Chapter 47 – The Ending

That afternoon, Situ Ye went back to pack his things and returned home with Lin Ze.

Seeing him, Lin Ze felt heartbroken. At 176 cm tall, Situ Ye had lost so much weight that he was down to only 55 kg. Lin Ze took him out for a good meal and told him to quit his job, saying he’d take him to see a traditional Chinese doctor the next day for recuperation. He chattered nonstop like an old mother hen the whole way. Situ Ye listened and eventually smiled.

“You’ll quit your job tomorrow—no, just call and tell them,” Lin Ze instructed in the elevator.

“What would I do after quitting?”

“Stay home, sleep, and gain weight. I’ll take care of you.”

“I might actually take you seriously.”

“I mean it!”

As soon as Lin Ze opened the door and stepped inside, he pulled Situ Ye into his arms, pressed him against the door, and kissed him. Situ Ye was thin and haggard, his hair a mess like wild grass. At first, he seemed a bit nervous and tried to push Lin Ze away, but Lin Ze grabbed his hands and wrapped them around his own neck, signaling Situ Ye to hold him.

The two kissed by the door for a while, finally feeling like things were back to normal. Lin Ze’s lips trembled slightly, and when they parted, he couldn’t resist kissing him again. Situ Ye let him, holding him as Lin Ze kissed him deeply. Lin Ze could feel both of them getting aroused.

He set his things down and told Situ Ye to sit while he fetched a towel for him. “Go take a shower first.”

“Xu Hui!” Lin Ze knocked on the door, but there was no response. He didn’t push it open.

Standing outside, Situ Ye muttered, “Last time, you also told me to quit my job. I was ready to follow you, and then what? Look how miserable I ended up—all because of you!”

Lin Ze went to his room. “But I didn’t see you being any good at housework either. Even warming the bed took forever… Why’d you run away? You brought this on yourself, and you dragged me down with you…”

Situ Ye didn’t respond, picking up Lin Ze’s iPad to browse. Lin Ze came out and held out a few bank cards.

“Here, this is for you.”

He stacked them together. “From now on, you’ll manage the money. The password is this one—you can change it if you want. You can give me an allowance. I’m handing all financial authority over to you.”

A faint smile tugged at Situ Ye’s lips. Lin Ze leaned on the table, studying his expression. “Let’s buy a house, wifey. I haven’t touched the 300,000 you gave me last time. If we don’t buy soon, prices will just keep rising.”

Situ Ye thought for a moment. “Sure, you decide.”

Lin Ze held his fingers. “Don’t leave again. I can’t lose you.”

“Can you not be so cheesy? If you keep this up, I really will have to leave.”

Lin Ze laughed. “I’m not good with words. I don’t know how to say it right.”

Situ Ye looked at Lin Ze for a while, as if understanding something.

“Is there money in this card?”

“Yes, it’s the money you transferred before. It’s enough for a down payment and renovations. I’ll handle the mortgage. The cards are all yours now—you call the shots. No need to work anymore.”

“That’s not right…”

As they spoke, a stranger walked out of Xu Hui’s room. Lin Ze and Situ Ye both turned to look at him. Lin Ze greeted, “Hello.”

The man ignored them, strutting around in a thong before heading to the bathroom. Situ Ye’s expression twitched as he glanced questioningly at Lin Ze, who shook his head blankly, indicating he didn’t know him either.

“Xu Hui!”

Lin Ze wanted to thank him, and Xu Hui responded from his room. A moment later, another person walked out—completely naked. Upon seeing Lin Ze and Situ Ye, he immediately retreated and closed the door, only to reopen it later with a towel wrapped around his waist.

Lin Ze: “…”

Situ Ye: “…”

“What does this guy do?” Situ Ye asked.

Lin Ze: “I don’t know… He hasn’t brought anyone home these past few days…”

The first guy was showering in their bathroom, while the second, now wrapped in a towel, counted out money for Xu Hui.

“How much does your friend charge per night?” The man, cigarette dangling from his mouth, eyed Lin Ze.

Xu Hui immediately protested, “They’re not like that! Don’t say nonsense!”

Lin Ze exploded on the spot. Situ Ye stood up to leave, but Lin Ze shouted, “Wait!”

Situ Ye stepped outside, clearly on the verge of yelling. Lin Ze called, “Xu Hui!”

Xu Hui came out. The two men took turns showering and lingered around the apartment, making Lin Ze furious enough to want to throw hands. Xu Hui, seeing their expressions darken, realized things were bad. Situ Ye didn’t even want to speak.

“I’ll go back to my place for now,” Situ Ye muttered.

“Wait,” Lin Ze cut in. “I need to talk to him first.”

They waited in the hallway until the men left. Lin Ze had initially wanted to explode and kick Xu Hui out on the spot, but with three against two, a fight could risk injuring Situ Ye. Besides, Xu Hui had helped earlier when Situ Ye returned, running up and down to keep him from leaving. Remembering that kindness, Lin Ze held back from outright confrontation.

“Wait here for me,” Lin Ze told Situ Ye. He went downstairs to withdraw money, taking out Xu Hui’s rent and deposit. By the time he returned, the two men had left. Lin Ze slammed the door and snapped at Xu Hui, “You’ve been turning my place into a brothel?! And taking on threesomes?!”

Xu Hui lowered his head. “Sorry, it won’t happen again…”

“No, I don’t want trouble, and I don’t want to risk catching something. Here’s your deposit and rent back. Move out tomorrow.”

“I won’t do it again!” Xu Hui pleaded.

“No discussion. I don’t want to argue—it’ll just get ugly. You’ve got one day. No exceptions.”

Situ Ye went in to grab his bag, and Lin Ze took his keys, following him downstairs.

“This really has nothing to do with me, Situ. I just rented the room to him—we barely even talked… I swear I barely know him…” Lin Ze explained.

Situ Ye, torn between laughter and exasperation, arched a brow. “Do you think I’m that petty?”

Realizing he was overreacting, Lin Ze chuckled helplessly.

Situ Ye turned around, and the two stood in the middle of Bei Cheng Tian Street. Lin Ze reached for his hand, and they walked into the night together.

[First person perspective: writer]

“Then what?” I only cared about one thing.

Lin Ze raised his camera to take a photo. “Then we went back to his rented place and slept there for the night. That guy moved out, obviously.”

I pressed, “Did you do it?”

Lin Ze glanced at me with a smirk.

I knew they definitely had. I pushed further, “Top or bottom? I mean, most of the time.”

“Of course top. I’ve always been a top. What, is that weird? Occasionally, I’ll switch to 0.5.”

I wondered if Situ Ye, who had never done it before, might have been traumatized by going straight into penetration. “Were you… good at it?”

Lin Ze looked at me strangely. “Hell yeah, Laozi’s got skills. What, you doubting me? Huh?”

It took me a second to realize I’d just been teased.

“That night…” I continued.

“This isn’t part of what you’re writing, kid.”

“I’m just curious. I won’t include it.”

“His rented place was right behind here… Watch your step, don’t get jostled.”

Ciqikou was crowded, but we talked freely, knowing no one would pay attention amid the noise. Lin Ze pointed behind us. “Right there. It was stuffy and hot, just a tiny bed like a prison cell. We did it for the first time there, held each other and slept. Woke up sweating in the middle of the night and went to sit by the river, dozing off. That male escort actually did me a huge favor…”

“You really didn’t spare the bottom, huh? Reunited after so long, no foreplay, just straight to business. Did you at least use lube?”

Lin Ze smirked, fiddling with his camera. “Dabao.”

I nodded. Dabao was famously used as a makeshift lubricant.

“I was a bit rough, but I couldn’t help it. I missed him too much.”

“Then what? What happened next?”

Lin Ze led me to a peculiar shop where people got their ears cleaned and feet massaged. A handsome guy who looked a bit like Wang Leehom was in charge of ear cleaning. As Lin Ze got his ears cleaned, he went on, “The next day, that guy—what was his name again?—moved out. Just make up a name for him; no need to write too much about him. I just find it wild that I ended up with someone like that—turning my place into a brothel, even taking on double bookings…”

“At least he delivered to your door. Bet he’s got stories too. I’ve never interviewed someone like that.”

“It’s not that I have anything against renting to… those kinds of people. But if he brings clients over and they start using our razors or something…”

“Mhm,” I hummed, getting my ears cleaned by an uncle (why did Lin Ze get the handsome one?!), “Can you still contact him?”

Lin Ze: “You could pay for an escort, just to chat under the covers and hear his stories.”

I: “Nah… What if he pins me down and I end up paying him? That’d be a total loss. Anyway, what happened next?”

Lin Ze: “After that, I went back and threw out all the shared bathroom stuff. There were stains on his bedsheet—probably from double penetration…”

I: “Okay, stop, no more.”

Lin Ze: “I thought you were into hardcore stuff. Can’t handle it?”

I: “Fine. Were there roundworms on the sheet? Or undigested water spinach? Enoki mushrooms? Describe it.”

Lin Ze immediately surrendered: “I was wrong.”

I asked, “After Situ came back, then what?”

Lin Ze: “Oh, after he came back, he quit his job and stayed home to recuperate. He gradually got better, and his stomach issues improved after I force-fed him Chinese medicine. After Spring Festival, I had Zheng Jie find him a job teaching kids.”

I: “Do you guys fight?”

Lin Ze: “We fought every day for a while. Over the dumbest things—coming home late, arguing while he taught me to drive, if the food was too salty, not finishing meals, taking too long to get into bed in winter, forgetting to pick up Taobao deliveries… Every time, I was the one apologizing. Damn, I’ve been completely tamed. He’s my kryptonite… Don’t write that part in the book. He’ll scold me if he sees it.”

I decided not to include the details of their fights, but Lin Ze and Situ’s dynamic reminded me of how Pig-Bear would obediently apologize after our heated arguments.

The handsome ear-cleaning guy offered, “All couples fight. Quarrel at the head of the bed, make up at the foot.”

Lin Ze, enjoying his ear cleaning, agreed, “Exactly.”

I asked, “What do you love about him?”

Lin Ze: “I don’t know. It’s just… happiness. It feels like having a home. Coming back every day to bicker. I’m completely wrapped around his finger. If we didn’t love each other, we wouldn’t even fight. There are all these little thoughtful things too—like coming home to find my favorite fruit on the coffee table… Or sitting together at the end of the month, budgeting, planning trips, mapping out routes, making love all the way from Dunhuang to Tibet… Don’t write that last part. But spending a lifetime with him would be pure joy.”

The ear-cleaning guy chuckled. “Sounds nice. Your wife must be sweet.”

I: “Did you go to Madrid?”

Lin Ze: “Not yet. Still paying off the mortgage, too many expenses. Can’t splurge. A trip like that would cost at least 20,000 to 30,000.”

I: “You could totally cry poor to his mom and ask for support.”

Lin Ze: “Ugh, a man can be useless, but he can’t mooch off his mother-in-law. We’ll go when we have the money.”

I asked, “Have you thought about getting married abroad? A marriage certificate would be safer.”

The ear-cleaning guy seemed to catch on.

Lin Ze: “Nah. Look at us—how could we ever break up? We’re stuck with each other. We bought a place with his money for the down payment. Still renovating. You guys should visit when it’s done.”

I: “Whose name is on the deed?”

Lin Ze: “Does it matter?”

I thought about it and realized it didn’t. At this stage, whose name was on it was irrelevant. I asked, “Any regrets about being ‘stuck’?”

Lin Ze smiled. “You know how it is—only the wearer knows if the shoe fits. Nothing’s ever perfect, but having a home feels amazing. There was a time when I’d think, ‘Coming home every day to see him waiting for me—even if he’s not doing anything, just being there makes me happy.’ You should slow down too. Always running around—spend more time at home with your guy.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks, A’Ze.”

After the ear cleaning, we lounged on recliners for foot massages. It was rare to have a day with nothing to do, just lying around spacing out.

Lin Ze’s phone rang—his boyfriend had woken up and was coming to meet us for dinner. I called Pig-Bear to join us. As the sun set over the river, the heat lingered. We ate Qianjiang chicken gizzards at a riverside restaurant. His boyfriend parked behind Bei Cheng Tian Street and chatted with Pig-Bear as they led us to dessert.

And so, we spent a wonderful, happy day… like a primary school diary entry.

That night, I started organizing the third part of the story. Reading through it, I felt something was missing, so I planned to talk to his boyfriend before wrapping it up. Lin Ze still hadn’t read the full story, only skimmed parts, but he praised it lavishly and urged me to keep writing, not to abandon it.

Seizing this weakness, I threatened that I couldn’t finish unless he handed over his boyfriend—otherwise, I’d have to drop it.

But fate had other plans. During seven straight days of 42°C heat, I faced my most grueling business trip of the summer—nearly 20 days on the road. When I finally returned, the chaos Pig-Bear had unleashed at home left me speechless.

One afternoon, while organizing drafts at home, Lin Ze’s boyfriend called, asking if I’d eaten and if I wanted to meet at Bei Cheng Tian Street to chat. I quickly extricated myself from chores and headed to Starbucks.

He was texting, saying, “Eat—eat—remember lunch,” while waving at me.

I’d already eaten, so I pulled up a chair and asked, “Is Lin Ze on a business trip?”

Alaska lay lazily at his feet, tail wagging like a broom.

He nodded. “Interviewing at Jinyun Mountain. He’ll be back tonight.”

I asked, “What do you do now?”

He yawned. “Teach English to kids. Why are you so busy? Your guy’s always eating alone outside. It’s sad.”

“I’ve been running around these past few months. It’ll ease up in winter.”

I gave him four plush toy tigers holding musical instruments—rewards from credit card points. I had two sets. When you pressed one’s foot, all four would start rocking, playing guitars and drums in a quartet. His eyes lit up. “Thanks.”

“Ahem.” I prepared my notepad. “Let’s begin. What stories do you have for me?”

He: “…”

I smirked. Amused, he replied, “Every place I’ve been, every person I’ve met—each could fill a book. Who do you want to hear about?”

“Mm. You. How did you come back?”

He thought for a moment. “It’s all in the past. No harm telling you.”

In a flat tone, he recounted a simple story.

After returning home that day, he was locked up by his family and forced to divorce his wife. He was beaten again, confined to his room. After half a month, he confessed everything and demanded the divorce.

She just held him, crying, telling him not to be afraid—everything would be okay.

He escaped a second time, climbing down from the third floor but injuring his foot. Luckily, it wasn’t serious. He hitched a ride to Urumqi, but the car broke down halfway. His family found him again. In the desert, he called Lin Ze before being taken back home.

After the second return, his father made his wife watch over him. Situ Ye lay in bed, unable to eat or sleep, wasting away until he was nearly dead.

I didn’t know what he meant by “nearly dead.” My limited imagination couldn’t grasp the scene or his emotions when he casually mentioned being on the brink of death. Lying there, his body weak, he asked for the divorce before he died, so she wouldn’t be widowed. He begged her forgiveness, calling himself a sinner who could only atone in the next life.

Perhaps everyone thought he wouldn’t make it. Thankfully, his father didn’t hospitalize him for IV drips. Instead, elders from both families listened to Situ Ye’s plea and allowed the divorce.

He asked me not to dwell on this, just briefly explaining that divorce required a valid reason—and his situation qualified. He never told anyone else he was gay, and his wife never mentioned it. The divorce went smoothly.

Later, left alone, his father stopped interfering. A college classmate heard he was ill and drove to see him. Mustering his strength, Situ Ye asked to go out “to see the scenery.”

His friend drove him to Urumqi. He began eating a little, but long starvation had left him deficient in vitamins and nutrients. His foot injury wouldn’t heal. After a month recovering at his friend’s place, cared for by the friend’s wife, he borrowed 1,000 yuan and an old iPhone 3GS, then took a train back to Chongqing.

He waited at Bei Cheng Tian Street for a long time but didn’t see Lin Ze. He both wanted to meet him and was afraid—after his dramatic exit, returning made it seem like he couldn’t live without Lin Ze. Worse, Lin Ze might not even want him anymore. Forcing it would be pointless.

“That’s what you call ‘pride goeth before a fall.'”

“How is that pride? I didn’t know his situation. What if I went to his place and found someone else in his bed?”

I quickly pressed one of the toy tigers, and all four started a cacophony of drums and cymbals. He looked exasperated.

After the musical interlude, I grinned. “Go on…”

I understood Situ Ye’s fear. Knowing Lin Ze, it was entirely possible he’d moved on.

“That’s it. It’s over. Telling him wouldn’t change anything. Don’t write that part.”

After returning, he found work in Ciqikou because he liked listening to ocarina music there. On weekends, he’d go to Bei Cheng Tian Street to look for Lin Ze—until one day, he finally saw him.

The next day, Lin Ze’s Jack’d profile was back online.

He didn’t know how to feel. He made a new account, reconnecting with Lin Ze. In that moment, it felt like a fresh start—a chance to walk back into Lin Ze’s life as “Hong,” to have the relationship they’d been denied.

Their past was a mess, like a half-formed clay pot smashed beyond repair.

If possible, he wished they could both forget everything and start anew.

That day, he shared many things I couldn’t write. Listening, I thought—what a waste. I should’ve made him the protagonist, following his perspective as a sensitive, wandering soul like Zhao Yaoyao…

But with 300,000 words already written, rewriting would be torture. I let it go.

He wasn’t one to express his feelings openly—most of it was mundane details. We talked until Bei Cheng Tian Street lit up again.

Pig-bear arrived after work. I told him to buy a group coupon so we could eat with Lin Ze later. Hearing familiar topics, Pig-Bear plugged in his new earbuds and swayed with the four drumming tigers, listening to some bizarre podcast.

“That day, when I called him, I cried.”

“He cried too.”

He pointed to his shirt pocket. “I held the phone here… crying, feeling how much he missed me. He kept calling. I stood by the river, crying, thinking how beautiful Chongqing was—my second hometown. It’s… hard to describe. Like…”

“A city you love, where the person you love is—your home.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Long live Mountain City!”

Startled by my sudden outburst, he gave me a wide-eyed (=_=) look.

“You do this often?”

“Keep going. Ignore the random outbursts.”

He thought for a moment. “I knew he was worried, but I didn’t answer… I wanted to see how much he cared…”

I decided to add this later. “But then you turned off your phone. You built your happiness on his pain.”

“I didn’t mean to. The battery died.”

“…”

“…”

“Why didn’t you charge it?”

“There was a blackout that night. Couldn’t charge. The next morning, I went to his place—where we live now—but couldn’t find him. Forgot my charger. Waited at Bei Cheng Tian Street forever. He never came. Went home at dusk—still no power. I was a mess, exhausted, hadn’t slept all night… Why are you looking at me like that? You—pretending to be harmless but filthy-minded—stop it! Laozi ain’t talking to you anymore!”

I thought it best not to include the “harmless but filthy-minded” comment. Impressed, I said, “Your Chongqing dialect’s pretty good.”

He chewed gum lazily. “He taught me. That’s the only phrase I know.”

It hit me, and I nearly died laughing. Lin Ze must’ve shouted “Laozi ain’t talking to you anymore!” every time they fought—his surrender line.

I: “One last question. So… is A’Ze a top?”

He almost fell for it, nodding before saying, “No comment.”

I: “He must’ve taught you how to top sometimes. Don’t worry, this won’t go in the book.”

“What are you talking about?” Lin Ze sat down, a sports bag slung over his shoulder. His boyfriend immediately tensed. “Just… relationship stuff.”

Lin Ze smiled at me, then tugged Pig-Bear’s earbuds. We got up to eat. Pig-bear scrutinized group coupons and finally bought a 109-yuan nine-grid hotpot set for eight. We nearly burst from overeating.

Over the next month, the storylines wrapped up, and summer finally gave way to autumn.

A few heavy rains plunged Chongqing into sudden cold. The draft stalled here—I lacked the energy to finish, as if leaving it incomplete would keep the story alive.

Sometimes, not only do listeners cling to a tale, but the storyteller also fears letting go. One day, Lin Ze called to ask, so I began serializing the earlier parts. This was my first book of its kind. Zhou Guoping once quoted Tolstoy: “The world has too many books now; nothing we write will change it.” He added that writing isn’t about changing the world but settling oneself.

Of course, there was still the most crucial part—the story wasn’t truly over. I’d save it for the final installment.

That afternoon, I called Lin Ze over, showed him all the drafts, and told him the serialization would end in a day or two.

—October 22, 2012, Chongqing, Bei Cheng Tian Street.