Shao Mingyin opened the door, turned on the lights, and as soon as he put the key on the shoe cabinet in the entrance, he went into the kitchen. Liang Zhen also followed, but this time he didn’t rush to squeeze into the kitchen; instead, he silently stood outside the door.

In fact, there wasn’t much space left inside for him to enter. He figured Shao Mingyin must have left in a hurry; the water stains on the table had dried long ago, but the basin used for kneading dough hadn’t been washed. Liang Zhen touched the clay pot near the rice cooker where the electric was plugged in. The display screen on the pot was lit up with the word “Keep Warm.” Liang Zhen felt the warmth around the clay pot. He didn’t know Shao Mingyin had this kind of tableware at home, nor had he ever seen so many ingredients laid out on Shao Mingyin’s kitchen counter before.

He watched as Shao Mingyin opened the refrigerator and took out the dough wrapped in plastic wrap. Shao Mingyin, with a thin layer of flour sprinkled on the cutting board, exuded an unfamiliar sense of vigor. His actions of dividing the dough were not particularly skilled, but they were done with great care. After rolling the divided dough into long strips, he stopped and glanced at Liang Zhen, who was leaning against the kitchen door, making a gesture as if to shoo him away, saying, “There’s nothing interesting about making noodles. Don’t watch; it’s awkward.”

Shao Mingyin spoke the truth. Liang Zhen looked a bit awkward standing there watching. Seeing him unmoving, Shao Mingyin grabbed a bowl and a ladle, lifted the lid of the earthenware pot, and ladled out a bowl of beef bone soup for him. He motioned for Liang Zhen to take it and then, placing his hand on his shoulder, gently turned him around and closed the kitchen door.

Liang Zhen held the bowl of beef bone soup in one hand and unfolded the folding chair for dining with the other. He sat on the drum, facing a bowl of steaming hot soup emitting a fragrant aroma. He took a sip; the taste was particularly rich. Despite being hungry, he didn’t finish it. Instead, he waited quietly, his gaze fixed on the closed kitchen door.

He could hear the sound of dough and cutting board clashing, rather dull, indicating Shao Mingyin wasn’t adept at it. He could imagine Shao Mingyin bustling inside, not handling things with ease and probably feeling a bit flustered.

Soon, the clashing sounds ceased, replaced by the rustling sound of vegetables being finely chopped, crisp and clear. Then the crisp sound lengthened, indicating a change to a different vegetable. After that, it became indistinguishable, possibly indicating the preparation of meat. The sound of boiling water for the noodles became evident, followed by the gas stove being turned off. After a clatter of pots and pans, Shao Mingyin pushed open the kitchen door, holding a bowl that Liang Zhen had never seen in the house before but had seen countless times elsewhere.

Shao Mingyin brought the bowl of noodles, held in both hands, to Liang Zhen’s side. Then he went back to get a pair of chopsticks and sat opposite Liang Zhen.

“I knew you’d be hungry,” Shao Mingyin handed over the chopsticks, “You should eat longevity noodles for your birthday, so I thought of making you a bowl of beef noodles.”

Liang Zhen’s movement to take the chopsticks was slow, and he didn’t look up, just stared at the bowl of noodles. Green onions adorned the dish, red chili oil dotted it, the colors vivid and enticing. The neatly arranged slices of beef, half dipped in chili oil and half soaked in beef broth, caught his attention.

He placed the chopsticks on the table, hesitating to start. It was only after Shao Mingyin urged him that he leaned down to blow on the edge of the bowl and took a sip of the clear soup with chili oil. However, he still didn’t touch the chopsticks.

He hesitated to eat.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Shao Mingyin chuckled, “Even if it’s not that good, you should at least try it.”

“It’s not that it’s not good,” Liang Zhen’s words were vague, as if he was holding back some emotions, “I…” he really couldn’t articulate what he wanted to say. Finally, he picked up the chopsticks, and as he peeled off some beef and green onions, he noticed something else.

“Oh,” Liang Zhen laughed, his eyes curved, “there are radish slices too.”

“Of course there are,” Shao Mingyin began to recall the recipe, “one is clear for the beef broth, two is white for the radish slices, and what else… three red, four green, five yellow. You know these better than me.”

Liang Zhen certainly did. He grew up eating beef noodles, so how could he not know that Lanzhou beef noodles should have red chili oil, green garlic sprouts, and bright yellow noodles?

“Come on, eat quickly,” Shao Mingyin urged again, “otherwise, it’ll get cold and won’t taste good.”

Liang Zhen nodded and stirred the noodles in the soup with the chopsticks, lifting them out. He looked up, his eyelashes fluttering, a mix of happiness and surprise in his tone, “These are the ‘er xi’ noodles.”

Lanzhou beef noodles were classified into eleven types based on the thickness of the noodles, ranging from “fine” to “belt-width.” When ordering at a Lanzhou beef noodle shop, the most common type of noodles was the default type, which was “fine” to “er xi,” somewhere in between. If you wanted something different, you had to tell the noodle chef at the counter after receiving your ticket. The ‘er xi’ noodles, because they were chewier than the fine ones, were popular among young men in Lanzhou. This was why in the last accompaniment of the song “Lanzhou, Lanzhou” by the band Low Wormwood, there was a sentence in the Lanzhou dialect: “er xi, more chili.”

“Yes,” Shao Mingyin looked at the noodles, “you said you liked ‘er xi’ noodles the most, so I learned to make these. If you want something else, I wouldn’t know how.”

Liang Zhen leaned back slightly, observing the bowl that was characteristic of Lanzhou beef noodle shops, “Where did you get this bowl?”

“I bought it online.”

“But I haven’t seen you go downstairs to pick up a delivery.”

“I can’t use my address for deliveries; it’s registered at the police station.”

Liang Zhen, who was about to start eating, stopped his chopsticks again when Shao Mingyin said this: “So you’ve been preparing for so long.”

“It’s not that long,” Shao Mingyin said. “I bought the chili paste online. I didn’t see Lanzhou products in the markets or supermarkets here in Wenzhou. As for the beef, the noodle shop you mentioned before, I searched for it with keywords, and they sell vacuum-packed ones, so I bought some.” Shao Mingyin teased, “If that portion isn’t enough, there are several pounds in the fridge, I can slice some more for you.”

“It’s enough, enough,” Liang Zhen nodded. This time he really started eating, lowered his head, picked up a thin slice with his chopsticks, put it in his mouth, and chewed silently. He was very quiet when he chewed, and his chewing speed was slow. Before he finished that bite, something fell into the bowl.

Shao Mingyin was also stunned and uncertainly called out, “Liang Zhen?”

Liang Zhen didn’t raise his head.

“Liang Zhen…” Shao Mingyin reached out, those two drops of tears fell straight down, without even leaving a trace of tears, he had nothing to wipe them with, so he pinched Liang Zhen’s face, “You’re already twenty today, why are you still crying?”

Liang Zhen rarely didn’t retort against Shao Mingyin, and after lifting his head, his eyes were moist, the corners of his eyes were red, and there was no trace of the commanding aura he had on stage.

He swallowed what was in his mouth, and said, “Why are you so good to me?”

Shao Mingyin felt embarrassed by what he said, “I’m not that good, it’s just a bowl of noodles.”

“You even… I didn’t even remember it myself, today is my birthday,” Liang Zhen’s eyes were still red, “and you remembered.”

Shao Mingyin tapped Liang Zhen’s forehead and smiled, “You forgot that I read your file.”

That day at the station, when they first met, he had already noted it down.

Liang Zhen felt like his mentality was collapsing, collapsing from too much happiness, his voice nasal, “I still feel like crying.”

“Then cry,” Shao Mingyin suppressed a laugh, “I won’t laugh at you.”

Liang Zhen raised his arm and rubbed his eyes against his clothes, “I’m twenty, I’m not a kid anymore, I won’t cry, I want to eat noodles.”

Shao Mingyin didn’t say anything, nor did he intend to remind Liang Zhen, only kids would deny so quickly in such a childish manner.

Liang Zhen started to eat, stirred a large spoonful, opened his mouth wide, as if he was about to start wolfing it down, but just as he picked it up, he put it down again.

“What’s wrong?” Shao Mingyin asked.

Liang Zhen looked at him, “Aren’t you eating?”

“Do you think everyone is like you,” Shao Mingyin poked his forehead again, “still growing, getting hungry quickly.”

Liang Zhen asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not hungry.”

“Not eating?”

Shao Mingyin smiled, remembering that night, Liang Zhen stubbornly refused the cup noodles behind the iron door at the station.

“Just have a little,” Liang Zhen stood up as he said, went to the kitchen to get a small bowl and chopsticks, then came back, picked up some noodles from his bowl and put them in the small bowl. If it wasn’t for Shao Mingyin stopping him, he would have almost put all the beef in there.

Liang Zhen finally poured the soup and pushed the small bowl in front of Shao Mingyin, offering it like a treasure, “Have some too.”

“I’m really not hungry,” Shao Mingyin said so, but he still picked up the chopsticks.

“It’s not about being hungry or not,” Liang Zhen said, “this is my birthday longevity noodles, I can’t eat them alone.”

Shao Mingyin’s hand with the chopsticks paused, he raised his head, and coincidentally met Liang Zhen’s eyes.

“You’re six years older than me…” Liang Zhen said, somewhat sadly, “although it’s not a big difference, but—”

“But I want to celebrate birthdays with you in the future.”

He said, blushing shyly, “I’ll share the longevity with you, can we celebrate every birthday together from now on?”