“Sorry.” He stopped and forced a faint tug at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know. Most families in this town are surnamed Bai.”
The man glanced at him. “Are you from here?”
“Don’t I look like one?” Qin Mu asked in return.
“No accent.”
“My Mandarin is just better,” he said, and then naturally greeted a fellow townsman they passed in the local dialect, “Ai, have you eaten?”
“Yeah, I have,” the other person drawled in reply.
Qin Mu’s Tingyun dialect was flawless. He had suspected that Shen Liu might have debts outside, or perhaps had offended someone and needed to hide. So he fabricated a backstory for the two of them as college students returning to their hometown, and secretly picked up common local phrases from Chef Fang to keep up the pretence. What he hadn’t expected was that the pursuers would come so quickly.
Sweat broke out across his back as he anxiously tried to think of a countermeasure. As the two of them walked side by side, the man suddenly stopped and asked, “Aren’t you going to talk about it?”
Qin Mu’s heart gave a violent jolt. On guard, he asked, “…About what?”
The man lifted the rim of his umbrella. His deep, dark eyes gazed through the curtain of rain toward the cluster of stone archways not far away. “These.”
Only then did Qin Mu realise, and he exhaled in relief. Pointing to the nearest one, he began reciting, “The Ming Emperor Shenzong granted the largest archway to Bai Wanshan. Bai Wanshan was a top scholar in the imperial exams, served as imperial tutor, Vice Minister of Rites, and Grand Academician of Wenchang Pavilion, attaining the rank of a third-grade official. To honour his loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and love, the emperor ordered this archway erected for his mother, praising her for her exemplary upbringing. The Bai family flourished in the Ming dynasty, with more than thirty archways, but later declined after being implicated in an exam cheating scandal, and most were destroyed. Half of those standing now are reconstructions based on historical records. This road is the ancient path into town. Up ahead is a small pavilion called the Official’s Hat Pavilion, where Bai descendants would dismount when returning home. The rain’s getting heavy, let’s take shelter there.”
“All right,” the man agreed.
Raindrops pattered densely on the tiles, rolling down into a fine net of water. Mist rose over the distant green mountains, veiling them in ethereal vapour, hazy and indistinct.
“The scenery here is beautiful. Even rain has its own kind of beauty too.” Qin Mu deliberately tried to draw him out. “Where did you come from?”
“J City.”
“A big city in the north.” Qin Mu’s gaze furtively roved over him. “Here to visit a friend? Someone you met online?”
“He’s my younger brother,” the man said.
Qin Mu’s breath hitched. He masked his suspicion and wariness with a smile, forcing his tone to sound casual. “He came here to travel?”
“No. He ran away from home.” The man’s right hand rested on the umbrella handle, his left in his trouser pocket, his posture straight as a rod. “He’s always been stubborn and strong-willed, unwilling to follow the family’s arrangements. Unfortunately, his father is also a stubborn man. Their arguments escalated, shaking the house with turmoil. In a fit of rage, his father struck him and broke his leg, then locked him up. When he was able to get out of bed, he ran.”
Qin Mu gripped his umbrella tighter, his lips pressed into a rigid line. He told himself this was just a stranger, not someone he could trust. But deep inside, some unconscious part of him believed every word.
So this was why Shen Liu had left him, why he had taken him along in his flight. It wasn’t because of debts, nor because he had offended anyone. It was simply because he wanted to be with him.
In that instant of truth, Qin Mu felt as if a herd of wild horses had stampeded across his chest, shattering the fence he had painstakingly built, trampling the untouched ground he had tried so hard to protect into a desolate mire. And he could not stop them, could not chase them, could not save it—he could only watch helplessly as they thundered past, his heart twisting with pain. He knew he ought to say something, but nothing would come.
“I watched him grow up. In the family, I might be the one closest to him.” The man looked at the towering archways in the rain and spoke slowly. “Sometimes, family can be a cruel thing. It turns its members into interlocking gears, grinding away individuality until only the ability to move toward a common goal remains. Being inside it means much is beyond your control. But sometimes, it does bring benefits—promising prospects, a bright future. His path has long been paved by many others. As long as he walks it, he can easily gain things others could never obtain, stand taller, and see farther. He can give that up, but what he exchanges it for must hold greater value.” He turned his face then, looking calmly at the person beside him. “That could be something else. But it cannot be you, Qin Mu.”
Qin Mu’s pupils contracted sharply. His eyes flew open wide in panic as he stared at him.
“Let’s reintroduce ourselves. I’m Shen Yan, Shen Liu’s cousin.” When this man met someone’s gaze, there was a hard and icy aura about him, like a glacier that had never melted. “Shen Liu is an only child. The family has high expectations for him. He once promised that after graduating from university, he would study abroad, then take over the family’s overseas business. Now he’s broken that promise.” He paused. “To the family, he can be an idle good-for-nothing, he can be a frivolous libertine, he can even have odd little quirks. But what he cannot be is a homosexual—let alone abandon his family and future for the sake of another man.”
“You want to drag him back?” Qin Mu heard his own voice trembling.
“I’m here to ask a favour of you,” Shen Yan said. “Given Shen Liu’s temperament, the only way he might let go is if you leave him of your own accord.”
“I won’t leave him.” The words burst from Qin Mu’s lips. His hands clenched into fists, the knuckles whitening with the force.
The man seemed unsurprised, his expression flat, his tone cool. “Do you mean for him to gut fish here for the rest of his life?”
Qin Mu froze.
“I heard he’s done many things for you. And what about you—what are you prepared to do for him?” Shen Yan’s voice was unhurried, even mild, yet every question cut like a sharp blade, impossible to withstand.
“Have you thought about his future? His ambitions? The things he still has to accomplish?”
“He told you he liked this life, and you just believed it?”
“With the two of you starting from where you are now, what kind of future can you possibly have?”
“Can such a future really lead to happiness?”
Qin Mu couldn’t answer. He felt like a criminal bound to an execution rack, suffering hundreds of slow cuts, until he hurt too much even to breathe. The bitterness in his chest corroded away his stubborn resolve, his defences collapsing piece by piece until all that remained was ruin.
“Have you considered that one day he might regret it? Regret leaving home, regret choosing such a meagre life, regret being with you. When that day comes, what will you do?”
Shen Yan was putting aside family, elders, and the weight of tradition. What he spoke of was only the two of them and the relationship between them. And that was what made it fatal, each word striking straight at the heart.
Like the final flake of snow before an avalanche. Like the last straw laid on a weary camel’s back. Like the final thrust of a knife into Qin Mu’s chest.
A chill rose over Qin Mu’s body, his blood seeming to freeze in an instant.
He had dreamt of such a nightmare before. In it, Shen Liu walked into the downpour without a backward glance, never returning.
Now, Shen Yan’s brooding eyes seemed like that endless darkness in his dreams, extinguishing every light. And the fear buried deep inside Qin Mu clawed its way out like brittle white bones, gripping his legs, climbing his chest, dragging him into a bottomless abyss.
“Qin Mu, as someone who’s been through this, let me give you a piece of advice. Love is like two people walking together—you never know when the other might stop, turn back, or take another path.” Shen Yan opened his umbrella. “I’ve said all I came to say. I’ll be staying in town for three days. I hope you’ll make your decision soon.”
The black umbrella vanished into the rain.
Qin Mu stood with his head bowed, unmoving for a long time.
Rain poured down from all directions. Gusts of wind blew the water in, soaking the last dry patch of ground beneath his feet. Everything that had just happened felt like a damp, sorrowful dream, one that had seeped through and left a long, lingering ache.
He walked a long way before realising he hadn’t opened his umbrella. His entire body was drenched, and the rain running down his face tasted salty and bitter.
This was a familiar road. At the alley’s end stood Chef Fang’s restaurant. Entering and crossing the small dining hall led to the kitchen. At the sink, Shen Liu was bent over, washing fish. When water from a flicked tail spattered his face, he brushed it away with his shoulder.
Qin Mu’s nose stung, tears sliding silently down his cheeks. He wanted to rush forward and embrace the man in front of him, but he didn’t move. Only when Shen Liu turned his head did he hurriedly look aside, wiping at his eyes.
“How did you get so soaked? Where’s your umbrella?” That voice was familiar, gentle.
“It got torn apart by the wind.” Qin Mu lifted his face, forcing a difficult smile. “Are you done? Do you need me to help?”
“Go home and change clothes,” Shen Liu frowned. “You’ll catch a cold in the rain.”
“All right.” Qin Mu turned quickly, striding out in haste.
In the afternoon the rain stopped. By dinnertime, the little restaurant was lively. Qin Mu got through the busiest hours, left Shen Liu behind to wait for the last two tables to settle the bill, and went home to cook a few dishes.
Stir-fried eggplant with soy paste, scrambled eggs with tomato, braised pork with preserved vegetables, plus some fish ball soup he’d packed from the restaurant. The little table was filled to the brim, and he and Shen Liu sat cross-legged on the floor.
“Why such a feast today?” Shen Liu asked.
“Been holding back for so long, I’ve been craving. Today I just want to have a good meal.” Qin Mu twisted open a bottle of Red Star Erguotou1a well-known strong Chinese liquor, and poured a little into a disposable paper cup for him.
“Greedy cat.” Shen Liu laughed, clinking his cup against his. “I wish my Little Log would always have plenty of good food, and always be happy.”
Qin Mu’s eyes reddened; he hurriedly drained the cup in one go.
“Don’t drink so much. Eat some food first, or you’ll be drunk soon.” Shen Liu pressed down the bottle to stop him.
Qin Mu smiled. “You’re still looking after me?”
“All right, you’ve grown up, I won’t mind you anymore.” Shen Liu’s gaze, under the warm yellow lamp, was unusually gentle. He picked a piece of meat for Qin Mu and said, “Eat more, don’t always go hungry.”
The meat was a bit tough. Qin Mu chewed hard, but he couldn’t taste a thing.
After dinner, when he cleared away the bowls and chopsticks, he found Shen Liu gazing out the window. Across the street, on the second floor of a teahouse, a large screen TV was hanging. From their window, one could see it, though at a distance and not very clearly. A basketball game was on; players in white and red jerseys feinted and struggled fiercely for the ball.
Qin Mu sat down beside him. Shen Liu, out of habit, slipped an arm around his waist.
Neither of them spoke. They watched the entire game in silence.
Qin Mu asked, “Which team won?”
“The white team,” Shen Liu replied. “I worked up a sweat today. I need to take a shower.”
“Mm.” Qin Mu helped him up.
Shen Liu’s right leg was in a cast and couldn’t touch water. He needed help bathing. Qin Mu always ended up soaking wet, so later he simply stripped down and washed with him.
Qin Mu ran his fingers through Shen Liu’s hair, gently working the shampoo into a lather. The man kept his eyes closed, yielding to his touch like a lazy, contented cat—perfectly obedient.
Unknowingly, Qin Mu’s nose burned again, and he turned his face away in a panic to grab the showerhead and rinse Shen Liu off.
Suddenly, a clap of thunder exploded outside. The sound was so close it seemed to be right overhead. The power cut out instantly, plunging the bathroom into darkness.
Qin Mu flinched, but Shen Liu caught his hand quickly, comforting him, “It’s okay, I’m here.”
“We’d better turn off the water; there could be a leak.” His voice steadied.
“Okay.” Shen Liu shut off the tap and asked, “Where’s the towel?”
Qin Mu fumbled around, couldn’t find it, and knocked something over with a clatter.
“Don’t look.” Shen Liu’s fingers slid from his neck up to his cheek, stroked across his lips, and in a hoarse voice said, “Kiss me.”
Thunder roared. In the cramped darkness of the bathroom, they clung to each other.
Wet skin pressed and rubbed together; fierce desire sparked a blazing fire. Qin Mu lifted Shen Liu’s injured leg and thrust in savagely, like a beast driven to the brink, leaving bite marks deep and shallow across the man’s body, demanding his kiss again and again. Shen Liu softened his waist, offering no resistance, yielding wholly to his ravaging. He was like a spring of water—gentle, clear.
The darkness concealed the tear tracks, erased sincerity, and blurred their expressions. Words that could never be spoken dissolved into sighs of grief-laden breath, vanishing into the night.
The rain pounded furiously against the windows. Wind slipped through the cracks, howling like someone’s helpless, grieving cry.
The next morning, Qin Mu sat on the edge of the bed and whispered, “Shen Liu, let’s break up.”
Author Note:
All historical references in the chapter are purely fictional.
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