He walked back into the master bedroom. With the light on, he could see it was a very ordinary, even starkly simple, room. The furniture was basic to the point of being crude.
The two of them stood before the wardrobe with the doors open, facing Xie Chun’s parents.
“Second question,” Xu Yanghe closed his eyes in exasperation. “Who taught you to say your parents were ‘sleeping’?”
Xie Chun said, “My maternal aunt.”
“And how did she put it?” Xu Yanghe asked.
Xie Chun replied, “At my mother’s funeral, my aunt held me and said, ‘Your mother is just sleeping’.”
A white lie.
Xu Yanghe gritted his teeth. How could he believe something like that literally?
He pointed at the urns, forcing Xie Chun to face reality. “Do you sleep in a box too?”
Xie Chun: “I sleep in a bed.”
He had an answer for everything. Xu Yanghe said bluntly, “They are dead.”
To his surprise, Xie Chun nodded. “They are dead. I know.”
For a moment, Xu Yanghe felt himself drift infinitely close to the Planet of Fools, only to be flung away at the speed of light.
“Sleeping and being dead,” Xu Yanghe used gestures and expressions one might use to teach a toddler, “are different!”
Xie Chun said, “Yes. Sleeping and being dead are different.”
Xu Yanghe continued, “And you shouldn’t tell outsiders that your deceased parents are sleeping, do you understand?”
“I don’t understand,” Xie Chun looked blank. “Why did my aunt say it then?”
Can he really not grasp the concept of a euphemism?
Xu Yanghe sighed. “Maybe it’s her dialect.”
“Huh?” Xie Chun was completely stunned.
“You aren’t a speaker of that dialect, so you can’t say it that way,” Xu Yanghe taught him.
“Okay.” Xie Chun was number one at being obedient.
“Also,” Xu Yanghe pointed at the two urns, “Find a time to move them to a columbarium. They shouldn’t be kept here.”
“But,” Xie Chun shook his head, “My mom said she wanted to stay here.”
Xu Yanghe’s head was starting to throb.
Xie Chun’s father had passed away before he was even two years old, so he had no personal memory of the man. His father’s image was built entirely from his mother’s cursed resentment. In Xie Chun’s mind, his father was a man who was a gambler, a womanizer, a drunk, weak, useless, sickly, abusive, mean, boring, and unlucky.
“So what did your mom see in him?” Xu Yanghe asked.
Xie Chun shook his head. “I don’t know.” His mother had never mentioned that while she was alive.
In any case, after the father died, the mother kept his ashes and portrait in this wardrobe, saying he didn’t deserve the money for a cemetery plot. When Xie Chun was a child, he once brought classmates over to see his dad; after that, no one dared bully him for the rest of elementary school.
His mother had died after a long illness. Before passing, she spent a long time dictating her after-death arrangements: after cremation, she was to be placed in the wardrobe just like that “dead man,” and not a cent was to be wasted.
Xie Chun did exactly as he was told.
Xu Yanghe was silent for a moment. “Fine. I guess it’s a family tradition.”
He clicked the wardrobe doors shut. “Lock it.”
Leaving the master bedroom, Xu Yanghe went to the kitchen to prepare the hotpot. Visiting a person’s kitchen is like looking through a keyhole into their life; you see their basic standard of living.
In Xie Chun’s kitchen, the clay pots and woks were covered in dust; it seemed they hadn’t been used since his mother died. Only a single small soup pot was scrubbed bright. The refrigerator was unplugged. Xu Yanghe turned to look at him.
Xie Chun said, “To save on electricity.”
Xu Yanghe found only tomatoes, potatoes, and half a dozen eggs in the cabinets, along with a large amount of dried noodles and bulk rice.
“Your nutrition must be terrible,” Xu Yanghe said. “Not a speck of meat. Do you not like it?”
Xie Chun said, “Can’t afford it.”
“No leafy greens either?” Xu Yanghe was shocked.
Xie Chun: “I don’t like those.”
Xu Yanghe frowned. “How much do you make a month at Blue Ocean?”
“It depends on performance,” Xie Chun thought for a while. “It fluctuates around 15,000 yuan.”
Xu Yanghe found that number horrifying upon reflection. Xie Chun didn’t just have one job—there was the rice noodle shop, the convenience store, the tutoring… and probably others he didn’t know about. Xie Chun was the top student in the Science Department and won competitions; he must have maxed out his scholarships too.
And yet, he couldn’t even afford a balanced meal with meat and vegetables?
Damn those scammers…
Xu Yanghe was practically laughing with rage. He glanced at the submissive Xie Chun. “What about the 10,000 I gave you today?”
“Just paid the debt…” Xie Chun said.
Xu Yanghe practically shrieked, “That’s a scam!”
“Oh.” Xie Chun’s eyes were hollow.
“I’m not speaking in a dialect!” Xu Yanghe exploded. Looking at Xie Chun’s cowardly state, he knew that the next time someone came for money, Xie Chun would give it.
Left with no choice, Xu Yanghe transferred another 10,000 yuan to Xie Chun, adding a note: Exclusive Allowance for Food.
The two moved the small dining table to the window, plugged in the induction cooker, and set up the soup pot. They laid out the sliced fatty beef, pork belly, peeled fresh shrimp, tripe, duck intestines, and a bunch of fresh vegetables Xu Yanghe had bought, along with Xie Chun’s tomatoes and potatoes. The table was packed.
Through the window, they could see the river on the outskirts of the city. At 8:30 PM, fireworks began to bloom on the opposite bank.
Xu Yanghe’s phone chimed.
Old Man: How is the business going?
He swiped the notification away without replying. He noticed Xie Chun hadn’t accepted the transfer yet. “Accept the money.”
Xie Chun ate, staring at Xu Yanghe suspiciously.
“Are you… trying to hit on me?”
Yes, so what?
However, he neither wanted to admit it nor deny it. “What makes you say that?” Xu Yanghe kept a deadpan face.
Xie Chun said, “You are very obviously gay.”
“…” Xu Yanghe didn’t want to continue the topic. He didn’t want to hear from Xie Chun’s mouth exactly why he looked gay. After all, prior to this, he had considered himself asexual.
Yu Dashan was an eccentric guy whose words were rarely reliable, and Xu Yanghe didn’t know why he had listened to him this time. Perhaps it was the car accident before that which had triggered this “root of evil.”
Although Sun Bin’s continued hospitalization was purely for show, Xu Yanghe had hit someone and received no real punishment. The old man’s teacup incident didn’t count; that was just their daily routine. After such a chain of events, it’s easy for a person to feel lawless and want to stir up trouble.
And Xie Chun looked like he would be very easy to mess with.
But now, Xu Yanghe suddenly didn’t want to ruin Xie Chun. The guy was truly miserable. Both parents gone, a victim of a scam, working multiple jobs and studying non-stop, only to work for nothing every month. If he suffered a broken heart on top of that, Xu Yanghe worried he might give up on life.
This 10,000 yuan would serve as compensation for Xu Yanghe’s attempted “troublemaking.” It was over.
Xu Yanghe finished washing the dishes and walked out, grabbing his overcoat. He felt a tube of ointment in his pocket.
Xu Yanghe: “…”
“Come here.” Xu Yanghe waved Xie Chun over.
Xie Chun approached. Xu Yanghe looked at Xie Chun’s clean white cuffs. If this was going to end, it should end properly.
He suddenly grabbed Xie Chun’s left wrist. Xie Chun wasn’t particularly surprised; he just looked up into his eyes. Xu Yanghe’s other hand was already on the burn ointment in his pocket. He turned Xie Chun’s wrist and pushed back the sleeve.
The burn under the sleeve was revealed, and Xu Yanghe froze.
The wound was covered in a thick scab, feeling extremely prominent against the skin of the wrist. The edges of the scab had a ring of white skin—it was almost completely healed.
Xu Yanghe dazed for a moment. Xie Chun blinked, confused.
The ointment stayed in his pocket. Xu Yanghe said, “Your body heals pretty well.”
“Do you know Traditional Chinese Medicine?” Xie Chun asked curiously, his hand still held.
“…” Xu Yanghe let go.
…
This New Year was exceptionally quiet.
Perhaps the news of Xu Yanghe being cut off financially had spread; not a single person sent him a greeting that night. He sat alone in the dark on his balcony, watching the fireworks across the river. Near midnight, he grew sleepy, so he posted in the group chat with Zhou Lan and Yu Dashan: “I really envy you guys,” and went to sleep.
Half an hour later, Zhou Lan finished setting off all the firecrackers at the family estate. A group of uncles he barely knew had been bossing him around while his mother and sister watched and laughed. Covered in smoke, he returned to his room and saw Xu Yanghe’s message…
Zhou Lan: I really envy you guys.
At 2:00 AM, Yu Dashan finally saw the lights go out in his older brother’s room and dared to sneak back to his own. Yu Tianhe was a psychopath who used “discipline” as an excuse for abuse during the holidays. He saw the messages from the two who had clearly never suffered real hardship…
Yu Dashan: I really envy you guys.
New Year’s Day was beautiful. Xu Yanghe wore a mask and went for a walk. The air was filled with laughter, and even netizens seemed to be radiating love and peace; the heat of all negative hashtags was fading, including those about Xu Yanghe.
Xu Yanghe felt free but also empty. In the evening, he went to a florist and bought two bouquets.
On the second day of the New Year, Xu Yanghe drove to the cemetery in the northern suburbs. Six months ago, the city government had moved to this area and the roads had been changed; he got lost halfway there.
He parked in front of the new government building and saw someone on the high steps, wearing a thin shirt and carrying a bag, walking down.
How do I keep running into him?
Xu Yanghe completely forgot about his plan to back off from New Year’s Eve. He rolled down the window and called out, “Xie Chun.”
Xie Chun heard him, looked up, and ran over.
When he reached the window, Xu Yanghe asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Filing a complaint.” Xie Chun smiled weakly, his eyes downcast. “I can only pay off a tiny bit of interest every month; I can’t even touch the principal. I calculated it based on the average starting salary for my major—at this rate, I won’t finish paying it off even in twenty years. And considering my family’s average lifespan…”
“Stop,” Xu Yanghe interrupted. “Repeat after me one more time: this is a scam.”
Xie Chun: “This is a scam.”
Xu Yanghe: “You haven’t listened to a word I said, have you?”
After staring at each other for a moment, Xie Chun said, “You probably misunderstood. They have a contract.”
“It’s a scam even with a contract!” Xu Yanghe corrected him.