Once they sat down, Yang Bin let Sun Binghe order first, as usual, then took the menu and added another dish or two.
Until the hot dishes arrived, they talked about work.
Yet some unspoken emotion was clearly tugging back and forth between them.
Then came the clink of bowls and chopsticks. Neither spoke as they ate. Sun Binghe had little appetite, and only when Yang Bin was nearly finished did he ask quietly, "What did you want to say?"
Yang Bin scooped him a bowl of rice. "You haven't eaten enough. Have some more."
"I don't want any."
Yang Bin lifted his eyes to look at him. After half a minute of stalemate, Sun Binghe took the bowl and quickly finished the rice with a few bites of food.
Only after Sun Binghe set down his chopsticks did Yang Bin nod. Then he called a server over to clear the table. The whole process took just four or five minutes.
The aroma of food faded, replaced by the scent of lilies drifting through the window.
A long silence followed.
Yang Bin's fingertips tapped rhythmically against the armrest. At last, as though he had made up his mind, he tapped down hard.
As if sensing something, Sun Binghe looked up.
The moment Yang Bin met those eyes, all his hesitation vanished.
"Bing He, at least for now-or rather, for the next ten years-I have no intention of letting anyone into my life."
Sun Binghe hadn't expected him to open with that, and didn't understand. "What?"
"The artist who came back from abroad, or anyone else, has nothing to do with me," Yang Bin said. "I'm not planning to date. I'm very happy with the life I have."
Sun Binghe's mind was a mess, but he still caught the crucial point.