Chapter 16 – Sony Is the Best

Fang Xiao returned on a Saturday, with Beijing still blanketed in snow. The city, prone to summer floods and winter droughts, welcomed the dust-covered convoy with icy enthusiasm.

Tang Shao lived near Wangjing. Fang Xiao dropped him off along with his thirty-plus pounds of souvenirs at Tang Shao’s apartment building, then drove straight to a car wash near his own home. Even though the snow was still falling and the freshly washed car would soon be dirtied again by the filthy snow heavy with smog, Fang Xiao couldn’t bear to see his beloved vehicle covered in grime any longer. He walked home, took a shower, and was still debating whether to rest for a day or immediately start a deep clean to rid his home of the dust accumulated over the past month when Gu Yiming suddenly called.

Fang Xiao held Gu Yiming in high regard. Knowing how sensitive he was, Fang Xiao always treated him with gentle care, his voice instinctively softening with a smile before he even spoke: “Training ended this early today?”

“No, just me,” Gu Yiming said on the other end of the line. “I skipped training this afternoon.”

Fang Xiao made a sound of concern, assuming Gu Yiming was struggling with his form. He quickly wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear, freeing his hands to flip through the Kindle edition of *A Guide to Healthy Adolescent Development* that had just been pushed to his device. He had stockpiled a bunch of emotional guidance materials and had finished this particular book on his way to Tibet, eager to apply what he’d learned. The content had left a deep impression on him. As Fang Xiao meticulously searched for advice on how to comfort a sensitive teenager after a poor performance, Gu Yiming abruptly said, “I took leave to come see you. Is that okay?”

Fang Xiao’s heart tightened. He cautiously asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Gu Yiming replied. His tone carried a hint of hesitation. Fang Xiao waited a moment longer before hearing him say, “I missed you.”

Fang Xiao froze, but Gu Yiming seemed to grow shy and quickly hung up.

Gu Yiming arrived at his doorstep just half an hour later. The snow was still falling, and Gu Yiming’s coat was dusted with flakes. Underneath, he was wearing a thin tracksuit with pockets—likely, he hadn’t even changed out of his training clothes after the call, just threw on a down jacket and rushed over without a second’s delay.

Fang Xiao poured him a cup of hot water and, noticing how pale Gu Yiming’s lips were from the cold, quickly dug out a hand warmer he’d bought at the salt lake from his luggage and handed it over. “Have you eaten?” he asked. “Want me to make some porridge?”

Gu Yiming didn’t answer. Fang Xiao took his silence as agreement and stood to head to the kitchen, but Gu Yiming suddenly grabbed his wrist. His fingers were icy, instinctively loosening for a fraction of a second upon contact before tightening again, betraying a hint of bashfulness. His gaze kept darting around, avoiding Fang Xiao’s eyes, but his voice was steady and firm: “Don’t go. I have something to say.”

Gu Yiming had always given off an elusive, untouchable vibe. Even at his most lost, he’d rather flee than show vulnerability. Seeing him now, so visibly burdened with something heavy on his mind, was something Fang Xiao had never witnessed before. His heart sank—this was likely far more serious than he’d initially thought. He couldn’t fathom what had happened, especially since Gu Yiming’s performance in the recent selection trials had gone smoothly.

Still gripping Fang Xiao’s wrist, Gu Yiming remained silent. Fang Xiao took the opportunity to sit on the coffee table in front of him, arranging his expression into what he’d self-taught through years of amateur psychology studies—the perfect posture for listening. But Gu Yiming wasn’t even looking at him.

“I understand what you meant. I’ve thought it over.”

Fang Xiao blinked, completely bewildered.

Gu Yiming continued, “I accept.”

As he spoke, the fingers around Fang Xiao’s wrist visibly tightened. Fang Xiao didn’t dare pull away, but his confusion only deepened.

Patiently, he coaxed, “Xiao Gu, look at me. Can you give me some context?”

Gu Yiming had been staring at the sofa back behind Fang Xiao. At these words, he glanced up briefly before quickly averting his eyes again. “I can’t. If I look at you, my heart races too much, my thoughts get muddled, and I won’t say it right.”

The words were achingly sweet, but Fang Xiao misinterpreted them. Drawing on his half-baked psychological knowledge, he suspected this was a sign of resistance to communication. Gently, he pulled his hand free, leaned forward, and cupped Gu Yiming’s face, asking softly, “Xiao Gu, what’s wrong?”

Now Gu Yiming had no choice but to look at him. They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Gu Yiming suddenly tilted his head up and kissed Fang Xiao’s lips. It was light and quick—barely a brush, gone almost before Fang Xiao could register it. He withdrew one hand and touched his lips in stunned silence.

After the kiss, Gu Yiming finally regained his composure. He looked directly at the still-dazed Fang Xiao and murmured, “…That’s what I meant.”

Fang Xiao didn’t respond. Gu Yiming studied him, thinking he looked a little foolish. He’d heard of people being overjoyed, but he hadn’t expected Fang Xiao to be rendered speechless like this. Even more quietly, he added, “You said you liked me. Well, now I like you too.”

This wasn’t part of his rehearsed script. He’d painstakingly drafted and practiced lines for this moment, yet now, not a single word came to mind. He was supposed to sound more composed, but Gu Yiming couldn’t bring himself to care. He gazed steadily at Fang Xiao, his entire focus fixed on him.

It took Fang Xiao a long moment to recover the logic that had been blasted away by Gu Yiming’s few words. Gu Yiming confessing to him was as explosive as the firecrackers Fang Xiao had set off as a child during mountain festivals—deafening pops and crackles that startled awake hibernating peaks, sent herds of deer stampeding downhill, and made rabbits crash headlong into trees in panic.

He turned Gu Yiming’s words over in his head and found them flawless. Fang Xiao had been the one to confess his feelings first, the one who’d casually flirted, and even the one who’d leaned in close enough to be kissed. Yet Fang Xiao felt deeply wronged—Gu Yiming was nine years younger, most likely straight (or at least unawakened to romance), and Fang Xiao’s idol. In Fang Xiao’s mind, they were like migratory birds flying south and a jetliner that happened to share their path—kindred spirits, perhaps, but biologically incompatible. He never imagined Gu Yiming’s thoughts could leap so far.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, failing to form coherent words before finally stammering, “I’m your fan.”

“You’re gay,” Gu Yiming countered, staring intently. “Fang Xiao, I think you genuinely like me.”

Fang Xiao was stunned. “How did you know I’m—?!”

Gu Yiming, annoyed at his missing the point, said, “That’s not important. What matters is that you like me.”

“…Xiao Gu, has anyone ever told you that talking like this makes you a prime target for getting punched?”

“Are you going to punch me?”

“No.”

“Then do you like me?”

“…”

With great difficulty, Fang Xiao said, “As a fan, I like you.”

Gu Yiming watched him silently.

Fang Xiao took a deep breath. He was shocked, his mind swarming with a thousand question marks—nine hundred of them paralyzed by disbelief, ninety questioning whether today was April Fool’s Day, nine doubting Gu Yiming’s sanity, and the last one abruptly straightening into an exclamation point: Just now, Xiao Gu confessed to you. You need to say something.

He had to say something. Fang Xiao didn’t want to hurt him.

Choosing his words carefully, he spoke slowly: “Xiao Gu, here’s the thing… I like you very much. As long as you’re still competing—or even if you just love shooting, or if you someday stop altogether—as long as you exist in this world, that alone is enough to comfort me. My feelings for you… aren’t romantic. They’re not the kind of love that wants to possess you.”

Silence engulfed the living room. The pounding of hearts and nervous breaths seemed to vanish. A full minute passed before Gu Yiming realized he’d been holding his breath. He didn’t even know how he managed to speak: “Are you sure? I don’t think… Fans aren’t like this. Hu Xueyue said fans don’t act like you… Fang Xiao, you’re gay, you said you liked me, you’ve taken such good care of me—you were clearly pursuing me. I—”

He stumbled over his words briefly before falling silent again. When he spoke next, it was only to confirm one last time: “…Really not possible?”

Fang Xiao hesitated—but only over phrasing. His tone was gentle, yet his meaning was unequivocal: “No.”

Gu Yiming left.

Fang Xiao tried to stop him, but Gu Yiming felt staying would be too awkward. He walked through the evening snowfall, hands stuffed in his pockets, head bowed in thought. That morning’s training had been about stress resistance. Li Yeqing, with his unshakable mental fortitude, had asked Qin Shan why they didn’t follow the South Korean team’s method of placing targets on live volunteers to simulate pressure. Qin Shan had scowled and reprimanded him, saying once you crossed that line, there was no going back. Those who could handle it would manage, but those who couldn’t would forever tremble at the firing point, haunted by the memory. Gu Yiming imagined Fang Xiao in that scenario and agreed—he could never pull the trigger.

But Fang Xiao had no such qualms. He’d fired a shot straight into Gu Yiming’s heart without hesitation.

Gu Yiming thought, Fang Xiao really doesn’t like me.

Among life’s three great misconceptions, the most terrifying was undoubtedly “They like me.”

Gu Yiming was indignant. But there was nothing he could do. His shooting remained as stable as ever—he didn’t even have an excuse to take a heartbreak leave. His daily training quota was fixed, and when he made up for Saturday’s missed session on Sunday, he spitefully tacked on an extra half, yet still averaged 10.3 points. It made no sense. Before, when he hadn’t been this unhappy, his scores hadn’t been this good. Wasn’t shooting supposed to be about mental discipline? His performance certainly didn’t reflect his emotional turmoil.

He mulled it over in the shower but came up empty. He was angry—mostly at himself for misunderstanding, but also a little at Fang Xiao for not liking him back. Yet he wasn’t that upset. It wasn’t the same despair he’d felt before the trip. Unable to make sense of it, Gu Yiming mistakenly concluded that his feelings for Fang Xiao simply weren’t as strong as his love for shooting. Framed that way, Fang Xiao’s rejection became easier to swallow. Gu Yiming hadn’t invested enough emotion yet—he still had room to try harder.

Gu Yiming had never pursued anyone before. He didn’t know that love followed no logic of input and return. He had no experience, only boundless enthusiasm. And so, fueled by that enthusiasm, he began plotting his next move. Gu Yiming reasoned that he hadn’t liked Fang Xiao at first either, yet here he was now. Fang Xiao hadn’t even tried to pursue him seriously, and he’d still fallen for him. So if Gu Yiming put his heart into it, surely Fang Xiao would reciprocate… right?

At this thought, Gu Yiming decided he should first consult Fang Xiao. He was impulsive by nature—act first, think later. While Li Yeqing was still in the middle of additional training, Gu Yiming dashed out of the shower, dripping water and shampoo bubbles everywhere. He grabbed his phone and rushed back into the bathroom to call Fang Xiao. A small part of him worried Fang Xiao might not pick up—their team’s assistant coach loved sharing relationship advice articles on social media, and this scenario featured prominently—but Fang Xiao answered almost immediately.

“Xiao Gu?” Fang Xiao’s voice was deliberately bright, straining for levity.

Gu Yiming cut straight to the point: “Fang Xiao, do you still not like me?”

He heard Fang Xiao sigh. Maybe it was water damage, but static crackled through the line, mingling with the shower’s spray. Gu Yiming detected a note of resignation as Fang Xiao said, “Like I told you, as a fan, I like you.”

Gu Yiming pressed, “And as a gay man?”

“…”

Fang Xiao inhaled deeply. “Xiao Gu, I’ll be blunt—don’t take this the wrong way—”

“I like you,” Gu Yiming interrupted. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, but—”

“Good.” Gu Yiming cut him off again.

“Fang Xiao, I like you. It’s okay if you don’t like me back yet.” Gu Yiming spoke earnestly. “I want to pursue you. Is that alright?”

Fang Xiao didn’t answer. Even his breathing was inaudible beneath the static and running water.

Gu Yiming waited patiently in the silence, so long that the steam began to give him a headache, before realizing something was wrong. He pulled the phone away—the screen was black, buttons unresponsive. A layer of condensation betrayed the culprit.

…*Time for a new phone*, Gu Yiming thought.

This time, I’m getting a Sony.