The Sweetness and the Spice

The second floor of the cafeteria was naturally bustling with people, though it wasn’t quite as congested as the floor below. Given that the second floor primarily housed chain restaurants, the prices were a touch higher, leading many to opt for the more budget-friendly queues downstairs.

Heeding Huang Zhouyu’s advice, I ceased my observation of Gao Qinghong and accompanied him to satisfy our hunger. The second floor presented a myriad of choices, and rather than dining together, we each decided on our own meals.

He declared his intention to eat a burger, while I, on the other hand, opted for *mala tang*. My memory of *mala tang* was rooted in my junior high years, specifically a restaurant in Jinjie Plaza where my mother once took me. She had ordered two bowls of intensely spicy *mala tang*, a meal that left me drenched in sweat, my eyes even stinging from the perspiration.

Evidently, I had not inherited my mother’s remarkable tolerance for spice. Genetically, my palate seemed to favor my father’s, as we both shared a distinct preference for sweet treats like candies, pastries, and fruit juices.

So why, then, had I suddenly decided on *mala tang*? In truth, there was no profound reason; I had simply been invited to try it.

The process for ordering *mala tang* here involved selecting your desired ingredients from a rack, handing them to a server for calculation, and then choosing your preferred soup base. Notably, they offered milder broths for students sensitive to spice, such as creamy corn soup or tangy tomato soup.

As I had mentioned, my aversion to spice meant my choice was unequivocally the creamy corn soup. After casually picking out a few items, I prepared to head to the counter for checkout.

Then, my shoulder was abruptly nudged.

“Oh!” the person who had bumped me exclaimed, “You got a haircut!”

I turned to see Mei Ruolan, a bowl and tongs already in her hand, poised to select her meal.

During the period when the three of us waited for the class monitor in a shadowed corner of the cafeteria, Mei Ruolan’s message had prompted a casual chat. Out of the blue, she had asked if we’d eaten, and somehow, we’d ended up agreeing to try the *mala tang* here together.

“Your hair looks so much more refreshing after the cut.”

“Does it?”

“Before, you were so quiet, your gaze always cool, and your hair perpetually looked as if you’d just rolled out of bed,” she remarked, her eyes sweeping over me. “Now, though, you look quite spirited. If only you could widen your eyes a bit and curve your lips into a smile, it would be perfect.”

Attempting to meet Mei Ruolan’s described standard, widening my eyes was effortless. The challenge, however, lay in forming a smile. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten how to smile, but rather that it had been so long since I’d genuinely done so, making my facial muscles difficult to control. I couldn’t even discern what angle would look natural.

Though I managed to force a semblance of a smile, there was no mirror nearby to confirm my appearance. Yet, observing Mei Ruolan trying to stifle her amusement, I surmised it must not have been a flattering look.

“Oh, right,” she asked, “What soup base are you planning to order?”

She spoke as she handed her selections to the front desk.

“Creamy corn soup.”

“Oh, how serendipitous, I was also planning to choose that one,” she said with a sweet smile. “It seems we share the same taste.”

Our family rarely gathered for meals. This was partly because neither of my parents were particularly skilled cooks; my father hadn’t inherited my grandmother’s culinary talents, nor had my mother inherited my own grandmother’s. Even when they ventured into the kitchen, they could only manage a few dishes they were proficient in, and often, only they themselves could bear to eat them.

Furthermore, our family had never truly lived together in a cohesive sense. Even with a permanent home to return to, it didn’t imply a long-term settlement. By the time my parents’ careers and finances had stabilized, my sister and I were already old enough to be self-sufficient. At that juncture, even cohabiting didn’t provide a compelling reason for us to interact.

We each maintained our own meal schedules and dietary preferences. It was a common sight for a meal to be cooked, one person to finish eating, and then another to arrive to consume their portion.

“Aside from the creamy corn soup, this honey-date golden broth is also quite delicious,” she offered. “Since we seem to share similar tastes, perhaps we should try this one first?”

“Is that so? Then…”

Yet, I had never confessed this to my family, nor to anyone else. Even if everyone wore a stern expression, even if our conversations were awkward and trivial, even if the table was laden with food cooked into an unappetizing mush, I still yearned to sit and share a meal with them.

“Hey, isn’t that Mei Ruolan? The disciplinary committee member from Class B.”

“Wow, it really is her! She’s so elegant even in private, and truly stunning.”

Murmurs from other students began to spread behind us.

“She’s also here for *mala tang*? I bet she’ll pick the egg drop soup base.”

“Are you an idiot? Sister Ruolan is so mature; she’d definitely go for the outrageously spicy broth. Why else would she even bother with *mala tang*?”

The fervent fan’s pronouncements were perplexing, leaving me unsure if she simply lacked other conversation topics or if she genuinely enjoyed openly speculating about others.

Moreover, Mei Ruolan’s demeanor had subtly shifted. The moment the surrounding whispers began, she became remarkably quiet.

“…” She stood closer to the counter than I, her expression hidden from my view. “The outrageously spicy bowl for me…”

“Both bowls, honey-date golden broth,” I interjected. “Both of them.”

She turned her head, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and astonishment, alongside an ineffable sense of helplessness.

“Oh, is that so, Yi Chang? You’re recommending this broth?” Mei Ruolan deliberately raised her voice. “Well, since you’re recommending it, then I’ll choose the honey-date golden broth as well.”

****

Mei Ruolan possessed considerable popularity. Whether this was something she desired or meticulously cultivated, she was undeniably well-liked. A casual post on WeChat Moments, simply mentioning an empty seat beside her, would undoubtedly send her admirers rushing to claim it.

Why, then, would she go out of her way to invite me to eat with her?

I wouldn’t voice the question. Such an inquiry would feel peculiar, and truthfully, I saw no need to know. There was no imperative to fully comprehend the intricate thoughts and feelings of others. Even if they spoke, their words might not be entirely truthful, and even if I could grasp a general sense, it might not be accurate. Thus, remaining ignorant was perfectly acceptable.

“Thank you.”

Along the school’s pathways and open spaces, benches were strategically placed at regular intervals for rest. I found this design excellent; more seating options meant more choices. When bored, one could seek out a bustling spot; when irritated, a quieter area. It was remarkably convenient.

I accepted the drink she offered, observing as she settled onto the bench beside me.

“Thank me for what?”

“Thank you for stopping me,” she said, pulling open the tab of her canned juice. “I almost did something I’m not good at, again.”

With her lips pressed to the can’s opening, she tilted her head back and raised her hand, allowing the juice to cascade down her throat in large, thirsty gulps.

“Does this happen often?”

Perhaps it was the peak of summer, the sweltering heat, or the steaming *mala tang*, but Mei Ruolan was drenched in sweat. She shed her jacket, her white school uniform shirt visibly soaked, allowing the faint pattern of her bra to show through.

“Yes, quite often,” she confirmed, pausing only after consuming nearly half the can. “I’m not sure when it began, but people constantly comment on my good figure, my grace, how ‘cool’ and ‘mature’ I am… To preserve their illusions, I frequently, and deliberately, put on a performance in front of others.”

I didn’t perceive this as something to be ashamed of, and thus, her trembling tone seemed unnecessary. What truly mattered, however, was her own perspective—how she viewed herself in these public performances.

“It’s fine in front of you,” she said, her gaze darting to me anxiously from the corner of her eye. “After all, you have no expectations or illusions about me, right? So I feel it’s alright for you to see a less-than-perfect side of me… That’s what I was thinking.”

What, then, was I supposed to say in this moment? If we were friends, should I dismiss it with a joke, or should I address it seriously, offering earnest advice?

Yet, it felt as though I excelled at neither.

“Isn’t that rather good?” I said, pulling open my own can. “To push yourself for the sake of others—isn’t that a noble thing to do?”

I took a sip of the juice she had given me, and its sweetness was so intense it made my teeth ache. If Mei Ruolan genuinely enjoyed this flavor, it suggested her tolerance for sweetness far surpassed my own. In that regard, perhaps we weren’t as similar as she believed.

“Why do I feel as though you’re mocking me?”

“Does it sound that way?”

“Isn’t it?” she asked, looking at me. “It sounds like you’re implying I’m overly self-aware, that I take myself too seriously.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” I replied, taking another sip of my drink, thus avoiding her gaze. “However, if that’s truly what you believe in your heart, then attempting to be yourself wouldn’t be a bad choice.”

Upon hearing my words, she offered a forlorn, self-deprecating smile.

“No one truly likes their original self,” she confided. “You’re no different, Yi Chang. We all make changes because we’re dissatisfied with who we are.”

“But I haven’t achieved change,” I countered, meeting her eyes and noting the unnecessary confusion there. “Even if it’s to please others, to fulfill their expectations, that is still the person you aspire to be. You’ve put in the effort, and you’ve successfully transformed.” If my words could offer any solace, I continued, “Isn’t that also quite good?”

“But what if I’m not happy?” she asked, taking another drink. “What if, in the process of changing, I suddenly stop recognizing myself? What if I no longer know what I want, and everything around me feels alien? What should I do then?”

“That’s simple too,” I replied, taking a swig of my own. “When that happens, just retrace your steps. Regret a wrong choice, return to the comfortable path, and then set up camp. Take your time to consider your next move, or even stay put—that’s perfectly fine too.”

“Don’t make it sound so easy,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not that simple. Could you really do that yourself?”

“That’s precisely how I am,” I stated. “That’s how I’ve lived my life. No major problems, I still make friends. You could learn from me.”

Evidently, I had said something amusing, hitting Mei Ruolan’s funny bone and causing her to burst into uncontrollable laughter. Fortunately, the post-lunch hour meant fewer people were around, so we didn’t attract any undue attention.

“Choices or no choices, change or no change,” she said, wiping away tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. “Is your world really so tolerant, Yi Chang? Is everything so inconsequential to you?”

“Is that not allowed?”

“It’s not allowed,” she replied, looking directly into my eyes. I was glad to see the gloom in her gaze temporarily dissipate, replaced by a different, complex emotion.

“You’ll spoil people,” she continued. “Even though we’re not even friends, you affirm all of someone’s flaws and strengths, and even encourage them by saying it’s fine to make mistakes. If you keep doing this… if someone becomes addicted and turns into a useless person, can you take responsibility?”