Chapter 66: CH 59

Chapter 59: The Road of Love

The wind blew Yue Zhishi’s hair into disarray. He gazed at Song Yu, and he looked slightly helpless — but the words that left his mouth were very firm. “I’m not scared.”

Song Yu had already guessed Yue Zhishi would reply that way. He truly was a very stubborn child. 

And then, Yue Zhishi lowered his eyes very quickly. “I just feel a bit… distressed. I don’t have the courage to look at her.” 

He thought of Lin Rong as his own mother, and he didn’t want to hurt her at all. 

The moment he’d seen Lin Rong, he remembered the jokes Lin Rong had once said about Song Yu dating. Even though she’d been teasing him, it was very obvious she hoped Song Yu could find a girl he liked and happily, peacefully spend their lives together. 

Yue Zhishi didn’t know what he should do.

“Don’t think about it anymore.” Song Yu saw the worry on his face. He wasn’t willing to leave these complicated issues to him; they weren’t Yue Zhishi’s fault to begin with. “Let’s just head up to your dorm first.”

“Mn.” 

The dorm auntie warmly greeted them when they returned back to the dormitory building. “Your mom left?”

Yue Zhishi responded quietly, “Yes, she’s gone home.” 

“Don’t let your mom worry about you getting sick. She almost fell when she came in.” 

Yue Zhishi saw the pastries Lin Rong gave her — the packaging was easily recognisable. He could also imagine Lin Rong tripping and falling as she rushed in. She was sometimes very careless when she walked, and he was very similar to her that way.

With Lin Rong’s request, Song Yu was allowed to go upstairs together with Yue Zhishi, and he was able to enter his dormitory whenever he liked. 

It’s not like he didn’t know — he knew that as long as he signed the registration form and clearly expressed who he was, he could easily come to Yue Zhishi’s dorm to take care of him. But he really needed a reason to have a space where he could be alone with Yue Zhishi, so he ended up renting an apartment without asking, lying to himself and pretending to others. 

Luckily, fortunately, Yue Zhishi also liked him — at least for now. Or else he really would’ve made a decision based on too much one-sided wishful thinking. 

It was Sunday, and there was no one else in the dorm. Yue Zhishi opened the door, turned on the light and crawled onto his own bed, grabbing his phone next to his pillow and also seeing the inhaler Lin Rong had left.

His mood wasn’t very good. He came down from his bed, taking two sets of his own clothes from his wardrobe before putting them into his schoolbag, and also took his laptop and the turquoise stone Song Yu had given him.

Standing in front of Yue Zhishi’s desk, Song Yu noticed the chicken soup Lin Rong had spent time and effort in making — as well as the little snacks and pastries she’d left onto each desk of Yue Zhishi’s dorm mates. They were all placed neatly. 

These same habits of hers were telling him — Yue Zhishi was also a ‘son’ Lin Rong had raised.

In a complicated mood, Song Yu could feel his body going slightly numb. He’d hidden from everyone all of those little thoughts he’d had in the past, and over the course of time, it had become habit to continue hiding. He had learned to digest and absorb those feelings by himself.

But right now, he was no longer alone. He’d promised to treasure Yue Zhishi, but that decision seemed to have also pulled Yue Zhishi into the abyss of self-blame and torment. Song Yu couldn’t adjust, all of a sudden; he didn’t know what was the right direction to take.

“I’ve finished packing.” Seeing Song Yu lost in his thoughts, Yue Zhishi stretched out a hand and touched his fingers, briefly squeezing the tips. He softly said, “Let’s go.” 

Song Yu said okay, and then he took Yue Zhishi’s bag, driving them back to that secret apartment. The entire way there, the two of them tacitly avoided mentioning what had just happened. Song Yu played a soothing piece of piano music, and it covered up the silence in the car.

Yue Zhishi checked his phone: there was a startling number of over ten missed calls, as well as the WeChat messages his friends had sent. A strong desire to avoid everything swept over him, and he turned off the screen, not looking at a single message. All at once, at this very moment, he really wanted Song Yu to drive and take him away, fleeing and hiding in a place no one could find. 

But this bad idea lasted only for a few seconds before Yue Zhishi gave it up. He wasn’t willing to snatch Song Yu away, and he also wasn’t willing to leave behind Lin Rong and Song Jin.

After he calmed down, Yue Zhishi sincerely replied to every single message, one by one, and then made the decision to turn off his phone.

The apartment wasn’t far from campus, and they arrived very quickly. The lights in the underground car park were very dim, and Yue Zhishi followed behind Song Yu into the elevator after getting out of the car. He sneezed once in the elevator, so Song Yu lightly held onto his waist. 

The inside of the apartment was pitch-black once they opened the door, as if it was no longer that beautiful, warm place from that afternoon. Song Yu reached out a hand, wanting to flick the light switch next to the door, but Yue Zhishi held him back. Song Yu wanted to ask him what was wrong, but in the next second, Yue Zhishi was hugging him, his face buried into his collarbones. He didn’t say anything, and yet he seemed to be comforting Song Yu with this embrace.

The strange thing was — it was as if they naturally, logically deserved to be in the dark.

Yue Zhishi’s arms were crossed behind Song Yu’s back, and they stroked up and down very lightly, trying to ease Song Yu’s tense mood. He spoke only after a long while passed. “I’m hungry. We should have the soup.”

Song Yu said sure and turned on the light.

The chicken soup held red dates and goji berries, as well as nourishing ginger and fish maw. The soup shined golden, and the familiar fragrance of it wafted into their faces as soon as they lifted the lid. Yue Zhishi took out their newly bought porcelain bowls and soup spoons, pouring the soup into them after he washed them. He thought of his childhood once he took a small sip — his body had been weak, and with so many things he’d been unable to eat, Lin Rong had delivered food to his school every day up until he graduated elementary school. She’d accompanied him every day in the cafeteria, waiting for him to finish eating.

There was no one who didn’t envy him for having such a beautiful ‘mom’ who could cook. So the younger Yue Zhishi, when he was outside, didn’t call her Aunt Rong; he’d delighted in having other people praising his mother as being so talented.

This pitiful sense of pride truly did satisfy Yue Zhishi as a child.

“Have some more.” Song Yu placed a chicken drumstick, stewed until it was falling to pieces, into his bowl.

Yue Zhishi watched Song Yu, vaguely wondering if he’d made a wrong choice — should he have kept hidden the fact that he liked him? Would it have been better for everyone if he’d held on for a bit?

Time flowed exceedingly slowly in the quiet air of the room. Yue Zhishi really wanted to say something to cheer Song Yu up, but Song Yu kept speaking, saying he needed to remember to take his medicine, he’ll check his temperature in a bit, he needed to remember to message his mom — he spoke as he stood by the sink, washing the dishes.

Song Yu usually didn’t speak so much; he’d always been the quietest one. Contrarily enough, his speaking so much made Yue Zhishi uneasy. His thoughts were very messy, and his heart was also confused. He had been too naive: he’d thought he entered heaven just by being able to be together with Song Yu, but once he returned back to reality, he realised this heaven was very likely to be hell for the people they loved.

This must be why Song Yu had always kept silent about his feelings.

That entire night, Yue Zhishi listened to Song Yu’s instructions very peacefully. He took his meds, cleaned up, and when he returned back to his room, the blanket Song Yu had brought into his room last night was missing. He couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed, but he didn’t want to create a larger burden for Song Yu — so he kept silent.

He lay on the bed, messaging Lin Rong to say the chicken soup was very delicious and to ask whether she’d safely returned home.

Lin Rong replied swiftly, and she even sent over a photo of Cotton Candy and Orange cuddling together in sleep. 

[Aunt Rong: Has your brother cheered up a bit?]

Yue Zhishi said very honestly, he didn’t seem to have.

Lin Rong replied once again very quickly.

[Aunt Rong: You should coax your brother a bit. He always likes to be by himself whenever he’s not happy, and that really worries me. He’s grown up now, and he’s not willing to tell mom anything anymore. Luckily he still has you by his side — he laughs and smiles more when he’s with you. It would be nice if he could rely on us a bit more like you do.]

Reading Lin Rong’s words, Yue Zhishi thought for a few seconds.

[Le Le: Aunt Rong, one day, if you feel like gege or I hurt you, can you not be angry with him? You can just be angry with me — it doesn’t matter if you want to hit me or yell at me. Gege really, really loves you. I really love you too, but if we did something wrong, it would definitely be my fault.]

Lin Rong rapidly responded.

[Aunt Rong: What are you talking about, have you done something you’re too scared to tell me? But there shouldn’t be, the two of you are such good children. You need to tell me if you’re not happy, I’ll help you guys fix it. What’s the point in having parents otherwise? And I know you guys both really love me, really love dad — I’ll never be angry with you guys.]

After a little while, he received another message.

[Aunt Rong: I’ll be angry just for a little bit at most. You guys can just sweet talk me and I’ll be fine.]

Yue Zhishi sniffed.

[Le Le: Mn. Love you <3]

His nose was originally already quite blocked, and now it was even more uncomfortable after wanting to cry. He really needed some tissues, so he got off his bed and searched around his room before remembering he saw some earlier that day in the living room. Planning on going to get it, he cautiously opened his door. He saw Song Yu in the living room and didn’t go directly downstairs, hesitating.

He hesitated because he saw Song Yu take out a medicine bottle of some kind from the white low cabinet next to the sofa. Song Yu tapped out one pill into his hand and swallowed it down with some cold water. 

Yue Zhishi frowned, thinking Song Yu might’ve also gotten sick. He was very worried, so he took another look at the bottle — that bottle looked very familiar. Seeing Song Yu about to turn around, Yue Zhishi retreated back into his room a bit guiltily and shut the door. He leaned against it, listening to Song Yu’s footsteps as he softly climbed up the stairs, dull noises coming from the wood.

He didn’t know if he was imagining it, but it felt like Song Yu’s footsteps paused in front of his door for a few seconds. His heart started racing, and yet those steps didn’t stop, continuing until they reached the room next door.

Yue Zhishi abruptly remembered why the bottle looked familiar. He’d seen that bottle on Song Yu’s desk before, the packaging exactly the same, and Song Yu had told him it was melatonin and hadn’t allowed him to try it.

In hindsight, he took out his phone and searched up the effects of taking that particular hormone.

[To a certain extent, taking melatonin can help alleviate sleeping disorders and relieve insomnia.]

A thin pang of pain threaded through Yue Zhishi’s heart once he saw those words. He continued scrolling downwards, reading through everything that had to do with this hormone.

Time flowed very quickly at night. The lake outside the glass windows was tranquil — Yue Zhishi looked towards it, and his own anxious face reflected back at him on the transparent glass, as if the lake was also gazing at him.

Ten minutes later, after trying his best to persuade himself to not disturb Song Yu, Yue Zhishi finally couldn’t hold back. He put on some socks, worried his slippers would make too much noise, and lightly, gently opened the door. He walked next door and pretty much spent over thirty seconds turning the door handle, doing his best to not make any sound.

Song Yu’s room was always very dark, very quiet, like a bomb shelter completely cut off from everything. He liked having the curtains drawn tightly together without a single shred of light allowed to come through. Yue Zhishi groped his way in through the dark, very, very carefully searching his way ahead, and his eyes rapidly adapted to the darkness. Seeing Song Yu’s bed, he inched closer.

But he was still caught.

Song Yu reached out a hand, turning on the bedside lamp. The inside of the room immediately brightened, and Yue Zhishi was like a foolish thief caught in the act, standing next to the bed in shock. He somewhat awkwardly stared at Song Yu.

“Why’d you come over? Do you feel unwell?” Song Yu shifted up, looking at him.

In this moment, Yue Zhishi really, really wanted to be a little dog like Cotton Candy. He could stealthily run in and then jump lightly onto the bed, snuggling next to Song Yu’s body without disturbing him. His eyes faintly stinging, he walked over and sat onto Song Yu’s bed.

“No, I don’t feel sick.” Yue Zhishi explained himself. “I didn’t come over to cling to you.” 

Song Yu gazed at him, his eyebrows drawn from the light faintly relaxing. He pulled out a hand from his blanket and covered Yue Zhishi’s wrist with it, his fingertips cold. “You don’t want to cling to me anymore?” 

“It’s not that.” Yue Zhishi felt like he was being misunderstood, so he quickly denied it. He turned the light down to its dimmest, lay down next to Song Yu’s body and placed a hand onto him. “I came here with a mission.”

“What mission?”

“To soothe you to sleep.” Yue Zhishi looked a bit proud.

The corners of Song Yu’s mouth curled up a touch. He didn’t speak. Yue Zhishi then said, “I’m really good at it. Every time Orange lies on my leg, he falls asleep with just a casual touch or two from me.”

“So you’re here to also touch me casually?” Song Yu’s voice sounded a bit sluggish, deep and pleasing to the ears. 

Yue Zhishi shook his head. “Not casually. I’ll try my best to soothe you to sleep.” He started performing his duties once he finished speaking, very gently patting Song Yu’s shoulder. Worried he’d be cold, Song Yu pulled him under his blanket.

“Your hand’s so cold.” Yue Zhishi was slightly dissatisfied. Whenever he remembered that one of the side effects of melatonin was a drop in body temperature, he’d feel upset — he clutched Song Yu’s hand with his free hand, covering it with his own.

Song Yu focused on his face and quietly asked, “Why’d you come here to soothe me to sleep?”

Yue Zhishi replied truthfully, “I saw you taking melatonin. I looked it up just now, and I only just realised it’s to relieve insomnia.” He raised his eyes, his eyelashes faintly trembling. “You often can’t sleep, right?”

Song Yu didn’t answer him, and his silence stretched until he saw a layer of tears floating on Yue Zhishi’s eyes. He only then said, “Isn’t that normal — a lot of people these days can’t sleep at night. They like staying up late.”

“Wanting to stay up late isn’t the same as wanting to sleep and not being able to fall asleep.” In the end, Yue Zhishi couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Song Yu. “If it’s not serious, why would you take melatonin? And you can’t take it long-term, it has so many side effects. You’ll get addicted to it, and it might even cause mild anxiety and temporary depression.”

He called out gege once, his voice a little whiny. “Can you not take it anymore?”

Seeing Yue Zhishi so worried, seeing him holding him so tightly — Song Yu could only agree. “Okay, I won’t use it anymore.”

“If you can’t sleep, I’ll stay with you.” Yue Zhishi spoke seriously, earnestly. “I’ll buy a book and read it to you, I can recite the civil legislation to you, as well as the criminal…” 

“No need for that,” Song Yu chuckled, very lightly.

The taut string in Yue Zhishi’s heart marginally loosened after he heard Song Yu laugh. He lifted his head to look at Song Yu’s eyes. “I can read whatever you want.” 

Song Yu thought for a while, and then, as if he had a really good idea: “Your diaries from first to sixth grade.”

Immediately, an uneasy expression covered Yue Zhishi’s face. “But that’s private…”

“Don’t worry about it then,” Song Yu said. “Just let me continue to lose sleep.”

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“It’s okay it’s okay,” Yue Zhishi hurriedly agreed. “I’ll bring them all over once I find them, I’ll read them to you.” He stroked Song Yu’s back. “I hope you won’t laugh to the point you won’t be able to sleep after I read them to you. The things I wrote when I was younger probably weren’t too normal.” 

“Such as wishing for all the wheat in the universe to go completely extinct and so everyone won’t be able to eat it?”

“How’d you know!” Yue Zhishi widened his eyes in shock. “Did you peek?”

“Mom accidentally saw it when she was bringing you a night snack, and then she sneakily told me.” 

“How could you guys be like that…” Yue Zhishi found it embarrassing to have been secretly laughed at for so long. 

Song Yu’s mouth lifted gently, and he looked a little happier than before. Just with this, Yue Zhishi was already very satisfied, and he nuzzled his face into the side of Song Yu’s neck. “I want you to be happy every day.” 

“No one is happy every day,” Song Yu answered negatively.

Yue Zhishi brought out a counter-example. “I’m happy every day whenever I’m with you. Being happy for one hour is still being happy.” 

His voice dropped as he finished speaking; he buried himself into Song Yu’s shoulder, silent for a while.

Thinking he wasn’t going to speak anymore, Song Yu wanted to urge him back to his room to sleep.

“Gege.” Yue Zhishi still ended up opening his mouth, his voice muffled in between their arms.

“If you’ll suffer a lot by being with me, tell me, okay? I won’t demand to stay next to you.”

The room was very quiet. He could hear Song Yu’s heartbeats as they thudded against his chest. He didn’t know how much time passed before Song Yu finally gave him an answer.

“By being together with you, I have both happiness and suffering.” His voice was slightly hoarse. “It’s like I’m pulling out the glorious parts of my life early, leaving behind only a deficit — and yet I still want it, very badly.”

Yue Zhishi held onto him, wanting to give him some kind of comfort or relief, but very quickly, he heard Song Yu continue.

“But if you leave me, I might be left with only suffering.” 

A great wave of pain and unwillingness washed over Yue Zhishi at these words. He felt like Song Yu was very different from usual — or maybe it was because he’d never seen Song Yu like this before. He was like a cat who knew only how to lick its own injuries; he always turned around proudly, giving Yue Zhishi the appearance of a strong and steadfast back. 

“Even though I promised you and said we could give it a try,” Song Yu was caressing Yue Zhishi’s hair, “in reality, you hold all the power. If you’re scared and don’t want to hurt anyone, you can withdraw any time you want. We can still go back to our relationship from before.”

He then added, “I’ll still treat you very well.”

His gentle, kind words sounded like he was trying to talk some sense into Yue Zhishi, but Yue Zhishi didn’t want it; he didn’t want to be treated as a child, especially after learning Song Yu would be in agony without him.

“I definitely won’t withdraw after you said something like that.” His voice held a bit of spite. “If I really did leave you, we won’t be able to go back to before. You can’t treat me well either — if you do, I’ll just burst into tears right in front of your face.”

“When I’m together with you, you’ll hug me while I sleep. You’ll touch my face, kiss my arm, smile at me so gently — now that I’ve experienced all of that, there’s no way I’ll be able to accept it if we one day change back to how we were like before.”

Song Yu laughed bitterly. “Then what would you do?”

Yue Zhishi couldn’t help it; a tear rolled down, and he pushed his face in, not wanting Song Yu to see.

“I’d leave all of you behind, and hide in a place no one can find.”

But before he left, he’d take away the little stone Song Yu had given him, as well as the mathematics textbook Song Yu had once recited to him. That textbook was truly hard to understand, but one lifetime was a very long time. He’d definitely be able to learn how to read it by himself. 

“Will you spend your whole life by yourself?” Song Yu asked.

“Yes.” Yue Zhishi thought — did he come across very heartless this way? Should he act like one of those foolish, love-struck men and women in dramas and movies who died for love in order to look like he really did like Song Yu? So he explained, “My parents didn’t live very long. I should live a few more decades in their place.”

He spoke very flippantly, as if he was joking, but Song Yu abruptly hugged him very tightly, almost as if he wanted to draw him into his own body. But very soon, he loosened his hold. 

“There’s no way someone can live by himself.”

This sentence had no clear reference to anyone, and at first, Yue Zhishi thought Song Yu was speaking about him. He later felt Song Yu was talking about himself.

“So you can’t tell me to go.” Yue Zhishi kissed the side of his neck. “Don’t treat me like a child anymore. I’m already grown up, and no matter what happens, I can bear it with you.”

“I know I did something I shouldn’t have. When I saw Aunt Rong today, I felt like I committed a terrible crime. They treat me so well, bringing me up like their own child, and yet I’ve snatched you away from them.”

“That’s not your fault,” Song Yu said.

Yue Zhishi corrected his words. “It’s not solely your fault either.”

Slightly lifting up his head, he kissed Song Yu’s chin and gazed at him. “You said being with me gives you both happiness and suffering. If you’re left with only suffering after leaving me, then there’s no way I can leave you by yourself. You should keep that happiness, and give the suffering to me.” 

“As long as I have you, even suffering turns into happiness.” 

Song Yu really couldn’t understand it; where did Yue Zhishi find these warm and tender emotions from? In attempting to absorb all of his negative thoughts, Yue Zhishi was like a plant sucking in carbon dioxide and then releasing a steady stream of oxygen in return — all just so he could smile.

Yue Zhishi was an extraordinary, special substance in his life. The energy he gave him was large and beyond measure.

“All right.” Song Yu was forever unable to reject him, and so he simply gave up resisting.

“I said I was going to treasure you. Until you make another choice, I won’t run away by myself.”

“There is no other choice.” Yue Zhishi was very firm. “As long as you need me.”

Song Yu clasped Yue Zhishi to him, hugging him as closely and inseparably as though he was hugging a toy. Their skin connected, and Yue Zhishi’s warmth slowly and gradually seeped into Song Yu, his body finally able to relax. While patting his back, Yue Zhishi talked to him about the things they’d done together when they were children: the lotus seeds they’d plucked, the loquats they’d planted; the endless summers in the sunflower field and botanical gardens at Jiangtan Park. He spoke until his voice faded, little by little, and his hand slowly stopped moving.

The deeply anxious heart he had for Song Yu — it lulled into peace slower than his consciousness, and it extended into his dreams.

The next day, Yue Zhishi had a low fever again. He didn’t know if it was because he was blown by some wind last night, but Song Yu took him to the hospital, getting him to sit through two hours of IV drips. Song Yu sat next to him, writing a paper, and he leaned on Song Yu’s shoulder quietly as he read manga on his phone and occasionally chatted to Jiang Yufan. Song Yu sometimes glanced at him while he chatted, and he saw Jiang Yufan showing off his relationship by sending through quite a few photos of him and his girlfriend.

It was time for dinner by the time they came out. Yue Zhishi didn’t have much of an appetite, eating slowly and sparingly. Dinner only finished after Song Yu urged him to finish a bowl of pork rib and lotus root soup.

“Can we not go home immediately? I want to go to a place on campus.”

Song Yu gave him a look. “And then get another IV drip tomorrow?”

“I won’t catch a cold again.” Yue Zhishi smoothly transferred the responsibility onto him, murmuring, “Who knows, maybe it was because you stole my blanket…” 

Song Yu crooked his head down and stared at him, not saying a word.

“Definitely not, I kicked off the blanket myself.” Yue Zhishi touched his arm. “You can sleep pressing me down today. Then I definitely won’t be able to kick away the blanket.”

Someone walked past them — Song Yu clapped a hand over Yue Zhishi’s mouth, not releasing his hand until that person disappeared.

“What stuff are you saying?” His voice sounded awkward again, and Yue Zhishi couldn’t understand why.

He may have said no, but Song Yu still ended up following Yue Zhishi to where he wanted to go. They walked around the campus for a very long time, relying entirely on Yue Zhishi’s GPS; they walked further away the more they walked.

“Tell me where you want to go and I’ll take you there,” Song Yu finally said, unable to hold back.

Focused on his phone, Yue Zhishi waved his hand at him. “You definitely don’t know where it is. One hundred percent.” 

“Cold reminder: I’m fourth year, and you are a first year new student.”

“Shh.” Without even lifting his head, Yue Zhishi reached out, trying to cover Song Yu’s mouth. He didn’t get to reach before his hand ended up getting caught.

They finally found it at the end. There was a small walking road made of stone on the Lion Mountain behind the rooftops usually spread with cherry blossoms. The road started at the bottom of the mountain. Barely any people were here, and Yue Zhishi clutched Song Yu’s wrist, more excited than if he’d journeyed to the west and found scriptures. “It’s here, we found it!”

Song Yu frowned in doubt. There were countless amounts of little mountain roads like these in Wuhan U — he usually would never even think about taking them. They weren’t convenient, and they also took forever to reach anywhere.

“So? If you wanted to reach the rooftops, there are many other ways…”

Yue Zhishi didn’t wait for him to finish, immediately crouching down and pointing at the ground. “Gege, look.”

Song Yu looked down, only then noticing the many cobblestones inlaid onto the ground. They formed six very clear characters, and Yue Zhishi read them out. “Please enter the road of love!” 

Song Yu suddenly wanted to laugh. “Did Jiang Yufan tell you about this?”

Yue Zhishi stood back up. “He said his girlfriend took him here last week, that it was very meaningful.” He said to himself softly, “I like stones.”

With that, he tugged at Song Yu. “Let’s go, let’s enter the road of love.”

Song Yu had thought he would never do something so childish his entire life, but not only did he do it, he was even a bit happy about doing it. They walked closely next to each other, heading upwards one step at a time.

Other than the six characters at the beginning, there were also many classic Chinese poems, as well as love poems. They were all written out through the cobblestones, and Yue Zhishi said he heard a teacher made their students do it as extra-curricular work in the eighties. 

“This teacher was so romantic.” Yue Zhishi said, “Even the characters are laid out so cutely.” He abruptly saw a translucent yellow cobblestone. “This one’s really nice, it looks just like a piece of jade.” 

Song Yu’s hand was loosely resting on his shoulders. “That’s a chalcedony stone formed from colloidal silica. Parts of it are blue due to the presence of copper.”

Yue Zhishi glared at him. “It sounds so complicated now that you explained it.” 

Song Yu raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Science reveals the true nature of romance.”

“Fine, I can’t argue with you.” Yue Zhishi took him past the characters spelling out the name of their city, strolled past the lush grass on the plains, withers and thrives once each year, and the as long as two feelings remain to same, why do they need to stay together day and night. After a moment, Yue Zhishi froze — he said to the ground, “They wrote it out wrong, it should be remain the same.” 

They walked up the hill bit by bit, and very soon, the two of them reached the end of the road. Green trees surrounded them, and there was no one else to disturb them.

“We’ve reached the end.” Yue Zhishi slightly hopped in place, and he pointed at the characters on the floor, saying to Song Yu, “Look.”

The unremarkable cobblestones on the ground spelled out simple characters, and yet those characters seemed to carry the weight of the many years in between them. 

“Time passed, deep affection grows,” Song Yu softly read.

Since no one else was there, Yue Zhishi took his hand. “Since we’ve already journeyed through the road of love, we have lots of experience now. Don’t worry, everything will get better.”

Song Yu couldn’t hold back his smile. “What experience do you even have…”

Yue Zhishi suddenly popped upwards, just as his words left his mouth; he very lightly, very quickly pecked at his lips — it was just like the autumn days in this city, transient and glorious. 

He nervously retreated back to a safe location, and he also let go of Song Yu’s hand, looking around him in a fluster with his lips pressed together. 

“The experience of my first kiss,” Yue Zhishi stammered, his voice without any confidence.  

The setting sun fell gently onto his face, turning his soft hair into a glimmering gold. His ears were red, the rays of the sun shining through the semi-translucent flesh — the capillaries were faintly visible, and his ears looked just like golden sea shells. Song Yu could look nowhere else; he hoped the shadows of night would arrive later, because this was truly beautiful and breathtaking.

And yet he also hoped the sky would darken right that moment — so that in the dark corners of the night, he could hold Yue Zhishi in his arms.

“Are you unsatisfied?” A bit of chagrin covered Yue Zhishi’s face as he lifted his head. “You must definitely be unsatisfied.” 

Song Yu stuffed his two hands into the pockets of his trench coat, looking entirely at ease. “Maybe a bit.”

“Then can I try again? That one didn’t count.”

Song Yu took one step ahead, the distance between them shortened to zero. Their chests were right on top of each other, and he said, “Sure.”

Yue Zhishi glanced around again, and then he swiftly kissed him for the second time before he retreated half a step. He very earnestly questioned, “How was that?”

His romantic partner was very hard to satisfy; his mouth curved upwards slightly again, but he still shook his head. “Still not good enough.” 

Yue Zhishi realised he might have dug a pit for himself. “I feel like you won’t be satisfied no matter what I do.”

Song Yu raised his eyebrows. “That’s okay, I’ll give you many, many chances.”

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