Chen Yimang kept an arm lightly around Shao Wu’s shoulders as they got into a taxi.
“Driver, Donghe Chuntian.”
Shao Wu had calmed down a little. He wiped the tears from his cheek rather awkwardly and asked Chen Yimang, “Where’s Donghe Chuntian?”
“A residential compound,” Chen Yimang said quietly. “I rent a place there.”
They arrived before long. It turned out Donghe Chuntian was also in Guanyinqiao. The two of them got out, Chen Yimang still with an arm around Shao Wu. He squeezed Shao Wu’s shoulder. “Did you eat dinner?”
“A little…”
“Then eat some more. There’s a place that makes excellent Chongqing xiaomian.” Chen Yimang smiled. “This is actually the first time I’ve taken anyone there.”
Elio’s Notes: Chongqing xiaomian (小面) is a local noodle dish built around a strongly seasoned base, often with chili oil, Sichuan pepper, garlic, and other aromatics.
Still dazed, Shao Wu let Chen Yimang lead him quickly through the night. They passed several fruit stalls and barbecue stands before stopping at a street corner.
“Here,” Chen Yimang said.
Bandeng Noodle House. Shao Wu could already smell chili oil.
The little shop was extremely plain. Once the rolling shutter was raised, there was not even a proper front door, just a concrete floor and plastic tables and chairs. Shao Wu even spotted several small stools scattered beneath a roadside planter. Clearly, when the shop got busy, the planter’s broad concrete edge doubled as a dining table.
Chen Yimang called loudly, “Boss, two liang of noodles each, add an egg. Two bowls.”
“Coming!” A middle-aged couple behind the stove answered lazily.
It was nearly nine, already past dinnertime. Only two elderly people were still sitting there chatting, their noodle bowls empty. Chen Yimang and Shao Wu sat across from each other, a patch of blurred light falling over their plastic table.
“Feeling any better?” Chen Yimang asked.
“Mm…” Shao Wu gave a bitter smile. “I’m fine. It was just too sudden… We only saw each other over the May Day holiday. He wasn’t dating anyone then.”
“Can I ask which one he was?”
“The one with the backpack.”
“Oh.” Chen Yimang sighed softly. “He really is handsome. Straight guy… what a waste.”
The owner’s wife brought over two bowls of xiaomian. Surprisingly, they were served in cream-yellow enamel bowls with wooden chopsticks. Shao Wu remembered that when he was little, his family had used enamel bowls too, except theirs were white, with a square red Double Happiness character printed at the bottom, apparently issued by his aunt’s workplace when she got married.
Later, enamel bowls gradually fell out of use, and his family switched to bone-china tableware, light and fine in texture.
Shao Wu suddenly missed home. Missed Yongchuan.
“You have to mix everything thoroughly. That’s when it tastes best,” Chen Yimang said.
“Mm.” Shao Wu lifted the soft white noodles high with his chopsticks. At the bottom of the bowl was a thick layer of chili flakes and fermented black beans soaking in glistening oil, along with minced garlic and seasonings he could not identify. A few freshly cooked, translucent cabbage leaves framed a golden fried egg.
Shao Wu lifted a bite of noodles to his mouth. They were a little hot, and the faintly astringent fragrance of the chili spread across his tongue.
“I’ve liked him for a long time,” Shao Wu said softly over the bowl of noodles. “A really long time.”
“How long?”
“Since my second year of high school, I guess.”
“Oh… that is a long time.” Chen Yimang added a little vinegar to his bowl. “Is he really that good?”
“If you ask me what’s so good about him, I can’t explain it.” Shao Wu smiled faintly. “It’s just… ugh.”
“So you’re just stupid, then.” Chen Yimang looked at him. “I heard you scored 631 on the gaokao?”
Shao Wu froze. “You know that too?”
“I heard Ning Xiao and the others talking about some weirdo who scored 631 and still went to Chongqing University.”
Shao Wu said, “…”
Chen Yimang asked, “Don’t tell me you came to Chongqing University because of that guy.”
Shao Wu nodded.
Now it was Chen Yimang’s turn to be speechless.
Shao Wu swallowed a mouthful of noodles and said quietly, “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Who would I even tell? And if I did, who’d believe me?”
Shao Wu sighed. “True.”
They each ate their noodles, making loud slurping sounds. The fruit shop across the street had its doors open, and Scarlet Heart was playing on the television inside, full of imperial consorts and emperors making an enormous racket. Every so often, a few cicada calls reached Shao Wu’s ears.
Elio’s Notes: The television drama Scarlet Heart (《步步驚心》) first aired on September 10, 2011, several months after this May 2011 scene. The anachronism appears in the original Chinese.
When they finished eating, Chen Yimang paid the bill, then said, “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“My place.”
Shao Wu hesitated. “We…”
“Come on. It’s not like I’m going to force you.” Chen Yimang sighed. “My place is huge. There’s plenty of room to sleep.”
Shao Wu followed Chen Yimang into the residential compound and upstairs. His apartment really was spacious. The balcony was open-air, with several pots of aloe vera.
Chen Yimang pointed at the sofa. “Sit wherever.” Then he turned on the air conditioner and dug two Qiaolezi ice-cream bars out of the freezer, handing one to Shao Wu.
“Have you ever thought about telling him?” Chen Yimang asked.
Shao Wu shook his head. “He likes girls… You saw it too.”
“So basically, you’ve been secretly in love with him all this time, gave up a better university for him, changed the course of your life for him. Shao Wu…” Chen Yimang paused for two seconds. “He knows none of it. What’s the point?”
Before Shao Wu could answer, Chen Yimang continued, “Let’s say he did know. Do you think he’d be so moved he’d wet his pants? No. He’s innocent in this too. Why should you sacrifice so much for him? Did you ask his permission? He did absolutely nothing and somehow ended up owing you.”
“I don’t think he owes me anything,” Shao Wu said. “I did all of it… because I wanted to.”
“But the reality is still that you gave up a better university for him.”
Shao Wu lowered his head. “Mm.”
Chen Yimang fell silent. After a long while, he gently took Shao Wu’s hand. “It’s not your fault either. That’s just fate. He’s straight… Shao Wu, no one’s to blame for this. There’s nothing anyone can do.”
“I know,” Shao Wu said.
“The only thing you can do is stop liking him and find someone like us instead. Even if it’s only sex. There aren’t that many people in this circle who seriously date anyway.”
The ice cream had melted and dripped onto Shao Wu’s trousers, white cream mixed with dark chocolate.
“Do you want to try it with me?” Chen Yimang asked.
Shao Wu stared blankly. “Why?”
“Because if you find out you can do this with me…” Chen Yimang sat down beside Shao Wu and moved very close. “Then it means you can do it with other people too. After enough time, you won’t keep thinking about him.”
For an instant, Shao Wu felt strangely aggrieved. “Does it have to be like this?” Does it really have to be like this? Forgetting him through a physical relationship with someone else?
“That’s how this circle is.” Chen Yimang moved even closer, his thin lips almost touching Shao Wu’s face. He let his long hair loose, like some kind of siren.
“Just because we’re gay?” Just because we’re gay, we can’t confess our feelings, can’t be in a relationship, and can only exile our bodies into dark pleasure, doing things that vanish as quickly as they happen?
“Yes.” Chen Yimang put an arm around Shao Wu’s waist. “Just because we’re gay.”
Very, very lightly, he kissed Shao Wu on the lips.
It was Shao Wu’s first kiss.
But he felt nothing.
Shao Wu pushed Chen Yimang away. Chen Yimang leaned in again, this time kissing Shao Wu’s cheek. He carried an indescribably cool fragrance. Shao Wu felt a little dazed, as though the scent did not belong to the Chen Yimang now smacking kisses against his cheek.
Chen Yimang pushed Shao Wu backward until he was against the sofa, one arm around his waist and one hand holding his face. The ice cream had melted into a sticky mess and was pressing against Chen Yimang’s T-shirt, but he did not care.
Chen Yimang kissed Shao Wu’s lips again. This time, the tip of his tongue lightly brushed Shao Wu’s lips. It was Shao Wu’s first kiss. So this is what kissing feels like? Shao Wu thought. So this is what kissing a man feels like? If Chen Yimang is right, if I kiss lots of men, kiss them like this, maybe more intensely, and then sleep with them… then I’ll stop liking Yang Shuyi. Is that it?
“Is this okay?” Chen Yimang asked hoarsely.
The two of them were already tangled together, body against body, breath mingling with breath. Yet Shao Wu felt as though his own body were a piece of rotten wood, aged all at once. Chen Yimang was beautiful, gentle, and… but no. It did not work.
It turned out that without his hand, there was no trill to draw out.
Shao Wu had personally proved that much.