The Long Night - Chapter 16

The autumn at school seemed to last longer, and in the blink of an eye, three months had passed since the semester began.

Dry, brittle, yellow leaves covered the ground. The sound they made when you stepped on them was like biting into a potato chip.

The dorm area felt like a small park. Next to the laundry room, there was a two-story coffee shop. Its quiet atmosphere and warm wooden decor made it perfect for studying or a date.

On the tables, chubby succulent plants were bathed in lamplight, their edges glowing with a soft, golden fringe.

Yan Liao was a little distracted. The pages of the book in his hands hadn’t turned for a long time. Tang Shaocheng tapped the back of his hand with a pen. “Lost in thought again.”

It felt just like high school, when they used to study together in the same room.

“Something on your mind?”

Yan Liao closed his book. “I’m not telling you.”

Tang Shaocheng gave him a half-smile. “Is there something you can’t talk to me about?”

“…There just is something I can’t tell you,” Yan Liao mumbled quietly, then added, “My dad doesn’t even pry this much.”

“Then just tell me when you’re ready.”

Tang Shaocheng’s hand was on the table, with distinct knuckles and long fingers. The shifting light flickered across the back of his hand. Yan Liao pressed on the spot of illuminated skin, as if trying to catch that tiny patch of light.

Tang Shaocheng lifted his eyes but didn’t say anything, and his gaze returned to his book.

Yan Liao’s fingertips followed the path of the light, moving from the back of Tang Shaocheng’s hand to his fingers, like a slow-crawling mollusk, very gentle and very light. Just as he was about to reach the tip of a finger, he paused and suddenly grabbed Tang Shaocheng’s finger, giving it a gentle tug.

The person sitting across from him looked up, giving him a look that asked, “What’s up?”

“Have you ever thought about… possibly liking…”

Yan Liao spoke slowly, the words coming out in stuttering bursts. Under Tang Shaocheng’s patient gaze, he finally blurted out the last two words: “…guys.”

“Yes, I have.”

Yan Liao’s dark pupils constricted. He couldn’t believe Tang Shaocheng had said it so openly, so brazenly, without any pretense.

Is this what happens when you’re too close to someone?

Although being gay wasn’t a rarity these days, it felt more like something you saw online. In real, everyday life, he felt it was rare to encounter.

Tang Shaocheng turned the tables and asked him, “What about you?”

“I don’t know…” Yan Liao bit his lip, his eyes full of hesitation.

For some people, exploring their sexual orientation takes just a moment. For others, it’s a long and confusing struggle before they can figure it out.

Tang Shaocheng gently patted the back of his hand, guiding him. “Have you ever had a crush on someone? Were they a guy or a girl?”

Yan Liao looked up, staring intently at him, not saying a word, his gums feeling a little sore. After a moment of silence, he picked up his backpack and started putting his books away. “I’m done studying. I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.”

“Wait a bit. Classes are just getting out.”

Tang Shaocheng glanced at his watch. 11:30 was when the fourth period ended, and the cafeteria would be at its busiest. They usually tried to avoid that time.

“…Oh.”

Yan Liao put his bag back down and sat down again, resting his chin on Tang Shaocheng’s shoulder as he watched him focus on his book. He felt a little frustrated.

He stood up, walked around to the other side, and sat down. He held a piece of eraser in his hand, as if for courage. He rested his chin on Tang Shaocheng’s shoulder and whispered as if he were blowing into his ear, “A classmate asked me to walk with them on the track last night.”

Yan Liao paused, then deliberately added, “She’s an upperclassman from the traditional Chinese painting department.”

Tang Shaocheng’s eyes remained on the pages of his book, his expression gentle. “That’s good. Walking can help you relax and it’s good for your health.”

He sounded like a worried father. Thinking of exercise, he brought up morning runs. “You guys have to check in for physical fitness now, right? Remember to stretch before you run, and get your muscles warmed up before you start. Don’t start off too fast.”

He suddenly brought that up.

Yan Liao was a half-beat late in saying, “Oh.” He felt too embarrassed to say that their dorm mates were secretly riding shared bikes around the building in the mornings, and no one was actually running.

“She also said,” Yan Liao rubbed the eraser, and a small pile of white eraser dust accumulated on the table. The pads of his fingers were red. “She also said she thinks my paintings are beautiful.”

Tang Shaocheng looked as if to say, “Of course they are.” He was in a good mood and joked with the boy, “Yeah, when you have time, give me an autograph. When you become a famous artist, I’ll sell it.”

…

The eraser in his hand was about to be destroyed.

Yan Liao was silent. He gritted his teeth, sighed, swallowed his anger, and his expression suddenly became melancholy. He continued his dry statement, “The upperclassman also said I’m handsome.”

Tang Shaocheng nodded. “Yes, she has good taste. You are very handsome…”

Yan Liao clenched his fist. A voice in his heart was screaming, “Are you done yet? What is this?”

Before Tang Shaocheng could finish praising the boy, he was abruptly interrupted by an impatient voice.

“She also said she likes me and wants to be my girlfriend.”

The air seemed to subtly shimmer.

Tang Shaocheng finally closed his book, looked at him, and narrowed his eyes. His expression was as if he had just heard something very interesting. He asked with amusement, “And what did you say?”

This was completely different from what he had imagined. Yan Liao secretly gritted his teeth, feeling like he was about to explode with anger.

If he were to say, “I didn’t agree,” the matter would be passed over lightly, as if nothing had happened.

“I said,” he said, his head bowed, his pale, slender fingers rolling the eraser dust into a small snowball, speaking slowly, “we could try being friends first.”

The air was silent for a few seconds. The calm expression Tang Shaocheng had just had, like a general listening to a child’s gossip, suddenly became serious.

Yan Liao secretly glanced at him. His revenge had been exacted, and his spirits soared, though he was also harming himself. He continued, “I think she’s pretty great, too. She’s really cute and she even made me some cookies.”

Tang Shaocheng, with great self-control, stopped himself from saying, “I’ve baked you cookies, too”—which was after you left two rows of teeth marks on my arm because you lost a video game.

He felt a little conflicted, but he quickly adjusted his mindset, wondering if one had to experience it to know one’s sexual orientation, whether they liked guys or girls.

“If you want to try, then try it. Campus relationships are also very good,” Tang Shaocheng said in a calm voice, returning to his resigned but tolerant tone.

The eraser in Yan Liao’s hand was finally snapped in two.

“Didn’t you say that reverse psychology would work?”

Back in his dorm, Yan Liao couldn’t help but complain to Ge Dong-lin over their WeChat call. His tone was terrible. “So does he have any sense of crisis or not?”

If it weren’t for his “strategist” giving him bad advice, things wouldn’t have come to this.

He was sad, angry, and sullen, sprawled out on his bed. When he saw the electric mosquito repellent on his desk—a gift from Tang Shaocheng—he felt even more like he had been pushed into a terrible situation. “It was supposed to be a free night, but now I can’t go see him because I have to go on a walk with a girl.”

“…I didn’t know it would turn out like this,” Ge Dong-lin said helplessly over the phone.

The two were silent for a while, each with their own thoughts, then talked about some things related to their new schools. Yan Liao’s major was similar to his high school training, so there was nothing new. However, what Ge Dong-lin was studying was more interesting. He had been assigned to a different major, so by a strange twist of fate, he ended up in marketing at a media school.

Yan Liao asked curiously, “Will you become a celebrity manager later?”

“Probably just an assistant. I have a lot of certifications to get.”

Ge Dong-lin hadn’t fully figured out his major’s career path yet, but after looking at the job prospects of the graduating seniors this year, he felt that finding a job was not looking very optimistic.

Their conversation eventually circled back to the topic of love. Yan Liao covered his eyes, his voice full of regret. “I’m such an idiot.”

Just as Ge Dong-lin was about to comfort him, Yan Liao continued to insult him without hesitation. “I shouldn’t have trusted a fool.”

The air was silent for a moment.

It was a silence like the profound stillness of a world covered in heavy snow, but more like the strained silence when every nerve is as taut as a steel cable.

It was said in a joking tone between friends, but the person on the other end felt anything but amused.

Ge Dong-lin’s expression was shadowed for a moment. He quietly retorted, “I’m not a fool.”

The sentence wasn’t spoken quietly, but Yan Liao was so caught up in his own thoughts that he habitually ignored it.

It took him a while to realize he had heard something. “What did you just say?”

Ge Dong-lin paused. “Nothing.”

Sometimes, you just can’t help but hate me.

Mold can easily grow in dark, damp places. Malicious thoughts were like tiny insects crawling across his heart, countless of them, nibbling from his heart to his lungs. Then, they would be drowned by the surging blood, leaving him breathless.

I hate you so much. I hate you even more than I hate the people who bullied me.

Why would I hate a friend? Why is the person I hate the most a friend? Why do I always want to hate you?

When the call ended, Yan Liao lay down on his dorm bed, feeling a strange coldness all around him. A faint shiver ran down his spine.

Is the long autumn finally coming to an end? Thinking this, he unconsciously pulled the blanket over himself.

As fatigue and sleepiness swept over him, he suddenly and without warning remembered something that had happened a long time ago.

When he was looking at his test scores in the classroom, he felt a gaze fixed on his back, a viscous, lingering darkness. But when he turned his head, he didn’t see anyone and thought it was an illusion caused by too much stress.

That day was the last time Ge Dong-lin came to school, but Yan Liao had never paid attention to such things.

For a whole week, the time they spent together abruptly decreased. Tang Shaocheng spent more time at the law firm and the library, while Yan Liao, having fabricated a romantic date with an upperclassman, had to endure the loneliness in his dorm, as if he were guarding an empty house.

Tang Shaocheng returned to his dorm ten minutes before curfew. Li Qiao-hai was on the balcony, on a lovey-dovey phone call with his girlfriend. His voice came through the glass door into the room. “You’re like a high-voltage wire to me. The moment I touch you, I can’t let go.”

He said with great affection, “I love you so, so much. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll love you just for breathing.”

Zhang Yuan was sitting in his chair with his arms crossed, his face a mess of twisted features.

A few seconds later, the tone from the balcony suddenly became urgent.

“I’d love you if you didn’t breathe, too—wait, that’s not what I meant! Don’t be mad. Damn it, I’ll never talk again…”

It had rained lightly in the evening, and after the lights went out, the sound of the rain grew more intense.

It was like a river flowing overhead.

The air smelled of dampness. Tang Shaocheng lay flat on his dorm bed, his vision filled with gray darkness.

At the time, he had been open-minded enough to let the boy explore his sexuality, but now that he saw him drifting away, a complex feeling filled his heart.

He wasn’t confident that Yan Liao would definitely come back.

All this time, he had been foolishly assuming they would still be in love, and so he had entered the other’s life in a simple and direct way, never considering the possibility that their feelings might shift.

He had even been confident that they were like two perfectly fitting parts, like magnets attracting each other, and the sooner they met, the sooner they would be whole.

But now, things were not turning out as he had expected.

The foundation of his confidence had always been Yan Liao’s words: “I’ve liked you since I was seventeen.”

He had never considered the other possibility: that those words had been shattered and had no proof of ever being said.

He remembered them chatting in the cafeteria, when Yan Liao said the reason for his family’s move was that his “father changed jobs,” not that he had deliberately tried to get closer to him, as Tang Shaocheng had misconstrued.

Maybe everything had just been an illusion.

Since his rebirth, his demand on himself, his mission, had always been to “protect Yan Liao” and let him live a safe and healthy life.

But now, a sense of frustration and powerlessness felt like a heavy lead ball, with an invisible chain shackling his legs. It felt like he had walked a long way, only to look up and realize there was no finish line.

Their romantic relationship was neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition. Even if he could only be a friend to accompany and protect him, he would do his best to give Yan Liao a good life.

Tang Shaocheng looked at the gray ceiling in the dark, thinking of the day they parted. Yan Liao had whispered next to him, “Do you think she’ll like me?”

He had taken a long time to answer. “She will. You’re such a good person. Everyone will like you.”

“What about you?”

—The question Yan Liao didn’t ask back then was now gently echoing in the depths of Tang Shaocheng’s mind.

After several downpours, the weather became increasingly cold. With all twenty morning run check-ins for the semester completed, very few people were running in the mornings. It took courage and willpower to get out of a warm bed.

But Tang Shaocheng had been persistent since the summer, running unfailingly.

He jogged along the path. The time from when he woke up until his first class was enough to run through half the campus. He would occasionally run into some nearly retired teachers who would chat with him for a few minutes.

“I really envy you young people,” they would always start with this line and end with a warning, “You have to cherish your time.”

Cherishing time means not missing the time you can spend with important people.

Tang Shaocheng walked under the increasingly sparse sycamore trees. He had been thinking about the same thing for days.

Sometimes, being too familiar with each other makes it impossible to be lovers, only friends. But that wasn’t the case for him and Yan Liao.

He had only lived for thirty years in his last life, a age that would probably be called “dying young,” but he knew very well that he never felt it was a pity.

Without that person, living in this world alone would be meaningless.

He was the kind of person who, if he were to express suicidal thoughts in a post, would get comments like, “Look at my fluffy cat and dog,” or “Look at the blue sky and grassland I photographed, beautiful nature,” or “Look at the dish I cooked, I put in a lot of chili, it’s great…” None of these things could awaken his ability to perceive happiness.

They all just made him feel that life was meaningless.

After Yan Liao’s death, it was as if he had a ghost, an ever-present shadow that followed him through the rest of his life.

There are eight kinds of suffering in life: birth, old age, sickness, death; separation from the ones you love, meeting those you resent, not getting what you want, and the fiery passions of life.

The only one he couldn’t bear was separation from the one he loved.

He worked overtime at the law firm, but he didn’t feel the need to “take a break with a cigarette.” But when he got back to school and had nothing to do, he came out of the supermarket with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Tang Shaocheng sat on a bench, a single red light flickering between his fingers.

On a Friday evening, the campus was filled with a relaxed, free atmosphere. Someone was reading on a bench under a streetlamp, a Pushkin poetry collection placed beside them. A gentle breeze casually turned a page.

“I loved you silently, without hope.”

Tang Shaocheng accidentally glimpsed the line, and his brow slowly furrowed.

Don’t hesitate anymore. Don’t push away just to see if you will come back to me. Don’t miss out on the time you have with each other.

His mood felt like a sigh. He unlocked his phone and sent a message to Yan Liao.

Like a teenager, he typed and deleted sentences in the chat box. Finally, he asked, “Do you want to come out for a walk?”

Yan Liao ran out of the dorm and immediately spotted the person standing downstairs. The clear moonlight fell on Tang Shaocheng’s shoulders like a thin layer of snow.

He almost thought it was winter, or maybe it just felt like it had been too long since they had seen each other.

The two of them walked one lap on the track, and when the wind picked up, they went to a pavilion in the school’s small garden.

Yan Liao looked at the square stone table in the pavilion. When he got nervous, his mind would wander. He thought about how perfect this spot was for playing mahjong.

“I have something to tell you.” Tang Shaocheng stood to his side, blocking the wind.

Yan Liao slipped his slightly cold hand into Tang Shaocheng’s jacket pocket. His heart was beating fast, and perhaps it was because the surroundings were so dark. “What is it?” he asked, slowly dragging his shoe on the ground, gathering a small pile of fallen leaves. “You sound so serious.”

Tang Shaocheng said, “I like you.”

“…”

The wind was turbulent and fleeting. It blew through the leaves, making them rustle, a rapid shaking, as if it would send him tumbling, too. His heart hammered, and his ears were ringing.

He wondered if he had imagined it. He wanted to be sure, to hear it again. He nervously asked once more, “What?”

“I like you, Yan Liao. I like you.”

Tang Shaocheng spoke slowly, one word at a time, with great sincerity.

In his vision, a bright, warm yellow flame seemed to ignite. His chest was flooded with a rising smoke, and in the depths of his mind, he felt a strong sense of dizziness, as if he had been struck by a falling meteor, or as if a tree bursting from the ground were about to carry him into the clouds.