E ⋆ Chapter 32

This trip to Meng City was certainly nothing like a honeymoon. Still, when Yang Ke received a greeting text from Zhai Di, he replied with “not bad.”

After confirming that Yu Zhinian was asleep, Yang Ke left his room and went down to the smoking room on the hotel’s ground floor.

The smoking room had a window facing the sea. The interior was very dim, with a fireplace burning, and even the heavy incense couldn’t mask the perpetual smell of smoke. Yang Ke sat in one of the soft chairs and lit a cigarette.

Yang Ke had started smoking about two years ago, and over the past half year he had been smoking a bit more. He felt that smoking was a good way to redirect his attention, unobtrusive and not too damaging to his health. A rugby match was replaying on the screen in the smoking room. Yang Ke watched the intense game, finished three cigarettes, went back upstairs, opened the door, and found Yu Zhinian wandering around the room with his clothes disheveled.

Yu Zhinian had his back to him, looking left and right, searching for something. When he heard the sound, he turned around.

“What are you doing?” Yang Ke asked.

The room had no lights on, dim like the image on an old television with poor picture quality. Yu Zhinian’s exposed legs and other skin looked like white noise in that image.

He looked at Yang Ke with somewhat dazed eyes and said “nothing,” then “my fever seems to have gone down.”

Yang Ke moved a little closer to him. Perhaps smelling the smoke, Yu Zhinian’s nose wrinkled very slightly as he asked Yang Ke, “Did you go smoke?”

“Yeah.”

Seeing that Yu Zhinian looked like he wanted to say something but held back, Yang Ke asked, “You can’t smoke?”

Yu Zhinian shook his head and said “that’s not it.”

He looked very relaxed, as though he hadn’t fully woken up yet, no longer showing obvious wariness, and for the moment hadn’t said anything resistant. He just stood obediently in front of Yang Ke, close enough that Yang Ke could reach him with a simple stretch.

He had left He City half a year ago and come home for a week, but for some reason Yang Ke felt as though he hadn’t seen him in two years.

“If you don’t like it,” Yang Ke said to him, “I can stop.”

Yu Zhinian didn’t say anything.

Yang Ke raised his hand and touched the back of Yu Zhinian’s hand, feeling it was somewhat cold. He asked, “Aren’t you cold?”

He held Yu Zhinian’s palm, his fingertips brushing against the wedding ring still warm from body heat. The next second, Yu Zhinian pulled his hand away and said, “I’m going to put on some clothes.”

They went to the hotel restaurant for dinner.

Yu Zhinian’s fever had gone down. He took out his laptop and sat at the desk in the living area, typing away.

Yang Ke had drunk a few sips of table wine earlier and was watching the news on the sofa. Perhaps from driving too long, or perhaps the alcohol going to his head, he closed his eyes and dozed off for a moment.

He dreamed of the first half of Christmas Eve from three years ago.

That day they had originally planned to spend it alone at home.

The chef had prepared a Christmas dinner. Yang Ke was coerced by Yu Zhinian into drinking a few sips of alcohol. The two of them sat under the Christmas tree, and Yang Ke taught Yu Zhinian to play bridge.

No matter how many times Yang Ke explained it, Yu Zhinian couldn’t learn. He lay down on the floor pretending he was tired.

Yang Ke called him stupid, but he still didn’t get up. The two of them fooled around until past nine o’clock, when Yang Zhongyun’s secretary suddenly called, saying nervously that Yang Zhongyun had suffered another sudden cardiac arrest, the doctors said the situation was critical, and asked them to go to the hospital immediately.

The snow that day was very heavy. Yang Ke couldn’t drive, and Yu Zhinian wasn’t good at it either. They had great difficulty hailing a car and went to the intercity train station.

On Christmas Eve, there were few people at the station. Yu Zhinian bought the tickets, and they boarded.

Sitting in the train car, the two of them didn’t say much. Yu Zhinian looked very sorrowful. Snow kept falling outside the window into the dark night. Yang Ke’s heart was also filled with some worry.

Yang Zhongyun had occupied too large and too long a part of his life. It was hard for him to imagine that he might pass away tonight.

The intercity train arrived at the station in an hour.

When they arrived, because of poor road conditions, Yang Zhongyun’s driver hadn’t yet reached the station entrance.

Yang Ke and Yu Zhinian walked out and stood under the covered walkway. Cold wind mixed with snow blew against them. Yu Zhinian shrank into himself and leaned against Yang Ke.

Yang Ke looked down at Yu Zhinian. Yu Zhinian’s eyelashes were covered with snow. He said to Yang Ke “it’s so cold.” Yang Ke touched Yu Zhinian’s face and pulled him into his arms.

That day Yang Ke himself was also very cold, but Yu Zhinian leaned against him wholeheartedly. He asked Yang Ke, “What if Grandpa is really gone?”

“I don’t know,” Yang Ke told him.

Yu Zhinian’s face was buried in his fluffy hat. He looked up at Yang Ke, and he seemed to desperately need Yang Ke’s comfort, very anxious, like he was afraid of being left behind. His eyes were wide open.

So Yang Ke kissed Yu Zhinian, at a moment that wasn’t quite appropriate, as if kissing could soothe the other person, and also soothe himself.

Yu Zhinian’s lips were freezing cold, and Yang Ke wasn’t much better.

There were only the two of them on the entire street, as if foreshadowing that each of their worlds would soon have only the other left.

Half asleep and half awake, Yang Ke suddenly sensed someone beside him. He opened his eyes alertly and found Yu Zhinian leaning over him very close, looking at him.

Yu Zhinian was caught red-handed peeking at Yang Ke and immediately looked flustered. Yang Ke found him amusing. He was clearly the one who had leaned in, yet he was so timid about it. Yang Ke reached out and grabbed Yu Zhinian’s wrist, pulling him to his side.

“What are you looking at?” Yang Ke asked him.

“I thought you were asleep,” Yu Zhinian said in his defense.

“If I was asleep, what were you going to do?” Yang Ke pulled Yu Zhinian over. Yu Zhinian’s illness hadn’t fully recovered yet, so when pulled, he ended up kneeling on Yang Ke’s lap, his hands pressing on Yang Ke’s shoulders.

He was very light. Pressing against Yang Ke, he mumbled something incoherently, his lips moving in front of Yang Ke’s face. Yang Ke couldn’t hear clearly and didn’t really want to listen. He pulled Yu Zhinian down a little and kissed him.

They hadn’t kissed in a long time. Yu Zhinian’s lips were soft, and his body carried a fragrant scent. The alcohol and that scent amplified Yang Ke’s senses. Yang Ke felt as though he could hear the sound of his own heartbeat, his hand pressing on Yu Zhinian’s slender waist.

He opened his eyes and saw Yu Zhinian’s eyelashes and his slightly reddened ear tips.

After kissing for a while, Yu Zhinian seemed to finally come to his senses and tried to pull away. Yang Ke held him, and his struggling grew more forceful. Yang Ke released him.

Yu Zhinian stood up, returning to the resistant demeanor from the afternoon. He said he was moving out and would take his things and leave.

Yang Ke remained sitting on the sofa, looking up at Yu Zhinian. Yu Zhinian took a step back. Yu Zhinian’s clothes were wrinkled, his lips still bore the color of having been kissed, but his face was written with refusal.

Yang Ke looked at Yu Zhinian, and all the inexplicable resistance he had ever received from Yu Zhinian gathered into one mass and pressed down on him.

“Are you drunk?” After a few seconds of silence, Yu Zhinian found a clumsy excuse for Yang Ke.

All along, Yang Ke had tried hard to avoid becoming another moody Yang Zhongyun, to avoid intensity, to avoid drama, wanting to live a quiet life that was the opposite of his grandfather’s.

But perhaps the memory of Christmas Eve made Yang Ke extreme. He began to have difficulty controlling his emotions.

“I’m not drunk,” Yang Ke said, looking at Yu Zhinian, stating a fact.

Yang Ke didn’t want to be someone who would fly into a rage out of shame, someone who loved forcing others. He asked Yu Zhinian, “Does kissing you mean I’m drunk?”

It was Yu Zhinian who liked Yang Ke, who wrote hundreds of pages of observation diaries, who took the initiative to steal a kiss from Yang Ke in the car, who held his hand, who wanted to marry him.

“In 2016,” Yang Ke said, “you said it yourself, your Christmas wish. You said you wanted to be with me forever.”

“Were you drunk that day?” Yang Ke asked him politely. “Yu Zhinian, so it turns out you were drunk that day?”

Yu Zhinian’s face suddenly turned deathly pale.