Chapter 2

Lin Ze clicked on another friend’s chat window.

Lin Ze: [Little brother, I’m thinking of quitting my job.]

The other person was a young bottom who had always liked Lin Ze. He used to chase after him relentlessly, pestering him to start a relationship, sending gifts and texts nonstop.

But Lin Ze wasn’t particularly fond of younger guys, especially delicate, fragile-looking twinks, so he had rejected him many times, making it clear they could only be friends.

The young bottom was quite understanding, but he was just too good to Lin Ze—so good that it was hard to refuse. Eventually, Lin Ze felt guilty and agreed to take him on as a younger brother.

In their circle, calling someone “brother” or “little brother” was common, but Lin Ze didn’t like having too many of these pseudo-siblings. This was the only one he acknowledged, and he often looked out for him.

Li Chiran: [Quit then! Let’s go watch a movie tonight.]

Lin Ze briefly explained the situation. Li Chiran replied: [Ah, brother, you can easily find another job. Even selling sour and spicy noodles earns over 2,000 a month these days. Why torture yourself?]

[You’ve got so many friends—just ask around for a referral. You can do anything. Seriously, this is the first time I’ve heard of a journalist who can’t find work.]

Lin Ze thought about it and realized he was right. A salary of 2,800 might be acceptable for a newcomer, but for a journalist with several years of experience, it was downright depressing. In a 1.5-tier city, that kind of income made it impossible to live comfortably, let alone buy a house or a car.

What was even more frustrating was that the position had no future.

But Lin Ze still wanted to understand the director’s motive for transferring him. If it was genuinely to train him… well, that possibility seemed slim.

He knocked on the director’s office door. The director seemed to have been waiting for him, and the new hire, Xiao Kang, was also inside. The director said, “Perfect timing, Lin Ze. I wanted to talk to you about today’s incident.”

Xiao Kang left, and Lin Ze nodded. “I was too impulsive earlier.”

“It’s understandable,” the director said. “The psychological adjustment is tough. I went through the same thing back in the day.”

Lin Ze stared at the director without speaking. The director coughed and continued, “You young people are so impulsive. But actually, switching positions has its benefits. What we should focus on is how to make the channel you’re responsible for thrive.”

Lin Ze thought all of this was just empty talk. Hadn’t he already put in the effort to build up the entertainment channel? When he first joined, his colleagues couldn’t even recognize celebrities’ faces. After finally making some progress, why was he being sidelined now?

He knew exactly how the image database operated—it had no future. Aside from collecting a few pictures daily to supply other channels, there was no room for growth. They couldn’t even produce original news content, just scavenged images from other websites. Huang Zhen, now the channel editor, would insist on posting photos of scantily clad women based on his personal preferences. The moment the authorities cracked down, the entire department would suffer. Lin Ze absolutely refused to wade into that mess.

What he really cared about was whether he’d get new opportunities in the future. But the director’s response dashed his hopes completely. After a bunch of corporate-speak and a few perfunctory reassurances, the director seemed unwilling to engage further, simply telling him to get back to work. He added that he didn’t hold Lin Ze’s outburst in the meeting room against him and advised him not to let emotions affect his performance.

Lin Ze walked out again. Back at his desk, Huang Zhen grinned and said, “Did you sort things out? It’s fine now, right? General Manager Wang isn’t the type to hold grudges.”

Lin Ze didn’t answer. While he was still undecided, he received a text from a tech colleague he got along with.

The tech guy wrote: [Brother Ze, I think someone snitched on you behind your back—about your work style and sexual orientation. That’s why the new director sidelined you. Did you clash with Huang Zhen when you were training her?]

Lin Ze finally understood. During the interviews he conducted with Huang Zhen, the latter must have picked up on his sexual orientation.

[So that’s it. Are you sure? I didn’t make things difficult for her or hold a grudge. She almost failed her probation period—I was the one who filled out the form to keep her.]

The tech guy replied: [Xiao Kang told his girlfriend online that he overheard General Manager Wang talking about it. He didn’t know we monitor QQ chats. Come take a look.]

Lin Ze went over to the tech department and checked the chat logs. Sure enough, Xiao Kang was telling his girlfriend that Lin Ze was gay and that the director despised homosexuals.

While some people in the company knew about his orientation, no one had ever confronted him directly. At most, they gossiped privately. Workplaces and internet companies were hotbeds of gossip. Lin Ze had run into colleagues a few times while out shopping with his gay friends. Being unmarried and without a girlfriend, he’d sometimes been seen holding hands with flamboyant guys. He hadn’t bothered hiding it, knowing full well the rumors would spread.

Since discrimination was involved, no amount of effort would change things. It was time to quit. He submitted his resignation, had exit interviews with the director and editor, and officially left.

On his way out, he calculated his savings—just over 20,000 yuan. Since he’d already been transferred, quitting without another job lined up wasn’t a big deal. He could collect his termination papers in a week. But handing over all his interview contacts to a new hire and personally introducing them? Absolutely not. That crossed a line. After two years of hard work, he wasn’t about to let someone else reap the rewards. He’d rather risk the director badmouthing him to industry peers than help a newcomer under these circumstances.

They could dock his pay if they wanted—those contacts were worth months of salary. The termination papers didn’t even matter.

Lin Ze knew the deputy director would still have his back. In this industry, people often crossed paths again. Helping him now was helping themselves later.

Slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder, he stepped outside at just 10 a.m. The sun was shining, and he felt lighter instantly. Life was still good—it all depended on how you lived it. Zheng Jie would definitely help him when he got home. Finding a job? No problem. He’d manage, just like he had back when he was sending out resumes everywhere.

With no dependents, no mortgage, and no car to maintain, Lin Ze felt deeply fortunate.

Where to now? He just wanted to wander aimlessly—or maybe shout to passersby that he’d quit his job.

He thought about going home to sleep. In the past two years, he’d rarely woken up naturally. But he was afraid of running into those loan sharks again, so he headed back to Jiangbei District instead, settling into a Starbucks. He ordered coffee, pulled out his iPad, and went online. He’d either go home after lunch or spend the whole day out.

Jiangbei District had near-ubiquitous Wi-Fi—every shop had it. For a pricier meal, he could hit the 200-yuan-per-person buffet at Shangjing. For something cheaper, there were cold noodles, sour and spicy noodles, tender braised duck heads and tongues, or spicy stir-fries.

He could also sit in a Hong Kong-style teahouse, order a pot of tea and two baskets of dim sum for 30 yuan, and lounge all afternoon.

At the top of Darongcheng Mall, he could find authentic Cantonese, Sichuanese, Hunanese, Northeastern, and Yunnanese cuisine, roast duck, steak—Bei Cheng Tian Street ran daily group-buy deals. A 28-yuan coupon could cover a whole day.

At night, he’d meet Zheng Jie after work for spicy dry pot or night-market beers, or buy groceries to cook at home. Having worked in news for so long, Lin Ze knew Mountain City had little issue with gutter oil. Aside from a few sketchy street barbecue stalls, most restaurants valued their reputations.

After all, locals had short tempers. Any slip-up, and the owner would get beaten up.

Lin Ze browsed group-buy deals on his iPad and opened a dating app to see how many gay men were nearby. Registered users of this gay social app appeared on a proximity list, with their distance displayed under their photos. The closest one was just 5 meters away.

He swiped up through the dense grid of photos—dozens of men within 50, 75, 100, 120 meters. Within a kilometer, there were several pages’ worth: flamboyant, muscular, artsy, edgy, natural-faced, chubby, skinny, masculine, effeminate… like flipping through profiles at a gay club.

Mountain City had one of the densest gay populations he’d seen—higher than Chengdu, Beijing, or Shanghai. Aside from Hong Kong, few cities could compare. Inland cities like Harbin or Jilin might show the nearest gay man at 1 km or 5 km even in downtown areas.

Five meters—who was it?

Lin Ze looked around. In Starbucks, a straight couple chatted to his left. To his right, a bespectacled foreigner read a book. At 10 a.m., the place was nearly empty.

Behind the counter, a good-looking barista polished a coffee pot. Was it him? A few years ago, this type—tall, slim, fair-skinned, with deep-set eyes and red lips, dressed in a crisp white shirt—would’ve been Lin Ze’s ideal.

But he didn’t seem gay. And Lin Ze wasn’t into that clean-cut boyish style anymore.

What type did he like now? He wasn’t sure. Someone like Zheng Jie? Not really. Someone reliable, who made him feel secure.

Five meters… maybe outside, or upstairs shopping or having tea.

Gazing through the glass wall, Lin Ze mused that the world had so many gay men. Why the discrimination? What did private life have to do with professionalism?

The barista pulled out an iPhone.

A message popped up on Lin Ze’s iPad.

Dream-Chasing Wind: [Handsome, what are you looking at? Want a refill?]

Dreamcloud Marsh: [No, unless it’s free.]

Lin Ze looked up. The barista grinned sunnily. Both couldn’t help but laugh.

The barista brought him a glass of ice water. “I saw you here yesterday.”

Lin Ze asked, “Are you new?”

The barista nodded. “Was that your ‘friend’ with you yesterday?”

Lin Ze remembered—he’d been here with Zheng Jie. “No, my childhood friend. Straight.”

The barista hummed, wiped his table, and went back to work.

Lin Ze sipped his water and scrolled through his iPad. A profile 120 meters away caught his eye: “Fitness Coach at Hot Men’s Club,” with the same photo the coach had shown him that morning. Lin Ze was startled and messaged him:

Lin Ze: [Don’t use my photo as your profile pic, bro.]

The reply came quickly: [Haha, okay. You’re my type—I couldn’t resist.]

Lin Ze was defeated. The coach added: [Didn’t expect to find you here. You use this app too?]

Lin Ze: [Yeah, but not for hookups. A friend recommended it—just checking out nearby people for fun.]

As soon as he sent it, Lin Ze felt like he was overexplaining. Why tell this to someone he’d just met? Maybe he was trying to convince himself—and others—that his private life wasn’t messy.

He really didn’t do one-night stands. He only considered sex after dating for a while and developing feelings. Despite many relationships, none had succeeded. Zheng Jie’s warnings had gotten to him—deep down, he feared being seen as promiscuous.

Like last night’s date. Lin Ze thought things could develop with that insurance salesman. He seemed like a stable, long-term type. More importantly, Lin Ze could get hard with him—sexual compatibility was there. Love could grow over time.

But the guy hadn’t done anything last night and hadn’t contacted him since. No morning text, no reply to his message. Clearly, he’d been used for a one-night stand.

Fitness Coach: [I’m not into casual stuff either. I use this app to screen potential clients—mentally prepare myself.]

Lin Ze found that amusing: [What kind of preparation?]

Fitness Coach: [Avoiding harassment. In this line of work, we get hit on a lot—men, women. Can’t outright reject them, or they’ll complain.]

Lin Ze: [Every job has its challenges. Why are you nearby? Shopping?]

Fitness Coach: [The gym’s above Starbucks. Wanna come up? You off work? Want a membership?]

Lin Ze’s worst fear materialized. He’d wondered if the trainer would pitch him right away—and sure enough, he did. Still, he believed the guy wasn’t just after his money and replied:

[I quit today. Just resigned.]

The trainer said: [Got a client. Talk later.]

Lin Ze put his phone away, thinking this guy probably targeted gay men for memberships. People these days were slick with their sales tactics—impressive, really.

He spent the morning at Starbucks crunching numbers—monthly expenses, budgeting, how long his 20,000 yuan would last unemployed. He could scrape by for six months, but a gap that long wouldn’t look good. He needed to find work soon.

He browsed news portals—Sina, Hualong, Dayu, NetEase—one by one. The barista brought him another ice water. “What do you do?”

“Journalist.” Lin Ze looked up. “Got any scoops?”

The barista mimed holding a camera. “I want to switch jobs. You guys hiring photographers?”

“Photographer?” Lin Ze said. “What’s your background?”

The barista smiled. “Self-taught.”

Lin Ze thought for a moment. “I used to cover entertainment, lifestyle.”

The barista wiped tables and collected cups. “Paparazzi. Got it.”

Lin Ze clarified, “No, not tabloid. Just—”

He trailed off, then said, “I’ll let you know if I hear anything. You have a camera? Can you bring your own gear?”

The barista nodded. “A DSLR—Nikon D3200. How old are you? I’m an ’84.”

Photography sounded like a decent gig, though his camera might not meet website standards. Maybe he could refer him to a newspaper with lower image requirements… But when Lin Ze heard the barista’s age, his ego took a hit.

“I’m an ’86. Younger than you.” Lin Ze sighed.

He suddenly felt old. The wear and tear of reporting under sun and wind had taken its toll. To be outshone by an ’84 baby who looked like a post-’90s kid, working as a barista.

At 1 p.m., Lin Ze stepped out into the blazing sun to transfer money to his younger brother. A message came in from the trainer:

Fitness Coach: [Off work. Wanna grab lunch?]

Lin Ze agreed. The trainer added: [Meet me uphill at Starlight 68’s entrance. Red car.]

The bank happened to be across from the uphill road. Lin Ze turned and saw a red BMW parked outside.

Lin Ze thought, Wow, rich guy.

He pushed open the door—and froze.

At that moment, it was as if music swelled in his ears, like a movie scene where the male (?) lead makes his grand entrance. The BMW’s door opened, and out stepped a tall, imposing man in sunglasses, an expensive watch, a floral shirt, and dress pants.

His hair was cropped short—not a buzz cut, but just right, like a male model’s. As he turned, sunlight glinted off his watch, nearly blinding Lin Ze.

For a second, Lin Ze felt the spark of love at first sight.

Then the man strode into the mall without a glance. Behind the BMW, someone waved at Lin Ze.

Lin Ze: “…”

“I’m Huang Ruiguang,” the man introduced himself with a smile.

Dressed in a tank top, cropped pants, and white sneakers, he was tanned, muscular, and very much the Fitness Coach type.

Lin Ze nodded, feeling a pang of regret—judging by appearances and materialism was wrong. But if that tall, rich, handsome guy hadn’t gotten out of the car, the contrast wouldn’t have hit him so hard.