LIAH 11. Don’t Know How to Get Home

The exam ended at eleven. Pei Siyin walked out of the classroom.

His ankle was still sore and swollen. Luckily, he could walk on one leg. It was not that serious. It only made him look a little ridiculous when he walked.

Back in university, he had been assigned a dorm room, but he rarely stayed there. His parents and sister were worried he would not be comfortable, so they bought him an apartment near campus.

Pei Siyin unlocked the dorm door. One of his roommates was already sitting at his computer, gaming like a man possessed with his headphones on.

The dorm was clean, with two people to a room, a north-south orientation, and a private bathroom. The conditions were absurdly good.

Apparently, a surprise donor had sponsored the school this year. Not only had they built two new buildings, they even installed air conditioning in every classroom. The dorm standards had also been bumped up. Two-person rooms were rare and only available through credit exchange. Whoever ranked higher got in. Pei Siyin was one of them.

He flopped down onto his bed and pulled the curtain halfway shut. Chen Zhaomian, in the middle of a match, noticed the sunlight dimming and glanced over in confusion.

“Eh?” Chen Zhaomian exclaimed in surprise. He pulled his headphones down around his neck. “Siyin, what are you doing back?”

Pei Siyin unlocked his phone and gave him a helpless smile, pointing at his injured ankle. “It rained the day before yesterday and I ate shit. Getting a cab home is a pain. I figured I’d just come back here.”

“Oh? It’s not serious, right?” Chen Zhaomian finished his match, came over to take a closer look, and squinted. “No wonder you missed the professor’s lecture yesterday. I thought you just caught a cold. Didn’t expect it to be this bad.”

Pei Siyin’s long fingers tapped rapidly across the screen as he typed a few messages. Then he sat up and waved a hand. “It’s not that bad. Someone kind picked me up and took me to the hospital. I’m already getting better.”

“Oh.” Chen Zhaomian nodded solemnly. “Then you better thank them properly. Not many kind people left in this world.”

Sunlight filtered through behind Chen Zhaomian, casting a narrow beam across Pei Siyin’s leg. He leaned against the headboard with a smile, and when he thought of that kiss on the back of his hand this morning, his heart thumped wildly.

“I know.”

Song Shengyang had been in meetings all morning. His head was pounding. When he finally got a break and returned to his office, his phone kept lighting up every few minutes.

The secretary knocked and brought his lunch. Song Shengyang leaned back in his chair, facing the clean floor-to-ceiling windows. He opened his phone and tapped on the red notification bubble showing 999 unread messages. Only after all the notifications had finished pinging through did he finally notice the one at the top, a message from Pei Siyin, whose profile picture showed only a side view.

One of the attached photos showed a view from bed, looking out the window. Vines climbed along the outer wall, reaching the height of the frame. Sunlight streamed in, and a few pink roses peeked through the leaves like brushstrokes completing a springtime painting.

Pei Siyin had asked him, “Is it pretty?”

He had not waited for a reply. Just kept sending more.

The next photo was a close-up of his hand. His fingers were pale and slender, the knuckles clearly defined, with veins visible under the sunlight. His wrist looked impossibly thin. Song Shengyang could still remember how it had felt in his grasp.

Pei Siyin wrote, “Finished my exam. With your encouragement, I’m sure I’ll be top of the class today ✌️”

Scrolling up, he found earlier messages too. There were complaints about being ignored, mixed in with apologies and moments of self-reflection.

Song Shengyang tapped his profile picture. A photo taken under the setting sun. The lighting was dark overall, but Pei Siyin’s face stood out clearly. Long dark lashes. A sharp nose bridge. When he tilted his chin slightly, it drew out the clear lines of his jaw. His Adam’s apple was not too prominent. When he raised his head, only a small bump showed on his throat.

His gaze was fixed in the distance, lips pressed together. It was a face full of melancholy and unignorable, unfiltered beauty.

Song Shengyang backed out and snorted, “Scammer, hiding behind a face like that.”

Another new message came in. Still from Pei Siyin.

“Class ends at five. My leg still hurts so much. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get home 🥺”

This time, Song Shengyang replied.

He typed with one hand. First, he changed Pei Siyin’s contact name to “Scammer (Pretty Version).” Then he sent a message back.

“Call a cab.”

Then he turned off his phone.

Damn Pei Siyin. Always playing him like a fiddle. As Song Shengyang ate, he grumbled to himself. He had already done everything he was supposed to do. The bills were paid, the hospital visit taken care of. From now on, they could consider things finished.

That afternoon, after finishing his last class, Pei Siyin was about to call a cab home when Chen Zhaomian patted him on the shoulder from behind and said, “Wait a sec. I rode my scooter today. I’ll give you a lift.”

“No need to trouble yourself,” Pei Siyin zipped up his backpack. “I’ll just grab a cab.”

Chen Zhaomian twirled his scooter keys with a click of his tongue. “What are you being so polite for? I’ve got a part-time gig later, and I’ll be passing right by your neighborhood anyway. Totally on the way.”

Since he had said that much, Pei Siyin didn’t refuse again. The weather was good, and riding an open scooter meant he could enjoy the breeze. It was a win-win. He would just treat Chen Zhaomian to a meal tomorrow to thank him.

It was rush hour, and the school gate was packed with traffic. Chen Zhaomian skillfully wove his way through the maze of private cars and made it to the front. He handed Pei Siyin a helmet and waved. “Hop on.”

The scene was honestly a little ridiculous. Pei Siyin, limping, fastened the helmet and gripped Chen Zhaomian’s shoulder, trying to swing one leg up onto the rear seat.

The noise around them never stopped. But just then, a long, sharp honk pierced through the bustle. Pei Siyin jolted, nearly losing his balance again. He managed to steady himself and turned toward the sound.

A purple Maserati was parked just off the curb, its sleek frame utterly out of place among the black and white cars around it. It looked like a delicate thing that had wandered into a forest of thorns.

A few seconds later, the driver’s door opened, and Song Shengyang stepped out.

He was still dressed in the same suit he had worn that morning when he dropped Pei Siyin off, but the laid-back air was gone. One hand rested on the car door, and his expression was dark.