Zhuang Zi’ang and the newly acquainted Su Yudiel walked side by side down the busy street. The midday rush after school always brought this area to life, with food vendors lining both sides of the road. Aromas of various snacks and dishes mingled in the warm air.
Having just gone through a wave of intense emotions, Zhuang Zi’ang was finally calming down enough to feel his growing hunger.
He turned to Su Yudiel. “Why did you skip class?”
Su Yudiel gazed at him with an innocent expression. “I didn’t skip class. I went to pick ginkgo leaves.”
“But it was clearly during class time,” Zhuang Zi’ang said, skeptical. “Why weren’t you in your classroom?”
She smiled. “We had P.E. (physical education).”
Zhuang Zi’ang fell silent. He had been so overwhelmed by sadness earlier that he hadn’t noticed whether there were students doing P.E. on the sports field. All he remembered was how quiet it had been beneath the ginkgo trees.
“So then,” Su Yudiel asked, “why did you skip class?”
“I didn’t,” Zhuang Zi’ang replied, sounding defensive. “I asked the teacher for leave. I just didn’t want anyone to see me crying.”
He had thought he’d hidden himself well, and it stung to realize someone had witnessed everything—and from up in a tree, no less.
Su Yudiel looked momentarily puzzled but then, as though struck by a whim, declared, “Let me take you to get something delicious. It’ll cheer you up.”
Her idea of “something delicious” turned out to be fried potatoes—truly a gift from nature that can serve as either a staple or a vegetable, with countless ways to cook them. The vendor cut the potatoes into small chunks and fried them until golden brown, then dusted them with salt and pepper, cumin powder, chili powder, chopped green onions, and white sesame seeds. The result was crispy on the outside and soft on the inside.
A self-proclaimed foodie, Su Yudiel insisted the potatoes needed extra chili for a proper kick, and asked the vendor to add more.
“Zhuang Zi’ang, wait here a second while I buy some cola. Coke or Pepsi?”
“Coke.”
Everyone knows that Coke is fizzier, while Pepsi is sweeter. After all that emotional stress, Zhuang Zi’ang felt like he could use more fizz right now.
A few minutes later, the two of them sat on the edge of a marble step, sharing a batch of the spicy fried potatoes. The vendor had gone heavy on the chili, leaving Zhuang Zi’ang’s tongue almost numb. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead.
Su Yudiel looked no better off; her face was flushed from the spice, and she chugged her ice-cold Coke in big gulps.
“Tell me your sad story,” she said suddenly, batting her bright eyes. “It’ll make me happy!”
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“Are you trying to rub salt in my wound?” Zhuang Zi’ang asked with a wry expression.
“No, no,” she said, chewing on her straw. “Sometimes, when you talk about what makes you sad, it starts to feel less sad.”
Zhuang Zi’ang turned, studying her gentle profile. She seemed so harmless and trusting that he hesitated only briefly before speaking. “When I was twelve, I’d just graduated from elementary school. One night during summer vacation, my dad said the whole family would go to the seaside. I’d never seen the ocean before, so I was too excited to sleep. I stayed up all night packing…”
“Wow, your dad sounds great. I’ve never seen the ocean either,” Su Yudiel said, her eyes shining with anticipation.
“But when I woke up the next morning, I found out the three of them had already left. My dad’s idea of a ‘whole family trip’ didn’t include me.” A dull hurt flickered across Zhuang Zi’ang’s eyes.
“…Oh,” Su Yudiel murmured. The mood turned awkward, and she groped for the right words to comfort him. In the end, she simply offered him a piece of potato with her bamboo skewer. “Want to try mine?”
“Aren’t they exactly the same?” he asked, taken aback.
“It’s different because I’m feeding you,” she said, her eyes as clear as water after a spring rain.
Zhuang Zi’ang let her feed him a spicy, chili-laced potato chunk. It tasted as hot as ever, but something in his heart felt surprisingly sweet.
“When I turned fourteen, I scored first in the entire grade. The school held a parent-teacher meeting, and the teachers wanted my parents to share their child-raising experience. But my dad told my mom to go, and my mom told my dad to go… In the end, neither of them showed up,” he continued, tears threatening to fill his eyes again.
That afternoon was one of the most humiliating moments of his life. On his desk lay a stack of near-perfect test papers, but no one took any notice. He was practically glowing with academic success but had no family members there to celebrate with him—just a child the world seemed to have abandoned. Having gone so long without his parents’ love, he had slipped into a silent despair. Even now, with his serious illness, he didn’t know whether to tell his father or his mother first.
He had never confided this sorrow to anyone, yet he felt he could trust this girl he had just met.
“Zhuang Zi’ang, you’ve got a nosebleed! Sorry, I guess I had them put in way too much chili.” Alarmed, Su Yudiel hurriedly pulled out a pack of tissues. She cupped the back of his head and gently dabbed the warm blood away.
Zhuang Zi’ang sensed a comforting warmth, as though it were seeping from her fingertips and driving away the tension in his heart.
Once the bleeding stopped, he explained, “Thanks… But I’ve been getting nosebleeds on and off for the past six months. It’s not the chili’s fault.”
Nodding, Su Yudiel rummaged in her pocket and took out some cash, setting aside just enough for bus fare before pressing the rest into his hand.
Her voice was soft but earnest. “I’ll save a bit to get home, and you can use the rest to buy more food. I eat like crazy whenever I’m upset. After I’ve had my fill of good food, I don’t feel so bad anymore.”
Zhuang Zi’ang chuckled. “They say love and food are the two things one should never betray. But I’m a guy—let me be the one to treat you.”
“No way. Today, I’m treating you. Next time I’m sad, you can treat me.” She pursed her lips in an adorable show of resolve.
“All right, fine. I’m not known for being polite, so if you insist…” He grinned.
They finished the potatoes and Coke, then continued on their quest to satisfy their appetites. Su Yudiel practically hopped with every step, the hem of her skirt swaying, like a little butterfly dancing from place to place. The moment she spotted something appealing, she stopped, drooling in anticipation—a true snack enthusiast.
They wandered from stall to stall—lamb skewers (yáng ròu chuàn), hand-held pancakes (shǒu zhuā bǐng), oden (guān dōng zhǔ, a Japanese-style stew), and spicy malatang (má là tàng, a Sichuan-style spicy hot pot). When Su Yudiel finally ran out of money, Zhuang Zi’ang bought her a strawberry milk tea. He was already too full to drink anything else himself.
“Wow, Zhuang Zi’ang, this is so good!” she exclaimed, taking an exaggeratedly satisfied slurp.
“Keep it down,” he teased. “Don’t sound so impressed—like you’ve never tried decent milk tea before.”
“But it’s really great. Want a taste?” She held the cup out toward him.
“How exactly am I supposed to—” Zhuang Zi’ang stopped mid-sentence when he saw the straw, covered in her teeth marks. Even if it weren’t, they’d only met an hour ago; sharing one straw seemed too intimate.
As if performing a magic trick, she pulled a brand-new straw from behind her back. “I asked for an extra one when I got the Coke.”
She popped the extra straw in. “Here, have a sip.”
Zhuang Zi’ang locked eyes with her for a moment, then gave in and took a drink. The sweet, creamy flavor spread across his tongue, leaving a lingering taste of comfort. Though it was just an ordinary strawberry milk tea, it somehow felt more special than ever.
Drinking from the same cup with two straws was usually a couple’s thing. He couldn’t tell if she was being deliberately forward or just naturally carefree. He considered himself decent-looking, but hardly enough to inspire love at first sight—so maybe she really was that innocently bold.
“Zhuang Zi’ang,” she said, “we’re friends now, right?”
“Of course. You’re my first friend since I got here,” he replied.
Su Yudiel nodded seriously, though her words made Zhuang Zi’ang wonder: What did she mean by ‘first friend’?