The Long Night - Chapter 20

In the end, Li Yiyun did not let him intervene in that final case. As the Lunar New Year approached, the deceased’s family seemed only to care about securing more compensation; now that the person was gone, the actual cause of death appeared less significant.

Wang Zhongfeng, who had disappeared, was never found. The plaintiffs eventually agreed to a settlement, accepted a substantial sum of money privately, and swiftly dropped the lawsuit.

On the second day of the Lunar New Year, Yan Liao rushed back, unable to wait a moment longer.

He lugged bags of all sizes, trudging through the snow as he emerged from the station exit. The moment he stepped off the escalator, he saw Tang Shaocheng waiting for him.

The high-speed rail station was still deserted, with white snowflakes drifting from the sky. There were few people on the road, so the two young men could walk close together without worrying about curious stares.

They hadn’t even made it past the foyer of their home before Tang Shaocheng pressed Yan Liao against the wall and kissed him. Their lips and tongues met with the softness of sweet cotton candy. Tang’s hand moved from Yan Liao’s waist, sliding downward almost instinctively, their embrace lingering and inseparable. Suitcases tipped over, and shopping bags spilled across the floor, ignored.

Kissed until his knees went weak, Yan Liao’s head spun. He didn’t have the energy to wonder why Tang’s kissing technique was so practiced; he simply clung to Tang’s neck like a koala. “I missed you so much,” he managed to gasp out between breaths.

From the moment he returned, Yan Liao had an endless stream of things to say, as if he had been holding them in for an eternity. He gave a full report of everything that had happened at home over the past few days, much of which he had already shared on WeChat. They had only been apart for four days, and Tang Shaocheng listened with a helpless, affectionate smile.

On New Year’s Eve, while the Spring Festival Gala played on TV, Yan Liao had huddled in his bedroom to talk to Tang on the phone, the sounds of festive singing and dancing filtering through the door.

“The sketches and cross-talks aren’t as good as they used to be,” his mother complained from the living room. His father brought out two steaming plates of dumplings from the kitchen. “The directors’ taste is declining every year. Come see if my cooking has declined though!”

He had called Yan Liao out of the room with great anticipation. After tasting the dumplings, both mother and son gave the same candid review: “As terrible as always.”

After the reunion dinner, Yan Liao returned to his room for a video call with Tang Shaocheng, fussing over him with questions like “Did you eat enough?”, “Are you cold?”, and “Are you bored?” Downstairs, the crackle of firecrackers filled the air, accompanied by the joyful cheers of children. Tang Shaocheng replied with a smile, “How could I be bored when I have you?”

Yan Liao’s mother assumed he had a girlfriend and marveled, “I can’t believe a girl would like someone as clingy as you. It’s like raising a puppy.”

On the first day of the New Year, Yan Liao went to his grandmother’s house, where a houseful of children gave him a headache. When his father told him to watch over his younger cousins, he climbed onto the roof to hide from them, indignantly messaging Tang: “I didn’t get any red envelope money this year!” Even when his uncle tried to give him one, his mother stopped him, saying, “He’s eighteen now, he’s not a child anymore”—a stark contrast to when she would ask him, “Think you’re all grown up now?” if he wasn’t home by midnight.

The moment they entered the bedroom, Yan Liao received a red envelope Tang Shaocheng had prepared for him. While he looked down to count the money, Tang leaned against the sofa, smiling, expecting the boy to be delighted—his scholarship and year-end wages added up to a significant sum. Instead, Yan Liao looked up with a pouting lip, tears quickly spilling over. “Is it very hard for you?”

Caught off guard by the tears, Tang’s smile vanished into a look of panic. As soon as he reached out, Yan Liao crashed into his chest, his tears instantly soaking into Tang’s sweater.

“Hey,” Tang sighed, rubbing the back of Yan Liao’s head. “Why are you crying after getting New Year money?”

“Is it so exhausting because you’re with me?” Yan Liao’s fingers gripped Tang’s clothes tightly. “Is that why you didn’t go home—because you’re worried about us being discovered? You’re so busy every day, with so much to do. I don’t want you to be so tired. I want to be with you every day, but I’m afraid I’ll be a burden or hold you back…”

Tang patiently coaxed him, saying, “It’s not because of you,” when he suddenly heard a muffled, slurred voice from his chest: “If one day you want to give up…”

“I won’t.”

Tang lowered his head, resting his chin on the soft crown of Yan Liao’s head. “I won’t give up. Trust me, okay?” After a long moment, he heard a muffled “Mm.” Tang sighed again and added, “So, don’t you give up either, okay?”

“I won’t… Do you really need me as much as I need you?”

“I love you.”

After finally calming Yan Liao down, Tang Shaocheng began to reflect on whether he was moving things too quickly. Yan Liao was at an age where he should be enjoying life; it seemed cruel to make the “child” face these pressures so early.

He, too, wanted every day to be filled with endless romantic gestures and “I love yous,” but without material security, life was far too fragile. He didn’t know what the future held.

At that time, he didn’t yet realize that Yan Liao would break down many times because he felt he “couldn’t keep up,” nearly repeating the conflicts of their past life, where Tang was too busy with work to notice his partner’s emotional needs.

Yan Liao only stayed home for four days. Even after half a year away, his familiar hometown hadn’t changed much.

The only surprise was running into Ge Donglin.

They met on the street by chance. Yan Liao almost didn’t recognize him. The cowering look on Ge Donglin’s face had faded; he was dressed sharply and looked much more capable. He no longer wore bulky, padded coats that made him look clumsy. His features had filled out—not a striking, breathtaking beauty, but a clean and pleasant kind of handsome.

“The Media Academy really is a place that transforms people,” was all Yan Liao could think.

The arcade where they used to play Contra in tenth grade had gone out of business the previous year. Both felt a sense of nostalgia as they revisited old haunts and eventually sat down for hot pot. Ge Donglin tried to subtly ask about Yan Liao’s love life, but remembering Tang’s warning about staying in the closet, Yan Liao skillfully diverted the conversation.

After they parted ways, Yan Liao walked home slowly. He thought back to when he first met Ge Donglin. Time felt like fallen leaves swept by an autumn wind; he could never have imagined Ge would become like a different person.

In their first year of high school, Yan Liao and Ge Donglin sat in front of and behind each other. Their class hadn’t been divided into tracks yet, and with only about thirty students, everyone had individual desks with no seatmates.

Ge Donglin was the type who looked easy to bully—dazed and slow, like a sloth. When called upon in class, he would just stand there, unable to utter a single word. The teacher would bang on the desk and scold him: “You waste one minute, you waste thirty minutes for the whole class! I can’t finish my lesson, and if the other students fail, it’s all your fault!”

Yan Liao sat right in front of Ge. Relying on his path as an arts student, he never listened in class. The teacher’s tirades always felt like they were aimed at him too. After class, other students would go out of their way to cause trouble, often kicking Ge Donglin’s desk as they passed.

The force would often make Yan Liao’s own chair feel like it was falling apart.

So, truth be told, Yan Liao’s initial intervention was because his own peace was being disturbed and he wanted to spite the teacher, not out of pure altruism. He went straight to the office and told the teacher, “Liu Kai kicks my chair and disrupts my studying. If my grades drop, it’s all Liu Kai’s fault.”

The homeroom teacher stormed back to the classroom and gave Liu Kai a severe scolding. When Liu Kai argued that he was kicking Ge Donglin, the teacher was so angry she laughed and called his parents.

At the end of the school day, Yan Liao saw a group blocking the entrance, with Liu Kai standing at the front, something hidden in his sleeve.

Ge Donglin, like an idiot, started walking straight out, but Yan Liao pulled him back. “If you go out there, something terrible will happen.” They escaped through the back of the building. After that, Yan Liao had his father take thirty minutes off work every day to pick him up, first driving Ge Donglin home.

They grew closer from then on. Ge Donglin became like his little follower, doing whatever he was told and becoming deeply moved by even the smallest kindness. He only knew how to say “I’m sorry” and “Thank you.”

Yan Liao didn’t truly know if he considered Ge a friend.

Even many years later, after discovering certain truths, he couldn’t quite define their relationship. Helping him had been a whim, so he felt awkward calling Ge “ungrateful.” Where was the “grace” to begin with?

It was like self-teaching a musical instrument—because he was figuring it out on his own, mistakes went uncorrected, and repeated practice only made those errors more deep-rooted.

Perhaps they were friends only after school hours. At school, Yan Liao never acknowledged him in front of others. The most common thing he said to Ge Donglin at school was, “Remember to act like you don’t know me.”

The items Yan Liao brought back almost filled half the refrigerator. In the evening, the two went to a nearby mall. It was crowded, with speakers looping “Gong Xi Fa Cai” and red electric lanterns hanging everywhere, festive and lively.

In the brightly lit basement supermarket, they pushed their cart through the aisles, first stopping for chips and drinks. Seeing a new flavor of Lay’s, Yan Liao eagerly tossed it into the cart. Tang Shaocheng suddenly remarked, “You won’t like that.” Like a rebellious teenager, Yan Liao snapped back, “Nonsense! Don’t presume to know the Emperor’s mind”—only to realize after opening it at home that it really wasn’t to his taste.

They moved to the fresh produce section for meat and vegetables. Yan Liao watched Tang Shaocheng place salt, vinegar, and peanut oil into the cart, feeling a “little bit” of happiness.

A “little bit” meant a happiness that grew bit by bit, like a chick pecking through an eggshell.

As they pushed the cart to the checkout, Tang handled the bill while Yan Liao looked at the nearby shelves. The bottom shelf held gum and chocolate; above that were tissues; and on the layer above that were “Ultra-Thin” boxes. He squinted, pressed his tongue against his back molars, and swiftly grabbed a box.

“I want this too.”

Tang Shaocheng looked down and saw a box of condoms sliding across the counter. He raised an eyebrow, his expression subtle.

“That’s not gum.”

Yan Liao endured the embarrassment: “…I know.”

Back home, they curled up on the sofa to watch a movie on the projector. After resting on Tang’s chest for a while, Yan Liao complained, “Your heartbeat is too loud,” and grabbed a cushion to lean on instead.

Tang Shaocheng stroked the soft hair behind Yan Liao’s ear. “Every time I miss you, my heartbeat is so loud I can’t sleep.”

The air grew quiet for a few seconds before Yan Liao turned to wrap his arms around Tang’s neck and gave him a deep, forceful kiss.

The light on the screen flickered. The movie was a Japanese romance—a very romantic metaphor that seemed headed for a happy ending, only to take an unexpected turn. Yan Liao fell asleep before the credits rolled; the exhaustion from traveling back and forth within a week caught up to him.

Tang Shaocheng looked down at him. There was a faint dimple at the corner of the boy’s mouth that only appeared when his lips were pursed. He gently kissed Yan Liao’s eyelids, turned off the projector, and carried him back to the bedroom.

The quiet night poured into the room through the curtains. A lavender-scented candle was lit, filling the space with a calming aroma.

Yan Liao opened his eyes dazed, saw the room’s light, and nuzzled against Tang’s neck. Having slept for a bit, he was no longer tired. He blew out the candle on the bedside table, feeling quite awake.

“What time is it?”

Tang Shaocheng checked his watch. “Nine-thirty.” He squinted slightly and patted Yan Liao’s hip. “Early night tonight?”

“Oh…”

Yan Liao slowly climbed out of bed to shower, staying in the bathroom longer than usual. When he returned, he kissed Tang’s face, his breath smelling of mint toothpaste.

“I’m all washed up,” he said, the meaning ambiguous.

“Mm. Did you dry your hair?” Tang reached out to feel his hair, only letting him into bed once he was sure it was dry.

Yan Liao lay under the covers, his face flushed. Listening to the sound of the shower from the bathroom, his heart felt like it was playing a percussion solo. He pondered for a moment, then scrambled out to the living room to find something, clenching it in his palm before racing back.

Tang Shaocheng emerged wearing only a towel, his abdominal muscles well-defined and sharp. He didn’t get into bed immediately, instead sitting at the foot of the bed to check messages in his work group. Yan Liao gritted his teeth and kicked Tang’s thigh. “Stop looking at that. Come to bed.”

“Alright.”

Tang Shaocheng set his phone aside and got into bed. It was warm under the covers, filled with the other person’s body heat. He braced his arms on either side of Yan Liao and leaned down to plant a soft kiss on his forehead.

Yan Liao hooked his arms around Tang’s neck, refusing to let him pull away. Their foreheads rested against each other, their noses touching.

Behind the curtains, the sky was pitch black, but the room was warm and bright. The sheets were a fresh sky blue; they felt like they were drifting together in a tiny, private sea.

Tang Shaocheng eventually pushed himself up slightly, looking down into Yan Liao’s dark, moist eyes staring straight back at him.

“What is it?” He couldn’t help but lean down again to kiss the boy’s eyelids.

Yan Liao’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He hesitated, his hands fumbled under the pillow, and he pulled out a hidden object.

“Shall we do it?”

The voice, as faint as a mosquito’s buzz, drifted up from beneath him. It felt like a kitten’s tail brushing against Tang’s fingertips. Tang froze. “Hm?”

Suddenly, he felt a small, square, card-like object being pressed into his palm.

Yan Liao’s eyes held a thin mist, shimmering like a lake under the lights. He continued to stare intensely into Tang’s eyes as he shoved the condom directly into Tang’s hand.

“Shall we?” he asked again.