Chapter 30 – Bland and Flavorless

162

The relationship between He Fei and Xiang Lei returned once again to a state of estrangement.

Throughout their four years of university, the relationship between He Fei and Xiang Lei that we witnessed seemed to spend more time in this state. Of course, it was occasionally interrupted by periods of inseparable closeness, but the duration of those latter phases was noticeably shorter each time.

Thus, whenever He Fei was in the dormitory, Xiang Lei would find various excuses to leave. Even if Xiang Lei had no choice but to stay, the two of them never participated in our conversations together, let alone spoke to each other.

No one would pry into the reasons. The underlying cause was quite delicate, something that could only be sensed, not spoken.

163

Back then, Xu Menghu could shamelessly add Xiang Lei’s QQ account or intentionally tell Xiang Lei an unfinished story that was bound to move him. But now, He Fei had no idea what to do to break the icy estrangement between them.

Several times, when He Fei pushed open the dormitory door and saw Xiang Lei alone inside, he wanted to initiate a conversation. He Fei felt that if they could just exchange a few words, their relationship might improve. But every time, before He Fei could even figure out what to say, Xiang Lei would hurriedly leave.

Occasionally, He Fei caught a glimpse of Xiang Lei’s expression as they passed each other. It didn’t seem filled with disgust or hatred, but rather tension and fear. This gave He Fei some slight comfort, but it also added to his guilt.

He Fei thought to himself that he had undoubtedly hurt Xiang Lei, deeply and profoundly. Only time could heal those wounds.

He Fei sat alone in the dormitory, lost in thought. He smoked a cigarette on Liu Chong’s bed, glanced a few times at Xiang Lei’s bed, then packed up his things simply and moved back home.

164

He Fei began to lose interest in school and the dormitory, no longer leaving early and returning late.

As exams approached, He Fei told his roommates to call him only when mandatory courses were outlining exam scopes. For He Fei, the meaning of school had become as simple as it was for other sports scholarship students: physical training during specific periods, official or unofficial basketball team activities and gatherings, and perfunctory obligations to Zhang Wenwen—things like that.

In truth, He Fei really wanted to know what was happening with Xiang Lei.

Had he started looking for friends online again? Or had he already agreed to be with Tao Zhuwen? Was he spending every weekend at Peking University now? Had he finally found happiness? Or was he still waiting for another round of similar hurt?

He Fei often opened his computer before bed, searching for any traces Xiang Lei might have left online, but he found nothing. He Fei stayed invisible on QQ and never saw Xiang Lei log in again. Maybe Xiang Lei was also invisible. So He Fei opened a chat window, wanting to leave a message. But after racking his brain for a long time, he still couldn’t figure out what to say.

He Fei realized that, when it came to Xiang Lei, he had become unprecedentedly cautious—as if one wrong move would doom everything beyond redemption.

In the end, he simply shut off the computer.

Even just facing that virtual avatar, He Fei felt like he was seeing that expression of tension and fear again. That look always left him inexplicably unsettled whenever he thought about it.

He Fei lay in bed and closed his eyes.

Occasionally, when he recalled the last night in the clinic, Wei Tong in his arms would be replaced by Xiang Lei in his imagination. Finally, He Fei could touch and kiss him with desire.

It was a pleasure that transcended instinct.

In these imaginings, He Fei was always led to an unknown peak.

He Fei thought to himself that perhaps, in this world, nothing was truly impossible.

165

On the last day of classes in their second year, the school organized a collective blood drive.

Actually, the school only organized a mobilization. Whether or not to donate was entirely voluntary—though all probationary Party members were expected to “volunteer.”

The class after the blood drive had a first exam scheduled two days later.

After outlining the exam scope, the lecturer asked whether the students who had donated blood would be affected. Some suggested postponing the exam by a day, while others opposed it. The former wanted an extra day to study, while the latter wanted to get the exam over with early so they could prepare for the next one.

The teacher asked for a show of hands, but the two sides were roughly equal in number.

Xiang Lei strongly supported holding the exam as scheduled, while a few students sitting near the Youth League branch secretary just as strongly demanded a postponement.

Half the class saw the branch secretary glare fiercely at Xiang Lei and snap, “Don’t be so selfish! Do you even know how others feel after donating blood?”

Xiang Lei’s face instantly flushed red, and he didn’t say another word.

After all, the branch secretary was a girl—and she represented all the ideologically progressive students in the class.

Xiang Lei was not one of the “progressive” students. His Party application had sunk without a trace, and when the class rep analyzed the reasons, he said, “Your sense of collectivism is too weak. You rarely participate in group activities.”

He Fei thought about it. During Xiang Lei’s illness, he had indeed skipped two group activities—one was an all-night karaoke session organized by the girls, and the other was a winter trip to the Fragrant Hills Botanical Garden organized by the boys.

Only He Fei knew that Xiang Lei had been strapped for cash at the time and had no idea that these recreational activities were so closely tied to “collective consciousness.”

Later, after Xiang Lei was given a disciplinary record, he very consciously never submitted another application.

When Xiang Lei signed up for the blood drive, many people teased him, saying, “Dude, your blood isn’t eligible for donation.”

The class rep even made a show of approaching Xiang Lei, handing him a pamphlet and saying awkwardly, “Xiang Lei, if you’re really… into that kind of thing, you really can’t donate… Anyway, you’re not a probationary member yet, so there’s no need to force yourself to participate…”

And so, Xiang Lei gave up on signing up.

That day, He Fei really wanted to walk up and slap the branch secretary. Her body wasn’t fat, but the sides of her chin were covered in flabby flesh, and a hideous black mole sat at the corner of her mouth.

He Fei couldn’t stand being in that classroom any longer. Without even glancing at the lecturer, he grabbed his backpack and walked out the back door. It seemed even this school had become tiresome. He Fei began to long for graduation.

All over campus, soon-to-graduate seniors could be seen hugging and crying. Some who were drunk simply lay on the grass by the roadside, completely disregarding their image.

He Fei wondered if, two years from now, the people around him would also express their reluctance to leave in this way. He Fei wished he could leave completely right now.

But then, He Fei thought of Xiang Lei again.

If they weren’t still on this campus, how would their relationship continue?

Looking again at the seniors hugging and crying, He Fei suddenly felt a pang of melancholy.

166

During the summer break, He Fei occasionally helped his cousin mind a stall in Zhongguancun¹A major technology hub in Beijing, often referred to as “China’s Silicon Valley.” In the 1980s and 1990s, it was particularly famous for being a massive electronics market where countless stalls and small shops sold computer components, software, and other electronic goods..

One day, he happened to run into the Japanese teacher, who had brought her son to assemble a computer.

He Fei momentarily forgot the teacher’s surname and could only nervously call out a simple “Teacher.” The Japanese teacher, upon seeing He Fei, still wore the same mock-stern expression she used in class and said, “You! You’ve skipped so many of my classes, and you didn’t even bother to notify me before missing the exam! Next semester, no matter how much you butter me up, I won’t take a student like you!”

He Fei thought to himself, Even if you invited me, I wouldn’t go, but out loud he said, “Misunderstanding, misunderstanding! I was quarantined by the school on suspicion of SARS, and then I was too embarrassed to show up for the exam.” He chuckled.

“Oh, so was it Xiang Lei who dragged you down, or was it you who dragged him down? You two share a dorm, right? No wonder! I was thinking, if both of you stopped coming all of a sudden, people might think my class was unbearably boring!”

Hearing Xiang Lei’s name, He Fei’s heart rippled with emotion, but he kept smiling and replied, “How could that be? Even someone as linguistically challenged as me can show off a few phrases now. Please let me attend your class next semester.”

“Simple! Can you have a say in this shop? Here’s your chance—assemble a high-performance computer at the lowest possible discount as a bribe for your teacher,” the Japanese teacher joked.

“How can you call it a ‘bribe’? Even if I weren’t attending your class, I’d still give our school’s teachers the lowest discount! Please, have a seat. Let me ask my little brother about the specs you’re looking for.”

The Japanese teacher told He Fei that she had been afraid of getting scammed, so she had wandered around for half the day without making a decision. By chance, she saw He Fei working there and thought she could trust her own student.

Then she asked He Fei if he and Xiang Lei had had a falling-out. She said she used to see the two of them glued together every day, like real brothers, but suddenly, as exams approached, only one of them remained. Looking down from the lectern, it felt strangely empty!

He Fei couldn’t tell if the teacher was deliberately trying to get close or if she was really that perceptive. But her tone didn’t seem insincere.

Her question made He Fei slightly uncomfortable, so he casually asked, “Nothing like that. By the way, how did Xiang Lei do on the exam?”

“No need to ask—almost full marks! No wonder I remember you two so well. One always listened attentively in class, got great grades, clearly there to learn and earn credits. The other was constantly distracted and even skipped the exam—clearly not there for my class.” The Japanese teacher laughed at her own words.

He Fei felt even more uncomfortable, as if the teacher was deliberately mocking him.

It was strange. Xiang Lei wasn’t a girl—did she know he was gay?

He Fei’s cousin and the Japanese teacher’s son had been discussing specs for a while and had already started assembling the computer. The Japanese teacher paid no attention, chatting and laughing with He Fei instead—and the topic kept circling back to Xiang Lei.

It was understandable. The only thing they had in common was Japanese class, and talking about Japanese class inevitably led to Xiang Lei. Even though it was an unpopular elective, the teacher seemed to take it seriously, treating Xiang Lei like her star pupil.

As she was leaving, the Japanese teacher turned back with a smile and said, “He Fei, whether or not you take the exam or earn credits, next semester, you are absolutely not allowed to skip my class again!”

He Fei was startled for a moment, then grinned and replied, “Definitely! Definitely!”

After she left, He Fei’s cousin sidled up and asked quietly, “Isn’t Xiang Lei that gay guy in your dorm? Why do I feel like your teacher was trying to set you two up?”

He Fei ignored his cousin’s comment. Instead, he suddenly held out a hand and said, “Lend me two or three thousand. I need it urgently.”

His cousin was stunned. “What the hell? You still owe me! And now you’re borrowing more?”

“Stop whining! I’ll pay you back with interest! Hurry up!” He Fei snapped.

“What do you need it for?”

“Buying a phone. These days, not having one feels like something’s missing.”

“You’re so damn impulsive. Can’t even wait a second.”

“Shut up and hand it over.” He Fei thrust his hand forward.

Grumbling, his cousin counted out two thousand and was about to hand it over when He Fei pulled his hand back and demanded, “Three!” His cousin cursed but added another thousand.

Before his cousin could hand it over, He Fei snatched the money, turned, and vanished like the wind.

167

After his phone broke, He Fei hadn’t been in a hurry to replace it.

Because without a phone, he had genuinely enjoyed a rare sense of peace.

In the past, He Fei’s phone might as well have been reserved for Zhang Wenwen. Every day, there were tasks—just calling wasn’t enough. Zhang Wenwen had said, “What couple doesn’t exchange texts?” She told him that after lights-out in the girls’ dorm, every bunk would glow with blue or green light from phone screens, accompanied by the sound of fingers tapping keys. So every day, He Fei had to patiently reply to Zhang Wenwen’s texts with his clumsy fingers—mostly just short phrases like “kisses” or “good girl.” Even that had been exhausting for him.

After the Japanese teacher left, He Fei felt restless. He desperately wanted to find a quiet place to call Xiang Lei. The reason he wanted somewhere private wasn’t because he was afraid of being teased for urgently calling another guy, but because he feared he might freeze up and say nothing, making anyone who saw him nervous on his behalf.

He Fei thought the idea was a bit exaggerated, but given his current state of mind, the exaggeration was fitting.

He Fei spent a long time at the phone counter before finally choosing the Motorola V70—the one with the 360-degree rotating flip that Xiang Lei had once praised.

Only after buying the phone did He Fei remember that his SIM card was still lying around at home, so he bought a new number.

Thinking himself clever, He Fei went to the underground parking garage—quiet, but with terrible reception. The call connected, but after a few exchanged “hellos,” Xiang Lei hung up. Frustrated, He Fei returned to the first floor and walked out of the mall.

Before He Fei could redial, Xiang Lei called back.

He Fei wondered randomly: Did he think it was an old flame or a new online friend calling? He called back so fast! If he knew it was me, would he have picked up so quickly or called back so soon after hanging up?

“Hello?” Xiang Lei’s deliberately deep voice.

“Hey,” He Fei replied, amused but also slightly at a loss.

“Hello, who is this?”

“It’s me.”

“Who? I didn’t catch that.”

“Me!” He Fei grew impatient.

“He Fei?”

“Yeah.”

“…” Xiang Lei suddenly fell silent.

“What are you up to?”

“Got a job. I’m at work.”

“Oh. Where?”

“Near the Asian Games Village.”

“Doing what?”

“Telemarketing.”

“Oh. How is it?”

“Not great. Did you change your number?”

“No, this is just a temporary one.”

“Did you need something?”

“No, just wanted to check in. I thought you’d gone home.”

“Oh.”

“…” He Fei tilted his head back to look at the sky. Damn, the sun’s brutal today! His shirt was already soaked with sweat.

“Uh… I’m at work right now. I should go,” Xiang Lei said.

“Wait!… Let’s grab a meal sometime.”

“Probably not. I work during the day and tutor at night. Maybe after school starts.”

“Oh. Never mind then. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Without hesitation, the line went dead.

But still, this was far better than what He Fei had imagined. He had once pictured how icy Xiang Lei’s voice might sound—maybe just three or four exchanged sentences at most.

Yet afterward, He Fei felt a twinge of unease.

Xiang Lei’s voice had been too calm—bland and flavorless, like plain water, with no discernible emotion. Strangely, outright coldness might have been more meaningful.

For a moment, He Fei grew irritable again.

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  A major technology hub in Beijing, often referred to as “China’s Silicon Valley.” In the 1980s and 1990s, it was particularly famous for being a massive electronics market where countless stalls and small shops sold computer components, software, and other electronic goods.