He Wenqi pounded on his own front door with a series of thuds, shouting loudly, “Mom, open up! I’m starving to death.”
While opening the door, He Yanqiu reproached him: “Didn’t you bring your keys? Can’t you open it yourself? All day long, all you know is to yell about hunger; how did I give birth to a ‘starving ghost’ reincarnated? You’ve had enough of fooling around outside and finally know to come home? Is your winter break homework finished? School starts the day after tomorrow—I’ll see what you do then!”
He Wenqi kicked off his shoes with two rubs and, shuffling in his slippers, dashed toward the kitchen: “Mom, what’s for dinner? It smells so good; I could smell it from outside the door.”
He Yanqiu had just finished straightening the shoes he had kicked about haphazardly, and when she turned around, he was already gone; she couldn’t stop him even by calling out.
“Mom, who is he?” He Wenqi, with a pork rib dangling from his mouth, backed out of the kitchen and jerked his chin toward the dining table opposite him.
Sitting upright by the dining table was a little boy holding a bowl. Seeing He Wenqi, the boy put down his bowl and chopsticks, straightened his posture, and sized him up.
“My ribs haven’t even left the pot yet! Did you wash your hands? Go wash your hands clean for me!”
He Yanqiu chased him into the bathroom, then turned back and smiled at the little boy: “Han Ji, you go ahead and eat first. Don’t eat too fast, there are still braised ribs coming.” Turning her face back, she scolded He Wenqi, “Use soap! Do you think I didn’t see you just perfunctorily rinsing with water?”
He Wenqi had no choice but to pick up the soap and meticulously lather his hands: “Mom, who is he? Why is he eating at our house?”
“He’s the child from that family that just moved in across the hall. His parents aren’t around.”
The family across the hall had moved in a week ago. He Yanqiu happened to run into them when she came home from work.
At the time, the couple had come to the door carrying a fruit basket, saying they had come to Jin City for business and would usually be very busy and rarely at home; only the child would be there.
It wasn’t that they wanted He Yanqiu to do anything specific; they just feared that if an emergency happened at home, she could notify them in time.
To say they were busy was an understatement; since then, He Yanqiu had never seen the couple again. She had, however, seen the child.
For three nights in a row, when He Yanqiu went out to throw away the trash, she saw the door opposite hers slightly ajar, with a little boy hiding half his body while watching her.
Tonight was the same. He Yanqiu couldn’t help herself and went forward to ask if he needed any help from an “Auntie.”
The little boy was named Han Ji, and he was very polite to He Yanqiu: “Auntie, are you making dinner? It smells so good.”
He Yanqiu instantly guessed the child’s thoughts: “Have your parents not been around these past few days?”
Han Ji nodded.
“Have you been home all by yourself these past few days?”
Han Ji nodded again.
“Then what are you eating? You haven’t gone without food all these days, have you? There are small eateries just downstairs; you can go eat there. Did your parents leave you money?”
Han Ji’s parents had naturally left him money, but he was a child after all, and having suddenly moved to a strange place, he didn’t quite dare to go to the eateries.
He Yanqiu pushed open the door and entered the apartment, seeing scattered instant noodle packaging on the table and a bowl of soaking, steaming noodles.
He had probably been eating instant noodles for nearly a week.
He Yanqiu couldn’t bear it. She had a son of her own about the same age as Han Ji, so she brought him home.
Han Ji managed to “scrounge” a meal of braised pork ribs.
Where there is a first time, there is a second, and this “meal-scrounging” lasted for over ten years.
Later, even as his parents’ business grew larger and larger—opening companies, buying new houses, buying villas, and expanding their market abroad—Han Ji still lived alone in this old apartment building without an elevator. In any case, his parents were away long-term, so it made no difference where he lived.
After finishing the most fragrant meal he’d had in a week and thanking He Yanqiu, it was time for Han Ji to go home. Before leaving, he saw a few scattered drawings on the living room coffee table and picked them up to look at them.
He didn’t actually understand what was drawn, but He Wenqi leaned over, looking very proud: “How about it? Is it drawn well?”
Following his lead, Han Ji nodded: “Mm, very great.”
Having received validation, He Wenqi felt as if he had found a soulmate. He grabbed the boy’s arm and led him into his room, rummaging through a cardboard box by the desk to pull out a stack of drawings and hand them to him: “Look at these, I drew them all. I’m really good at drawing.”
Han Ji took the stack and looked through them one by one. Aside from a few recognizable plants and houses, he still couldn’t understand what the rest were. However, he nodded in approval of all of them, accepting them unconditionally.
The bit of smugness in He Wenqi’s heart was written all over his face: “I can even draw you.”
Han Ji glanced at him, looking skeptical.
The next day, He Wenqi knocked on the door opposite and handed Han Ji an extremely abstract portrait.
Afterward, every few days, Han Ji would receive a portrait drawn by He Wenqi—from the initial abstractions to later sketches, then charcoal drawings, and quick life studies… from form to spirit, all of his expressions, demeanors, and movements fell under He Wenqi’s nib, leaping off the paper.
…
On the train home after leaving Han Ji’s university, He Wenqi hid in a corner of the carriage and cried the whole way.
How vast the spreading joy is when you love someone, that is how deep the pain of disappointment is.
He Wenqi felt as if thousands of fine, dense threads were growing inside his body, extending into the depths of his heart. All the ends of those threads were held in “Han Ji’s” hand; as soon as that name was brought to mind, all the threads would tighten and pull, causing an unbearable, twisting pain.
He clutched his chest; he couldn’t see blood, yet the pain made him unable to stop a low, hoarse cry.
He couldn’t figure it out—Han Ji was clearly so good to him.
In winter, he would help warm his bed, tucking He Wenqi’s icy hands and feet into his own embrace;
On rainy days, because He Wenqi didn’t want to get his shoes and socks wet, he would carry him on his back the whole way, even up to the fifth floor;
He Wenqi loved eating crawfish but didn’t want to peel them because it was a hassle, so Han Ji would peel a whole big bowl of shrimp meat for him;
He was a picky eater, so Han Ji would eat the vegetables that He Wenqi secretly picked out…
For so many years, they ate together, went to school together; even after Han Ji’s family bought a villa, he still insisted on scrounging meals at He Wenqi’s house and squeezing into the same bed with him.
Han Ji was steady and ranked first in every subject. He Wenqi was playful, with grades that were neither good nor bad. Han Ji would then grab him to tutor him, ensuring they tested into the same middle school.
In He Wenqi’s final year of high school, Han Ji went to an out-of-province university, but the two of them still had phone calls and video chats every night.
He Wenqi ranked first in his art major, but his academic scores were a bit lacking. To be in the same city as Han Ji for university, he applied to a school that was originally a large margin above his mock exam scores.
This year, He Wenqi settled down.
He was naturally clever; he was just prone to playing. He began to focus and strive, sprinting toward the goal in his heart. With Han Ji’s remote guidance and the persistence of staying up until the early morning every night, his progress was rapid.
He didn’t tell Han Ji which college entrance preferences he had filled out until he received the admission notice.
He wanted to deliver this surprise to Han Ji in person, along with his heart that had loved him for a long time.
But, Han Ji had a girlfriend—and right in front of him.
He Wenqi saw Han Ji take Zhou Xue’s hand, and his heart turned into shattered glass, falling to the ground with a clatter.
It turned out Han Ji only regarded him as… a neighbor… a younger brother…
He couldn’t stay for a second longer; he turned and ran.
He was desperate to go home, to hide in his own room, to conceal himself in his own world, and then pull those threads held by “Han Ji” out of his body one by one, letting the wounds stop bleeding and scab over.
When he finally reached home and pushed open his bedroom door, he saw the room scattered with portraits. Smiling, pondering, angry, dazed… different expressions, but all of the same person’s face.
He Yanqiu was sitting with her back to him at the desk, an art sketchbook placed in front of her.
“Mom.” He Wenqi’s throat tightened, sensing that his secret had been discovered.
He Yanqiu’s shoulders gave a shudder.
He Wenqi stood at the door and waited; every second felt like an eternity.
“Mom.” He Wenqi had anticipated the day his mother would find out. He was upright in his heart and didn’t think loving someone was something shameful.
He had imagined how he would tell his mother; if she didn’t accept it, he had also planned how he would persuade her.
He just hadn’t expected his mother to find out on her own.
He Wenqi had many sketchbooks. Han Ji had seen almost all of them, except for this one, which he had kept tightly hidden and locked in a drawer.
He was too excited when he got the admission notice and was in such a hurry to see Han Ji that he forgot to put the sketchbook back in the drawer.
There was nothing shameful about it; it was merely a young man’s longing for another person, some delusions of sentiment, and a love that wanted to possess but had no way to be relieved.
He Yanqiu finally turned around. Her face was pale, and her teeth were biting down hard on her trembling lower lip: “You, you are…”
“Yes, Mom.” He Wenqi’s eyes were still red and swollen, and he didn’t intend to hide it. “I love Han Ji.”
“You went to find him?”
He Wenqi didn’t answer, which served as a silent admission.
“I—I have to take you to the hospital.” He Yanqiu stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth quickly, extremely agitated. “Yes, to the hospital immediately.”
“Go to the hospital for what?”
“To treat the illness. This is an illness. We’ll go to the hospital; it can be cured at the hospital.”
“Mom, I’m not sick.” He Wenqi sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I said it’s an illness, so it’s an illness!” He Yanqiu suddenly roared at him, her voice strained and exhausted.
He Wenqi was stunned by the roar.
She reached out her hand, which wouldn’t stop shaking: “Take—take out your phone.”
“What for?”
“Delete his number! You are not allowed to go looking for him again!”
“I won’t go looking for him again.” The wound in He Wenqi’s heart felt as if it were being flipped open.
“Give it to me! Give me the phone!” He Yanqiu rushed over and frantically tore at He Wenqi’s trouser pockets.
He Wenqi blocked her with one hand and grabbed her arm with the other: “Mom, calm down. Even if there were no Han Ji, I would still like other men. Yes, I am—I am gay!”
Although she already knew, these words coming out were still like a heavy hammer, landing on He Yanqiu’s heart with a muffled “thud.” She was quiet for a few seconds, then suddenly, as if stimulated, she began to shake her head and scream incessantly.
“Mom, Mom—” He Wenqi grabbed her arms, wanting her to stop.
He Yanqiu’s eyes were red, tears streaming out. Her hands were clenched tightly against her chest, and her gaze was vacant.
He Wenqi was frightened by her expression: “Mom, Mom, what’s wrong? Look at me, look at me. I’m your son, okay?”
He Yanqiu’s vision moved to his face, identifying him carefully: “My son, Xiao Qi?”
“Right, I’m Xiao Qi, He Wenqi.”
“My son, He Wenqi.” Focus had just returned to He Yanqiu’s eyes when she suddenly began frantically pulling at him again.
“My son isn’t gay. My son can’t be gay. We’re going to the hospital; we’ll cure the illness at the hospital.” He Yanqiu spoke incoherently, reaching out to pull He Wenqi’s hair, tug at his clothes, and grab his pants. “Give me the phone, give me your phone. To the hospital, we’re going to the hospital.”
She was nearly delirious, beyond anyone’s control.
Her fingernails jabbed into He Wenqi’s face, neck, and arms, finally drawing blood.
He Wenqi endured the pain; while blocking her, he tried to grab her and, with a force neither light nor heavy, pushed her away.
That one push was something He Wenqi would regret to this day.
He Yanqiu’s lower back struck the sharp corner of the desk. The pain caused her to snap back to clarity. She tried to grab onto something so she wouldn’t fall, her hand flailing and catching the sketchbook on the desk. She gripped it tightly, then let go as she slumped to the floor.
The sketchbook was tossed into the air and then fell heavily.
On the page that lay open, two people were drawn in an intimate, neck-intertwined embrace—one was Han Ji, and the other was He Wenqi himself.