51. Creative Confessions of Love

Tang Yiyi returned upstairs, washed up, and lay in bed. Her heart felt as though a cat were clawing at it, the turmoil growing stronger and stronger. Qin Baike hovered ceaselessly before her eyes, yet she could neither reach out to touch him nor hold him in her arms.

No wonder Wendy had been so furious before—she truly admired how, in the end, Wendy had managed to maintain her goddess-like composure as she left.

She picked up her phone, opened the browser, and typed into Baidu: How do you confess to your crush?

The answers were dazzlingly varied, but in the end, they boiled down to just a few types.

First: the direct confession. Tell him, “I like you, be my boyfriend,” or, a little more reserved, “I’m giving you a chance to be my boyfriend, what do you say? If yes, we’ll be together; if not, I’ll think of something else.”

The greatest advantage of this method was its straightforwardness—no need to guess, no wasting time in indecision.

Of course, the biggest downside was that if the confession failed, it would be unbearably awkward. You might not even be able to stay friends. The girl at the hair salon was a cautionary tale.

Second: the hinting approach. Drop hints in your words, in your actions, even with your eyes—use everything at your disposal.

The benefit here was that you needn’t expose yourself completely; there would still be room to retreat. If he didn’t like you, he could simply ignore all your hints, and you could continue being friends as if nothing happened.

But the flaw was, you might think you’d made yourself clear, but if his mind was slow on the uptake and he didn’t pick up on anything, you’d have wasted a lot of effort for nothing.

Third: the time-tested method. Hang around him often, let him get used to your presence, treat him well in all sorts of ways, move him, make him grateful, and eventually he’d fall for you.

This method required time and was fraught with uncertainty. If someone else appeared before you managed to move him, all your efforts would be for naught.

And that wasn’t the worst of it—the worst was if you did move him, but all he felt was gratitude, nothing more.

Fourth: the reversal. Transform yourself into a goddess and make him pursue you, whether that meant cosmetic surgery, working out, practicing yoga, dieting, or just working hard to become outstanding. As the saying goes, when the flowers bloom, the butterflies will come.

Just thinking about this method was exhausting.

Tang Yiyi sighed helplessly, switched to her front camera, and examined her single-lidded eyes, lips neither thin nor full, a nose of middling height, and her slightly babyish cheeks. “Even someone as beautiful as Wendy couldn’t win him over; what’s the point of me confessing? I’d better just wash up and go to sleep.”

She closed the camera and opened her messages, staring at the only text he’d sent her, sighing again before replying: Buy some sutureless wound plasters tomorrow.

He quickly replied: Okay.

After a while, she sent another: Good night.

And that was the end of it.

Downstairs, a few tattooed young men were loitering outside the noodle shop. They went in, had a few bowls of noodles, stared at Qin Baike several times before finally leaving.

Qin Baike took out his phone and made several calls. Whether it was the business world or the underworld, the trouble brought by Er Tong had to be sorted out properly.

After the calls, he stepped outside the shop and looked up at the sky. There would be no rain tonight, much less thunder.

He couldn’t help but smile. If there were thunder in the middle of the night, given how soundly Tang Yiyi slept, the lightning would have to strike right by her ear and shove her with its electric hand just to wake her up.

What was she dreaming about?

“Don’t you ever review? I’m not letting you copy my answers.” She must have said that to him in her dream, otherwise why would she wake up, not frightened, but instead caress his face and say, “It felt so real.”

Suddenly, another girl’s voice echoed in his ear: “Don’t you ever review? Look at your grades!”

The persistence both girls showed in pursuing their dreams was so alike.

By the time he saw her “Good night,” half an hour had passed. He figured she must be asleep already and didn’t reply.

Upstairs on the second floor of the noodle shop, Liu Xin went to Qin’s mother’s room to collect the bowls. Er Tong called out to him, “Did you make this introduction for Qin’s Noodle House?”

“Yeah.”

“No wonder nobody wants to eat here—the write-up is as dead as a doornail. If you don’t add text, how would anyone know whose photos you’re using? See? Thought your photos were good? They got stolen, didn’t they?” Er Tong held his phone up to Liu Xin’s face; sure enough, another noodle shop was using the exact same picture.

“My brother won’t let me use his photos.”

“He won’t let you use his face, but does a person only have a face? What about the rest of him, his entire body? You’re really hopeless.”

“I—I’ll just go now,” Liu Xin stammered, then fled.

The next morning, after getting ready, Tang Yiyi heard voices from the downstairs terrace as she was about to leave. She went over and peered down; it was Er Tong on the phone. “Yeah… bring those two lights and the reflector… this afternoon… that’s right.”

After the call, he tried to stretch his back and gently lift his left arm, but the pain made him drop it right away. He lit a cigarette, sat down on the ground, leaned against a potted plant, and smoked in silence.

Tang Yiyi stood by the railing, watching him without making a sound. Even after he finished his cigarette and went back inside, he didn’t look up at her once.

She truly couldn’t understand how Qin Baike always knew she was watching him from above. Shaking her head in confusion, she hurried downstairs.

At the entrance of Qin’s Noodle House, she glanced at the signboard and suddenly wondered—were the noodles at those top-ranked shops really that good?

She pulled out her phone, opened the voting link, found the shop ranked second, then used the map to look up the address and set off in that direction.

The true culinary gems of a city are always tucked away in the most inconspicuous corners.

The shop in second place specialized in clear beef noodle soup—thick chunks of beef brisket stewed with big pieces of radish. The broth was clear but extremely flavorful, the brisket tender, and the radish had soaked up all the essence of beef and broth, cooked to just the right texture—neither hard nor mushy. Every bite cut through the richness of the beef soup, making it a worthy rival to Qin Baike’s pork trotter noodles.

But it wasn’t radish season, and after radishes aged, a fibrous layer formed under the skin, so some bites weren’t as juicy.

After her meal, she took the bus home. Comparing the flavors, she felt it was only natural that Qin Baike’s noodles made the top ten.

She leaned her head against the bus window, her thoughts drifting from his noodles to the man himself. How should she confess?

She frowned, pondering. Hints would never work. If she said, “Baige, it’s Valentine’s Day—buy me two boxes of chocolates,” he’d just look up and say, “Sure.” Her meaning: let’s be lovers. His meaning: you want a snack, I’ll get you one.

If she saw someone selling roses on the street and exclaimed, “Wow, roses!” he’d definitely buy two—one for her, one for Xiao Xie. She’d mean: only lovers give roses. He’d mean: let’s support a hard-working flower vendor.

She so looked forward to a thunderstorm. If he came to keep her company, she wondered if burrowing straight into his arms would make him understand.

Tang Yiyi shook her head. He wouldn’t. He’d just find her amusing, then wrap himself up in a blanket, hands and feet all prim and proper—ever the gentleman.

She gazed at the shifting street scene outside and sighed deeply once more.

The time-tested approach wasn’t viable either; she wasn’t Xiao Xie, and her time with him was limited. Even now, as she tasted noodles from various shops for his sake, he wouldn’t be moved, only say, “A true foodie isn’t afraid of long journeys or hardships.”

The reversal method was out of the question—she was hardly ugly enough to need plastic surgery. She didn’t want to be a goddess, just a good traditional doctor.

In the end, only the direct confession remained. Fine, she’d find the right moment and confess! Tang Yiyi clenched her right fist, silently cheering herself on: fighting!