Chapter 43

Zheng Jie returned to the back seat of the car, glanced at his phone, then at Lin Ze, and fell asleep shortly after, clearly exhausted.

He probably hadn’t slept well the night before. Lin Ze noticed this and, after some activity and chatting, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Everyone in the car was engaged in casual conversation. It seemed this trip would bring the department’s employees much closer, as everyone had brought along their family or loved ones, offering a chance to learn about each other’s lives outside work.

Zheng Jie’s head tilted and rested on Lin Ze’s shoulder. Like a magician, Lin Ze pulled out some snacks to share with their colleagues, laughing as he joined their discussions—current affairs, gossip, political changes. His voice was soft, and he knew when to steer the conversation away from sensitive topics. The others, seemingly also sleep-deprived, soon dozed off after chatting for a while.

Two hours into the ride, at around 11:30, Lin Ze grew bored again and opened Jack’d, seeing Hong online.

Lin Ze: [Had lunch yet? Not going out today?]

Hong: [Weekends are the busiest. I’m swamped. How’s the hot spring?]

Lin Ze: [Haven’t arrived yet. Still in the car.]

Hong: [Send me a photo. After that one glance at you in the crowd, I suddenly want to see more of you.]

Lin Ze: [Only if you send me one of yours first.]

Hong: [How about something else?]

Lin Ze: [Like what?]

Hong: [Haven’t decided yet. I’ll give you a gift later.]

Lin Ze: [What do you do? Why are weekends so busy? Running a shop?]

Hong: [Yeah, too many customers. Just about to have lunch.]

Lin Ze: [What book are you reading today? Still Zhou Guoping?]

Hong: [“The Solitaire Mystery” by Jostein Gaarder. Read half yesterday, planning to finish it today.]

Lin Ze: [Haven’t read that one. What’s it about?]

Hong: [A drifter lives alone on a deserted island with only a deck of cards. He talks to them, imagining them as his friends. After three years, the characters in the cards come to life. A lover in an illusory world—if someone lives in your thoughts, it’s as if you’ve already possessed them.]

Lin Ze: [So, being with someone physically doesn’t matter?]

Hong: [For me, no. When I can’t have someone, I imagine them by my side, dating me, doing everything lovers do—shopping, eating together. They live in my fantasies. As long as the fantasy remains unbroken, that love is real to me.]

The car stopped, and everyone got out for lunch. Zheng Jie stepped out to arrange seating with the trip organizer, while Lin Ze disappeared somewhere.

“Where’s A’Ze?” Zheng Jie looked around. “A’Ze!”

Lin Ze returned carrying a crate of oolong tea, handing out bottles to everyone before sitting at the next table to chat with a single female colleague. To others, it might’ve looked like he was flirting, but most of his questions were actually about Zheng Jie—his work, his personality at the office—occasionally making the whole table burst into laughter.

Zheng Jie glanced at Lin Ze from another table. Lin Ze wore a carefree smile, effortlessly engaging everyone in conversation. His table was lively with laughter, while Zheng Jie’s table with the boss seemed dull in comparison.

“You can try bungee jumping this afternoon,” General Manager Wang said while picking up food. “I’m too old for that. I’ll just watch.”

Zheng Jie perked up. “Let’s go bungee jumping this afternoon!”

Lin Ze’s heart sank. The others chimed in, eager for the thrill. Lin Ze wondered why girls these days were so daring but reluctantly agreed, forcing a smile. “Yeah, sounds fun, haha.”

The air was fresh and cool, much more pleasant than the city. By evening, temperatures would drop further, making the hot springs even more inviting. After lunch, Zheng Jie went to get their room keys. They were assigned a single king-sized bed, much to Lin Ze’s embarrassment. Well, at least no one else knew. Zheng Jie tossed their luggage on the bed and dragged Lin Ze out to explore.

The first afternoon was a group activity. The noisy crowd headed into the scenic area while Lin Ze checked the entertainment options on his phone. There were plenty, but bungee jumping…

A fifty-meter tower. Just looking up made Lin Ze’s neck ache.

The group gathered below. Zheng Jie called out, “Who’s in?”

Silence. Zheng Jie cut the silence, “A’Ze and I count as two—”

Lin Ze immediately protested, “No, you go ahead. I’ll cheer you on.”

“Come on—” Zheng Jie pulled him.

The staff aggressively promoted tandem jumps—charging for two while only needing one jump. Zheng Jie insisted, “Let’s do it together.”

“No, no, no!” Lin Ze tried to escape. “I’m scared of heights!”

Was this a joke? Falling from that height—Lin Ze knew the safety rating was 100%, but what if his head hit the platform on the rebound? Zheng Jie turned to the others, who unanimously chimed in, “We’ll sign up after you two try it first!”

Lin Ze cursed inwardly. No one actually wanted to jump; they were just here for the show.

“You can jump together!” The staff pushed the tandem option. Zheng Jie tightened his grip. “Let’s go, A’Ze. If we die, we die together.”

And so, Lin Ze was dragged up.

“Two people, one jump,” Zheng Jie told the staff.

Lin Ze was still dazed as Zheng Jie handed over their belongings. The staff strapped them in, explaining precautions. Lin Ze finally snapped out of it. “Wait!”

“It’s safe. You’ll get addicted after the first jump,” the instructor reassured them. “Just experience it.”

A couple jumped ahead of them, screaming their lungs out. The girl clung to her boyfriend afterward, tears streaming down her face.

“Your turn!” the instructor called. “How do you want to do it?”

“Facing each other, not back-to-back,” Zheng Jie replied.

Lin Ze nodded. The instructor fastened the harnesses, pulling them close. Lin Ze froze—this was awkward. The staff double-checked the straps, leaving Lin Ze and Zheng Jie in a tight embrace.

Thankfully, none of their colleagues had come up. Lin Ze panted, feeling Zheng Jie’s heartbeat against his chest. Their thin summer clothes did little to hide the heat between them. Lin Ze stiffened—oh no, he was getting hard. This was mortifying.

Zheng Jie didn’t seem to notice. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Lin Ze muttered, planning to keep his eyes shut until it was over.

The instructor teased, “Don’t close your eyes! You’ll miss the fun. Ready—one, two, three!”

In Lin Ze’s mind, the majestic theme of Stormwind City from World of Warcraft played—right at the climax.

The next moment, they were pushed off the platform, clinging to each other as they plummeted fifty meters.

“Ahhh—” they screamed in unison.

Spinning through the air, Lin Ze felt an overwhelming rush—as if heaven and earth had vanished, leaving only the two of them, untethered, with nothing but each other.

After the first scream, they fell silent. Zheng Jie buried his face in Lin Ze’s shoulder, arms locked around him. Lin Ze held Zheng Jie’s waist tightly, his vision spinning faster and faster until the cord snapped them back upward.

Lin Ze trembled uncontrollably, a primal reaction. The experience was too fast to process—all he registered was Zheng Jie’s strong chest, his firm grip. They clung tighter, and for those few seconds, Lin Ze felt utterly safe.

At the peak of the rebound, the world spread out below them. Lin Ze decided then—he wouldn’t close his eyes.

They plunged again.

“Ahhh—” This time, Lin Ze shouted excitedly, holding Zheng Jie’s head as something surged inside him—tears of exhilaration.

The second and third bounces were weaker, less intense than the first.

When it ended, they collapsed onto the mat, still holding each other, gasping.

Lin Ze wiped his damp eyes.

“Hey, Zheng Jie.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zheng Jie let go, looking around. “We’re done.”

Lin Ze: “…”

Much later, Lin Ze would look back and wonder—what the hell was Zheng Jie thinking?! If he was scared of heights, why jump?!

[First person perspective: writer]

I couldn’t stop laughing at Lin Ze’s expression. “He really is something. Did you two ever talk about it afterward? The moment I heard ‘bungee jumping,’ I knew you’d fall for each other.”

“I asked him,” Lin Ze replied. “He said everyone was stressed and needed to decompress. He heard bungee jumping helps, so he dragged me along.”

That explanation made some sense, but my first thought was—Zheng Jie was chasing him.

The cold drink shop was closing. Only the two of us and Alaska remained. Lin Ze gestured, “Have you jumped before? No amount of mental prep helps. You just… fall.”

I’d jumped in Guangzhou and knew the feeling, but words couldn’t capture that freefall rush.

“After the first time, a lot of things—a lot of worries—just don’t matter anymore,” I said.

“Exactly.” Lin Ze settled the bill. We walked Alaska home. Outside Bei Cheng Tian Street, crowds spilled out of the cinemas, lining up for taxis.

“But only the first jump feels like that. Hitting the lowest point feels like letting go of everything, and the rebound is like rebirth. It’s like the Zen concept of sudden enlightenment. Once, I climbed the ‘Ladder of the Brave’ at Tiger Leaping Gorge—same feeling. It’s where Yao Maoshu died during his rafting expedition,” I said.

“What’s the ladder like?” Lin Ze asked.

It was long. Our hiking club had trekked to the bottom of Lower Tiger Leaping and ascended via another route—a near-vertical iron ladder bolted to the cliff face, hundreds of meters high, with no alternative path. One misstep meant certain death.

I described it, and Lin Ze looked intrigued. I explained it was a great way to decompress, though terrifying for many.

“The group I climbed with became close friends afterward. At the summit, looking down, it felt like being reborn. One single mom carried her three-year-old daughter up, strapped to her chest—shocked all the guides,” I said. “You leave your old self behind and start thinking about what you really want from life.”

Lin Ze nodded slowly. “Invite me next time. Ever done a tandem bungee jump?”

Sadly, no.

I shook my head. “I can imagine it, though. A friend once said the best way to pick up a gay guy is to take him bungee jumping.”

Lin Ze chuckled. “Really?”

I nodded. “No sky above, no ground below—the only thing you can hold onto is each other. Afterward, your relationship changes. Some people hook up first, then date. But if you want something lasting, that’s not enough. This is like… filling the gap. A shared near-death experience…”

Lin Ze hummed in agreement. I knew he was thinking about Zheng Jie—it wasn’t something simple to explain.

“Do you think Zheng Jie ever liked me?” he asked.

I couldn’t answer that. Honestly, by then, Lin Ze was already inseparable from Zheng Jie. When you’re in love, every glance, every gesture seems meaningful—but most of the time, it’s just overthinking. Guys aren’t subtle when they flirt. Zheng Jie especially wouldn’t play hard to get.

From a friendship perspective, everything was natural. Lin Ze was just reading too much into it.

And overthinking is the first sign of falling in love.

We bought yogurt on the way home.

“Maybe he tried to make himself like you,” I said carefully.

Lin Ze nodded, still pondering.

“Love comes and goes. You date, you break up, you divorce, you remarry,” he said. “Parents pass away, children grow up. But friends? They’re forever.”

I wholeheartedly agreed. “A hedge between keeps friendship green.” The essence lies in distance—time-tested, enduring bonds. True friends can go a decade without meeting, then pick up the phone and talk like no time has passed.

We finished our yogurt.

“See you,” Lin Ze said.

“See you,” I replied.

Back in the elevator, a neighbor exclaimed, “Oh, you got a dog!” Only then did I realize Alaska was still with me—quiet the whole time, not even a whimper when forgotten. Lin Ze had been distracted again, leaving without his dog…

I called him, joking, “Leave 500,000 by the third trash bin downstairs if you want your dog back.”

He was showering when his boyfriend came by later to return borrowed books and retrieve Alaska.

“Any book recommendations?” he asked.

“The Hegemon of Western Chu by Feitian Yexiang,” I shamelessly suggested.

He immediately made a face—I’m pure, don’t corrupt me with your smut—then asked, “What do you two even talk about for so long?”

“Nothing much,” I said.

“Did he mention me?”

“Not yet.”

“His straight childhood friend, then.”

Not wanting to stir jealousy, I said, “A’Ze doesn’t love him. No need to be jealous.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I just wish I had a friend like that.”

Before I could ask more, Lin Ze called, asking his boyfriend to pick up supper. The guy left with the books and the dog.

That night, I thought of my own childhood friends and called them at midnight—only a night owl like me would get sentimental at that hour. Both were asleep with their wives, groggily answering before sneaking out to the balcony for a smoke, chatting until 2 a.m.

Though uncoordinated, their reactions were identical—shocked I’d reached out, worried I was dying, demanding I visit so they could check I wasn’t missing limbs. Did you break up? Get fired? Need money? Spit it out! Reassured, they rambled about setting me up with gay coworkers…

Hanging up, I imagined them laughing about my call later, speculating if I was lonely or guilty, then calling back to tease me about their drinks and food… Wife’s pregnant, prep the red envelope—cash only, no IOUs!

After that, I kept meaning to ask Lin Ze to finish his story but kept missing him. One evening, while I practiced tai chi downstairs, a friend visited—fresh from a terrible breakup, paranoid about HIV after a recent fever.

Awaiting CDC results, he’d reevaluated his life. Over dinner, I introduced him to Lin Ze—turns out they knew each other. Post-results, he decided to emigrate to a marriage-equality country, leaving his assets to his mom, saving up for a new life abroad.

We celebrated at a hotpot place. Nostalgic for home, we planned a photo album for him—snapshots of Chongqing, with stories I’d write on the back, to show foreigners the real China.

That weekend, we met to shoot—teahouses, mahjong by the river, Sichuan opera. Pig-Bear was off working, so only Lin Ze came, camera around his neck.

“Where to start…” Lin Ze mused.

“Hot springs! Hot springs!” I probably looked like a drooling husky begging for treats. Lin Ze nodded, visibly haunted.

I pressed, “Did you two… do it in the hot springs?”

“Of course not!” Lin Ze laughed. “Are you insane? It was an open pool!”

[Third person perspective: Lin Ze]

After the jump, Lin Ze had been unsettled. That evening, light rain fell as they changed into swim trunks for the hot springs.

Lin Ze leaned on the edge, gazing at the misty mountains, the twilight sky. Zheng Jie chatted idly, even rinsing his trunks in the water—making Lin Ze stiffen. Though they’d shared beds for years, they’d rarely seen each other naked since high school swim class.

“They don’t really love me,” Zheng Jie said.

Lin Ze, not listening earlier, pieced it together. “Wasn’t it always like this? Why try now?”

Zheng Jie sighed. “I keep wondering—do they like me, or my salary and apartment? Maybe they’re just tired and want stability. It wouldn’t matter if it was me or someone else.”

“So what now?” Lin Ze asked.

Zheng Jie met his eyes. “I’ll tell the next girl my mom owes two million. If she stays, I’ll marry her!”

Lin Ze: “…”

“That’s pointless. No one would agree.”

“Rongrong did.”

Lin Ze had no rebuttal. He climbed out, dizzy, wrapping himself in a robe. He sat on a lounge chair, legs bare, and checked his iPad.

Hong: [Eaten yet?]

Lin Ze: [No, at the hot springs. Did bungee jumping earlier.]

Hong: [With your childhood friend?]

Lin Ze: [Yeah. Felt… strange.]

Hong: [Fell for him?]

Lin Ze: [No. Scared to.]

Hong: [Being scared means you already have.]

Lin Ze: [Not that simple… I’ll think about it.]

When women arrived, Zheng Jie blushed, hastily pulling on his trunks and robe. Lin Ze nearly choked on his drink.

“Done already?” General Manager Wang smiled.

Zheng Jie sat stiffly. “Haha, yeah.”

That night, after dinner and karaoke (Lin Ze sang Faye Wong’s Legend), they drank until 11 p.m. Lin Ze texted Hong:

Lin Ze: [Goodnight.]

Hong: [Not goodnight.]

Lin Ze grinned, typing in a corner.

Lin Ze: [Acting spoiled? My arms are open.]

Hong: [Fought with my landlord.]

Lin Ze: [I’ve always thought you were cultured.]

Hong: [Why?]

Lin Ze: [You read books, not just browse online.]

Hong: [Not cultured enough.]

Lin Ze: [Experience helps. I used to lose my temper easily. Now I control it better.]

Hong: [When was the last time you got angry?]

Lin Ze recalled.

Lin Ze: [My ex told me he got married. I told him to fuck off.]

Hong: [He deserved it.]

Lin Ze: [But later I realized he wasn’t lying. He was just lost.]

Hong: [So you still care.]

Lin Ze: [I was too harsh. My words hurt him. He left. No idea how he is now.]

Hong: [Time before that?]

Lin Ze: [Him again. Something petty. We fought a lot after we started dating. Not great memories.]

Hong: [So you still care.]

Lin Ze: [He’s gone. Let’s change topics. Why do you like reading?]

Hong: [Strange question. ‘Read ten thousand books, walk ten thousand miles.’ My soul’s trapped—can’t travel, so I live through books.]

Lin Ze: [Where do you work?]

Hong: [You change topics fast.]

Lin Ze: [In Jiangbei? Why never turn on location?]

Hong: [I’d rather not say. Will you block me if I don’t?]

Lin Ze felt guilty—threatening to cut ties wasn’t fair. But if Hong liked him, maybe it showed he cared…

Lin Ze: [Just curious.]

Hong: [Goodnight. Talking to you helped.]

Lin Ze: [Goodnight.]

Zheng Jie snored, facing away. Outside, drunk tourists sang, girls’ laughter light in the night.

Lin Ze studied Zheng Jie, recalling his first love. When had those feelings faded? The answer eluded him.

Maybe, in a way, he and Zheng Jie had always been in love.

Except for sex, they’d done everything couples do. Childhood friends, then Lin Ze fell for him—a few years of passion, then settling into familial closeness.

Lin Ze decided to try living apart. Maybe Zheng Jie would focus on dating, or they’d reevaluate—friendship, or something more.