Chapter 0 – Prologue

God’s Five Slaps

Back then, when we were just ready to love, God warned us: You cannot love each other.

We didn’t care and loved passionately, like a raging fire.

Then, without mercy, God gave us five slaps.

1.

God said: You cannot love each other.

At that time, our love had not yet sprouted; we were content as two seeds of unknown origin and uncertain destination.

God exploited this inherent contentment within us. The moment our love began to stir, He delivered the first slap, banishing that seed of love to a barren desert—no nourishment, no rain, only the naked sun and a journey through swirling sandstorms.

2.

God still said: You cannot love each other.

By then, our love had already flourished in that desert, giving rise to a lively oasis around us. Harsh sunlight was everywhere.

God, leveraging the sun’s loyalty to Him, delivered the second slap when our vows of love proved insufficient. An arrow from God flew at the speed of light, piercing the chests that once warmed each other, disrupting the steps we took in mutual support.

The boots of faith vanished without a trace, leaving us nowhere to hide in the thorny thickets.

Then, the sunlight faded, dark clouds rolled in, and in an instant, fierce winds brought torrential rain. Drenched in misery, our love lost its way.

3.

God continued: You cannot love each other.

By then, our love had grown accustomed to the blinding sunlight and the raging storms, standing exposed beside the thorns in broad daylight.

God exploited the blind obedience and dependence of our loved ones on Him. When our love flaunted its brilliance, He delivered the third slap.

He forced our dearest family to rage against our newly flourishing love, made those we revered most ignore our sorrow as if it were a matter of course, and drove them to irrational demands—forcing us to choose between family and so-called “love.”

He made my honest father roar in fury: “Get out! We don’t have a son like you!”

He made my kind-hearted mother weep uncontrollably, heartbroken and despairing.

At that time, we cried like two wolves who no longer wished to be carnivores.

4.

God went on: You cannot love each other.

By then, our love had already embarked on a wandering journey to the ends of the earth.

God persisted relentlessly. When our love vowed to last till the end of time, He delivered the fourth slap.

Finally, God resorted to His cruelest trick—sowing discord in our loyalty to each other, letting us spend long stretches of time staring coldly at each other’s bleeding wounds.

Fortunately, everything was eventually resolved in reluctant reconciliation. After a long-awaited embrace, our love grew stronger than ever. This time, God couldn’t contain His anger. On a chaotic afternoon, He lost composure, gritted His teeth, and declared to me: “Your so-called lover has been in a car accident and is now lying in the hospital’s intensive care unit.”

5.

God insisted: You cannot love each other.

By then, my lover had narrowly escaped death, and our love continued to thrive in the oasis of that desert.

God seemed to have finally quieted down, as if reluctantly accepting this love that had weathered a hundred trials. Our love left behind those thorny paths and stepped onto a journey of newfound hope.

But we, who once claimed not to fear monotony, grew increasingly uneasy in the mundane days. Love aged slowly in the dullness and died abruptly in the unease.

By then, we were no longer young.

On a gentle sunny day, at the edge of a bustling crowd, we let go without emotion—turning our backs in silence. Unsure what to regret: the years of wandering, rich yet wasted, or the sudden glance back years later? Should we mourn the youth that slipped away or cherish the memory of someone who left our lives forever?

There was no expected calm, only unexpected shock. Time flowed like water, rushing past, and from the starting point back to the starting point, we traced a resolute zero, as vast as the changes of land and sea.

Then, I suddenly felt an inexplicable heat on my cheek and realized—the sharp sound ringing in my ear was the burning pain of God’s fifth slap, delivered with all His might.

Xiang Lei

Beijing

2001.10.12

Note on the Prologue: About Xiang Lei

Xiang Lei was our college dorm roommate. Shortly after starting school, he openly admitted to us that he was gay.

In October 2001, after reading many online gay novels, Xiang Lei wrote this piece, “God’s Five Slaps,” in our college dorm. By the end of December, he posted it on the campus BBS with mixed emotions. Many replied with various questions. Some asked, “What kind of love could end up like this?” Others speculated, “Is this the fate of forbidden love—age gaps, teacher-student affairs, or extramarital affairs?”

Reading the replies, Xiang Lei chuckled lightly but never gave an answer.

Xiang Lei’s coming out completely shattered our preconceived notions of what a gay man looked like.

He wasn’t the delicate, effeminate type—his mannerisms weren’t stereotypically “gay.” It was only after he came out that we realized his emotions were more delicate and fragile than most guys’. Yet, despite this sensitivity, Xiang Lei was actually quite down-to-earth—smart, never studied or cheated, but somehow aced every exam.

When I say he was down-to-earth, I mean in character, not temperament. Though even that might be oversimplifying it, because he often fixated on things others dismissed as trivial. Compared to the rest of us roommates, at the same age, Xiang Lei reacted to things very differently. It was hard to tell if he was too naive or if we, who teasingly called him a “radical,” were too jaded.

Like a child, he often grew upset over things that seemed insignificant. For example, he couldn’t tolerate phrases like, “You’re just a peasant.” Or when he saw yet another news story about migrant workers struggling to get their wages, he’d actually cry. Or when we casually discussed the slightest flaws in our national character, the resignation in his voice and the sadness on his face were so palpable it felt like liquid—if it spilled, it would’ve flooded the floor.

Early in freshman year, everyone got a lot of phone calls. In a boys’ dorm, most calls were from girls. But soon, we all noticed a pattern: the calls for Xiang Lei were mostly from men speaking in cautious, hushed tones. Every time Xiang Lei answered, his emotions were unmistakable—either melancholy or so excited he’d gesture wildly. And most calls lasted around two hours.

We started half-jokingly, half-seriously asking him: “Hey, Xiang Lei, you’re not gay, are you?”

At first, he vehemently denied it. Later, he’d reply in the same half-joking, half-serious tone—no, he wasn’t gay, but the calls were from gay men because he’d met many online. He was interested in sociology and wanted to gather material for a social survey on the gay community, so of course he needed to communicate with them extensively.

Back then, we were all pretty naive. We believed Xiang Lei and would ask about the progress of his “social survey” every night before bed, curiously pressing for details on the material he’d gathered.

Of course, the “survey” remained a castle in the air. Eventually, we all grew suspicious of Xiang Lei’s explanations and began interrogating him more aggressively: “Are you gay or not?” Fed up, Xiang Lei started answering bluntly: “Yes, yes, yes! Laozi is 100% gay, no fake!”

But his tone made it sound like a forced confession, so we weren’t satisfied.

Once, during horseplay, the five of us teamed up to pull down Xiang Lei’s pants. He struggled until tears welled up, begging us to stop. Seizing the moment, we pressed him: “Confess! Are you really gay or not? Until we know for sure, none of us feel safe!” Suddenly, Xiang Lei stopped resisting, though his tears kept flowing. In a daze, he murmured: “Yes… I am. I really… really am gay. I don’t want to be, but I… I can’t help it. I just… can only like men…”

I don’t remember our expressions when we heard this, but I recall none of us acted too awkward after his admission. We didn’t actually strip him but kept badgering him until He Fei said: “Fine! Since that’s the case, we’ll spare you for now! Don’t want you accusing us of harassment.”

What happened next is etched in my memory: Xiang Lei stayed in the same position, his head hanging over the edge of the bed, face exhausted, tear tracks faintly visible. His belt was undone, one leg curled on the messy bed, the other propped against the wall. It took him a long time to straighten himself out.

After that, Xiang Lei stopped hiding details of his private life—online chats, phone calls, meetups… From him, we learned terms like “1¹A gay top” and “0²A gay bottom,” what “CC³An effeminate gay man” meant, and that the first question in gay chats was usually about age, height, and weight. As if to prove something, we’d often mock these things in jest, but Xiang Lei never minded. Maybe he didn’t care, or maybe he was just too naive to realize our jokes weren’t entirely jokes.

He was always searching for a love uniquely his—something others couldn’t understand and didn’t care to. We saw him inexplicably excited at times, and at others, inexplicably sullen. Sometimes I even thought he was a bit melodramatic. From the day Xiang Lei stopped hiding his “special identity,” no one was willing to listen sympathetically to his occasional complaints. Our most coordinated act was to mock whatever he shared with exaggerated disdain.

Guys from neighboring dorms would often drop by after Xiang Lei left, gleefully discussing him. Their “teasing” had them doubled over in laughter, sometimes even to the point of tears. In front of Xiang Lei, they’d start overusing “woman” and “man” as adjectives to describe each other. Whenever Xiang Lei tried to chime in with a serious thought during our loud debates, someone would inevitably shout: “This is a conversation for real men!” followed by raucous laughter. Xiang Lei never got angry—sometimes he’d even play along, swaying over to the speaker with a coquettish act, leaning in with a provocative purr: “What’s the matter, big guy? Wanna take me home tonight?”

Aside from the occasional jokes in front of Xiang Lei, our dormmates never talked behind his back. Maybe out of some unspoken respect, or maybe because, despite everything, we were still roommates and didn’t have the heart to gossip—though none of us got particularly close to him either. There was one exception, though, around the time Xiang Lei fully revealed his orientation. He wasn’t there, and the five of us each threw in a comment before moving on.

Zheng Dongming kicked it off: “From now on, guys, protect yourselves—don’t let any ‘scenery’ slip out!”

Liu Chong added: “Let’s go buy some iron underpants tomorrow.”

Zhou Yunzhi sighed: “How can there really be guys who like guys in this world?”

He Fei retorted: “Quit acting dumb! You’re just ignorant!”

I chimed in: “Outdated views, man. We’re all behind the times.”

Then, some went back to reading, others started singing loudly, someone changed shoes, another left, and someone else did laundry. Topic over.

Someone once asked Xiang Lei if there were others like him on the second floor of Building 19. He laughed and said, “Out of every 100 males, about four are gay. Do the math for the second floor, and you’ll know.” When pressed for names, he just smiled and said, “Watch who flirts with you—that’s your answer.”

After that, casual physical contact between guys in nearby dorms caused low-key panic. Some would immediately shrug off a classmate’s arm around their shoulder, loudly declaring: “Back off! I’m not Xiang Lei—I don’t swing that way!”

This once escalated into a full-blown fight. On a dreary, drizzly Saturday afternoon in autumn, Zhang Kefan from Room 210 and Liu Chao from Room 207 brawled in the hallway. Nearly all the guys from our department rushed out to break it up.

“This isn’t fucking funny!” Liu Chao yelled.

“Then quit making fucking jokes!” Zhang Kefan snarled, struggling against the hands holding him back.

Earlier, Zhang Kefan had been watching a movie in Room 208 when Liu Chao suddenly barged in, smirking, and called out: “Hey, Zhang Kefan, your boyfriend Xiang Lei’s back!”

Without a word, Zhang Kefan kicked Liu Chao in the stomach. Liu Chao scrambled up to retaliate, but Zhang Kefan’s fist was already crashing into his forehead.

Zhang Kefan, like Xiang Lei, loved literature and indie films. The two often chatted about these topics in our dorm. Xiang Lei’s English score on the college entrance exam was 20 points higher than the department’s second-place student, and Zhang Kefan had been hoping to improve his grammar with Xiang Lei’s help.

But after that, Zhang Kefan couldn’t take the endless jokes about him and Xiang Lei. For a whole week, he didn’t step foot in our dorm again.

Xiang Lei was writing a novel and started spending every day in the study hall. He liked the lecture halls in the main E-wing, but after his bike was stolen, the walk was too far. So he often hitched a ride on Zhang Kefan’s bike. One day, Xiang Lei went to Zhang Kefan’s room to ask him to study together.

“Brother, spare me! Haven’t you heard what these assholes are saying?” Zhang Kefan said.

Xiang Lei didn’t respond. He closed the door to Room 210 and walked out of Building 19 alone.

After that, the jokes about him and Zhang Kefan stopped—at least from Liu Chao.

None of the guys on the second floor of Building 19 would admit to deliberately isolating Xiang Lei, but we all stopped walking to class with him, eating with him, or inviting him to the showers. No one saved him a seat, brought him food when he overslept, or even bought him medicine when he was sick.

But none of this ever dampened Xiang Lei’s excitement whenever he was about to fall in love.

The tension among a few guys spread, and soon, those with girlfriends couldn’t stop bragging about their relationships, while those without scrambled to find one. Before the first semester of freshman year ended, our department hit a dating peak.

Our dorm had actually started pairing off even before Xiang Lei came out.

Liu Chong, coming from a wealthy family, had secured a girlfriend from our department right after military training. Zheng Dongming, with his silver tongue, had been chasing a girl from the Foreign Languages School since training. Zhou Yunzhi, a local, was the type to carry a childhood sweetheart straight to the wedding bed. He Fei, a sports recruit, cycled through girlfriends every month or two. As for me, I’d met a girl from the Law School at a hometown meetup, and we were in that unspoken mutual-crush phase.

• 1
  A gay top
• 2
  A gay bottom
• 3
  An effeminate gay man