Lemon Soda Candy - 46

After leaving the restaurant, Zhou Anran couldn’t stop turning his words over in her mind.

The restaurant wasn’t far from the Live House, so they didn’t take a cab, opting to walk instead.

Zhou Anran trailed behind him, head lowered, her thoughts still circling around that one sentence he’d said.

Perhaps it was the way his gaze had lingered on her—too focused, too gentle—that sparked the fleeting illusion that those words were meant for her alone.

But back in high school, he hadn’t even remembered her name. And now, even after meeting again in college, barely a month has passed.

No matter how much she let her imagination wander, the most she dared to hope was that he might feel a faint flicker of affection for her.

“Really like” was a degree of feeling she didn’t even dare to dream of.

Could it be, then, that he was telling her he already had someone else he really liked?

That didn’t seem likely either. Knowing his character, if he truly had feelings for another girl, he wouldn’t be walking this close to her. He’d never risk letting someone he cared about misunderstand or feel hurt.

So, was he just talking about Zhu Ran after all?

Lost in thought, Zhou Anran didn’t notice the small step ahead. Her foot missed it, and she stumbled, her balance slipping away in a panic.

In the next instant, a warm, strong hand caught her by the waist.

She crashed into the boy’s embrace, his clean, crisp scent enveloping her like a wave.

Zhou Anran looked up, dazed, her eyes meeting his amused gaze.

“What’s on your mind this time?” Chen Luobai asked.

The girl in his arms seemed stunned, still wearing that soft, obedient look that made people want to tease her.

Chen Luobai leaned down slightly, his voice dropping low: “Is walking with me so boring that you’re too distracted to watch the road?”

Zhou Anran snapped back to herself, quickly shaking her head. “No, it’s not that.”

Her pale cheeks flushed a delicate pink, her round almond eyes clear and striking, betraying a hint of fluster she couldn’t quite hide.

It was just like that day in the school’s little convenience store, when he’d handed her a cola.

“Zhou Anran,” Chen Luobai said her name again, his tone teasing. “How are you still the same as you were in high school—”

Her heart jolted.

The same in what way?

Still liking him so much?

Had he noticed?

Chen Luobai finished his sentence with a slow drawl: “—blushing the second I tease you?”

Zhou Anran let out a breath, though not entirely relieved.

Her face was burning, too obvious to deny, but admitting it felt like it would reveal too much. The word “blushing” alone seemed to lay her bare.

She mumbled vaguely, “Do I?”

Her soft, light voice slipped into his ears, her lashes trembling—long and curled. That voice, paired with her expression, felt like two little feathers tickling Chen Luobai’s heart.

 

Before he realized it, his free hand was already rising.

“If you’re not blushing—” Chen Luobai’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his hand inching closer to her flushed face, “—then why’s your face so red? Your ears, too?”

Zhou Anran was speechless.

The street beside them buzzed with life, neon lights flickering. Passersby occasionally glanced their way, their eyes lingering briefly.

 

She noticed none of it, her breath held, her gaze fixed on his slender, beautiful hand drawing closer to her cheek.

Three inches.

Two inches.

One inch.

Her heart raced faster than ever, pounding as if it might leap into her throat, a tangle of anticipation and nervousness swelling until it felt like it might spill over.

It was dizzying, almost like palpitations.

Then his hand stopped, hovering just shy of an inch from her face.

She could almost feel the warmth radiating from his palm.

Chen Luobai looked down at her, her fair skin now a vivid scarlet, her lashes trembling even more fiercely, her eyes shimmering as if brimming with water.

His fingers twitched, but instead of touching her fully, he turned his hand, brushing the back of it lightly—restrained—against her cheek.

As he’d imagined, her skin was soft and warm.

Chen Luobai’s heart felt scorched too, his voice low and hoarse. “That day, how did I not notice at all?”

A red sports car roared past on the main road, heavy metal music blaring.

Zhou Anran only caught the first three words he said. Her heart still raced, her fingertips tugging at the hem of her jacket, the sensation of his touch lingering on her cheek, giving her a spark of courage.

“What about that day?” she asked.

Chen Luobai lowered his hand, giving her a faint smile. “Didn’t hear me? Never mind, it’s not the right time yet anyway.”

Zhou Anran blinked. “…?”

Not the right time for what?

His hand, still loosely resting at her waist, let go, his voice softening. “Let’s go.”

Zhou Anran didn’t know why—maybe her heart was still in chaos—but she didn’t press him further, only nodding softly with a quiet “Mm.”

---

When they entered the Live House, Yu Bingqin wasn’t rehearsing the two English songs she was set to perform. Instead, she was singing a Cantonese song Zhou Anran didn’t recognize. Later, over late-night snacks, she learned it was called Unconditional.

As they moved closer, Zhou Anran spotted Zhu Ran sitting at the same booth closest to the stage, where they’d sat last time.

In her memory, Zhu Ran was always talkative, chatting nonstop after class. But now, he was unusually quiet, not even on his phone, his eyes fixed solely on the stage.

It was a side of him she’d never seen before.

Chen Luobai gently pulled out a chair at the booth behind Zhu Ran, keeping his voice low. “We’ll sit here?”

Zhou Anran didn’t want to disturb Zhu Ran either, she nodded. “Okay.”

As she sat, her cheek still tingled where he’d touched her. Her racing heart finally began to settle, allowing her to focus on the music.

Some time later, she heard him call her name again.

“Zhou Anran.”

She turned her head slightly.

Chen Luobai met her gaze. “There’s something I forgot to tell you last time.”

Zhou Anran blinked.

Last time?

The last time they were at this Live House?

“What is it?”

They were seated side by side, and perhaps to avoid disturbing others, he leaned in closer, his clean scent washing over her again.

Her breath hitched.

“You’re amazing, and you’re not timid. There’s no law saying everyone has to be outgoing—” Chen Luobai’s gaze held hers, his eyes bright even in the dim light, his voice low and steady. “You don’t need to envy anyone.”

Her fingers, resting loosely on the table, tightened suddenly.

It was hard to describe the feeling at that moment.

She knew, of course, that being outgoing often gave people an edge. She didn’t always like her own introversion, but if personality could be easily changed, the distinction between introvert and extrovert wouldn’t exist.

She’d struggled, tried to change, but it always came at the cost of her emotions.

Yet the boy she’d liked for so long was telling her, “There’s no law saying everyone has to be outgoing.” Telling her, “You don’t need to envy anyone.”

In that moment, she felt a sudden reconciliation with herself.

So what if she was introverted? As long as it didn’t stop her from doing what she wanted, that was enough.

Chen Luobai spoke again. “And—”

He paused after this word.

Zhou Anran steadied her breathing, then softly asked, “And what?”

He kept looking at her, as if hinting at something. “Maybe someone out there likes your type.”

After that, Zhou Anran didn’t hear another word of whatever Yu Bingqin sang next. 

It wasn’t until the rehearsal ended and the Live House fell quiet that she snapped out of her daze.

Yu Bingqin and the others set their guitars backstage. When she came down, she paused by Zhu Ran’s side. “Why’re you sitting alone?”

As soon as she appeared, Zhu Ran stood up.

Yu Bingqin was tall; Zhu Ran was only about half a head taller than her.

For once, Zhou Anran saw a trace of nervousness on his face. Then he pointed at the boy beside her. “Chen Luobai wouldn’t let me sit with him.”

Yu Bingqin walked over to their booth, her expression still neutral, though with a faint smile if you looked closely. “Why’re you bullying him again?”

Chen Luobai glanced lazily at Zhu Ran. “Which eye of yours saw me bullying him?”

Yu Bingqin seemed to have said it casually, her gaze shifting to Zhou Anran.

Zhou Anran greeted her politely. “Senior Yu.”

Yu Bingqin gave a soft “Mm,” then suddenly reached out to pinch Zhou Anran’s cheek. “Why’s Ranran’s face so red? Did you bully her too?”

The last part was clearly directed at Chen Luobai.

Zhou Anran’s heart skipped a beat.

She wanted to glance at him but felt it would be too obvious with so many people around.

Then his voice sounded beside her, carrying a hint of amusement, his tone suggestive. “Bullying? Not exactly.”

Zhou Anran: “…?”

The ambiguity in his words was unmistakable.

Yu Bingqin’s bandmates all turned to look at her, their faces lit with teasing smiles.

Zhou Anran felt her cheeks burn even hotter.

The band’s keyboardist, Zhong Wei, the same senior who’d called him “campus heartthrob” at the KTV, had an oval face, short hair, and a bold, spirited vibe.

Now, leaning on Yu Bingqin’s shoulder, Zhong Wei grinned at Chen Luobai. “Sister Qing said you’ve been learning guitar from her lately and already know a song. Wanna play it for us today? I’m dying to see a hot guy play guitar.”

The band’s guys weren’t having it.

“You see us play guitar every day, and that’s not enough?”

“Zhong Wei, that’s practically a personal attack.”

“Exactly.”

Zhou Anran couldn’t resist stealing a glance at him.

When had he been secretly learning guitar from Senior Yu?

He leaned back in his chair, a carefree smile on his face, his tone playful and lazy. “No way. Hot guys don’t just play guitar for anyone.”

Zhong Wei didn’t take offense, her gossiping eyes flicking to Zhou Anran. “I know I don’t have that privilege, but maybe Junior Zhou does. Wonder if I can piggyback on her chance.”

Zhou Anran: “…?”

Her gaze snapped back.

She knew Zhong Wei was teasing because of his earlier suggestive comment, but her heart still lifted slightly.

A moment of silence.

His voice came slowly. “Next time. I haven’t learned it yet.”

“Ugh, guess I’m out of luck today,” Zhong Wei sighed.

Zhou Anran’s heart settled back down.

Her shoulders slumped slightly.

Zhong Wei had said he’d already learned a song.

Was she mistaken, or was he just making an excuse because he didn’t want to play for them?

Zhou Anran pressed her lips together.

She was doing it again—overanalyzing every single sentence.

But when you really like someone, you can’t help analyzing every word they say.

Yu Bingqin’s voice broke through. “We’re grabbing late-night snacks. You guys coming?”

“Of course,” Zhu Ran chimed in immediately.

Chen Luobai’s tone stayed lax. “You guys go ahead. We’ll catch up later.”

?

We?

Was he talking about her?

Zhou Anran was confused, glancing at him.

His head turned toward her, his chin tilting slightly. Though he was answering Yu Bingqin, his eyes stayed on her face. “Got something to say to her. Can I borrow your keys?”

Zhou Anran’s fingers curled.

What else did he have to say to her?

Was it about that sentence she’d only caught three words of?

“Whoa!” Zhong Wei nudged the other band members. “Let’s go, let’s go. Don’t disturb the juniors here.”

Yu Bingqin gave a faint smile, pulling the keys from her pocket and tossing them to him. “Don’t bully her.”

Chen Luobai caught them. “I’ll try.”

Zhou Anran: “…?”

After Yu Bingqin and the others left, the Live House fell quiet again.

Zhou Anran gripped the chair, her palms starting to sweat.

“Wanna hear?” His voice was low.

?

She turned her head, puzzled. “Hear what? The thing you wanted to tell me?”

What was he going to say?

Why did he need her opinion first?

Chen Luobai let out a soft laugh, nodding toward the stage. “Me playing guitar. Wanna hear?”

Zhou Anran froze, her eyes widening. “Didn’t you say you hadn’t learned yet?”

“Fooled her.” A hint of cockiness crept into his tone. “How could I not know how?”

Her heart raced again.

“Wanna hear it? Come up to the stage with me,” Chen Luobai said.

Zhou Anran nodded firmly.

Onstage, she followed him to the back.

Chen Luobai didn’t touch anyone else’s things, only picking up Yu Bingqin’s guitar, slinging the strap over his shoulder, and walking to the front, where he sat at the edge of the stage.

Zhou Anran was a bit of a germaphobe, but for some reason, she didn’t hesitate, sitting beside him at the stage’s edge, her dangling legs swinging slightly.

“What song did you learn?”

Chen Luobai looked up, his brow quirking. “A world-famous classic.”

?

A world-famous classic?

Zhou Anran was about to ask what he meant when his long fingers settled on the guitar strings.

She fell silent.

After the first few notes, she didn’t need to ask. She knew exactly what “world-famous classic” it was.

When Chen Luobai looked at her again, her lips were curved, dimples showing on her cheeks. Her reserved nature rarely lets her smile so sweetly, so captivatingly.

“Didn’t fool you, did I?”

Zhou Anran shook her head, still smiling. “No.”

It was a nursery rhyme, but it was indeed a world-famous classic.

Chen Luobai lowered his head again, careful not to mess up.

Zhou Anran watched him, her gaze soft.

His dark hair fell over his forehead, his sharp profile striking as he focused.

When the final note fell, she thought he’d stop, but he started again from the beginning, his voice joining the melody, singing the English lyrics.

That day in the group chat, Zhu Ran had said Chen Luobai never sang at KTV, and she’d assumed he wasn’t good.

But the voice in her ears now was low and soothing, turning a simple children’s song into something clear and captivating.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star  

How I wonder what you are  

Up above the world so high  

Like a diamond in the sky”

Zhou Anran’s gaze lingered on the boy singing softly, her heartbeat quickening with the gentle melody.

When the song ended, Chen Luobai finally stopped.

He glanced up at her for a few seconds before speaking. “I’ll put the guitar back.”

Zhou Anran nodded lightly.

He stood, returned the guitar, and came back to sit beside her. “I did not just want to learn this part.”

Not just this part?

Did he mean he wanted to learn more than this song, or was it a slip?

Curious, she asked, “What else did you want to learn?”

His hand rested beside her, his gaze dropping to meet hers. “I’ll tell you later.”

Zhou Anran: “…?”

“Why’re you keeping me in suspense?”

Her tone held a rare, subtle hint of dissatisfaction.

Chen Luobai felt that feather tickle his heart again. Leaning slightly closer, he propped himself on the stage.

The distance shrank, and Zhou Anran’s breath caught.

His lips curved faintly, a subtle mischief in his expression, as if he were teasing her on purpose. “Gotta keep some mystery to hook my audience.”

His audience?

The Live House was empty, long closed for the night.

In this vast space, it was just her and him.

He’d sung that song for her alone.

She was his only audience tonight.

His words were growing bolder, the ambiguity harder to ignore.

Zhou Anran felt overwhelmed, her breath stilled, her heart racing again.

His phone pinged a few times.

Chen Luobai glanced down at it, then looked up to catch her small exhale, chuckling softly. He didn’t tease her further. “Zhu Ran says the food’s ready. Wanna go eat with them?”

Zhou Anran felt like her heart might give out if she stayed alone with him any longer. “Let’s go.”

He hummed, then pushed off the stage, jumping down, his baseball jacket flaring briefly.

He turned back to her. “Come down?”

Zhou Anran blinked.

She glanced at the ground, it seemed a little high.

“Should I jump too?”

“Yeah.” Chen Luobai tilted his head up at her. “Scared?”

She didn’t pretend otherwise. “A little.”

“What’s there to be scared of?” His lips curved into a sudden, bold grin, bright and unrestrained in the dim light, like the time he’d nailed that step-back three-pointer on the court.

He opened his arms toward her. “I’ll catch you.”

---

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