Wheat Seedlings - Chapter 24

Mai Miao Parallel Side Story (5)

Eight men for blind dates meant eight separate rooms had been arranged.

This was the accumulated experience of the Supervision Bureau over the years—to prevent these men from starting fights while waiting outside.

Don't be fooled by their outwardly gentle and amiable appearances; at their core, each one was a beast. Having caught the scent of meaty bones, who would willingly give them up?

The room had a cold white color scheme, furnished only with a set of table and chairs. On the table sat a vase holding a small bouquet of freshly picked yellow flowers.

Chen Li put on the metal muzzle.

It was a cold, unfamiliar sensation. Such a small device, yet it greatly restricted their instincts. He tightened it, fastening the buckle securely behind his neck.

Once properly fitted, he sat upright.

A supervisor came in to inspect.

The military-uniformed man sat properly on the chair, spine straight. His handsome, resolute face faced forward, the black muzzle covering his mouth. His high collar stood stiff, the prominent Adam's apple pushing against it from below, exuding an inexplicable air of restraint.

The supervisor merely bent down for a visual check, refraining from physical contact.

Those assigned to this task by the organization were all experienced in handling such situations. A wolf's neck wasn't to be touched casually—one careless move could cost you an arm.

After confirming the buckle was securely fastened, he nodded and said, "Follow the order of the name tags. You'll have to wait a while longer."

The door closed.

Chen Li sat motionless for some time. Then he lowered his head, his white-gloved hand brushing away invisible dust from the snack box.

He also caught the scent of wheat drifting from somewhere far away.

Chen Li had drawn number eight, putting him last in line.

If this were the battlefield, one might call it an inauspicious start.

Each blind date session lasted only half an hour—not long when spread out. After interviewing seven men in one go, even a thirty-year-old unmarried village girl would find it tedious.

By the time the eighth one came around, would it even matter whether it was a man or a pig?

Chen Li was originally a man of great composure.

Though soldiers were said to be hot-tempered, those who had actually fought in wars were the most patient. Waiting three or four hours was nothing—he had once lain in stinking mud with a rifle for over ten hours without moving a muscle.

Chen Li looked up at the wall clock—less than twenty minutes had passed.

The man raised his hand, wanting to adjust his collar, but restrained himself.

He feared wrinkling his clothes and looking unpresentable later. What if he thought him crude and uncouth…

Remembering the floral curtains that had been drawn, Chen Li perked up and sat properly again.

One hundred, ninety-seven, ninety-four...

Chen Li silently counted down.

This was something his mother had taught him as a child.

Starting with counting from one to ten repeatedly, as Chen Li grew older, he increased the difficulty by doing mental arithmetic. Counting helped time pass—this method his mother had taught him had gotten him through many difficult moments.

Doors opened and closed in the distance, footsteps drawing nearer.

After a while, Chen Li checked the time.

His turn would be next.

Chen Li straightened his back and adjusted his clothes.

He placed both hands on his thighs, posture correct, consciously steadying his breathing.

Time slipped away like sand in an hourglass.

Suddenly, a scream shattered the silence.

"Bang—“

A man abruptly stood up, shoving the table violently. It scraped across the floor with a piercing screech.

The scream had come from nearby, followed by a series of commotions.

Without hesitation, Chen Li rushed toward the door, only to find guards blocking the exit, refusing to let anyone out.

"Nothing's happening, go sit back down," one of them said, though he himself kept glancing curiously down the hallway. Soon, another guard joined, both barricading the door and shouting, "Get back inside, or we'll revoke your matchmaking eligibility!"

Chen Li couldn't care less about eligibility. He was about to forcefully shove the two men aside when—

A crisp sound came from the door opposite his.

Chen Li paused and turned to look.

There stood a young man, dressed in a white shirt and dark blue trousers, looking like a high school student still in class.

His shoulders were hunched, his neck slightly tucked in, and he sniffled as he walked.

His head hung low, hands gripping his trousers so tightly the fabric wrinkled under his fingers.

He must have rehearsed this many times—despite his obvious distress, he shuffled forward and reluctantly took a seat at the table.

From the moment the young man entered, the other man stood frozen, as if wound up too tight.

He watched as the unwilling figure trudged over and sat across from him.

Both doors closed silently behind them.

Compared to other men his age, he was noticeably smaller—almost like a boy who hadn't fully grown. Thin and slight, his sleeves were rolled halfway up, revealing arms paler than those of a girl who rarely stepped outside.

He sat sideways, perched on the edge of the chair as if ready to bolt at any moment, his trembling hands still clutching his pants.

Clearly, the previous man had terrified him.

Chen Li picked up the folding chair from the floor, his movements unconsciously gentle as he slowly sat down. His eyes never left the young man across from him, as if glued there.

This wasn't Chen Li's first time seeing him, but that night, he hadn't gotten such a clear look.

Now, seated right in front of him, the young man's delicate face—smaller than Chen Li's palm—was bowed, long lashes glistening with unshed tears.

His cheeks, faintly flushed with pink, bore tear tracks. He had been sitting there for a while now, shoulders still shaking with quiet sobs, looking utterly pitiful.

In the military, men who cried risked a beating, and if female soldiers shed tears, the best course was to pretend not to notice. But this situation? Chen Li had no real experience handling it.

Already off to a disastrous start, with alarms blaring on the frontlines and the battle growing dire, if Commander Chen didn't act now, this entire operation was on the verge of collapse.

Then, Chen Li's gaze landed on the pinwheel on the table.

He picked it up, hesitated, and finally spoke, "C-comrade."

After calling out twice, the young man cautiously glanced sideways at him, wary.

What he saw was the man across from him puffing his cheeks and blowing on the pinwheel, making it spin with a soft whir.

The black muzzle blocked the breath, and the pinwheel swayed slightly without turning even once.

At first, Chen Li had thought making them wear these contraptions was a reasonable safety precaution. But now, he was cursing the bastards at the regulatory bureau in his heart too.

With this sudden gun misfire, the desperate regimental commander had no choice but to take matters into his own hands—literally spinning the pinwheel himself.

As it turned, the glitter on the colored paper shimmered, casting dazzling hues under the sunlight.

The young man was indeed captivated. Though still trembling with occasional sobs, his eyes remained fixed on the large pinwheel in the man's hands without blinking.

When Chen Li handed the pinwheel over, he instinctively reached out to take it.

Mimicking Chen Li, he touched one of the pinwheel's blades, and it spun silently once more.

Seeing his sorrow ease, the man felt a weight lift from his heart.

Chen Li studied him again—the white shirt wasn't oversized; the shoulders fit perfectly. Yet it hung loosely as if draped over a frame without any flesh.

"Comrade."

Hearing the call again, the young man turned his face properly this time, meeting the man's gaze directly.

Chen Li opened the paper box and peeled back a layer of greased wrapping.

A milky fragrance wafted out.

"Have some." Chen Li had meant to hand him a piece but suddenly remembered the regulations, so he simply pushed the box forward. "For you."

The youth glanced at the butterfly pastries inside, then lifted his eyes slightly.

After a long pause, he cautiously reached out and picked the smallest one from the box.

Chen Li watched him finish it quickly, those dark, liquid eyes darting back to the pastries on the table. "Go ahead," Chen Li urged. "They're all yours."

Only then did he take another piece.

Now, as if remembering something, he sniffled slightly and whispered to the man across from him, "I... I'm Chen Mai Miao."

The regulatory bureau had taught him well—to greet others politely and introduce himself.

After a moment's thought, he added softly, "...Thank you."

His voice was faint and tender, like a child's before it breaks.

Chen Li grinned at him. "So—Comrade Miao Miao."

The words slipped out before he could stop them. The regimental commander froze, realizing his blunder. He hadn't meant to tease—it just tumbled out thoughtlessly.

For a man in his thirties, Chen Li had never felt his face burn so hot. Fortunately, Mai Miao didn't seem offended, quietly enjoying the pastries with well-mannered relish.

Chen Li introduced himself too: "I'm Chen Li."

Staring at the slender youth before him, he forgot all his carefully prepared virtues. Blurting out, he said, "I can cook."

"I'm hardworking and fast."

"Tending fires, stoking stoves, household chores—"

"I can do them all. Let me handle it."

With minutes ticking away, Chen Li raced against time, words pouring out unfiltered. The script he'd drafted overnight was long forgotten.

The youth studied him, then asked after some thought, "Then... can you feed chickens?"

"Yes!" Chen Li declared. "Feeding chickens, walking dogs—I can do it all!"

Mai Miao's mouth fell open in awe—Wow, he really knew how to do everything.

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