The Growth Story of Chenxi Boy

The closing bell rang, as if someone had pressed the pause button on the world.

Four people emerged from the library's revolving door, each holding a half-finished drink.

Old Wang walked on the far end, a tall man of 1.8 meters, walking with his toes pointing outwards, each step taken with great care. Xu Yi walked beside him; the two had grown up together. Old Wang's gait—lazy and languid—was a habit he had since childhood, or perhaps a deliberate, almost ritualistic gait, more like a dance step... or like a dried salted fish.

Xu Yi and Lao Wang had coffee in their hands, while A Peng and A Dong had milk tea.

"What do we do now?" Apeng shook the glass, and the ice cubes rattled.

"Just throw it away," A-Dong said, then glanced at his own cup and couldn't bear to part with it.

Ah Peng squinted his eyes, and the corners of his mouth began to turn up—a sign that he was brewing a bad idea.

Is the strategist at home?

"Hey, I play King of Glory every day, can't get a response."

"Shall we bring him some drinks?"

Old Wang blinked. His CPU needed to process that sentence.

By the time he finished dealing with it, Apeng had already walked five meters away.

How am I supposed to carry four drinks? It would be too embarrassing for each of us to carry one over.

The three men started searching their pockets.

Apeng: Empty.

Xu Yi: Empty.

Adong: A crumpled tissue.

Old Wang silently pulled a pair of disposable gloves out of his pocket.

Transparent, wrinkled, and as thin as something indescribable.

"Here you go," he said.

The three men stared at the gloves, lost in thought.

silence.

An awkward silence.

Then Xu Yi laughed out loud.

"Okay, this is it!"

then--

Coffee gets into the gloves.

Milk tea gets into gloves.

Brown liquid sloshed in clear plastic, like some kind of biological weapon. It was knotted and tied tightly. Lifting it up, the five finger-shaped liquids swayed under the streetlight, looking exactly like a mutated octopus that had escaped from a laboratory.

Xu Yi held it up, her face serious.

"Five-finger milk tea," he said.

The four of them laughed so hard they almost threw the "milk tea" away.

Old Wang scratched his head and asked sheepishly, "This stuff... is it drinkable?"

"Yes, it's possible," Apeng said seriously, "but it can be a bit intoxicating."

The four people, carrying "Five Fingers Milk Tea," walked through the alley and circled around to the back of the strategist's house.

The strategist's house was on the first floor. The window was open, and the curtains were being blown about by the wind, as if they were dancing.

Apeng picked up a pebble and threw it in.

no response.

Another piece was thrown away.

Still no response.

"Strategist!" Ah Dong shouted in a low voice.

A head peeked out from behind the curtains—

military adviser.

His hair looked like it had been bombed, his eyes were as dark as a panda's, and the light from his phone screen shone from behind, making the results screen of Honor of Kings still flash.

"What?" He looked completely bewildered.

"Come down, I have something good for you," Xu Yi said.

"What is it?"

"Milk tea." Xu Yi held up the clear liquid. "It's especially delicious, I brought it especially for you."

The strategist stretched his hand out of the window.

Then he froze.

"What is this thing?"

"Milk tea." Xu Yi said without batting an eye, "Ordinary milk tea, it's very delicious."

The strategist stared at the brown liquid, facing the most difficult choice of his life.

To drink or not to drink?

this is a problem.

In the end, he chose to drink.

He took the "Five-Finger Milk Tea" from the gloves; they were icy cold, and holding them felt like holding a slippery fish.

He bit open a small hole.

The first bite.

"..."

"Is it good?" Ah Dong asked expectantly.

The strategist smacked his lips, his expression extremely complicated.

"It's alright... but it's a little strange..."

"What's strange?"

"I can't quite put my finger on it...it's a bit..."

Old Wang added insult to injury: "It smells like gloves."

The four of them laughed like dogs.

The strategist stood on the windowsill, holding the strange liquid in his hand, his expression one of utter despair.

"you……"

"Alright, take your time drinking. We're leaving now."

The four men turned and ran, like four escaped criminals.

Footsteps echoed in the alley, fading into the distance. No one turned back. No one asked the strategist if he had finished drinking. Only that summer, four teenagers and a reclusive young man, and that disposable glove filled with coffee and milk tea—

Xu Yi calls it "Five-Finger Milk Tea".

It's a joke. It's also a memory.

The strategist stood at the window, holding a "Five Fingers Milk Tea" in his hand, the wind blowing the curtains onto his face.

He looked down at the lump in his hand.

He glanced again at the four figures running away into the distance.

Then he—

I took another sip.

"The gloves smell really strong..."

Later, the strategist asked Old Wang where the gloves came from.

Old Wang thought about it for a long time.

"Leftovers from fried chicken."

Strategist: "Why did you keep the fried chicken gloves?"

Old Wang: "Just in case it comes in handy."

The strategist remained silent.

He found he couldn't refute it.