Chapter 84#

What Yan Zishu found strange was that Fu Jinchi was usually jealous of Ding Hongbo without any provocation whatsoever — so why was he the one bringing the man up?

“Apparently there’s been quite a scene at the Crown Hotel this morning.” Fu Jinchi sat in a chair, playing idly with the game pieces he’d just put away. He had stepped out briefly and come back, and now had his phone face-down on the table. “Two families gathering for an engagement ceremony. The bride-to-be arrived, the guests arrived — the groom-to-be just never appeared. Nobody knows where he is. Everyone is currently looking.”

“…Oh.” Yan Zishu’s hands stilled. “What? That can’t be Ding Hongbo.”

“What do you think?”

“Let me see.”

Fu Jinchi’s mouth carried a wry amusement. He passed Yan Zishu his phone.

A wealthy young man of good family and a well-matched socialite — both prominent households — and something this extraordinary had happened. Short videos were already circulating. Among the confused crowd, Lisa was in her fitted formal dress, looking furious and distressed, talking at someone.

Looking back on it, Fu Jinchi’s mouth deserved some credit as a prophetic instrument.

He had said Ding Hongbo was gay — accurate. He had said Ding Hongbo might not even manage to get married — and here they were.

By now, both the Ding and Huang families were almost certainly searching everywhere for Ding Hongbo. Before lunch, even Yan Zishu’s phone received a call from Ding Laoxiansheng.

Naturally, Yan Zishu had no information to offer.

Ding Laoxiansheng made a few frustrated sounds and rang off — he had enough chaos to manage, turning around to face a banquet hall that had dissolved into pure disorder.

The actual situation: Lisa, in a state of suspicion and distress, had insisted on calling Yan Zishu herself to demand answers. Ding Laoxiansheng still had some pride about it and couldn’t let her do that, so he’d handled the call himself — the only way to prevent worse from happening.

Yan Zishu stood in front of the Christmas tree looking at the lights for a while.

He didn’t know what the news would look like tomorrow. He found himself thinking mostly about his own life.

That evening they went out to a restaurant and came back to find a flat parcel in the entryway, placed neatly on the floor.

Fu Jinchi went and picked it up. He hadn’t put it there, so it must be for him.

This time it was Yan Zishu leaning in the doorway, watching him from across the room.

Yan Zishu’s expression was mild.

Inside the wrapping was a metal picture frame with an intricate carved border, containing a hand-drawn pencil sketch in the six-inch photograph format. The back of a man, rendered in strokes that sat between confident and halting — the amateur but not unskilled work of someone with no formal training. Recognizably Fu Jinchi. He was climbing the stairs of a tower, ascending toward a narrow opening ahead where the light came through.

“I couldn’t think of anything particular to give you.” Yan Zishu walked over, already feeling a small private misgiving about the impulse now that the moment had arrived — not about the gift itself, but about how inadequate it was. “If we’d gone out shopping you would have seen it coming. And there’s nothing particularly special to find on the island.”

These few lines were not exactly good drawing. He hadn’t picked up a pencil in years, and even a trained hand goes rusty. He had taken a photo of Fu Jinchi from behind as they climbed the tower together one day, and copied the reference as faithfully as he could. At most, he was capable of this.

The only thing that might count as slightly secret was a sheet of paper hidden behind the sketch.

It was the passage from 1 Corinthians that he had copied out after hearing Zeng Peirong and her friends read it aloud:

Love is patient; love is kind. It does not envy; it does not boast; it is not proud. It is not rude; it is not self-seeking; it is not easily angered; it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

He didn’t know when Fu Jinchi might find it.

His hand had shaken slightly while writing. He had written it in English. But Yan Zishu thought: today he had found himself ready to say one true thing. That was not nothing.

He had looked it up online first. Some people recommended measuring a partner’s ring size while they slept, and ordering something.

Unfortunately, Fu Jinchi slept with a high degree of alertness — the slightest handling of his hands and he was awake. That avenue had been closed.

Yan Zishu was not someone who understood romance in any conventional way. He hadn’t even settled on a time and place. He only had this vague intention. And then yesterday, a fever had disrupted whatever momentum he’d been building.

When Fu Jinchi opened the gift just now and looked at him with a smile, the atmosphere had seemed workable enough — but Yan Zishu had hesitated, felt it was too slight an offering, and let the best moment slip past.

He wasn’t committed to any meaningful anniversary or particular occasion. If this moment didn’t work — there would be another.

Perhaps better to find a ring first, and then see.

Even he, Yan Zishu, had apparently not managed to approach this particular rite of courtship with his customary efficiency.

And today had brought other complications.

Toward early evening, they had arrived at the final outcome in the board game at a leisurely pace. Yan Zishu got up from the floor and took his temperature again: 37°C, holding steady just between low fever and normal. He checked his phone and found unread messages.

He looked at the screen, then looked at Fu Jinchi, thought about it, and with a wry smile showed him.

A location pin from Ding Hongbo, time-stamped roughly two hours ago — on Stone Drum Island. Zooming in: the foot of the hill beyond the beach.

Nothing else.

Yan Zishu called the number immediately, confirming Ding Hongbo was genuinely here.

While he was on the phone, Fu Jinchi was still sitting on the carpet, slowly and methodically putting every board game card and piece back in its box, and then rose and came to stand beside him. Through the receiver, the other voice faintly audible.

“I should go.” Yan Zishu frowned, and started changing into outdoor clothes. “I’d rather not have something actually happen to him.”

On the call, Ding Hongbo had asked, in the dejected tone of someone who knew they’d made a mess of things, whether Yan Zishu would be willing to come and see him.

Ding Hongbo was a few years younger than Yan Zishu, and had always struck him as someone whose emotional maturity hadn’t kept up with his age. Part of him had been pushed ahead by family expectations; another part refused stubbornly to grow up. That stubborn immaturity was sometimes a lit fuse.

Whatever had prompted this soap-opera development, the immediate concern was that Ding Hongbo might be in a genuinely fragile state of mind.

Safety first. Yan Zishu steadied him on the phone and called Ding Laoxiansheng back.

Fu Jinchi didn’t stop him. He came along, and pulled back a short distance before they arrived.

Ding Hongbo was sitting on rocks at an empty stretch of beach, still in his full formal suit, now considerably the worse for wear.

“What are you doing.” Yan Zishu was relieved to see him intact. He pressed fingers to his temple. “How old are you?”

“I’m sorry, I—” Ding Hongbo jumped to his feet, off-balance, “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“If it wasn’t for everyone being worried about your safety, I wouldn’t have.” Yan Zishu said.

“I really can’t marry Lisa.” Ding Hongbo finally closed his eyes, with visible pain. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry — I know I’m a hypocrite. I’ve been suffering over this for a long time, but I still don’t want to—” he lowered his voice, “—be looked down on by you.”

He looked at Yan Zishu as he said this, and found Yan Zishu standing there with his arms folded, looking at him calmly.

But there was no anger in his expression. He seemed to have arrived at the he’s already done it, anger won’t help phase, and only said: “Take a breath first. I’ll find somewhere for you to wait — your grandfather will probably send someone to get you shortly.”

In Ding Hongbo, something caved immediately.

For weeks now he had made every effort to accept Lisa, to accept the reality of the marriage ahead.

Every day, though, several minutes would surface in which the unwilling feeling rose up and refused to be pressed back down: is this really it?

The night before, Lisa had joined him for dinner at his apartment. She was in high spirits. She had left a lipstick print on the bathroom mirror. This morning Ding Hongbo had finished getting ready, looked at himself in that mirror, and simply could not bear it.

In a shameful act of flight, he had run — then found himself with nowhere in mind, and had inexplicably bought a ferry ticket and come to Stone Drum Island.

Where Ding Laoxiansheng wasn’t even staying anymore.

“If you really want to call off the engagement, you can tell your family directly. That’s difficult, but it doesn’t have to become this kind of spectacle.” Yan Zishu said. “You’re an adult. Stop running away without a word. It solves nothing. Did you think about that.”

After a long pause, Ding Hongbo said quietly, with effort: “I could also… support you.”

Yan Zishu acted as though he hadn’t heard. “Here’s what I’d suggest. What people are worried about right now is your safety. Go back, make peace with your grandfather, apologize to Miss Huang, sit down with both families — it’s an engagement, not a marriage, and ending it now costs less. Explain yourself and draw a clean line.”

Ding Hongbo looked at the sand.

He knew his impulse-driven flight had set off a cascade of consequences, and had no idea how to face returning. But the tangle of chaos he’d caused — in Yan Zishu’s accounting, it was apparently not so insurmountable.

He even found himself genuinely persuaded. He did need to go back and deal with the wreckage.

“Try to see it differently — falling down is worth something. After this, think less about only what you want.” Yan Zishu said.

Ding Hongbo was quiet for a moment, then pressed: “If someday… is there really no chance at all?”

At this, Yan Zishu gave a small smile. “Even if I were living entirely off someone else, I’d still have standards.” Half-teasing, half-deliberate — closing every door: “I prefer someone more experienced. That rules you out. Go home.”

Fu Jinchi was already waiting at a guesthouse nearby, where he’d arranged a room. Yan Zishu checked his phone, brought Ding Hongbo over, and left him there to wait for the Ding family to collect him.

Outside afterward, Fu Jinchi had his hands in his pockets, waiting at the roadside: “All sorted?”

Yan Zishu came down the steps, saw him, and smiled. “Young people these days.”

He looked down, typing, sending Ding Laoxiansheng the address — phone in one hand, the other looping into Fu Jinchi’s arm.

They walked together into the dark. Night had come in fully. The lights ahead were bright, faint noise carrying through the air; Stone Drum Island had its own festive life on holidays. When they came to an intersection, Yan Zishu turned his head: “We’re already out — shall we walk around a bit?”

Fu Jinchi tested his forehead, then agreed. They turned toward the lights.

They still hadn’t had dinner. They found a place, ordered a seafood rice, and bought sticky glutinous rice balls from a street stall on the way back, the soft rounds wrapped in rice paper.

They had each chosen a different filling. Fu Jinchi held his out toward Yan Zishu’s mouth. Yan Zishu paused, accepted the gesture, moved to take a bite — and Fu Jinchi shifted his hand deliberately at the last moment, so what Yan Zishu bit was his finger.

Yan Zishu pushed the hand away, laughing helplessly, shaking his head as he walked on. Fu Jinchi strolled behind him, entirely satisfied with himself.

Then he was walking alongside again. Yan Zishu said: “Stop being so childish. I just thought of you as mature.”

Fu Jinchi raised an eyebrow: “When was that?”

Yan Zishu: “In my head.”

The seafood stalls along the road were still open, slightly quieter than usual. At one of them, a small group of young people had gathered, toasting.

Yan Zishu looked over for a moment, then turned to Fu Jinchi: “Did you ever think about it?”

What came after was buried under a passing noisy group. Fu Jinchi turned back: “What?”

Yan Zishu repeated: “Whether you ever thought about — being with someone. Being in love. Getting married. Building something with someone.”

“No.” Fu Jinchi said. “Not me. I’m too pitiable. Childhood trauma too deep. That kind of thing wasn’t for me.”

There was a small chapel on the commercial street, and in front of it, a choir was gathered with candles, singing Silent Night.

Several rows of men and women in matching white robes, the small flames connecting into a sea of light.

Across the street, a crowd had gathered to listen and watch. They joined the outer edge of it and stood there for a while.

The youngest in the choir was a boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen, a little self-conscious under the attention, working hard to stay focused.

Fu Jinchi turned and glanced at Yan Zishu. He was listening with complete attention, those clear eyes catching and holding the gentle light.

After another quarter of an hour, they slipped away without ceremony, leaving the singing behind.

They had reached the border between the commercial street and the beach. It was darker here, and on Christmas Eve, the beach itself was quiet — most people staying in the lit, busy stretch of storefronts.

Yan Zishu said, continuing the thread: “Neither did I.”

Fu Jinchi looked at him sideways: “Good.”

Yan Zishu turned slightly, until he was facing Fu Jinchi. He looked at him for a long time. Fu Jinchi looked back.

Fu Jinchi had already understood what was coming. Yan Zishu drew breath — and felt something welling up, inexplicably: “I—”

It should have been a simple thing to say. He opened his mouth, and without knowing why, tears came.

“Hey—” Fu Jinchi hadn’t anticipated this at all, was caught off-guard, almost at a loss. He put his arms around him. “What are you crying for.”

Yan Zishu wiped his face in a confused motion, and found there was more. He tried again — “I” — the next two words stayed lodged, and then he was simply crying, unable to speak.

The feeling compressed and compressed in his chest until, without warning, it gave way entirely. He pressed his face against Fu Jinchi’s coat, covering his eyes, crying until his whole body shook, until he couldn’t catch his breath. Fu Jinchi held his glasses.

He didn’t know why he was crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had.

Fu Jinchi was genuinely alarmed — this was a rare occasion on every measure, whether Fu Jinchi being at a loss, or Yan Zishu coming apart completely like this. He brought Yan Zishu’s face up toward him, produced a handkerchief and wiped at his eyes. Yan Zishu’s eye corners were red, his lashes still damp.

Fu Jinchi felt his heart breaking at the sight of it. There was no option but to surrender. “Don’t cry. What is it.”

Yan Zishu covered his eyes and got out through his tears: “I never thought we could have a future.”

Fu Jinchi said: “We do. Now we do. That was my fault. Don’t cry.”

Yan Zishu said: “It wasn’t. You were very good.”

He steadied himself for a long time. Finally, again:

“You were very good. I love you.”

Fu Jinchi held him and said nothing for a long while — but held on as though trying to press him into his own bones.

All the tender words, all the promises, all the vows to the mountains and the sea — somehow, none of them were needed.

Yan Zishu dried his eyes against Fu Jinchi’s lapel. “From now on, be my person.”

Fu Jinchi said: “I think that’s something I can do. Let’s do that.”

He put Yan Zishu’s glasses back on. Behind them, the warmth of the artificial lights and the faint stars above came together and fell on them both.

There was a long life ahead still. Time enough to learn what love was.

— End —