Chapter 86: CH 79

Chapter 79: Lost in the Eye of the Storm

That endearment left Yue Zhishi faint and woozy the entire time up until they got off the car, his entire brain feeling warm and flushed. He was originally an obedient child to begin with, and he became even more docile after turning silly and foolish, letting Song Yu tug him forward however he wished.

There weren’t that many people on the streets, and so Yue Zhishi didn’t feel too embarrassed. He kept replaying in his mind how Song Yu had looked when he called him baobao, like a hamster who’d hidden away nuts in his cheeks, furtively taking them out and savouring them with small nibbles when no one was around.

But before they entered the restaurant, Song Yu still ended up untying the ribbon around his hands, slowly and leisurely folding it up and putting it away. The restaurant was packed with people, and there were two, three young men and women waiting for taxis at the entrance. Once they saw Yue Zhishi, they gave him a few more glances.

“Didn’t you say you were going to keep me tied up for dinner?” Yue Zhishi pressed himself against Song Yu’s arm, leaning on him as they went up the steps. “You’re not going to feed me anymore?”

Song Yu looked at the self-satisfaction on Yue Zhishi’s face that he couldn’t quite hide, and his mouth unconsciously curled up several degrees.

“That needs to be paid for, big shot lawyer.”

“I’ll have lots of money in the future, I can afford it.” 

It was a large restaurant, decorated according to Chinese customs; it was even slightly decorated according to the style of a Lingnan garden. Yue Zhishi only noticed the place was a bit familiar after entering their private room — he carefully thought about it, and then he realised this was one of the restaurants he saw listed in the Black Pearl Restaurant Guide when he was researching where to eat.

“How’d you know about this place?” Yue Zhishi asked.

Song Yu was ordering food with the ease of long practice, and then he closed the menu, handing it to the waiter, before quietly talking to her about allergies, dietary restraints and other things. He waited for the waiter to leave before looking at Yue Zhishi. “Your memory really isn’t all that good.”

“Have I talked about this place before?” Yue Zhishi frowned, not remembering.

“On the bullet train,” Song Yu said.

Yue Zhishi had a vague impression of doing so. He had likely mentioned it only in passing — after all, there wasn’t much logical flow in his words when he was mindlessly chattering away. 

But Song Yu was like a machine able to save memories at any place and at any time. There were some small, trifling things that Yue Zhishi found insignificant and essentially wouldn’t remember at all — and yet Song Yu would forever be able to clearly point them out, even able to remember the time and place they were first mentioned.

He’d thought that was because Song Yu was smart, born with innate ability.

The waiter pushed the door and entered, carrying in her hands not only a white porcelain teapot but also a square cushion. Song Yu turned his head to look at her and pointed at Yue Zhishi; the waiter immediately understood and walked over. She asked Yue Zhishi to first get up, and then she placed the cushion onto the chair. “Sir, please sit.”

Yue Zhishi’s ears were still warm by the time the waiter left and closed the door — he wanted to say something, but he was too embarrassed to say it. The two of them sat at the ends of the table, separated very far, and Yue Zhishi chucked whatever table manners he had to the side, moving his chair next to Song Yu’s side.

Perhaps it was because the Song family’s family upbringing was relatively casual and gentle; whenever everyone ate together, all of them needed to sit together. Even though their house was very large, they all preferred to sit around a small circular dining table.

Yue Zhishi was used to sitting next to Song Yu. When he’d first entered elementary school, there was a period of time when he had been required to stay at school for lunch and the afternoon break. Six year old Yue Zhishi had lined up together with his classmates, letting the auntie at the cafeteria place food into his insulated bowl, and had then followed his classmates to sit and eat at a rectangular table.

But Yue Zhishi hadn’t known different grades needed to be stay separate. He kept refusing to let other children sit next to him, pressing his palm onto that stool as he looked around for Song Yu. 

He later saw Song Yu appear in another group. Song Yu was carrying his food together with some other people, and he walked towards another seat as far away from Yue Zhishi as two corridors before sitting down. No matter how Yue Zhishi waved or called at him, Song Yu didn’t come over.

Yue Zhishi wasn’t a child easily discouraged. He tried to lift and carry away his stool, but after pulling at it for a long time, he realised the stool was attached onto the floor, unable to be moved. So in the end, he carried away only his food and ran through the crowd until he reached Song Yu and placed his bowl of food onto Song Yu’s table with a clatter. 

At that time, Song Yu had acted just like his other classmates did: he’d lifted his head to look at him in confusion.

“Why are you here? Go back to your class.”

Yue Zhishi shook his head. “I want to eat with you.”

He had been a very strange child, preferring to stand next to Song Yu instead of going back. He stood there and scooped up his food with his spoon, obediently eating his meal one mouthful at a time.

Song Yu saw the teacher on patrol and uselessly urged him to go back several times.

“Aren’t you tired standing there?”

“Yeah,” Yue Zhishi vaguely said, conveniently slipping down and pushing his way onto Song Yu’s stool. Except his butt took up only a small sliver, and he continued to eat while hugging his bowl.

Song Yu’s classmates teased Song Yu, even saying, “Aiyah, just hug your little brother while you eat.”

“Exactly, he’s so cute.” 

Yue Zhishi even knew to say thank you very politely to the people who praised him for being cute. But as Song Yu hesitated, pondering whether or not he should pick Yue Zhishi up, the teacher on patrol appeared and dragged Yue Zhishi back to his first year class.

Just like he usually did, Yue Zhishi cried, but he didn’t wail and bother other people. Tears simply dripped out of his eyes very quietly. He refused to put his bowl on the table and hugged it — this way he could turn his body around and gaze in Song Yu’s direction. He cried as he ate, stubbornly staring at gege. 

Yue Zhishi cried every day at noon. Song Yu was already a picky eater, and now it was even harder for him to eat; no matter how he pretended, he still saw Yue Zhishi. Fortunately, their school later removed its requirement of eating lunch at school, and they returned home for lunch together — only then did their miserable lunch experience end.

During elementary school, Song Yu had truly gone through too many experiences ordinary children wouldn’t be able to take. And so he thought, maybe that was why his memories were etched so deeply into him.

Watching as Yue Zhishi moved his chair next to him, Song Yu didn’t say anything and only poured him a hot cup of flowering tea, pushing the cup and saucer over.

“Drink some.”

Even though the words were a command, Song Yu’s voice was very gentle. Yue Zhishi docilely raised the cup, took a large sip and then placed it back on the table, wrapping his hand around the cup.

“You don’t think I’ll look good with long hair? Everyone says I’ll look really nice if I grow it out.” Yue Zhishi looked at him with his head tilted sideways, and he gave Song Yu his reason very honestly. “I didn’t cut my hair because I wanted you to see.”

After hearing that, Song Yu placed down his own cup of tea. His hand covered the back of Yue Zhishi’s pale hand, his fingers sliding over those clearly seen veins. “You will look good.”

He always looked so warm and gentle when his eyes were lowered. All those emotions that could give people a feeling of oppression were all folded away.

“Then don’t cut your hair.” He said, “Grow it out if you want.”

Yue Zhishi thought Song Yu was truly very strange. Sometimes, he was so unyielding no one could change or block his decisions, acting like an emotionless robot whenever he gave out an order. But sometimes, he was willing to yield and compromise so easily — as though there was a switch that could swap his attitude at any given time.

But thinking of how Song Yu interacted with other people, that switch seemed to be invisible during those times.

He was often very quiet, not quite willing to speak, but there would be times he’d continuously and repeatedly bring up something small to Yue Zhishi. He’d mention it with a bit of annoyance, but he wouldn’t come straight out and talk about it — and it made Yue Zhishi think he was actually really cute.

If it were possible, Yue Zhishi wished for that kind of Song Yu to never be found by anyone else. It would be best if other people only saw Song Yu with his shield against strangers, never able to find his hidden away switch.

Yue Zhishi treated everyone generously, willing to share everything he had — except for Song Yu.

The food started to arrive, and no matter whether it was the roast meat or other small dishes, they all matched Yue Zhishi’s tastes very well. He ate whatever Song Yu gave him, and after he drank down a large bowl of crab porridge, his whole body started to sweat.

The window in their private room wasn’t large, but they were able to see the ash grey sky and humid fog outside. The rain started again, pouring rapidly and substantially, and they could distinctly hear the sounds of rain even while sitting inside.

Yue Zhishi took off his duffle coat and wore only his black woollen sweater. Rolling up his sleeves, he exposed a small section of his milky white arms.

“Does your body still hurt?”

Yue Zhishi had just picked up a piece of coconut milk pudding when he heard Song Yu’s question. He paused, like he was carefully going through what he was feeling in his body. “Not really. But I’m still really sore.” He lightly patted his legs and waist. “Just like the day after running a long distance race. Although I feel a bit better than I imagined I would.”

“Imagined?” Song Yu caught onto the word. “When did you imagine?”

“Just… just earlier.” Yue Zhishi’s cheek puffed up from stuffing in the piece of coconut milk pudding. His large eyes flickered over in Song Yu’s direction, and he said to him softly, “People would think about it after getting together, right? Even though I didn’t know when…”

He swallowed the pudding. “I used to be a bit scared, because whenever I thought about that video I accidentally watched, I felt like it would really hurt. It was a bit frightening.”

Yue Zhishi was very scared of pain. He had been the child crying the hardest whenever he was taken to get his vaccine shots.

Song Yu wanted to say then why’d you push for it, but he understood Yue Zhishi’s heart — so he didn’t speak, only using a finger to poke at his inflated cheek.

“Mmph!” Yue Zhishi widened his eyes, expressing his displeasure. Song Yu enjoyed that reaction of his, and so he propped up his elbow on the table and gazed at him, silently watching him for a good long while before suddenly opening his mouth.

“Le Le.”

“Hm?” Swallowing his mouthful of red bean soup, Yue Zhishi raised his head and looked at him.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

Yue Zhishi had almost never heard Song Yu say thank you to anyone, seeming to find it hard to express his gratitude — but right now, he said thank you to him so very solemnly.

“Don’t say that.” Yue Zhishi stroked Song Yu’s arm. He didn’t think trusting Song Yu was something worth thanking.

“Your first time should’ve been really scary,” Song Yu said.

“Wasn’t it also the first time for you too?” Yue Zhishi curved his head, smiling at him. “I even transferred you money as soon as I got out of bed.”

He felt like Song Yu had utterly done what he said he would: he truly did treasure him.

Seeing Song Yu faintly smile because of his teasing, Yue Zhishi relaxed a fair amount. He then said, “We’re not quite the same as everyone else. Ever since I was a child, the first time I learned to call someone in Chinese, the first time I went to school, the first time I kissed someone, the first time I swam, the first time my heart moved for someone, the first time I fell in love… There’s too many. I’ve pretty much given all of my first times to you, because you have forever been by my side. So it shouldn’t be you thanking me for trusting you — I should be the one thanking you.”

The smile on his face was sincere and beautiful. “Thank you for staying with me as I grew up.”

Song Yu’s emotions were surging, and he didn’t want them to be noticed; he first turned his face away and heaped a bunch of food onto Yue Zhishi’s plate. After a little while, he then deliberately reached out to touch Yue Zhishi’s chin, to squeeze his face, attempting to shift his emotions. 

“I ended up eating everything.” Yue Zhishi finished off the last piece of the rice noodle rolls and collapsed back into his chair. “I’m so stuffed. You didn’t even eat, you were so focused on teasing me.”

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Having played enough with his face, Song Yu reached out again to touch Yue Zhishi’s belly. Almost as though he was talking to himself, he said so soft.

“Yeah, why don’t I have abs.” Yue Zhishi flipped up his woollen sweater to look at his stomach. He had two long, shallow lines of muscle stretching downwards, unlike the blocks of muscles Song Yu had. “Do these count?”

His waist was very thin, and the kiss marks on the skin had already darkened. Song Yu pulled his sweater back down, saying, “You’re trying to find all different kinds of ways to get sick.”

When they were getting ready to leave, Song Yu fiddled around with something in his pocket. Thinking he wanted to tie him up again, Yue Zhishi proactively stretched out his wrists, placing them together.

Song Yu was stunned — he pulled out Yue Zhishi’s watch from his coat pocket, giving him a puzzled look. 

“Ah…” Yue Zhishi felt a bit awkward. “Oops.” 

Song Yu lightly chuckled and lowered his head to look at the tiny red residual imprint on his wrists. Picking up one of Yue Zhishi’s hands, he put the watch on him and adjusted the position of the dial. “Since you like being tied up so much, I’ll buy you a pair of handcuffs.” 

“Huh?!” Yue Zhishi’s eyes went wide and round, but Song Yu pulled him into his arms and kissed him very softly.

The door to their room was suddenly opened; it seemed like someone went into the wrong place. Yue Zhishi just happened to be facing towards the door, and he wanted to pull away, a bit alarmed — but Song Yu’s hand held onto the back of his head. He didn’t let go until that person apologised in a fluster, closing the door, and until Yue Zhishi started to lose the steady rhythm of his breathing. 

That kiss was their dessert. Yue Zhishi left the restaurant with Song Yu holding his hand, and he was still thinking about what Song Yu had just said. As they waited for a taxi, he leaned closely into his shoulder and said, “Were you serious?” 

Song Yu glanced at him, as though not sure what he was talking about. Yue Zhishi stretched out both his hands again, like a meek criminal pleading guilty. 

“No.”

“With your wrists like this,” Song Yu caught his wrist bone in between his thumb and index finger and shook it, “they’ll break at first impact.” 

Yue Zhishi thought, it’d be best if he wasn’t serious. But he also wished to have a pair of handcuffs himself; one side of it would be cuffed onto Song Yu’s hand so he wouldn’t be able to run away. Song Yu released his hand, and that hand dropped down, bumping into Song Yu’s — the dials on the two watches lightly, gently collided into each other and released a sound. Silver watchbands twisted around each wrist, as though they truly were a pair of separated handcuffs. 

Once in the car, the taxi drove along the rainy street, looking like it was heading in no particular direction at all. It was as though they were lost within this city right in the eye of the storm, looping and circulating around in strange and similar-looking roads. 

And Yue Zhishi hoped he would never be able to get out.

The taxi finally stopped at the old quarters of the city, because Yue Zhishi had said before that he wanted to see the architecture in the old quarters. Song Yu held up a heavy, roomy black umbrella. The rain had lessened slightly, but he still shielded Yue Zhishi in his arms, the umbrella forever slanted to a side. He was unwilling to let any rain fall on Yue Zhishi. 

The weather here wasn’t exactly suitable for a date — perhaps even too terrible for a date. The wind was harsh, the rain persistently falling; the sky was dim and grey. There were almost no one on the streets, and when there were, they rushed past to wherever they needed to go. Yue Zhishi, living in a part of China far from the coast, kept pondering as he walked whether the typhoon had arrived yet. Was it currently arriving, or had it already arrived?

His legs were still slightly sore, so Yue Zhishi kept wanting to pause after walking a short distance. The first time, Song Yu asked him why he stopped; after he explained, Song Yu would proactively come to a halt every time, like an instrument installed with an ability to precisely measure distances. 

“Oh, that’s right.” Yue Zhishi stretched out a hand to him, a cute look on his face. “Where’s my present?” He thought about Song Yu’s joke at the dinner table. “You wouldn’t have really brought back some nanmu, right.” 

“That was just to trick Qin Yan. The northwest region doesn’t have any nanmu.” 

“Then did you bring back a gift this time?”

“Yes.” Song Yu nodded. Thinking they’d rested enough, he took a few steps with an arm around Yue Zhishi. “I’ll give it to you once we get back.” 

With something to look forward to, Yue Zhishi became cheerful very quickly. They chatted as they walked — Yue Zhishi described to Song Yu how Nan Jia trained their models, and also told him he had a mock trial the week after next. He told Song Yu the time and place, but he didn’t explicitly invite Song Yu to watch. When he asked Song Yu about his switch in research areas, it felt like he had something to say, but Song Yu didn’t get the chance to organise his thoughts before the cellphone in his pocket vibrated for a long time.

Song Yu stared at the screen, and Yue Zhishi stared at him. He felt like Song Yu’s mouth, originally gently curled up, flattened downwards, turning into a straight line. He picked up the call, placing the screen next to his ear.

“Hey, Dad.”

Song Yu’s other hand was still holding up the umbrella, and he replied a few times in a very low voice. At first, Yue Zhishi thought he was going to lie — in his heart, he’d already helped Song Yu think of excuses and lies. When he had been responding to Lin Rong’s messages yesterday, Yue Zhishi had completely not mentioned Song Yu at all.

But faced with his father, Song Yu was much more honest than he’d imagined. 

“I came to Guangzhou to look for Yue Zhishi. Yes, he’s not too safe by himself.” Song Yu looked off in another direction as he spoke, the lines of his profile appearing even stonier in the rain. 

“It’s already done, we’ll head back in two days… Mn, I know. Be careful on your business trip.”

After hanging up the call, Song Yu intentionally moved the umbrella to his other hand. He caught Yue Zhishi’s hand, and just like how he would with all his personal belongings, placed it into his coat pocket. It wasn’t clear exactly who he was trying to help feel secure.

Song Yu could feel his heart thudding in dull, heavy beats. As though he was suffering from an auditory hallucination, his father’s concerned voice kept echoing in his ear — but his sense of guilt distorted the words, transforming them. 

It was as if the words he’d said on the phone weren’t ‘Le Le doesn’t have a strong body, you need to take care of him, there’s no difference between him and your actual younger brother.’

But rather, [I’ve raised you, educated you for so many years — was it just for you to trick my best friend’s orphan into bed?]

His father’s benevolence and righteousness were in front of him. Compared to him, Song Yu knew himself as vulgar — all the things he cared about came from a small, unimportant love, the result of hormones.

He didn’t want to be like that either. No one did.

Lost in his thoughts, Song Yu didn’t control his strength, and he only realised he’d held on too tightly when he heard Yue Zhishi very quietly call out in pain. 

“I’m sorry.” Song Yu opened his hand, but Yue Zhishi rapidly clutched back at him.

“Song Yu, your hand’s so cold,” he said, covering Song Yu’s fingers. “I’ll warm it up for you.”

What his father didn’t know was: the orphan he’d tricked away was not someone with a shallow and immature mind. Rather, he was a courageous boy ready to accept accidents and death at any given moment, willing to leave behind his ashes to him in a promise in his will.

It didn’t matter who else was in his position — who would be willing to let him go? 

They reached the corner of the street. In reality, the two of them weren’t really looking at the scenery beyond the umbrella; they were only slowly strolling. Yue Zhishi felt like his words were suddenly emptied out, but he didn’t want them to be so silent. He thought and thought, struggling, but before he could find a suitable topic, they were stopped by a young man.

“Hi, sorry for disturbing you guys.” There was an apologetic smile on the guy’s face. “Can you take a photo of my girlfriend and me? We’re over there, I’ll need you to come with me for a bit.”

Song Yu didn’t speak, but Yue Zhishi quickly agreed. “Sure.” He took the camera from the man’s hand.

“That’s fantastic. There are so few people around today, we had to look around for a long time before seeing someone. Thank you so much.” The young man mocked himself for not knowing how to pick the right timing, having come out to play during such terrible weather.

Yue Zhishi kindly comforted him, saying it wasn’t too crowded because of the bad weather.

They followed the man for a while and only then realised there was a stunning gothic cathedral with two spires hidden away in the old quarters. Because of the wind and rain, there was no one else here — the cathedral’s yellow coloured granite walls looked even more solemn and dignified, even slightly desolate, under the dreary sky.

A young lady not too far away was holding up a transparent umbrella. She wore a long red knitted dress, and she was the only spot of bright colour in the area. She smiled so very happily, waving towards the man.

“You can just press here. Thank you.” After showing Yue Zhishi how to use the camera, the man swiftly headed towards his girlfriend and smiled at the camera, his arm slipped around her shoulders.

In order for them to look nicer in the photo and to include the background, Yue Zhishi knelt down and angled the camera upwards. “Done! How about one more?”

The man loudly said yes and then pulled his girlfriend into his arms — he asked her if she wanted to kiss in such a special, meaningful place and only dipped his head when she shyly nodded. They shared an embrace and a kiss underneath the cathedral’s rose window.

Having received a satisfactory photo, the couple left in gratitude. In an instant, only the two of them were left in front of the cathedral, cold and lonely. Yue Zhishi stretched out his head a bit, looking up at the structure, and said to Song Yu, “I hear this is one of the world’s four great cathedrals.”

He thought Song Yu didn’t know; unexpectedly, Song Yu corrected him and said, “It’s one of the four great gothic cathedrals made completely of granite.”

“Yes.” Yue Zhishi nodded. “I didn’t think we’d be able to visit here before heading back.”

He gazed upwards for a while, not talking. Yue Zhishi’s imagination always worked very quickly — seeing a beautiful and magnificent cathedral, he imagined white veils, fresh flowers, a loving couple celebrated by everyone and a priest reciting long oaths.

The priest announced you may now kiss. And so in Yue Zhishi’s fantasy, that couple just then turned into a newly wedded bride and groom, hugging and kissing after exchanging rings. Bright and joyous smiles were on their faces.

And he was simply just a spectator, standing beyond the cathedral doors. In this fantasy, he hoped Song Yu wouldn’t stand together with him; he didn’t want him to be barred outside.

“Good thing I didn’t grow up in England.” Yue Zhishi looked up at the cross perched on top of the cathedral, as well as the heavy clouds floating behind it. 

“Why?” Song Yu was looking only at him.

Yue Zhishi’s gaze was still upturned, and he slowly blinked. “Wouldn’t you be religious if you grew up there? I hear people who believe in Christianity think homosexual people will go to hell after they die.”

He didn’t want to add even more guilt onto Song Yu’s body. 

“Everyone says God loves the world.” Perplexed, Yue Zhishi studied the cross. “Will God love the people in the world who fall in love with people of their same gender? Or will God punish their souls after they die.”

He belatedly realised he once again spoke about death. Yue Zhishi lowered his head, very lightly saying sorry; he didn’t know if Song Yu could understand why he apologised, and he wondered if he should explain.

But he didn’t expect Song Yu to grab his waist. The umbrella sloped to one side, splitting the world in front of his eyes into two — the oppressive black umbrella concealed the road they’d come from, yet the cathedral in front of them remained complete and upright, witness to everything.

Behind the umbrella, in front of the cathedral, Song Yu lowered his head and gave Yue Zhishi a kiss.

It was a reverent and profound kiss, as though Song Yu was using his actions as a silent rebellion — defying faith, defying rules.

From the moment he’d widened his eyes in alarm to finally closing them, Yue Zhishi could feel his nose burning. There were no flowers, no crowd of people wishing them well, and even the sky was gloomy and stifling, pouring cold rain. It was as though millions and millions of silver needles were descending from the sky, stabbing directly onto their bodies.

He realised he’d changed: he enjoyed this rain, and found comfort in this joy stolen from suffering. The honey licked from the tip of a knife came so difficultly — who wouldn’t find it sweet?

At least this rain wouldn’t shun them.

Yue Zhishi opened his eyes only after Song Yu had retreated some distance. Fine droplets of rain stained his eyelashes, and his vision was slightly hazy. He looked up, face turned towards Song Yu, and thought he was like a statue of a god: tall and lofty, filled with taboos yet flawless and perfect.

And yet he stood in front of the cathedral and said to Yue Zhishi, voice filled with blasphemy, “I don’t need God to love me.”

“It’s enough just to have you.”

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