Chapter 28 – Depressed Spring
by Salted Fish146
In university, April Fool’s Day rarely saw people as gullible as they were in middle school, falling for pranks left and right.
In fact, everyone had already prepared the day before—ready to prank others and guard against being pranked themselves. It seemed like everyone had matured a bit. Only Liu Chong still held onto the holiday with great enthusiasm. When Xiang Lei returned to the dorm, Liu Chong solemnly handed him a note and said, “This person called for you several times. I didn’t dare give them your number. Do you want to call them back?” Xiang Lei didn’t even bother responding.
All day, Liu Chong tried the same trick on several people, but no one fell for it.
Not willing to give up, Liu Chong called his girlfriend and asked her to wait for him at the main gate. After hanging up, he sat on his bed and laughed for a while before organizing a card game. Half an hour later, his girlfriend called to angrily demand an explanation. Finally achieving the satisfaction he sought, Liu Chong burst into laughter over the phone: “Fool! What day is it today? Don’t get mad! I’m playing cards here.”
After dinner, around 8 p.m., Liu Chong saw news on Sina about Leslie Cheung’s suicide by jumping off a building. Pointing at the article, he said to us, “Sina must’ve gotten Leslie’s personal approval before posting this, right?”
We were all surprised that such a mainstream media outlet would pull such a prank for a foreign holiday. None of us believed it was real. We started discussing Leslie Cheung’s sexual orientation1He was one of the most prominent East Asian celebrities to be openly bisexual/gay, and his flamboyant stage persona and exploration of queer themes in his work made his sexuality a significant part of his public identity., the bed scene between him and Tony Leung in ‘Happy Together2A1997 Hong Kong film directed by Wong Kar-wai, starring Leslie Cheung and Tony Leung about the turbulent and passionate relationship between a gay couple living as expatriates in Argentina.,’ and even expressed varying degrees of disgust at his flamboyant stage outfits from years ago.
Liu Chong’s girlfriend was a die-hard Leslie fan. Unable to resist, Liu Chong called her and said, “Leslie Cheung just jumped off a building.” We then heard the girl scream hysterically, “Fuck off!” before asking if Liu Chong had also seen the nonsense on Sina. She insisted Leslie would sue the hell out of that trash website.
In Beijing subway stations, street vendors hawking tabloids had declared Andy Lau dead hundreds of times, yet the next day, we’d still see the increasingly ageless man energetically performing on stage in new outfits.
But this time, it wasn’t just Sina reporting Leslie’s death—Sohu and NetEase were too. We marveled at how far this joke had gone.
The next day, Leslie Cheung’s name and photo replaced “SARS” on the front pages of all Beijing newspapers—and likely every Chinese-language newspaper worldwide. Even the usually rigid and serious CCTV News unprecedentedly covered the death of this scandal-plagued Hong Kong celebrity with a full report and positive commentary.
It seemed that from this day onward, after witnessing the shock and mourning of the majority, the minority who had constantly criticized him finally fell silent.
That night, many gathered spontaneously on the small island in the middle of the campus lake, lighting a circle of candles. A senior from the Guitar Club stood amid the candles and sang ‘The Wind Blows On.’3This is one of Leslie Cheung’s most iconic and signature ballads.
Liu Chong said his girlfriend leaned against his shoulder and cried endlessly under the candlelight and music. We often mocked such fangirls as obsessive, but when we saw or heard them shedding tears for someone they’d never met or had no connection to, we suddenly found it touching.
The unconventional talent Sleepy Cat’s post on the campus BBS was pinned to the top. She wrote:
Many people criticize “idol worship,” but the words “idol” and “worship” are inherently shallow—completely inadequate to describe the love in the hearts of Leslie fans I know. It’s a love without reservation, a one-way journey with no return, a sincere and full-hearted love in a purely spiritual realm. This love isn’t based solely on someone’s external charm or fleeting fantasies but on the recognition of a personality. The term “idol,” often tossed around by those who philosophize, dismisses values they can’t possibly comprehend. If philosophical reasoning could explain emotions, we wouldn’t be human—just machines, piles of emotionless compounds!
And so, for some, April 1st would never again be a day for jokes.
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For some reason, when He Fei saw the newspapers, his first thought was to find Xiang Lei. He felt an indescribable stirring in his heart, certain he could find a natural resonance with Xiang Lei.
He Fei didn’t contact Xiang Lei beforehand. Instead, he knocked on the door a couple of times as a formality before walking straight in.
At the time, Xiang Lei was sitting cross-legged on the bed, several newspapers spread around him.
“I never paid much attention to him before,” Xiang Lei said, pointing at a photo of weeping fans in the paper. “But for some reason, seeing how deeply he’s mourned by so many people… it’s really moving.”
Turning on the TV, they saw fans on screen crying uncontrollably. How tragic! Jay Chou’s fans could look forward to his next album, his concerts, even the chance to take a photo with him. But Leslie’s fans had nothing left to hope for.
He Fei couldn’t tell whether Xiang Lei was sad for Leslie or for the fans. He had assumed heterosexuals would fixate on Leslie’s sexual orientation, while homosexuals would feel a kinship because of it. But from Xiang Lei, He Fei saw no trace of such kinship.
Xiang Lei told He Fei that in elementary school, his uncle’s room had a poster of Leslie Cheung. He often forgot the name his uncle had repeated many times. In middle school, a local radio program featured one of Xiang Lei’s contest essays and sent him a gift card for a music store. Xiang Lei browsed for a long time before finally picking out a Leslie Cheung greatest hits cassette. He listened to it only two or three times, didn’t find it particularly good, and carelessly misplaced it, never to be found again. In university, Xiang Lei watched a few of Leslie’s films and thought he was different—though he couldn’t quite articulate how.
Xiang Lei said that someone who could impact Chinese communities worldwide, someone who could still inspire genuine, unwavering love from countless men and women after publicly revealing his same-sex relationship—that alone was proof enough of his character.
He Fei understood. This wasn’t just simple kinship.
That night, He Fei stayed.
Xiang Lei didn’t cook. When they both felt hungry, they grabbed a quick meal at a noodle shop downstairs before heading out to look for Leslie Cheung’s music and films. They visited every nearby music store, only to be told the same thing: waves of people had come looking, and anything related to Leslie—cassettes, CDs, DVDs—was completely sold out.
Back at the apartment, the two lay side by side on the bed watching TV. Many channels were still reporting on Leslie’s death. A fleeting shot showed Daffy Tong’s4The lifelong partner of Leslie Cheung. A childhood friend who later became his romantic partner. He was publicly acknowledged by Cheung as his “most beloved” in 1997. exhausted face, and He Fei suddenly remembered a photo in the newspaper of him holding hands with Leslie. At that moment, He Fei felt he could deeply understand Daffy’s state—as if his soul had been completely stripped away, leaving only a numb shell among the crowd. He Fei had been there.
He Fei also recalled something a senior who graduated last year had told him. This senior was a basketball teammate He Fei met after sneaking onto the school team. During the second semester of freshman year, the senior’s high school classmate’s roommate had rented a room in their school’s guesthouse and overdosed on sleeping pills. Rumors spread that the guy was gay and had depression.
After Xiang Lei came out in the dorm, He Fei skimmed some gay fiction online. The plots and endings all seemed eerily similar. Now, He Fei wondered: even if homosexuality wasn’t a mental disorder, did it still come with some degree of psychological issues? Was it these issues that ultimately led to one tragic story after another?
The thought made He Fei glance at Xiang Lei beside him. A sudden, inexplicable chill ran down his spine.
He Fei recounted the senior’s story to Xiang Lei, who listened quietly without saying a word. When He Fei asked why Xiang Lei had given his novel a tragic ending, Xiang Lei looked at him with a desolate expression and said he’d thought about it for an entire day near the end but still couldn’t come up with a more reasonable conclusion.
He Fei smirked and asked, “You’re not depressed too, are you?”
Xiang Lei scoffed. “Of all my traits, pessimism is the least absolute.”
He Fei took it to mean: depression was just the ultimate despair born of extreme pessimism.
148
This was destined to be a depressing spring.
The war stubbornly waged by the Americans forced the world’s eyes and ears to witness the killing and death of the new century daily. Civilization remained in an awkward state of exhaustion—like a robust young adult accidentally infected with SARS, maturing day by day yet seemingly on the verge of collapse at any moment.
On April 9th, less than a month into the war, U.S. forces swiftly occupied Baghdad. The bombing and casualties might have ended, but American arrogance would likely grow even more unchecked.
SARS began spreading globally. With its constant flow of people, Beijing soon reported cases, plunging the city into panic.
The campus air reeked of hypochlorite. The student office distributed masks for free, and anyone with a fever—regardless of cause—was immediately isolated, with their close contacts restricted in movement. Rumors swirled that the school would soon be locked down.
Xiang Lei went to the hospital for several follow-ups. Fortunately, his condition hadn’t recurred. His lease was about to expire, so he planned to move back to the dorm. He Fei, overjoyed, offered to help.
The day before the lockdown, He Fei and Zhou Yunzhi were also forced to move into the dorms.
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The night before his birthday, He Fei wondered if Xiang Lei had forgotten about it entirely.
By noon the next day, Xiang Lei still hadn’t mentioned it. This was the first time He Fei had paid attention to his own birthday, and the lack of acknowledgment annoyed him.
His grandfather called to ask if he could come home for dinner since his birthday fell on a weekend. Without thinking, He Fei said there was no way he could leave campus at a time like this.
On Saturday evening, after playing basketball, He Fei returned to the dorm. Xiang Lei mysteriously presented a gift and asked how He Fei planned to treat him. He Fei examined it—a pair of neatly packaged blue Adidas wristbands. Not a grand gesture, but at least Xiang Lei hadn’t, as He Fei had feared, blown two thousand yuan on something extravagant.
As he changed out of his sweat-drenched T-shirt and shorts, He Fei grinned. “With a gift like this, the best you’ll get is a meal at a street-side spicy skewer stall. Don’t expect anything fancier.”
Xiang Lei shot back, “If I’d known you were this damn stingy, Laozi would’ve spent that two grand on a sack of Carrefour socks.”
After showering, He Fei returned to find Wei Tong in the dorm too. The three of them climbed over the wall near the freshman dorms and wandered for half an hour without deciding where to eat. Xiang Lei asked if He Fei wanted to invite Zhang Wenwen and Shi Zhuo. He Fei declined, saying making girls climb walls was asking for trouble, and if Shi Zhuo came, he probably wouldn’t make it back.
During dinner, He Fei insisted on ordering beer, but Xiang Lei refused to drink. After some back-and-forth, He Fei grew impatient.
“If it were Shi Zhuo offering, you’d definitely drink, wouldn’t you?” He Fei said.
“What are you trying to say, He Fei? If I can avoid drinking, I’d rather not,” Xiang Lei replied.
“How come you drink when Shi Zhuo offers but not when I do?”
“It’s your birthday. Shouldn’t we do whatever makes you happy?”
“Do you even remember why we’re out? I thought you caught SARS the moment you stepped out, burning up with fever!”
“What’s going on with you two?” Wei Tong couldn’t help but interject.
“Fine, fine, I’ll drink. But if I can’t climb back over the wall later, you’ll have to carry me!” Xiang Lei conceded.
Then Xiang Lei’s phone buzzed with a text. After reading it, he glanced at He Fei and decided not to reply. A few minutes later, a second text arrived, followed by a third. He Fei’s nerves were on edge.
Xiang Lei began typing on his phone, clearly having muted it. He’d glance at the screen, tap a few times, then set it down. He Fei stared at the beer bottle in front of him, repeatedly tempted to grab it and smash it on the floor. His hand even lifted to the table, but at the last second, he changed his mind and took another swig instead.
Then He Fei fixed his gaze on Wei Tong sitting beside Xiang Lei and smirked suggestively. “Where’s my gift?”
Wei Tong flusteredly rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a small, elegant box—a silver Zippo lighter. He Fei toyed with it for a moment before saying to Wei Tong, “Now this is a gift for a real man.”
He Fei stole a glance at Xiang Lei, who had just finished texting and seemed completely oblivious to He Fei’s comment.
Wei Tong excused himself to the restroom. Without a word to Xiang Lei, He Fei followed. When Wei Tong stepped out, He Fei leaned against the tiled wall by the door, grabbed his arm, and said, “Wait a sec.” Confused, Wei Tong stood there as He Fei lit a cigarette.
After finishing his smoke, He Fei flicked the butt effortlessly into a sink a few meters away and said, “Let’s go.”
Back at the table, He Fei blocked Wei Tong’s path and gestured for him to sit across from Xiang Lei. Assuming He Fei wanted to switch seats, Wei Tong obediently complied. Once seated, He Fei took the spot next to Wei Tong and casually draped his arm over the back of Wei Tong’s chair.
Wei Tong grew visibly awkward, fidgeting uncomfortably. Across from them, Xiang Lei watched He Fei’s performance with a cold, faintly amused expression, though his own discomfort was evident.
“You’ve got one bottle left. That’s all I’m treating you to,” He Fei said, clinking his bottle against Xiang Lei’s before taking a long swig.
Xiang Lei looked at his bottle, then at He Fei, and snorted. “He Fei, is this really fun for you?”
“What? What exactly isn’t fun?”
Xiang Lei didn’t respond. He poured his beer into a paper cup and took a sip.
He Fei figured both Xiang Lei and Wei Tong were hoping he’d call an end to this meal soon. He wasn’t about to oblige.
He Fei sipped his beer slowly, occasionally leaning close to Wei Tong to ask how to pronounce an English word on the Zippo box. By the time he finished his drink, both Xiang Lei and Wei Tong looked visibly relieved. Then He Fei flagged down the waiter and ordered two more bottles.
“At the rate you’re drinking, by the time you’re done, the dorm will be locked,” Xiang Lei said.
“We’ll yell for them to open up,” He Fei replied.
“And have the dorm supervisor log our names? Report us to the school? Expose us for sneaking out?”
“What’s there to fear? Or we could stay at Zixuan. Heqing Pool’s an option too,” He Fei said with a grin.
Xiang Lei took a deep breath and turned to look out the window.
He Fei felt a bit lightheaded and realized dragging this out was pointless. He canceled the extra beers, paid the bill, and headed for the exit. Xiang Lei immediately stood and walked out, with Wei Tong close behind.
Xiang Lei walked on Wei Tong’s left. He Fei caught up and deliberately positioned himself on Wei Tong’s right, saying cheerfully, “Let’s not go back. If we get caught, we’re screwed—quarantined for at least a week, like being locked up! Zixuan’s better. With the current situation, they’ll probably give us a discount.”
He Fei figured he’d pushed it far enough.
Xiang Lei quickened his pace, soon putting several meters between them.
He Fei couldn’t help but laugh.
Wei Tong shot him a glance and muttered, “Go by yourself,” before hurrying after Xiang Lei.
He Fei floated over the school wall and saw Xiang Lei bid Wei Tong goodbye before heading toward the dorm. He Fei called out “Hey!” a few times at Xiang Lei’s retreating back but got no response.
Without thinking, He Fei broke into a run. By the time he reached the dorm entrance, Xiang Lei was already rounding the staircase between the first and second floors, and the dorm supervisor was about to lock the main door.
Once inside the dorm, it’d be harder to say what he wanted. But He Fei urgently needed to speak to him. Taking three steps at a time, he tried to catch up and grab Xiang Lei.
In the second-floor hallway, He Fei was just five or six steps behind. As Xiang Lei passed Room 202, its door slightly ajar, He Fei heard a voice clearly say:
“Fucking hell! Almost ran into that freak!”
He Fei saw Xiang Lei hesitate for a split second before continuing on.
He Fei didn’t give himself even a second to think. He turned and kicked the half-open door, sending a dull thud echoing down the hall. The door hit a shoe rack behind it and bounced back, only for He Fei to kick it open again.
A burly guy stood frozen in the doorway, holding a basin of toiletries.
He Fei recognized him from the basketball court—Liao Peng, a fellow Jilin native from a senior on the team.
This was the same guy who’d fought with Tao Zhuwen.
Before Liao Peng could react, He Fei lashed out with another kick, sending the enamel basin—along with its toothbrush cup and soap dish—clattering to the floor. He Fei stepped forward and punched Liao Peng square in the nose, sending him stumbling back, nearly falling.
Liao Peng wiped his nose, his hand coming away bloody.
Without a word, Liao Peng lunged forward, swinging. He Fei dodged easily, but Liao Peng twisted and drove his knee into He Fei’s side just as He Fei’s elbow slammed into Liao Peng’s cheek.
What followed was a brutal, close-quarters brawl. He Fei was quicker, but Liao Peng was stronger. Yet as their high school physics teacher once said, a fight between two people was essentially mutual work—neither side gained an advantage.
Xiang Lei rushed back at the commotion, trying to separate them, but it was futile. Room 202’s occupants stepped in to intervene. Xiang Lei pinned He Fei’s arms behind his back while Liao Peng’s roommates blocked him.
While Xiang Lei restrained He Fei, Liao Peng shoved past his roommates and kicked He Fei in the stomach, sending both He Fei and Xiang Lei crashing backward.
Xiang Lei hit the wall, banging his head.
That’s when Xiang Lei snapped. He Fei rubbed his stomach and charged back at Liao Peng, while Xiang Lei looped an arm around Liao Peng’s neck from behind. Now, He Fei had the upper hand.
One of Room 202’s guys tapped Xiang Lei’s shoulder. “Hey, man, that’s enough.”
Someone at the door shouted, “Engineering brothers, get the fuck out here!”
It was Zheng Dongming. The commotion had drawn him out first.
By the time the others arrived, Xiang Lei had Liao Peng in a chokehold, forcing him to the floor. He Fei planted a knee on Liao Peng’s chest, his left hand tightening around Liao Peng’s throat. Liao Peng thrashed, trying to knee He Fei, who loosened his grip just enough for Liao Peng to lift his head—before slamming it back down. Liao Peng’s bloodied, reddened face twisted in pain.
The dorm supervisor pushed through the crowd, demanding to know what happened. He Fei yelled over his shoulder, “Keep him out! Don’t let him get hurt! I’ll let this bastard go when my damn arm gets tired.”
What had started as a fight now looked like pure, one-sided violence. He Fei cursed between punches to Liao Peng’s forehead, and Liao Peng seemed to lose the will to resist. Xiang Lei, clearly alarmed, tugged at He Fei’s arm, repeating, “Enough, enough.”
The dorm supervisor retreated to call campus security. By the time they arrived, He Fei and Xiang Lei were back in their room.
The officers went to Room 202 first.
Liao Peng sat on a roommate’s bed, using toilet paper to staunch his bloody nose. Had he still been lying dazed on the floor, the blame might’ve fallen more heavily on He Fei and Xiang Lei. But the roommates testified that it had been a mutual fight, not one-sided assault.
An officer stood at the door and called out, “Whoever was fighting, step forward,” before heading to the supervisor’s office. He Fei shot Xiang Lei a look and walked out alone.
Xiang Lei hesitated, then followed.
He Fei turned and growled, “Get back inside!”
Xiang Lei retorted, “You think that idiot won’t point me out too?”
Liao Peng’s nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, so the officers took all three to the school clinic first.
After the doctor finished treating Liao Peng’s injuries and sat down to fill out paperwork, He Fei approached and said, “Doctor, my stomach hurts. He kicked me earlier.”
The doctor glanced at He Fei. “I’ll check you in a moment.”
Xiang Lei anxiously pulled He Fei aside. “Does it hurt badly? How do you feel?”
“Idiot!” He Fei chuckled quietly, lightly smacking the back of Xiang Lei’s head. Then he asked, “You’re not mad, are you?”
“Pfft! As if I’d care. I just didn’t feel like dealing with you,” Xiang Lei scoffed.
“Then why?”
Xiang Lei looked at He Fei, still disdainful. “Pfft! Don’t you realize how ridiculous you’re being?”
“I know it’s pointless,” He Fei admitted. “But seeing you text pisses me off!”
“Same here. Seeing you glare at someone texting with a look of disgust on your face pisses me off too!”
They both froze for a second, then burst out laughing before exclaiming in unison, “Fuck!”
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The next day, the class rep learned the disciplinary decision unanimously approved by the faculty leadership: both parties in the fight were equally responsible. He Fei and Xiang Lei each received a major demerit, while Liao Peng—given his prior record—was to be expelled.
Medical evaluation confirmed Liao Peng had a minor concussion, so He Fei was also ordered to cover 50% of his medical expenses.
A week later, the official notice was posted on the faculty’s bulletin board.
In the end, Liao Peng’s punishment was downgraded to two years of probation.
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Over fifty days passed in a flash. During that time, He Fei didn’t return home once.
His grandfather called to say that new SARS cases in Beijing were rising daily. The old man had even given up his morning walks and was now holed up in He Fei’s room learning how to use a computer.
Japanese class progressed rapidly. He Fei, lacking any talent for languages, struggled to keep up. Fortunately, the teacher seemed to enjoy calling on him purely for comedic relief—always asking him to read passages aloud, which was far easier than memorizing vocabulary or conjugations.
His routine with Zhang Wenwen became more structured: dinner together every day, followed by walks around the campus lake. The rest of the time—including weekends—He Fei either studied or hung out in the library with Xiang Lei, hogged Liu Chong’s computer to play games, or organized rounds of Shengji. Unlike others, He Fei never got deeply addicted to any one thing.
Take Zhou Yunzhi, for example. Once a model student, he’d moved his computer into the dorm after the lockdown and promptly became obsessed with online games. The addiction spread faster than SARS—soon, Zheng Dongming, Liu Chong, and guys from neighboring dorms were all hooked, pulling all-nighters regularly.
The school canceled nearly all group activities, including the annual sports meet.
For student-athletes like He Fei, university training had never been intense. This spring, his college life became indistinguishable from everyone else’s. He’d been looking forward to the intercollegiate basketball tournament originally scheduled for late May, but it was abruptly canceled.
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As final exams approached, the school relaxed its lockdown measures.
Shi Zhuo suggested going out to “air out,” so the same group of five found a restaurant, ordered drinks, and chatted as usual. He Fei smirked and asked Xiang Lei if he’d be drinking this time. Xiang Lei mumbled, “We’ll see.”
Their conversation meandered from SARS to repression, from repression to depression, and from depression back to Leslie Cheung. Throughout, Shi Zhuo seemed hesitant to speak, until halfway through a bottle of liquor, he finally broached the subject no one wanted to discuss—Chen Taoguang.
“Xiang Lei, I’ve been thinking… the money you lost was probably taken by Taoguang,” Shi Zhuo said, taking another sip.
The table fell silent, waiting for him to continue.
“A while back, he snuck out to a gathering—just a bunch of semi-acquaintances, you know me, I know you, that kind of thing. Someone got into trouble, and the others helped settle it, so that guy treated everyone to drinks.”
“Then Taoguang called me. He sounded panicked, barely got out the location before the call cut off. When I found him, he was outside the restaurant, curled up on the roadside, shaking, covered in blood. A crowd had gathered, watching as a few guys pointed at him, yelling insults and kicking him. I recognized one of them and asked what happened.”
“The guy said when they were about to leave, someone realized their wallet was missing—definitely stolen inside the private room. They searched everywhere but couldn’t find it. Finally, one of the tougher guys said since someone was playing dirty, they’d search everyone on the spot and teach the thief a lesson. During the search, several people saw Taoguang pull a wallet from his pocket and toss it into a corner. Once the truth was out, they started beating him immediately. The friend he came with tried to defend him, but no one listened. Taoguang ran out of the restaurant—probably when he called me—but they chased him down and kicked him to the ground. Someone nearby pulled out a phone, maybe to call the police, but one of the guys shouted, ‘This guy’s a thief! Call the cops, and we’ll beat you too!'”
Shi Zhuo paused to drink again.
Aside from He Fei muttering, “I fucking knew it was him,” no one interrupted.
“I don’t get why he called me. If I showed up, wouldn’t I find out? Even if he wasn’t afraid of disappointing his best friend, shouldn’t he be ashamed? Before this, I’d visited his dorm a few times and kept hearing his roommates complain about theft. After you lost money, Xiang Lei, I did suspect him—but I didn’t want to believe it. Without proof, I convinced myself he couldn’t have done it.”
“Was his family… struggling financially?” Xiang Lei asked.
Shi Zhuo gave Xiang Lei a grateful look. “It wasn’t until recently that I realized how shitty a friend I’ve been. I never once thought to visit his home. Just a few days ago, I heard his mom’s bedridden, barely able to care for herself. His dad used to drive a taxi but got into an accident—lost everything. Now, in his fifties, he’s working as a loader at a logistics company, no guarantee he’ll ever drive again.”
“Once, Taoguang told me he wanted to drop out. When I asked why, he wouldn’t say. I never imagined someone so proud could sink so low out of desperation.”
Shi Zhuo’s expression twisted between grief and fury. No one knew how to respond, so silence lingered.
“Xiang Lei, that money… consider it a loan from me to help my friend. I’ll pay you back,” Shi Zhuo said.
“Sure!” Xiang Lei replied. “There’s an ATM right outside. Withdraw it now—1,300 total.”
He took a sip of liquor.
He Fei snorted.
Shi Zhuo and the two girls froze.
“Don’t misunderstand. Taoguang wronged you—he doesn’t deserve your brotherhood. That’s why I’m saying this,” Shi Zhuo hurriedly explained.
“Feels like you’re trying to buy his redemption,” He Fei cut in. “But Shi Zhuo, you can bargain for mercy, not reputation. Xiang Lei wrote it off long ago—he’s probably at peace with it by now. Don’t bother with empty gestures.”
“But I feel—”
“Either give me 1,300 right now, or shut the hell up!” Xiang Lei snapped.
Shi Zhuo immediately fell silent.
He Fei didn’t think Xiang Lei was being recklessly generous. In his place, He Fei would’ve reacted the same way.
The meal was tense, but it also brought a strange sense of closure.
Even for He Fei—let alone Xiang Lei—Chen Taoguang’s image, though not fully redeemed by his hardships, at least became slightly less repulsive.
As they spoke, summer loomed on the horizon.
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