Ji Qian’ang’s hot breath brushed Tang Yu’s nape. Every sound in the home-economics room seemed to fade, leaving only the heat of his palm.
Then he released Tang Yu. “Do it yourself.”
Tang Yu lowered his head and carefully repeated the folding motion. He took the rest seriously too, though the ladyfingers were uneven and cocoa powder ended up everywhere.
Leaning by the window, Ji Qian’ang watched sunlight filter through the banyan leaves into Tang Yu’s dark hair. His lowered lashes and tightly pressed lips held Ji Qian’ang’s gaze.
“Finished.” Tang Yu looked openly proud. Cocoa dust marked one cheek like a brown birthmark.
For all his bravado, the tips of his ears exposed every thought. Watching Tang Yu was not part of Ji Qian’ang’s assignment. He should not let someone so clumsy attract his attention.
Yet he reached out and wiped the cocoa from Tang Yu’s cheek with his thumb.
They both froze.
Tang Yu’s ears turned crimson. He looked away. “Can we eat it now?”
“After three hours in the refrigerator.”
When class ended, Ji Qian’ang carried the mold and handed Tang Yu the remaining ladyfingers.
“I’m saying this once,” Tang Yu rushed out. “Never touch me. Not my shoulder or hand, and definitely not my face. Stay away from me. You’re annoying.”
He marched off. Ji Qian’ang almost laughed. His uncles had cursed him with far greater cruelty. Tang Yu’s irritation was harmless—a bristling cat scratching his chest.
“You mean what happened in class?”
“I mean always.”
“Including tying your shoes? Or when you held my hand in your bedroom?”
“I was asleep—”
“And when you made me carry your bag?”
“That’s different!”
“How?”
Tang Yu quickened his pace, too flustered even to hear Ji Xuecha call after him about rehearsal.
Ji Qian’ang leaned close and lowered his voice. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”
Who wanted that?
Tang Yu punched his shoulder. Ji Qian’ang stumbled half a step, then rubbed it. “You hit much harder than you folded the cheese mixture.”
At this rate Tang Yu really would return this companion.
Back in class, he dropped over his desk. Ji Xuecha appeared at the window, ponytail swinging. “Why did you ignore me? Come rehearse.”
Tian Qianxing soon joined her. Tang Yu was still hot from everything that had happened. He abruptly stood. “Go ahead. I’ll come soon.”
He turned to Ji Qian’ang. “Go back with Uncle Chen. Don’t wait.”
Without waiting for agreement, he hurried to the washroom and splashed cold water over his face. When he emerged, Ji Qian’ang was still nearby.
“I told you to go. I have rehearsal.”
“Grandmother told me to follow you.”
Tang Yu called the driver. “Uncle Chen, take Ji…Qian’ang home. Now. Gate Three.”
Ji Qian’ang finally left.
The rehearsal room was a converted music classroom with an old upright piano. Tian Qianxing and Luo Yueze were choosing music while Ji Xuecha unpacked her violin.
Tang Yu sat at the piano and struck a harsh, discordant chord.
“Are you all right?” Tian Qianxing asked.
“I’m fine.”
His hands still trembled when he began their chosen piece. Ji Xuecha joined on violin, and the ensemble settled into rehearsal.
Twenty minutes later, the door crashed open.
Jiang Hao swaggered in with several followers. Tang Yu recognized only Feng Jian from his class.
“Young Master Tang practicing piano?” Jiang Hao leaned against the frame with a crooked grin. “Mind letting us enjoy the performance?”
Tang Yu continued playing. Ignored by everyone, Jiang Hao walked to the piano.
“You know, compared with your brother, you’re nowhere close.”
Tang Yu’s hands began to shake. He tried to crush the agitation by striking the keys harder.
“I’m serious. Your brother had genuine talent. Shame he died so young.”
Tian Qianxing slammed the desk. “Watch your mouth, Jiang Hao!”
“I’m only stating a fact. His brother died. Everyone knows. Heard the crash was in Wan Chai. The body was burned so badly they couldn’t identify—”
Ji Xuecha grabbed Tang Yu’s sleeve. He shook her off and stared at Jiang Hao with glacial eyes.
“What does my brother’s death have to do with you?”
“Nothing. I was curious.”
“Curious?” Tang Yu laughed without humor. “You want to know about him?”
He kicked the piano’s support leg, shifting the heavy instrument and startling Jiang Hao’s followers.
“Go ask my brother.”
Jiang Hao’s face darkened. “What did you say?”
“If you want to know so badly”—Tang Yu stepped forward, seized his throat, and slammed him against the mirrored wall—“go down there and ask him yourself!”
The mirror cracked with a violent bang.
Jiang Hao’s face reddened, his fists tightening before he swung.
“Tang Yu!” Ji Xuecha screamed.
Tang Yu moved first. He snatched the aluminum music stand from the piano bench and smashed its leg into Jiang Hao’s shoulder.
The impact rang through the empty room. Jiang Hao staggered back, clutching the injury. None of his followers dared approach except Feng Jian, who caught his arm.
Tang Yu gave him no time to recover. He threw down the stand, grabbed Jiang Hao’s collar, hauled him upright, and shoved him toward the piano.