Chapter 302 Eating

Each floor of the dormitory building has a communal tea room with a microwave and an induction cooker. Although the facilities are basic, they are enough to cook instant noodles.

Zhou Heng wanted to say no.

But his mouth acted faster than his brain: "Eat."

Xiao Jue laughed, stood up, rummaged through the cabinet and pulled out two packets of instant noodles, then took out two sausages that had been hidden in the drawer at some point, and waved them at Zhou Heng.

"Add a sausage."

He went outside.

Zhou Heng sat in the chair, looking at the empty seat opposite him, and waited quietly.

A few minutes later, the aroma of instant noodles wafted through the corridor, mixed with the greasy smell of fried ham sausages, squeezing in through the crack in the door and making the whole room warm and cozy.

Xiao Jue returned with two bowls of noodles, placing one in front of Zhou Heng and the other in front of himself.

"Try it, my fried sausages are absolutely amazing," Xiao Jue said with great certainty, as if it were a universally acknowledged fact.

Zhou Heng glanced down at the bowl of noodles. The ham sausage was cut into sections, fried until golden brown on both sides, with the edges slightly curled up, lying on top of the golden noodles, and it did look quite appealing.

He picked up his chopsticks, took a piece of sausage, and put it in his mouth.

It was fried to perfection, with a crispy outer layer and a soft, chewy interior, and the savory flavor melted on the tip of the tongue.

"It's delicious," Zhou Heng said.

Xiao Jue picked up a mouthful of noodles, blew on it, put it in his mouth, and mumbled, "Of course."

The two sat facing each other eating noodles, with a desk between them. On the desk lay Zhou Heng's half-read copy of "One Hundred Years of Solitude" and Xiao Jue's game interface that he hadn't had time to close.

"What book are you reading?" Xiao Jue glanced at the book's cover.

"One Hundred Years of Solitude," Zhou Heng said.

"The one with Marquez?"

"Um."

"I read the beginning," Xiao Jue said, taking a sip of his noodles. "It was something like 'a family destined to be lonely for a hundred years.' I couldn't read more than three pages because the names were too long to remember."

Zhou Heng's lips twitched slightly, a very small movement, but this time he didn't stop.

"José Arcadio Buendía," Zhou Heng read out a name.

Xiao Jue paused for half a second, then laughed.

"You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

Zhou Heng did not answer, and continued eating his noodles with his head down.

As night deepened, the entire dormitory building fell silent.

When Fang Yuzhou returned from the library, Xiao Jue was already lying in bed, and Zhou Heng had turned off the desk lamp.

Occasionally, a few hushed voices could be heard in the corridor, but they quickly faded away as the footsteps moved on.

Fang Yuzhou quietly finished washing up and climbed into bed.

The dormitory was completely quiet.

The chaos of starting school seemed to dissipate as quickly as the hot September breeze.

As time slowly settles from the chaos, its original patterns are revealed.

After class in the afternoon, the sound of turning pages in the library, the orange cat that always sits on the steps of the dormitory building sunbathing, and the bustling noise of the canteen mixed with the aroma of various dishes—these fragmented daily moments piece together the background of their college life.

The school has a total of four canteens. The one closest to Building 13 is the second canteen, which has two floors. The first floor serves fast food-style dishes cooked in large pots, while the second floor offers a wider variety of dishes, including spicy hot pot, casserole porridge, stir-fries, and several noodle shops.

After living there for half a month, the four people in room 409 had formed an unwritten agreement—whoever finished class first would reserve a seat and then shout it out in the group chat.

Most of the time, the four of them eat together. Occasionally, they eat separately because their class schedules are different, but they can always get together for dinner unless there are special circumstances.

Cheng Yue calls himself the "409 Food Consultant" and shouts in the group every day about which cafeteria has new dishes and which window's auntie gave an extra spoonful.

Fang Yuzhou said he's fine with anything and not picky, but every time he gets food, he always unconsciously goes to the window with the lightest flavor.

Xiao Jue is the kind of person who is willing to try anything. Today he eats spicy hot pot, tomorrow he eats beef noodles, and the day after he goes to eat a low-fat meal. His tastes are so wide that they seem to have no limits.

Zhou Heng was the only person whose plate contents hardly changed from the first day to the last day—a bowl of rice, one meat dish and one vegetable dish. The meat dish was either steamed fish or chicken breast, and the vegetable dish was always leafy greens, such as broccoli, bok choy, and lettuce, rotating between them.

Occasionally, he would have an extra bowl of seaweed and egg drop soup, with a few tiny egg drop pieces floating in it. The soup was clear and watery, just like him—bland and colorless.

"Don't you get tired of eating this every day?" Cheng Yue couldn't help but ask one time.

"It's not greasy," Zhou Heng said.

Cheng Yue pursed his lips, clearly not quite believing it, but didn't press further.

One day, the four of them had a rare morning off, so they slept in and then leisurely strolled to the cafeteria for brunch.

There's a newly opened congee shop on the second floor of the cafeteria that Cheng Yue has been eyeing for a long time and has been saying he wants to try it.

The four people each ordered a different flavor of porridge, along with a few side dishes, and sat around a round table by the window.

Xiao Jue ordered seafood congee. When the congee was served, it was steaming hot, topped with chopped green onions and a pinch of ginger. He stirred it with a spoon, and the aroma of the ginger, enhanced by the steam, spread out richly.

Zhou Heng sat diagonally opposite him, ordering congee with preserved egg and lean pork. There were no scallions or ginger shreds, just pure rice, preserved egg, and shredded pork, all neatly arranged in a clean white porcelain bowl.

Xiao Jue scooped up a spoonful of his seafood porridge, blew on it, and when he looked up, he caught a glimpse of Zhou Heng carefully using a spoon to scrape a small grain of ginger that had inadvertently mixed into the porridge onto the rim of the bowl. His movements were slow and meticulous, as if he were doing something that required patience.

On the last Friday of October, the afternoon was packed with classes; the business school classes didn't end until 5:40 pm.

When Zhou Heng came out of the classroom, the lights in the corridor were already on. In late autumn, it gets dark early, and dusk had fallen by 5 p.m. The streetlights on campus lit up one by one, casting long shadows of pedestrians.

My phone vibrated. It was a message from Xiao Jue: We've arrived at the stir-fry area on the second floor, by the window.

Zhou Heng walked through the bustling crowd on the first floor of the cafeteria and carried his tray up to the second floor.

The stir-fry area is located in the innermost corner, and the lighting is brighter than on the first floor. The air is filled with the aroma of stir-frying in iron woks, along with the combined smells of soy sauce, vinegar, and minced garlic.

Xiao Jue sat by the window, and Cheng Yue sat opposite him. The two were talking about something, and Cheng Yue was laughing so hard he was doubled over.

Fang Yuzhou sat on one side against the wall, with a bowl of rice and a plate of scrambled eggs with tomatoes in front of him, eating quietly.

Several dishes were already laid out on the plate in front of Xiao Jue.

Zhou Heng carried over a bowl of rice and seaweed and egg drop soup, and sat down next to Fang Yuzhou.

He glanced at the dishes on the table as usual—a plate of stir-fried broccoli, a plate of boiled shrimp, a bowl of corn and pork rib soup, and a small dish of cucumbers pickled in soy sauce.

Each dish was clean and simple in color, without any scallions, minced garlic, or chili peppers. The amount of soy sauce and seasonings was also just right, clearly not the kind of dish that was heavy on oil and salt.

Zhou Heng was slightly taken aback.

"Did you order this?" Zhou Heng asked Xiao Jue.

Xiao Jue was picking up a boiled shrimp with his chopsticks when he heard him ask a question, and he looked up at him.

"I ordered it. What's wrong? Don't you like light food? I just ordered a few things randomly, since we're all eating together anyway."

He peeled the shrimp shells, dipped the shrimp meat in soy sauce, put it in his mouth, chewed a couple of times, and said, "Hmm, the shrimp is quite fresh. You should try some too."

Zhou Heng looked at the stir-fried broccoli. The bright green stems were clean and there wasn't a trace of scallions, ginger, or garlic.

He picked up the bowl, took a piece of broccoli with his chopsticks, and put it in his mouth.

Crisp and tender, with just the right amount of saltiness, it's exactly the way he likes it.

The last dish was added later.

Xiao Jue left his seat midway through the meal to go to the window, and when he came back, he had a plate of steamed sea bass in his hand.

The fish wasn't big, just over a pound, and it was steamed perfectly. A few slices of ginger and scallions were placed on the fish—this is the standard way to steam fish, used to remove the fishy smell.

After Xiao Jue placed the fish on the table, he picked up the serving chopsticks and carefully moved the slices of ginger and scallions that were covering the fish to one side of the plate.

Cheng Yue didn't notice this action; he was engrossed in eating a bowl of braised pork. Fang Yuzhou also didn't notice; he was checking his phone for a book return reminder from the library.

Only Zhou Heng noticed it.

His hand holding the bowl paused slightly, his gaze falling on Xiao Jue's hands, which had already put down his chopsticks after he had removed the ginger and scallions.

Xiao Jue ate a piece of fish, looked up at him, and said, "Aren't you going to eat it? It'll taste fishy when it gets cold."

Zhou Heng lowered his eyes and picked up a piece of fish with his chopsticks.