was on the verge of emerging.

He stood by the entryway, hearing Wen Fu quietly drinking his soup, and asked softly, "What does the 'x' mean?"

Wen Fu didn't understand. Drinking his soup, he mumbled, "What?"

Fei Bolin said, "The wall calendar."

Only then did Wen Fu understand Fei Bolin's question.

So he took another sip of soup before opening his mouth to explain.

Wen Fu's voice came from just beyond the wall. Fei Bolin couldn't detect any emotion in it, only feeling Wen Fu's tone was as ordinary as describing the color of the sky tonight. "Didn't find it."

"Didn't find what?"

"Fei Bolin."