Chapter 5

The next day:

Lin Ze had just woken up when he saw the text message.

Xie Chenfeng: [Want to hang out?]

It was noon, and the sun outside was scorching. Even through the floor-to-ceiling window, Lin Ze could feel the heat baking the entire city.

Lin Ze: [You’re in Jiangbei again today? Where are you?]

Xie Chenfeng: [Waiting for you at Bei Cheng Tian Street, at the same Starbucks where I saw you last time.]

Lin Ze took a shower, grabbed his iPad, and headed out. When he arrived and sat down, Xie Chenfeng was reading a soccer magazine. The guy behind the counter smiled and greeted him.

Barista: “Ice water again?”

Lin Ze: “A latte this time. Just woke up, still sleepy. This is our ‘boiling water room.’ Are you going to Lifan again today?”

Xie Chenfeng flipped a page. “No, I’m on summer break, nothing to do, so I came to find you. Who came up with the name ‘boiling water room’?”

Lin Ze laughed. “One of my little brothers.”

Lin Ze pulled out his iPad, and the two sat across from each other without speaking, each sipping their coffee—Xie Chenfeng reading, Lin Ze browsing the internet.

“I’m sending out resumes,” Lin Ze volunteered.

“Looking for a new job?” Xie Chenfeng’s eyebrows twitched.

Lin Ze stretched and nodded. “Hope everything goes smoothly. Got any good job leads?”

“What kind of position are you looking for?”

“Still a reporter, I guess.” Lin Ze briefly recounted his experience at his previous workplace. Xie Chenfeng listened attentively, occasionally nodding sympathetically.

“That’s how it was,” Lin Ze continued. “Once I quit, I didn’t think much about it. This time, I hope to land something decent.”

Xie Chenfeng: “To get a good job, you need connections. Without them, it’s tough everywhere.”

Lin Ze asked, “Even at the club?”

“The club depends on relationships, backing, and the qualifications of the coaches you’ve worked with. Schools and government institutions are the same—research papers get co-authorship from supervisors. In private companies, the real work is done by outsiders while the boss’s relatives just sit around. State-owned enterprises? It’s the same everywhere. If someone with connections shows up, you’ll have to step aside. Do the work well, and the credit goes to others. Screw up, and you take the blame.”

Lin Ze responded, “But every team needs one or two people who actually do the work. It’s not all bad.”

Xie Chenfeng scoffed. “Still thinking like a fresh grad? Society is dark. People who believe hard work pays off will fall hard. Government corruption, workplace exploitation—our school even had female teachers drinking and sleeping with education bureau officials. This society is rotten.”

“You’re really bitter. You should work on that.”

Xie Chenfeng flipped him off.

Lin Ze laughed. Xie Chenfeng’s fingers were long and elegant, his nails neatly trimmed. Even making that gesture, he exuded a calm charm that Lin Ze liked.

“I think society,” Lin Ze said after a long pause, “isn’t as bright as some say, nor as dark as others claim. It depends on whether you choose to believe in the light or the darkness. If journalists think society is hopeless, their reports will be hopeless too. Public opinion needs guidance, not brainwashing. Criticism should aim to eliminate evil, not vent anger. Criticizing for the sake of criticism, cursing for the sake of cursing—it’s pointless. Chinese people are easily riled up. A small spark can incite tens of thousands to join in the outrage, but after the shouting, everything goes back to normal. Everyone goes home, forgets about it in a week, and the next time something happens, they swarm again for another round of mass hysteria.”

“Why is that?”

“This phenomenon stems from a centuries-old habit of spectating—a uniquely Chinese trait. The mentality is ‘less trouble is better.’ Everyone wants to be an observer, avoiding real sacrifice. And because material pressures are so heavy, spiritual emptiness follows. Life lacks purpose, so people turn to spectating to convince themselves they have value in the nation’s politics.”

“Watching the drama, joining the condemnation—first, it avoids trouble; second, it vents pent-up frustration; third, it kills time.”

“You’ll never be a famous journalist. Famous journalists know how to create and spread drama. If there’s no drama, they’ll make some. They also know how to dig up society’s dark side.”

Lin Ze burst out laughing. Xie Chenfeng looked annoyed. “Don’t believe me if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t think so. If the point of journalism is just to give people something to curse about, to provide entertainment to pass the time, how is that any different from soap opera directors? By the way, I really like Rui Chenggang and Marie Colvin,” Lin Ze said. “They’re incredible journalists. Look.”

Lin Ze tapped a few times and showed Xie Chenfeng photos of Rui Chenggang and Colvin.

“That’s the female war correspondent who got blown up?”

“Yeah, her,” Lin Ze said. “She took a stray bullet in Homs, Syria. A legend.”

The barista chimed in with a smile, “I think she’s amazing too.”

Lin Ze turned to him. “Do you think war is dark? What about diplomacy and politics? In a way, these journalists are sent by their Western governments with agendas. That’s pretty dark too.”

He glanced back at Xie Chenfeng, who stayed silent. Lin Ze continued, “But what about her reporting? Do you think someone at her level would still risk her life just for some ulterior motive? She didn’t have to, but she documented real deaths, did her best to show us the front lines objectively. She treated journalism as a mission, as life itself. The truth is, everyone has biases. As long as you’re human, you have an angle. Society is a melting pot where all these biases clash and blend.”

“Libya was full of hunger and slaughter. Yet she kept running to the front lines, bringing back the news. No matter what journalists report, the goal is to stop evil, not become part of it. When I first started, my mentor told me: If your heart is bright, darkness will retreat before you. Take me changing jobs—what’s done is done. The director wanted to sideline me, but at least I didn’t compromise or embolden them. Who knows? This might be a great opportunity.”

“But you can’t deny society is full of injustice. People are evil.”

“How can that be? Tell me, are we good or bad people?”

“I’m a bad person.”

Lin Ze: “…”

The barista laughed. Xie Chenfeng’s answer left Lin Ze at a loss. He’d planned to say there are more good people than bad, and that good and evil aren’t absolute—even the worst have redeeming qualities, and the best can still become enemies due to the butterfly effect.

Lin Ze felt Xie Chenfeng must have hit some rough patches. From the moment they’d met, the guy had carried a lot of resentment. After a moment, he said, “And sometimes, the pressure from enemies might be the start of something new. Like if you ran into bad luck recently, decided to go out, and then accidentally met me…”

The barista, wiping the counter, chuckled. “So you met, fell in love…”

Lin Ze and Xie Chenfeng both gave him a wry look and shushed him.

The barista noticed other customers in Starbucks and quickly shut up.

Lin Ze said, “Things in the world are always changing. So as long as you’re happy, everything will work out… Look, an email. I bet it’s an interview invite.”

“Let me see?”

Lin Ze wasn’t sure—the reply came too fast, and it wasn’t even a workday. Xie Chenfeng moved closer, draping an arm over his shoulder. The gesture closed the distance between them, and for a moment, Lin Ze’s heart pounded.

Xie Chenfeng glanced down, their eyes meeting. Lin Ze saw his Adam’s apple bob visibly.

“It’s an interview,” Lin Ze said, grinning. “Awesome!”

“Congrats.” Xie Chenfeng nodded, shaking his hand seriously. Lin Ze patted his shoulder, elated.

It was an interview invite from a major portal site. Lin Ze suddenly felt job-hunting wasn’t so hard after all. Xie Chenfeng’s frown eased as he sat beside him, reading. They stayed like that for a while.

At 3 p.m., Lin Ze said, “Let’s get haircuts. I’ve got an interview next week.”

Xie Chenfeng didn’t mind. Lin Ze’s hair wasn’t too long, but his main goal was to take Xie Chenfeng for a trim—to shake off bad vibes and freshen up. Maybe things would go smoother when school started.

He took Xie Chenfeng to his usual salon, getting a slight trim himself while asking the stylist to give Xie Chenfeng a close cut—shaved sides, a bit of gel on top, spiked up like a rooster.

Xie Chenfeng’s phone buzzed in his bag.

“Who’s texting?” Xie Chenfeng asked, watching in the mirror.

Lin Ze, flipping through Xie Chenfeng’s bag on the couch, saw that aside from his own texts, all others were deleted. Only one remained, from an unknown number: [Teacher Xie, when does enrollment start this year?]

“Asked about enrollment dates.”

Xie Chenfeng: “Tell him it’s uncertain this year, waiting for higher-ups’ notice.”

Lin Ze replied for him, then kept rummaging through the bag, scouting. Casually, he asked, “You handle this? Are you the dean?”

Xie Chenfeng glanced up in the mirror. “Recruiting sports students. Hey, sweetheart, what are you doing?”

The stylist chuckled.

“Getting to know you.” Lin Ze had always known the stylist was gay—he held scissors with a delicate grip. There wasn’t much need to hide things here.

He idly flipped through Xie Chenfeng’s belongings. It was rude—they hadn’t known each other long, and going through someone’s bag was inappropriate. But Lin Ze knew Xie Chenfeng wouldn’t get mad, just as he wouldn’t mind if Xie Chenfeng went through his things.

Xie Chenfeng didn’t stop him, not even looking over, just studying his reflection.

Lin Ze pulled out a branded wallet with over a thousand yuan in cash and several credit cards. Pretty well-off.

Lin Ze: “Who gave you the wallet?”

Xie Chenfeng: “A prize from the school.”

Lin Ze: “Huh, you win often?”

No ID—probably didn’t carry it, afraid of losing it.

But there was a teacher’s ID in the bag—a PE teacher at a high school in Nanping. Lin Ze was sure Xie Chenfeng hadn’t lied.

“Just once,” Xie Chenfeng said wryly. “ID photos are always ugly.”

Lin Ze flipped through the teacher’s ID, laughing at the awkward, dated photo. There was also a Lifan Club access card. Lin Ze checked the back—expired.

“You’re still with Lifan Club?” Lin Ze was surprised.

“Told you before,” Xie Chenfeng said. “Played as a sub for a while, then got injured and became a teacher. The card’s expired. Most people just flash their faces to get in—security usually doesn’t check.”

“What else can your face get you into?” Lin Ze teased. “Take me sometime?”

“Not as much as yours,” Xie Chenfeng shot back. “I can’t use my face to get free ice water at Starbucks.”

The bag also held an address book filled with contacts—mostly teachers, admissions officers, etc. Lin Ze remarked, “Your network’s more complex than mine, and I’m the reporter.”

Xie Chenfeng grinned. “Most of them are just names. Can’t compare to you big-shot journalists.”

Lin Ze: “Can your school’s special admissions be… influenced?”

Xie Chenfeng: “We’re a high school. The ‘red envelopes’ for admissions are small. But for college placements, you can make some side cash. A few years back, I often connected with a former teammate who stayed at his uni’s sports college. Pass the entrance exam, and you’re in.”

Lin Ze: “How much per slot?”

Xie Chenfeng: “Five grand back then—I took one, my senior took one, the department took three. Now it’s ten.”

Lin Ze: “Nice gig.”

Xie Chenfeng brushed hair off the cape. “Stopped last year. My senior left to ref rigged games in Guangzhou.”

Lin Ze: “Which college were you at?”

Xie Chenfeng gestured for him to look. Lin Ze found an old student ID—a well-known comprehensive university in the southwest, sports college.

Xie Chenfeng grinned. “Do I look like a student?”

Lin Ze: “Barely. Might get you discounts at movies or tourist spots if they don’t check too hard.”

Xie Chenfeng: “Why don’t you keep your student ID?”

Lin Ze: “I’ve got a press pass. Free entry everywhere.”

“Done,” the stylist murmured, dusting off Xie Chenfeng’s hair. Xie Chenfeng offered, “I’ll pay.”

Lin Ze: “I’ve got a membership card. Use mine.”

Xie Chenfeng didn’t argue, buckling his waist pack. Outside, he looked much fresher.

“This suits you,” Lin Ze commented, eating spicy noodles as they walked, pointing his chopsticks. “You were too gloomy before. This is this year’s hottest style.”

Xie Chenfeng grunted. They stood by a trash can eating when Xie Chenfeng suddenly asked, “Are you a top or bottom?”

Lin Ze choked on his noodles, coughing violently, tears and snot streaming. Xie Chenfeng hurried to buy him a drink. Lin Ze gulped it down, finally recovering.

“I… mostly top,” Lin Ze rasped. “Cough! Cough…”

He was still suffering. Xie Chenfeng patted his back.

As they left the shopping street, Lin Ze glanced at him, thinking Xie Chenfeng didn’t seem like a bottom at all—probably a top too.

“I can bottom,” Lin Ze offered. “Uh, not that we’re doing anything now…”

Xie Chenfeng smiled without answering, arm around Lin Ze’s shoulders. Lin Ze was five centimeters shorter. If they got together, Lin Ze had initially imagined taking turns, but if Xie Chenfeng had never bottomed, he might not like it. Lin Ze was willing to compromise.

Zheng Jie, done with overtime, waited at Bei Cheng Tian Street. The three had dinner together. Zheng Jie was used to occasionally meeting Lin Ze’s dates and sharing his thoughts afterward.

Xie Chenfeng was polite to Zheng Jie. Over fast food, Lin Ze could tell Zheng Jie liked him too, even asking where he got his haircut.

“Don’t know the place,” Xie Chenfeng replied, smiling. “A’Ze took me.”

Xie Chenfeng called him “A’Ze” like Zheng Jie. After dinner, the two saw Xie Chenfeng to the bus stop, then went home to sleep.

“I think he’s great,” Lin Ze remarked. “What do you think?”

“Don’t rub it in, damn it!” Zheng Jie groaned.

Lin Ze remembered Zheng Jie had been on a date too and asked, “How’d yours go?”

Zheng Jie gloomily recounted the story. He’d texted Huang Rui all day with no reply.

Lin Ze: “How many texts?”

Zheng Jie thought. “Six.”

Lin Ze: “…”

Zheng Jie called her. No answer.

Lin Ze: “How many calls?”

Zheng Jie: “Less than ten.”

Lin Ze: “Were you stalking her?!”

Zheng Jie: “She didn’t pick up! I was worried she didn’t hear!”

Lin Ze: “Did she answer eventually?”

Zheng Jie: “Finally said she was working, didn’t hear, couldn’t take calls, turned her phone off.”

Lin Ze burst out laughing, nearly falling over.

“Ugh!” Zheng Jie groaned. “What’s wrong with me?!”

Lin Ze patted his shoulder, knowing this one was a bust but leaving him a sliver of hope. “Stop bombarding her. Wait for her to reach out. If she’s interested, she’ll contact you.”

Zheng Jie was deflated. Over the next three days, she never did, only relaying through Zheng Jie’s aunt that it wasn’t a match—not because of him, but because they’d heard his mother had debts, and most importantly, he didn’t own a house, and her family couldn’t afford one either.

Zheng Jie didn’t know how to feel. He could only pick up the pieces of his unflappable life, take a page from Xie Chenfeng’s book, get a short haircut, and carry on.