Chapter 21 – Talented

This time when Gu Yiming stayed over, his attitude was completely different from before. He was extremely enthusiastic, inspecting every decoration and trace in the house like a large feline surveying its territory.

The apartment was rented by Fang Xiao—a two-bedroom, one-living-room layout, with the master bedroom acoustically treated and converted into a recording studio. The landlord was a friend of Fang Xiao’s from the music industry who had gone abroad for further studies and didn’t want their well-equipped home studio ruined by tenants, so they rented it out at a reasonable price to Fang Xiao, whom they knew well. Back then, Fang Xiao had been at the end of his rope—without this help, he would have long left Beijing for another city.

“Isn’t your family in Beijing?” Gu Yiming couldn’t help but ask.

“Ah,” Fang Xiao replied distractedly, smiling as he looked out the window. “Some things just don’t get family support, you know?”

…Because of a man? Gu Yiming wondered.

But Fang Xiao seemed to guess his thoughts and said, “Not because of my sexuality—not entirely, anyway. Mostly music. They didn’t like me doing music. I don’t have talent in that area.”

“…You’re a professional,” Gu Yiming argued. “You make money from music. You can’t possibly lack talent.”

“This level of professionalism has nothing to do with talent—hard work is enough.” Fang Xiao turned his gaze back to Gu Yiming. “Yours is different. Your shooting—that’s what real talent looks like.”

Fang Xiao still led Gu Yiming to the same bedroom as before, reminding him of a few things to note before leaving. Only now did Gu Yiming realize that this wasn’t the guest room—it was Fang Xiao’s own bedroom.

…Fang Xiao’s bedroom.

Gu Yiming sat on the sofa bed, looking around. There wasn’t much of a lived-in feel here—no personal belongings, not even the books on the shelf, which seemed like bargain-bin finds at ten yuan per pound. He swept his gaze disinterestedly over a row of Inner Mongolia People’s Publishing House editions before landing on the window. The living room and master bedroom faced a small garden, while this bedroom overlooked the street, the faint noise of traffic barely audible.

Gu Yiming opened the window, trying to pick out the dark blue SUV among the rows of cars. The honking sounded muffled, as if heard through wax paper, and the colors all blurred into the haze. A single, cold drop landed on his brow—it had started snowing again.

Fang Xiao had left around four in the afternoon, specifically reminding Gu Yiming not to enter the studio casually. But by nearly eight in the evening, he suddenly called, asking Gu Yiming to go into the soundproof room and help transfer an unfinished project file he’d forgotten to upload—his mature, dependable adult persona crumbling in an instant.

Fang Xiao directed him over the phone: “The key’s on the coffee table, the computer password is 1113… Yeah, my birthday. So you still remember… D drive, the folder starting with P, search for ‘APT Group’… No, not the song title, it’s the song I was planning to sell to them before… Not there? Then it’s not on this hard drive. The external drive should be in the storage cabinet next to the sofa bed, second shelf… Still not? Then check the drawer underneath… Found it?”

The background noise on the call was distinctly domestic—distant TV sound effects and the hum of a dishwasher nearby. Gu Yiming put the call on speakerphone and rummaged around as instructed, finally fishing out a storage box with several hard drives from the bottom drawer of the cabinet.

Each hard drive had a label with dates and contents. Gu Yiming counted to the third one, confirmed it was the right file, and plugged it into the computer to upload. His gaze, however, came to rest on another storage box beside it—a delicate glass case with a flimsy decorative lock that wouldn’t stop anyone determined. Through the glossy surface, he could easily see the photo on top.

Beneath the photo was written “X University Conservatory of Music, Electronic Music Program”—a group graduation photo for master’s students. Among the thirty or so people, Gu Yiming instantly spotted Fang Xiao in the middle of the back row. His face and build were much the same as now, but his hairstyle was youthful, with a streak of light blonde in his sideburns and his bangs swept back, looking bold and handsome. He had his arms around his classmates’ shoulders, smiling brightly and carefree.

Gu Yiming found this version of Fang Xiao somewhat unfamiliar—but still adorable. He reached out and touched the glass surface of the box, the coldness making his cheeks inexplicably warm. After a moment, he quietly moved his fingertip over, pressing it against Fang Xiao’s cheek through the glass.

The internet speed at Fang Xiao’s place wasn’t great. The file took forever to transfer, the progress bar crawling forward imperceptibly. Gu Yiming worried it might delay Fang Xiao’s work, but Fang Xiao was surprisingly laid-back: “No rush. I just had a few drinks at dinner and got the sudden idea to do a remix.”

Gu Yiming was stunned for a second by his diligent work ethic. He’d assumed Fang Xiao was under some deadline pressure.

“Not really. Probably won’t get anything done tonight,” Fang Xiao laughed. “Heard my sister has a lead dance performance—my parents will probably drag me to watch the Spring Festival Gala later. Anyway, no hurry. We’ll see when there’s time.”

“Lead dance at the Gala?” Gu Yiming was mildly impressed. “That’s impressive.”

“Yeah… Xiao Gu, let me brag for a sec,” Fang Xiao lowered his voice. Maybe it was the alcohol, but his tone was unlike his usual self. “My mom—ballet dancer, used to be principal at the National Ballet of China. My dad—opera singer, national first-class performer. My sister and brother-in-law—both folk dancers, regularly perform at the Gala. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Very cool,” Gu Yiming said sincerely. “You’re cool too.”

“I don’t count…” Fang Xiao chuckled softly, changing the subject. “Speaking of the Gala, Xiao Gu, wanna watch? The TV in the living room doesn’t have a set-top box, and you didn’t bring a laptop… Well, you could use mine. Oh, in that hard drive box—third? Fourth?—there should be one with the IMDb Top 250 movies. If you’re bored, you could watch those.”

Gu Yiming wasn’t particularly bored. He hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t go looking for the IMDb list. Instead, he said, “I saw a graduation photo next to it—X University Conservatory of Music.”

“Ah, my master’s graduation photo,” Fang Xiao said. He seemed about to say more but let out a soft sigh instead, leaving it at that.

An awkward silence followed.

Gu Yiming didn’t want to hang up. He scrambled for conversation: “How about… you sing a bit?”

“…Xiao Gu, you really don’t know how to talk,” Fang Xiao, slightly drunk, ruthlessly critiqued. After a pause, he actually hummed a few lines—a melody Gu Yiming didn’t recognize, not particularly melodious, carrying a sense of instability, as if wrestling with itself.

Fang Xiao asked, “How does it sound?”

Not good—but very Fang Xiao, Gu Yiming thought. Full of dissonance, yet still somehow tender. He asked, “What song is this?”

“Not a song yet, just a motif I thought of… Well, I’m drunk. If I remember it when I wake up, maybe I’ll turn it into post-rock.” Fang Xiao laughed—a short, breathy sound through his nose, half-teasing, half-amused—making Gu Yiming’s ears tingle. “I didn’t study vocal music. As a kid, my sister and I took extracurriculars together—got completely crushed in dance class. Voice lessons were okay, but I didn’t stick with them long. Later, I found out my teacher had privately told my dad, ‘The kid’s got decent vocal cords, but his musical sense is lacking. Once his voice changes, he won’t have any advantage…’ See? That’s why I’m the least artistically talented in the family.”

They chatted aimlessly for a while, mostly Gu Yiming asking and Fang Xiao answering. Since Gu Yiming’s confession, this was the most candid Fang Xiao had been. He spoke happily yet nervously, like a fledgling eagle learning to fly. Gu Yiming even considered recording the conversation.

Better not, he decided. Fang Xiao wouldn’t like that.

Besides, he didn’t need a recording—he’d already memorized every word.

Finally, Fang Xiao said, “Oh, my sister’s dance is coming up in two acts. Xiao Gu, is the file done transferring?”

Gu Yiming reluctantly glanced over: “…”

“What’s wrong?”

“The internet cut out…” The file, stuck at 50%, was gone.

“Doesn’t matter,” Fang Xiao laughed. “I was planning to come back on the second day of the New Year anyway. No rush.”

Fang Xiao had indeed mentioned returning on the second day. Gu Yiming realized he hadn’t needed to call so urgently to have the file transferred.

But Fang Xiao was drunk.

Summoning his courage, Gu Yiming boldly asked, “Did you call because you were worried I’d be lonely?”

Fang Xiao didn’t answer—just laughed. His tone was intimate and teasing: “Xiao Gu, take care of yourself. Don’t go falling in love with me over little things like this.”

Too late for that.