014. Resisting Idle Fantasies, Hastening a Fated Match

Because this was the first gathering for the new arrivals, all the Chinese students at the school were present.

To say "all" was actually just a dozen or so people. We were all here through a university exchange program from home, studying for our master's degrees in Dubai on full scholarships, with two years of mandatory work to follow.

This meeting in a foreign land and our completely overlapping life trajectories made the dozen of us feel exceptionally close. After a few tentative pleasantries, we quickly hit it off, laughing and joking without any awkwardness. Before long, we were rolling up our sleeves and putting our hands on our hips, diving headlong into the sacred mission of cooking.

The chef unanimously chosen by the upperclassmen was a guy named Yun Yushu, who was a year ahead of me.

He wore a solid dark blue shirt, with even the top button fastened neatly. His thick hair was combed perfectly, and he wore black-rimmed glasses, giving him a clean and steady appearance.

I considered myself capable of making a few decent dishes, so I volunteered to be his assistant. But after seeing his knife skills, I felt ashamed of that decision.

His culinary skills were as reliable as his appearance. His knife work was refined; whether slicing into threads, cubes, pieces, or strips, the thickness was perfect, and his movements were swift. As his wrists moved with agility, cutting vegetables became a visually pleasing spectacle that left me dazzled.

"Did you study knife skills professionally?" I couldn't help but ask.

"No, I started cooking for myself when I was very young and just practiced," Yun Yushu replied, pausing his work to turn and look at me politely.

"You're very independent," I praised him sincerely, continuing to watch his fingers fly up and down, realizing there was absolutely nothing for me to help with.

He had a strong build, but his fingers were slender—a pair of agile and hardworking hands.

With hot pans and cool oil sizzling away, before long, plates of delicious, fragrant dishes were laid out on the table: clear-stewed lamb, chopped chili fish head, Kung Pao chicken, dry-fried beef... and there were also chicken wonton soup, cumin lamb chops, and other dishes made by the others.

Of course, there was no pork. However, the reason pork is banned in Dubai is not because they revere pigs as deities, as rumors back home suggest, but because they consider pork to be unclean.

Everyone at the table was salivating, especially the upperclassmen who hadn't been home in a long time; as soon as the food was served, they began to feast without reservation. I picked out a piece of fish fillet made by Yun Yushu—it was soft, smooth, and left a lingering fragrance on my lips and teeth. I couldn't help but praise it repeatedly: "This is truly delicious!"

Yun Yushu smiled at me, very sincerely, and I returned a happy smile. Of course, that happiness was due to the deliciousness of the food.

"Ahem." Yin Qianyan coughed twice, her eyes darting between me and Yun Yushu; she had clearly caught our previous interaction. She smiled with hidden meaning, "Yushu is one of the few remaining golden bachelors in our cohort. Xixi, you aren't seeing anyone either, right?"

She paused, then added, "Upperclassmen and underclassmen have been the perfect match since time immemorial."

The intent could not have been more obvious. My chopsticks paused in mid-air. For some reason, Musa’s face suddenly surfaced in my mind. He was dressed in a white robe, sitting quietly by the classroom window sill. Sunlight filtered through layers of sheer curtains, falling upon him, even his eyelashes shimmering with a golden glow—warm and bright enough to be suffocating.

This thought made my heart tremble, bordering on panic. I hurriedly reined in my stray thoughts, intentionally playing along with Yin Qianyan’s words, acting as if I had no reservations, and smilingly handed my phone to Yun Yushu: "Golden bachelor, would you do me the honor of leaving your number?"