"Let silence do the talking," he repeated softly.
Zhuang Yi did not respond immediately. The corner of his mouth curved upward in a faint, unreadable smile, as if he found the phrasing both naïve and accurate. After that, neither of them spoke again. The hum of the engine filled the car, steady and low, and the silence stretched naturally between them, not awkward, not entirely comfortable either, but dense with unspoken thoughts.
It was only after the vehicle passed through the ETC toll system and merged fully onto the highway that Xun Yuming broke it.
"Chen Linlin asked about… our past." His voice was careful, as though testing fragile ground. "Can I tell him?"
"Why not?" Zhuang Yi glanced at him briefly before returning his focus to the road. The car climbed onto the overpass smoothly. "He's your therapist. If he asks you to speak, then speak. Cooperate with the treatment."
"Alright." Xun Yuming nodded, though the unease inside him didn't settle. He couldn't pinpoint what exactly troubled him. It wasn't fear of disclosure. It wasn't shame. It was something subtler, an odd awareness that their shared history no longer belonged solely to the two of them. It was becoming case material.
He hesitated, then added, "If I tell him that I was the one who broke up with you… you wouldn't mind?"
Zhuang Yi's expression remained calm, almost indifferent. "Why would I mind? It's the truth."
The simplicity of the answer felt heavier than if he had shown irritation.
"You're really generous," Xun Yuming said lightly, though the faint sarcasm in his tone betrayed him. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. The comment served no purpose. He turned toward the window instead, watching blurred streetlights streak past, refusing to look at him.
Silence reclaimed the space.
After exiting the elevated highway, Zhuang Yi took the coastal road and drove directly to the hospital dormitory. The building loomed ahead under dim evening lights. Xun Yuming rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, exhaustion finally catching up to him. His eyes reddened instantly from the friction.
He reached for the door handle, but it wouldn't budge.
He turned. "I'm home."
Zhuang Yi didn't unlock the doors.
Instead, he asked abruptly, "Do you know that performing outside consultations without proper procedure can be considered unauthorized practice?"
The sudden shift in topic caught Xun Yuming off guard. "Dean Chen arranged it. The department approved it. I didn't go on my own. Does that count?"
"Did you complete the formal paperwork?" Zhuang Yi pressed. "Do you have multi-site practice authorization? Official documentation?"
"I… probably not." He frowned, replaying the previous night in his head. He had rushed out without returning to the hospital for clearance forms. He hadn't thought that far ahead. "I'll ask Dean Chen tomorrow. It should be fine."
Only then did Zhuang Yi unlock the doors.
"I'm going to sleep," Xun Yuming muttered, stepping out. "Thank you."
He walked into the dormitory without looking back.
After plugging in his phone to charge, it powered on with a vibration. A message from Chen Linlin popped up immediately, scheduling that evening's session.
He replied with a time, showered quickly, and collapsed into bed. When he woke in the early evening, his temples throbbed from long-term sleep deprivation. He swallowed two ibuprofen tablets, glanced at the clock—7:59 p.m.—and initiated the video call right on time.
"I'm sorry I had to leave this morning," Chen Linlin said once the connection stabilized, though his tone was composed rather than apologetic. "I called Teacher Zhuang to pick you up. Did you see him?"
Xun Yuming narrowed his eyes slightly. "He said he came to buy abalone pastries. Where did he come from?"
"The airport," Chen Linlin replied without hesitation. "He's preparing to go abroad for a conference. He just landed this morning. I thought he'd ask someone else to pick you up since he hadn't slept, but he insisted."
There was a brief silence.
"What does that have to do with abalone pastries?" Chen Linlin added, puzzled.
Understanding dawned slowly. So that was it. He hadn't driven there specifically to buy food. The pastries had been incidental. The airport, the lack of sleep, the detour—none of it had been mentioned.
"It's nothing," Xun Yuming said lightly. "I just assumed."
He paused, then remembered something else. "By the way, could you ask Dean Chen whether yesterday's consultation counts as unauthorized outside practice?"
Chen Linlin stepped away briefly and returned a few minutes later. "My dad said he'll handle the paperwork tomorrow. Teacher Zhuang even called him to remind him."
"Oh." Xun Yuming couldn't suppress the small smile that crept onto his face. "Alright."
"Now," Chen Linlin said, refocusing, "tell me how you and Teacher Zhuang met. We'll leave the breakup for later."
"…We first crossed paths during the Napa winery visit," Xun Yuming replied.
Strictly speaking, though, that wasn't entirely accurate. He had been too drunk that day to register anything clearly. The next day, in biology class, that was when they truly met.
The biology professor was a white-bearded man in his sixties, severe and methodical, nothing like the lively wine instructor. He would walk into the lecture hall without greeting, write a sequence of numbers on the board, and ask simply, "What's the next number?"
The room was filled with top students. Calculating sequences was trivial for them. Answers flew from every direction.
"Forty-four!"
"Forty-eight!"
The professor pointed casually at Xun Yuming. "Why forty-four?"
Xun Yuming stood up instinctively, earning a ripple of laughter.
"Sit and speak," the professor said mildly.
Clutching his notebook, face flushed, Xun Yuming explained the sequence step by step, outlining his logic carefully. When he finished, the professor nodded. "That's one interpretation. Any others?"
He froze. One interpretation?
More guesses followed. The professor rejected each with a small shake of his head.
Then, from the far corner of the lecture hall, a voice said clearly, "Forty-two."
The professor's eyes lit up. "Exactly. Forty-two."
The explanation followed swiftly. It wasn't a mathematical progression at all. It referenced behavioral biology data introduced in last week's reading, something easily missed unless one had paid attention beyond formulas.
Class ended, but Xun Yuming remained seated, puzzled. He didn't understand why the answer was forty-two. He gathered his notebook and hurried after the professor, hoping to clarify but the older man moved quickly and disappeared before he could catch up.
He returned to his seat, frustration settling over him like a thin veil. The foreign campus, the unfamiliar language pace, the laughter earlier, it all pressed against him quietly.
The horseshoe-shaped desk beside him creaked.
A shadow fell across his notebook.
"Look up," someone said, in fluent, effortless Mandarin.
Xun Yuming lifted his head.
For the first time, he saw Zhuang Yi clearly.