BOSF 027: Companionship

The winter break passed quickly, and the new semester began.

During this time, Ji Yan had recharged, ready to tackle the demanding high school curriculum again. Reconciling with Xiang Yang and taking their relationship further became his renewed source of motivation.

Youth was that simple—a single belief could drive someone to give their all.

In the latter half of the break, Ji Yan frequently visited Xiang Yang, not to play but to study. His parents’ constant arguments made home a place he wanted to escape, while Xiang Yang’s presence was his new safe haven. Ji Yan found it strange—ever since they were young, just looking at Xiang Yang calmed his heart.

Xiang Yang had a serene aura, untouched by the chaos around him, a trait tied to his condition but also uniquely his. This made being near him peaceful and comforting. While Ji Yan studied, Xiang Yang sat quietly on the floor, folding origami.

Now taller, Xiang Yang’s long limbs made sitting on the bed awkward, so the floor suited him better. Surrounded by colorful paper animals, he looked like a scene from a fairy tale. Knowing Xiang Yang loved origami, Ji Yan bought him colored paper from a stationery store—cheap, but the best he could offer at their age.

Xiang Yang folded with intense focus and patience, completing one piece before starting another, never rushing or pre-folding creases to save time. His creations were unpredictable—one moment a fox, the next a rabbit—leaving Ji Yan guessing what went on in his mind.

He didn’t just fold animals; he folded flowers too.

Ji Yan noticed many lilies made from white notebook paper. The plants in the apartment’s garden seemed to inspire him, but lilies were his favorite. This reminded Ji Yan of their first encounter by the wall when he ran away from home, the first time Xiang Yang responded to him.

Xiang Yang’s origami drew from life, limited to what he’d seen. Yet, curiously, Ji Yan saw no origami instruction books in his room. His folds, unlike common ones, were unique, detailed, and beautiful, as if he’d figured them out himself.

Though Ji Yan didn’t know origami’s practical use, he admired it, sometimes getting lost watching Xiang Yang. He planned to save his allowance to buy Xiang Yang an art book to spark his imagination, hoping it would aid his origami.

When studying tired him, Ji Yan would glance at Xiang Yang. Watching him fold was restful, relaxing, and comforting. If Xiang Yang noticed, he’d pause and meet Ji Yan’s gaze.

Their time together was effortless. Though each focused on their own tasks, their shared glances felt like companionship.

Ji Yan began to see studying as less burdensome. During this time, he found the courage to revisit his abysmal exam papers.

High school revealed a harsh truth: the clear gap in intelligence and competitive pressure among peers. Some were naturally gifted, acing exams with little effort or a single read-through. Their parents, often successful and intelligent, passed down those traits. Few acknowledged it, but a child’s intelligence was closely tied to their parents’. A child’s potential rarely exceeded their parents’ significantly, with rare exceptions. Yet most parents believed hard work could bridge any gap, blaming poor grades on laziness and pushing kids beyond their limits, ignoring the toll on their bodies and minds.

Ji Yan, a hard worker, recognized early that some gaps were unattainable. His tenfold effort might equal another’s single try.

But knowing genes dictated outcomes and life was unfair, should he give up?

Of course not.

After the dreamy years of childhood, kids realize they’re ordinary and must accept it. Ji Yan might not be smart enough for medical school or outgoing enough for business, but he had choices—choices about what to do and who to become.

Studying was his chance to fight for something at this stage. He knew he couldn’t aim for the top three, but he could improve.

Acknowledging his limits was progress in itself.

Ji Yan reviewed his mistakes, re-studying his first semester’s work methodically, no longer blaming himself for slow progress. If even Xiang Yang worked so hard, how could he not?

In the second semester, his grades improved. Though still mid-to-low, he was no longer at the bottom.

He stayed calm, knowing there was no rush—he had two more years of high school.

Ji Qiuyuan and Lin Yueqin’s arguments had lasted long enough. After the peak of their intensity, they settled into an odd phase—temporary peace, but with mutual irritation. After over a decade of marriage, divorce wasn’t an option; pride and fear of gossip prevented it.

The root cause was Ji Qiuyuan’s unemployment. Solving it seemed the key to moving forward. In the end, two mismatched people in marriage could only tolerate and compromise.

Ji Yan often found his parents’ dynamic exhausting. As a child, he hadn’t thought about marriage or imagined a future partner. But now, thinking of Xiang Yang warmed his heart.

He still wasn’t sure if he was attracted to men or just to Xiang Yang. His feelings came early, evolving from neighbors, childhood friends, playmates, and confidants to this. Imagining himself with another man or a girl felt impossible.

Love and emotions were complex, not easily explained. Orientation might be innate, but environment could influence it. Ji Yan didn’t dwell on it—such questions were like pondering the meaning of life. Everyone had their own answers.

With no job, Ji Qiuyuan helped Lin Yueqin with handicrafts. For a man used to managing workers at the factory, this felt stifling. Not glamorous, but respectable enough.

In tough times, people cling to past glories. The contrast between then and now bred resentment.

Ji Qiuyuan grew reclusive, unemployment a source of shame, staying home all day.

Later, Lin Yueqin’s urging to find work sparked another fight, blaming him for quitting. His pride couldn’t handle the criticism, ending their brief peace and reigniting fierce arguments.

Ji Yan couldn’t study well at home but had accepted it, no longer as agitated. He wore earphones, studying what he could.

At some point, Ji Qiuyuan, finding no warmth at home and losing his role as head of the household, started drinking and chatting with other unemployed villagers. Middle-aged and jobless, they gathered to drown their frustrations, cursing without solutions. There, Ji Qiuyuan found validation, preferring their company, often returning home drunk.

Lin Yueqin’s discontent grew, arguing whenever he came back intoxicated.

Ji Qiuyuan never hit her, but his temper flared. In a drunken outburst, he snapped, “Money, money, always money! The kid needs money for school? Is studying that important? Tell him to quit and work! He’s almost an adult—he can support himself. I got by without studying!”

His pride wouldn’t let him admit fault. Though drunken words, they cut deep.

Ji Yan’s pen froze, trembling, leaving a long streak across his exam paper.