Chapter 62: Tang Xiaoyu,

Zhou Xunwen was worried that Bian Yang might do something to Tang Yu, which was why he kept waiting not far away. Now, watching the scene from a distance, his gentle features were clouded with a dark expression, his brows furrowed with visible irritation.

Meng Shirui, of course, noticed as well. Seeing Zhou Xunwen’s embarrassed face, the jealousy and resentment that had been simmering inside her were unexpectedly soothed just a little. She immediately spoke up, “Xunwen, your worries are clearly unnecessary. Look, Tang Yu went to sit beside Bian Yang of her own accord—it’s obvious she likes him. Otherwise, why ignore her own seat and go to his?”

Only couples would sit like that, so close together—what a vixen.

Zhou Xunwen’s hand, hanging at his side, clenched tightly. His dark eyes remained fixed on the pair across the room.

Bian Yang was holding a glass of water in his left hand, drinking unhurriedly. He glanced playfully out the window, then leaned toward Tang Yu, his right arm resting casually on the back of her chair. From the outside, it looked as if he had his arm around her.

Soon enough, that bothersome shadow outside disappeared.

“It’s this line—I don’t quite understand it,” Tang Yu said, looking up. She’d been listening to music, unaware of just how close he’d gotten. Her forehead nearly brushed his lips, making her breath stutter and lose rhythm.

Having just driven someone away, Bian Yang’s lips still held an unapologetic smile, oblivious to her sudden fluster. He arched his brows with a teasing glint, “Rewind a line or two—I got distracted just now.”

“…Okay.” Her lashes fluttered and she quickly lowered her head. After adjusting the player, she braced her palms lightly on either side of the sofa, subtly shifting a bit to the right and straightening her back, her posture impeccably proper.

Bian Yang noticed her small, abrupt move but pretended not to. “This line, huh?” he said.

This song included a famous line from a movie. There were several ways to translate it, no wonder the girl was so conflicted.

Tang Yu looked crestfallen, her face troubled. “It’s so hard.” She pressed her fingertip to the progress bar, about to rewind and listen again.

Bian Yang’s long fingers plucked the earbud from her left ear. Leaning in just slightly, his deep, magnetic voice recited the line in her ear, closing the distance she had just tried to create.

“Some of us get dipped in flat, some in satin, some in gloss.”

The beautiful English slipped from his lips, rich and resonant, each word caressing her ear.

Tang Yu was a little dazed. The warmth of his breath brushed her ear, teasing and intangible. The words, gentle and lingering, wound their way into her mind.

Her thoughts began to scatter wildly.

“But every once in a while you find someone who’s iridescent, and when you do, nothing will ever compare.”

He spoke slowly, several beats behind the song’s lyrics, like listening at 0.8 speed.

“Did you catch it this time?” he asked, straightening a little.

His right arm was still draped on the back of her chair, his left hand propping up his chin lazily, half-encircling her as he watched with a faint smile.

The spacious sofa suddenly felt stiflingly close.

Tang Yu’s ears remained warm, her heart inexplicably racing. She’d been so distracted just now that she hadn’t caught a single word.

“I didn’t understand…” she lied, a little guilty, nervously twisting her fingers in an attempt to calm herself.

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “The first half means: some live in lofty towers, some in deep valleys, some shine brilliantly, and some are cloaked in rust.”

Tang Yu’s eyes fell, her lashes trembling lightly.

It seemed that, no matter the language, words sounded especially beautiful when spoken by him.

“The second half means: in this world of countless people, don’t chase after floating clouds. When you meet someone as rare as a rainbow, only then do you realize what you were missing.”

Someone as rare as a rainbow—you only know when you finally meet them.

Tang Yu hadn’t expected it to be this line. No wonder she couldn’t translate it, always feeling something was off. The romance in Chinese simply couldn’t be rendered in English.

“Do you understand now?” He reached out, took her glass, filled it with juice, and pushed it back to her.

Tang Yu murmured a thank you, her restless hands finally finding purpose as she cupped the glass. “I never imagined that line could be so romantic. But your translation makes it even more so.” Her head dropped. “I guess I just haven’t studied enough to translate it myself.”

“Nothing is mastered overnight,” Bian Yang replied softly. He poured himself some juice, sipped it, his pale fingers toying with the rim. “But that’s not even the most romantic phrase. I know a word that’s really interesting. Want to hear it?”

Tang Yu looked at him. “A word?”

What word could be more romantic than romance itself?

“Give me your hand.”

She tilted her head. “Hm?”

He gently took her left hand, opened her palm. “Like this.”

The juice was room temperature, but her palm was warm.

He began to write, letter by letter, in her hand. His fingertip traced her skin, sending tingles and heat wherever it passed.

Tang Yu’s fingers instinctively curled.

He wrote with careful strokes, his profile half-shrouded in light and shadow, so striking it was almost unreal.

Her heart, only just steadied, began to race again, each stroke sending a jolt through her, like ice cubes rolling in a glass of sparkling mint soda, fizzing and tumbling.

Tang Yu let out a slow breath, lips pressed rosy and tight, refusing to look at him or focus on the sensation in her palm, concentrating instead on the letters he was tracing.

“It’s ‘moonquake.’”

She couldn’t help but repeat the word softly.

Bian Yang nodded. “Yes, moonquake.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that word. What does it mean?”

It sounded like something about the moon, but how could it be romantic?

“Apparently, the moon experiences about a thousand major quakes every year,” Bian Yang explained, his dark eyes meeting hers, Adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke softly. “The moon trembles quietly, while those gazing at it from earth remain blissfully unaware…”

Tang Yu waited for him to finish.

But he said nothing for a long moment, so she glanced up at him.

At last, the boy’s low voice continued, “Just like now—you’re sitting here in front of me, my heart is beating, but these tremors of my heart, you’ll never know.”

Looking into his burning gaze, Tang Yu’s mind froze for a second or two, then her heart started pounding wildly again.

Stronger than when his touch had grazed her palm.

Each beat was vivid, as if it might leap from her chest.

Bian Yang watched her stunned expression for a while. The girl’s cheeks were so red they might boil water.

He curved his lips in a faint smile. “So this word describes a heartbeat unnoticed, a secret affection left unseen.”

Sometimes, the more nervous you are, the more obvious your actions become.

Tang Yu instinctively pressed her hand to her heart. The tremor seemed to echo in her palm.

So Bian Yang was only explaining the word’s meaning. And yet…

She’d been letting her thoughts run wild, even thinking he was confessing to her!

And her reaction just now—she might as well have shouted it out loud.

Tang Yu quickly lowered her hand, but not knowing what to do with it, she awkwardly reached for her juice and took a hurried sip.

Bian Yang glanced at her. “That cup is mine.”

“Cough, cough, cough!” Tang Yu choked, coughing violently.

Bian Yang pulled out some tissues and handed them to her, his hand hovering gently over her narrow back, then settling to soothe her.

The school uniform was a thin barrier; beneath his palm, he could feel her warmth and the outline of her spine.

Even after weeks of care, she was still so thin.

Meanwhile, Tang Yu wished she could bury herself under the table.

What now? How could she be so embarrassing?!

Above her head came the boy’s low laugh, lazy and teasing.

“Tang Xiaoyu, why are you so flustered? You drank from the wrong cup, so what? Are you disgusted by me?”

“N-no, I’m not…” she stammered, ducking her head like a quail.

Bian Yang’s slender fingers gently pinched the back of her neck, cool against her skin.

She jolted upright, every nerve on edge, eyes darting everywhere but at him.

Desperately feigning calm, Tang Yu managed to say, “Sorry, I took the wrong one.”

Her ears, half-hidden by her hair, were so red they looked ready to bleed.

Bian Yang’s knuckles pressed to his lips, barely containing his laughter.

Every time he teased her, she was… unbearably adorable.

“So you’re not disgusted after all.” He propped his chin on his hand, watching her intently. “But you know, sharing a cup is like an indirect kiss.”

Though the restaurant was playing soft, pleasant music, it now sounded like a ringing in her ears.

She felt dizzy, as if the world was spinning.

“Tang Xiaoyu, are you coveting me?”

And still, he continued.