The car pulled around a corner onto a narrower street — the kind barely wide enough for two small cars to pass without bumping mirrors. The pavement was uneven, patched in places with darker slabs, and the yellow lines had long since faded into faint ghosts beneath the tires.
Xiao Shen parked without fanfare in front of a strip of low buildings with mismatched signs. The only place still lit was a tiny noodle shop squeezed between a barbershop with rusted clippers in the window and a closed-down bakery with its "For Lease" sign crooked and yellowed in the corner.
Red plastic stools lined a few outdoor tables under a canvas awning. A single paper lantern swayed overhead, its glow casting soft orange rings on the sidewalk. A man in his fifties stood by a smoking wok at the side of the shop, flipping noodles with a practiced wrist. His apron was stained dark at the middle. He looked like he hadn't smiled in fifteen years.
Dongxin blinked. "This is it?"
Xiao Shen was already getting out of the car. "Yup."
"It looks like it violates every health code known to man."
"Only most of them," Xiao Shen called over the roof.
Dongxin followed him out, the air warm and humid against his neck. He could smell the oil in the air — garlic, chili, scallion — mixed with faint traces of smoke and exhaust. Somewhere deeper down the street, someone was playing an old ballad from a portable speaker. The distant melody curled through the alleyways like steam.
The place felt like it existed in its own little bubble, as if time moved slower here — like nothing bad had ever happened or ever could. A pause in the blur of their lives. Dongxin hesitated just outside the awning, soaking it all in: the warmth of the pavement underfoot, the scent of oil-soaked noodles, Xiao Shen's silhouette against the paper lantern glow. He felt like he was stepping into one of Xiao Shen's memories, and that made it sacred in a strange, unexpected way.
They took a table at the far corner under the awning, where the light from the lantern was softest and the noise from the street faded into background hum. Xiao Shen grabbed the laminated menus from the holder and handed one over.
"I've been coming here since middle school," he said. "Same owner, same wok, same broken fan above the grill."
Dongxin glanced toward the ceiling fan in question. It was missing one of its blades and let out a wheeze every rotation, like it was struggling to survive.
"I think it's haunted," he murmured.
"Probably," Xiao Shen said. "The noodles make up for it."
There was something about the place — the chipped tile, the slightly sticky tabletops, the soft rattle of the city outside — that made the whole thing feel oddly intimate. Like stepping into a preserved pocket of Xiao Shen's childhood. Dongxin found himself glancing at the wall beside them, where old photographs hung behind smeared glass. One showed a younger version of the owner, squinting beside a cart with a hand-lettered sign. Another was of the street, decades ago, when the noodle shop's awning was new and bright.
He wondered if Xiao Shen had sat at this same table as a teenager, half-listening to friends talk about classes or crushes, legs kicked up on the chair next to him, eyes bright with plans and jokes. He imagined younger Xiao Shen slurping noodles in the summer heat, already wearing that crooked grin, the part of his high school life Dongxin hadn't been a part of. It felt like trespassing, in the best way.
They ordered quickly — two bowls of beef noodle soup, extra chili oil, one side of smashed cucumber, and a pair of sweet soy drinks in glass bottles. The owner gave them a glance that might have been a smile if viewed in a forgiving light.
Dongxin tapped a finger on the menu after handing it back. "You've really never brought anyone else here?"
"Not like this," Xiao Shen said. "I mean, I've come with classmates, cousins, coworkers. But not for… something that matters."
That shut Dongxin up for a moment. His chest went a little tight.
He leaned back in the chair, studying the strings of lights that crossed the street like lazy constellations. Somewhere above the hum of traffic and quiet laughter drifting from an open window down the block, he could hear his own heart ticking louder than it should have. The box in his pocket suddenly felt like it weighed five kilograms.
As they waited, Xiao Shen stretched his arms above his head with a contented sigh.
"This place hasn't changed a bit," he said. "Even the table's still sticky in the same spot."
Dongxin ran his fingers over the plastic surface. "I feel honored to experience it."
"You should," Xiao Shen said, grinning. "I only bring very special people here. Or people I owe money to."
Dongxin smiled, but it didn't reach all the way to his eyes. He was watching Xiao Shen closely now — the way his hair curled slightly at the back from drying too fast, the faint smudge of ink on his wrist from earlier, the way he couldn't sit still for more than ten seconds. The uneven rhythm of his leg under the table. The way he kept glancing toward the door like someone might walk in and interrupt them.
He wanted to say something. Something real. But the moment wasn't quite right.
Their drinks arrived first, sweating in the late evening heat. Xiao Shen popped both caps with a lighter he pulled from his pocket like a magician revealing a trick.
"You still carry that?" Dongxin asked.
Xiao Shen shrugged. "Never know when a dramatic moment will need it."
"Like starting a revolution?"
"Or lighting a mosquito coil."
Dongxin shook his head, but the banter steadied him somehow. Xiao Shen had that effect. He could anchor a room with nothing more than a smile and a bad joke.
Their bowls came soon after, steaming hot and filled to the brim — thick broth the color of red clay, generous slices of beef, pickled greens floating like leaves in a pond. The smell was enough to make Dongxin's stomach twist with sudden hunger.
He watched as Xiao Shen picked up his chopsticks and dove in without ceremony, slurping a mouthful like a man who'd been starving all day.
They ate in silence at first, the kind that came with food too good to interrupt. The noodles were firm, the broth spicy and deep, the kind of flavor that hit the back of the throat and lingered. Dongxin wiped sweat from his brow halfway through.
"You okay?" Xiao Shen asked around a mouthful.
Dongxin nodded. "It's just… intense."
"I told them to make it how I like it."
"This is how you like it? It feels like I'm being baptized."
Xiao Shen laughed, long and loud. It echoed a little in the empty street.
"Hey," he said, "if your soul isn't purged by spice, are you even eating real noodles?"
Dongxin reached for a cucumber slice and tossed it into his mouth. "This feels like a test."
"Of devotion," Xiao Shen agreed. "You pass if you finish the broth."
"You want me to die?"
"Die in love."
They finished slowly, dragging out the last bites, sipping what remained of their drinks. The night air had cooled a little, and the lantern above them flickered with a lazy rhythm, like it wasn't quite committed to staying lit.
Dongxin leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled loosely. He watched Xiao Shen fiddle with the edge of his napkin, twisting it, folding it, unfolding it again.
"What?" Xiao Shen asked without looking up.
Dongxin hesitated. "You've been acting weird all night."
"Weird how?"
"Like… I don't know. Like you're trying to hold something back."
Xiao Shen went still. His fingers stopped moving. He looked up, and for the first time that evening, his smile was gone.
"I could say the same about you," he said quietly.
Dongxin looked down at his lap. His fingers brushed the velvet box again.
But he didn't move.
Not yet.
Xiao Shen's gaze lingered a second longer, then slid away, like he'd decided not to push. He picked up the condensation-slicked bottle of soy drink and took a slow sip, his eyes trained on the flickering lantern above them.
"Did I ever tell you," he said suddenly, "that I almost burned my eyebrows off trying to recreate this noodle recipe in college?"
Dongxin blinked, startled by the shift. "What?"
"Yeah." Xiao Shen gave a sheepish grin. "I got homesick during midterms. Didn't want to admit it, obviously, because I was trying to be all independent and worldly and adult. So I looked up, like, five different blog posts about 'authentic Sichuan beef noodles' and tried to cobble something together in the shared kitchen."
Dongxin leaned back, one brow raised. "And… you caught your face on fire?"
"The wok caught fire. Which is practically the same thing. I panicked, threw water on it, which somehow made it worse—flames shot up to the ceiling and scorched a patch of drywall." He paused, letting that image sit. "Had to pay a fine and take some fire safety seminar."
Dongxin blinked, lips twitching. "You're telling me you almost committed arson for noodles."
"Not just noodles. Nostalgic noodles."
"That makes it worse."
Xiao Shen held up a finger. "But I didn't give up. Tried again two weeks later. Lower heat, less oil, no pyrotechnics."
"And?"
"It was edible," Xiao Shen said. "Mostly."
Dongxin shook his head, finally letting out a laugh. The tension from before slipped off his shoulders like a too-heavy coat. He let his hand drop away from the box in his pocket, momentarily forgotten again. "You're such a menace."
"And you're still here," Xiao Shen said, smug.
"Don't remind me."
Their eyes met again across the small table. The moment was lighter now, easier. The earlier tension hadn't vanished entirely, but it had curled up quietly between them, content to wait its turn. Neither of them had said the thing they were really holding—but neither had walked away.
For now, that was enough.