Chapter 47 – Gathering of Sorrows

272

After He Fei left, he didn’t return for three whole days.

In fact, it wasn’t until the early hours of that night, when Xiang Lei sobered up and found the space beside him empty, that he remembered what had happened a few hours earlier. Overcome with regret, Xiang Lei tossed and turned until dawn, unable to sleep.

He really wanted to call He Fei, to apologize, but then he thought—if it really was time to end things, even if he managed to salvage the situation somehow, it wouldn’t necessarily lead to peace. Maybe it was better to let things take their course.

Every day, Xiang Lei couldn’t help but send He Fei texts about graduation projects or job hunting, but he just couldn’t bring himself to make the call. He Fei neither replied to the messages nor called back. Just like that, three days passed.

Xiang Lei saw the 2005 Western Volunteers recruitment notice on the publicity screen in front of the main building. He stood there for a long while, reading the limited text on the poster at least ten times.

The May Day holiday arrived again.

The events of a year ago still felt vivid, as if they had just happened. But now, it seemed like something could never return to how it was before.

Xiang Lei had always thought he was prepared, but at this moment, an unexpected panic spread through him.

On the last day of April, after struggling for a long time, Xiang Lei dialed He Fei’s number.

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273

He Fei had just walked off the basketball court when he hung up a call from Li Jie in the HR department of his company. Xiang Lei’s call came through immediately. After hesitating for a few moments, He Fei answered.

“Where are you? What are you doing? When are you coming back? Have you decided where to go tomorrow?” As if nothing had happened, Xiang Lei fired off a string of questions without preamble.

“Not going anywhere. The company just called, asking if I could start training after the holiday. I agreed. I need to study these days—gotta prepare for the traffic rules test,” He Fei replied.

“Then after you start working, will you still have time for driving school?”

“I asked. The boss said we can work out the schedule.”

“So… when are you coming back?”

He Fei couldn’t decide right away, so he stayed silent.

“Leizi, let me think about it. I’ll call you back later.”

“Alright.” Xiang Lei hung up.

He Fei wandered aimlessly around campus, mulling over how to respond to that call.

The moment he walked out of that building a few nights ago, He Fei had felt an unprecedented sense of relief.

For quite some time now, He Fei had felt that too much had built up between him and Xiang Lei—like a sealed space filled with gas, just waiting for a spark to ignite an explosion.

He Fei thought he might really be getting tired of it all. But then again, he felt it wasn’t the relationship itself, or Xiang Lei, that he was tired of—it was this kind of life, these kinds of days. In that cramped, dim little room, the air seemed to grow more stifling by the day. He Fei wanted to step outside every day, just to breathe properly.

Yet every day, He Fei could sense Xiang Lei’s silent endurance and compromises. And the pressure these concessions brought him far outweighed any sense of gratitude. Because of this, He Fei both wanted to leave and felt he couldn’t. He Fei felt like he was simply born incapable of having a proper relationship—whether with those girls or with Xiang Lei.

When Xiang Lei accused He Fei of being heartless, He Fei couldn’t even muster anger—he had no ground to stand on, as if Xiang Lei had seen right through him.

Over those three days, Xiang Lei had sent texts every day. Each time, He Fei tried to reply, but after writing and erasing, erasing and rewriting, he couldn’t find the right words to express what he really thought. So in the end, he never sent anything.

He couldn’t avoid calling back now. Before making the call, He Fei’s thoughts were a tangled mess.

Was turning a brotherly bond into a romantic relationship really what he wanted?

Should they really take some time apart to see how much they needed each other?

If he walked away now, could they ever go back to being brothers?

Or, if he just went back like this, would he grow more and more tired of it day by day, until he destroyed every possible way of keeping this relationship alive?

Dongzi called at the worst possible moment, saying he was passing by the front gate of He Fei’s school and wanted to meet. He Fei refused outright. Dongzi huffed, “Fine,” and hung up.

Just as He Fei sank back into his thoughts, Dongzi called again.

With a weary sigh, He Fei answered. Dongzi pleaded, saying he just wanted to meet for a few words and would leave right after. He Fei said he didn’t have time. Dongzi accused him of being heartless.

At that, He Fei exploded. He roared into the phone, “Listen here, asshole, I’m telling you straight—don’t you fucking bother me again!” Then he hung up and immediately dialed Xiang Lei’s number.

“Leizi, I’ve made up my mind! I think we should take some time apart. Things between us haven’t been right lately. We both need to cool off and figure out what’s going on,” He Fei said in one breath.

“Looks like… you’ve really thought it through this time,” Xiang Lei replied after a long pause.

“Yeah, I have. Don’t overthink it.”

“Then… I’ll move back to the dorm and cancel the lease?”

He Fei thought for a moment. “Alright. If you’re moving after the holiday, I might not be able to help.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll hang up now.”

He Fei couldn’t help but imagine Xiang Lei’s expression after hanging up. And he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest.

What happened now was eerily similar to what had happened a year ago, with one small difference: this time, Xiang Lei’s voice hadn’t cracked with heart-wrenching sobs before he hung up. So, unlike before, He Fei didn’t feel the desperate urge to rush back to him.

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274

Xiang Lei lay on the bed, his heart like still water, and suddenly realized that accepting this outcome was far easier than he’d imagined.

He had thought he would care more, that he would hurt more. But in truth, maybe time had stolen just as much weight from his feelings as well. The process had been imperceptible—until this final moment, when it was proven to him.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when his phone rang.

For a brief moment, Xiang Lei was shocked to find himself thrilled, his hands trembling.

But when he picked up the phone, he saw it wasn’t He Fei calling—it was Pei Yong.

Pei Yong said, “Hey, kid! Your big bro’s getting married tomorrow!”

Xiang Lei sat up unconsciously, scolding Pei Yong for only telling him now.

Pei Yong said he hadn’t expected Xiang Lei to rush back for the occasion—he knew college students were busy with job hunting and thesis writing, and those were big deals that couldn’t be delayed. As for the celebratory drinks Pei Yong owed him and the wedding gift Xiang Lei owed in return, they could make up for it when Xiang Lei came home for Spring Festival.

At that, Xiang Lei got worked up.

Suddenly, he really wanted to go home. No matter how Pei Yong tried to dissuade him, Xiang Lei wouldn’t budge—he insisted on buying a train ticket home as soon as he hung up.

Pei Yong fell silent for a moment, then lowered his voice and said slowly, “Xiang Lei, I really don’t want you to come back. I just wanted to let you know. Even if you came back and spent the day celebrating with them, what difference would it make? I called to tell you, that’s all…”

At that moment, Xiang Lei finally felt the urge to cry.

Tears swirled violently in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, he bit his lip hard.

Xiang Lei swore to the heavens that he no longer had any “improper thoughts” about Pei Yong—he genuinely wanted to congratulate him! So why did it feel like he’d been abandoned by everyone? Why did it feel like he’d been cast out into the sky, and all the people he couldn’t bear to part with were suddenly beyond his reach?

Luckily, the space in his heart for sorrow must be limited. So the more sorrows crowded in, the weaker each one’s sting became.

Luckily, all this sorrow had come at once.

Pei Yong said, “Xiang Lei, work hard. Make something of yourself!”

Xiang Lei gritted his teeth and said, “I will!”

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275

He had thought He Fei would come back on his own, just like before.

Xiang Lei never got around to posting the sublet notice.

In the end, he couldn’t resist calling He Fei again, asking when he’d come back—whether to pick up his clothes or to move back to the dorm together. He Fei said he’d come get his things when he had the chance. So Xiang Lei waited at home every day, hoping that when they reunited after this brief separation, they might still recognize each other’s unspoken feelings. Then, maybe they could learn to compromise and start over properly.

But even when only two days of the holiday remained, He Fei still hadn’t come back.

On the afternoon of May 6th, an out-of-town friend came to Xiang Lei’s school looking for someone and invited him out for lunch. Throughout the meal, Xiang Lei kept wondering—had He Fei come back?

The lunch tasted like sawdust. Afterward, Xiang Lei made up an excuse and rushed home, eager to check.

But when he reached the building, he hesitated, afraid of stepping into another empty room. If disappointment was inevitable, he wanted to delay it as long as possible.

Lighting a cigarette, Xiang Lei stood by the entrance. Passersby assumed he’d forgotten his keycard and gestured for him to follow them inside. Xiang Lei smiled gratefully but shook his head.

Yes—He Fei had been back. The moment Xiang Lei stepped into the bedroom, he could almost smell traces of him lingering in the air.

The room key lay quietly on the computer desk, a note beneath it:

Leizi, I came by at noon. I took everything I needed. You can keep the computer—you’ll need it for your graduation project. If you don’t want it afterward, pass it on to someone in the club. No need to return it to me. Take care of yourself.

After reading the note, Xiang Lei’s chest felt hollow. Yet, inexplicably, he smiled—amused by how their most serious near-miss had been decided by nothing more than the timing of a lunch.

That afternoon, Xiang Lei printed out the sublet notice.

As he walked to post it, he couldn’t help imagining—what if He Fei was following him from afar like last year, tearing down the notice the moment Xiang Lei put it up?

Back home, he put on U2’s old song on loop, then lay in bed, still fantasizing—what if, at any moment, He Fei suddenly appeared in the doorway without warning?

But no. It wasn’t possible.

He hadn’t even taken the key. Even if he had planned to see Xiang Lei again, he couldn’t just appear in front of him before Xiang Lei even heard a knock.

If he was this reluctant to let go, how could he salvage things?

It clearly wasn’t easy anymore. Even trying felt like an impossible luxury.

If he loved him, did he really need to have him? Maybe the best thing was to watch from afar—to see him live freely, expressing his truest joys and sorrows.

Xiang Lei decided to retreat.

He told himself: Pushing forward isn’t always about courage; stepping back isn’t always about cowardice.

Then, at last, he let the tears flow freely—a release so intense it felt like clouds finally breaking into rain, or the pure darkness of night finally swallowing the last stubborn rays of sunset.

Li Zeng called to say he’d become a father. His newborn son was already handsome, even at such a tiny size. Xiang Lei suddenly felt envious, though he wasn’t sure what exactly he envied.

While packing, he spotted the Complete Cookbook and was struck with regret. Why the hell did it take me over a year to buy a cookbook? And in the end, I never even got to use it!

Now it seemed to mock him outright.

The gray-checkered curtains and foam floor mats remained untouched. As Xiang Lei carried out the last of his things, he sensed they were reluctant to let him go. So he wiped the mats with a damp cloth one last time, then lay on the cool floor, bidding them farewell.

No matter how hard he tried to control his thoughts, memories flooded in—scenes so vivid they might as well have happened yesterday.

…He’d forgotten to take off his shoes before stepping into the bedroom. Xiang Lei only needed to glance at his feet, and he’d either grin sheepishly or look guilty before retreating to wipe away the footprints haphazardly with a wet rag. His shoeprints never went further than the mat where the remote had once left a dent.

—Now, Xiang Lei could reach out and touch that very spot.

…He’d sit cross-legged by the TV stand, tilting his chin up with a domineering look. “Come here!” Xiang Lei would ask why, and he’d just repeat, “Didn’t you hear me? Come here!” When Xiang Lei finally shuffled over, he’d yank him down by the shoulder, coaxing him to feed him a cigarette—only to deliberately blow smoke in Xiang Lei’s face, laughing when he coughed.

—Now, Xiang Lei could almost smell that same smoke and found himself smiling.

…Xiang Lei had once lain on these very mats, clutching a spoon smeared with noodle soup, crying so hard his chest hurt. He’d stretched out beside him, pulling him close. Every time Xiang Lei said something raw and vulnerable, he’d murmured, “I know.” That night, he’d even knelt abruptly on the floor, a skewer of grilled meat in one hand and his mouth full, mumbling some ridiculous vow to a box of dumplings on the table.

—Now, Xiang Lei turned his head and could still see the exact spot where he’d knelt. He reached out, as if he might still feel the lingering warmth.

There was more.

He’d pestered Xiang Lei to teach him the cha-cha barefoot on these mats.

He’d stood between the bed and the wardrobe in just his underwear, looking like an angry monkey, arguing endlessly about that incident at Liu Chong’s place.

The memory of his indignant expression made Xiang Lei laugh again.

But when he glanced around, reality settled in. Every familiar corner was empty—no familiar shapes, no sounds, no scents, no warmth left to touch.

It was the season for goodbyes. And somehow, all of this felt inevitable.

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276

After moving back to the dorm, Xiang Lei fell ill.

He smoked more, ate less, slept fitfully—until his body rebelled violently. Acne flared up relentlessly, his throat burned so badly he could barely swallow water, and no amount of anti-inflammatory medicine helped. In frustration, he ordered the spiciest Sichuan noodles he could find, gulped down ice-cold soda, chain-smoked, and stayed up all night revising his graduation thesis draft…

Soon, a high fever hit. Chills wracked his body, every muscle aching. Too lazy to see a doctor, he buried himself under blankets, sweating it out—only for the fever to return.

With no job secured and his thesis unfinished, he couldn’t afford to keep wasting time. Reluctantly, he went to the clinic. The doctor insisted he be hospitalized immediately—IV fluids, rest. “If this fever keeps up, it’ll cause serious damage.”

I wish he knew how bad it is.

Every day, Xiang Lei hoped to catch a glimpse of him. He promised himself—just a glimpse would be enough. He’d even hide in some unnoticed corner if he had to. But He Fei was busy with work now. He never showed up.

The thought “I wish he knew” quickly turned into guilt.

Four days later, he finally recovered.

Passing the dorm’s full-length mirror, Xiang Lei caught his reflection and nearly flinched. Was that gaunt, hollow-eyed specter really him? Sunken cheeks, pale skin, cracked lips, and a face so thin it barely looked like his own.

On his way to submit his thesis draft, he saw the Western Volunteers recruitment notice again. The deadline was today. Without thinking, he signed up.

Then came the second draft, the final draft, the volunteer selection exams.

And just like that—the final month of his four-year university life arrived, indifferent and unrelenting.

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277

In early June, after revising his thesis and compiling a dozen pages of potential Q&A for his defense, Xiang Lei quietly placed the stack on He Fei’s bed.

Days later, he finally saw He Fei in the dorm.

He Fei held the thick stack of papers, his expression unreadable. “Thanks,” he said politely. The word sent a sharp pang through Xiang Lei’s chest.

“How’s the job hunt?” He Fei offered him a cigarette.

“Sorted,” Xiang Lei replied with a faint smile.

“Good. Staying in Beijing?”

Xiang Lei hesitated briefly before lying. “Yeah.”

“Work’s been hectic—still figuring things out. Let me treat you to dinner soon.”

“Okay.” The moment the word left his lips, Xiang Lei wanted to cry.

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278

It wasn’t until he passed the written and interview rounds, receiving official notice of his acceptance as a Western Volunteer, that Xiang Lei realized—he’d never actually stopped to consider the decision.

Four years ago, at the start of university, Xiang Lei’s military training photo had been displayed on the school’s publicity screen for months. Now, at the end, his photo was up there again.

He Fei had come to campus a few times for thesis-related matters, always in a hurry, never noticing the screen. Xiang Lei desperately hoped he’d stumble upon it—hoped he’d demand an explanation, even if it meant yelling at him for lying. That alone would’ve been enough comfort.

Graduates began setting up stalls to sell their belongings. Xiang Lei joined in, but after a few days with little success, he ended up giving most of his things to club members who passed by.

Classmates gathered in small groups for farewell gatherings, leaving Xiang Lei feeling oddly isolated. For the first time, it struck him—his college experience had been a failure.

The school distributed graduation memory books, and in Xiang Lei’s, most of the messages were from club leaders and active members. Many wrote similar words:

“Boss, I think I’ll always remember those days we weathered storms together. Even if it wasn’t always enjoyable, it’s destined to be an unforgettable part of my college years—maybe even my whole life!”

Reading these, Xiang Lei suddenly didn’t feel like such a failure anymore.

After passing his thesis defense, He Fei called to invite Xiang Lei to dinner. Xiang Lei declined, saying he was about to report to his new job. He Fei replied, “Then let’s do it after graduation.”

After hanging up, Xiang Lei immediately replayed the call in his head—had there been even a hint of disappointment in He Fei’s voice? One moment, he convinced himself there was, and smiled in relief. The next, he decided there wasn’t, and his face withered with loneliness.

Maybe it’s better not to meet one last time. What if we realize we both want to start over? What then?

With departure looming, what other possibilities could there be?

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279

He Fei felt he’d soon go back to him.

Work was hectic—training, shadowing sales elites, studying for his driver’s license.

He thought not having time to think about Xiang Lei meant he was adjusting to life without him. But when he saw his graduation thesis on his dorm bed, he realized Xiang Lei was still lodged in his heart.

Otherwise, how could he suddenly feel like the distance between them had never been far at all?

So close that holding those A4 pages, he could almost hear Xiang Lei’s breath on the title page, see the tiny droplet clinging to his eyelashes.

He Fei planned to ask for Xiang Lei’s work address. He planned to find an apartment halfway between their workplaces.

He Fei felt he’d soon go back to him.

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280

After collecting their diplomas, there was a farewell dinner.

He Fei couldn’t find a chance to talk to Xiang Lei. He watched as Xiang Lei raised his glass to every person who’d once treated him unkindly. The Youth League secretary—the one who’d once questioned if Xiang Lei understood how others felt about blood donations—looked startled when Xiang Lei approached her and said, “If I ever offended you, please don’t hold it against me,” before downing his drink.

Xiang Lei got drunk early. While others rowdily celebrated, he curled up on two pushed-together chairs and fell asleep. He Fei kept glancing at him, thinking—I should take him home.

Someone yanked Xiang Lei’s ear, pulling him up. “Someone’s asking for punishment!” A full glass of liquor was shoved into his hands. Dazed, Xiang Lei gulped it down. His face paled instantly. He barely had time to turn his head before vomiting all over the floor.

Someone handed him tissues. Someone brought warm water. Someone patted his back. Someone whispered in his ear, “How are you feeling?” In four years, Xiang Lei had never been the center of so much concern. He felt humiliated by his own wretched state, but tonight, no one seemed disgusted.

Then, without warning, tears came.

Xiang Lei realized crying didn’t need permission from his brain. He didn’t have the presence of mind to accept the tissues or water, or to answer how he felt, or even to thank them. Every bit of his awareness was consumed by the act of crying—freely, for the first time.

The person with the tissues wiped his tears and snot. The one with the water pressed the cup to his lips. The one who’d asked how he was pulled him into a tight hug and started crying too.

Soon, the rowdiness died down. One by one, they clung to each other and sobbed.

Tears seemed endless. Who knew where they were stored before becoming tears?

Someone ran their fingers through Xiang Lei’s hair—gentle yet firm. Xiang Lei didn’t realize it was He Fei, standing behind him.

He Fei’s heart stirred. No matter how dull their life together was, it was still theirs. After turning brotherhood into this, was there really any other choice?

He Fei and another classmate carried Xiang Lei back to the dorm, settling him on Liu Chong’s old lower bunk. Unbothered by the others, He Fei stripped Xiang Lei down to his underwear.

The next morning before leaving, He Fei crouched by the bed and shook Xiang Lei awake. “I’ll come find you after work.”

Xiang Lei forced his eyes open, murmured “Mm,” and fell back asleep.

But that evening, He Fei couldn’t find Xiang Lei anywhere.

At noon, He Fei had called—Xiang Lei’s phone was off. After work, still off.

Back in the dorm, He Fei found Xiang Lei’s bed stripped bare. The room was littered with trash, but the desk by the window was spotless—except for the broken stereo.

The CD player was on. He Fei pressed the lid open. Inside was the U2 album.

He didn’t know Xiang Lei had left alone that morning.

Xiang Lei had left the CD playing. He’d walked out to “With or Without You,” the volume cranked high. Even outside the dorm, he could still hear it. When the lyrics “nothing left to lose” played, he couldn’t help glancing back at the second floor of Building 19.

The train station was packed, the train delayed. At 11 a.m., the overdue train finally started boarding. Xiang Lei was swept through the ticket gate by the crowd—only to realize Pei Yong’s old phone was gone.

In the dorm, most were still packing. He Fei asked everyone if they’d seen Xiang Lei. “He’s already left,” they said. When He Fei asked where, the answers varied:

“I think he went to report to his new job.”

“He went home to look for work.”

“He signed up for the Western Volunteers. Got accepted. His photo’s on the school’s display screen.”

He Fei ran to the main building’s publicity screen—and there was Xiang Lei’s photo.

At that moment, He Fei’s heart plummeted. The last time he’d felt this way was years ago, when he’d overheard someone say Xiao Er’s illness was terminal.

Six hours earlier. As the train pulled away from the platform, Beijing fading frame by frame outside the window, Xiang Lei’s eyes had welled up—then, just as suddenly, his heart calmed.

He thought back to the small hopes he’d had four years ago and decided fate hadn’t been too cruel. At least there’d been one love he hadn’t missed. Even if given a second chance, even with foresight, Xiang Lei knew—he still wouldn’t have been able to let it pass him by.

People always talk about “no regrets” like it’s cliché, but when it’s your own life’s defining moments, even clichés feel unavoidable.

He’d preserve the past like a carefully crafted specimen, framed and hung in a corner of his heart—something he could pause to admire anytime, dust off when he had the time, examine closely when he felt like it.

Xiang Lei didn’t know that as he meticulously preserved these memories, He Fei was sitting on the main building’s steps, utterly lost. He kept redialing Xiang Lei’s number, begging the automated voice to stop repeating the same maddening words. He felt weak all over, as if the sudden onset of night was seeping into his very bones.

For days, He Fei was distracted. Between tasks, he’d dial Xiang Lei’s number—always off. He left messages online, only to find Xiang Lei’s QQ account wiped clean. He tracked down Shi Zhuo, Wei Tong, Love & Care Society members, all of Xiang Lei’s friends—no leads.

How could I have let him go?

In despair, He Fei thought: How could I just let him walk away?