Chapter 58 – Cream White (Extra 5)
Novel Title: 一屋暗灯 (Ephemeral Light)
Author：麦香鸡呢 (McChicken)
Translator: K (@kin0monogatari)
Protagonists: 宋谨 (Song Jin -MC), 宋星阑 (Song Xinglan -ML)
*Please read at Novels Space.space, the original site of translation. TQ*
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Before Song Xinglan’s birthday, he was on a business trip. The night before his birthday, Song Jin called him and asked if he could make it back by tomorrow. Song Xinglan said he couldn’t be sure.
In fact, Song Jin already knew that Song Xinglan’s trip to Toronto took over ten hours by plane, so returning tomorrow was nearly impossible unless Song Xinglan was already at the airport.
“It’s just a birthday. It’s not a big deal,” Song Xinglan said.
“But it’s the first one I could properly celebrate with you,” Song Jin replied. “Are you really not coming back?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then, Song Xinglan asked, “Ge, do you really still want to celebrate my birthday?”
On his fifteenth birthday, Song Xinglan had torn to pieces the gift Song Jin gave him.
On his eighteenth birthday, Song Xinglan almost caused Song Jin to commit suicide.
Clearly, those memories could never be forgotten. In fact, when it came down to it, Song Jin and Song Xinglan hadn’t spent that much time together over the years. So, every little thing that happened between them became hard to forget. Especially the dark, painful parts. Even though they no longer talked about them, they both knew the weight they carried. Both were aware of who had been forgiving and who had been trying to make amends.
Like Song Jin said, it was all in the past. He couldn’t forgive, but he didn’t want to bring it up anymore. Since they had decided to start anew, they had to tear away the old layers that bound them. Otherwise, in the end, it would be Song Jin who continued to suffer. He didn’t want to keep torturing himself like that.
“You were out of your mind back then,” Song Jin said. “Are you bringing this up just to start a fight with me?”
But Song Xinglan said, “Ge, I know you’ve been holding back. Before you accepted me as your brother again, I can imagine how much you had to work through in your own mind.”
Some things seemed too hard to say face to face. But over the phone, with a bit of distance, they could be shared. Now that the conversation had started, maybe it was time to be honest, just this once.
“No, I wasn’t holding back. Maybe you earned some good karma while you had amnesia, though you’re nothing like how you were back then.” Song Jin leaned against the bay window, absentmindedly playing with the tail of the cat. He said, “But, like you said, whether you were silly or normal, you’re still Song Xinglan. You’re still my brother. And besides, you’ve changed a lot now.”
Song Jin sighed and added, “Maybe it’s my soft heart. I shouldn’t have taken you in back then.”
“If it happened again, you’d still soften and take me in,” Song Xinglan responded.
“Yeah,” Song Jin looked up at the window, “because I’m your brother.”
The environment on both sides was quiet enough that they could hear each other breathing. It felt as though they were sitting face to face, their breathing so close.
“Are you afraid of me?” Song Xinglan suddenly asked.
Song Jin thought for a moment before replying, “I am. But not in the way that I’m afraid you’ll hurt me. It’s more like sometimes…”
“Like when?”
“Uh…” Song Jin lightly scratched his neck, feeling a bit embarrassed as he said, “It’s a different kind of fear, I guess. You’re pretty overbearing.”
“In what way?” Song Xinglan asked with what sounded like sincere curiosity. Since it was over the phone, Song Jin couldn’t see the amused smile tugging at the corners of his brother’s mouth.
This was something Song Xinglan excelled at. On the surface, he seemed to be a relatively qualified younger brother. But in reality, he knew all too well how to manipulate Song Jin. His manipulative streak had never really changed.
“Just…” Song Jin, feeling guilty, turned the cat’s head away and said, “It’s nothing, really.”
Song Jin didn’t actually know how to explain it. Perhaps it was because he and Song Xinglan hadn’t reached the closest stage in their relationship. Or maybe it was because of their personalities, that they might never reach that level. So sometimes, when Song Jin faced Song Xinglan, he felt a sense of fear—an invisible pressure… Maybe all it took was a single glance from Song Xinglan and Song Jin would feel his scalp tingle and his heart race.
“But sometimes you’re not afraid at all.” There was a crisp sound, likely the flick of a lighter, followed by the soft sound of Song Xinglan exhaling smoke.
“When?” Song Jin asked.
“When you’re drunk,” Song Xinglan replied calmly. “You pull my hair, kick my legs…-”
“-Stop.” Song Jin’s face flushed as he interrupted through gritted teeth. He knew Song Xinglan was always blunt. But hearing him describe his drunken antics over the phone was unbearable—it was more embarrassing than if they were discussing it face to face.
Song Jin clenched a small section of his pyjama pants and said, “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to hang up. When you find out the time you’re coming back, make sure to let me know in advance.”
“Alright.” Song Xinglan’s voice carried a low chuckle. “Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight.”
The next day, Song Jin wished Song Xinglan wouldn’t come back.
He had a fever. That morning, he had washed his hair, and being lazy in the middle of summer, didn’t bother drying it. He grabbed an ice cream from the fridge and went to his study to watch an online course for his graduate exam prep.
The air conditioning was on in the study. With his wet hair and cold ice cream, Song Jin spent the second half of the lesson constantly sneezing.
He skipped lunch and went straight to his bedroom after the online class, curling up under the blankets to sleep.
The air conditioner in his room was set to 20°C. Apart from fearing Song Xinglan, Song Jin also hated the heat—deeply so. Perhaps it was because the old air conditioner in the attic where he grew up often broke, leaving him with a lasting trauma. Now, he craved the feeling of being wrapped up in a blanket in a cold room.
The more he slept, the heavier and dizzier he felt, with chaotic dreams. Several times, he tried to open his eyes. But his eyelids were too heavy to lift. He vaguely heard his phone ringing but couldn’t tell whether it was real or a dream. All he knew was that his body felt cold. But his face was burning hot.
His head was touched. Song Jin had been sleeping face down and felt someone gently stroke his hair.
A cool hand pressed against his cheek. At first, Song Jin wanted to avoid it. But the sensation was so comfortable that he nuzzled into it, letting out a contented hum.
“Ge,” Song Xinglan’s voice came as he touched Song Jin’s forehead. He then used an infrared thermometer. “You have a fever.”
Song Jin’s consciousness started to return. But he still didn’t want to open his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to ask, “You… came back?”
“Why do you have a fever?” Song Xinglan asked.
“I washed my hair,” Song Jin mumbled, his exposed cheek flushed red. “Didn’t dry it… ate ice cream… with the air conditioner on…”
Song Jin was quite clear about what caused his fever.
Song Xinglan frowned slightly. “Have you forgotten how to take care of yourself?”
Song Jin rolled over in the blankets. His other cheek is now imprinted with pillow marks. He slowly opened his eyes, struggling to focus on Song Xinglan’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” he asked.
“I called. But you didn’t answer,” Song Xinglan said, leaning down slightly. “I’ll get a doctor for you.”
Song Jin, still somewhat out of it, replied off-topic, “You’ve been gone for more than a month.”
“There were a lot of things to handle over there,” Song Xinglan explained.
“Either way, you lied to me…” Song Jin murmured slowly. “You told me you didn’t know when you’d be back.”
Song Xinglan nodded calmly. “When I called yesterday, I was on my way to the airport.”
The room fell quiet for a moment. Song Jin stared at Song Xinglan for a long time. Perhaps delirious from the fever, he whispered, “The house felt so empty. I missed you.”
After saying that, Song Jin froze for a moment. He then quickly grabbed the blanket and pulled it over his face.
Song Xinglan stared at Song Jin’s hair that was sticking out from under the blanket—looking soft and a little messy. He reached out and tried to tug the blanket away. The two of them struggled for a moment. But in the end, Song Xinglan won, pulling the blanket away. Song Jin’s gaze wandered with his face flushed from the high fever.
“I didn’t hear you clearly,” Song Xinglan said, looking at him. “Say it again.”
With no blanket to hide under, Song Jin gave up and rolled over, lying face down on the bed with his face buried in the pillow. His voice was muffled as he said, “I feel dizzy.”
“I’ll call the doctor,” Song Xinglan said, gently stroking Song Jin’s head. “Drink some water.”
Song Jin propped himself up slightly and grabbed the glass of water that Song Xinglan had poured for him. He drank more than half of it.
Feeling weak, he lay back down on the bed. Song Xinglan’s hand rested on the back of his head. Through the thin layer of hair, it felt warm, though Song Jin wasn’t sure if it was from his own fever or the heat from Song Xinglan’s palm.
Song Jin shifted a little and asked, “Did you call the doctor?”
“Yeah, I messaged him on WeChat.”
“No need,” Song Jin slowly turned his face to the side. His half-closed eyes looked at Song Xinglan by the bedside. He said softly, “I just want to lie down quietly for a while, without anyone else coming in.”
For a moment, Song Xinglan was unexpectedly taken aback. He looked up at Song Jin, who immediately closed his eyes and turned his head away when their eyes met.
“Ge,” Song Xinglan put down his phone. He stood up and placed a hand on the back of Song Jin’s neck. He gripped it gently like he was holding onto a small animal with nowhere to run. “Alright, no outsiders.”
Song Jin raised a hand to cover his head. After a moment, he said, “You must be tired from the flight, right? You should rest for a while. What do you want to eat tonight?”
“I’m not tired,” Song Xinglan replied simply. He then went to get a wet towel.
Since Song Jin didn’t want to see a doctor, the only thing left to do was to try cooling him down physically.
Song Jin lay there quietly. The fever wasn’t that severe. But his body felt weak and soft. So he just needed some rest.
The cold, damp towel touched his skin, making him shiver. He wanted to make some noise to let it out but ended up biting his own fingers instead.
Song Xinglan took care of him patiently, wiping his back to help lower his temperature.
When Song Xinglan wet the towel again in cold water and was about to continue, Song Jin let out a small sound. He was overwhelmed by the discomfort and said, “Stop wiping.”
“You need to be wiped down,” Song Xinglan’s voice was a bit hoarse. “If you keep toughing it out like this, you won’t break the fever.”
The cold, damp towel was placed on Song Jin’s forehead. It was not wrung out completely, leaving small droplets of water at the corner of his eyes. It felt cold and refreshing.
Song Xinglan murmured, “Ge, maybe we should still call the doctor. Your forehead is burning hot.”
“Mm…” Song Jin twitched slightly and mumbled, “No need…”
Song Xinglan leaned down, grabbed a pillow, and placed it under Song Jin’s head. He gently turned his face to examine him carefully. If Song Jin’s complexion showed any hint of worsening, he was ready to call the doctor immediately.
Song Jin muttered something incoherent and turned his head with difficulty. “No.”
“It’s contagious…” he exhaled softly, adding, “Stay away from me…”
“Your Didi is strong. I’m not worried about catching it.”
Song Jin didn’t respond. The air conditioner had long been turned off by Song Xinglan. And after a while, Song Jin started to sweat, which meant the fever was breaking. He would likely feel much better after sleeping it off.
The physical cooling had worked. When Song Jin opened his eyes again, he was mostly awake, feeling about seventy to eighty percent better. Though he still felt a bit weak, he no longer had that sickly fragility from earlier.
Having broken into a sweat, Song Jin felt sticky and uncomfortable. So he went to the bathroom to take a bath.
After a short while, Song Xinglan called from outside the bathroom, “That’s long enough. You just got over your fever, don’t soak for too long.”
“Are we going out later?” Song Jin obediently came out of the bathroom. Passing by Song Xinglan, he said, “Let’s buy a cake and some groceries.”
“I’ll have someone deliver them,” Song Xinglan replied.
Song Jin nodded. “Then I’ll start preparing dinner.”
Not wanting him to overexert himself, Song Xinglan reached out to stop him. “You don’t need to.”
Song Jin insisted, “I want to.”
Forget it. Song Jin was the kind of person who would go out of his way to buy a cake even for his cat, Grapefruit’s, birthday. In some ways, he had an odd sense of dedication.
Since it had been so long since they last saw each other, Grapefruit kept clinging to Song Xinglan. With no other choice, Song Xinglan picked up the cat and stood to the side, watching Song Jin cook.
Grapefruit rested its paws on Song Xinglan’s shoulder, turning its head with a serious look. He was watching Song Jin cook, just like a curious child.
Song Jin glanced over at them and said, “The cat’s fur is going to get into the food.”
So Song Xinglan decided to abandon Grapefruit and put it back in the living room. But the cat, as if sensing his intention, hooked its claws into his T-shirt, clinging to him and refusing to budge.
“You’re going to ruin my shirt,” Song Xinglan glanced down at the cat. “Even selling you wouldn’t cover the cost.”
He bent down and set Grapefruit on the floor. No matter how the cat pawed at his pant leg, he didn’t pick it back up.
Frustrated, Grapefruit scratched at Song Xinglan’s pant leg several times in protest.
After working in the kitchen for a while, Song Jin finished making five dishes. Song Xinglan picked a bottle of wine from the wine cabinet to let it breathe. When Song Jin noticed, he fetched two glasses and set them on the table. He then sat down with an expectant look on his face, staring at Song Xinglan.
However, Song Xinglan simply swirled the decanter and poured himself a glass.
“What about mine?” Song Jin asked.
“People who’ve just had a fever shouldn’t drink alcohol,” Song Xinglan replied.
“I’m already better,” Song Jin said seriously, touching his forehead.
Song Xinglan looked at him. “That fast?”
“Yeah,” Song Jin nodded. “I sweated it out. So the fever’s basically gone.”
Song Xinglan’s tone remained neutral. “When did you sweat?”
“Uh…” Song Jin hesitated, feeling a bit annoyed. “Are you going to pour me some or not?”
Song Xinglan chuckled and poured him half a glass of red wine.
After his fever broke, a nap, and a bath, Song Jin looked refreshed. His eyes were lively and bright. He placed a piece of potato in Song Xinglan’s bowl and said, “Not sure if this is any good. I wasn’t feeling too well while I was cooking.”
“It must be good,” Song Xinglan replied.
Song Jin tapped the edge of his bowl. “Stop being vague. Take a bite and then tell me.”
The meal was eaten slowly. Twice during the dinner, Song Jin asked Song Xinglan to refill his glass. People with poor tolerance for alcohol often have a strange craving for it. But Song Jin rarely had the chance to drink. He wasn’t the kind to grab a bottle on a whim and get drunk. Since they were at home and the night had started, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to indulge a little.
Song Xinglan watched as Song Jin’s gaze grew hazy and his expression became increasingly off. When Song Jin held out his empty glass, asking for more, Song Xinglan said, “You’ve had enough.”
“Says who?” Song Jin, trying to appear serious, sat up straight and declared, “I can handle it.”
Song Xinglan shook his head coldly. “No, you can’t.”
“I’m begging you,” Song Jin pleaded. If he could step outside of himself and see how he looked right now, he’d be the first to stop himself from drinking any more.
He held the wine glass with both hands, lifting it high in front of Song Xinglan as he said, “Just one sip.”
So, Song Xinglan poured him two tiny drops.
“Why are you so stingy?” Song Jin leaned closer to inspect the glass, confirming that there were indeed only two pitiful drops of wine. He frowned and complained, “I made so many dishes for you. Can’t you pour me a little more?”
“One glass of wine costs more than twenty tables of dishes like this,” Song Xinglan, ever the businessman, said. “Ge, you’re already way over the limit.”
“I also do the laundry, wash fruit for you, and tie your necktie,” Song Jin, though a bit out of it, began to list things meticulously. “I clean the house, tidy up, wash the dishes…”
They say even between brothers, accounts should be kept clear—this was probably what that looked like.
“There are a lot of dishes today,” Song Xinglan glanced at the table.
“I’m not washing them,” Song Jin, irritated by not getting more wine, withdrew his hand and downed the two drops. He licked his lips unsatisfied and, in a huff, declared, “I’m not washing dishes anymore. Ever.”
“Then who will wash them?” Song Xinglan asked.
“You will.”
“Didn’t you complain before that I don’t wash them clean enough?”
There was a brief silence as they both turned their heads toward Grapefruit, who was lying nearby, lazily swishing its tail.
Grapefruit stiffened under their gaze. It then slowly got up and ambled over to its cat bed, trying to act casual.
When Song Jin opened the cake box, he froze and asked, “Why isn’t there any cream?”
“I noticed you never eat the cream,” Song Xinglan replied, picking up the knife to cut the cake with the rough demeanour of a butcher. Song Jin quickly stopped him, saying, “We haven’t lit the candles yet.”
As he stuck the candles into the cake and lit them, Song Jin said, “You still shouldn’t buy a cake without cream. I can always just eat the sponge underneath.”
“Why don’t you eat cream?” Song Xinglan asked, watching him.
Gazing at the small flames, Song Jin said, “On my eighth birthday, Song Xiangping brought a cake. I was really happy. I wanted to wait for mom to get off work so we could eat it together.”
“I didn’t expect mom to be so angry. She yelled at me for being useless, then threw the cake on the ground.”
“When I was cleaning it up, I couldn’t help licking a bit of the cream. I don’t know why, but it tasted bitter.”
“Ever since then, I haven’t dared to eat cream.”
He shook his head slightly, still feeling the effects of the alcohol, and said, “Make a wish.”
“I don’t have anything to wish for,” Song Xinglan said as he blew out the candles. Then, he moved closer to Song Jin and covered his eyes.
Song Jin blinked in confusion. His eyelashes brushed against the palm of Song Xinglan’s hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Song Xinglan replied.
In truth, he didn’t want Song Jin to see the expression on his face. Some things, no matter how much time passes, remain a permanent scar for both of them.
Just like how Song Jin would never know who really sent that cake all those years ago.
Someone had waited endlessly for a response, from dawn till dusk.
While the other one tasted bitterness hidden in the sweetness of cream. And for years after, he can’t bring himself to try it again.
Song Xinglan released his hand and said, “Ge, from now on, the things that taste bitter or aren’t good for you—you shouldn’t touch them anymore.”
He leaned in closer, his voice low, “Except for me.”
Song Jin slowly looked up at him. His gaze met Song Xinglan’s face. Softly, he said, “I don’t taste anything bitter now, and I don’t think you’re bad.”
He wasn’t sure why Song Xinglan was saying these things. So he lowered his voice even more, saying, “Happy birthday, Xinglan.”
Song Xinglan gave a low hum in response.
“I told you before that I missed you,” Song Jin reached out and touched Song Xinglan’s hair, asking, “Did you miss me?”
Though Song Jin’s words were directed at the man before him, it also seemed like he was asking the little boy from over a decade ago who used to run after him, calling him “Gege.”
Song Xinglan’s eyes were intense as he looked into Song Jin’s. “I did. I missed you a lot.”
The cake, without cream, appeared overly simple. But as Song Jin had said, they shared far too many bad memories and experiences—like the cream that had left Song Jin apprehensive for so long. Now, finally, that layer had been stripped away and discarded, leaving behind only what was most fitting and best for them.
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*Translator’s Note: OMG! It’s true what I thought! It was SXL who sent the cake to him when he was 8 years old, not SXP!!! I cried when I read this. When they said they missed each other here, it was like they were talking about them missing each other for all those years that they were apart as children. My God! 😭😭😭 -K
Next update: 2024.10.01
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