Chapter 20 – A Cautious Return

106

After the CET-4 exams, Xiang Lei had no choice but to undergo another surgery at the hospital.

Seeing Wei Tong bustling around to pay fees and pick up medicine for him, Xiang Lei wondered when this ordeal would finally come to an end.

During the final exams, Xiang Lei noticed that his condition had relapsed yet again. He didn’t want to go back to the hospital and placed all his hopes in Li Zeng. At times, he even felt like this was a matter of life and death.

Xiang Lei believed that this period of suffering under the torment of illness was probably the most selfless stretch of his twenty years of life—losing his principles, twisting his values, blindly depending on others, fragile and easily hurt.

If things continued like this, Xiang Lei feared his spiritual world would soon be beyond cure.

107

After returning home for winter break, Xiang Lei immediately called Li Zeng to ask when he’d be coming back. Li Zeng said he wasn’t sure and might not return at all. Disappointed, Xiang Lei told him that his illness had flared up again. He had ignored it for a long time, and it had gotten much worse. Li Zeng then left a phone number for Xiang Lei, telling him to go see the old doctor himself.

Xiang Lei still wanted to wait. He hoped Li Zeng would take him there.

After the Spring Festival, Xiang Lei contacted Li Zeng again. When Li Zeng learned that Xiang Lei still hadn’t sought treatment, he grew a little anxious. He told Xiang Lei he was in Qingdao and asked him to come there.

Xiang Lei wandered around a residential area in Qingdao for a long time, unable to find the place Li Zeng had described. He made several calls to ask for directions, secretly hoping Li Zeng would come down to meet him. But over the phone, Li Zeng was clearly furious, berating Xiang Lei for being a disgrace to college students if he couldn’t even figure out directions.

Li Zeng was staying in Lao San’s new home after his wedding. When Xiang Lei knocked on the door, he saw a room full of people gathered around a mahjong table, the air thick with smoke and noise. Someone had to point it out before Li Zeng noticed Xiang Lei entering. He raised a hand and gestured toward a room, telling Xiang Lei to go watch TV or rest for a while.

As Xiang Lei walked over, he accidentally caught sight of a familiar face—though familiar, he couldn’t recall the name right away. When Xiang Lei saw him, the man also glanced over, his gaze lingering on Xiang Lei’s face for a moment before returning to the mahjong table.

While Xiang Lei was mindlessly watching a soap opera on TV, someone pushed the door open and closed it behind them. Turning his head, Xiang Lei realized it was the same person he’d exchanged glances with earlier.

The man leaned against the door he’d just shut, smoking a cigarette, chin slightly raised as he stared intently at Xiang Lei.

Xiang Lei felt uneasy and looked away, waiting for the man to speak.

“You’re Xiang Lei, right?” the man finally said. “I’m Peng Shuai.”

So it was him. The person in the photo in Li Zeng’s room.

Xiang Lei was certain his heart didn’t stir at all.

“I heard you’re sick,” Peng Shuai continued.

Xiang Lei suddenly felt ashamed.

“Did he tell you he’d only meet me after you went back to school?”

Xiang Lei remained silent.

“We met around this time last year. Did he tell you before New Year’s that he might not come back?”

Xiang Lei still didn’t respond.

“Actually, he came back from Guangzhou after just a month. There was an epidemic there, pretty serious. He didn’t plan to go back after the New Year either. After returning, he went straight to Jinan. We came to Qingdao together.”

Just then, Li Zeng knocked on the door. Peng Shuai moved aside but didn’t open it. When Li Zeng started banging harder, Peng Shuai gave Xiang Lei one last look before pulling the door open and walking out.

Soon, chaos erupted outside.

“What the fuck did you say to him? Are you out of your mind?” Li Zeng roared.

“I’m not the sick one. I might not be the cleanest, but at least I didn’t catch anything.”

The sound of furniture being shoved around followed, mixed with scattered curses.

“You two are really something. Always fighting over the same damn thing. Even more dramatic than couples! Is it worth it? Stop! Stop!” That had to be Lao San’s voice.

“There’s hardly anyone in Qingdao’s scene who doesn’t know you, right? And how many haven’t slept with you? He’s just a college student in Beijing, minding his own business, yet his name is all over Qingdao’s circles. Did you ever ask if he wanted that kind of reputation? Or if someone like you even fits with a university student—”

“Peng Shuai, I’ll fucking kill you!” Li Zeng must have looked terrifying. Just hearing his fists land on someone else was enough to make Xiang Lei imagine his twisted expression.

“Lao San, get the hell out of my way!”

“Today, I’m gonna fix that filthy mouth of yours. Let’s see if you like running it more than my fists!”

“Say it! Why aren’t you saying anything now, huh? Why the fuck aren’t you talking?”

If Xiang Lei had known this would happen, why would he have insisted on Li Zeng taking him to the doctor? No matter how things stood between him and Li Zeng, he wished he’d never heard a single word Peng Shuai said.

The door suddenly burst open again. Peng Shuai rushed in, his face covered in blood, and quickly locked the door behind him. He hurried to the desk by the window, yanking open drawers and rummaging through them. His once stylish, dyed-blond Korean-style hair was now a mess, and his clean clothes were covered in footprints.

Li Zeng started kicking the door again. Every loud thud made Xiang Lei’s heart pound.

Peng Shuai found a piece of paper and solemnly handed it to Xiang Lei.

Qingdao Ren’ai Hospital Medical Record. Li Zeng. Condyloma acuminatum. September 16, 2002.

Before Xiang Lei could fully process it, Peng Shuai’s words drilled into his ears one by one:

“Xiang Lei, you really deserve better than this.”

Li Zeng ended up kicking Lao San’s new door right off its hinges, the latch clattering to the ground.

Xiang Lei saw murder in Li Zeng’s eyes as he stormed over to Peng Shuai, wrapping both hands around his neck and slamming his head down onto his knee with a furious roar.

Peng Shuai collapsed to the floor. Li Zeng’s foot was already midair, about to stomp on his face, when several people rushed into the room and pinned Li Zeng down on the bed next to Xiang Lei.

“Peng Shuai, go to Guangzi’s place! Now!” Lao San shouted.

Someone quickly helped Peng Shuai up and hurried him out.

“Xiang Lei, come with me for a sec,” Lao San then said to Xiang Lei.

As if floating in a dream, Xiang Lei followed Lao San into another room.

“Whatever you decide about you two is up to you. Just don’t hold it against our Boss. After he got treated, he went straight to Beijing to find you. He was even planning to stay there, so he quit his job. Did he tell you he got laid off? That guy barely tells the truth. His family spent a lot of money to get him a permanent position—no way he’d ever be laid off. He fought with his family over this until it blew up. His old lady even accepted that he’d rather have a man than a woman—she just wanted him to stay close. But the thought of hurting you made him cut ties with everyone. He was dead set on going to you.”

Lao San lit a cigarette and continued, “You might’ve heard a bit about our youngest brother. After he left, Boss was never the same. He stopped seeing women altogether, like he was addicted, always chasing after guys. Never took any of them seriously, though. Peng Shuai actually cared about him, but they couldn’t go a week without fighting. They’ve broken up and gotten back together more times than anyone can count. After meeting you, Boss really wanted to end it, but it wasn’t that easy. You saw how Peng Shuai is—he’d rather take a beating than let go. I won’t say more. It’s your call. Like I said, Boss wronged you, but I hope you won’t hate him too much. Otherwise, he’ll go back to how he was right after our youngest left—just barely existing. And then he’d really be done for.”

Before leaving, Lao San added, “And you should be more careful. You’re too naive. Even if you get involved with someone else in the future, remember to protect yourself.”

Lao San patted Xiang Lei’s shoulder, turned, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Xiang Lei stood frozen, his mind almost completely blank.

At this moment, he felt neither moved nor enraged. After hearing Lao San’s words, he didn’t even plan to hate Li Zeng anymore. Scenes from the past flickered through his mind like a film reel—tears and laughter included—but when the credits rolled, all that remained were a few sighs.

Strangely, Xiang Lei actually felt lighter.

When Li Zeng pushed the door open, Xiang Lei was still lost in thought.

Li Zeng stood across from him and said softly, “If I tried to make excuses or beg for your forgiveness now, you’d probably just laugh at me, right?”

His words felt like a psychological trigger. Without meaning to, Xiang Lei let out a short, disdainful laugh—more of a scoff through his nose. In truth, his heart was completely calm.

“Am I terrifying? I even put on such a convincing act the first day I went to Beijing.”

“I must also be incredibly selfish, always doing whatever I want without considering how others feel.”

“And a total mess, right? I didn’t want to lose you, so I kept lying until I was trapped in my own web.”

“Just be my baby for half a month longer, Xiang Lei. Once you’re better, we’ll go our separate ways. I don’t deserve to be your friend. If you want to hate me for the rest of your life, I’ll accept that.”

Two people facing each other, but only one of them spoke.

“I once thought, if I never got exposed, I could spend my whole life with you like this. After leaving Beijing, I even tried to change my bad temper unconsciously. Now, it probably doesn’t matter anymore. I might be different from you. I know you take this seriously, but I don’t think I can ever be with another man again. As for women, I doubt I have much genuine emotion left to give. Whether I ever love again doesn’t seem like a big deal to me. I might just marry someone casually, raise a child, and watch them grow up. I’ve always been a heartless person—maybe I’m just not cut out for relationships.”

“Xiang Lei, I wish it had been the other way around. I wish you had been the one to infect me. I think if I were the one who got ruined, I’d feel better about it than I do now.”

Li Zeng held his head in his hands and slumped weakly against the wall.

Xiang Lei noticed the scraped skin on his knuckles, still oozing blood. He almost instinctively stepped forward to tend to the wounds. But he stopped himself in time and remained standing where he was.

108

Li Zeng took Xiang Lei to see the old doctor. Because he had delayed treatment for over a month, the condition had worsened significantly. Midway through the electrocautery procedure, Xiang Lei lost a dangerous amount of blood. Since this wasn’t done in a hospital, the old doctor, fearing he couldn’t control the situation, had to stop the surgery. So before the new semester began, Xiang Lei had to undergo the procedure a second and third time.

Li Zeng took Xiang Lei to a bathhouse and rented a private room. When he saw the blood staining Xiang Lei’s legs and long johns, his heart twisted painfully. He carefully washed Xiang Lei’s body, making sure not a single drop of water touched the wounds.

Xiang Lei had no choice but to tell his mother he was sick, though he couldn’t explain what exactly was wrong. When she saw the blood on his wool pants, she pressed him for details. Xiang Lei lied and said he had hemorrhoids and had undergone a minor surgery.

His mother brewed the Chinese medicine he’d brought back on the stove, fanning the flames with newspapers one moment, then crouching down to blow directly into the burner the next.

The smoke stung her eyes. Xiang Lei ran to his room, buried himself under the quilt, and cried his heart out.

Not wanting his mother to worry further, Xiang Lei pretended he had fully recovered. He bid his family farewell, packed his bags, and said he was returning to school—though in truth, he still had one last surgery to undergo.

For the first time, Xiang Lei’s winter break ended so monotonously. He hadn’t met up with a single old friend. Pei Yong called a few times, inviting him to hang out in the county town, but Xiang Lei always found an excuse to decline.

He simply couldn’t face Pei Yong.

After his final surgery, Xiang Lei boarded the train directly. The journey was so excruciating that he nearly passed out from the pain. The thought of a possible relapse made him wish he could just die.

Li Zeng didn’t see him off at the station. He told Xiang Lei he couldn’t bear to watch him leave.

As Xiang Lei turned to go, he glanced back and saw tears on Li Zeng’s face. His heart stirred, and he walked back to give him a hug.

At the last moment, Li Zeng tightened his arms around Xiang Lei briefly before letting go and turning away without looking back.

Xiang Lei watched until Li Zeng disappeared around a corner before heading to the station. The whole way there, he imagined Li Zeng walking away, tears streaming down his face.

In reality, Li Zeng stopped at the corner and silently watched until Xiang Lei was out of sight. Tears never stopped falling. He wanted to run after him, to beg him to stay—yet at the same time, he felt a strange sense of relief at this outcome.

He believed Xiang Lei deserved better.

The last image they left each other with was a retreating back.

The last image they received from each other was also a retreating back.

In October 2003, Xiang Lei received a call from Li Zeng. He said he had gotten married. Xiang Lei blurted out a “Congratulations!”—and immediately regretted it.

In July 2004, Li Zeng called again. He told Xiang Lei he had taken over a café in Nanjing. Business was average, but he was enjoying himself, learning how to brew coffee and mix drinks.

In May 2005, Li Zeng called to say he had become a father. His son was tiny but already looked handsome.

After that, Xiang Lei lost all contact with Li Zeng.

109

The day after Xiang Lei returned to Beijing was the first day of the second semester of his sophomore year.

Normally, there would be multiple rounds of roll call—at least one by the Student Union and another by the college office. Xiang Lei woke up late and missed the first class, so he stayed on campus, planning to attend the 10 a.m. lecture instead.

Feeling a bit frustrated, he went back to the dorm.

The door was unlocked, but no one was inside. Seeing Liu Chong’s computer was on, Xiang Lei went online. When he typed in half the URL of the gay forum he frequented, the address bar auto-filled the rest, which puzzled him. Noticing someone else’s QQ was logged in on the taskbar, he couldn’t resist logging into his own account.

Xu Menghu was online.

“School hasn’t started yet?” Xiang Lei sent a message.

There was no reply for a long time.

The other QQ account on the taskbar kept flashing with notifications. Finding it distracting, Xiang Lei clicked on it.

The next second, he froze in front of the screen.

The message that popped up was the one he had just sent:

Herbivorous Wolf: School hasn’t started yet?

Xiang Lei’s hand on the mouse trembled. After what felt like forever, he clicked on the other QQ account’s profile. The contact list had only one lonely friend—himself. With shaking hands, he opened the account’s personal details. Everything suddenly became clear.

This was Xu Menghu.

He had been right beside him all along.

Surprise? Disappointment? Or something else? Whatever it was, his mind was in chaos.

The door seemed to open. Someone stood at the threshold but didn’t step inside.

Xu Menghu, right?

He Fei?

In truth, Xiang Lei had fantasized about this more than once, but each time, he shut the thought down within seconds. He had never seriously considered the possibility, always instinctively dismissing it as impossible.

Almost defiantly, Xiang Lei clicked on the chat history with that sole friend. Every word he had said in the internet café the day Li Zeng left Beijing was there.

The person behind him began to move. He was walking over.

It had been a long time since Xiang Lei felt like this—his heartbeat erratic, a mix of panic and intoxication.

He sat on the lower bunk a meter away from Xiang Lei, who still didn’t dare turn his head to look.

“Fuck me,” the guy sighed softly, then stood up and walked over. He took the mouse from Xiang Lei’s hand, logged out of Xu Menghu’s QQ, and sat back down.

“Xu Menghu…” Xiang Lei murmured the name at the computer screen like a sleep-talker.

After a long silence, the guy took out his wallet, pulled out two ID cards, and placed them on the desk in front of Xiang Lei.

“I never lied,” he said.

Xiang Lei glanced at the IDs. They bore the same photo but different names—one said He Fei, the other Xu Menghu.

Xiang Lei suddenly thought of the fake ID ads he often saw at bus stops and couldn’t help laughing.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” The guy was clearly confused by his reaction.

Finally, Xiang Lei turned to look at him.

Though physically tall, his expression was almost childishly earnest. He felt like a stranger—so unfamiliar that Xiang Lei didn’t even know how to speak to him.

“Both IDs are legit, issued by the police. Don’t you dare doubt it!” he insisted.

Xiang Lei had no idea how to respond. Words failed him.

“I just went out to buy cigarettes. The little shop by the fourth canteen was out of Taishan, so I had to go to the second canteen. On the way back, I kept thinking—what if you suddenly showed up at the dorm while I was gone?” he continued.

“You…” A pause. “Why aren’t you in class?”

“I was a few minutes late, so I didn’t bother. I thought… you hadn’t come back to Beijing yet.”

“I got back yesterday.”

Silence. The longer it dragged on, the more awkward it became.

“You…” Another pause. “Are you better now?”

“I’m fine,” Xiang Lei replied weakly, then suddenly felt inexplicably irritated.

Just when he had almost resigned himself to Xu Menghu forever remaining an illusion, the man had materialized beside him—after Xiang Lei had poured out all those embarrassing, self-deprecating words he had only ever dared say to himself.

“I’m going to class,” Xiang Lei said, grabbing his backpack and leaving the dorm.

Countless times before, he had watched He Fei do the same—sometimes even slamming the door behind him. Now, the opportunity to observe this scene belonged to him.

Xiang Lei went to the campus lake, pacing back and forth on the winding bridge. If he stopped, the restlessness in his heart would only become more pronounced.

Clearly, he wasn’t ready to face this yet.

110

Once, I was lost in a dense subtropical forest.

It sprawled wildly at the foot of the mountains I passed. I wandered aimlessly through its dappled shadows until a tree in full bloom blocked my path. I had no intention of admiring its flowers, planning instead to circle around and continue searching for a way out—but I accidentally got drunk on the fragrance that filled half the forest.

I once mistook this for being lost.

Only later did I realize I had been intoxicated by the scent rushing toward me. My reason grew stale; my dreams withered. I lay there quietly, drowning in drunken dreams—from sunrise to sunset, from early spring to late autumn. In the flickering light, I saw winter arrive. The dehydrated petals scattered across the ground.

Hoping against hope, I thought the tree beside me must now be heavy with fruit. But when I looked up, the branches that once bore blossoms were nearly barren. The lush leaves struggled before falling too, burying the faded colors beneath them.

I woke in agony and left in disappointment.

In that forest, I stubbornly searched for trees that bore fruit after their flowers faded. I found one after another—but none could intoxicate me again.

I wandered hopelessly through the winter forest, forgetting to find my way back.

Years later, long after leaving that forest, I walked the concrete streets of the city, repeating the same lonely longing. It gnawed at me, though I no longer searched for anything. Day after day, I yearned to lose myself in some beautiful sight—yet year after year, I remained numb and sober, counting the blood-streaked scars covering my body.

Like how I was acutely aware of the past stabbing at my chest yet felt no pain.

Like how I saw myself bleeding profusely yet felt no chill.

Like how I heard the sound of flesh splitting yet felt no fear.

I knew I must have lost something.

So I embarked on a journey to reclaim it without hesitation—no, perhaps it was a journey back.

I returned to that haunted forest, searching for the tree that only knew how to bloom. I resolved to forget winter entirely, pretending it was just a dream where I closed my eyes and picked fruit. When I woke, it would surely be flower season again.

I finally found the tree that could intoxicate me once more.

I saw it had carefully covered itself in small white blossoms under the sunlight, as if welcoming my return.

I told it: If I ever recklessly think of leaving again, stop me. Even if you have to shout at me, trip me, or break all my feelers to force me to stay—don’t give me another chance to regret it in the future. Don’t let me fall back into that desperate search.

In the flickering light, I will spend this wretched life without regret, drunk on the dreams this ever-blooming tree never stints in granting.

—Once, I Was Enamored with a Tree That Only Knew How to Bloom

Xiang Lei

2003.3.2