Obediently, Lean on my Shoulder - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

He fell asleep leaning against the seat, the rumbling sound of the train in his ears.

In a daze, someone seemed to gently support his head, and then he lay against a shoulder, a shoulder padded with sponge, softness over firmness.

After sleeping for a while, his head moved back and forth as if searching for a comfortable position, with slight moans escaping his mouth. He heard a thick sound of laughter by his ear, and then he was settled into an embrace, his head pillowed on a pair of sturdy thighs. Only then did he feel truly comfortable, falling into a deep sleep.

The train stopped at a station. Many people wearing ethnic costumes boarded, chattering in languages he couldn’t understand. Three middle-aged women carrying back-baskets sat down and continued to converse loudly.

“Shh” In the opposite seat, a man wearing a white T-shirt, about 25 or 26 years old, hissed at the three women. “My boyfriend is sleeping, please be a bit quieter.”

The three women were stunned. They looked the man up and down. What? His boyfriend? Sleeping? Sure enough, they saw a person lying on his lap, feet extending past the seat.

The three women looked at each other, as if they had seen aliens.

The man revealed a trace of a smile, his hand stroking his lightly bearded chin, seemingly very satisfied with their reaction. His hand rested on the stomach of the person on him, his eyes watching the scenery flashing past the window, his face returning to calmness.

Teng Ming was half-awake but didn’t get up. The train roared; in his blurriness, he began to think about things.

They came out on this trip to relax, but mainly to resolve a conflict.

He believed in a saying: When you feel life is dull or oppressive, go travel!

…

Fan Ye’s job is a gay film actor. He has good muscle lines, is handsome, and has high pay.

He works three times a week, and basically, the person he acts opposite to is different every time.

Teng Ming said he didn’t mind, but in his heart, he would occasionally wonder: Who would let a boyfriend with such good conditions in every aspect do such a thing?

Teng Ming had implicitly expressed his concerns once, and only that once; he was not a nagging person.

Fan Ye noticed it but did not poke through the surface. He had his own reasons for not leaving the industry.

One wanted to speak but didn’t break the silence; the other was clear but didn’t explain.

Teng Ming rose from Fan Ye’s lap.

Fan Ye said: “You’re not sleeping anymore?”

Teng Ming nodded and asked, “Where are we?” He looked around the carriage, then stopped his gaze on the scenery flashing outside. Since he had just woken up, his vision was still a bit blurry.

Fan Ye said: “Twenty more minutes and we’ll be in Dali.”

Teng Ming nodded and stopped talking. After a few minutes, he stood up, pulled a book out of his bag on the rack, and started reading.

Fan Ye glanced at Teng Ming, let out a sigh through his nose, and began to aimlessly browse Weibo. His Weibo had over a hundred thousand followers; even just replying to comments took a while. At that moment, a message suddenly popped up in his private messages:

Ah! Fan Ye? You’re going to Dali too? Are you in Carriage 12 of Train XX?

“Wife, are you going to the restroom?”

Teng Ming was startled. He shook his head without looking up, moving his legs to the other side to let Fan Ye pass.

Watching Fan Ye’s tall retreating figure, Teng Ming sighed. He leaned against the seat and watched the scenery outside, not caring at all about the inquisitive gazes of the ethnic minority women opposite him.

Sometimes, watching Fan Ye’s retreating back, Teng Ming would feel that he might really just leave like that and never return. But whenever such a thought occurred, he would persuade himself that those meant to stay cannot be driven away, and those meant to leave cannot be kept.

Additionally, they had been dating for over a year, but Teng Ming was still not used to Fan Ye calling him “wife” in public. His protests were completely ineffective; eventually, as it happened more often, he let it be. He disliked Fan Ye calling him “wife” mostly because of a man’s psychology he felt “wife” was used to describe women, while he was a man in body and mind. Therefore, every time he heard him call out like that, his heart would still suddenly race, especially in front of a large crowd.

The train had arrived at the station, but Fan Ye was still not back. Seeing people leaving the train in twos and threes, Teng Ming picked up his suitcase, put on his backpack, placed Fan Ye’s backpack on top of the suitcase, and walked out.

Walking in line, near the door, Teng Ming suddenly saw Fan Ye walking over in line from another carriage. Behind him was another tall, thin boy. The two were talking and laughing; the thin boy’s gaze toward Fan Ye was full of admiration and desire.

Teng Ming understood.

Fan Ye also saw Teng Ming, waved at him, and shouted: “Wife, wife! I’m here!”

Teng Ming originally wanted to act calm and unbothered, but being called “wife” so loudly in front of everyone… his face instantly turned red. He lowered his head, refusing to meet Fan Ye’s eyes or respond.

When the line reached the door, Teng Ming pulled his luggage to get off. Fan Ye grabbed his arm, took the luggage from him, and said with a bit of exasperation: “Hey, why didn’t you answer when I called you? Are you intentionally making me lose face?”

A deep, mellow male voice with a slight hum at the end. Teng Ming looked up to meet Fan Ye’s eyes, remembering the heartbeat he felt the first time he saw him; and the first time he heard him speak, he realized a man could speak Mandarin so beautifully.

Teng Ming said faintly: “Is calling me ‘wife’ in public also your way of intentionally making me lose face?”

There is a type of person who, the more calmly they speak, the more it shows they are angry.

Fan Ye’s eyes widened; he wanted to laugh but felt a bit helpless. “Hey, I was wrong, okay? Don’t be angry. Just now when I went to the restroom, I ran into a fan and chatted for a bit.” As he spoke, he turned to look at that tall, thin boy.

The boy had a clean face, short hair, and was wearing a short-sleeved shirt with a banana pattern.

The tall boy stepped forward with a smile to greet Teng Ming, extending his hand, meaning to make a friend.

Teng Ming smiled at the boy and said “Hello,” but did not shake hands. Instead, he turned and walked away. He knew without thinking that the boy was embarrassed, and Fan Ye was embarrassed too.

Sometimes he felt he was too mean, intentionally creating moments of embarrassment for others and then enjoying the result.

…

When Fan Ye’s long legs carried him back to Teng Ming’s side, he forcibly pulled the suitcase from his hand, flashed a handsome smile at him, and walked out of the station side-by-side.

Before Teng Ming could respond to Fan Ye’s handsome smile, Fan Ye turned his face forward. For a moment, Teng Ming suddenly felt the two of them had grown a bit distant. For some reason, he just wanted to be petty.

Exiting the station, there were many people surrounding them shouting about hotels and taxi services; the commotion was quite large.

Fan Ye saw the slight look of surprise on Teng Ming’s face. He was about to pull his hand to lead him away, but to his surprise, Teng Ming broke free from his hand and walked forward at a steady pace.

Teng Ming’s stride was steady, as if demonstrating to Fan Ye that he was not a person who needed protection.

Teng Ming actually really enjoyed the feeling of being protected by Fan Ye being held by his strong palms, embraced by his broad and thick chest, his passionate kisses at night, the hormone-filled intimacy, and the exquisite breakfast in the morning… But he warned himself not to rely on Fan Ye like this, because he had to be prepared to lose him at any moment.

When Fan Ye was hailing a taxi, he saw that Teng Ming had already walked toward the nearby bus.

He called out to Teng Ming. Teng Ming glanced back at him, pointed to the bus, and boarded first.

When a serious-faced Fan Ye boarded the bus, it was basically full. Everyone looked at him.

Fan Ye was used to the feeling of being constantly watched. With a sweep of his large eyes, he found Teng Ming. That fellow was sitting in the last row; everyone was looking at him except Teng Ming.

When Fan Ye reached the last row, Teng Ming glanced at him, then picked up the backpack placed on the adjacent seat, and looked back out the window.

Fan Ye looked at the vacated seat, moved his legs, paused for a moment, and chose to stand.

Teng Ming looked at Fan Ye. After the two met eyes, Teng Ming placed the backpack back onto the adjacent seat.

Fan Ye had a mild case of germaphobia. The reason he didn’t choose to take the bus was that he felt the seats and handrails were dirty, and he disliked the crowding and noise. Additionally, he was a “film person” after all, and possessed some pride.

But Teng Ming told Fan Ye that taking a bus is the best way to understand a strange city; furthermore, every time he took the bus, it gave him bursts of inspiration.

In Shanghai, Fan Ye would stubbornly drive Teng Ming around, but after the initial vanity and happiness of being chauffeured passed, Teng Ming preferred taking the subway.

Teng Ming never rejected people bluntly. Even with Fan Ye, he would first agree with your opinion, then state his own, and subsequently follow his own plan. For example, when coming to Yunnan, Fan Ye suggested a road trip so they could see the scenery along the way. Teng Ming said, “Sure, you go on a road trip, I’ll take the high-speed train there. Anyway, there’s a direct line from Shanghai to Yunnan now.”

Fan Ye knew that once Teng Ming answered like that, there was no room for negotiation.

The bus was about to start when a man with a backpack rushed on. He was tall, with a narrow face and high nose bridge, wearing amber-colored resin glasses, a goatee, and a man-bun—an air of literacy mixed with a rogue-ish charm. Several other backpackers followed him, but they didn’t seem to know each other. The man poked his head around, saw there was one empty seat in the back row, and walked over. When he passed Fan Ye, he even said “Excuse me.”

Fan Ye moved aside, watching this man walk toward the seat next to his boyfriend, Teng Ming.

With just one look, Fan Ye knew this man was Teng Ming’s type.

Perhaps when a relationship reaches a point of mutual trust, one can openly state the types they like. For instance, walking down the street, Teng Ming would say to Fan Ye, “Look, that person is my ‘dish’ (my type)!”

Fan Ye, however, would not say such things. When he encountered a type he liked, he would at most take an extra look.

Sometimes Teng Ming would proactively point to a boy and say, “Ah, Fan Ye, look, that person is your dish, right?!”

At first, Fan Ye would admit it, but after practical experience, every time it happened thereafter, he would say no.

“Hello, is anyone here?” the newcomer asked.

Teng Ming turned his head, met the man’s eyes, paused for a second, and then shook his head. “No.” As he spoke, he picked up his backpack.

The man put down his backpack and sat next to Teng Ming, saying “Thank you” at the same time.

Teng Ming smiled at him and looked back out the window. When the man sat down, there was a faint scent—a combination of new clothes and fresh soap. It smelled very good.

Fan Ye felt relieved when he noticed Teng Ming didn’t give much attention to the “literary rogue” man next to him, but he still told himself in his heart that he should have sat next to Teng Ming.

After the bus had been moving for a while, Teng Ming suddenly conceived a plot point in his mind. He pulled a pen and a small notebook from his bag and began recording an outline, his pen flying like dragons and snakes.

Teng Ming’s actions caught the attention of the man next to him.

The man stared at Teng Ming’s notebook and asked, “Are you a writer (Zuo Jia)?”

Teng Ming was stunned for a moment, turned to look at the man, and said, “No, I am an author (Zuo Zhe).”

In his eyes, very few people could be called “writers” aside from those great literary masters of the last century, very few modern writers were called “writers” by him.

He felt that anyone who could be called a “writer” must have written an article or novel that changed social concepts and possessed a distinct writing style.

So when someone asked if he was a writer, he always answered this way.

The man laughed, extended his hand to Teng Ming, and said, “Li Shuren, I do photography.”

Teng Ming also reached out and said his own name.

The hand of the man before him was large and slightly rough, with faint veins on the back—a very powerful handshake.

Teng Ming looked at Li Shuren and found that the eyes behind the resin glasses were bright and deep, and his eyelashes were long and dense, giving off a bit of a Xinjiang-region vibe.

“Are you in Dali to find inspiration this time?” Li Shuren asked.

Teng Ming said: “I suppose so.”

He seemed unwilling to say much more to Li Shuren. Once he finished the outline, he put away the notebook.

Then, he suddenly heard Li Shuren let out a sigh.

Because they were sitting close, the breath from Li Shuren’s sigh mixed into Teng Ming’s own. He smelled a very good “man smell”—a scent only mature men have.

The so-called male pheromones?

Teng Ming felt his face flush instantly.

The first person who had ever let him smell such a charming scent was Fan Ye.

The man standing not far away, with a look of slight anger on his face, staring at Teng Ming.

“When I was young, I also thought about being a professional author. I didn’t expect to end up as this ‘bitter’ photographer,” Li Shuren said.

Teng Ming smiled and said, “When you were young? Are you very old now?”

Li Shuren also laughed: “Isn’t it old? Almost thirty! I must be a whole cycle older than you, right?”

Teng Ming said: “It’s not that exaggerated. I’m twenty-five.”

Li Shuren was surprised: “So young. Success at a young age!”

While they were talking, Fan Ye suddenly walked over.

“Move,” he said coldly.

Li Shuren was stunned, his expression also turning cold. “Who are you? Why should I move for you?”

Without another word, Fan Ye sat down, squeezing Li Shuren out. He then grabbed Teng Ming, occupying his breath with a vengeful kiss, his palms roaming over him, stirring up his heated emotions…

The bus began to announce the stop, the sound interrupting Teng Ming’s fantasy.

Then he heard Fan Ye calling him: “Teng Ming, get off!”

While speaking, the bus stopped and the door opened. Fan Ye got off carrying the luggage.

Teng Ming felt it was inexplicable and infuriating. He originally wanted to ignore Fan Ye’s willful behavior, even thinking about staying in the pre-booked guesthouse by himself tonight. But he suddenly remembered his suitcase had been taken down by Fan Ye. In a panic, he called for the driver to stop and ran down.

As he got off, Li Shuren waved at him with a smile.

It was now near dusk. The air in Dali was wonderful, and the sunset glow filled the sky like flames.

Fan Ye placed the luggage at his feet, standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking at Teng Ming.

Teng Ming thought of the scene when he first met Fan Ye.

Back then, he was also standing like this tall and big, no expression on his face, white T-shirt and jeans. Simple clothes but strikingly handsome. When he saw those eyes, Teng Ming almost stopped breathing.

But he had to pretend to be indifferent to his handsomeness and treat him coldly—including now, right? He clearly wanted to express his love but was suppressing it desperately because of certain things.

Now, Fan Ye was still standing there handsomely, but some things had changed.

Teng Ming asked him why he suddenly got off.

Fan Ye said: “We need to make things clear right now.”

Teng Ming suddenly felt his heartbeat become unnatural. “Clear about what?”

Fan Ye said: “What was with you just now? Laughing so happily with that guy!”

He knew he would say something like that.

Teng Ming took a deep breath and said, “This is normal, right? When someone talks to you, you can’t just say nothing. Besides, I didn’t start ‘casting my charm’ the moment I met someone, unlike you.” Although it was his first time meeting Li Shuren, the conversation was indeed pleasant.

Fan Ye glanced at him, shook his head, looked toward the front left, and then back at Teng Ming. He unexpectedly didn’t know what to say; he just felt a blockage in his heart.

Teng Ming said: “If there’s nothing to say, then let’s go!” As he spoke, he walked to Fan Ye’s side, intending to pick up his suitcase. At this moment, his thought was that if they kept quarreling, he could just take his suitcase and leave.

Fan Ye, however, gripped Teng Ming’s hand that was holding the suitcase. Then, following the momentum, he pulled him into his arms, holding him tightly.

Fan Ye was more than half a head taller than Teng Ming. Teng Ming’s breath landed right against Fan Ye’s collarbone.

His embrace was powerful, broad, and warm. Being held by him felt like possessing the whole world.

This move was always effective; Fan Ye was certain of this.

He felt Teng Ming’s originally stiff body slowly becoming relaxed.

Teng Ming greedily breathed in the scent of Fan Ye.

Someone once said that perfume is the same, but once it gets on a person, it forms that person’s unique scent.

Fan Ye placed both hands on Teng Ming’s shoulders, looking into his eyes.

Teng Ming looked at him too.

When they first met, and even for a while after they started dating, Teng Ming couldn’t meet Fan Ye’s gaze because he felt Fan Ye’s eyes were too bright, like the sun, and like a sharp sword.

After dating for a year, he could finally look him in the eye.

He didn’t know if it was because Teng Ming had become braver, or if Fan Ye had become warmer for him.

At this moment, no words were needed.

Fan Ye gently kissed Teng Ming’s lips.

His breath was intense like wine, his lips incredibly soft.

The lips seemed to carry a pulse. As the heat of the kiss increased, Teng Ming gradually felt his mind go blank. Fan Ye’s wild aura mixed at the tip of his nose; he only felt his whole body heating up.

Fan Ye’s hand moved to Teng Ming’s waist, sliding downward.

He broke the kiss, looked at Teng Ming, and gave a wicked smile.

Just then, a vehicle passed by. Teng Ming’s face turned bright red as he pushed Fan Ye away, taking off his bag to block his crotch.

Fan Ye burst out laughing. “Good boy, you’re still so cute!” With that, he pulled the suitcase with one hand and took Teng Ming’s left hand with the other, walking forward.

Teng Ming let him pull his hand. Under the light of the setting sun, watching his broad back, he let out a long sigh of relief.

After a few steps, some people cycling around Erhai Lake passed by. Teng Ming panicked and tried to shake off Fan Ye’s hand.

Unexpectedly, he couldn’t shake it off; it was held tightly by him.

Fan Ye turned to glance at Teng Ming, with an expression of “I already knew you’d do this.”

Fine.

Then I will lower my head and follow you.

The two or three cyclists indeed glanced at them and then rode away. Those few people were saying something; they must be saying: “Look, that’s a gay couple!”