“I don’t understand, I don’t understand all this gibberish,” the landlady muttered, turning away to press buttons on her phone.
Xu Yanghe smiled. “Xie Chun can move out today. You can come to inspect the room tonight; there’s no need to stand guard.”
When Xu Yanghe went upstairs, he saw Xie Chun attempting to move that antique sewing machine.
“Don’t bring this.” Xu Yanghe stepped in to stop him.
“I have to,” Xie Chun said. “My mother said it can’t be sold for less than three thousand…”
“You were still single when your mother passed away, right?” Xu Yanghe asked.
Xie Chun: “Yes.”
“And do you have a boyfriend now?” Xu Yanghe asked.
Xie Chun: “…I guess so.”
“Since you’re not single anymore, shouldn’t you take my opinion into account more?” Xu Yanghe outputs his twisted logic.
“…True.” It took Xie Chun a moment to process this. He looked up at him and complained, “I’ve realized your power has suddenly become very large.”
Xu Yanghe huffed. “Anyway, you’re not allowed to bring this. Or those—the useless curtains, the table boards—don’t pack any of it. Just bring your own personal belongings.”
Xie Chun complied. “Alright.”
Someone was running in the hallway.
Xu Yanghe watched Xie Chun stuff clothes haphazardly into a suitcase. “Leave these for later. I’ll go home and get some larger boxes for you.”
“Xie Chun!” Zhou Lan burst in.
As soon as he entered, he saw Xie Chun and Xu Yanghe leaning close to each other.
“What’s… going on?”
Xie Chun said, “Hi, Zhou Lan.”
Xu Yanghe grabbed the suitcase Xie Chun had finished packing and walked over slowly with a faint smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Zhou Lan still hadn’t noticed the change in Xu Yanghe. He bypassed him and went eagerly to Xie Chun’s side. “What’s happening? Is the landlady kicking you out?”
Zhou Lan had likely made an arrangement with the landlady to be notified immediately when she evicted Xie Chun so he could play the hero. But with Xu Yanghe suddenly interfering, the landlady probably didn’t know how to explain things to Zhou Lan.
Xu Yanghe smiled slightly, holding the suitcase, and said to Xie Chun, “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Xie Chun said, “Ah, I’m not sure. I’m moving in with Xu Yanghe.”
Zhou Lan froze in place, unable to comprehend why his meticulously planned scheme had turned out like this. He paced back and forth agitatedly, letting out a soul-searching interrogation: “Wait, why?”
“Don’t ask me; I don’t really know why myself right now.” Xie Chun needed some time alone to digest the events of the past two days. “Anyway, I’m going to live with Xu Yanghe now.”
While Xie Chun packed in silence, Zhou Lan went to the hallway to smoke.
He wondered if he could still propose that Xie Chun move in with him. After all, he had known Xie Chun first.
A few minutes later, Xu Yanghe returned with several large suitcases and storage bags.
“You’re still here?” Xu Yanghe said. “Since you are, help out. Go pull your car around.”
Zhou Lan asked once more: “Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’?” Xu Yanghe’s eyes flickered with avoidance.
Zhou Lan grabbed Xu Yanghe. “What did you do to Xie Chun? Why is he moving to your house? Since when did you two get so close?”
Xu Yanghe knew in his heart that what he had done to Zhou Lan was underhanded and that he owed him an explanation, but he found it hard to speak.
If he announced to others that he and Xie Chun were together, it would make it a reality.
But were they really together?
A relationship built on a scam felt ethereal and lacked a sense of reality to Xu Yanghe. It was better to keep things vague with outsiders too.
“Put out the cigarette first,” Xu Yanghe said, pointing at Zhou Lan.
Frustrated, Zhou Lan cursed a few times and crushed the cigarette butt under his shoe.
Xu Yanghe asked him, “You knew about the demolition of the group-rental building a long time ago. Why didn’t you tell Xie Chun so he could terminate his lease early and find a new place?”
“I…” Zhou Lan was at a loss for words. “Why should I tell him? He wasn’t supposed to know anyway. It’s not like I would let him sleep on the streets.”
“Right.” Xu Yanghe nodded and smiled thinly. Xie Chun wasn’t supposed to know. So, the plan was to have the landlady play the “bad cop” while Zhou Lan played the “good cop,” leaving Xie Chun with nowhere to go but to Zhou Lan.
Xu Yanghe had grown up with Zhou Lan and received a similar education; he could understand his actions, he just found them unnecessary. Even if Zhou Lan liked Xie Chun, there was no need to do so much.
Xu Yanghe just suddenly felt disgusted by this “good cop, bad cop” trickery—sad that these people who never had to worry about food or shelter were using the Thirty-Six Stratagems against Xie Chun.
“If it were me, I would have told him,” Xu Yanghe said to Zhou Lan. “It’s just that by the time I found out, it was already too late. So, this is the only way.”
Xu Yanghe went into the room to help Xie Chun.
Zhou Lan watched from the hallway.
Sometimes their hands would touch, and Xie Chun wouldn’t even react.
Xie Chun wanted to bring his bulk-pack noodles, but Xu Yanghe refused, shouting, “These are all expired!”
Then Xie Chun brushed against the side of Xu Yanghe’s face. From where Zhou Lan stood, he couldn’t see clearly, but it looked like a kiss.
Zhou Lan’s eyes widened: ?
???
Goddamn it, Xu Yanghe!
While Xu Yanghe was carrying another load of luggage downstairs, Zhou Lan took the chance to slip into the room.
“Xie Chun,” he frowned. “Maybe you should move in with me instead. That guy Xu Yanghe…”
Xie Chun didn’t quite understand and was still thinking.
“Do you know he’s a germaphobe?” Zhou Lan said bluntly. “To a perverted degree. The kind that normal people can’t stand.”
“Ah,” Xie Chun grinned. “I guess I’m not really a ‘normal person’ either.”
Germaphobe?
It took two cars to fit everything. Filled with resentment, Zhou Lan delivered Xie Chun to Xu Yanghe’s apartment.
It was a private-elevator-access layout. Stepping out of the elevator, the entrance area was extremely bright. The open cabinets were filled with various large bottles of solutions and cleaning tools, emitting a faint scent of disinfectant.
Xu Yanghe turned the doorknob, wiping it with a tissue as he did so.
Xie Chun followed behind him. Before he could even cross the threshold, he heard Xu Yanghe let out a “Tsk.”
Inexplicably, Xu Yanghe pulled a disposable towel from the cabinet and started wiping the floor.
Xie Chun: …
Xu Yanghe didn’t use mops.
He believed that during cleaning, one must have skin contact to truly feel if a surface was clean—at most, he’d use a towel as a barrier.
Xu Yanghe’s shoes were cast aside. He poured cleaning solution and, pressing down on the towel, “zoomed” from the foyer into the living room, then “zoomed” back from the end, repeating the cycle.
He hadn’t been home for just a few days, and a layer of dust had already settled on the floor—especially under the windows. Even with the doors and windows tightly shut, there were still gaps for air circulation.
Xie Chun: …
“I…”
Xu Yanghe “zoomed” inside.
“Can I come in now?” Xie Chun asked.
“Come in. Take your shoes off over there. There’s hand sanitizer on the counter.” Xu Yanghe turned back, still kneeling, and looked up at Xie Chun. “Which spot are you going to step on?”
It took Xie Chun a moment to understand.
Xu Yanghe said, “If you’re going to step on a spot I’ve already wiped, don’t cross into the unwiped area. Same for the other side.”
Xie Chun looked down, considered it, and stepped onto the unwiped floor.
After all, the cleaning solution on the wiped floor wasn’t dry yet.
“Good.” Xu Yanghe continued his busy work.
Xu Yanghe’s home was very different from Zhou Lan’s. The overall palette was black, white, and gray—every surface was a solid color with no impurities, abruptness, or heterodox elements. It wasn’t exquisitely luxurious like Zhou Lan’s place, nor was it cluttered like Xie Chun’s rental. He had very few possessions; it looked more like a hotel setup.
Several times, Xu Yanghe wiped right up to where Xie Chun was standing.
He said, “Feet.”
Xie Chun would take a step back.
Half an hour later, Xie Chun had been “herded” from the entrance all the way into the guest bedroom.
“You’ll stay in this room from now on,” Xu Yanghe finally stood up. “Will you still spend most of your time in the dorms once the semester starts?”
Xie Chun nodded.
Xu Yanghe said, “Then don’t lock your door. I’ll be coming in to change the bedding.”
Xie Chun: “…Okay.”
“Unpack your luggage; I’ll help you organize,” Xu Yanghe said.
Xie Chun complied and tore open a box, expressionlessly pulling out the first item.
It was his mother’s funeral portrait.
Xu Yanghe slapped his hand over his face. How could I have forgotten about this!
He walked over, looked into the box, picked it up with one hand, and pushed Xie Chun’s shoulder with the other. “Let’s first take your parents to where they belong.”
“Why?” Xie Chun tried to stand his ground, but the floor was truly very slippery.
Xu Yanghe said persuasively, “You’re not single anymore, right?”
Xie Chun said, “Right.”
Xu Yanghe said, “People in relationships can’t live with their parents.”
Xie Chun asked, “Why?”
Xu Yanghe said, “It’s a tradition.”
After more effort, the two of them enshrined the portrait and the urn at the cemetery.
Following Xu Yanghe’s “vetting,” the only things Xie Chun eventually brought were his clothes, some books, and a very few daily necessities—because Xu Yanghe said the house already had everything.
Most of the remaining junk was hauled directly to the dump. By the time the landlady came to collect the keys, the room had been restored to how it looked before it was rented—an empty space.
Though called the “guest bedroom,” it wasn’t small and had its own small balcony. The bedroom area fit a single bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a large patch of clean floor space.
As Xu Yanghe helped Xie Chun arrange his books, he set some ground rules.
“Don’t enter the kitchen.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t enter the opposite room—my room—at will.”
“Okay.”
Xu Yanghe walked out onto the small balcony, pacing back and forth anxiously. He returned to the room and asked Xie Chun, “Do you need window bars?”
“?” Xie Chun blinked. “No.”
“I just feel it’s unsafe,” Xu Yanghe muttered to himself.
Xie Chun opened the last suitcase and started putting clothes into the wardrobe.
Leaning against the wall, Xu Yanghe watched Xie Chun take out a white shirt.
Then another white shirt.
And another.
A white shirt.
Xu Yanghe: “?”
“You,” Xu Yanghe’s gaze gradually became vacant, “these clothes?”
“Hmm?” Xie Chun looked at him.
In the wardrobe hung a row of white shirts—no fewer than ten, all the exact same style.
Xu Yanghe was speechless, his jaw trembling.
He thought back to all those days his heart had fluttered because of this one shirt.
Xie Chun was truly a piece of work.
Sensing a moment of inspiration, Xie Chun asked him, “Do you want the link?”
Xu Yanghe said blankly, “What do you think?”
“Nineteen-ninety for three,” Xie Chun added.
Xu Yanghe walked to the balcony, took out his phone, and called Yu Dashan. “I remember you said Xie Chun was a fool.”
“Heh,” he let out a cold laugh, “I hope one day you can be this ‘foolish’ too.”
He hung up.
Thirty seconds later, Yu Dashan—who hadn’t had a chance to speak—called back.
“Were you just insulting me or what?”
Xu Yanghe hung up again.