Chapter Eighty-One — Between Them

A cool breeze slipped in through the crack of the window. Outside, everything was a blinding white; on the north side, there was no sign of the moon, yet it must have been a hauntingly beautiful waning crescent hanging in the night sky.

Su Yihui lay awake, disturbed by the warm breath that Cheng Shuguang exhaled onto his nose. Afraid that tossing and turning might wake him, he dared not move too much.

“Can’t sleep?” Cheng Shuguang asked, gazing at Su Yihui’s back.

“No—” Su Yihui buried his left cheek in the pillow, his eyes fixed on the faint light on the floor.

“Still thinking about your sister?” Cheng Shuguang stroked the hair at the back of his head, his hand carrying the refreshing scent of shampoo.

That day, Yishu and her companions ran into Su Yihui at Zhishu Tea Restaurant. The secret he had hidden with painstaking effort was suddenly revealed, leaving him tangled in a myriad of emotions—grief and joy intermingled. Grief for failing his sister’s hopes, for the sudden cold splash that had drenched her without warning, unable to contain his sense of loss. Joy that he no longer had to live in the shadows, that standing in the shade was better than being buried in darkness.

Yet this faint happiness, in the face of sorrow, only intensified his guilt and shame.

Su Yihui appeared before Cheng Shuguang with his luggage, telling him that his lease had expired and he couldn’t find a place to stay.

Cheng Shuguang looked at him, the two heavy bags together probably outweighing his own body. He took one in each hand, loading them into the trunk, then drove him to his own place.

The urge to care for and protect him overcame all reason.

What Su Yihui didn’t expect was that Li Nanzhi, the landlady, lived across from them. Before confirming their relationship, Cheng Shuguang had emphasized that there had never been any vows or even a single date or hand-holding between him and her. It was a tragedy born of their parents’ wishful thinking. Yet her frequent visits unsettled Su Yihui, and Cheng Shuguang was equally uneasy.

Li Nanzhi’s life lacked a sense of self; her identity was tied to Cheng Shuguang. Perhaps it was the result of ideas instilled by her parents and neighbors since childhood—her existence was for his sake.

Every evening after work, she would go to his place, tidy up, clean, and do his laundry. Though his home wasn’t particularly messy and needed no daily cleaning, she simply wanted something to do—a reason to be close to him.

Su Yihui would enter only after Li Nanzhi had left. But on this day, she returned unexpectedly, catching sight of Yihui emerging from the bathroom in his bathrobe.

Those terrifying thoughts buried deep in time began to sprout, little by little.

Cheng Shuguang and she exchanged glances. Though it was their first time encountering such a scene, they had met eyes like this many times before.

Su Yihui changed and came out, intending to say something, but Cheng Shuguang blocked him, telling her that the place Yihui used to live would no longer rent to him, and he hadn’t found a new place yet, so he was letting him stay for a few days.

Li Nanzhi nodded twice—no more, no less, exactly twice. Su Yihui noticed it clearly. She said nothing, walked a few steps, picked up her handbag from the sofa, and left.

The sound of the closing door lingered in the night, carrying a trace of sorrow.

That night was Su Yihui’s last at Cheng Shuguang’s home. The next day, he moved into a shared apartment.

Three people, all aware, yet none spoke a word.

Nearly a month later, Cheng Shuguang saw a listing for a north-facing, one-bedroom, one-living room, one-kitchen, one-bath apartment in Yundong. The pictures online showed a clean, elegant space with a tranquil environment. Without hesitation, he paid a year’s rent upfront.

Their packing was rushed; they stuffed clothes and trousers into the suitcase, the hard bottles and jars nested one inside the other like Russian dolls. When they arrived at the new place, the contents spilled out as if emptying garbage.

—What’s this?

Cheng Shuguang found a white paper edged in red wedged in the suitcase. Opening it, he found it was an admission letter.

Su Yihui, organizing the wardrobe, turned at Cheng Shuguang’s call. Seeing what he held, he froze.

—The admission letter. Why didn’t you go? After all that effort, why not attend?

Cheng Shuguang gripped the letter, waving it before his eyes, the paper trembling in the air from his agitation.

Su Yihui had joined Zhishu Tea Restaurant in June, listing a high school diploma on his employment form. Cheng Shuguang had asked him why he hadn’t gone to college. He replied that his grades were poor, he couldn’t get in, and his family’s finances wouldn’t allow it. A high school diploma was more than enough for an ordinary job.

—I don’t want to go. Whether I go or not, there’s almost no difference.

Unable to look at Cheng Shuguang or the letter, Su Yihui lowered his head. Sweat soaked his palms. Tears that could not flow found release as sweat—perhaps another way to vent his pent-up sorrow.

—How could there be no difference? If you go, you might regret it for four years; if you don’t, you’ll regret it for a lifetime.

Cheng Shuguang’s voice was heavy. His social experience, his life’s knowledge, far surpassed Su Yihui’s. He knew the good outweighed the bad.

—But for what reason?

Seeing Su Yihui silent, Cheng Shuguang approached, searching his eyes for even the faintest clue.

—If I leave, will you miss me?

Su Yihui’s eyes grew moist. He wasn’t sure if Cheng Shuguang would miss him, but he was certain that he himself would miss him terribly. This longing could become a vast ocean, flooding the banks, drowning him—drowned by yearning. Many cannot bear the pain of separation and, before the flood, abandon their longing, empty their hearts for a time, or, after that person leaves, plunge into the next relationship.

—Of course I’ll miss you.

Cheng Shuguang replied without hesitation.

—But are you willing to leave me? The distance between Yuncheng and Jiangxi is like heaven and earth. Distance erodes longing, washes it away. Can you trust me?

Su Yihui’s eyes grew wetter, brimming with hot tears. He sniffed hard. In truth, he wanted to say that distance is one of the greatest enemies of love, along with trust, family, character, and money. He didn’t believe he could wait for his return with distance between them.

Love’s madness is not subject to wind or moon.

Perhaps Su Yihui was just such a soul.

—Of course I’ll miss you, trust you, wait until you return. If I have time, I can visit.

Cheng Shuguang recited, words flowing endlessly.

—But you haven’t answered: are you willing?

Su Yihui gazed at him urgently; all the other answers paled in comparison to this one.

Are you willing? Am I willing? Cheng Shuguang wrestled with his thoughts. How could he be willing? He was not. His voice, his presence—he was the only ray of light in over ten years. The darkness that follows that ray is an unbearable disaster.

Cheng Shuguang paused for a long moment. That “are you willing” from Yihui—he truly was not. Yet to say so would be to ask him to give up.

—I know you’re not willing.

Su Yihui embraced him, pressing his face against his chest, listening to his breath, his heartbeat, feeling the security he gave. This was the life he truly wanted. If trading the soul’s fall for the body’s survival, or the body’s demise for the soul’s immortality, he would choose the former without hesitation.

—Leaving would mean not only four years of regret, but a lifetime. Shuguang, if you truly love me, don’t let me go. Letting me go is letting me die.

A body without its soul cannot survive long in this world. In Su Yihui’s world, Cheng Shuguang was his soul, destined to rule over everything he was. He was his anchor and his medium for survival.

Cheng Shuguang hugged Su Yihui, his lips pressed to his hair. He had never imagined his love could be so fierce and passionate.

—Let me care for you, love you, hurt with you, let me shield you from wind and rain, let me defend you against all the world’s gossip.

Cheng Shuguang no longer insisted. In truth, his fragile resistance was powerless before his overwhelming love.