The Best Supporting Actor award had been announced. This time, Pei Yan’s nomination had come to nothing.
Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass finished the night with Best Action Design and two other technical awards. It wasn’t a bad result.
Zhuang Xiao sent him a message: [Did you see? Bit of a pity. You didn’t win this time.]
Pei Yan replied: [It’s fine. I’m not disappointed. It’s only a Golden Phoenix. I’m a peacock.]
Zhuang Xiao: [Still thinking about the Golden Globes and the Oscars, then?]
Pei Yan laughed: [Hahaha, obviously! Can’t a man set his sights a little higher? Golden Horse nominations come out in a couple of days. And I’ve got a shot at a Hong Kong Film Award nomination early next year!]
Zhuang Xiao laughed as he scrolled through his phone: [Such an ambitious kid.]
So many worries and disappointments were tearing at his heart. He just wanted to leave this troubled place, see Yanyan, and hold his precious darling in his arms. When he felt vulnerable, he wanted someone to comfort him too.
* * *
Zhang Shaochi left in a hurry once he’d watched the ceremony’s broadcast. Better not linger where trouble had broken out. He abandoned President Shang, who was wearing a sickly expression and breaking out in cold sweat. Times were treacherous, policies were tightening, and the era when they could throw money around and do whatever they pleased was long past. Everyone had enough trouble looking after himself. They would have to trust their own luck.
Zhuang Xiao followed him out, no longer interested in questioning that vicious yet cowardly Shang Xuelin.
Zhang Shaochi’s long coat billowed in the wind along the Huangpu River. His face remained cold and resolute. He could not afford to let his imposing manner crumble.
He climbed into his private car. Only once his face was hidden by the stillness of the night did his exhaustion show. He was in his prime and considered himself clever and capable, but after so many years of clever maneuvering, it seemed he’d only been helping other people succeed. A gust of the southern winter chill, without any central heating to soften it, made him feel as though he’d suddenly aged several years.
Zhuang Xiao opened the same car door and got in.
At the same moment, both men signaled with their eyes that the driver should get out and find some fresh air…
Zhuang Xiao reached into his pockets for a cigarette, then realized he couldn’t find any. He really had been planning to quit.
Zhang Shaochi readily took out cigarettes and a lighter and tossed them to him. He was an old hand at smoking himself now.
“I know what you want to ask,” Zhang Shaochi said. “But once I tell you, you may regret hearing it.”
Zhuang Xiao nodded slightly. He understood. When Shang Xuelin mentioned President Xu earlier, he’d already had an uneasy feeling.
The story, in brief, was this: back then it wasn’t only one or two insignificant performers who’d been punished in on-set “accidents” for refusing to cooperate. When a wire stunt rope snapped and someone fell, perhaps he’d only break an arm or leg. A fracture could mend. That wasn’t the most vicious thing imaginable. But planting [two characters obscured in supplied source] to secretly injure somebody meant destroying his ability to earn a living.
In the days when wuxia movies were at their height and kung fu films still drew crowds, capital was carving a bloody path through the industry. Investors pursued whoever was popular, especially the action stars, while destroying the chivalric principles those men represented. Great heroes? They were just meat on a chopping block.
Capitalists needed only a handful of shell film companies. They could inject huge amounts of dirty money, shoot so-called blockbusters for the lowest possible costs, and make films as awful as they pleased. The only important thing was getting them into theaters. Working with cinema chains, they could fabricate box-office receipts far higher than the actual takings. Then a fortune in dirty money could transform itself into legitimate box-office revenue, emerging spotless. All those streams of black sludge pouring into the film industry could be stirred together and filtered into clear spring water…
There had even been a star who refused to join a money-laundering scheme and whose manager was shot dead in the street. So Zhuang Wenlong’s story was only a tiny whirlpool in the flood of capital, insignificant in the industry’s jianghu.
Sitting quietly in the car, Zhang Shaochi said, “Zhuang Xiao, think about the dates. When did your father get hurt? Ten years ago I didn’t have the standing for anyone to listen to me. I wasn’t even a major boss then. What I said didn’t count for anything. Who ran Jiahuang ten years ago? Whose name was on that company? That’s the person you should ask. I’ve been carrying an enormous amount of blame for it. Whoever ruined your father and your whole family, go find him. Still don’t understand? …”
What was left not to understand?
Ten years ago, the president of Jiahuang Brothers was a man surnamed Xu.
Zhuang Xiao smoked an entire cigarette without saying anything. Then he asked Zhang Shaochi for another. President Zhang simply threw the rest of the half-empty pack at him. Might as well smoke to his heart’s content tonight.
He seemed to have misunderstood Zhang Shaochi all this time. The man couldn’t exactly defend himself, or perhaps simply would never publicly testify against anyone. They’d all eaten from the same pot and knew the industry’s secrets. When wolves fought wolves, all ended up with fur in their mouths. Tear away the flesh and there was blood.
No wonder people used to call Pei Yan Jiahuang’s “Crown Prince” when that little baldhead entered the industry. They’d whispered that he had powerful backing and could practically tread capital underfoot like dog shit as he climbed upward. It was true in a sense: capital had been right under Young Mr. Pei’s feet, lifting him higher.
Back when Pei Yan studied martial arts and competed in combat tournaments, that maternal uncle had helped make connections for him too. Xu Qiyue was the principal investor behind those contests and the power operating them from the shadows. The very arena where Pei Yan had first made his name, before eventually leaving under a cloud of disgrace, had brought together so many young martial artists. Irreparable injuries had happened there as well… Some things were better not examined too closely.
Zhuang Xiao rested his elbow against the car window, covered his mouth with his hand, and bit into his own knuckles.
There were things he didn’t want to think about or connect. It hurt too much…
Along the river, lights shone brilliantly. The calm surface reflected the prosperous city at night.
But beneath that smooth, untroubled water lay indistinct, unfathomable depths, as though another hidden side of the world lurked there. Behind the glittering luxury was boundless greed and excess; behind worldly triumph and fame, the stain of blood.
With a cigarette between his lips, Zhuang Xiao said, “President Zhang, you wanted me to hear all this, didn’t you?”
“What would I want that for?” Zhang Shaochi sneered. “To deliberately upset you? I’ve got no reason. I know what it feels like to want something you can never have. I’m not trying to torment you. If anything, I want to give you three words of advice: Don’t. Dig. Deeper.
“What’s past is past. If you dig into it, nobody benefits. You’re together with Yanyan now. Some things are better treated as though you’d never heard of them. Besides… heh, your father wasn’t exactly good to you back then either! Your own father didn’t treat you particularly well. Compared with Yanyan, how well did he treat you? Surely you can do that simple calculation?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Zhuang Xiao replied. “I’m not going to treat Yanyan badly because of any of this.”
“It’s got nothing to do with him. I won’t take my anger out on him.”
“He’s the person who’s treated me better than anyone else. I know that perfectly well. I never had a home, and he gave me one. That’s something etched into my heart. I treasure it so much. How could I destroy my home all over again?”
Zhuang Xiao spoke calmly.
Zhang Shaochi said nothing. In his heart he must have felt a trace of envy, and something lonely and bitter as well.
* * *
More trouble broke out along the Bund that night. The situation grew increasingly delicate, slowly simmering toward consequences nobody had expected.
After being humiliated by both President Zhang and Zhuang Xiao, Shang Xuelin found his loss of face even harder to bear. Unable to swallow his fury, he sent his people out to seize that little beauty Xing Rong and give him a vicious lesson. Astonishingly, they couldn’t find him anywhere at the awards venue. Even by the time the ceremony ended, Xing Rong had vanished.
President Shang managed to locate Xing Rong’s manager backstage. Taking his anger out on the man, he had the manager beaten thoroughly beside the Bund.
For a powerful boss, beating up an agent was a relatively mild punishment so long as nobody lost an arm or a leg. You idiotic pimp, you brought me a young actor who refuses to obey and angers his financier. If I don’t beat you, whom should I beat?
Xing Rong’s manager ended up black and blue, and was even forced to swallow a great deal of icy river water. He cried out for mercy and proclaimed his innocence: Rongrong had already hooked up with a martial-arts performer from Zhuang Xiao’s crew, and his heart wasn’t in his work anymore. That was why Zhuang Xiao was protecting him. What did the manager have to do with it? He couldn’t control the boy, either. He was innocent, terribly unlucky!
* * *
At the time, Xing Rong was being driven to another nearby hotel by Fatty Bao and an assistant. The police car’s siren never caught up with them for questioning, and the bloody assault from backstage was temporarily kept quiet.
Sitting in the car, Xing Rong watched the glowing facades of the buildings along the waterfront slide by. Gradually everything before his eyes blurred. The road ahead seemed equally uncertain. He was exhausted and losing hope.
He wanted to withdraw, to leave this business behind, only to discover that leaving wasn’t so simple. In the jianghu, people rarely had complete control over their lives.
His parents had been calling him repeatedly lately, making it clear that they wanted to move to Beijing. They wanted a spacious apartment there, and naturally they meant for him to buy it. Preferably he would also set up a small business for them, so they wouldn’t simply eat through their savings and could settle in for the long term.
He couldn’t bring himself to refuse outright, so he kept stalling and putting them off. They wanted to come to Beijing now? He could barely survive in that world himself. He was going to disappoint his parents. His whole household of relations and hangers-on would never rise to glory along with him.
He held his phone and unlocked the screen. A message from Xiao-Sa appeared on WeChat: [I watched the livestream. You didn’t win the award. Don’t feel bad.]
That slow, straightforward fellow had actually come to comfort him.
A sudden wave of emotion left his nose stinging and his heart aching. Since coming back from the Chengdu roadshow, he’d deliberately avoided contacting Xiao-Sa for quite some time. He’d been trying to give up.
He had disappointed everybody, but he didn’t want Xiao-Sa to be disappointed in him. He couldn’t bear the thought of some future humiliation hurting that sincere, innocent friendship.
He answered: [No, I didn’t win. I wasn’t expecting to anyway.]
Then Sa Risheng called. He wanted to talk to him.
The incoming call vibrated insistently in his hand for a long time, so long that Fatty Bao, driving, couldn’t stop glancing at him through the rearview mirror. Xing Rong stared down at the caller ID, then canceled the call with one finger.
The night grew darker, and people’s hidden feelings grew deeper still.
Fatty Bao said as he drove, “What plans have you got once we get to the hotel?”
Xing Rong stared blankly for a moment. “None.”
“Nobody coming to see you?” Bao asked.
“Who’d come to see me?” Xing Rong smiled ruefully. “Only trouble ever comes looking for me.”
“I don’t think trouble will be coming for you!” Fatty Bao said. “With Brother Xiao around, somebody’s got to have your back.”
Xing Rong lowered his eyes. He’d made an enormous scene backstage at the awards, even dragged Brother Xiao into the abuse. He couldn’t face anyone.
“It’s really no big deal,” Fatty Bao continued, talking an unusual amount of nonsense today. “Shame Xiao-Sa wasn’t there. He’d have beaten the piss and shit out of that old pervert.”
Xing Rong remained silent.
“Actually, he’s not that far away. He’s filming at some studio outside the city,” Fatty Bao said.
Sa Risheng was now a genuine supporting actor with lines. Historical dramas and productions with ethnic cultural settings were hiring him for roles. Most crews that invited him to appear were also delighted to get a highly capable stunt performer and horse-riding instructor, someone who could teach actors who didn’t know how to ride. One man filled several jobs and came cheap. Having a special skill could make an actor surprisingly marketable.
Xing Rong hadn’t contacted Xiao-Sa for a while and no longer knew his schedule.
This month Sa Risheng was working on a television drama about Genghis Khan and the Mongol Empire.
The script gave Temujin so many sons, nephews, and relations that the production needed a huge supporting cast. There were plenty of Mongolian actors, but surprisingly few handsome ones. The director had taken a liking to Xiao-Sa and handed him one of the most appealing parts. Every day Sa Risheng rode around with a blade, following Temujin into battle and appearing heroically on camera, magnificent and undefeated.
This time he was playing a son of the Great Khan. He really was a prince now.
“When that Genghis Khan drama wraps, he may go home for the winter,” Fatty Bao said, glancing into the mirror again. “His family’s probably looking for a wife for him.”
The assistant suddenly spoke up. “Bao, I think you’ve taken the wrong road.”
He really had made a wrong turn. Fatty Bao cursed Shanghai’s horrible streets, silently turned the wheel, made a U-turn, and headed back.
“Oh. Is that so? Getting married…” Xing Rong said softly.
“Yeah,” Fatty Bao replied. “He’s not that young anymore. People on the grasslands get married early. His family won’t let him roam around forever. He’ll definitely settle down before he’s twenty-four!”
Who said everybody on the grasslands married young?
What nonsense.
A manager made his living by talking, after all. Making things up was practically an occupational skill.
Fatty Bao continued, “Our Xiao-Sa is such a great catch, so handsome, and now he’s seen the big city. He’s not some country bumpkin anymore… There must be lots of girls back home who’d want him. Families have probably been lining up at his door to propose marriage.”
“I bet Xiao-Sa will be spoiled for choice,” the assistant chimed in. “They’ll pitch some enormous tent on the grassland and line all the Mongolian beauties up for him, then he’ll look them over one by one until he finds one he likes. He’ll put a collar with a jade pendant into her hand, scoop her up, and marry her right there. Isn’t that how the custom goes? What a lucky girl she’ll be, becoming our young princess…”
“The princess will have to be beautiful and virtuous,” Fatty Bao said.
“Yes… beautiful, and virtuous. He can’t marry someone who isn’t virtuous.” Xing Rong lowered his eyes and fiddled with his phone, scarcely aware of what he was saying. Without thinking, he opened his conversation with Xiao-Sa and looked at the beautiful landscape photographs he’d sent and the ones they’d taken together climbing Mount Qingcheng. That was the only photograph they had of the two of them, a goofy selfie with their heads pressed together, their faces looking enormous.
He regretted not answering the call. Suddenly he regretted it desperately. He couldn’t bear to let go. But there was no way he’d call back.
It was always like this. Just as their fingertips were about to touch, he pulled away. He was still afraid, still lacked the courage. If they had no fate together, perhaps he should stop trying to force it.
A tear suddenly escaped and ran down his cheek.
Xing Rong pressed his lips shut and turned toward the window. He made no sound, kept his expression still, and swallowed back the tears and the ache in his nose. He was sitting in the back seat. Surely the two in front hadn’t noticed him crying…
Fatty Bao sent his assistant to get Xing Rong a room and make sure he was settled. Then he wandered into a corner of the lobby and spent a long time on the phone.
When he came back he said, “Our Brother Xiao’s a big deal again. Just heard that the Golden Horse Awards want him as a guest too. Dragon Battles Heaven’s Pass got three nominations: Action Design, Character Design, and Visual Effects.”
“Congratulations to Brother Xiao,” Xing Rong said with a smile.
He went into his room and shut the door. He fastened the bolt and double-locked it, sealing it so tightly that not even a sliver of air could escape. Then he sank to the floor just inside the entrance, staring blankly.
It felt as though his heart had been hollowed out. It hurt so badly.
His voicemail was full of messages, with missed calls besides. Most were garbage: Shang Xuelin, that old lecher, and people at the company leaving abuse and threats. He deleted the messages one by one, carefully, afraid of accidentally erasing something important.
Once he’d deleted and cleared everything, he realized there hadn’t been any truly important message to preserve…
He hadn’t eaten dinner. At one point Fatty Bao called to ask if he’d like to come next door for some takeaway meals.
“Thanks, but no. I haven’t got an appetite,” Xing Rong said.
He removed his makeup and took a shower, washing all those sparkling decorations, those pheasant and peacock feathers, out of his face and hair. Late at night, before the bathroom mirror, he finally looked like his plain, natural self again.
He hadn’t brought spare clothes. But he couldn’t bear to put that glittering awards suit back on, so he emerged wearing only a bathrobe. He despised such things now. He’d rather be naked than put on those flamboyant costumes he wore before other people. Acting was exhausting.
Someone knocked at the door. Probably Fatty Bao’s assistant again, insisting he come eat something.
“I’m not coming. I’ve showered. I’m going to sleep,” Xing Rong said through the door.
The knocking continued.
He sighed and pulled the door open, looking utterly defeated. “I’m not eating. I’m going to bed.”
The person outside also wore a solemn, expressionless face, staring straight at him.
It was Sa Risheng.
Xing Rong stared at him for a long time, unable to get his head around the order of events. “Weren’t you filming? … Why are you in Shanghai? … No, wait, didn’t you go home to get married?”
“I’m filming, yes. But I wanted to come see you,” Sa Risheng answered with perfect honesty. “I haven’t gone home to get married yet.”
“Come see me? What for?” Xing Rong stared blankly.
“Baobao called me and asked if I wanted to come. I said yes. I was worried you were unhappy, so I came to comfort you,” Sa Risheng said.
The man was so damn straightforward that he had betrayed his own accomplice Fatty Bao without a moment’s hesitation.
Xing Rong tried to open the door fully, only to discover that the security chain had caught. He fiddled with it for ages without freeing it.
“Er… this lock… it’s unbelievably sturdy. Nobody could ever get in from outside.” Xing Rong struggled with the chain until he was sweating. “It’s… it’s caught on something. Where?”
Suddenly he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. With only a handspan of space between them, he said painfully, “Look at this. You’ve come all this way, and I can’t even open the door. Maybe we’re just not meant to be.”
Sa Risheng grew anxious too. He reached one hand through the crack.
It was a huge hand with powerful fingers. He treated the chain without the least delicacy, pulling and bending it, using sheer force until he actually wrenched it apart…
“Guess it wasn’t as sturdy as I thought,” Xing Rong said, almost laughing. “Whether it keeps a thief out depends on which thief.” He finally smiled for real.
Sa Risheng pushed the door open. Xing Rong stood barefoot beneath the entry light. For the first time in his life, he was greeting an outsider in a bathrobe. When he tossed his head, water dripped from his hair all over his face. He was a complete mess…
“It’s only a minor award I didn’t win. There’s nothing to comfort me about,” Xing Rong explained. “I’m really fine.”
Sa Risheng lifted his wet fringe and examined him. “They didn’t break your head, did they?”
“What? I wasn’t hurt,” Xing Rong said. “I’m the one who hit someone else and made his head bleed!”
Sa Risheng looked relieved. “I misheard what Bao said on the phone. I thought someone had beaten you, so I hurried here. If someone hits us, we just hit them back.”
Xing Rong laughed. Good grief… this man. He hurried to say, “Don’t bring it up again. I don’t need you to hit anybody for me.”
“Then why’d you hang up on me again? I thought you were upset,” Sa Risheng said.
“No.” Xing Rong smiled. “I’m never upset with you. When I’m with you, I’m always happy.”
Sa Risheng smiled too. Sweat darkened the hair beneath his long locks, and his clothes carried a layer of dirt. He had clearly come a long way by road. There were still stars of the night in his eyes… Tall and impossible to overlook, he stood in the middle of the room, neither moving nor sitting nor saying a word. Apparently he had no intention of leaving.
The young prince actually wanted to say, I’m always happy when I’m with you too. But he was naturally reserved and quiet, so he kept the words to himself.
* * *
Xing Rong told Xiao-Sa to take a shower. There really was too much dirt on him. After he’d stood in the sitting room for five minutes, there was already a little heap of dust on the carpet.
Water rushed in the shower. Xing Rong paced outside the door, his thoughts running wild. He seemed possessed. Then he opened the door and stepped inside.
Who told that dense fellow not to lock it?
Did he think hanging a knife from the doorknob would be enough to keep people out?
In the shower stood a strong, beautiful figure with his back to the door. Long hair hung over his shoulders. Water streamed down the contours of his muscles, into the cleft between his buttocks, along his thighs, and away past his feet.
Sa Risheng turned abruptly, startled. He was still terribly shy, just as he’d been when they first met.
He reached out to turn off the water and pull a bath towel around himself.
“Want me to scrub your back?” Xing Rong asked.
Sa Risheng made no answer. He didn’t know what to say.
“It’s not the first time I’ve sneaked a look at you bathing!” Xing Rong laughed at himself. “If I peek again, you won’t hit me, will you? … There aren’t any paparazzi this time. Nothing to worry about.”
The words made his own face hot. He felt almost as though he were teasing an innocent young man with questionable intentions. The person before him was as pure as untouched paper.
Who wouldn’t feel drawn to such a handsome man?
When Xiao-Sa lowered his eyes, his lashes were thick and dark, and a gentle, bashful light passed beneath his eyelids. Yet his body had all the strength and masculine vigor of a grown man. That contrast was intoxicating.
* * *
They slept beneath the same quilt that night. Both felt how warm the bed was, how wonderful it was to have another person lying beside them.
With nothing else to wear, they had only their bathrobes for sleeping.
Right in front of Xiao-Sa, Xing Rong took off his robe and climbed under the quilt, wrapping his arms tightly around the other man’s waist.
“I know you’re going home to marry. Just let me hold you for a while,” he said softly, meeting his eyes.
“Afterward I won’t have the chance. Only your wife will be allowed to hold you.”
He understood what that meant. There would be no afterward for them. Never mind how deep or close their feelings might be. He couldn’t ask, much less demand, that Xiao-Sa not go home and marry. It was simply impossible. Perhaps he should count himself lucky that their relationship hadn’t become so passionately intimate that they couldn’t live apart. Everything seemed to be ending before it had truly begun.
With his head resting on Xiao-Sa’s arm, they talked beneath the covers, recalling amusing incidents from their first days together and those simple, happy times. Sa Risheng suddenly remembered something. “Oh, last month when I went back to the Huitengxile Grassland, I went to that lake again.”
“To take another bath?” Xing Rong asked.
“I didn’t go only to bathe. I went to look for that thing you threw into the water last time,” Sa Risheng replied.
“What? …” Xing Rong stared at him in astonishment. “That was so long ago. How could you find it? Did you?”
“No. I couldn’t find it,” Sa Risheng admitted.
“You idiot,” Xing Rong said, laughing. “If you liked it that much, I’ll give you another one someday.”
He fell quiet. “Forget it. There won’t be another chance… Tonight, I’ll give myself to you instead. Do you want me?”
He met the other’s eyes calmly, doing everything he could to contain the storm of feeling rising within him. Wild, tumultuous emotions were simmering beneath his skin, after being held down for far too long.
They held each other tightly. Xing Rong buried his face against Xiao-Sa’s neck and breathed in the scent of grass that seemed to cling to him. Both felt the warmth of the other’s chest, their hearts beating rapidly. Their blood rushed so fiercely it seemed the bed might overflow with it, and yet neither quite knew what to do.
“I’m almost thirty and I’m still a virgin. It’s a little embarrassing…” Xing Rong leaned toward Xiao-Sa’s chest and kissed him softly.
It might have looked like seduction, but his affection was sincere, without any wish to defile him. He held the warm muscle against his lips, and Xiao-Sa shuddered violently.
The man was sweating furiously. An extraordinarily tender light crossed his gaze. Xing Rong propped himself up, lowered his head, kissed the handsome face beside his pillow, and then found his lips.
Warmth and sweetness. They held one another tightly, trading gentle kisses, their tongues tracing the shapes of each other’s lips. Neither wanted to let go. They lost themselves completely in the moment…
The unmistakable changes in their bodies could neither be hidden nor suppressed. Their eyes held confusion and secret embarrassment, their breathing growing labored. Yet at the very moment when desire should have brought them together, Xing Rong hesitated. When you truly loved and cherished someone, you could hardly bear the thought of devouring him whole. It would feel like sullying him. Whether he was on top or underneath, it almost felt like forcing something upon the other man.
He guided Xiao-Sa’s hand over his body, down his thighs and to his buttocks. Perhaps letting him touch was enough for now.
He extended his foot, rubbing it gently between Xiao-Sa’s legs as they comforted each other with intimate touches. The feet he wouldn’t let anyone else touch were freely offered to the person before him.
Sa Risheng held him and caressed him, his eyes equally dazed with desire. He obviously liked what was happening. He had never experienced anything so lovely or so private. His Rongrong was tall, with pale, long limbs. His body felt smooth in Xiao-Sa’s arms, and his gentle eyes were more beautiful than those of any girl on the grasslands. For any man who had never known sexual pleasure, the experience was almost overwhelming, transporting him beyond himself. It felt far too good to resist.
Suddenly Xiao-Sa let go and buried his face in the pillow, looking mortified.
Xing Rong smiled, turned the man’s shoulder toward him, whispered into his ear, and slipped a hand inside his underwear…
Xiao-Sa trembled faintly. Such a sturdy fellow, yet so shy he hid his face, unwilling to meet Xing Rong’s eyes. Xing Rong kissed his ears, shoulders, and hair, stroking his broad, handsome chest and back, utterly captivated by him.
“Planning to crawl underneath the pillow?” Xing Rong teased. “Keep going. Maybe you’ll end up beneath the bed.”
Sa Risheng really did grab an enormous pillow and cover his head with it so Xing Rong couldn’t see his face.
His nipples had darkened and hardened, and the arousal between his legs was even more obvious, his size startling. Both men flushed with sudden heat and embarrassment. Xiao-Sa smiled shyly, and Xing Rong couldn’t help smiling too. Neither dared look down. There was no stopping now. They were mortified and delighted at once.
“Do you like it?”
“Does it… feel good?”
“Baby… can I call you Baby from now on?”
Xing Rong coaxed his big, grown-up boy.
Xiao-Sa clutched the bedsheet, trembling again and again in Xing Rong’s palm. His long hair was damp with sweat, and his chest was flushed red. There was an almost aggrieved look in his eyes, overwhelmed by youthful passion he couldn’t control…
Xing Rong pressed his legs against the other’s hips, comforting him with movement and passionate kisses, their bodies intertwined so closely they couldn’t separate. It was a warm night, as though there could be no tomorrow once it ended.
At dawn, they parted at the airport and went their separate ways again.
Xiao-Sa was returning to his production. Xing Rong had to go back to Beijing.
They took different security lanes. Beneath the brims of their caps, they exchanged lingering looks. Only where the two queues came close together did they secretly brush the backs of their hands against each other.
Xing Rong watched Xiao-Sa queue up and board his plane.
He tapped his phone and opened Sa Risheng’s WeChat contact. His nickname in Xing Rong’s list was now simply “Baby.”
With a slight swipe, he opened the contact information and almost touched the “Delete” button.
It felt like cutting open his own heart. The knife was in his hand, and he couldn’t tell whose chest the point was aimed at. His own heart and the other’s were both at stake. He couldn’t bring his finger down. In the end, he was still unwilling to let go of something so beautiful in this world.