Chapter 22

The next day, Xie Chenfeng had diarrhea. After Lin Ze got up, he busied himself with changing the sheets, clothes, and wiping Xie Chenfeng’s body. Xie Chenfeng seemed uncomfortable and wanted to do it himself but lacked the strength. When Lin Ze took off his clothes, he saw Xie Chenfeng’s emaciated body—he was already skin and bones, just like the patients he’d seen on TV. Lin Ze lifted him and realized how light he was—a man nearly six feet tall now weighed only around 120 pounds.

Xie Chenfeng looked lost, like a child. His expression betrayed his fear—fear that Lin Ze would see how thin he was, proof that he was dying. He was afraid of making Lin Ze sad but didn’t know what to do.

Lin Ze pulled the blanket over Xie Chenfeng, his eyes red as he looked at him. Xie Chenfeng pleaded, “Let me do it. Don’t touch me.”

“Just lie still,” Lin Ze replied, stroking Xie Chenfeng’s head. “I’ll be back soon.”

Lin Ze carried the soiled sheets out to change them. When he returned, Xie Chenfeng was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. After remaking the bed, Lin Ze forced himself to sound cheerful. “I’ll buy you some new clothes. It’s the New Year—your uncle’s treating you.”

Xie Chenfeng chuckled weakly. Lin Ze lay beside him, scrolling through Taobao on his phone. “Do you like suits? I’ve hardly ever seen you wear one. How about a linen suit?”

Xie Chenfeng rested his head on Lin Ze’s arm, studying the screen. “This one looks nice.”

“No extra-large sizes…” Lin Ze searched for a while before finding a Korean-style brown suit, then started looking for matching trousers. He glanced at Xie Chenfeng, imagining how he’d look in it. But in that moment, he noticed Xie Chenfeng’s condition had worsened overnight—his eyes were sunken, his lips colorless, his hair patchy and thin.

“Mmm…” Lin Ze murmured. “This one should look good on you.”

Xie Chenfeng asked, “Do they have matching couples’ sets? You should get one too.”

Lin Ze laughed. “They don’t have male-male couples’ sets, just male-female. Let’s get this one—the styles are similar.”

He bought two sets, paid, and added, “I’ll go grab some snacks. It’s New Year’s Day—let’s eat and watch TV.”

Xie Chenfeng smiled. “Go ahead. Get some chocolate.”

Lin Ze stepped outside the hospital and sat on the back steps, lighting a cigarette. His eyes burned as he roughly ran his hands through his hair, the pain inside him suffocating. He wanted to scream but couldn’t. He just sat there, staring blankly at the pinwheel spinning outside Xie Chenfeng’s window across the courtyard.

After finishing his cigarette, he bought snacks and, on his way back, stopped at a flower shop. The girl working there was gentle. Seeing Lin Ze pick out red roses, she asked, “For your lover?”

“Yeah,” Lin Ze replied, his mood steadier now. He smiled at her. “Can I get a discount if I buy more?”

The girl hesitated. “Well… depends how many. Flower prices aren’t cheap this year…”

Lin Ze picked out two dozen red roses, wrapped them in newspaper, and tucked them under his arm. When he returned to the room, Xie Chenfeng was lying in bed, convulsing.

“What’s wrong?” Lin Ze rushed over and held him. “Are you in pain?”

Tears streaked Xie Chenfeng’s face. Lin Ze helped him sit up, holding him close. Xie Chenfeng choked out, “A’Ze, I don’t want to die… We’ve barely had any time together…”

Lin Ze closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Xie Chenfeng’s shoulder. Xie Chenfeng’s breathing was ragged, his lungs wheezing like a broken bellows, the sound of a dying animal. Something in his soul was crumbling brick by brick. Lin Ze knew nothing he said would help, so after a moment, he asked, “Want to go see a movie tonight?”

Xie Chenfeng nodded. “Okay.”

Once Xie Chenfeng calmed down, Lin Ze helped him lie back. When his condition stabilized, Lin Ze stepped out and asked a nurse, “Can I borrow some vases? Even water bottles will do.”

The nurse brought a few cut-off water bottles. Lin Ze filled them and arranged the roses—five vases in total. The room instantly brightened under the sunlight, filled with their fragrance. Xie Chenfeng took a deep breath, his mood lifting.

Lin Ze lay beside him, admiring his handiwork, then opened the snacks and fed Xie Chenfeng a piece. Suddenly, Xie Chenfeng asked, “How much longer do I have? Did the doctor say?”

Lin Ze froze, then replied, “I didn’t ask. I don’t know.”

Xie Chenfeng nodded and didn’t bring it up again. Lin Ze added, “Sleep if you’re tired. You woke up too early today.”

Xie Chenfeng nodded weakly and lay flat. Lin Ze’s mind wasn’t on the TV. After a while, he trimmed Xie Chenfeng’s fingernails and toenails. Before lunch, the doctor came for rounds. Lin Ze walked him out and asked, “Can I take Xie Lei out to a movie tonight?”

The doctor’s expression darkened. “No! Are you joking? It’s freezing outside—if he catches a cold, it’s no laughing matter.”

Lin Ze frowned. “Wait—”

He wanted to say Xie Chenfeng only had days left—why keep him locked in a hospital room? Why not let him be happy? But looking at the doctor, he knew the man meant well and was just doing his job. So he changed tack. “I’ll push him in a wheelchair, wrap him in blankets, and be back by nine. I won’t let him catch a cold.”

“No, no,” the doctor snapped. “This is absurd! Can’t you watch something here? Rent a DVD player if you have to!”

Lin Ze followed him. “We just want to walk around nearby. Or skip the movie—just wheel him outside for a bit. Is that okay?”

The doctor refused outright. Finally, he turned and said, “Your community already gets a lot of leeway. Don’t push it. Our jobs are hard enough—the public doesn’t understand this disease. Try explaining that watching a movie in public won’t spread it—no one will listen. If the media finds out we let an AIDS patient in the symptomatic phase go to the movies, who’s taking responsibility?”

Lin Ze followed him to the office but was shut out. Frustrated, he returned to feed Xie Chenfeng lunch.

Xie Chenfeng was listless, barely eating. Lin Ze coaxed, “Not feeling well? Have some soup.”

“My stomach hurts a little,” Xie Chenfeng murmured.

Lin Ze helped him into a wheelchair for the bathroom, but Xie Chenfeng had already soiled himself. Lin Ze said, “I’ll buy you some diapers later.”

Xie Chenfeng, already embarrassed, burst into teary laughter at that. His expression dimmed, but Lin Ze added, “If we spent our lives together, and I grew old and couldn’t take care of myself, you’d do the same for me.”

Xie Chenfeng smiled. “Yeah.”

Lin Ze bustled about, washing Xie Chenfeng’s pants while thinking about their evening plans. Xie Chenfeng lay in bed, flipping through Lin Ze’s phone. He took a photo of himself—gaunt and pale but smiling—with Lin Ze in the background, washing pants by the sink.

Lin Ze smiled as he scrubbed, the pinwheel spinning outside the window.

“A’Ze,” Xie Chenfeng suddenly asked, “what are you thinking about?”

Lin Ze turned. Xie Chenfeng’s face was even paler now, his cheeks hollow like a skull. He smiled at Lin Ze, who wrung out the pants and replied, “Forget the movie. How about the supermarket? We could wheel you there.”

“Can we go out?” Xie Chenfeng asked.

Lin Ze answered, “We’ll sneak out. I’ll bundle you up so you don’t catch a cold, or the doctor will kill me—”

“Ding-dong!” The door swung open, startling them both. Zheng Jie walked in with flowers. “Happy New Year!”

Lin Ze’s heart swirled with emotions—laughter and tears tangled together. He hugged Zheng Jie, then kicked him lightly, scolding with a grin, “What are you doing here?!”

Zheng Jie beamed. “Came to see Xiao Lei Zi—wow, you’ve made this place cozy! Flowers everywhere!”

Xie Chenfeng struggled to prop himself up. “Did you book a hotel? When did you get here?”

Zheng Jie stepped aside, revealing Situ Ye behind him. “Brought someone else too.”

Situ Ye smiled at Xie Chenfeng. “Hello. I came to see you.”

Xie Chenfeng nodded. Lin Ze fetched another vase until the room overflowed with flowers. Situ Ye was quiet, but Zheng Jie kept up a steady stream of chatter to cheer Xie Chenfeng. They explained that after Lin Ze’s call yesterday, Zheng Jie had worried. Situ Ye happened to call, offering to drive him and his blind date around. On impulse, they parked at the airport, bought standby tickets, and flew over.

Lin Ze asked, “How’d the date go?”

Zheng Jie sighed. “Flamed out. She wanted tall, rich, and handsome. Laozi is broke as hell, just here to crash the party.”

Just then, Chen Kai arrived with a few of Xie Chenfeng’s friends. The room buzzed with laughter as they drank tea and snacked. Chen Kai asked about Zheng Jie, who happily shared his misfortunes, leaving everyone in stitches. Finally, Zheng Jie waved it off. “Enough, enough. Got any food? I’m starving.”

Lin Ze asked, “Any good places nearby?”

“I’ll take you two out,” Chen Kai offered.

Situ Ye nodded, tidying up. “A’Ze, we’ll find a hotel and come back tonight.”

“You should tour Guangzhou,” Xie Chenfeng said. “Brother Kai, show them around. No need to stay for me. A’Ze, you go too.”

Lin Ze knew Xie Chenfeng didn’t truly want him to leave. “Too cold out. I’ll stay. We’ll call later.”

Zheng Jie and Situ Ye left to check in and eat—it was already 3 p.m. Once they were gone, the room felt empty again. Xie Chenfeng’s mood had lifted. Lin Ze lay beside him, an arm around him, idly scrolling on his phone.

“A friend like Zheng Jie is great,” Xie Chenfeng remarked. “Too bad he’s straight. Ever thought of bending him?”

“Why?” Lin Ze replied. “No friend, no matter how close, can replace a lover. Even if he bent, it wouldn’t be the same.”

“Does Situ Ye like you?”

Lin Ze glanced at him. “Not sure about that, but he’s definitely jealous of you.”

Xie Chenfeng laughed.

“We’re close,” Lin Ze continued, “but he’s into delicate, pretty bottoms. He just found one recently.”

“Did they sleep together? Tell him not to hook up casually. He shouldn’t end up like me.”

Lin Ze hummed. “I warned him. He’s into platonic relationships—so far, he’s never slept with anyone. He dates until they’re head over heels, then bolts right before things get physical.”

Xie Chenfeng laughed incredulously. “People like that exist?”

Lin Ze stroked Xie Chenfeng’s face—haggard but still beloved. He kissed his forehead, feeling the feverish heat. Xie Chenfeng had been sweating all afternoon, perhaps from the excitement of visitors.

“Hot?” Lin Ze helped him sit up, reaching under his gown to wipe his bony, damp back. Xie Chenfeng leaned into him, too weak to hold himself up. Once Lin Ze settled him back, Xie Chenfeng exhaled shakily.

Lin Ze called a nurse to check his temperature—Xie Chenfeng had a fever.

“No going out today,” Lin Ze said. “We’ll go when the fever breaks.”

Xie Chenfeng nodded.

“Sleep if you’re tired. I’ll be here,” Lin Ze added.

He sat by the bed, playing with Xie Chenfeng’s slender fingers. Xie Chenfeng closed his eyes wearily. Lin Ze kissed his fingers, their hands entwined. That afternoon, Xie Chenfeng drifted in and out of sleep, his breathing labored and wet. Each time he woke, he called Lin Ze’s name, saw him, and slept again.

At 6 p.m., Zheng Jie and Situ Ye returned. They’d checked in. Situ Ye looked at Xie Chenfeng, holding back words.

“A’Ze, go eat with them. I’ll rest,” Xie Chenfeng said.

Lin Ze agreed but didn’t go. He just stepped outside for a smoke, updated the two, then returned to Xie Chenfeng. That night, Xie Chenfeng coughed relentlessly, his fever unbroken. Lin Ze knew the end had come—it was time to prepare.

The next afternoon, after examining Xie Chenfeng, the doctor pulled Lin Ze into the hall. “His organs are failing. Complicated by enteritis. The diarrhea will continue—it’ll be hard on you.”

Lin Ze finally asked, “How much longer does he have?”

“Hard to say. If things go well, six or seven days.”

Back in the room, Xie Chenfeng was awake, staring blankly at Lin Ze. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Lin Ze leaned in and kissed him—softly, on the lips. Xie Chenfeng’s trembling hand reached under the pillow.

“What do you need? Let me,” Lin Ze asked.

Xie Chenfeng guided Lin Ze’s hand to a small box. The sight of it brought Lin Ze back to half a year ago, in Xie Chenfeng’s Chongqing apartment—the drawer where he’d found a ring box. Inside were two 925 silver rings. One had its engraving filed smooth, leaving a bare band. The other still read “Lin Ze.”

Xie Chenfeng placed the box in Lin Ze’s palm without a word.

That night, Xie Chenfeng slipped into a coma. Lin Ze watched the IV drip, counting the drops until he dozed off, woke, slept fitfully, and woke again to check Xie Chenfeng’s fever.

The next day—New Year’s Day 2—Zheng Jie and Situ Ye visited with food for Lin Ze and snacks Xie Chenfeng could eat. But Xie Chenfeng remained unconscious, so Lin Ze sent them to Baiyun Mountain.

On Day 3, the newspaper office called, urging Lin Ze to return. He asked for more leave. They were short on photographers, so Situ Ye flew back to help. Chen Kai came that morning, signaling Lin Ze to talk outside. In the hall, he said, “A’Ze.”

“Time to arrange things?” Lin Ze asked quietly.

“Not yet,” Chen Kai replied. “Let’s see if he improves. If not, the hospital can guide you. I’d stay, but another CDC called—a kid just tested positive and is struggling…”

“Go. It’s fine,” Lin Ze cut in.

Chen Kai hesitated. “Lei Zi, he… ah.”

“I’m with him. He’s content. Really, go. How old’s the kid? Gay?”

Chen Kai nodded.

“I’ll call if anything happens. My childhood friend’s here with me,” Lin Ze said.

After a few more instructions, Chen Kai left.

Zheng Jie bought books from Tianhe Stadium’s bookstore and read in the room. He wasn’t much help with caregiving, just watching the IV or checking if Xie Chenfeng woke while Lin Ze slept.

On Day 4, while Lin Ze was out shopping, Xie Chenfeng briefly woke.

Back in the hall, Lin Ze asked, “What did he say?”

“Not much,” Zheng Jie replied. “Just that he’s sorry—worried you’d never move on after he’s gone, that he’d burden you forever… Where’d you go?”

Lin Ze showed him a funeral home card. “Bought some things. Called about arrangements—the hospital recommended them.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow, A’Ze. The main store’s furious. If I don’t go back, I’m fired,” Zheng Jie said.

“Go. It’s okay. I can handle it,” Lin Ze assured him.

Zheng Jie left for Chongqing that day, leaving Lin Ze alone. On Day 5, A’Kong visited but didn’t stay long. Xie Chenfeng was still asleep. After a brief chat, A’Kong left. Lin Ze could tell he couldn’t bear to look—could sense his fear of death, knowing he’d end up like Xie Chenfeng one day.

But who wouldn’t? The only difference was timing. Watching the IV drip, Lin Ze couldn’t help thinking about his own eventual end—wondering who’d sit by his bed when the time came.

Life was a journey—long or short, joyful or bitter. But no matter the path or unfulfilled dreams, death came for all. Xie Chenfeng was just leaving a little earlier.

On Day 6, Xie Chenfeng didn’t wake. The Taobao delivery arrived—Lin Ze signed for it and unwrapped the clothes. They’d have looked good, but Xie Chenfeng was too emaciated to wear them now. Lin Ze needed to step out to finalize arrangements but feared Xie Chenfeng might wake alone. Still, he had no choice. Following the hospital’s referrals, he visited funeral homes. Not speaking Cantonese, he was overcharged but said nothing.

The next morning was windless, the pinwheel outside motionless. Xie Chenfeng’s fingers twitched. Lin Ze, dozing by the bed, jolted awake.

Xie Chenfeng weakly raised his hand. Lin Ze knew what he wanted—he took it and pressed it to his own head. Xie Chenfeng’s lips moved. Lin Ze read the words: “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Lin Ze said.

On Day 7—the day of Nuwa’s creation of mankind—at 9:15 a.m., Xie Chenfeng died.

His cold body lay on the bed. After the doctor’s check, Lin Ze drew the sheet over Xie Chenfeng’s face, the fabric draping over his skeletal feet. He wheeled the body to the morgue. “See you next life, little one.”

A nurse brought forms for the family to sign. Lin Ze spent the afternoon on paperwork. At 1 p.m., the funeral home collected the body for preparation. With no family reachable, Lin Ze oversaw a simple farewell. He called Chen Kai, who couldn’t make it, but a few of Xie Chenfeng’s friends came. They watched as the mortician dressed Xie Chenfeng in his new clothes. By 4 p.m., he was cremated. Lin Ze waited outside for the ashes.

After collecting them, he went to Xie Chenfeng’s apartment, packing his belongings. There, he found an envelope—a rough, unofficial will.

Xie Chenfeng had little to leave, but it was all for Lin Ze. He’d written it after his CD4 test, knowing his time was short. Originally, he’d planned to leave the savings—and the rings—for Lin Ze quietly after his death in Guangzhou. But in the end, he’d brought the rings to the hospital.

Perhaps, deep down, he’d believed Lin Ze would come.

The will mentioned keeping the ashes in Guangzhou temporarily, with Lin Ze to decide their final resting place. One line read:

“A’Ze, I wanted to live—to earn enough in ten years to buy you a home and car, to give you a good life. But it seems I can’t. This money isn’t much, but it’s all I have. Please don’t disdain it.”

After reading it, Lin Ze called Chen Kai. He left the bedding, clothes, and phone for future HIV-positive tenants, settling Xie Chenfeng’s rent and utilities. Then, from Xie Chenfeng’s savings and his own, he bought Chen Kai a 2,000-yuan TV for his living room—a thank-you gift. Future residents could enjoy it too.

Chen Kai, still away, invited Lin Ze to stay longer for a proper goodbye meal. Lin Ze, tidying up with headphones on, said, “Work’s pushing me to return. Let’s meet in Chongqing next time. Maybe I’ll switch to NGO work—we’ll cross paths again.”

Chen Kai laughed. “Sounds good. Looking forward to it. Where should Lei Zi’s ashes go? Should I take them to his hometown?”

“Can I bring them to Chongqing? The will said I could decide. He has no family left. I’ll keep them there for now—easier to visit during Qingming. Maybe take them to Guizhou later, or make a trip in a few years. Is that okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Chen Kai replied. “You’ve worked hard.”

That night, Lin Ze waited at the airport until morning, then flew back to Chongqing with the ashes, returning to his life.

[First person perspective: writer]

I asked, “You didn’t stay in Guangzhou longer? Talking to others might’ve helped.”

“I wasn’t upset. I’d prepared, so I didn’t even cry then,” Lin Ze sipped his coffee. “Handling the arrangements, I felt calm the whole time. It wasn’t until spring in Chongqing, outside Yanghe Stadium…”

That day, Lin Ze finished the article Li Tongguang wanted and emailed it. After work, sorting through his phone photos, he found one he’d missed—a selfie Xie Chenfeng had taken. Pale, gaunt, but smiling happily, with Lin Ze in the background, washing pants, turning to say something.

Seeing it, Lin Ze realized they’d never taken a proper photo together—this was their only one, in such a place, at such a time.

He got off the light rail, walking home in the spring rain. The mountain city was veiled in misty blue-gray. Workers were clearing the stadium’s field—spring was coming, new life sprouting.

Lin Ze stood outside, fingers gripping the chain-link fence. A janitor cleaning the equipment shed found a deflated soccer ball and rat-chewed gloves Xie Chenfeng had hidden there.

Lin Ze called out, “Can I have those? I’ll pay.”

The janitor tossed them over, refusing payment. “Some student must’ve stashed ’em.”

Lin Ze held the ball, staring at the stadium. The fence sliced the sky into fragments.

He remembered last summer’s storm—the rain, the stadium lights.

Xie Chenfeng crouched as goalkeeper, grinning handsomely in his gloves, then turned slightly, letting Lin Ze’s shot roll past with a nudge of his heel.

Lin Ze pressed his forehead to the fence and wept.

“It’s hard to describe,” Lin Ze murmured. “Have you read Bai Xianyong? Writing about his lover Wang Guoxiang—long after Wang’s death, Bai sat in the garden they’d designed together, looking through the gap between two trees…”

I replied, “Through the gap, the azure sky and drifting clouds—a crack in the heavens even Nuwa’s stones couldn’t mend.”

Lin Ze nodded. “Yes. That’s it. A crack even Nuwa couldn’t mend.”

“But I’ve heard another saying,” I added, splitting the last two cigarettes, crushing the pack. “Heaven gives you love not to take it from your soul in the end.”

Lin Ze seemed moved. “Who came up with that?”

“Me,” I replied, lighting his cigarette.

Lin Ze: “…”

Coffee finished, Bei Cheng Tian Street lit up as we headed home. Crowds bustled under bright lights. At his building, Lin Ze waved. “Bye. Let’s hang out again.”

—• Morning Wind Soaring • End—