187: Chapter 192 He really turned 21

Ed put down his phone, took a bamboo skewer from Chen Mo's hand, and speared a piece as well.

He first let the Orange Cat sniff it, but the cat pushed his hand away with its paw. After eating it, he fell silent for three seconds and said, 'It's better than British fish and chips, and at least this actually has some flavor—'

British food has no third seasoning besides salt and vinegar.

Charlie was the second to take a skewer. He leaned in to sniff it first, and the smell of fermented brine mixed with minced garlic and chili rushed into his nose.

His eyebrows shot up, but he didn't back down. He took a small bite, chewed thoughtfully for a long time, and said, 'It's a bit like New Orleans smoked seafood, but spicier and with more complex layers.'

Shawn was the third to take a skewer. He was tall, standing by the stall and towering over the line of people.

He stuffed the piece of tofu into his mouth, chewed twice, and his face turned from pink to red, and from red to deep crimson, before he started chugging water like crazy.

Chen Mo asked, 'Is it too spicy?'

Coughing, he gave a thumbs-up and said with a smile, 'Spicy! But delicious. Even better than my mom's maple syrup cookies. She'd definitely be heartbroken if she heard this.'

Taylor took the fourth piece, took a practiced bite, and said, 'I've already adapted to this level of spiciness.'

She turned to Scott, tapped his skewer, and said, 'Welcome to Changsha, Mr. Manager.'

To be honest, seeing Taylor act like the lady of the house was an eyesore to him, but—

Had Chen Mo officially announced their relationship?

No.

Scott finished off his skewer as well, pulled a tissue from his coat pocket to wipe his fingers, and asked in a tone of someone who had just undergone a spiritual baptism, 'Can we bring this back to the US?'

The bald boss chimed in with his Changsha accent, 'Are you an American, boss? It can be vacuum-sealed and shipped, but it's not as good as freshly fried.'

Scott turned to Chen Mo and said solemnly, 'Please help me ship a box of this vacuum-packed stinky tofu to Beverly Hills. Put the cost on the company's PR budget. I want my wife to try it, though she'll probably only take one bite and then question my taste.'

Chen Mo pulled out his phone and snapped a photo at the exact moment Scott took another bite of the stinky tofu.

In the photo, a bit of garlic sauce was stuck to Scott's beard, the bamboo skewer was sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and the background featured the river breeze, streetlights, and that bubbling black pot of oil.

He posted it on Instagram, with a caption of only one word—'Home.'

Ed replied instantly underneath: 'Last time in London, he was brought to tears by how ugly the stargazy pie was. This time he didn't cry. Changsha has changed him.'

Charlie followed up by asking why his face was still scrunched up.

Chen Mo replied, 'That's his happy face.'

Scott threw the skewer into the trash can, wiped his fingers again with a tissue, then bent down to pick up the bag of freshly fried stinky tofu he had set on the ground, turning to walk toward the residential community.

After taking a few steps, he turned back to ask Chen Mo if they could go to the Fire Palace tomorrow, hearing that the stinky tofu there had a hundred-year history.

Chen Mo, with his hands in his pockets and walking at an unhurried pace, said he'd take him there to try other things too, like sugar oil baba, big sausages, and scraped cold noodles.

Scott didn't reply, but simply quickened his pace, spearing another piece from the paper bag and eating it as he walked.

Returning from the stinky tofu stall to Poly International Plaza, Chen Mo settled his guests into their reserved hotel rooms, but Ed, Shawn, and Charlie followed him into his bedroom carrying alcohol.

Chen Mo's bedroom was very large, with a big south-facing balcony that looked out over the night view of the Xiang River.

'We want to sleep with you.'

Charlie was the first to sit at the piano.

This piano was bought specifically for him by Mother Chen when they moved last year—a Steinway upright. There was still an old photo stuck to the piano body showing him crying after being scolded while practicing as a child.

He played a melody he had been writing recently, in A-flat major, with his left hand playing broken chords and his right-hand melody line wandering in the middle register. After finishing the chorus, he stopped and looked at Ed.

'The chorus isn't right.' Ed placed the Orange Cat on the bay window cushion and took over the piano bench.

He tried a couple of positions, changing the third note of the second measure from B-flat to C, and the root note of the fourth measure from the sixth scale degree to the first inversion of the fourth degree, then played it again.

'You're right. I hate you.' Charlie's expression was somewhere between defiant and convinced. 'You and Chen Mo can always show me up.'

Chen Mo leaned back on the sofa, holding a glass of beer without ice, his legs resting on the edge of the coffee table, watching them fight over the piano.

'Can you two from Berklee not be so intensely competitive? Shawn, be fair here.'

Shawn sat cross-legged on the carpet, the Orange Cat purring on his lap. He looked down at the cat, then looked up at the two Berklee honor students who were still arguing over which inversion to use for the fourth measure.

'The cat says it doesn't care. It thinks both B-flat and C are fine—anyway, it's stepped on both when walking on the keyboard.'

The Orange Cat flicked its tail and buried its face in Shawn's palm.

Ed sat down next to Chen Mo and suddenly asked, 'You're twenty-one now. How does it feel?'

Chen Mo leaned against the shoe cabinet, thought for a moment, squinted, and said, 'It feels about the same as twenty, but with three more trophies, and my mom doesn't have to worry about me not being able to afford rent anymore.'

'You couldn't afford rent before?' Charlie asked.

Chen Mo chuckled. 'If Scott had signed me any later, I really wouldn't have been able to afford it.'

Ed suddenly asked, 'Why didn't you debut in the US back then, but came back instead?'

Chen Mo fell silent for a moment and said, 'My exchange program was only for a year. I came back, young, and got swayed as soon as someone painted a pretty picture for me.'

'What is "painting a pie"?' Ed tilted his head to look at Chen Mo.

Chen Mo said, 'It means painting a beautiful blueprint for you.'

'Stop playing.' Charlie pulled Shawn off the piano bench. 'Come over and lie down.'

The four of them lay side-by-side on Chen Mo's large bed.

The bed was huge, enough for the four of them to lie horizontally in a row, shoulder to shoulder.

Outside the window, a ferry on the Xiang River let out a low horn. The Orange Cat lay on Ed's chest, its tail gently brushing his chin.

'When you said backstage at the Grammy Awards that you were going back to Changsha for the Lantern Festival, I thought you were joking,' Shawn said. 'After all, Scott was taking phone calls all night.'

'When have I ever joked with you guys?'

'You have,' Ed chimed in. 'Last time we played soccer in Los Angeles, you said you didn't know how to play, but you ended up scoring several goals. The time before that, when you were modifying chords at my apartment, you said you were just testing it out, but you ended up changing the direction of the entire song.'

'Last time during rehearsals at the Staples Center, you said your shoulders wouldn't loosen up, but on the night of the Grammy Awards, you were extremely relaxed.'

After a moment of silence, Charlie asked, 'When is that song coming out?'

'Which one?' Shawn lifted his face from the Orange Cat's belly.

Charlie said, 'The song about losers, "The Ones Who Didn’t Make It".'

'Tomorrow? Or maybe the day after!' Chen Mo suddenly thought of something. 'Await my command.'

Ed gently lifted the Orange Cat off his chest and placed it on Shawn's stomach.

'Do you know how I felt when I first met you?'

'How? I was perfect back then.'

Shawn gave him a shove and said with a look of disbelief, 'What are you talking about?'

Ed smiled and said, 'I felt like you were like a wound-up machine, always moving forward, never stopping, never getting tired, as if the moment you stopped, something would catch up to you.'

'Later, I realized you're afraid of the same things we are: afraid of not writing a song well, afraid of being criticized, afraid of letting down the people you care about. In the early hours of the day before the Grammy Awards, you sent me a voice message saying you were afraid that once that moment passed, it would be gone forever. I told you to make it worth it.'

Ed looked into his eyes and asked, 'Was it worth it?'

Chen Mo turned his head to look at him and said, 'It was worth it, but not because of the three trophies. It was because you guys were all there that night. The things I remember aren't the trophies, but you guys.'

Shawn suddenly spoke up, his voice half a pitch lower than usual. 'My mom asked me to ask you when you're going to Canada again. She said last time you went to Toronto to play basketball, she burnt the maple syrup cookies, but she definitely won't this time.'

'Then tell her that next time I go to Toronto, I won't shoot hoops—I'll just eat cookies. I'll even eat them if she burns them.'

Ed sat up in bed, pulling the Orange Cat back into his arms and pressing it between himself and Chen Mo like an Oreo filling.

'So we've decided: next year's Lantern Festival, we're still spending it with your parents.'

Charlie raised his hand, saying he was fine as long as he didn't have to compete with Chen Mo's mom over chili sauce.

Shawn said, 'Should we rent a bus and go on a road trip? I saw it on Douyin. Douyin is really a great thing.'