The Rocky Mountains stretch across the North American continent beneath year-round snow. Their peaks wear glittering white caps, and in early spring those caps begin to fade as meltwater gathers in the large lake at the foot of the mountains. Cedars cast their towering reflections across the water. The place is beautiful enough to seem unreal.
Beside the lake, a narrow trail can just be seen winding through the cedars. Footprints left there the day before have frozen into icy impressions overnight, twisting toward a wooden cabin in the trees.
In the open space outside the cabin lie the ashes of last night’s fire. Black charcoal stands stark against the clean snow, as bright and distinct as the little squirrel hopping around the yard in search of food.
This is a vacation property Ling He bought near the Rocky Mountains, the cabin where he and Xiaodao stay.
Early in the morning, a squirrel hops onto the windowsill and peers through a gap in the half-drawn curtains. Its paws tap lightly on the wooden frame, then hammer at the glass. Where are the two food officers? Still not getting up? Hey, hey…
Outside, heavy snow has sealed off the mountain. Inside, warmth fills the room.
The fireplace has burned all night, filling the cabin with the rich resinous scent of pine. Heat creeps slowly across the floor and up the four legs of the bed, where the air beneath the blankets is almost hot. Yan Xiaodao lies asleep on his stomach, half his face buried in the pillow. The hair at the crown and back of his head is tousled in a distinctly romantic sort of disarray, crushed into that state sometime during the night.
A long leg slides over him from beneath the quilt, followed by the warmth of another body embracing him from behind.
Yan Xiaodao exposes half his face from beneath the pillow and smiles at his lover. “Morning.”
“Heh. Morning…” The low, sweet greeting comes with affectionate licking kisses against Yan Xiaodao’s earlobe and temple as Ling He wraps his arms around him from behind.
Morning, my ass. The restaurants in town finished serving breakfast ages ago. It is almost lunchtime.
Lord Yan has overslept again. Sleeping late has become so normal that Yan Xiaodao is almost embarrassed to boast that for more than ten years he once maintained the martial artist’s habit of getting up at five-thirty every morning, washing in cold water, and practicing.
Habits exist so the person closest to you can torment you by destroying them. Ling He is particularly enthusiastic about challenging Yan Xiaodao’s early-to-bed, early-to-rise routine, approaching the task with inexhaustible energy.
Xiaodao wants to sleep early? Then keep pestering him so he can’t sleep…
Xiaodao wants to get up early? Then fuck him until he can’t get out of bed…
Ling He’s leg shifts restlessly over, then away, then back again.
“What are you doing?” Yan Xiaodao grumbles.
“Touching you.” Ling He has always been direct.
Ling He rubs the inside of his thigh against Xiaodao’s ass and suddenly realizes how good it feels. Yan Xiaodao’s ass is excellent: firm muscle with just enough give to knead and shape under his hands. He draws his leg back a little and slides it between Yan Xiaodao’s thighs. That single rub is enough to make Xiaodao unable to take it, and he tries to shift away.
“Quit it.” Yan Xiaodao shoots Ling He a look.
“Feels good,” Ling He comments.
“You’re rubbing my balls,” Yan Xiaodao complains.
“Then turn over and I’ll rub the front?” Ling He leans in close until their eyes meet. His expression makes it obvious that he is nowhere near satisfied and has no intention of letting it go. They have not even had breakfast yet, and the energetic Mr. Ling is already hungry again.
Yan Xiaodao laughs deep in his chest, reaches over, stuffs Ling He beneath the quilt with him, and the two disappear under the covers together.
Winters beneath the Rocky Mountains are especially cold. Both men are wearing long-sleeved cotton pajamas and shamelessly lingering in bed, enjoying the warmth under the covers.
Ling He spotted this vacation cabin during the winter slump in the housing market. It was good value for the price, so he moved quickly and bought it.
The house he lived in before has already been sold. That one was an older wooden building with a basement. It was there that he crippled his adoptive father, Ling Huang, and kept him imprisoned underground for years. Ling He would not call what he felt guilt or regret. If he had to live it again, he might still make the same choice. But he has no intention of returning to that old road and reliving the shadows of his youth. He bought this new cabin with both his and Yan Xiaodao’s names on the deed, severing himself from everything that came before.
Ling He also received the fifteen million in medical expenses that Zhang Wenxi returned to him.
Ling He immediately called Doctor Zhang. It was not a polite thank-you call. Whenever there was an opening, Ling He had no hesitation about asking for more. He told Zhang Wenxi that Mr. Yan’s arm had also been injured for quite a while, with a bone fracture and accumulated periosteal damage, and asked whether Doctor Zhang could treat him again.
Zhang Wenxi said, “What? You brat, did you beat up your wife again?”
Ling He said, “No. Bad people did all of that. It had nothing to do with me.”
Zhang Wenxi said, “I already treated him last time and didn’t charge you a cent. You’re coming back to bother me again?”
Ling He said, “You didn’t charge me last time, so of course I’m coming back to you this time!”
Doctor Zhang nearly keeled over from anger. What kind of person was this?
Ling He had no interest in the usual virtues of courtesy, modesty, and yielding, much less empty politeness. If he was going to make use of someone, he would use them thoroughly and squeeze out every last bit of value. So he took Yan Xiaodao straight to Doctor Zhang’s home base in Baoji, camped overnight at Zhang Wenxi’s place, and refused to leave until the doctor treated Yan Xiaodao’s arm too. Ling He was never especially meticulous about his own affairs, but when it came to Yan Xiaodao, he cared very much.
Yan Xiaodao is equally pleased with the location and scenery of the vacation cabin and praises Ling He’s excellent eye for property.
Lying beneath the covers, Yan Xiaodao muses aloud, “Too bad it’s across an ocean and so far away. Otherwise we could bring Bear Two and Third Lady too. Those two brats would love a place like this.”
As Alaskan Malamutes that love the cold and hate the heat, Bear Two and Third Lady would probably lose their minds with happiness here.
Ling He glances at him. “Missing those two precious sweethearts of yours?”
“Yeah. I miss them.”
Ling He gives a cold laugh. “Forget it. Even if they came, there wouldn’t be room. There’s no space for them in the bed.”
“You’re really domineering.”
Ling He is unapologetic. “That’s exactly how domineering I am. I won’t even let their fur stick to you. Only mine…”
Yan Xiaodao laughs. “Only your fur?”
Neither can hold back their laughter. Ling He smothers Yan Xiaodao’s neck and ears with his long hair until Xiaodao complains that it tickles. Ling He really is outrageously possessive. These days Yan Xiaodao is constantly picking long strands of hair from his collar, sleeves, and other places.
The crackling from the bedroom fireplace gradually dies away. Stretching an arm or leg outside the quilt is enough to feel waves of cold.
Yan Xiaodao lifts his head for a look. “The fire’s out. I’ll add some wood.”
Ling He looks over. “I’ll do it.”
Yan Xiaodao presses him back beneath the covers. The moment he climbs out of bed, both feet involuntarily hop against the floor. “Hiss… ow!”
Ling He says, “Cold, isn’t it? Come back!”
It is fucking freezing. This place is much colder than the seaside winters back in Linwan. They are in a snow-covered mountain region far inland.
Yan Xiaodao looks around but cannot find his slippers. They were in such a hurry getting into bed last night that he has no idea where he kicked them, perhaps under the bed. Barefoot, he goes pat-pat-pat across the floor, pulls firewood from the cupboard, and searches for the poker. Even his footsteps seem to carry the hard chill of the frozen floorboards.
Ling He springs out from under the quilt.
Yan Xiaodao says, “Hey, don’t come out. It’s seriously cold!”
Ling He practically bounds across the room without letting his feet touch the floor, hissing through his teeth from the cold. Together they cram wood into the fireplace and try to relight it. The first attempt somehow fails, so they keep fumbling with the fire while shivering. Ling He crouches in front of the hearth working on the wood while Yan Xiaodao hugs him from behind so they can share some warmth.
At last the fireplace catches again, firelight illuminating both their animated faces. As though they hear an invisible starting whistle, they turn and sprint for the bed, diving onto it while the quilt gets dragged into chaos between them.
Their bodies settle close together beneath the covers again, a layer of cold still trembling across their skin. The contrast between chill and warmth sends several deep shudders through both of them.
They kiss and hold each other closely. Yan Xiaodao rubs Ling He vigorously with his warm, rough hands. “My hands are hot. I’ll warm you up.”
“My tongue is hotter than your hands. Want me to warm you up?” Ling He presses the tip of his nose to Yan Xiaodao’s and quickly licks the corner of his mouth. “…Hot enough?”
Ling He like this is definitely more than hot enough.
“I’ll lick you warm.”
Ling He slowly leans over Yan Xiaodao, starting with kisses at the ear and trailing down his neck and collarbone. He pushes the pajama top open, truly intending to warm every inch of him with his tongue. Yan Xiaodao tries to pull him into an embrace, but Ling He slips free of his arms, yanks down his pajama pants, then his underwear.
The heat of his mouth sends a wave of warmth exploding across Yan Xiaodao’s skin, turning every shiver into successive surges of heat.
He is hopelessly addicted to Ling He’s blowjobs. Precisely because of everything complicated that came before, because they know each other inside and out, this kind of deliberate intimacy carries complete acceptance and possession. Its meaning goes far beyond mere physical pleasure.
Ling He has become frighteningly skilled. Someone naturally clever always seems to learn faster and do things better than everyone else, no matter what the task is.
Ling He pushes Xiaodao’s trousers and underwear down to his knees so he can hold his thighs. He knows exactly what Xiaodao likes: those tiny folds in places rarely exposed to light and usually overlooked. The occasional careful attention makes Yan Xiaodao’s thighs tremble with pleasure.
Yan Xiaodao suddenly ducks beneath the quilt as well, catches Ling He around the waist, and turns him a full one hundred eighty degrees.
Yan Xiaodao is even more brisk and rough about it, tugging away Ling He’s trousers beneath the covers and revealing his long, shapely legs.
Ling He clearly feels Xiaodao swell in his mouth again, lengthening by inches until he presses against the back of Ling He’s throat and leaves him a little flustered. Then a wave of warm satisfaction washes through his entire body, rushing through his lower abdomen and groin before flowing all the way to his ankles and toes. All ten toes curl tightly in pleasure.
Only someone who has felt this can understand it: when you take this person into your mouth and do it with genuine contentment, both body and mind feel satisfied, so much so that both of them grow even harder without meaning to.
Yan Xiaodao’s tongue turns out to be just as hot, hot and fiery.
Yan Xiaodao is rougher and more unrestrained, which Ling He secretly enjoys. Xiaodao’s fingers keep stroking between his legs until one of Ling He’s calves suddenly draws up, his heel scraping restlessly against the sheets before lowering, only to curl up again when he can no longer bear it. A low moan vibrates from his chest…
Whatever Ling He does, Yan Xiaodao immediately answers in kind, their responses matching point for point.
This is the beauty of two men together: what one has, the other has too, and both know exactly how to drive the other out of his mind. Ling He’s fingers press against Xiaodao’s perineum; Yan Xiaodao immediately returns the favor with a finger of his own, rubbing until Ling He can barely breathe. Whatever Ling He does to Xiaodao, Xiaodao immediately pays him back in kind. Their bodies twist together in a fierce tangle of limbs, completely absorbed in stroking and kissing, saliva trailing across skin. Xiaodao suddenly shifts and presses a hard kiss to Ling He’s lower belly, deliberately licking his navel until Ling He laughs because it tickles.
Both of them remain buried beneath the covers, communicating through touch in the darkness with such complete understanding that looks and words have become unnecessary.
The air beneath the quilt seems nearly exhausted. Time stretches absurdly long as they keep kissing, constellations seeming to swell and burst behind their closed eyes.
From the ceiling, the quilt looks as though two living dragons are coiled beneath it, colliding fiercely, faster and faster, until they suddenly go rigid and still, tangled into a pose of striking tension and beauty…
They climax almost at the same time.
Yan Xiaodao takes Ling He into his mouth without hesitation and swallows everything, while at the same time reaching down to pull himself free, not intending to come in Ling He’s mouth. But the execution goes slightly wrong. It simply feels too good; starved of oxygen, his brain turns sluggish, so he pulls away at the wrong moment and misses the angle. In an instant he loses control and comes.
A gasp of pleasure rolls from Yan Xiaodao’s throat.
He lies there breathing for a moment, then suddenly realizes something has gone wrong and springs out from beneath the quilt to inspect the situation.
Mr. Ling’s long hair lies loose around him as he curls half-naked beneath the quilt. Ling He is still too lost in the lingering afterglow of coming in Xiaodao’s mouth to open his eyes, his legs shifting lightly against the sheets while he pays attention to nothing else.
Feeling guilty, Yan Xiaodao lifts Ling He’s hair and notices that something has gotten caught in it. He is definitely going to have to wash Mr. Ling’s hair when they finally get up.
Ling He looks at him through half-lidded eyes, his expression indescribably complicated, apparently too tired to argue with Yan Xiaodao.
Yan Xiaodao is apologetic but cannot stop himself from laughing. “I’ll clean you up.”
Ling He looks thoroughly manhandled. His face, neck, hair, even his eyelashes carry the warm traces Yan Xiaodao left behind. His eyes sharpen as he shoots Xiaodao a fierce glare: Just wait until I fuck you senseless, Mr. Yan.
Yan Xiaodao quickly wipes Ling He clean.
Ling He hums, “Lick it clean.”
Yan Xiaodao hurriedly kisses him a few times. “That felt amazing… really great.”
That praise satisfies Ling He.
Yan Xiaodao adds, “It’s fine, your face is so pretty that even with cum all over it, you still look especially good!”
A cold flash crosses Ling He’s eyes. He wipes the mess from his own neck and smears it across Yan Xiaodao’s face, pushing his fingers into his mouth and making him taste it. Then they catch each other’s mouths again with perfect precision, melting together and exchanging the taste of each other’s bodily fluids as they thoroughly enjoy this “breakfast” on a snowy morning.
……
It is nearly noon by the time the two finally drag themselves out of bed and pull on some clothes.
Ling He is already starving. He digs two boxes of leftovers from yesterday’s restaurant meal out of the refrigerator, heats them carelessly, and starts eating. The two stand shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen shoveling down leftovers like a pair of starving ghosts.
Yan Xiaodao gets the shower water hot first, then calls Ling He in to wash.
The cabin bathroom is tiny, barely large enough for both of them to squeeze inside. Warm yellow light and white steam surround them. Yan Xiaodao likes washing Ling He’s hair, then drying it for him afterward until the long strands are smooth and fluffy.
They put on down jackets, ski caps, scarves, and gloves. The moment they open the door, the little squirrel greets them enthusiastically.
This unusually clever squirrel is one they deliberately allow to live beneath the porch as a shared pet. Ranked behind Bear Two and Third Lady, he is named Four-Fat. They even built him a little tree-hollow-shaped house so he would have somewhere sheltered from the wind and cold in winter. Ling He generously scatters a handful of pistachios, and Four-Fat happily chases the nuts as they roll all over the ground.
The two carry more firewood in from the backyard and stack it indoors for later. Tonight, tomorrow night… night after night entwined together.
Behind the house is a sparse little woodland that also belongs to their property. The midday sun warms a narrow path, making the snow beside it glitter as though scattered with tiny pearls beneath a bright sheen.
Almost without thinking, the two follow the path again to the clearing among the trees, each understanding why without needing to say it.
Beneath the trees lies a lawn covered by the remnants of snow. Once the last layer melts, the enduring green vegetation underneath will emerge again. That green is even more beautiful than the color of the lake beneath the Rocky Mountains, striking against Ling He’s eyes.
Two low square stone markers stand in the snow, simply decorated, each set with a small oval photograph. They are placed close together and engraved with the names of Ling He’s parents.
The two men stand there amid snow and ice and yet beneath warm sunlight. For a long time they say nothing. Their breath forms white mist in front of them, conveniently concealing the emotions rising inside.
Ling He rubs the ring on his finger. If he had never met Yan Xiaodao in this lifetime, he would certainly have chosen another method of revenge, the method he had spent years imagining. He would never have had another chance to care for and guard the people he missed most, and he would not be standing here now, able to spend the rest of his life surrounded by the warmest human affection.
Sharp green shoots are pushing through the snow around the graves, with fresh leaves appearing in places. They planted a broad patch of daffodils here. Buds are gathering along the stems, poised to open in the first days of spring with a startling, almost otherworldly grace.
Yan Xiaodao also planted several camellias around the backyard and grave site.
Hiring workers in North America is expensive. Yan Xiaodao has no shortage of money, but he is used to doing physical work himself and thinks nothing of rolling up his sleeves. He has arranged the garden with considerable charm. The camellias are also putting out new leaves in early spring, their branches heavy with buds. Flecks of vivid red show through the edges of the splitting buds, quiet and dignified.
Ling He also buried the ashes of his adoptive father, Ling Huang. Deciding where to bury him had caused a surprising amount of trouble.
Yan Xiaodao suggested that they bury him behind the house too. There was plenty of land, so they could put him under one of the nearby trees.
Ling He refused. He said that was too close to his parents. It would look as though someone had buried a third party beside them, and he did not want to see that.
Yan Xiaodao did not know whether to laugh or cry. He comforted Ling He, saying it did not look anything like that. The man was gone now, so why not grant his final wish? Ling Huang would surely have wanted to be buried somewhere near them.
Ling He said no. He wanted to bury the man in New York, at least five hours away by plane.
Yan Xiaodao hugged him and comforted him. At the time he said, “I’m still grateful to your adoptive father. Without him, I might never have had the chance to meet you. A person has to learn gratitude and contentment in this life. Then living becomes easier and freer.”
Ling He said nothing, but quietly took Yan Xiaodao’s lesson into his heart. In the end they bought a square plot in the town cemetery and buried Ling Huang there, about a six-mile drive from the cabin. Every time Yan Xiaodao flew over for a vacation, he remembered to leave flowers at Mr. Ling Huang’s grave. No point letting the old man get too lonely. Loneliness can make people twisted!
Yan Xiaodao makes a circuit of the woodland, picking up dead branches and leaves left from winter, then comes back rubbing his hands hard for warmth.
He sees that Ling He’s nose has turned red from the cold, yet Ling He is still standing motionless before Gu Yunzhou’s grave. Ling He looks strikingly like the man in the photograph on the marker. At first glance they could almost be the same person, both carrying a trace of quiet sadness between the brows, creating the strange impression that someone long gone has returned to the world.
“Come on. We can come again tomorrow.” Yan Xiaodao takes Ling He’s hand and squeezes it firmly.
“Okay.” Ling He nods and obediently follows Xiaodao away.
By Chef Ling’s standards, lunch today is pure laziness: another huge pot of pasta.
Yan Xiaodao has noticed that for some time now Ling He’s cooking has become increasingly rough and casual, nowhere near as patient or meticulous as it once was. Except on special anniversaries, Ling He rarely prepares elaborate five-dish meals anymore. Whether they are home in Linwan or vacationing in North America, he cooks one or two simple dishes, opens a bottle of red wine, and sits with Yan Xiaodao on the sofa talking about everything and nothing.
In other words, Ling He has learned not to waste so much time alone, obsessing over things that do not matter.
He has been changing slowly all along, becoming more relaxed, freer, more spontaneous. He would rather spend that time traveling through life with Xiaodao than stand alone in a kitchen for hours arranging food with compulsive precision.
Ling He rummages through the refrigerator and pulls out a large piece of meat they bought at the town farmers’ market a few days ago. “Want this?”
Yan Xiaodao asks, “What kind of meat is that?… Beef?”
Ling He says, “Is there any kind of meat you don’t eat?”
Yan Xiaodao laughs openly. “No. I’m not picky. If you cook it, I’ll eat it.”
Ling He says, “It’s wild boar.”
“Fuck.” Yan Xiaodao frowns. “Will that even taste good? Isn’t it really tough?”
Ling He handles the large piece of boar expertly on the cutting board. “Not as tough as your meat. Don’t worry. Eat it.”
Yan Xiaodao circles the stove, wanders around behind Ling He, wraps his arms around his waist, and leans close to his ear in mock threat. “My meat is tough?”
Ling He keeps his eyes lowered as he dices. “Tough meat can take a long, slow braise. It won’t fall apart the moment it hits the pot. Pretty good.”
That tough? Yan Xiaodao brushes Ling He’s ear with the tip of his nose. “Which tastes better, my meat or wild boar?”
The sun has not even set and Mr. Yan is already acting up again. Ling He teases, “I’ve never fucked a wild boar, so I can’t compare, but you’re a lot better-looking than one.”
Ling He laughs at his own answer and says with disgust, “You’re so clingy.”
Yan Xiaodao immediately pinches him several times around the waist, finding a ticklish spot. Ling He frowns and lifts the knife. “Quit messing with me. I’ll cut my hand. Go away. Back up!”
“Want me to cut it? My knife work is faster than yours.” Yan Xiaodao rolls his shirt sleeves smoothly above his elbows.
“No need. Go away.” Ling He refuses to hand over the knife.
Before the words have even finished leaving his mouth, Yan Xiaodao moves with effortless speed and the kitchen knife changes hands in an instant.
Ling He barely has time to react before staring in disbelief at the knife Yan Xiaodao has taken barehanded.
Once he tries to take it back, there is no chance. Any blade that lands in Yan Xiaodao’s hand seems to stick there. He can play with it however he likes, and nobody is getting it away from him.
The kitchen instantly becomes another battlefield. They advance, retreat, snatch, and dodge until everything descends into chaos and pots and bowls nearly go flying.
At last a huge pot of wild-boar pasta is ready. Each man fills an enormous bowl, tops it with parsley and oregano, then eats ravenously while savoring the simple happiness of the moment.
……