Chapter 12 – Let Nature Take Its Course

62

At around 2 a.m. on Saturday, Xiang Lei and Liu Chong had to sweet-talk the dormitory manager for a long time before the old man would unlock the main door for them. However, he insisted on registering their names, departments, and room numbers for the record.

Xiang Lei was woken by the phone at 11:30 a.m. He turned his head and saw Liu Chong was still there, so he pulled the covers over his head. Unexpectedly, Liu Chong just rolled over and didn’t answer the phone either. After the call disconnected on its own, it immediately started ringing again. Annoyed, Xiang Lei called out to Liu Chong, who only mumbled, “Ignore it,” without moving.

Xiang Lei had no choice but to jump out of bed and answer the phone.

“Hey, man, could you get Xiang Lei for me?” came a somewhat unfamiliar voice.

Xiang Lei had completely forgotten about the appointment he’d made with Shi Zhuo. After a few back-and-forth questions, he finally remembered and instantly sobered up, hurriedly apologizing. The other person, however, was easygoing and burst into laughter.

“You sure can sleep, but your memory’s terrible! That’s fine—it’s not too late for you to get up now. After I settle them, I’ll meet you at the corner of the side street outside the east gate at 12:10, and then I’ll take you in separately. You’ll be the grand finale.”

The thought of appearing in front of a group of strangers and being jokingly called the “grand finale” immediately made Xiang Lei feel awkward. But it would be too rude to back out now. Fine, he’d just make a fool of himself this once!

After hanging up, Xiang Lei saw Liu Chong sitting up in bed, rubbing his sleepy eyes and asking what the plan was and whether he could tag along. Xiang Lei quickly grabbed his toiletries and tossed them into a basin, then said firmly, “No way!”

When Xiang Lei returned to the dorm, Liu Chong was still sitting on the bed, yawning. Before he could finish, he asked again what the event was and why he couldn’t go. Xiang Lei chuckled. “You’re still bare-assed right now. I don’t have time to wait for you.” With that, he rushed out the door, leaving behind Liu Chong’s usual strange cry: “Fuck!”

Xiang Lei arrived at the side street outside the east gate at 12:05. Five minutes later, Shi Zhuo appeared right on time, greeting Xiang Lei cheerfully. Xiang Lei immediately apologized again, but Shi Zhuo waved it off generously. “Enough, brother. Stop already—it’s no big deal.” Then, grinning, he led Xiang Lei to the gathering spot.

On the way, Shi Zhuo said to Xiang Lei, “You never make excuses when you apologize—that’s a good habit.” If Shi Zhuo hadn’t pointed it out, Xiang Lei wouldn’t have realized he had such a habit, much less that it was praiseworthy.

Outside a private room in what looked like an entertainment center, Shi Zhuo asked Xiang Lei to wait at the door while he went in first. Xiang Lei heard Shi Zhuo raise his voice mysteriously: “I deliberately didn’t mention this earlier, but we actually have a very special mystery guest joining us today—and he’s right outside the door. If I don’t say his name, you’ll just see another handsome guy. But if I do, try to keep your screams at a reasonable volume.”

“Old Shi, since when did you learn to play coy? There are only two girls here today—even if they screamed, it probably wouldn’t be that bad. You expect us guys to scream too?” someone retorted.

Xiang Lei leaned against the wall by the door, his face burning and sweat starting to trickle down his back. Shi Zhuo was practically setting him up for humiliation, he thought. He really should’ve brought Liu Chong along—at least that would’ve been better than making a spectacle of himself alone.

“He’s Herbivorous Wolf!”

In a daze, Xiang Lei was pulled into the room by Shi Zhuo. Eight or nine pairs of eyes swept over him, and he did hear gasps—not exactly screams, but enough to make him freeze up.

“Holy shit! Brother, you finally decided to show up!” The same person who had responded to Shi Zhuo earlier spoke again, getting up from his chair and walking over to grab Xiang Lei’s hand, shaking it vigorously.

Seeing that Xiang Lei was still stiff, Shi Zhuo didn’t let the guy say anything else before seating Xiang Lei next to himself near the door. The others, except for a couple whispering to each other, all greeted Xiang Lei in turn. Out of habit, Xiang Lei glanced at the last guy who hadn’t said hello—and was shocked.

It was He Fei!

He Fei had just gotten a haircut, the usual clean, close-cropped style. He was wearing what looked like a brand-new white jacket and seemed completely oblivious to Xiang Lei, leaning over to whisper something to a girl beside him.

For some reason, Xiang Lei froze for a few seconds. In that fleeting moment, he couldn’t help but think of Pei Yong—of Pei Yong sitting beside him, busy playing drinking games with a few brothers.

Then Shi Zhuo introduced everyone present to Xiang Lei one by one. The girl next to Shi Zhuo was his girlfriend, Yang Lin, the alternative literary talent “Sleepy Cat” from the BBS. The guy who had shaken hands with Xiang Lei earlier was Chen Taoguang, the “Rogue Chen” of the BBS. Skipping He Fei, the girl next to Yang Lin was Zhang Wenwen, the graceful literary talent “Wandering Cambrian” on the BBS. These people were all familiar to Xiang Lei from their online posts, so he gradually relaxed.

Then Shi Zhuo pointed at He Fei and said to Xiang Lei, “This brother is ‘Cambrian’s’ boyfriend, but I’m drawing a blank on his name right now.”

Only then did He Fei raise a hand and say, “I’m He Fei. No need for introductions—we’re dormmates.”

He said this as if Xiang Lei weren’t even there, still not looking at him.

Shi Zhuo seemed to pick up on something but didn’t comment on the coincidence or press further. Instead, he launched into an opening speech. Xiang Lei barely listened, unable to resist stealing glances at the graceful literary girl. After a closer look, he realized she probably wasn’t the girl he’d briefly met at the hospital.

None of these glances met He Fei’s eyes. Just as Xiang Lei thought, Thankfully, a faint sense of disappointment flickered through him.

Then came the drinking. Everyone wanted to play drinking games with Xiang Lei, but he claimed to be clueless and declined each one. Seven guys paired off to compete, leaving Xiang Lei as the odd one out, so Shi Zhuo swapped seats with him.

“Herbivorous Wolf, you haven’t been writing much lately,” the alternative literary girl said, looking at Xiang Lei.

“Yeah, we hardly see you replying to posts anymore,” the graceful literary girl chimed in, leaning forward.

“My mind’s been pretty empty lately—can’t stir up anything,” Xiang Lei replied sheepishly.

“Herbivorous Wolf? Why do you call yourself that? It’s unique but also kind of strange,” the graceful literary girl asked, blinking.

“Hmm, that’s puzzled me for a while too,” the alternative literary girl added.

“Because… this wolf is different from others—he’s a vegetarian,” Xiang Lei said, almost laughing at his own explanation. Then it suddenly struck him that this sounded like a hint about his sexual orientation, making him nervous again.

The alternative literary girl nodded slowly, as if taking it seriously, while the graceful one still looked confused.

“A lot of the emotions in your writing, even if they’re not fully understood, still resonate without needing explanation. But there’s one exception—I’ve read it many times and still can’t make sense of it,” the alternative literary girl continued. “It’s the one you posted when you first joined the BBS: ‘God’s Five Slaps.'”

“I think that one’s about heartbreak, right?” the graceful literary girl interjected.

The alternative literary girl didn’t seem to accept such a simplistic interpretation and kept her questioning, intelligent gaze fixed on Xiang Lei.

“Ha… I just wrote it randomly. Even I didn’t have a clear idea, so don’t stress over finding meaning in it,” Xiang Lei said, thinking of the BBS post that had outed him, his careless explanation of “Herbivorous Wolf” earlier, and the alternative literary girl’s probing but sharp eyes. He grew even more nervous.

Xiang Lei didn’t want the whole world to know he was gay. Coming out in a boys’ dorm was somewhat unavoidable, but for some reason, if girls found out he was “different,” it would undoubtedly amplify his innate lack of confidence—in his appearance, charisma, even his character.

Xiang Lei had once told people who couldn’t be bothered to listen to him that he wasn’t ashamed of being gay. But others’ potential disdain based on his orientation left him with no ground to argue. To him, it wasn’t about whether the other person was open-minded or right or wrong—it was about their natural moral superiority, which made Xiang Lei feel he had no way to challenge it.

“No way, it definitely wasn’t random. Even if I can’t figure it out, I can feel the serious emotions in those words,” the alternative literary girl persisted, and the graceful one’s eyes echoed the sentiment.

Xiang Lei took a moment to compose himself, then smiled openly. “Maybe I just couldn’t express my thoughts clearly. If I get the chance, I’ll try to summarize it better and discuss those five slaps with you.”

The alternative literary girl knew when to stop. She gave Xiang Lei a small smile, and the questions in her eyes faded.

Then the graceful literary girl leaned closer and asked, “Herbivorous Wolf, can I ask you something? Don’t overthink it.” She glanced furtively at He Fei, who was engrossed in a drinking game with someone else, then moved even closer to Xiang Lei and whispered, “Is ‘To a Biological Male’ about He Fei?”

Xiang Lei fought to keep from spitting out his tea, accidentally choking and turning away to cough for a while. Then he couldn’t help laughing before finally turning back. “Why do you ask?”

“When you came in, He Fei froze. I asked him what was wrong, and he just said you two are dormmates. But then I noticed you didn’t even greet each other, which seemed weird. I kept asking, but he wouldn’t explain, so I wondered if something’s up between you. I know He Fei—he’s very macho, and some parts of your post match him.”

“Really?” Xiang Lei kept laughing.

The graceful literary girl thought for a moment, then added, “Well, maybe not entirely. At least He Fei isn’t petty. I just saw you two acting strange—dormmates not even saying hi—and randomly connected it to your post.”

“Haha,” Xiang Lei forced a laugh. “I just throw things together when I write, mixing and matching until it works. Like that post you mentioned—it’s actually a bunch of different people’s flaws lumped onto one guy. If it were about one person, he’d be a real piece of work!”

“Oh, I see.” The graceful literary girl nodded slowly, mirroring the alternative one’s earlier gesture.

“What books do you usually read?” the alternative literary girl asked.

“I always feel a little embarrassed when people ask me that. Honestly, I don’t read much—I don’t have the patience. I can’t get through more than a few dozen pages, let alone a whole book. Most of what I read is like the stuff I write—scraps from newspapers, magazines, song lyrics, ads, movie lines. I’m only sensitive to those fragments. Sometimes I think the replies to my posts are kind of unreal. Even I think the things I cobble together lack depth or substance, but others don’t seem to notice.”

The graceful literary girl said, “You’re just being modest!”

The alternative literary girl, however, stayed silent.

Xiang Lei waved his hand. “No, no. Modesty requires credentials. If I had those, I wouldn’t bother being modest—I’d be like Han Han, setting myself on the ‘literary path’ in high school and making a living with my pen! This is just a hobby for me, something I dabble in.”

“I’ve actually wanted to tell you for a while now—your writing has an attractive charm, but it always lingers on the edge of venting personal emotions. It’s not shallow, but it lacks grandeur.” The alternative literary girl’s words were blunt, but her expression, tone, and gaze were all sincere.

Because of that sincerity, Xiang Lei didn’t immediately feel ashamed.

Just then, Xiang Lei heard He Fei shouting, “No way, no way, I can’t take it anymore! You guys go after him—don’t listen to his nonsense. That bastard can drink like a fish. He’s always grabbing a bottle and chugging beer in our dorm!”

Xiang Lei turned his head and saw He Fei pointing at him.

“That bastard can drink like a fish. He’s always grabbing a bottle and chugging beer in our dorm!”

The words sounded sarcastic to Xiang Lei, yet inexplicably, they also carried a hint of delight.

Chen Taoguang staggered over, slung an arm around Xiang Lei’s shoulders, and said, “Brother, you’ve finally been exposed. Stop hiding your true self. We’ve all wanted to meet you for ages. Every time we have gatherings like this, someone always says, ‘When are we gonna get to drink with Herbivorous Wolf…'”

Xiang Lei was terrible at handling these kinds of situations. He genuinely couldn’t drink and didn’t like to, but such enthusiasm always left him at a loss for how to refuse outright. After a brief hesitation, it was almost as if he’d tacitly agreed.

Well, fine. The others seemed to have finished their drinking games and now crowded around, eager to toast with Xiang Lei. Though he wasn’t enthusiastic, he didn’t refuse anyone. At least it wasn’t Erguotou this time—beer was manageable.

Chen Taoguang pulled out a cigarette and offered one to Xiang Lei.

“That bastard doesn’t smoke.” Xiang Lei heard a familiar voice say.

Suddenly, he thought of Pei Yong again. Dazed, Xiang Lei took the cigarette and placed it between his lips. The guy offering it brought a lighter closer, and Xiang Lei instinctively leaned toward the flame. Pei Yong had once told him that even if he didn’t smoke, he should know to cup his hand over the flame symbolically.

Xiang Lei did so.

With the lit cigarette between his lips, Xiang Lei instinctively expected a hand to suddenly snatch it away, throw it to the ground, and stomp it out.

But… nothing.

“Who says I don’t smoke?” Xiang Lei thought.

He took a deep drag. Before he could exhale, the smoke mischievously caught in his throat. He tried to steady his breath but suddenly broke into violent coughs. The guys around him laughed. Shi Zhuo walked over with a smile, plucked the cigarette from Xiang Lei’s fingers, but Xiang Lei was quick—he snatched it back.

The second drag went slightly smoother. At least he didn’t cough this time.

Third drag. Fourth drag. Self-taught. As easy as a calculus exam.

When Xiang Lei stubbed out the cigarette, a wave of dizziness hit him. He wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or the nicotine. His gaze inadvertently swept across the room and briefly met a pair of eyes watching him.

He Fei? That was He Fei.

Forget it, He Fei. If I keep wallowing in sentimentality like this, indulging myself on your terms, there’s no guarantee Xu Menghu won’t beat you up someday.

The thought made Xiang Lei laugh nervously. But buried deep beneath that nervousness was a strange, almost smug sense of comfort.

Shi Zhuo leaned in. “You okay, bro? You really can’t hold your liquor, huh? Already dizzy?”

“It’s that bastard’s first time smoking, and he did a whole cigarette! Of course he’s dizzy!”

Who said that? Who said this was Xiang Lei’s first time smoking? He Fei obviously didn’t know about the indirect kiss goodbye. Xiang Lei’s “first time” had happened long before.

Don’t be disappointed, Pei Yong. Smoking a cigarette is no big deal.

Xiang Lei leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes leisurely, and thought exactly that.

---

63

By the time Shi Zhuo announced the end of the gathering, Xiang Lei’s dizziness had also faded.

Suddenly, he really wanted to go online. If minds could truly connect, Xu Menghu would definitely be there too. For some reason, Xiang Lei desperately wanted to “see” him as soon as possible. Even a few idle words would give him the feeling of a face-to-face conversation.

After leaving the private room, Xiang Lei said goodbye to everyone at the gathering one by one—except He Fei. He hesitated for a few seconds but ultimately didn’t say a word, heading back to campus alone.

He detoured to the dorm to grab his computer card, but when he reached the main building’s computer lab, it was packed, with a long line outside. Lacking the patience to wait, Xiang Lei tried the School of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering’s lab, then the School of Management’s, then the School of Chemical Engineering’s, then the electronic library—all with the same result.

Frustrated, he went to an internet café near campus. It wasn’t until the third one that he finally found an open seat. Sitting in front of the computer and pressing the power button, Xiang Lei let out a long sigh. Looking back, he realized just how stubborn he’d been.

To his disappointment, the shades guy’s avatar was grayed out.

“Are you there?” Xiang Lei sent the message and waited blankly for a few minutes without doing anything else.

“Are you there? Didn’t you say we could read each other’s minds?” Another few minutes of waiting.

“Today, I went to a gathering and unexpectedly ran into that roommate I told you about—the one who rarely calls me by my name and just calls me ‘gay.’ It seemed like he wanted to talk to me. I should’ve been happy, but for some reason, I just feel empty now. I really wish you were here to chat with me.”

“I keep thinking that if you were by my side, someone I could see so easily, maybe my mood wouldn’t sour so often.”

“Am I being too delusional?”

Xu Menghu wasn’t going to log in today, Xiang Lei thought.

With nothing else to do, he simply zoned out. He left the QQ window open in the center of the screen and switched his status from invisible to online. Several friends sent messages, but after skimming through them, he closed the chats without replying.

He opened a browser, logged into the campus BBS, but as soon as the page loaded, he switched to the gay forum he helped moderate. In the section managed by “Give Me a Cigarette,” his novel was still pinned at the top.

Xiang Lei idled away the hours in the noisy internet café until nightfall, but Xu Menghu never came online. On his way out, he passed a music store and went in to ask if they had any U2 tapes. The owner said they only had two, but when Xiang Lei checked, neither had the song “With or Without You.” The owner said they had more CDs, so Xiang Lei browsed those and found several albums that included the track. But he only had a cassette Walkman. After some thought, he bought a U2 greatest hits CD anyway.

Listen to the songs he listens to. Admire the people he admires. The most effective way to get closer to him is… to become him.

It was dinnertime, but Xiang Lei had no appetite. Not because of disappointment, loneliness, or the exaggerated “emptiness” he’d mentioned to the offline Xu Menghu. He simply wasn’t in the mood—not even for dinner.

---

64

When Xiang Lei returned to the dorm, he found He Fei there too, sitting on the edge of the bed with Liu Chong, smoking.

Liu Chong noticed the CD in Xiang Lei’s hand, took a quick look, and handed it back, saying he’d already grown tired of U2. At that moment, Xiang Lei suddenly felt nervous.

He had once wondered if Xu Menghu might be someone close to him, hiding in the shadows, secretly knowing everything about him—someone like Liu Chong. He’d even thought that if that were the case, it might actually be a relief. But now, he realized how much he disliked that possibility.

He wanted Xu Menghu to be Xu Menghu—not anyone else.

Across the room, He Fei casually flipped through a magazine on the desk, just like at the gathering, acting as if Xiang Lei didn’t exist. Xiang Lei suddenly felt he’d been too harsh. He knew He Fei had wanted to talk, yet he hadn’t taken a single step down that proffered staircase.

Let it be. As long as I know I’ve never resented him—much less hated him—that’s enough.

Xiang Lei borrowed Liu Chong’s CD player, climbed onto his bunk, lay down fully clothed, closed his eyes, and started listening to “With or Without You”—a song he was sure he’d never tire of.

He’d always assumed rock musicians had to scream hysterically over the screech of electric guitars. But from the warm, upbeat intro, what he heard was pure tenderness.

The singer’s voice seemed steeped in sorrow, the shift from low to high notes like a transformation from despair to devastation. When words were no longer enough, amid the pounding drums and soaring guitars, the world’s greatest band unleashed a fleeting, primal roar.

After all the lyrics ended, the instruments lingered, as if certain that everyone listening—like Xiang Lei at that moment—would resist the final note.

Xiang Lei set the song on repeat, listening over and over, each time deepening his emotional response. Every time he reached those wordless, howled lines, his entire body trembled with indescribable intensity. He wanted to clench his fists, wail along, scream until his voice gave out.

You give it all. But I want more…

I can’t live…

The song was so moving it felt hopeless.

But then, Xiang Lei felt as if Xu Menghu were right beside him.

Two ears, one pair of headphones.

Two surging, uncontrollable emotions, one song.

Two hearts on the verge of breaking, one shared intensity.

Xiang Lei was nearly moved to tears. When he instinctively wiped his eyes, his blurred vision revealed that, aside from himself, only He Fei remained in the dorm. Sitting on Liu Chong’s lower bunk, he silently smoked, his indifferent gaze fixed on the darkness outside the window.

Just as Xiang Lei was about to close his eyes again, he saw He Fei stand up, sling his backpack over his shoulders, and head for the door. Without thinking, Xiang Lei inexplicably paused the CD.

He heard the creak of the door opening, but a few seconds later, footsteps returned.

Those footsteps came without hesitation, leaving Xiang Lei no time to calm his suddenly racing heart. By the time he hurriedly closed his eyes, He Fei’s breath was already close enough to feel.

Then came a few seconds of silence.

Next, Xiang Lei sensed a hand reaching toward him. It hovered briefly in the air before confidently invading his space, plucking the left earbud from his ear without permission.

Xiang Lei opened his eyes and turned his head, meeting the gaze of the expressionless face just inches away. The distance was practically close enough for a kiss. Flustered, Xiang Lei straightened his head, wildly guessing what this guy planned to do—or say.

“Uh…” Finally, words came. “Tomorrow… could you air out my quilt for me?”

Xiang Lei turned halfway, nodding slightly. The still-expressionless figure then turned and walked out of the dorm. Xiang Lei strained to look back at the door, lost in thought.

The mood for music had been thoroughly ruined. Xiang Lei turned off the CD, jumped down from the bed, washed his face, and headed to the cafeteria.

Suddenly, he was starving. He wanted chicken drumsticks and braised eggplant.

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65

Xiang Lei fell asleep very late but woke up unusually early on Sunday. He Fei’s small request the night before had stubbornly taken over his brain, acting like an alarm clock that woke him at dawn—something his usual sleep-loving self would never do.

The quilt-airing request was a little absurd. He Fei’s quilt was practically decorative; in the past six months, he’d never once taken it out to sun. Besides, when the gathering ended on Saturday, the weather had been fine—he could’ve done it himself.

Xiang Lei couldn’t help but feel smug.

He no longer wanted to deny his feelings for He Fei, but he also never believed those feelings warranted expectations. He was almost certain nothing beyond brotherhood could happen between them. He refused to believe the world had so many gay men that a tiny six-person dorm would house two. Even if such an improbable scenario were true, Xiang Lei doubted He Fei’s feelings would mirror his own.

It was precisely because of these doubts that Xiang Lei secretly allowed himself to indulge in his affection for He Fei. Most people were like this, weren’t they? No matter how deeply they loved one person, there were always others they quietly admired. It was on this foundation of quiet admiration that friendships inevitably ranked in tiers.

When you placed a special friend in this quietly admired category, you couldn’t bear to ask for too much. If the other person dragged an innocent quilt into the conversation just to talk to you, wasn’t it natural to feel a little smug?

Unfortunately, the weather was miserably overcast, threatening rain at any moment. Since the quilt-airing wasn’t important anyway, Xiang Lei lay back down and soon fell asleep again.

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66

He didn’t wake again until nearly noon.

The phone’s ringing startled him awake. It rang endlessly with no one answering. Peering around, Xiang Lei realized he was the only one left in the dorm.

“I’m looking for Xiang Lei.” Another unfamiliar voice.

“Who is this?”

“Me.”

“Who’s ‘me’?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“No. Who is it?”

“The person who waits for you online every day.”

Xu Menghu? If this was Xiang Lei’s third call from him, then it was also the third version of Xu Menghu’s voice he’d heard.

“Just woke up, huh?” When Xiang Lei didn’t respond, the other continued, “It’s me! Xu Menghu!”

“How come you—” Xiang Lei wanted to ask why his voice kept changing.

“Be online at 1 p.m. I’ll wait for you!” The other cut him off, then hung up.

Annoyed, Xiang Lei slammed the phone down. Why insist on talking online? A real conversation would feel more genuine. Online exchanges always left him uneasy—every QQ chat reminded him this was just another infuriating online romance.

Yet he couldn’t resist.

After a hasty lunch, Xiang Lei went to the main building’s computer lab to queue. Luckily, many people logged off during mealtime, so he got a spot in just three or four minutes.

“Why does your voice sound different every time?” Xiang Lei asked Xu Menghu.

“First time, I was nervous—my pitch changed. Second time, I had a cold—my voice was hoarse. This time, normal. So?”

“You were nervous the first time? Why?”

“Dunno! Felt like calling you turned me into a full-blown homosexual or something.”

It suddenly struck Xiang Lei—he’d been deliberately avoiding this fact: Xu Menghu didn’t consider himself gay. Forced to confront the implications, his mood immediately plummeted. How was this fundamentally different from falling for Pei Yong or developing feelings for He Fei? One was a quagmire he’d barely escaped, only to stumble into another.

Xu Menghu was likely his third.

The difference between yesterday and today was staggering. Yesterday, he’d been ready to dive in headfirst; today, he was adrift.

Xu Menghu seemed fixated on Xiang Lei’s messages from the day before, relentlessly asking about He Fei. Xiang Lei responded halfheartedly.

“You’re such a fucking romantic! Falling for multiple guys at once!” Xu Menghu said.

“If you came to see me tomorrow, I wouldn’t have time to seek romance,” Xiang Lei replied.

“If you weren’t gay, I’d fucking come find you right now!”

“Didn’t you seek me out because I’m gay?”

“You think that? You think I just wanted to fuck you?”

The smugness from the morning evaporated. Xu Menghu’s words filled Xiang Lei with disgust. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unable to type a response.

“Say it! Is that really what you think?” Xu Menghu pressed.

“If you hadn’t said you liked me and wanted to be with me, we wouldn’t be like this.” A wave of bitterness washed over him, momentarily coloring his disgust with something else.

“But I wasn’t just saying it! I can say it now too! You can call it brotherly love or fantasize it as something more, but why does it have to be ‘gay’? Doesn’t that feel cheap?”

“I get it. To you, being gay is just about fucking and getting fucked, right?”

“Think carefully, then answer me: If I didn’t fuck you, would you still love me? And only me?”

Xiang Lei laughed bitterly. He realized now that he and Xu Menghu were speaking entirely different languages. Xu Menghu’s meaning could only be conveyed through crudeness, and even then, only one of them understood.

As the memory of Xiao A and Xiao B’s story faded, so too did Xiang Lei’s impulsive resolve. He didn’t even feel regretful—because everything had been built on illusion, and that illusion seemed destined never to become reality.

“Forget it. Let’s pretend we never met,” Xiang Lei said despairingly, despite having missed Xu Menghu like crazy just the day before.

“You fucking asshole!”

“I accept the label. But you should know: I’m this kind of gay—I want love and sex with men! If you think that’s disgusting, then yes, I’m disgusting.”

“If you’ve got something to say, fucking say it properly! Don’t give me this ‘goodbye’ bullshit!”

“Fine, I take it back. Let’s just say I’ve never had any improper thoughts about you.”

“So you can go after your dormmate? No wonder! The more options you have, the cheaper each one gets!”

“Alright, I should go. The air in here’s bad. Next time.”

Xiang Lei wanted to end this conversation. Continuing would only make it harder to find common ground. More importantly, even if he decided to give up on Xu Menghu again, it required careful consideration—because he could already foresee the emptiness that would follow.

“Wait! Don’t go!”

Not “You can’t go,” or “Don’t fucking leave,” but: “Wait! Don’t go!” The urgency in those words made Xiang Lei imagine the other’s anxious expression, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“I really can’t change. It’s not that I’m unwilling to try—it’s that after all the torment I went through to accept this, I know it must be the right choice. If there were any other way, I wouldn’t settle for finding, waiting for, or loving someone like this.” Xiang Lei spoke as if to himself, unsure whether Xu Menghu could ever truly understand.

“You know I’m bad with words—haven’t you gotten used to it by now? Of course I know it’s not easy for you.” Suddenly, Xu Menghu switched tactics, the usually crude guy wielding unexpected tenderness.

Xiang Lei had never been able to resist this.

“As long as you understand,” he said.

“Maybe the one who should try to change isn’t you, but me. Give me some time, okay?”

Xiang Lei wanted to say: This isn’t something you can just decide to change. But the discussion itself felt pointless. Who was, who wasn’t, who might be—it was all tiresome overthinking.

A phrase floated into Xiang Lei’s mind, vague at first but quickly crystallizing.

“Let nature take its course,” he murmured to himself, typing the words into the chatbox and sending them.