WP 24

“Did he forget we’re not actually in that kind of relationship?” Jiang Yibai looked deeply troubled as he sat in the bar.

“What’s the point in overthinking? Just go for it,” Li Xun said lazily, slouched on the couch and leaning against Zheng Youli as he sipped his drink. Zheng Youli sat silently beside him, his dark skin blending so well with the bar’s dim lighting that when Jiang Yibai first walked in, he hadn’t even noticed him.

“Fuck,” Jiang Yibai muttered, slumped like a wilted quail. He raised his glass and drained it. “He’s too pure. It feels like… like I’m taking advantage of his feelings.”

“Are you?” Li Xun called over the pounding music, swirling the ice in his glass. “You don’t like him?”

“Of course I like him!” Jiang Yibai snapped. “Why else would I go through all this trouble? You think I’m insane?”

“Then what exactly are you lying about?” Li Xun asked again. “Or are you just into his body? Just trying to get him into bed?”

Li Xun licked his lips, completely unapologetic. “I’ll be blunt. I just like fucking Zheng Youli. That’s all there is to it.”

Zheng Youli, still holding him, slid a hand into his half-unbuttoned shirt. Li Xun turned his head, and the two shared a kiss laced with heavy alcohol.

Jiang Yibai acted like he hadn’t seen a thing. He groaned, frustrated. “Of course I want to sleep with him, but not like that… If I only wanted a quick fuck, I would’ve had him a long time ago. You think I’ve got the energy to waste on playing house?”

Zheng Youli tipped a sip of liquor into Li Xun’s mouth. Li Xun choked on it, coughing hard as he pounded his chest and pinched Zheng Youli’s thigh.

“Then what are you lying about?” Li Xun asked again. “Jiang Yibai, you’re not usually the type to overthink shit like this.”

Jiang Yibai poured himself another drink, frowning in silence.

Li Xun took out a cigarette and held it between his lips. Since Zheng Youli didn’t smoke, he scooted to the side and waved off the bar kid trying to approach.

Just then, someone came down from the stage and told Zheng Youli it was time to get ready backstage.

He sighed, set down his drink, and headed off toward the stage.

The lighting shifted, from a dull red glow to a soft, pale blue.

Zheng Youli stepped up to sing. The song was Xiao Chou by Mao Buyi. His voice was clean and bright, with not a single flaw in it. When he sang “A toast to the morning sun, a toast to the moonlight,” the feeling was nothing like the original’s hushed melancholy.

He sounded like a fledgling bird about to take flight, perched on a branch in the darkness just before dawn, looking down from above toward the far-off light.

As he sang “A toast to freedom, a toast to death,” Li Xun sat there, completely entranced. The cigarette between his lips was still unlit. He had forgotten all about it.

Then, out of nowhere, a memory surfaced.

Jiang Yibai hadn’t always been so carefree and unrestrained. Back in school, he had once played in a band with friends who shared his passion, and he had dreamed of standing onstage too.

He used to worry about everything, second-guess himself, hesitate. He hadn’t been born bold. He had his moments of fear, his soft spots, his uncertainty.

It was just that, over the years, Li Xun had gotten so used to Jiang Yibai brushing everything off, acting like nothing ever got to him, that he’d almost forgotten what he had been like in those early, awkward years.

“You…” Li Xun held the cigarette between his fingers, licked his dry lips, and looked at Jiang Yibai across the dim bar lights. “Are you scared?”

Jiang Yibai’s hand, still holding his drink, paused for the briefest second. But then he was back to his usual self, unfazed, careless. He grinned, lounging back against the couch as he looked toward the stage. “What would I be scared of? You suddenly falling in love with me?”

The lights from the stage flickered in his eyes, masking something distant, something quiet he couldn’t say aloud. It was like a patch of stars hidden behind a curtain, too fragile to show, too bright to ignore.

He said, “You’re overthinking it. I just think the Male God’s too cute, that’s all. I’d feel bad pushing too hard. I’m already holding back so much it hurts. If I go too far and freak him out, what if he gets disillusioned? That’d suck. I do want to be good to him.”

Li Xun thought to himself, Yeah, right. Keep lying to yourself.

But since Jiang Yibai clearly didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t press. The two clinked glasses, downed their drinks, and let it lie.

Near midnight, Jiang Yibai was starting to feel the alcohol. His tolerance was decent, but he was still a little light-headed. He went to the bathroom, and only then did he notice his phone vibrating. There were five missed calls, all from Si Shaorong.

The bar had been too loud to hear anything earlier.

He zipped up and washed his hands, answering the call at the sink.

“Hello?”

“Are you still at the bar?” Si Shaorong’s voice came through, a little hesitant. “It’s getting kind of late… I just wanted to ask when you’re coming back.”

Jiang Yibai wiped a hand over his face and chuckled. “What’s wrong? Worried your boyfriend’s out here doing something behind your back?”

Si Shaorong stammered, “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought… since it’s late, it might not be safe…”

“What’s unsafe about it? I’m a grown man, not some delicate little girl.” Jiang Yibai laughed. “I’ll be back soon. You done working?”

“Yeah.” Si Shaorong had been in a flow state all evening. He hadn’t even noticed when Jiang Yibai left.

That evening, when Si Shaorong got up to use the bathroom, he noticed that a meal had been left out on the dining table. Jiang Yibai had even written him a note, telling him to heat it up in the microwave when he had time.

The weather had been hot lately, so dinner was light—millet porridge, steamed buns, and pickled vegetables. Jiang Yibai had also made a chilled tofu salad with scallions. Refreshing and easy on the stomach.

Si Shaorong felt a little guilty. “I didn’t take care of you at all today…”

“Stop right there.” Jiang Yibai laughed. “We’ve both got our own things to do. That’s totally normal. Being in a relationship doesn’t mean sticking to each other like glue. It means…”

He suddenly thought of the way Si Shaorong had unraveled in his hands, and his chest warmed with heat. He coughed and continued, “It means no matter what I’m doing, or where I am, you’re always on my mind.”

There was a moment of silence on the line. Then he heard the sound of Si Shaorong’s breathing, slightly heavier than before.

Jiang Yibai grinned, and just like that, his tone shifted from affectionate to businesslike. “Did you learn that one?”

Si Shaorong blinked. “Ah—oh. Yeah. I’m writing it down.”

Just then, the bathroom door swung open and a drunk man staggered in.

Li Xun was openly gay. Though this bar wasn’t exclusively a gay bar, it was known to be queer-friendly, and plenty of people from their circle liked to gather there. There were gay men, lesbians, and of course, a majority of straight folks too.

The restroom was empty at the moment. The man who walked in looked vaguely familiar, probably someone from the scene. Jiang Yibai shifted slightly to give him space at the sink. He hadn’t expected the man to suddenly lean over and touch him.

“Jiang Yibai? That’s you, right?” The man was right up close. The heavy smell of alcohol mixed with something overly sweet cheap cologne or perfume, wafted in with his breath. “Knew you looked familiar… Not with Li Xun tonight?”

Jiang Yibai stepped aside. “You’re looking for Li Xun? He’s out there.”

“I’m not looking for him.” The man’s eyes were glassy, his steps unsteady as he draped himself over Jiang Yibai’s shoulder like he had no bones. “He’s got some new kid now. Tch. Picked someone so young…”

Jiang Yibai quickly cupped the speaker on his phone, but it was too late. Si Shaorong had already heard everything. He said nothing on the other end.

Jiang Yibai figured he must be feeling awkward. He was about to say something and hang up, but the drunk man suddenly blurted, “Hey, seriously now. Are you and Li Xun really just friends? He never tried anything with you?”

Jiang Yibai clicked his tongue. “Would he even be able to?”

The man laughed, licked the corner of his mouth, and his pants visibly bulged. “Then how about you try with me? See if I can…”

Before the man could even finish his sentence, Jiang Yibai raised a foot and kicked him square in the side. The guy stumbled, lost his grip on Jiang Yibai’s shoulder, and crashed against the sink with a loud thud, completely off balance.

Jiang Yibai didn’t want to leave room for misunderstanding. He spoke directly into the phone, loud and clear. “Sorry. I have a boyfriend.”

Then he turned and walked out. The moment he pushed the bathroom door open, the roar of music from the bar slammed into him. He cupped one hand over his ear and spoke into the phone again, half shouting, “Hello? Ge? I’ll call you back in a bit. I’m heading back soon.”

“Where are you?” Si Shaorong asked.

“Huh?”

“Send me the location,” Si Shaorong said calmly. “I’ve been stuck inside all day. I want to get some air.”

Jiang Yibai froze for a second.

Then Si Shaorong added bluntly, “Can I come see you?”

Jiang Yibai couldn’t quite name the feeling that rose in him. It was something quiet and a little tangled, spreading through his chest with a warmth he didn’t expect, tender and unmistakably sweet.

He couldn’t help but smile. The corners of his lips curled up before he could stop them. He tried to keep his voice steady. “Yeah. I’ll send it to you now.”

When he returned to the table, Li Xun was already gone.

He was still the boss here, after all, and he always had things to take care of. But whenever Jiang Yibai and the others came around, he would make time to sit with them for a while.

Zheng Youli was still on stage. Jiang Yibai poured himself another drink and sat alone, sipping slowly as he listened to the music, glancing every so often at the clock and toward the entrance.

The buzz of alcohol had begun to fade. As it did, the smile on his face gradually wore away.

He realized that no matter how well he could hide it from others, he couldn’t lie to himself that he was afraid. Ever since losing his parents so suddenly, he’d come to understand just how unpredictable life could be. No matter how close the bond, no matter how ordinary or secure a moment seemed, nothing was ever truly guaranteed. Even the most familiar, everyday seconds could vanish without warning.

When disaster strikes, it only ever takes a moment.

He didn’t know what his parents had thought in their final moments. He didn’t know if they had regrets, if they were afraid, if there was anything left unsaid.

But he did.

He regretted plenty.

He shouldn’t have been so stubborn. Shouldn’t have made them worry so much. Shouldn’t have come out so early and made them angry. Shouldn’t have clung so tightly to that selfish belief that “everyone is their own person.”

Back when they were still around, all the arguments, the cold wars, the silences, had felt so normal. But once they were gone, without warning, all that was left behind was a bottomless pit of guilt.

He was scared. He had realized long ago that something in him had changed.

He had learned to play it cool, to act easygoing and unbothered, to never push too hard. Not because he didn’t want things, but because he was afraid that if he did, all he would be left with again was more regret.

So he tried to live every second to the fullest. He embraced life, stayed upbeat, threw himself into joy. People praised him for having wisdom beyond his years, for knowing how to live well. But only he knew that everything he did was an attempt to make up for something he could never truly fix.

There was a hole inside him, wide open, with wind howling through it. He could only drape it with a thin veil of nonchalance, pretending nothing had ever happened.

When the wind hurt, he told himself: Everyone goes through this. It’s not a big deal.

When the wind chilled him to the bone, he told himself: I still have drinks, and the days ahead, and friends. It’s not a big deal.

He really did like Si Shaorong. That part was real.

But he had never expected it to last.

He had already prepared himself to let go, and he meant it. He was also fully prepared to walk away the moment Si Shaorong wanted out.

It’s not a big deal. That was how he numbed himself. He had repeated it so often it had become a reflex.

Every time he told himself that, life seemed a little less terrifying. All those phrases people held on to, like once-in-a-lifetime love or fate carved in stone, were nothing more than pretty words used to dress up the truth. In the end, everything slipped away, and people clung to romantic ideals just to keep themselves from collapsing under the weight of it.

He was the kind who looked forward, the kind who moved on. He told himself that seeing clearly meant letting go more easily.

So yes, it’s not a big deal.

Si Shaorong was probably just curious. He had gone too far with his material, and when he finally came to his senses, this temporary “relationship” would vanish like smoke.

Just like Nian Gao had said, he had picked the wrong starting point, and thought he was clever for doing it.

So be it, Jiang Yibai thought. Since it’s come to this, I’ll just go along with it.