“Doo… doo…”
The phone rang.
A slender, fair arm slipped out from under the covers and pressed the answer button with pinpoint accuracy.
“Hello, is this Zheng Ziyan?”
The room was quiet, yet even without speakerphone on, the voice on the other end was crystal clear. A young male voice, sounding about twenty years old.
“Uh-huh, ah…”
Zi Yan stretched lazily, yawning as he replied drowsily.
“I’m a postal courier. Are you home? I have a package for you.”
“Yes, I’m home.”
“Alright, please wait a moment. I’ll deliver it to you right away.”
The courier hung up.
Zi Yan turned over, revealing a patch of snow-white skin. His face reluctantly brushed against the soft pillow as he opened his eyes.
A package?
It must be the uniform mailed from Haizhou No. 3 Middle School.
When Zheng Quan had left the address at Haizhou No. 3 Middle School, he worried it might be inconvenient to receive packages if he was at work. So, he simply left his son’s name and phone number.
Of course, the phone number was a Sunflower Country one; Zheng Quan had set that up before Zi Yan came back.
Pinching his phone, Zi Yan checked the time — it was already past ten in the morning.
“In the blink of an eye, it’s been half a month since I came back to Sunflower Country.”
Zi Yan put down the phone, picked up the neatly folded short-sleeved sleepwear on the bedside, shook it open, and draped it over himself.
This sleepwear was pure silk with a milky white tone. It was bought when Zheng Quan took Zi Yan to Wanda Plaza after their barbecue at Huangniu Village.
Unfortunately, after trying to sleep in it for two nights, Zi Yan still felt naked sleep was more comfortable.
So, he decisively gave up, and this sleepwear was repurposed as homewear.
Though, sleepwear is basically homewear anyway…
Well, never mind that.
After dinner last night, Zi Yan suddenly got inspired. He took out some paper and pen from his suitcase, which hadn’t been used for several days, and started drawing.
Fashion design sketches.
Zi Yan’s mother, Lina, was a professor teaching fashion design and a well-known industry expert in the apparel world.
Having been around her for so long, Zi Yan had absorbed at least a bit of knowledge.
Without worrying about the difficulty of garment production, he simply chased after his inspiration, boldly sketching the beautiful images that surfaced in his mind.
Unconsciously, he drew over a dozen pages. When his wrist ached and he stopped, it was already two in the morning.
“Wow.”
Zi Yan rubbed his slightly sore head.
“As expected, staying up late just doesn’t work.”
Seeing how late it was, Zi Yan naturally put down his pen and went to sleep.
Yet even after a full eight-plus hours of sleep until ten in the morning, his head still ached — classic symptoms of staying up too late.
He got up, folded the blanket, put on the matching milky white shorts of his sleepwear, and picked up the design sketch he hadn’t finished drawing last night… or rather, early this morning, to look over carefully.
Tsk tsk. Zi Yan clicked his tongue.
Drawing design sketches really was like rowing upstream — if you don’t move forward, you fall back.
Look at this: it’s only been a bit over half a month since leaving Antwerp without touching the pen.
And the result?
Although the designs and taste were still quite good — uh oh, how did that sound so much like bragging? — the brushstrokes and handling of lines were crude, to say the least. He’d probably get scolded by his mom for this.
If Lina saw that he had drawn such “mediocre” sketches…
Zi Yan suddenly shivered.
——————
That evening, when Zheng Quan got off work, he stopped at the Tofu Shop by the community entrance and bought a block of tofu.
Potato stewed tofu was one of the few dishes Zheng Quan felt confident enough to call “actually pretty tasty.”
As for who exactly thought it was pretty tasty…
The answer was clear — it was Zheng Quan himself.
So if a dish cooked by one person tastes bad even to that person, their cooking skills are pretty much self-evident.
Like three days ago, Zheng Quan made eggplant in soy sauce for Zi Yan.
Zi Yan took a bite, and his expression instantly changed.
“Dad,” Zi Yan said gently, “I know, I know it’s supposed to be braised eggplant. But if I didn’t know, I’d think you made eggplant paste instead.”
Zheng Quan felt quite hurt. If it weren’t for taking care of this little emperor, why would he rush home at night to cook?
Wouldn’t it be easier to just eat at the office canteen? Though the chefs there were average, their dishes were still better than Zheng Quan’s own cooking.
Maybe next time I’ll just take my son to eat at the office canteen?
Just pay a little extra, right?
But the office meals fee was paid monthly per person, and this month was already covered, so it would have to wait until next month.
“Son?”
Zheng Quan came in carrying the tofu and immediately saw Zi Yan sprawled on the living room sofa in a defeated slump.
Uh…
Did he already dread eating Dad’s cooking tonight?
Money doesn’t grow on trees, and you can’t eat out every meal.
Zheng Quan called out to Zi Yan, but there was no response.
Curious, he put the tofu on an empty plate in the dining room and walked over.
He saw his son pressing several pieces of clothing down under him, his expression… somewhat fierce?
“Ah, Dad’s back?”
The two were almost cheek to cheek when Zi Yan came back to his senses.
He sat up, grabbed one of the clothes beneath him, and asked, “Dad, is this really the uniform from Haizhou No. 3 Middle School?”
“Yeah, why?” Zheng Quan asked, puzzled.
“Did the people who designed these clothes have something wrong with their heads?” Zi Yan complained.
“Oh?” Zheng Quan was intrigued. “What do you mean, something wrong with their heads?”
When he brought Zi Yan back to Sunflower Country from Antwerp, Zi Yan was working hard to study fashion design at the academy there.
With Lina tutoring him, Zheng Quan was curious to hear his son’s honest opinion of Sunflower Country’s school uniform.
“Completely —” Zi Yan gritted his teeth, “completely shoddy workmanship.”
The critique was unexpectedly harsh.
“The cut is unreasonable, with all kinds of unnecessary seams.” Zi Yan pulled out the autumn uniform from a pocket. “This is even worse — the seam actually seals the sleeve shut?”
“Uh, can’t you just cut it open?” Zheng Quan shrugged. “It’s mass-produced clothing, after all. You can’t be too picky.”
“That’s not the problem!” Zi Yan scratched his head.
“The design sketches that guided these uniforms would definitely get feedback like ‘totally no good, trash, waste of time’ if they were brought to Mom, and would end up in the trash.”
“Uh… that bad?”
“Of course.” Zi Yan pointed to the lines on the side of the waist. “Here, a thick black line runs down, totally ruining the figure instead of showing it off.”
“Another line here — they used a dull yellow at the waist, dark blue on the back, and white on the front?”
“The tackiness is beyond words. The designers obviously didn’t put their heart into it!”
“If Mom saw me going out in this, she’d probably want to send me money to buy new clothes.”
“Would it be better with different colors?” Zheng Quan asked awkwardly.
“It’s not about the colors —” Zi Yan shook his head. “The design itself is no good. Changing colors won’t make it any better.”
By the way.
Haizhou No. 3 Middle School’s uniform is the same style across all three grades.
And they use different colors to distinguish Grade One, Grade Two, and Grade Three…
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