CH 92

Chapter 92: Yanghe Qizhe

After hearing what Lin Rong had said, Yue Zhishi sat on the bed, stunned, for a long while. By the time he came out of his daze, his face was already dripping with tears.

Ever since he and Song Yu had gotten together, Yue Zhishi had had many nightmares no one had known about as he slept in Song Yu’s arms. Such as being caught as they’d embraced and kissed each other, Lin Rong and Song Jin exceedingly angry and hysterical from rage. The fanciful, distorted images in his dreams had been tattered and covered in scarlet, filled with crashes, blows and ear-piercing buzzes like a kind of unending warning.

What people said was true — dreams were the opposite of reality.

In reality, that pair of parents felt pain and suffering more than anger, panic coming before misunderstanding. Because they loved them too much, they weren’t able to find even a single place to hurt them.

Yue Zhishi thought he truly was very cruel, but ever since he’d been a child, he’d known only what it meant to give things in exchange. He’d be deeply grateful after receiving the smallest little thing, and then he’d immediately dig out part of himself to trade.

[Thank you. Do you want this? This is mine, I’ll give it you. I can give you many, many things.]

To the point where he’d stayed in a hotel room with his lover, and it hadn’t mattered how expensive it was; he wanted to pay for one night, too.

He had no way to accept other people’s love with a clear conscience. 

After possessing Song Yu, it became even more impossible. If he’d been willing, he honestly could’ve enjoyed a whole lifetime of the Song family’s love and care like a family member who truly belonged to the family. But he hadn’t dared.

He’d never mentioned it, but Yue Zhishi had always remembered the conversation he’d unintentionally overheard at the hospital. The words ‘outsider’ and ‘someone else’ were forever nailed onto his heart.

Because no one knew what would happen tomorrow, because no one knew when this love and care would disappear, he’d planned out his future life in spite of himself. He’d planned out what he should do after losing these beautiful dreams, so that if that day really came, he wouldn’t be left with nothing and nowhere to go.

No one would be willing to live a whole life by themselves, and neither did he want to leave this family.

But he had needed to prepare.

The night at 2am was quiet enough to leave people unsettled. Yue Zhishi walked to Song Yu’s room and reached out, attempting to open the door. Just like always, Song Yu hadn’t locked the door. His room was finally no longer that unbroken darkness with the curtains tightly drawn. The sharp, cold rays of the moon penetrated inside, leaving a broken piece of moonlight on the carpet. Part of the blanket bulged upwards, not moving, and looked like a frigid mountain range underneath the dim moon. 

Stepping onto that soft carpet, Yue Zhishi came closer as quietly as he could. It was an untimely thought, but he remembered himself in the past; he’d thought up all those different kinds of ways and ideas in the hope of being able to stay in Song Yu’s room. Now, he understood: at that time, Song Yu too had yearned for him to stay.

The two of them in the past had been separated by an unbreakable barrier. They’d looked like they were extremely close to each other, but they’d had no way to touch skin to skin. 

After lifting up a corner of the blanket, Yue Zhishi quietly slid inside, finally feeling some sense of warmth as he hugged Song Yu’s back. This embrace felt like it’d taken a long, long time in coming, and Yue Zhishi pushed his face into Song Yu’s back, his arms wrapping tightly around him.

“Aunt Rong told me to come stay with you,” Yue Zhishi said very softly.

With merely a hug, he knew Song Yu wasn’t asleep; he would’ve been able to tell even with just the sound of his breathing. The inside of Song Yu’s blanket was too cold — Yue Zhishi was actually a bit grateful towards his current low fever. At least during this moment, he could give Song Yu a bit more warmth.

His hands smoothed lightly over Song Yu’s arms, as though he was soothing him to sleep. Song Yu lay on his side in front of the moon, a teardrop soundlessly tumbling down from the corner of his eyes. It hid in the soft fibres of his pillow, as if it had never existed.

After a few moments, Song Yu flipped over and slid his arms filled with security around Yue Zhishi’s body to embrace him in return. He rested his forehead on top of Yue Zhishi’s and asked, “How’s your fever?”

“Does your body still ache?”

Yue Zhishi’s nose was burning, his eyes swollen and painful. He shook his head and didn’t say a single thing, only holding Song Yu tightly.

Song Yu’s voice came out like a sigh, the words leaving his mouth so delicately it felt like they could fade into the night sky at any moment. “Why wake up so suddenly? How good would it have been to not come.”

Yue Zhishi froze for a second before understanding that Song Yu meant him. Within Song Yu’s expectations, Yue Zhishi should’ve laid in his warm bed in the apartment and slept all the way to morning. And as he was immersed in his dreams, Song Yu would’ve proactively come clean to his parents, bearing everything himself.

He almost didn’t dare imagine that possibility — because Song Yu would’ve definitely packaged him as a perfect victim, would’ve described their difficult love for each other as a simple count of deceit.

“I needed to come.” Yue Zhishi lifted a hand and stroked Song Yu’s face. The moonlight crossed over Song Yu’s shoulders, landing into his pale coloured eyes.

“Song Yu, I wouldn’t leave you to face these things by yourself.”

The palm of his hand was very hot, carrying a real and existing warmth.

Song Yu fit their lips together, giving Yue Zhishi a peaceful and brief kiss as though it was already all of himself. He gripped Yue Zhishi so tightly it felt like he wanted to absorb him into his body. In the past, Song Yu would’ve never hugged him like this; he’d always been gentle, giving Yue Zhishi an endless sense of security.

But tonight, it felt like he’d returned back to four years ago, five years ago — or maybe even earlier.

He turned back into that young boy who’d had his desires cut off from the moment his feelings had begun to sprout. They hadn’t even been given the chance to grow; he’d seen his ending at first glance. The past him and the current him pleaded using the same body, unable to release their arms, unable to let go of the person they loved.

Song Yu and Yue Zhishi’s bodies were sealed together with no gaps in between, as though this way, they couldn’t be separated.

“We’ve really been terrible, haven’t we.” Yue Zhishi’s voice was very low, pulling in difficult breaths of air between words. All the things that had happened that night floated in front of his eyes like scenes pushed into his brain from a broken projector, unable to be turned off.

Since Song Yu didn’t respond, he couldn’t help but ask, “If you’d known earlier what would happen today, would you still want me to fall in love with you earlier?” 

The earlier they loved each other, the earlier they would’ve lied.

“Yes.” This time, Song Yu gave an answer very quickly.

He held Yue Zhishi, voice slightly raspy. “I wanted you so much I almost went crazy.”

Hearing this response, Yue Zhishi could only feel his heart stinging. He buried his face into Song Yu’s collarbones. “I wish I had too.”

Song Yu rubbed his nape, quietly asking him why.

“So you would’ve known earlier that the only person who would’ve received your letter was you.”

Yue Zhishi weakly laughed. “I would’ve also known earlier that all the plans I created would be wasted. As long as you love me and need me, I won’t be able to leave you.”

In his letter prepared ahead of time, Song Yu had written ‘please don’t leave him by himself’, yet Yue Zhishi had prepared ahead of time a plan for all the possibilities of him living by himself.

If he’d fallen in love earlier, they could’ve destroyed each other’s painful, hidden secrets.

Song Yu was most likely the only person in the world who’d been conscious of the shortcomings in Yue Zhishi’s personality, and yet he hadn’t dared to write them into his letter. He even stressed, ‘he has no shortcomings’. 

But Yue Zhishi actually did — he was very afraid of separation, as well as overly keen to please. In order for Song Yu to be happy and satisfied, Yue Zhishi could do anything. 

He treated everyone else the same way, whether deeply or lightly.

“Le Le.” Song Yu raised up Yue Zhishi’s face and met his eyes. That pair of deep and profound eyes seemed to almost pierce through Yue Zhishi’s mask and see clearly into his inner heart. “Other than me, Dad, Mom, your friends, the people who adore you — there are so many people who love you. And they love you without asking for anything in return.”

Yue Zhishi focused on him, a shining layer of moisture growing in his eyes. But he was very stubborn; he refused to blink.

“Baobao.” Song Yu tenderly stroked his face. “Love doesn’t need to be returned. It’s what you deserve.”

“You’re not a child without a home. Your home is here. If you really did leave, they might spend their entire lives here waiting and hoping for your return. And just like what Dad said, they would cook so many of the dishes you love, waiting for you to come home and eat.”

Yue Zhishi’s eyes remained fixed on him, but his eyelashes were faintly trembling.

His stomach felt painful, and so did his throat. So many emotions were surging.

Frowning, Yue Zhishi couldn’t hold back from asking, “Then what about you?”

Song Yu smiled with his pale face, his palm coming to rest on the side of Yue Zhishi’s face. The pads of his fingers gently rubbed against Yue Zhishi’s drawn eyebrows.

“I would go look for you. All of the good cities in this world — I would look through all of them.”

“You’d have a hard time finding me.” Yue Zhishi pressed his lips together, lowering his eyes.

The look in Song Yu’s eyes was very tender. “Have you forgotten the hide and seek we used to play as kids?”

As long as Song Yu searched through each room and called out Yue Zhishi’s name once he arrived at where he’d hidden himself, the tiny Yue Zhishi would rush impatiently out to see him, begging for Song Yu to carry him. He’d even say, gege, how are you so amazing, you found me so easily.

“If you missed me, you’d come out.”

Yue Zhishi knit his eyebrows together, looking as though he was struggling to hold back his emotions. In the end, he couldn’t help but nod and wrap his arms around Song Yu.

The small stray dog, having planned to continue living his life well, would be very careful when crossing the road. He’d look for a place to hide when it rained, and would do his best to find things to eat for himself — because he no longer had food and shelter. 

Perhaps he would continuously return back to the park he’d used to be taken to and search for the lawn he’d used to run across, secretly sniffing the familiar fragrance of the grass.

What was so hard about living by himself?

He was only afraid that if his past owner showed up once more, he would forget everything in his joy and run straight into his arms.

Song Yu’s arms were forever his safest refuge — they were the only place to which Yue Zhishi felt like he belonged.

There was no need for payment or exchange. He belonged to him. 

They embraced each other, using each other’s bodies to keep warm. But neither of them dared to ask, dared to think if their parents would accept them — they could only huddle into each other to pass these dark hours. Yue Zhishi was worried Song Yu wouldn’t sleep well, so he too didn’t sleep well the entire night. Hazily dreaming that Song Yu had left, he startled awake; when he realised Song Yu was still sleeping next to him, a hand on his shoulder, only then did Yue Zhishi release a breath, ease into him and continue sleeping. 

He did that several times, and when the sky started to lighten, he finally couldn’t keep sleeping anymore. He opened his eyes and stared at Song Yu’s face for a very long time, helping him flatten out those frowning eyebrows. His throat was hurting and he really wanted to cough, but he was worried he’d wake Song Yu — and so Yue Zhishi got out of bed with light movements and went to the bathroom to cough.

His reflection in the mirror looked thin and haggard, his face pale as paper yet his lips were flushed red from his fever. Yue Zhishi cleaned up a bit, his throat still uncomfortable, and felt like it was hard to breathe. But his heart was still anxious and restless; he only wanted to see how Song Jin and Lin Rong were sleeping.

But they seemed to have woken up even earlier — Yue Zhishi hadn’t even gotten to the living room after going downstairs when he heard the very low sounds of the news of the television, as well as the sounds of them talking.

Yue Zhishi hid behind the staircase and quietly stood there. Lin Rong’s vague voice was the tiniest bit crisp, like the daylight of early morning. 

“Can you still not tell? The two of them can’t be separated at all. They’re not the same as those young people who’ve just started dating — their relationship’s already very deep.”

“But what if one day…”

Tears once again appeared in Lin Rong’s voice. “Don’t say what if anymore… I was in so much pain last night. I couldn’t sleep, so I went to Xiao Yu’s room to see if they were sleeping. Do you know? They were sleeping with their arms tightly around each other, just like little babies particularly worried about losing each other.” 

“If we force them away from each other now for a future we don’t know when will arrive, then I’ll have lost both my sons.”

She softly sobbed, “And I don’t care what other people think, I just want them to live well, to be happy everyday… Xiao Yu, he, he’s stifled everything in his heart for so many years. Isn’t it because of this? My son can’t sleep at night, and yet as a mother, I didn’t even know.” 

Yue Zhishi drew in a deep, deep breath, but it felt like he couldn’t quite move his body. All the intense emotions from last night had loaded down his body too much. He felt a bit weak, and he leaned back against the staircase as he listened to their voices.

He heard Song Jin say with remorse, “But I keep feeling very apologetic to Yue Yi. It feels like I haven’t taught our children well, haven’t led them down the right path, which is why they…” 

“If Yue Yi really was still alive, he would also want Le Le to be happy. He’d want Le Le to be together with the person he likes. Weren’t we the same back then? My dad didn’t allow us to be together and was determined to force me into marry someone else. Have you forgotten how much you suffered back then?”

Seeing Song Jin’s eyebrows tightly drawn together, not speaking, Lin Rong sighed. “I thought all night about why Le Le would want to leave. Maybe it was because he’s felt like he didn’t have a family since he was a child. Even though we treat him well, he still isn’t our true born son — and later, after he fell in love with Song Yu, he felt like he hadn’t lived up to our care. He was scared of us throwing him out, which was why he kept thinking he should leave first…” 

“That’s definitely why.” She repeated painfully, “My Le Le would only want to leave because of that.” 

The more she thought about it, the more pain she felt. “Don’t bother them anymore, isn’t it fine just like this? It’s not like they’ve committed some unforgivable crime. They’re not true brothers anyway. If other people want to talk about them, then let them talk. People live for a lifetime — we don’t live for the sake of other people’s mouths.”

Silence for a few seconds, and then Song Jin helplessly sighed. “Then so be it.”

He said again, “We might not be used to it in the beginning, but we can’t show it. We can’t hurt the children.”

“Why’d you steal what I was going to say,” Lin Rong grumbled before using a tissue to wipe away her tears. “Seriously. Hurry and throw away the cigarettes you haven’t smoked. Don’t smoke anymore, Le Le’s going to cough if he smells it.”

The words had just left her mouth when she thought something didn’t feel quite right — she felt like she heard the sounds of someone struggling to breathe. She flew off the sofa, followed the sounds of the breathing and found Yue Zhishi collapsed on the floor behind the circular staircase.

“Le Le!” Lin Rong half picked up Yue Zhishi, who had his face covered with tears as his asthma flared up. She urgently called out Song Jin’s name, saying, “Hurry and bring his inhaler!”

Song Yu came downstairs as Yue Zhishi was using the inhaler. When he saw Yue Zhishi on the floor, he immediately rushed down to his side.

His fever and overly heightened emotions triggering his asthma, Yue Zhishi remained weak and feeble even after using the inhaler. The entire family brought him to the hospital. Yue Zhishi silently slept on the hospital bed, and the ice-cold IV drip flowed down the plastic tube, trickling into his veins.

Lin Rong sat next to him, both her hands wrapped around one of Yue Zhishi’s — she cried in front of his bed, just like she used to when he’d gotten sick as a child.

Song Jin told Song Yu to come outside with him and took him to the window at the very end of the hospital corridor. He didn’t look like the exhausted father from last night, about to grow old over the span of one night — his emotions had steadied, and with a respectable suit on, he slightly recovered his usual gentle and elegant air.

But the question he asked was very direct, very clear, as though he was calculating how big of a mistake his own son had committed.

“You and Le Le — how far have you guys gone?” 

Song Yu didn’t hide a single thing, honestly saying, “We’ve done everything.”

“Did you ask for it?”

Song Yu lowered his eyes. “I asked for it.”

“You, Song Yu…” Song Jin struggled to hold back his emotions. “Le Le’s so young…”

“I’ll take responsibility.” Raising his eyes, Song Yu looked towards him. “Dad, I don’t think I’ve been a bad child after growing up for so many years. But I’ve never promised you anything.”

His gaze was very steady. “But I can promise you, there’ll be no one else in this world who will love Le Le the way I do. There won’t be.” 

Song Jin turned his face away, unable to refute Song Yu’s words.

“I’m sorry for hiding from you for all these years.” Song Yu used soft words he almost never would use. “I won’t ask for you guys to forgive me or to accept me. I only hope that you won’t blame him. He really does care a lot about your feelings.”

Song Jin looked out the window. Cold wind was blowing at the hospital lawn, pushing and shaking off the crumbling tree leaves — as well as a pair of birds, clinging together.

He was silent for a long time, and then he shook his head. In the end, he only said to Song Yu, “Take care of him well. Don’t let down your uncle.”

A moment later, Song Yu solemnly nodded. His father spoke again.

“Last time when I asked you in Yanghe Qizhe’s courtyard how you’ve been recently, you said you’ve been quite well, that you’ve been really happy everyday. I’ve always remembered it, because it felt like it wasn’t something you would say. I thought you really did come across something good and became really happy. Now that I think about, I can understand why you said what you did.”

“Since the two of you are together now, be happy.” He looked at Song Yu. “As parents, we only wish for your happiness.” 

And then, he said it was cold outside and told Song Yu to head back in and take a leave of absence for Yue Zhishi. He walked downstairs by himself to buy some fruit.

After calling the university, Song Yu went back to the hospital room. He saw Lin Rong wrapping her thumb and index finger around Yue Zhishi’s wrist, measuring it, and she frowned in worry at his narrow wrist. When she saw Song Yu come in, she sighed; her tightly pressed lips were quivering slightly.

Walking over, Song Yu grabbed a chair and sat next to her. He pulled her into his arms.

This pair of mother and son was particularly strange — Song Yu could think of one hundred different ways to bicker with Lin Rong, but he couldn’t speak to her about the words he’d hidden in his heart. It felt like they were separated by a long distance, yet with just a hug, Lin Rong’s stubbornly cold front would crumble.

She pushed and shoved at her son’s embrace, and even reached out to hit him — but she didn’t dare hit too heavily, and she also didn’t dare to cry out, in case she disturbed Yue Zhishi. She could only shake her head again and again, as though admitting defeat.

Hearing Song Yu ask for forgiveness, the pain in her heart rose once again.

What was there to forgive? It wasn’t as though he’d actually done something wrong.

She sniffled. Not wanting to open her mouth, she could only pull out her phone.

Not long after, Song Yu’s phone vibrated.

[Ms Lin: You’re not allowed to think and imagine random things anymore. You need to rest and need to come home more often. Or else I’ll take Le Le and leave together.]

Song Yu actually smiled, seeing that message.

In the tranquil hospital room, their voices turned into written words, but the tone and feelings within them were still accurately and precisely delivered to the other person’s heart.

[Xiao Yu: Take me and Dad along too. We’ll carry your bags.]

The indicator on the chat screen kept changing, switching from ‘currently typing’ to nothing and then back again. After many, many cycles, only then did Song Yu receive his mother’s reply.

[Ms Lin: You’ll carry them yourself.]

[Ms Lin: The entire family’s bags.]

The author has something to say:

Yanghe Qizhe (阳和启蛰): A metaphor for the end of bad times and the start of a beautiful, smooth-sailing life. Found in the History of the Song Dynasty: Annals of Music.

(Yes, the real Song Dynasty poetry records)

The lines of the original poem described spring: “And thus the winds respond, refreshing the seasons and the year. The warmth of spring awakens those hibernating from winter, and everything returns to spring.”