Chapter 98 - The First Snowfall
Zheng Kunyu emerged from the bathroom, the lingering steam clinging to his skin like a translucent shroud. He hadn't expected to find Qi Bailu awake, let alone reclining on the bed with a phone pressed to his ear.
Earlier, when Zheng Kunyu had tried to coax him out of bed, Qi Bailu had been a mess of exhaustion, half-lost in the dregs of sleep after the previous night’s demands. He had buried his face deep into the duvet, refusing to acknowledge the world, remaining motionless no matter how much Zheng Kunyu kissed or nipped at his skin. Zheng Kunyu knew that when Qi Bailu wasn't filming, his greatest luxury was wallowing in bed; he had assumed the boy would sleep until noon. Yet here he was, propped against the pillows, murmuring to someone on the other end of the line.
Zheng Kunyu draped his damp towel over the headboard and slid into the bed behind him, his arm snaking around Qi Bailu’s waist with a proprietary weight. He pressed his lips against the curve of the younger man’s neck, feigning a casual affection while his ears remained sharply tuned to the conversation. Qi Bailu spared him a brief, sideways glance but didn't pull away, continuing to listen to the voice on the phone. Zheng Kunyu, emboldened by the silence, pushed the duvet down, his palm tracing a slow, deliberate path over Qi Bailu’s skin until his naked form was fully exposed to the pale winter sunlight filtering through the curtains.
Qi Bailu held his breath, his body tensing under the touch. "It isn't snowing in Beijing today," he said into the receiver, his voice strained. "Perhaps where you are in the south—" He broke off with a sharp, involuntary gasp as Zheng Kunyu’s hand strayed further. On the other end, Xue Fang seemed to sense the shift in atmosphere and asked if something was wrong. Qi Bailu caught Zheng Kunyu’s wandering hand, gripping it tightly. "I have another call. I have to go."
The moment the line went dead, Zheng Kunyu flipped him over. They had lived together for less than six months, and the novelty of possession had yet to wear off. Qi Bailu, assuming this was the prelude to another bout of intimacy, went limp, playing the part of a beautiful corpse. He stared off to the side, waiting for the inevitable, but Zheng Kunyu merely said, "Since you're awake, get dressed. We’re eating out today. Do you want to see a movie?"
Qi Bailu blinked, startled. He hadn't expected Zheng Kunyu to be in the mood for a public outing. Despite his lack of widespread fame, he still took the precaution of donning a baseball cap, pulling the brim low to shield his face. It was Christmas Eve, and the cinema was teeming with couples. They sat in the middle of the row, and in the velvet darkness of the theater, Zheng Kunyu reached out and took his hand. For a fleeting moment, to any casual observer, they looked like just another pair of lovers.
But Qi Bailu felt no romance. He felt like a decorative object, a plush doll with glass-bead eyes that could neither blink nor cry. He was a fixture in Zheng Kunyu’s life, a beautiful thing to be displayed and then tucked away. Whether Zheng Kunyu was harsh with him or tender, Qi Bailu could only watch, his own body no longer under his control. Perhaps, in the depths of Zheng Kunyu’s own loneliness, he too was just a silent spectator.
The film was a cliché commercial piece, saturated with garish Christmas colors and the inevitable promise of a happy ending. Halfway through, Qi Bailu drifted off. Even in sleep, he was careful to tilt his head toward the opposite shoulder, ensuring he wouldn't accidentally lean on Zheng Kunyu. Zheng Kunyu saw through the petty gesture immediately but didn't bother to correct him. He let go of the boy's hand, allowing him to sleep, and reached for the popcorn instead.
Qi Bailu had been the one to buy the popcorn, though Zheng Kunyu couldn't fathom how the boy could stomach something that tasted like flavored plastic. On screen, the leads were kissing in the snow, exchanging saccharine vows. None of them were as beautiful as Qi Bailu, and their dialogue was painfully dull. Amidst the laughter of the audience, Zheng Kunyu felt a growing sense of vapidity. He turned his gaze to Qi Bailu’s sleeping face.
The boy seemed truly exhausted. His brow was furrowed even in slumber, his body curled slightly as if trying to shrink away from the world. His head began to droop, lower and lower, until a couple sitting next to them noticed. The young man in the adjacent seat looked awkwardly at his own shoulder, then at Zheng Kunyu, unsure of how to handle the impending collision.
*How can someone be this clumsy?* Zheng Kunyu thought.
He reached out and caught Qi Bailu by the shoulder, pulling him upright to keep him from leaning on the stranger. Qi Bailu, lost to the world, followed the momentum and slumped the other way, his head coming to rest gently on Zheng Kunyu’s shoulder. Zheng Kunyu’s hand, which he had intended to withdraw, froze. He didn't move for a long time. The neighboring couple watched them with even stranger expressions, but Zheng Kunyu ignored them, his hand coming up to cradle Qi Bailu’s face, adjusting him into a more comfortable position.
He continued to watch the movie. His coffee grew cold within ten minutes.
When the lights finally came up at the end of the credits, the sudden noise jolted Qi Bailu awake. He looked up to see Zheng Kunyu’s profile and realized with a start that he was tucked into the man's side. He distinctly remembered trying to keep his distance. Had Zheng Kunyu moved him on purpose?
Zheng Kunyu met his eyes, withdrew his hand without a word, and stood up with his half-finished coffee. His expression betrayed nothing—no hint of "Yes, I was holding you."
On their way out, they stopped by the restrooms. Zheng Kunyu waited outside. As Qi Bailu exited, he nearly collided with someone. "Bailu?" the person exclaimed. Qi Bailu looked up to see a former classmate from the film academy.
"You're still in Beijing? Are you here alone?"
Qi Bailu’s face went pale. His eyes flickered toward Zheng Kunyu standing a short distance away. Zheng Kunyu was watching them. "Yeah," Qi Bailu murmured vaguely, clearly wanting to end the encounter. But the classmate pressed on. "Why did you drop out? You didn't tell anyone. Did some big director scout you for a lead role?"
"No."
"If you're free today, do you want to join us for Christmas Eve?"
Seeing Zheng Kunyu beginning to walk toward them, Qi Bailu spoke hurriedly. "I have things to do. I have to go."
The classmate watched his retreating back in confusion. Qi Bailu didn't even stop as he passed Zheng Kunyu, heading straight for the exit. Zheng Kunyu paused, casting a long, measuring look at the person who had been speaking to Bailu before turning to follow.
It wasn't snowing in Beijing, but the wind was biting. Even the glittering Christmas lights couldn't soften the winter chill. Qi Bailu stood by the car, waiting. Zheng Kunyu descended the steps with unhurried grace, unlocked the car, and waited for Qi Bailu to settle into the passenger seat before getting in himself.
"A classmate?"
"Mhm."
"Are you close?"
"No."
"Didn't you perform in *Don Quixote* together? And you're still not close?"
Zheng Kunyu was referring to an academy showcase from the previous week. He had attended, and shortly after that performance, Qi Bailu had withdrawn from school. Qi Bailu remained silent. Zheng Kunyu added tonelessly, "He used to take you to Wudaokou for dinner on the back of his bicycle. You've forgotten that so quickly? How heartless."
Zheng Kunyu glanced at him. Qi Bailu had half his face buried in his scarf, his lashes cast down, but his eyes were bright with a simmering resentment. When they reached the restaurant, Qi Bailu slammed the car door with a resounding thud and walked ahead without a single backward glance.
By some cruel twist of fate, they weren't the only ones who had chosen that restaurant. It was as if the entirety of Beijing had narrowed down to this one dining room. As Zheng Kunyu waited for the appetizers, he saw Qi Bailu’s classmates being seated at a table not far away. He watched Qi Bailu’s reaction; though the boy sat with his side to them, he had clearly seen them enter.
Qi Bailu’s expression soured. Zheng Kunyu, unbothered, began to eat. The restaurant was filled with the jaunty, hollow cheer of "Jingle Bells." The classmates, noticing a back that looked suspiciously like Qi Bailu’s, kept glancing over. Qi Bailu couldn't swallow a single bite. Finally, he snapped, "I'm not eating."
Zheng Kunyu didn't look up. "Are you really that fragile?"
Qi Bailu finally reached his breaking point. He stood up, crumpled his napkin, and threw it into Zheng Kunyu’s lap—nearly hitting him in the face—before grabbing his coat and storming out. A waiter approaching with a tray of tomato-braised beef froze at the scene but maintained a professional smile. Zheng Kunyu picked the napkin off his lap and calmly settled the bill.
Despite his irritation, Zheng Kunyu found himself reflecting as he sat there. It was rare for Qi Bailu to show such temper; usually, the boy treated him like air, a void to be ignored. Seeing him angry made him feel... more alive.
They hadn't been together long, so Zheng Kunyu maintained a veneer of gentlemanly patience. Back in the car, he asked if he wanted to try another restaurant. Qi Bailu was despondent. "I want to go home."
*Which home?* Zheng Kunyu wanted to ask cuttingly, but seeing the genuine misery in the boy's eyes, he kept his mouth shut.
The car glided through the neon-lit streets toward the villa they shared. In the center of a plaza, a massive Christmas tree stood, topped with a star that flickered in the most unreachable heights. Qi Bailu watched the crowds of people passing by. In this barren winter, not a single tree belonged to him. No blessings, no reunions.
Zheng Kunyu called the housekeeper and told her they would eat at home. The villa had been decorated for the holiday, lending it a forced sense of warmth. Zheng Kunyu remembered something and asked, "Aren't you going to open your gift?"
The gift sat under the tree, wrapped meticulously. Qi Bailu knelt on the rug and spent several minutes undoing the packaging, only to find a single red apple inside.
It was just an apple. An edible, ordinary fruit. Qi Bailu stared at it, bewildered; he had expected jewelry or some other luxury. Zheng Kunyu seemed to have anticipated this exact expression. Seeing that the apple was clean, Qi Bailu took a skeptical bite.
"It's poisoned," Zheng Kunyu said suddenly.
Qi Bailu froze, the piece of fruit caught in his throat. He couldn't swallow, but he couldn't spit it out either.
Then Zheng Kunyu kissed him. Under the festive lights, for a moment, it was as if he were the princess who needed to be kissed awake.
The moment of intimacy was brief. The housekeeper called them to dinner. Qi Bailu wasn't exactly happy, but his mood had lightened slightly. Yet, every time he felt a spark of joy in Zheng Kunyu’s presence, a voice in his head warned him: *Don't smile at him. He's deceiving you. He won't be good to you, and he will never truly love you.*
The housekeeper spoke a southern dialect, specializing in Cantonese and Hangzhou cuisine. Qi Bailu couldn't understand her, which made communication impossible. He suspected Zheng Kunyu had chosen her on purpose—to keep him in a vacuum, to ensure he had no one to rely on but Zheng himself.
It was a candlelit dinner. Before leaving, the housekeeper turned off the dining room lights. In the dim glow from the window, Zheng Kunyu picked up a box of matches to light the candles. He clearly wasn't used to them; he struck several times without success, snapping two matches in the process. In this day and age, only the old-fashioned still used matches.
Qi Bailu watched for a moment before taking the box from him. With a single, deft stroke, he lit the first match. Zheng Kunyu watched his face in the flickering light. Qi Bailu’s eyes were downcast as he cupped his hands to shield the flame, bringing it to the wick.
In that instant, Zheng Kunyu was struck by a memory from the summer. He had visited the set and overheard Qi Bailu arguing with the director. His voice hadn't been loud, but he had been unyielding. Zheng Kunyu had forgotten the specifics of the debate, but he remembered Qi Bailu saying: "Is there poetry in *The Little Match Girl*? I think there is only pain."
At the time, Zheng Kunyu had thought: *He's so young. What does he know of pain?*
The flame wavered. Qi Bailu looked up, his gaze flat and calm. Perhaps only a cinematic close-up could capture the wealth of emotion hidden beneath that stillness. Was there pain there too? For the first time, a thought flickered through Zheng Kunyu’s mind: *I am the one causing him pain.*
But in the next heartbeat, he rejected it. Not only did he reject it, he reenacted his dominance with a cruel edge. Later, in bed, Qi Bailu cried out in pain, but sex was supposed to hurt if one didn't cooperate. If he would just open his legs, accept him, and beg for it, it wouldn't hurt.
To love someone was to invite suffering.
Qi Bailu lay face down on the bed, eyes closed, silent. He thought Zheng Kunyu was finished, but the man was relentless. Finally, unable to take anymore, he whispered, "At least... use a condom."
Zheng Kunyu didn't move. Qi Bailu pushed at him, urging him to go get one. Zheng Kunyu knew why he insisted on protection. It wasn't a fear of pregnancy; it was a profound loathing. Qi Bailu went for medical checkups every month, trembling with anxiety, simply because he didn't trust him.
"Kiss me."
Qi Bailu didn't react at first, as if he hadn't heard. Zheng Kunyu sat back and waited. Qi Bailu eventually propped himself up against the pillows, his face a mask of disbelief. Since the very first time, he had never once initiated a response.
Because Qi Bailu remained unresponsive, Zheng Kunyu knelt between his thighs and hooked his legs over his shoulders, as if he were going to take him right then and there. Qi Bailu, fearing the worst, reached out and looped his arms around Zheng Kunyu’s neck, reluctantly stroking his face. Zheng Kunyu watched him in silence. Slowly, Qi Bailu leaned in and pressed a dry, perfunctory kiss to his lips.
"Is that how I kiss you?" Zheng Kunyu asked.
Qi Bailu studied him for a moment. He cupped Zheng Kunyu’s face with both hands and began to nibble at his lips, trying for several minutes while Zheng Kunyu remained passive, making it feel like a forced kiss. Exhausted, Qi Bailu pressed his thumb against the man's lips. "Open your mouth." Zheng Kunyu still didn't move.
Since biting didn't work, the kiss gradually shifted into something softer—licking, sucking—until an erotic tension finally took hold. Zheng Kunyu’s eyes darkened. He gripped the back of Qi Bailu’s head, guiding his tongue inside. Qi Bailu was unskilled, but he tried to recall the details of how Zheng Kunyu kissed him, deepening the contact inch by inch. It was the first time Zheng Kunyu had been kissed so actively by him, let alone held so tenderly. He had to exert every ounce of self-control not to seize the lead.
By the end, Qi Bailu was lightheaded. He wondered if it was the wine he’d had earlier that made him so bold. It was the first time he realized that a consensual kiss could be so lingering. Zheng Kunyu pressed him back into the mattress, kissing him with a singular focus. There was no other movement, just the pure, raw exchange of breath and heat, but even a kiss could spark a desperate hunger. In a moment of tension, Qi Bailu gripped the man's hair, but Zheng Kunyu noticed and his hand began to wander downward.
Zheng Kunyu watched his face, gauging his reaction. Several times, Qi Bailu thought he was about to enter, but Zheng Kunyu was merely teasing him. "We agreed," Qi Bailu whispered. "Protection first..." Zheng Kunyu, surprised he still remembered, pulled away to check the bedside drawer, only to find it empty.
Qi Bailu sat up and looked into the drawer himself. When he saw it was truly empty, he looked at Zheng Kunyu with suspicion. "What a coincidence," he said, his voice laced with disbelief.
The atmosphere shattered instantly. Qi Bailu moved away, searching the other drawers and even under the pillows. Zheng Kunyu watched him, a part of him wanting to drag the boy back and take him from behind, ignoring his struggles and his rage. But suddenly, the desire was gone.
Zheng Kunyu stopped looking at him and got out of bed to get dressed.
Qi Bailu watched him put on his clothes with clinical precision, then pulled the duvet up to cover himself. He hated him this much; once the lust receded, all that remained was suspicion and ugliness. Finally, Zheng Kunyu picked up his leather gloves from the floor. "Are you leaving?" Qi Bailu asked.
Zheng Kunyu left without a word, his movements fluid and final, as if he had finally grown tired of the game.
The drive from the lakeside villa to his apartment usually took twenty minutes. Zheng Kunyu sat in the car and turned on the heater. After a few minutes, he noticed a reindeer ornament swaying beneath the rearview mirror, a Christmas wreath around its neck. They had won it in a raffle at the cinema. Before the movie had started, Qi Bailu had seen the winning ticket and given him a rare, genuine smile.
Halfway home, Zheng Kunyu reached for a cigarette, only to find the pack empty. He threw the crumpled box onto the passenger seat and pulled over in front of a supermarket. As he pushed the door open, he saw tiny flakes of snow spiraling down, landing on his coat and his glasses.
It was finally snowing.
Pedestrians on the street were excited, looking up at the sky, some even taking photos. Zheng Kunyu entered the supermarket. It was empty of customers; the cashier was leaning over the counter to watch the snow outside. He grabbed a pack of Yunyan cigarettes and headed to the register. His gaze fell on the shelf of condoms. He paused, then grabbed a box.
As the cashier scanned it, Zheng Kunyu placed several more boxes on the counter. The cashier blinked, looking up at the silent, imposing man. Who bought this many at once? Was he a wholesaler? Despite his surprise, he scanned them one by one.
The receipt was spat out slowly, drooping like a long, dead snake.
Zheng Kunyu walked back out into the snow, which was falling harder now, already dusting the ground with a thin white layer. He got back into the car and lit a cigarette, but he didn't drive away. He watched the snow through the windshield until the cigarette was finished. If he didn't go back, he would miss him. Even a few minutes apart was too long.
At first, he only thought of the boy's warm, soft body—his waist, his hips, the way he looked when he was too weak to resist. He thought of him in the most debased ways possible. But gradually, other images intruded: the way he had cupped Zheng’s face just now, the way he studied scripts on the sofa, the way he flinched during horror movies, the serious look in his eyes during interviews, his occasional flashes of impatience. Even a few minutes apart was too long.
Zheng Kunyu crushed out the cigarette and turned the car around in the heavy snow.
Qi Bailu wasn't asleep. It was still early. His phone buzzed with a message from his classmate, but he didn't move to answer it. He didn't know what to say. The message read: *I think I saw you at a restaurant. You were with a man. Was that your uncle?*
The word "uncle" felt like a physical blow, sending a chill down his spine.
What Zheng Kunyu did with him was shameless. The more he thought about it, the more his mind filled with the details of their time in bed—the transgressions, the violence, the filth. He gripped his phone, feeling a wave of nausea. In the darkness, he remembered their first time, the way Zheng Kunyu had toyed with him. Yes, it was just a game.
It had always been a game.
When one is despondent, it is easy to sink into the darkest corners of the mind. When he heard Zheng Kunyu return, heard the footsteps approaching the door, Qi Bailu felt a surge of pure loathing. He closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. The footsteps drew closer. Zheng Kunyu stopped by the bed and turned on the lamp. Qi Bailu refused to open his eyes.
The warm light spilled over the headboard, but Zheng Kunyu still carried the chill of the outdoors. He saw Qi Bailu’s lashes tremble and knew he was faking. He took off his gloves and placed a cold hand on the boy's neck. Qi Bailu smelled the faint scent of tobacco and felt an invisible pressure. Even with his eyes shut, he knew Zheng Kunyu was leaning in. Why else would he return, if not to drag him up and humiliate him again?
It was always for that.
But to his surprise, Zheng Kunyu only leaned down and pressed a single kiss to his lips—a cold, fleeting kiss that melted the moment it touched him, arriving as late as the winter snow.
Qi Bailu opened his eyes. Zheng Kunyu’s voice was soft, almost gentle. "Wake up and look. It's snowing."
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