Wen Di had planned carefully, and the date did indeed progress smoothly. After entering the concert hall, the performer bowed, and Bian Cheng did not speak again, sitting silently and calmly amid the melodious music.
The enveloping warmth, the romantic melody, the tranquil atmosphere. Wen Di found the initial excitement from the classroom again, with his heart trembling with each rise and fall of the pianist’s movements.
There was only one flaw in the plan—Wen Di had no musical knowledge; he rarely listened to pop songs, let alone classical music. He had only heard the names of the great romanticists; when faced with the actual performance, he could not even distinguish between the sounds of the cello and the violin.
Two hours of classical music was just two hours of lullaby.
To make matters worse, he had been rushing to finish his thesis and reading literature for days, with insufficient sleep and severe all-nighters, and the concert hall chairs were soft and comfortable, extremely so.
Wen Di forced himself to keep his eyelids open and concentrate on absorbing the music, but after only three minutes of Springtime in Dresden playing, he fell asleep.
At first, he tilted sideways, and because he couldn’t find a stable point, he swayed back and forth, and finally, with a thud, he fell onto the shoulder of the person next to him.
A broad shoulder, firm muscles, was just right for a pillow.
He had a sound sleep until the end of the performance and the thunderous applause from the audience suddenly woke him up.
When he opened his eyes suddenly, his vision was blurry. He blinked, and a familiar nose and jawline appeared before him.
The professor’s sitting posture was very upright, not at all disturbed by the extra weight on his shoulders. Maintaining this posture for two hours—if it were him, his arm would have given out long ago.
He felt extremely embarrassed—he had proposed the invitation, bought the tickets himself, but ended up neither respecting the date nor the classical music.
Wen Di lifted his eyelids and observed carefully to see if the person in front of him showed any signs of anger.
At first glance, there were none. However, it was hard to be sure; Professor’s expression had become formulaic, stable and precise, eternal and unchanging.
Then, he saw what Professor was holding. A white tissue, already crumpled into a ball.
Listening to Romantic classical music shouldn’t have made someone cry, right?
Could it be that Professor was two-faced, a sentimental person who was affected by the melancholy of spring and autumn?1伤春悲秋(to be saddened by spring and autumn) is an idiom and it refers to someone who is melancholic or sentimental, often feeling sadness or nostalgia for the passing of seasons or the passage of time
A timely remark came from the side: “You drooled.”
Wen Di suddenly shuddered and straightened his head. His neck immediately felt sore and numb. He held his neck and began to groan in pain.
The beautiful dream instantly turned into a socially fatal scene—so embarrassing!
He quickly mentally mapped out an escape route as the person next to him raised their hand and reached out toward him.
Before Wen Di could react, the hand landed on the back of his neck and suddenly pressed on a certain spot.
A tingling sensation spread from his neck, and the soreness quickly eased.
“Fengchi point,” the person beside him said.
The hand did not stop, continuing to message for three minutes. Professor stretched out his other hand, holding Wen Di’s wrist, with his thumb pressing on a prominent area of his palm.
“Houxi point.”
Wen Di stared at him without blinking, and the muscles in his neck relaxed, leaving only a slight sense of soreness.
As the pain dissipated, the two hands moved away from him. Wen Di instinctively touched the back of his neck, and the acupuncture points still felt the remnants of the massage.
“If you get a stiff neck or are too tired, massaging for three to five minutes is very effective,” Bian Cheng said. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping well recently.”
“Okay,” Wen Di said. The warmth had already reddened his face.
Bian Cheng stood up and began to move his shoulders. The culprit looked at this movement and felt very sorry: “Sorry, I usually have a proper sleeping posture.”
Bian Cheng glanced back at him.
“I never breathe through my mouth,” Wen Di swore.
Bian Cheng put his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, walked towards the empty corridor, and then stopped, waiting for Wen Di to catch up. Wen Di walked beside him, continuously staring at his shoulders. The professor was wearing a knee-length dark coat today, with a suit jacket and a gray-blue cashmere sweater underneath. Who would have thought such high-quality fabric had served as a free pillow?
As he thought about it, he took out his scarf. The wind was so cold that he shivered even when he huddled into the collar of his down jacket. Seeing the professor’s exposed neck in the cold wind, he asked, “Aren’t you cold?”
“I forgot to bring a scarf when I went out.”
Wen Di put on the hood of his down jacket, with the fur fluttering in the wind in front of his eyes. He took the scarf and went around to Bian Cheng’s front, wrapping it around his neck, making two loops with no sense of style.
Bian Cheng looked at his considerate gesture and suddenly said, “You actually don’t like classical music ba.”
Wen Di was taken aback. Remembering how he had fallen asleep soundly, he could only admit, “I don’t like it.”
“Then why did you invite me to the concert?”
Was this really so hard to understand? “Aren’t you the one who likes classical music?” Wen Di’s mind suddenly raced, “Did I remember wrong?”
“No,” Bian Cheng said, “I like it. Music is emotional mathematics.”
“Is there any connection between music and mathematics?”
“If the ratio of the vibrating section of the string and the length of the whole string are three to two, you get a perfect pure fifth; if it’s four to three, you get a pure fourth” Bian Cheng said, “Captivating melodies often conform to mathematical principles.”
“Are there formulas in Schumann’s pieces too?”
“The pieces of Bach actually adhere most to mathematical principles, with a high degree of structure. Some people believe that Bach is the most likely to be recognized by extraterrestrials, which is why there are three pieces of Bach on the Voyager spacecraft.”2Reading this book can really increase your general knowledge!
“So you like Bach very much?”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
“His pieces are too difficult.”
Wen Di couldn’t help but laugh. Even geniuses can feel overwhelmed? “Does Professor often play the violin?”
“Sort of.”
See ba! Wen Di raised a victorious question to Jingyi from afar, and his inference was indeed correct: “Did you pull it well?”
Bian Cheng was silent for a moment, then said, “That evaluation varies from person to person.” After a pause, he added, “Some people think it sounds like sawing wood, while others find it pleasing.”
“So what is your own evaluation?”
“Quite amateur.”
Wen Di thought this was a humble statement of a genius; his amateur skill was on a different level compared to ordinary people. “If someone appreciates it, it means you play well ah!” Wen Di hinted, “It would be great to have the chance to hear it.”
Bian Cheng didn’t pick up on the hint and looked at him strangely: “It’s best not to have that chance.”
Why should others be able to listen but not him? Wen Di felt discouraged and asked, “So what do you think of today’s performer? I saw online that they’re quite famous.”
He expected Bian Cheng to have a lot to say about the performer’s skill and was ready for it, but Bian Cheng simply replied, “Very good.”
Wen Di felt a surge of joy at the successful recommendation. It seemed his previous evaluation of the professor had been too one-sided; they could still communicate happily.
Then Bian Cheng said, “It’s just that my shoulders are too sore, which affected my enjoyment of the music.”
The smile on Wen Di’s face disappeared.
It seemed that the handsome guy was indeed most likable when he was quiet.
The red concert hall gradually faded away behind them, and the cold wind of Beijing crept into every gap in their clothes, causing a numb, stinging sensation in their ears. They walked under the withered ginkgo trees, with crows huddling silently, unable to make a sound. When they reached the ground floor of the Wen Tu building, Bian Cheng went into the café on the first floor and ordered two hot drinks. They sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows, with the biting northern wind just an inch away, while their bodies were soaked in the warmth of the heating, feeling a certain satisfaction of getting revenge on winter.
Wen Di sipped his coffee, and Bian Cheng looked at him, suddenly asking, “Do you often do this?”
Wen Di was still worried about him complaining about his heavy head, so he angrily replied, “What?”
“Invite others to places you don’t like, eat things you don’t like.”
Wen Di glared at him angrily and took two gulps of the brown liquid. Who willingly brings suffering upon themselves? Isn’t it because I like you!
“Don’t do things you’re not interested in just because you think I’m interested,” Bian Cheng said. “The thought of another person enduring drowsiness to make me happy makes me feel very guilty—”
“Ah?” Wen Di was shocked. “You actually feel guilty?”
“—and each note feels like a blow to my conscience—”
“Listening to Schumann has left your conscience riddled with holes?”
“—A lyrical piece that only I appreciate, no matter how romantic, still sounds a bit desolate—”
“Am I not the most miserable one?” Wen Di cried out, rubbing his hands around the source of heat. “I paid the money, didn’t get any joy, and still interrogated your conscience!”
“So…”
“What do you want?”
“What do you like?”
Wen Di squeezed the coffee cup, causing the lid to tilt and almost fall off. “What?”
“Let’s do what you like next time,” said Bian Cheng.
Wen Di put the cup down and calmed himself down. The sudden rush of sadness and joy left him somewhat at a loss.
“Tell me,” Bian Cheng said, “I want to know what you like.”
Was the warmth in his heart just now a feeling of being moved? Did he actually feel touched during the date with the professor?
“Wait,” Wen Di felt that the impact of the new facts was too severe, “My mind is a little confused.”
“You can start with your favorite thing.”
Wen Di pondered for a while and hesitated before speaking: “That might not be suitable for two people.”
“Just tell me.”
“Taking a bath.”
Bian Cheng clearly was taken aback, holding the paper cup with his hand unmoving for a long time. Then, as if needing to rewind, he asked again: “What?”
“Taking a bath,” Wen Di said. “When I was a child back in my hometown, my parents, my uncle’s family, my grandparents, and I all lived together. At night, we had to line up for showers so we didn’t have time to take a bath. When I grew up and lived at school, there were no facilities for taking baths.”
Now, the rented teacher’s apartment was old and small, with a bathroom consisting only of a toilet and a shower head, leaving no opportunity for baths.
“There are often bathing scenes in TV dramas, right? Surrounded by bubbles and candles, it looks especially comfortable,” Wen Di said. “I took a few baths during my exchange program, but haven’t had the chance since then. I miss it a lot.”
He outlined the causes and consequences of his hobby, but Bian Cheng remained motionless.
“Not suitable for two people, right?” he said.
They fell silent at the same time, as if they were imagining this scene. As soon as Wen Di imagined a bathtub, he couldn’t help but shiver.
Two grown men going on a date to a bathhouse? If there were a section for quirky relationships, this would definitely make headlines.
“Do you think I’m weird?” Wen Di asked. “You look very shocked.”
“No,” Bian Cheng said, “I just thought you’d be talking about Shakespearean stage plays.”
Wen Di perked up: “In your eyes, I have such refined taste?”
“Don’t you like Shakespeare?”
“That’s true,” Wen Di said, “but I have a trauma from stage plays.”
“Trauma?”
“It’s a long story from elementary school,” Wen Di waved his hand dismissively, hesitating as if there was something hard to say. He was eager to change the subject, but at this moment, his thoughts moved and he suddenly frowned: “How did you know I liked Shakespeare?”
Bian Cheng was silent for two seconds and then said: “Your profile picture.”
“Oh.” The frown relaxed. He indeed liked to use a cartoon Shakespeare as his profile picture.
“Go on,” Bian Cheng reminded him. “What else do you like?”
Wen Di started talking about his taste in food and his pastimes. Talking about preferences was always pleasant, especially when it was someone he liked who wanted to hear. The bitterness of the coffee in his mouth faded, and the sounds of Spring in Dresden played in his ears. Perhaps, in his sleep, the music had quietly seeped into his mind.
After finishing the personal preference questionnaire, the two said goodbye at the steps of the library. Wen Di rode his bike to Heqing Garden, recalling the day of being influenced by art along the way.
And the professor’s figure with the scarf.
Overall, the day ended perfectly. There were occasional awkward moments, but it was mostly harmonious and warm, and it even left an excuse for the next meeting.
Back in his room, he lay on the bed, took out his phone, and pondered for a moment over the wording before sending a message to Bian Cheng.
Wen Di: [Professor, I just remembered that my scarf is still with you.]
Bian Cheng did not reply for a while, and Wen Di started to worry about what if the other person just transferred him the money—after all, Professor3Okay you’all I have decided to use Professor when it’s a pronoun and professor when it’s a noun. The author most of the time use 教授 (jiao shou/professor) to refer to Bian Cheng instead of using his name so yeah was capable of doing something like that.
Fortunately, the reply eventually popped up: [Let’s set a time to meet and I’ll return it to you.]
Wen Di smiled triumphantly: [Okay ah, when and where?]
The other party replied: [I haven’t decided yet. Once it’s confirmed, I’ll let you know on WeChat.]
Wen Di put away his phone and rolled on the bed. Just return the scarf, there was no need to worry about finding a place—this was definitely a date.
The cell phone buzzed again. Wen Di took it out with bared teeth, and his smile disappeared in an instant.
Bian Cheng: [How long has it been since you washed this scarf?]
Wen Di had mixed feelings. Yes, he hadn’t washed it since he bought it, but who washes a scarf?
Another message flashed across the screen: [Do you mind if I wash it off ba? I just can’t bear to watch it.]
Wash, wash, wash! Wash as you like! Wash away all the bacteria, mold, dust, and even the little bit of warmth that had just emerged!
Wen Di put down his phone and sighed deeply. If the last date was like bungee jumping, this one was like a roller coaster. He didn’t know if it was progress or regression.
After thinking for a moment, he suddenly shivered and scrolled back through the message history.
This person said that he needed to think about the date location. Where could someone who had never been in a relationship and had no knowledge of interpersonal relationships go on a date?
Will he really go for a bath ba!
T/N: Title is from Two Gentlemen from Verona, Act 1, scene 1. The literal translation is ‘A moment of pleasure is the price of twenty sleepless nights’
