Chapter 11#

“About the same as before.” Yan Zishu gave an answer that committed to nothing.

“Then could you help me check — does he have time to come this weekend? Our school has a performance, and I did give him those tickets.”

“The drama society production? You gave them to him already, right.”

“Yes, that one — you remember!” Ji Chen lit up.

“Of course I remember. I’ll confirm with CEO Fu when he’s back.”

Ji Chen exhaled with visible relief, his face pink, and thanked him several times over.

Yan Zishu watched, sidelong, as Ji Chen then settled comfortably onto the sofa as though he owned the place, clearly planning to wait here and leave with Fu Weishan at the end of the day.

He paused, then decided to be straightforward. “You could ask CEO Fu directly, you know. He might actually appreciate that more.”

Ji Chen, entirely missing the subtext, waved a hand. “He’s so busy with work… I don’t like to bother him all the time.”

Yan Zishu got up and poured him a glass of juice. Ji Chen accepted it with both hands: “Thank you!”

Yan Zishu smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

*

On Sunday morning, Yan Zishu went to the martial arts gym near his apartment for his kickboxing class.

Contrary to what many people might assume, this particular human work machine did, in fact, have some semblance of a private life and personal interests.

Going back to childhood, he had cycled through any number of enrichment classes under his parents’ aspirations — painting, piano, swimming, broadcasting, and so on. Every box on the well-rounded development checklist had been ticked, though the underlying motive had been quite nakedly utilitarian: all in the name of raising a successful son.

Then, predictably, the skills meant for showing off — piano, for instance — were abandoned the moment the grading exams were passed. Painting had lasted slightly longer, the reason being something as arbitrary as an encouraging art teacher; such small things had a way of putting an extra few years of a brush in one’s hand.

But the older one grew, the more there was to occupy the time, and those pursuits that were supposed to cultivate the spirit gradually found nothing left to cultivate, and fell away entirely.

Only the habit of physical training had survived to the present day. For office workers, the benefits were numerous: physical conditioning was one, stress relief was another. In Yan Zishu’s case, there was also the fact that he had, somewhere in his interior, a great deal of pent-up frustration in need of an outlet.

What had begun as a way to burn excess energy had slowly become a necessary practice.

After midday, he showered, changed, and emerged refreshed, then drove to Nanhua University to do his duty as an audience member.

Prompted by Yan Zishu’s mention of it, Fu Weishan had responded to Ji Chen’s invitation with what appeared to be genuine enthusiasm, declaring that he would certainly attend.

Ji Chen had been so excited he could barely contain himself in the days leading up to it, preparing with painstaking care and lying awake tossing and turning in his dormitory at night.

Driving onto campus: Fu Weishan’s car wasn’t faculty-registered, but it had a visitor motor vehicle pass. Yinghan, as a well-known and large-scale enterprise, maintained a cordial partnership with institutions of this caliber — it had donated laboratory equipment and instruments, and had established a dedicated academic fund.

Ji Chen had no idea, in other words, that the guest he had invited was the sort who warranted a welcome from the dean himself.

Today, though, Fu Weishan came quietly. Yan Zishu dropped his employer off at the university’s main auditorium, then went to find somewhere to park.

Nanhua University’s roads were lined on both sides with ginkgo trees. Beneath them, students passed in an unbroken stream — carrying textbooks, kicking footballs, shouldering backpacks — off to wherever they needed to be. Most of their faces were young and alive with that particular brightness, the kind that could only be found inside the ivory tower.

Crossing the sports ground, a basketball came flying at him from out of nowhere. Fortunately, Yan Zishu’s reflexes were quick — he snatched it one-handed from the air, saving his expensive glasses from an undignified fate. He hurled the ball back firmly. From across the court, a male student shouted: “Hey, sorry man!”

His teammate muttered, admiringly: “Damn.”

Having grown up in the faculty residential compound of a university, Yan Zishu had been thoroughly accustomed to this kind of boisterous atmosphere as a child.

After years of navigating the workplace, stepping back into a crowd of lively students felt both oddly familiar and oddly foreign at the same time.

A student usher led him into the auditorium. He was on the late side, and every section was full. Student productions at this school weren’t assigned seating — first come, first served. It was only now, checking his phone, that he saw a message from Ji Chen: CEO Fu’s seat was in the center of the front row.

That section was the auditorium’s VIP reserved area. Ji Chen had clearly put real thought into accommodating his honored guest.

But all the seats adjacent to Fu Weishan had been taken by the drama society’s faculty advisor, various professors, and the like — there was nothing left for Yan Zishu.

He didn’t mind in the least, and found himself a quiet spot in a back corner.

The production wasn’t drawn from any standard classic. It was an original work by the Nanhua University Drama Society — a fairy tale medley.

To put it plainly: it was exactly the kind of thing that students found thrillingly creative, full of in-jokes that only they were likely to catch. Yan Zishu had never thought of himself as particularly old until today.

Time and again the audience erupted in waves of laughter, while his own expression remained as composed as a man attending a symphony.

This might have dampened the mood of those nearby — but they glanced over, took in the face, and decided that someone like him could be forgiven for anything.

The curtains rose and fell. Ji Chen’s part was, in fact, not large — he played the prince of some small kingdom.

Without training, his performance was middling at best. By Yan Zishu’s exacting standards, it didn’t even quite rise to the level of having a performance technique — but then again, given that Ji Chen had essentially been cast as a decorative centerpiece, it would be unreasonable to demand more. The spirit of the thing counted for something.

Ji Chen wasn’t even a member of the drama society. His roommate, a founding member, had been in a bind because the actor originally cast in this role had gone abroad on exchange. He’d taken one look at Ji Chen’s appearance and decided he fit the part perfectly, and strong-armed him into filling in.

The prince was a role that existed primarily to look attractive. As long as Ji Chen got through his lines and made it to the end without incident, that was a more than satisfactory performance.

Fortunately, in a student production, the atmosphere was relaxed to begin with. The experienced actors carried the inexperienced ones, and a generous helping of comedic chaos and theatrical camaraderie kept energy high. In the end, the whole thing had the audience in high spirits.

In the second-to-last scene, when one of the male actors swept Ji Chen up in his arms, the students erupted all over again.

Accompanied by a roar of voices: “The prince and the prince are together!” and “Long live socialist brotherhood!”

When the full cast came out for their curtain call, the audience filed out in waves, riding the lingering high.

Yan Zishu followed behind Fu Weishan. The two of them stood outside in the plaza in front of the auditorium, and a pair of white doves burst upward in a flutter of wings.

Ji Chen came rushing out, barely having had time to remove his costume. “CEO Fu!”

He was still in his prince’s stage clothes, makeup still on his face, as though a character from a fairy tale had tumbled abruptly into the real world.

But a crystal-bright little prince under the stage lights loses at least half his glow once he steps off it.

It wasn’t Ji Chen specifically — it was true of every performer. The costumes looked gorgeous under lights but were, in reality, not much more than passable imitations. And the heavy, exaggerated stage makeup that lights demanded became genuinely alarming in natural light. Ji Chen had simply been worried that Fu Weishan might leave, and had rushed out before he had a chance to change.

A male student in black-rimmed glasses came out behind him: “Remember to return the costume before you go!”

Ji Chen called back: “Just a second — I only came out to find a…” He chose his word carefully: “…friend.”

The glasses-wearing student noticed the two business-world visitors: “Oh — are these the VIP guests you kept mentioning? Ha, thank you both for taking the time to come! I’m Ji Chen’s roommate — I was the one who dragged him into playing this role.”

Fu Weishan dutifully offered compliments on the performance’s success and praised the originality of the script.

Once the roommate had gone, Fu Weishan turned to Ji Chen: “You were quite impressive today.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that — I was absolutely terrified up on stage.” Ji Chen scratched the back of his head, bashful, drifting along at Fu Weishan’s side without seeming to register where they were heading. “Everything was fine during rehearsals, but with all those people watching, my mind went completely blank. I nearly forgot my lines.”

“That’s all right — everyone has a first time. It gets easier with experience.”

“I only agreed to help them out this once. I probably won’t be going on stage again — I’ve got classes and an internship to manage.”

At this, Fu Weishan produced a piece of well-crafted encouragement: “But on your own stage, you can be the lead forever.”

Ji Chen, who reliably fell for this sort of thing, looked visibly moved: “Right — I’ll work hard—”

His voice stopped short. Fu Weishan kissed him, in the shadow behind the auditorium steps.

In the distance, students and faculty passed back and forth.

*

Yan Zishu drove Ji Chen home. In the passenger seat, Ji Chen sat in a fog, silent for the entire journey.

As they neared the destination, Ji Chen finally spoke, haltingly: “Assistant Yan — does CEO Fu actually like men?”

The road was poor; Yan Zishu dropped into second gear and eased off the throttle. “If that’s what he said, then probably yes.”

“No, what I mean is — he said he likes me? That can’t be right.”

“That’s a question you should work through with CEO Fu directly.”

“I just — I still can’t make sense of it…”

Ji Chen was at a loss. He could only turn toward Yan Zishu, searching his face for something — and found only the most professionally pleasant of smiles. As if whether Fu Weishan was gay or an extraterrestrial would not prompt so much as a blink from this man.

Ji Chen sank back into his own thoughts.

This evening, he had received a kiss from Fu Weishan. His first instinct had been to push him away and flee. Fu Weishan had caught up with him behind the ornamental rocks by the artificial lake on campus. What they had said to each other during that time, Yan Zishu had not been close enough to hear — though he had seen the back-and-forth, the back-and-forth. It had been a phone call — family emergency, must go home — that finally delivered Ji Chen from his predicament.

Though Fu Weishan had been turned away, he displayed magnanimity on the surface, and on his own initiative offered up his driver and his car.

Yan Zishu arranged a car for Fu Weishan, then drove Fu Weishan’s car himself to take Ji Chen home.

Ji Chen had changed and taken off his makeup, but remained thoroughly dazed through all of it.

Yan Zishu saw this, and said nothing. He only reminded Ji Chen to fasten his seatbelt.

The urban village where Ji Chen’s family lived was difficult to describe charitably. This corner of the city, too old and too neglected, had the feeling of a slum. The closer they drove, the rougher the road, the tighter the buildings crammed together — a tangle of wires strung every which way, laundry hanging from every available surface.

Fu Weishan’s sedan, arriving here, looked as out of place as a prop on the wrong film set.

The last time Yan Zishu had brought Ji Chen home, the darkness of the night had covered a great deal. Now the sky was the dim, muddy yellow of dusk, and nothing unsightly had anywhere to hide. At the roadside, a man drunk out of his mind stood on the curb, relieving himself shamelessly against a wall.

Ji Chen stared out the window. Two hours ago, he had been standing before a roaring crowd, receiving his employer’s encouragement and an unexpected kiss.

That last thing — his instinct in the moment had been pure fear, a reflex to push it away. Now, inexplicably, he found himself feeling bereft.

And then the call from his father had arrived, settling over him like a weight, pulling him down from somewhere high into the gray ordinary world.

Ji Chen shifted uncomfortably. “You can drop me here — the roads inside are rough. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“We’re in a car. It’ll be faster than walking regardless of the road.” Yan Zishu insisted on taking him all the way to the front door.

Which, as it turned out, led straight into a small and unexpected complication. The moment Ji Chen got out of the car, a middle-aged man who had been waiting at the base of the building rushed over and grabbed him — thin, pinched-looking, and balding. “Xiaochen! Quick — do you have any money?”

Ji Chen said “Dad” and hesitantly asked: “You called me all the way back here just for money? What for?”

The middle-aged man said: “Don’t ask so many questions, just give me what you’ve got — I need it urgently.”

He shot a meaningful look at the expensive car. “Is that your friend? Is he rich?”

Yan Zishu cut the engine, took off his glasses, opened the door, stepped out, and stood watching the two of them with his arms crossed.

From the building’s entrance, two men with sleeve tattoos appeared. “Hey — your boy’s back, isn’t he? All right, pay up. We’re in a hurry too.”

“You went to play mahjong again, didn’t you!” Ji Chen finally understood, and his voice broke with dismay. “You said you were done with all that!”