The typhoon began to howl in earnest just after noon. The sky gradually filled with layers of grey clouds—typhoon clouds are different from storm clouds; they aren’t black, but a layered, hazy grey. When that grey accumulates, it becomes thick enough to blot out the sun. Though the clouds aren’t black, the world turns just as dark.
Throughout the morning, they had dismantled and washed the hood, scrubbed the kitchen, cleaned the dishes and placed them in the sterilized cabinet, then did the laundry and brought it in. Yang Jianzhen seemed unwilling to stop; he was constantly doing chores. Ming Zhifei could sense that he wasn’t doing them with a sense of “I must get this clean,” but rather he was enjoying the process. The proof was in his constant humming—he sounded incredibly content, not restless at all.
Ming Zhifei followed behind him, doing whatever he did. He had a reason, of course: he was worried Yang Jianzhen would re-injure his leg, so he chose this way to lend a hand.
“Fei-ge, Fei-ge, look! The balcony is so empty. The people who lived here before must have grown flowers along this row. Should we grow some too?” While bringing in the clothes, Yang Jianzhen pointed to the ledge under the security bars.
The balcony was exceptionally large. For a one-bedroom apartment, this place was almost absurdly spacious, as if space hadn’t been a cost consideration. Ming Zhifei guessed it was because the building was forty or fifty years old; land was cheap back then. This might have been a single-staff dormitory built by some work unit.
The balcony was enclosed on all sides by stainless steel security bars in the style of the 80s or 90s. Inside the bars ran a ledge similar to a bay window, about forty or fifty centimeters wide. Just as Yang Jianzhen said, it was perfect for plants.
But Ming Zhifei knew absolutely nothing about gardening. When he got married, his father-in-law’s brother had given them several potted plants. Fan Wenya had looked after them—but she seemed to do it out of obligation rather than love. After a while, the plants withered one by one; none survived a year.
“I don’t know how to take care of plants. All the ones I had before died.”
“I’ll take care of them,” Yang Jianzhen said with a grin.
“You…? You’re not staying here long-term,” Ming Zhifei let out a small laugh. Yang Jianzhen had only been here for a day, yet the way he acted—as if he were renovating the place for a permanent stay—was truly a bit ridiculous.
“If I stay for a day, I’ll tend them for a day. If I stay for a day, I’ll tidy up for a day. If something makes you happy, you do it, even if it’s only for an hour. I mean, you’re just going to get hungry again later anyway, but do you say, ‘I’ll just be hungry again, so I might as well not eat’?” Yang Jianzhen laughed.
“That’s not the same as eating. You have to be responsible; after all, they’re living things.” Ming Zhifei rarely felt desire or interest in external objects. He usually found “extra” things to be a hassle—but then he reconsidered: what exactly counted as extra? Lately, he had even begun to feel that eating was redundant.
“Fei-ge, I’m a living thing too.” Yang Jianzhen suddenly leaned in close, staring into his eyes. “Do you have to be responsible for every living thing you see? Who told you that?”
“Then what else can be done? Plants need careful nurturing, otherwise they die.” Ming Zhifei took a step back and averted his gaze.
“Who knows who will die first, the person or the plant? Who knows who’s responsible for whom?” Yang Jianzhen continued with his crooked logic, still smiling. “Plants are born of heaven and earth; they just need a little water. How much responsibility is really involved? It and I are just living in this space together. It makes me happy, I make it beautiful, and when we both die, that’s the end of it. If it dies before me, I’ll just get a new pot. If I die before it, it probably won’t be able to collect my body anyway. Ah, come to think of it, it’s even less responsible than I am.”
Ming Zhifei was moved to laughter by his reasoning. “Fine, keep them. When your injury is healed and it’s time to move, just take them with you.”
“Now that you put it that way, I’m actually not very happy. Are you thinking about me leaving so soon?” Yang Jianzhen took the clothes Ming Zhifei had hooked down with the pole and smiled.
“Don’t you want to get better quickly?” Ming Zhifei spoke without thinking, just casual small talk. He didn’t mean anything by it—it had been agreed from the start that Yang Jianzhen would stay because of his injury and to hide from his enemies. After a day and a night together, Ming Zhifei could tell that Yang Jianzhen was not only highly capable in domestic life but also likely someone with a strong will who could get things done. There was no reason for someone like that to stay cooped up here indefinitely.
“Fei-ge, when I first got into high school and went to live in the dorms, my grandfather told me that with me leaving home, he felt quite lonely. He said children always leave eventually. But at the beginning of my senior year, he passed away—the person who said he’d be lonely if others left ended up being the one who left everyone else behind.” Yang Jianzhen slowly folded the garment in his hand—one of Ming Zhifei’s grass-green Polo shirts, which already had a small hole near the collar seam.
Ming Zhifei was not good at handling topics like this. When others spoke of their personal lives or feelings, he never knew the appropriate response. However, he didn’t feel the usual awkwardness. In the past, Fan Wenya would try to tell him things—like how a friend had upset her—and he would find it incredibly uncomfortable. He would usually just listen in silence, and after a few attempts, she stopped sharing those things with him.
Perhaps it was because he felt that while the emotions Yang Jianzhen showed could be categorized as sorrow, they weren’t oppressive. Yang Jianzhen was simply speaking; he wasn’t seeking comfort.
“Did you stop studying after your grandfather passed away?” Yang Jianzhen hadn’t mentioned a vocational school—getting into a proper high school was no easy feat.
“Yeah. I actually went to find my dad. He took a stick this thick and beat me half to death before throwing me out. Anyway, after that, I didn’t have the money for school.” Yang Jianzhen used his hands to trace a circle about ten centimeters in diameter, illustrating the thickness of the stick.
“That’s bringing a child into the world and not raising him. Irresponsible,” Ming Zhifei told him.
Yang Jianzhen realized a moment later that Ming Zhifei was circling back to the plant conversation. He burst into laughter, laughing until tears came to his eyes. He wiped them away and said, “Fei-ge, whenever I told the ‘older sisters’ this part, they’d hug me tight, tell me I was pitiful, and comfort me. How do you manage to find an opening to argue with me even now?”
“Well, I imagine you’ve already been comforted quite thoroughly then.” Ming Zhifei hooked down a pair of pants and placed them in Yang Jianzhen’s hands.
“I suppose. But the comfort from a ‘sister’ is different from the comfort of a ‘brother’.”
Ming Zhifei wanted to say that a “brother’s” comfort probably didn’t help with liquor sales, but he decided it was better to be kind. He seemed to be influenced by Yang Jianzhen, feeling a sudden urge to speak freely without regard for the consequences.
“Fei-ge, your clothes and pants all have holes. Throw them out, okay?” Even though Yang Jianzhen folded the clothes neatly, he didn’t hide his disdain for them.
“If I throw them out, what will I wear?” Ming Zhifei was indifferent. “They just need a little mending.”
“Do you know how to use a needle and thread?” Yang Jianzhen asked with a smirk.
Ming Zhifei was momentarily speechless.
Yang Jianzhen laughed happily. “Fei-ge, when I was in high school, the roommate who was ranked one in the class was just like you. He’d trip over his own feet, spent the whole day drifting in thought, couldn’t do anything for himself, and wouldn’t even wash his clothes until they grew mold.”
“So you washed them for him?”
“How could I be that kind? He wasn’t even good-looking.”
At a loss for a response to such blatant honesty, Ming Zhifei only felt that Yang Jianzhen was teasing him again.
“For someone who looks like you, Fei-ge, I could help wash your socks and underwear.”
Out on the balcony, the “rustle-rustle” of the wind gradually turned into a sustained “whoosh.” From nearby came the sounds of unsecured items clattering against the ground or walls. Their sleeves fluttered in the wind, and they were met with a fine, persistent mist of rain. By then, they had gathered the clothes and closed the balcony door.
The balcony was connected to the bedroom. Once the door was shut, the room became dim, yet the howling wind seemed to find every crack and crevice in the world, playing a strange, hollow melody. As Ming Zhifei opened the wardrobe to put his clothes away, he found that the once-empty space now held quite a few items—Yang Jianzhen’s.
“When I went to the supermarket yesterday, did you go home and get a lot of things?” Ming Zhifei remembered the question he’d forgotten to ask.
“Yeah. There was a lot I didn’t bring before. Your house didn’t even have chairs.”
“Weren’t you afraid they’d come back for you?”
“They wouldn’t react that quickly. In times like that, the most dangerous place is the safest place.” Yang Jianzhen sat on the bed and snapped his fingers.
He was certainly bold—but how to put it? It wasn’t a reckless kind of boldness. No, that wasn’t right—how could someone who wasn’t reckless end up owing that much money? Ming Zhifei didn’t know how to describe him, only that they were completely different, perhaps even polar opposites.
Listening to the violent sound of the wind, something he hadn’t heard in a long time, Ming Zhifei also sat on the bed. He really didn’t feel like setting up and breaking down the bed during the day, but in the afternoon he felt a bit tired and wanted to lie down for a rest.
He had almost forgotten how he spent his afternoons recently. Probably just lying in bed, half-asleep? For a long time, he felt he had been in a state of emptiness or hibernation—something that was undoubtedly unusual. As Fan Wenya had said, he was mentally ill.
…..
When he suddenly woke up, the room seemed even darker. He realized he must have fallen asleep and woken again. He was a bit dazed, gradually becoming aware of something on his body—something warm and heavy.
When he realized it was Yang Jianzhen’s arm, he was instantly awake.