Chapter 2 – Li Jiangluo 0.1

The moment I saw his corpse, I felt a crushing despair that I had never experienced before.

Blood was everywhere, turning the white walls into canvases splattered with crimson blooms, and the new carpet looked as if it were soaked in the red wine he loved. His face, his body – they became a nightmare that would haunt me for days to come.

Xing Bolin, just those three syllables held an extraordinary significance for me.

He was my lover, or rather, I preferred to call him my savior.

In this world, apart from my mother, perhaps only he would love me unconditionally, accept me without reserve.

But now, this man was dead, taking with him his words and the warmth of his embrace, frozen and stiff in the house we had shared for over a year.

I stood at the door, feeling as if a knife had been plunged into my chest – the same military dagger embedded in his abdomen – piercing my heart and twisting it mercilessly.

I didn’t even notice when the object in my hand fell, and when I looked down, I saw the pesticide-coated fruit I had intended to wash and feed to my lover rolling into the pool of blood.

It turned even redder.

I could almost hear the sound of blood dripping, drop by drop, the warm, dark red liquid slowly cooling on the floor, making the autumn day even more unbearable.

When the police arrived, I was still standing there like a fool, watching as the uniformed officers, wearing gloves and shoe covers, moved about our home. I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t think.

Xu Zhao came too, standing beside me, saying nothing, watching the scene that resembled a nightmare with me.

My lover was two years older than me; he had just celebrated his twenty-ninth birthday last month, promising me a surprise for next year.

Now, it seemed I would never know what that surprise was.

We had known each other for ten years, been lovers for five.

No one knew how much courage it took for me to take that step, to decide to be together. This wasn’t an ordinary romance, nor was it a typical homosexual relationship. Back then, I hesitated endlessly, because I feared I wouldn’t be able to satisfy his needs.

I had a hidden condition, something I couldn’t even bring myself to face – a malady that might accompany me throughout my life, from the time I grew into a man until the day I died.

I couldn’t just drag someone else into my suffering.

I was a sexual aversion sufferer, which was different from frigidity or low libido. If it were either of those, I might have had a chance to change, but with sexual aversion, the mere thought of being intimate with someone, of caressing each other, made me feel nauseous.

Can you imagine that feeling? When your lover approaches, filled with sincerity, yet you tremble and break down, wanting only to escape.

No one would willingly accept such a partner, someone who says “I love you” with their mouth but acts otherwise. How could you believe they truly loved you?

I was well aware of my helplessness, so I had long been avoiding the issue.

But that time, I shed the thick, false shell and revealed my true self to Bolin.

When I told him about it in a matter-of-fact tone, the man sitting across from me was taken aback, then fell silent.

I can still vividly remember that day – it was Saturday, early summer, and the weather was unusually good. The willow branches swayed in the wind, carefree, while my mood was the complete opposite. In those few minutes of silence, sweat soaked through my T-shirt.

Actually, we hadn’t been discussing this that day. Since the weather was nice in the morning, we decided to go to the bookstore. Afterward, it was lunchtime, so we went to KFC and each had a burger, eating heartily.

I accidentally got ketchup all over my hands, and he smiled helplessly as he wiped them clean for me, looking down at my fingers as if casually asking if I wanted another burger, he once again proposed dating.

I loved him, I thought.

At least at that time.

Back then, Xing Bolin was an outstanding senior in my eyes, a caring older brother, a rare person whom I was willing to get close to.

I fell for him on a rainy day. Our companies were close to each other, and right before we were due to leave work, a heavy rain suddenly started. He stood on the 26th floor, showing me the rain outside his window. At that moment, I happened to be walking under my umbrella below his building, looking up. Raindrops hit my face, unable to see him on the 26th floor, but for some reason, I felt like I could see him.

The sound of rain hitting the ground and the umbrella drowned out the usual noise of the business district.

But at that moment, clearer than the sound of rain was the voice inside me, telling me that I had fallen in love with him.

Regarding my illness, I had thought about it for a long time, ever since the first time he said he liked me.

I was curious about his reaction. Someone as perpetually warm as him, how would he handle it after knowing about this.

Perhaps he wouldn’t believe it, perhaps he’d be scared away, but speaking up was the right thing to do. I needed a path, whether it led toward him or away from him.

Clearly, he believed me.

As he sat silently for a few minutes, I stared at him intently. This man wore a simple light blue denim shirt, the buttons undone, revealing a clean white T-shirt underneath. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, his skin pale, with faint blue veins visible beneath.

He said, “What’s the problem with that?”

I don’t know what my expression was back then, but I saw him smile slightly, covering my hand with his palm, saying, “That doesn’t affect us loving each other.”

So, we were together.

When I reached out to hold Bolin’s hand in return, I didn’t dare to think too far ahead. Not that I was unwilling, but I was afraid. The five-year relationship that followed had exceeded my imagination.

From the moment we got together, it was destined to be a purely platonic love affair. We couldn’t even kiss. At the depths of our love, there was only an embrace and a word of thanks.

We embraced each other, and the one saying thank you was me.

I couldn’t help but thank him, for he showed me that I could love like an ordinary person. He repeatedly assured me that there was no need for guilt or debt, saying that he was entirely willing.

But I couldn’t do it. For five years, I was enveloped by love and indebtedness every day. I worshipped him as a god, doing whatever he asked, sometimes even before he had to ask.

Our love was inherently unequal, and I was willing to bear this inequality. I was willing to kneel and look up at him. Perhaps it was somewhat sick, but before I met him, I wasn’t whole either. On the contrary, because of him, I was more willing to live well.

Bolin’s love saved me, but now, I don’t know what killed him.

He was bleeding, he wasn’t breathing.

I heard the sound of branches breaking outside, the sound of buildings collapsing, Xu Zhao saying to me, “Jiangluo, please accept my condolences.”