Singlehood Syndrome

After leaving the “Eight Jins” restaurant, they encountered a rush of incoming customers. Du Chi took the initiative to walk ahead, blocking the dense crowd, and Xiang Mo followed behind with his head down. Initially, the path was clear, but he underestimated the customers’ craziness for good food. In the blink of an eye, he was pushed to the back, far away from Du Chi.

Du Chi had already exited the courtyard and only noticed that Xiang Mo hadn’t caught up with him.

He let out a sigh, his shoulders naturally drooping, and looked at Xiang Mo with a somewhat helpless expression, as if saying, “How did you manage to lose track of me?”

Xiang Mo had no idea that these customers could be so aggressive, as if they hadn’t eaten for days. Though he wasn’t short, standing at 1.78 meters tall, perhaps due to his slim build and lack of interest in competing, he was no match for the large and robust gluttons.

Moving forward slowly, his shoulders were bumped several times. Just when he managed to make a little progress, a tall human wall appeared in front of him.

Xiang Mo was ready to step back two paces. After all, once all the people entered the restaurant, he could still leave.

But at that moment, a hand suddenly reached out from the human wall, grabbing his wrist, and without saying a word, pulled him out of the crowd.

It was naturally Du Chi who pulled him out.

Xiang Mo couldn’t pinpoint what was strange, but he felt that neighbors shouldn’t casually hold hands like this.

If Luo Yang was blocked by the crowd, Xiang Mo would choose to wait outside. Leaving aside the fact that he might not even be able to squeeze in, just the thought of grabbing Luo Yang’s wrist would make him feel extremely uncomfortable.

If we imagine a different scenario, if Chef Zhao had an argument with a customer, Xiang Mo might try to intervene or persuade them, but he would never grab Zhao’s arm. He felt they weren’t that close.

Moreover, if Aunt Zhou tripped on the road, Xiang Mo would definitely help her up, but that was a special situation, and physical contact couldn’t be avoided.

His thoughts returned to the beginning, and Xiang Mo couldn’t shake off the feeling of oddity. Why did the contact between him and Du Chi feel so natural?

Perhaps it was because of that day when he impulsively touched Du Chi’s face, leading to some inexplicable changes in their neighborly relationship.

“You’re not suited for crowded places,” Du Chi said, letting go of Xiang Mo’s wrist. “You’ll easily get lost.”

“I never liked going to crowded places in the first place.” The warmth of Du Chi’s palm still lingered on Xiang Mo’s skin, inexplicably making him feel a bit flustered. He couldn’t help rubbing his wrist.

Unexpectedly, this casual movement was misunderstood by Du Chi. He slightly tilted his head, looking at Xiang Mo’s wrist, and asked with concern, “Did I hurt you by pulling you?”

There was a clear tone of concern in his questioning, and Xiang Mo believed that if he said it hurt, Du Chi would definitely lift his wrist to take a look. But he didn’t want that, and besides, it didn’t hurt much. He simply lowered his hands naturally, saying, “It’s not painful.”

Du Chi’s gaze still didn’t retract. Xiang Mo looked down at his own wrist and noticed faint red marks, slight impressions left by the pressure on his skin. They would likely disappear within a minute.

“This leaves a mark too?” Du Chi raised an eyebrow, his concerned tone suddenly changing to curiosity, as if a mischievous child had knocked over a vase but didn’t feel remorse, thinking the vase’s cracks were beautiful. “Then can I apply more force?”

“Huh?” Xiang Mo didn’t understand the latter part of Du Chi’s sentence.

Du Chi didn’t continue, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Seeing the playful look in Du Chi’s eyes, Xiang Mo suddenly realized that he was implying some form of “exercise.”

Indeed, Xiang Mo didn’t like being forceful because it tended to leave marks on his body. In bed, he was always in absolute control, and what he said was law; Tan Song couldn’t do anything about it.

Previously, they had heard noises coming from Du Chi’s room until well past midnight, which was something that would never happen with Xiang Mo.

Satisfying physiological needs should be healthy and moderate and not interfere with normal sleep. Sometimes, Tan Song wanted to go for another round, but Xiang Mo would lazily reply with three words: “Not allowed to.”

Returning to the topic at hand, Xiang Mo hid his wrist behind him, pretending not to understand the innuendo in Du Chi’s words, and changed the subject, “Are all your fonts designed like this?”

“No,” Du Chi became serious again, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as he calmly explained, “I start by searching for ancient books that I can reference, and I copy the fonts from them. The more I practice, the more I can find the style I want. Then I just need to draw the basic elements like horizontal strokes, vertical strokes, slants, curves, and dots to create all the radicals and components, and finally form a unified font library.”

“Are they all drawn on the computer?” Xiang Mo still didn’t fully grasp the concept, but he somewhat understood that Du Chi was designing a font package.

“I start by drawing them by hand, making many drafts,” Du Chi said, then looked at Xiang Mo and asked, “Do you want to see my room?”

To be honest, Xiang Mo was curious and wanted to see the process of creating fonts. However, the font factory was in Du Chi’s room, and he didn’t want to intrude into Du Chi’s private space.

“Let’s do it another day,” after hesitating for a moment, Xiang Mo found a feeble excuse, “I still need to cook.”

Neither Xiang Mo nor Du Chi ordered takeout. Xiang Mo had plenty of time on his hands, so he enjoyed cooking for himself. On the other hand, Du Chi was concerned about his physique and avoided unhealthy takeout, often preparing low-carb meals for himself.

After leaving the “Eight Jins” restaurant, they returned home around eleven o’clock, just in time for lunch preparation.

Xiang Mo started to wash rice and choose vegetables, preparing two simple home-cooked dishes, while Du Chi took out a barramundi from the refrigerator to thaw.

Half an hour later, Xiang Mo finally prepared all the ingredients, and Du Chi had already coated the barramundi with breadcrumbs and baked it. He sat at the dining table, starting to enjoy his meal.

Fortunately, the kitchen was spacious and well-lit, so the two big men moving around simultaneously didn’t make the space feel cramped.

However, Xiang Mo still felt uneasy.

As he waited for the oil in the pan to heat up, he couldn’t bear it anymore and looked at Du Chi at the dining table, asking, “Could you stop watching me cook?”

Xiang Mo didn’t consider himself a great chef, and the cooking process wasn’t something to be observed.

With a fork in one hand and casually leaning on the edge of the table with the other, Du Chi swallowed the food in his mouth before slowly responding, “I have nothing else to do.”

Xiang Mo glanced at the temperature of the oil, then turned to Du Chi, saying, “Just focus on eating.”

Du Chi forked a piece of barramundi into his mouth and commented, “It’s a bit boring.”

Alright, this reason reluctantly convinced Xiang Mo.

Eating alone could indeed be a bit dull. When he ate by himself, he would often use his phone to keep himself entertained.

Seeing that the oil was hot enough, Xiang Mo stopped talking and began to stir-fry the prepared meat in the pan.

Not long after, two home-cooked dishes were served on the table.

Taking off his apron, Xiang Mo sat opposite Du Chi. At this moment, Du Chi had finished the barramundi on his plate. Instead of leaving right away, he looked at the two home-cooked dishes on the table and asked Xiang Mo, “Are you eating all of this by yourself?”

“I’ll leave the leftovers for dinner.” It wasn’t meant to be consumed in one meal.

“But won’t you be eating leftovers every day?” Du Chi asked again.

“It’s unavoidable.” Xiang Mo replied nonchalantly.

If one had to say what was inconvenient about living alone, it was the issue of eating. Controlling portion sizes was difficult, and if he cooked every meal, it would be quite bothersome. Xiang Mo wasn’t incapable of reducing the portion size to avoid leftovers, but then he’d have to cook two meals a day. Even though he had plenty of time, he didn’t enjoy cooking to that extent.

Either eat leftovers or deal with more hassle—Xiang Mo chose the former. After all, it was just half a day apart, and leftovers weren’t that hard to accept.

“Or,” Du Chi rested his elbows on the table, leaning slightly forward as he looked at Xiang Mo, “how about we share meals?”

“Huh?” Xiang Mo’s hand holding the chopsticks paused in midair.

“You cook one meal, and I cook the other,” Du Chi said, nodding toward the dishes in front of him, “I can also make home-cooked dishes.”

Xiang Mo immediately understood what Du Chi meant.

If they shared meals, it would solve many troublesome issues and fundamentally resolve the inconvenience of eating alone. They wouldn’t have to eat leftovers and wouldn’t need to cook every meal.

No matter how you looked at it, it was a great suggestion. However, Xiang Mo’s hand remained suspended in the air, and he chose to return the dishes to his bowl first.

“You may not know,” seeing Xiang Mo’s lack of response, Du Chi continued, “I occasionally cook Chinese dishes too.”

Previously, they had tacitly avoided using the kitchen at the same time, and it was rare for them to eat together like today. However, Xiang Mo knew that Du Chi could also cook Chinese dishes. After all, they shared the same kitchen, and just by looking at the trash bin, they could tell each other’s menu.

“Is your cooking edible?” Xiang Mo asked.

“Why don’t you try it?” Du Chi raised an eyebrow.

Indeed, there was no reason to refuse. Xiang Mo agreed, “Okay.”

Du Chi seemed quite satisfied with this cooperation, pulling back his elbows and leaning against the back of the chair, casually chatting with Xiang Mo, “I rarely cook Chinese dishes because it’s inconvenient to buy ingredients.”

“How so?” Xiang Mo asked curiously.

“They won’t sell me just one clove of garlic,” Du Chi explained.

So, that was the inconvenience. Xiang Mo couldn’t help but laugh, “Same here. When I go to buy two green onions, they just give them to me for free, and I feel embarrassed.”

Only single people understood this point. It was the first time Xiang Mo had discussed this matter with someone, and he faintly realized that he and Du Chi seemed to have quite a lot in common.

However, after bringing up this topic, Du Chi didn’t continue the conversation. He looked straight at Xiang Mo, his eyes slightly lost in thought, “You have dimples.”

When Xiang Mo smiled, a small dimple appeared on his right cheek. Unlike polite social smiles, when this dimple emerged, it indicated that Xiang Mo was genuinely happy.

It had been a long time since he had smiled like that, and even Xiang Mo had forgotten about the existence of his dimple. He restrained his smile, returning to his usual polite and distant expression, “Then let’s start sharing meals from tomorrow.”

“We can do it today as well,” Du Chi said, getting up to fetch bowls and chopsticks, then sitting back opposite Xiang Mo. “I’ll cook for dinner.”

From the looks of it, he was going to help out with today’s dinner, and the two of them would start sharing meals from tonight.

Xiang Mo didn’t mind, but he felt a little nervous when Du Chi picked up the dish he had cooked.

“Not bad,” Du Chi commented.

“That’s good to hear,” Xiang Mo sighed in relief.

Originally, he thought Du Chi was just going to help with today’s meal, and he’d have to handle most of the cooking for lunch. But seeing Du Chi continuously eating with his chopsticks, Xiang Mo couldn’t help but feel strange. Wasn’t this guy focused on managing his physique?—

Du Chi: My wife makes me have an appetite.