How could Qin Wangye tell Song Que?
He had taken every glance, every passing moment, and every simple conversation to heart. It was just that fate had been a bit harsh with him, denying him the opportunity to put those feelings into words.
“I remember,” Qin Wangye said. “I remember, Song Que.”
Song Que simply looked at him.
Qin Wangye’s lips moved, and finally, as if conceding, he continued, “To say something I can recall immediately: the second semester of our sophomore year, during the sports meet, you signed up for the eight-hundred-meter race. You fainted after crossing the finish line, and it was I who took you to the infirmary.”
Song Que looked surprised. “No one ever told me that.”
“The place where you fainted was secluded to begin with,” Qin Wangye said. “I thought you knew. When I spoke to you the next day, you did not even acknowledge me.”
The faded memories, stirred by emotion, instantly became vivid.
Back then, although Song Que was lean, he always maintained a baseline of dignity. He lived his life with great effort while trying not to let others see his embarrassment. He had only fainted twice. That time at the sports meet, when he opened his eyes, he was already in the infirmary with no one around but the school doctor. The doctor was new and elderly and simply mentioned that the student who brought him in was quite tall. It was such a vague concept that Song Que would never have associated it with Qin Wangye.
He went to school on time the next day. While he was cleaning during the break, Qin Wangye walked over, but he was holding a crumpled plastic bag in his hand.
Song Que’s eyes flickered, remembering how he felt unwell and did not want to make a fool of himself in front of Qin Wangye, so he turned and walked away the moment Qin Wangye threw the trash bag away.
Qin Wangye felt a bit helpless. “The words that were on the tip of my tongue at that moment were blocked off by you just like that.”
Song Que asked softly, “What did you want to say to me back then?”
Qin Wangye fell silent.
Song Que thought to himself that it was so many years ago; Brother Ye had probably long forgotten.
“Could we have a cup of coffee together?”
After a moment, Qin Wangye spoke in a deep voice.
Song Que instinctively replied, “Sure. Right now? But it is too late, most coffee shops are closed.”
Song Que abruptly stopped.
The light by the residential unit door flickered on, falling sparsely on Qin Wangye’s face. It was hazy yet earnest, carrying a sense of regret and melancholy from a distant time.
Qin Wangye said, “I know a coffee shop that is definitely still open.”
Song Que was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information. He forgot how he had been pushed into the passenger seat by Qin Wangye. By the time he came back to his senses, the city lights outside were brilliant, and there were few pedestrians.
Raindrops fell on the car window, changing from light to heavy, slightly blurring the colors of the neon lights.
When the car stopped, the rain was falling like a curtain. Fortunately, the valet at the entrance immediately brought over an umbrella.
There was only one, but it was large enough. Song Que and Qin Wangye squeezed together under it.
Cold air mixed with the damp, fishy scent of earth poured into his nostrils and lungs. Song Que tried hard to place himself back in that past version of himself. If he had been a little more observant, would he not have missed so much?
After Qin Wangye put down the umbrella, he checked to see if Song Que had gotten wet, then asked for a corner table.
Two cups of slightly sweet coffee with milk—the golden handles of the coffee spoons reflected the lotus chandelier on the ceiling. Song Que’s heart, restless from an unknown source, gradually quieted down.
Qin Wangye asked, “What are you thinking about?”
Song Que spoke very softly and slowly, “I just hypothesized countless times, wondering what I would have done if I had not left so decisively back then, or if Brother Ye had asked me out for coffee.”
A bitterness overflowed on the tip of Song Que’s tongue. “The ending probably would not have been any different.”
Qin Wangye frowned.
“Brother Ye, this cup of coffee costs two hundred and twenty yuan. But back then, I could not even afford a twenty-two yuan milk tea.” Song Que’s voice was calm, as if he were discarding his humiliation to perform a deep analysis of himself. “The starting point for you and me was never the same. Our student days were probably when the gap between us was at its widest. I remember the limited-edition joint-brand schoolbags; you could give them to friends as easily as breathing, while I would have to hesitate for a long time over a five-yuan hot meal.”
Qin Wangye said in a low voice, “I would treat.”
“Would you have treated me every time?” Song Que interrupted. “Brother Ye, that is not like you.”
Qin Wangye should have been clearer-headed than anyone.
Since he had been paying attention to Song Que, he should have seen the straight spine under that heavy burden of life. What the Song Que of that time lacked most was self-esteem, yet what he desperately tried to protect was also that same self-esteem. A Song Que who would feel blinded just by glancing at the chandeliers inside a cafe while passing by would never have agreed to go drinking coffee with Qin Wangye. At the same time, out of his cherishing of Qin Wangye, he could not allow the other person to lower their standards to fit into his world.
Song Que would look up at the moon, but he would never pull the moon down. The distance between the ground and the sky was the distance between him and Qin Wangye.
That was why Song Que said the ending would not have been any different.
And that phrase, “I will treat,” gradually paled in Song Que’s retelling.
Qin Wangye said, “I am sorry.”
Song Que cradled the coffee cup, absorbing the warmth from it, and shook his head upon hearing this. “This has nothing to do with you.”
It was Song Que’s own problem. His fate seemed to have been sealed the day his grandmother passed away. Everything he had now was won by risking his life. Song Que could not tell Qin Wangye the role he had played in all this. If it were not for Qin Wangye, if it were not for those lingering thoughts, Song Que’s posture in getting up and moving forward would not have been so firm.
But at the same time, he also hated it.
His life had been churned into a complete mess, to the point where he did not even have the courage to hear Qin Wangye speak.
How could he not feel regret?
Song Que inhaled and exhaled deeply. He lifted the cup and took a sip of coffee. When he set it down, the thin shimmer of moisture in his eyes was clearly visible.
Qin Wangye suddenly felt an irrepressible ache in his heart.
He reached out to grab Song Que’s hand, but it was ice-cold.
“Song Que?”
Song Que looked up. His eyes looked as if they had been washed by water, clear of even a single impurity. The moon fell into them, still hanging high.
This left Qin Wangye somewhat dazed, as if this was how the seventeen or eighteen-year-old Song Que should have looked.
What right did those people have to leave him unrecognizable?
“Brother Ye.” Song Que tightened his grip on Qin Wangye’s fingertips, his sorrow restrained deep into his bones. “I am a little sad.”
Qin Wangye stood up abruptly. His aura remained steady and powerful, but the coffee cup in front of him was shaken heavily, spilling some liquid. He bypassed the table, walked to Song Que’s side, and without a word, grabbed Song Que’s wrist and pulled him toward himself.
Song Que followed the force of his movement, but he felt as though all the strength in his body had been drained.
He stumbled, and Qin Wangye immediately moved forward to become his support. Song Que’s forehead rested against his shoulder, his breathing becoming deeper with each breath.
“Song Que.”
“Hmm?”
“I will take you away from here.”
“Okay.”
Qin Wangye’s arm wrapped around Song Que’s waist, catching most of his weight. Walking back to the car inevitably meant catching some rain. Song Que was sober, yet he sank deeper into a heartbreaking emotion. He vaguely heard the sound of the car door closing; Qin Wangye was sitting right beside him.
As their eyes met, they both saw someone completely different from what they saw on ordinary days.
“Are you sad?” Qin Wangye asked in a hoarse voice. Before Song Que could answer, he leaned in slightly. In the silence, there was the faint friction of fabric. He lightly rubbed against the tip of Song Que’s nose, comforting and warming him like a small animal. “Are you still sad?”
Song Que collapsed instantly. His hands, gripping Qin Wangye’s shoulder, turned white at the knuckles. A breath was blocked in his chest. It would not dissipate, and it would not go down. It made him sad, yet it made him rejoice.