37. Falling Dream Part 3

After returning from Yin Yan’s house, Lu Zhengming was like a fully charged battery. He dug out all the pending projects and got ready to put them into action. The custom-made specialty glass he had ordered from the manufacturer was finally completed and was being delivered to his studio in batches.

He still remembered how the glass factory’s engineer had voiced concerns about his request when he placed the order. Producing glass that was ultra-thin and highly transparent wasn’t difficult, and even making it in large sizes was feasible. However, ensuring its strength was another matter. The engineer had suggested he switch to a more flexible material, such as acrylic glass.

After careful consideration, Lu Zhengming declined the suggestion. Acrylic, being a type of organic glass, was prone to oxidation and yellowing over time. This would compromise its longevity and diminish its value as a collectible. He had high hopes for this series of works. If he could successfully bring his vision to life, it would propel him to new heights. Every detail had to meet his standards.

The engineer, having fulfilled his duty to warn him, did not press the issue further. Once the contract was signed, they worked out a thorough transportation plan to ensure the glass remained intact during both the creative process and exhibition delivery.

After completing the inspection, Lu Zhengming used some leftover glass scraps for testing. As expected, its strength was lower than that of regular glass, requiring extra care to prevent shocks and impacts. But aside from that, it was the perfect medium for spatial painting. It could be stacked over thirty layers while maintaining its clarity and transparency, allowing his work to achieve greater depth and a richer visual effect.

He hired a few workers to assemble the glass into its intended forms and bought a batch of specialized paints designed for glass painting. By the time everything was prepared, his classes had also wrapped up for the winter break.

Before the holidays, he had run into Yin Yan at school. The other man seemed to be in a much better state. At the very least, his smile looked far more genuine than before. With nothing left to worry about, Lu Zhengming fully immersed himself in his work.

By the time he had burned through some of his initial energy and started feeling exhaustion creeping in, a whole week had passed.

He retrieved his phone, which had been powered off and left untouched all this time, plugged it in, and was immediately flooded with messages as soon as it booted up. His class group chat had exploded with over a thousand messages, while colleagues, gallery agents, and various collaborators had all sent their New Year’s greetings. The artist circles were busy promoting each other’s works, hyping up exhibitions, and showing support. After working his way through them one by one, he finally scrolled far enough down to find a message from Yin Yan.

It had been sent exactly a week ago, shortly after he had tossed his phone onto the couch. Yin Yan had attached several close-up shots of paintings, asking him about technical details—how to create special textures, which materials to use. In this area, Lu Zhengming was an expert. His tone in the messages was serious and sincere, and he had even sent over his own experimental pieces.

Lu Zhengming didn’t feel guilty about missing the other messages, but seeing these made regret hit him like a brick. He didn’t bother replying via WeChat and instead called directly.

The voice on the other end sounded drowsy, and only then did Lu Zhengming glance at the clock. It was already past midnight.

“You’re pushing yourself again…” Yin Yan sighed, clearly used to Lu Zhengming’s workaholic tendencies.

Feeling guilty, Lu Zhengming muttered, “It’s nothing.”

But Yin Yan spoke up before he could. “Don’t hang up.”

A faint rustling of fabric came through the speaker, as if Yin Yan was shifting to get comfortable. “I kind of miss you,” he murmured.

Lu Zhengming felt all his exhaustion melt away. He collapsed onto the bed, still in his clothes, pressing his flushed cheek against the warm phone, as if he were pressing against another face. “Video call?”

Yin Yan chuckled softly, ended the call, and sent a video request.

When the screen lit up, Yin Yan was lying on his side, shirtless. A few strands of messy hair fell over his eyes, half-obscuring his gaze. Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he looked relaxed, sensual. Lu Zhengming groaned, shifting as he wedged a blanket between his legs.

Yin Yan saw his expression and immediately understood what was happening on the other end. He smiled and mouthed, Want to?

To his surprise, Lu Zhengming shook his head. “No, this is good enough.”

Rather than an urgent release, he preferred this feeling of soaking in slow, simmering desire. It was different from before, like the steady burn of charcoal, warming him from the inside out.

Lu Zhengming had never been the sentimental type, but right now, he wanted to erase all the murky remnants of the past. He stared at Yin Yan, then changed his mind. Without those past entanglements, would he have even realized this was what he truly wanted? The trap he had once tried so hard to escape now felt like a pleasure to sink into.

Was it because the one who set the trap was too skilled? Or had he simply wandered alone for too long, grown too weary, and was now just looking for a steady place to rest?

Yet no matter how he tried to rationalize it, Yin Yan was far from an ideal safe harbor…

He had trapped himself in a loop of thoughts until Yin Yan’s voice pulled him out. “What are you thinking about?”

Lu Zhengming traced the edge of his phone. “You.”

“Did I make you sad?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You look a little melancholic.”

That word made Lu Zhengming laugh, but once the laughter faded, he unconsciously returned to that same expression. “I really was thinking about you.”

“What about me?” Yin Yan smiled.

“I don’t know.” Lu Zhengming answered honestly. “Thinking about before, about now. Being with you… it’s different from being with them.”

“Hm?”

“Before, it was just sex… Sorry, I shouldn’t use that word—”

“It’s fine.” Yin Yan was still smiling, and that expression made Lu Zhengming feel safe. He pressed his lips together, then continued, “I rarely sleep with the same person twice. You probably don’t want to hear this, but… mute me for a bit, don’t listen… Just look at me, let me get this out.”

“It’s fine. I want to hear it.”

Lu Zhengming took a deep breath. “I don’t know why, but it was always exhausting, always dull. I didn’t want that, and I knew I wasn’t going to find what I was looking for there either… Sex and love can look alike sometimes. If you keep doing it, maybe love will show up along the way…”

Yin Yan chuckled. “But what you wanted was never about numbers. Accumulating them meant nothing.”

“Lucky for me, I met you.” Lu Zhengming spoke without realizing how corny he sounded. “You broke that cycle.”

“Am I really that different from them?”

“Of course, you’re different.”

“I please you more?”

“No!” Lu Zhengming suddenly sat up, then realized his reaction was too intense. “No, I mean—not that it’s not true. You… you are sexy, and really attractive…”

Yin Yan laughed again.

“But that’s not the most important thing!” Lu Zhengming instinctively cupped his phone with both hands. “I’ve never wanted to sleep with someone this much.”

“Sleep?”

“Yes, sleep. Not sex. Not even talking. Just… sleeping.” Lu Zhengming’s fingers were gripping the phone so tightly they were turning white. “I want to sleep with you, be with you every night… Do you remember I told you that you remind me of my dog?”

“I remember.”

“It wasn’t some weird kink, and I wasn’t insulting you. You really do remind me of him. Sleeping next to you feels just like when I held him…” Lu Zhengming rambled, oblivious to how the smile had faded from Yin Yan’s face. “I had a dog when I was little. A white Labrador. I was just a few years old, and he was about the same size as me. Hugging him felt so comforting, and I always slept so well…”

Yin Yan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You had a dog to keep you company… That’s really lucky.”

“Yeah, he played with me, followed me everywhere, and he was so smart, almost like he could talk. I even shared my food with him.” Lu Zhengming smiled at the memory, his expression full of warmth. “Do you get what I’m saying? What I really mean is—”

“I’m important to you.”

“Yes!”

Yin Yan’s smile returned, but for a brief moment, Lu Zhengming felt that it wasn’t quite the same as before. It was only a fleeting impression, gone before he could grasp it. Instinctively, he wanted to fix something, but what exactly, he didn’t know. So he clumsily reinforced his words.

“Anyway… I love you.”

“Thank you.”

Lu Zhengming’s heart sank. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Yin Yan.”

“Hm?”

“Do you love me?”

He finally asked. He despised himself for it. It made him think of all the fleeting faces who had once confessed to him.

Yin Yan fell silent.

Seconds stretched endlessly. Lu Zhengming’s palms were slick with sweat. Thankfully, Yin Yan didn’t keep him in suspense for too long, but he neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, he said, almost casually—

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Yin Yan sat up as well. “Zhengming, you’re a great person. And I’ve always really liked you…”

Lu Zhengming suddenly felt a wave of panic. “Damn it, why did I even ask?”

Lu Zhengming didn’t know why, but he suddenly didn’t want to hear any more. Forcing a smile, he changed the topic, steering the conversation toward the texture techniques he had neglected earlier. Yin Yan followed his lead naturally, and they talked about it until exhaustion made it impossible to keep their eyes open.

Half-asleep, Lu Zhengming brought up the art exhibition again. “Next month, no matter what you have going on, you have to make time for me.”

“Alright.”

Lu Zhengming nodded in satisfaction. As the conversation quieted, a soft, lingering emotion surfaced. “Still miss you…”

Yin Yan’s gaze softened as well. “Want me to come over now?”

“No,” Lu Zhengming chuckled wryly. “If you come, I’ll lose all my self-control. I’ll just want to cling to you, and I won’t get any work done.”

Yin Yan sighed with a smile. “Same here.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Yin Yan tilted his camera downward. He was still completely bare. “Before I fell asleep, I was thinking about you…”

Lu Zhengming had long since shed his clothes as well, curled up under the covers. The way Yin Yan spoke stirred something deep inside him. “Thinking about what?”

Yin Yan didn’t answer. Instead, his hand traced down his chest, wordlessly illustrating what had been on his mind.

Lu Zhengming swallowed hard, and mirrored the gesture.

By the time they ended the call, tangled in lingering heat, dawn had already broken.

Lu Zhengming tossed his phone onto the bedside table, finally surrendering to sleep.

He dreamed of the blue vortex he had painted months ago.

This time, it wasn’t as turbulent. The water moved slowly, yet irresistibly. Lu Zhengming drifted downward at the vortex’s center, the abyss above him deep and dark.

When he woke, he found it strange.

Because in the dream, he hadn’t felt afraid at all.

There was something in that abyss, something that made him reluctant to leave.

But he couldn’t remember what it was.