“Was it you?” This time, Zhou Linyuan took the initiative to sit at Baishi’s table. He glanced around with small, furtive movements, looking incredibly nervous. “Yesterday, when you said ‘glass’... did you mean...” He paused again, making sure the orderlies were standing far off before continuing in a tiny, raspy whisper, his face contorted as if the word itself might bite him. “...Murder?”
Baishi looked up at him. “Call the other one out. I have nothing to say to you.”
Zhou Linyuan wiped his sweat nervously. “Who?”
Baishi ignored him. Zhou Linyuan stared with his round eyes, finding the man across from him far too terrifying. He grabbed Baishi’s hand. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll tell the orderlies.”
Baishi finally reacted. He gripped the hand Zhou Linyuan was using to pull him, dragging the man back down just as he tried to stand. Then, with his other hand, he pulled a fork out of his noodles and slammed it into the back of Zhou Linyuan’s hand. The crude tines ground through a piece of cartilage with a sickening pop of dislocation. Blood seeped from the puncture wounds. Their hands remained locked beneath the table as they stared at each other.
Zhou Linyuan’s face twisted in pain, but before he could even let out a cry, he gradually calmed down. He viciously yanked the fork out, splattering blood onto the floor; his bones even gave a few sharp clicks.
He tossed the bloody fork onto the table and squeezed Baishi’s hand so hard he nearly crushed the bones. His voice dropped an octave. “You looking to die?”
Baishi smiled. “Now, let’s talk terms.”
Zhou Linyuan increased the pressure again, but Baishi’s expression didn’t change—there was even a hint of excitement in his smile. Slowly, Zhou Linyuan released his grip.
Baishi stared at him. “You’ve been here a long time. Tell me about the courtyard.”
***
On the night the plan was to be set in motion, Baishi held his phone and thought for a long time. In the end, he decided to call Pei Cangyu. He knew he didn't necessarily have to involve him, but for no logical reason, he simply wanted to drag Pei Cangyu into this. He had read in a book once that only by sharing secrets can people become close; only by knowing they need each other is there a reason to stay together.
But Baishi wasn't sure if Pei Cangyu would come. Would he? Especially when Baishi had explained nothing, remaining vague and making demands without justification.
But Pei Cangyu had agreed.
Baishi paced his room, his mind in a state of disarray. Talking to Pei Cangyu had suddenly reminded him of something—he seemed to have killed someone.
To be fair, Baishi was like a fish in water here. He could strike up a connection with any of the lunatics. He kept himself hidden, never drawing the attention of the orderlies, yet he guided others like a puppeteer. Once, because he wanted to leave a boring seminar early, he goaded a man into performing an act of eating toilet paper in the middle of the hall. The man ran to the front and ate; after finishing a roll, he grabbed the preacher’s clothes and vomited, finally pulling down his pants to defecate on stage. It caused such a commotion that the seminar was disbanded.
There were many such instances. He was exceptionally skilled at it.
If he hadn't heard Pei Cangyu’s voice, Baishi would have forgotten all about Baldy.
But because of Pei Cangyu, Baishi was now breaking out in cold sweats, like a vampire dragged into the sunlight—the sun insisting on embracing him regardless of the blood on his hands, regardless of the fact that the vampire might die.
No, that metaphor was wrong. Baishi stopped in the middle of the room. Pei Cangyu wouldn't want to embrace him. Pei Cangyu had countless good friends; everyone liked him. He had no interest in embracing a vampire.
Baishi scratched his neck irritably. He hadn't cut his nails in a long time and scratched so hard he left bloody welts.
It was then he realized he hadn't shaved in a long time either.
He grew anxious. It would be terrible if Pei Cangyu walked in and saw Baishi looking like a disheveled savage. He had to be like the noble person in Pei Cangyu’s eyes—always clean and tidy. He had to be distant enough, different from everyone else around Pei Cangyu, and certainly not pathetic.
Besides, Baishi hated filth and disorder.
Baishi fished a razor blade out from under his mattress—thanks to that perverted orderly, he could get basically anything he wanted.
He shaved his beard meticulously by the reflection of the moon on the windowpane.
Speaking of which, his eyelashes were very long, and his hair was thick. He remembered Pei Cangyu once staring blankly into his eyes, saying his lashes were like butterflies—a cliché metaphor. Baishi wiped the blade and flipped it to the other side.
It wasn't just his eyelashes; his body hair was much more lush than Pei Cangyu’s. Back when they had gone to the bathroom in the woods, Pei Cangyu’s manhood was almost bare, sparse enough to look shy, without a hint of ferocity. Pei Cangyu hardly had any hair on him; he had a smooth body. Baishi was the complete opposite—he had a beautiful face and a fierce "eagle."
Baishi paused at that thought. He had just thought of the word "smooth." He raised his hand, looking at his palm in the moonlight. He was very fair; the back of his hand was so white that his blue veins showed through, and one could even see the faint red of his capillaries. But Pei Cangyu wasn't like that. Pei Cangyu’s skin was a color healthier than yellow and richer than pale. He was taut and firm, his forearms curving slightly with muscle. He was like a sika deer or an antelope—an innocent face, a feigned ferocity, a naive roughness. He was frank and harmless.
Baishi suddenly felt a sense of despondency.
Because Pei Cangyu was too good.
So he shaved slowly. He was almost finished, and then he thought: there must be some things he was better at than Pei Cangyu. Think, think fast.
But Baldy’s voice kept echoing, mingled with Pei Cangyu’s innocent questions, making him feel exceptionally volatile. If it weren't for Pei Cangyu, why would he torture himself over such a small matter? Baishi had already decided to be kind to himself; he had decided to no longer endure inexplicable pain or suppress his true nature. Yet Pei Cangyu just had to use that clear voice of his to disturb Baishi’s cultivation.
He finished shaving. He combed his hair neatly and brushed his bangs back. His black hair was slightly wavy; when he looked down, a few stray strands would fall, but he left them be.
He thought of something he was better at than Pei Cangyu.
He was taller than Pei Cangyu, and he would grow even taller. He was also stronger. His entire frame was a size larger than Pei Cangyu’s. And—he checked himself in the window, touching his face—though he thought Pei Cangyu looked great, based on other people's evaluations, Baishi might be slightly more attractive.
What else?
Right, grades. His grades were better than Pei Cangyu’s.
Baishi finally felt some peace of mind. See, it wasn't as if he were desperately clinging to Pei Cangyu; Pei Cangyu wasn't that far out of reach. Besides, in Pei Cangyu’s eyes, his academic excellence alone was enough for Pei Cangyu to look up to him.
Yes, this was good.
Baishi waited for Pei Cangyu. He crouched on the floor, fiddling with that recorder, but all he could pick up was static.
He stood up and looked out the window. Pei Cangyu hadn't arrived yet. He crouched down again, then stood up again. He cleaned the room, stuffing all the little trinkets he had scavenged under the mattress. He made the bed, tore down the cobwebs on the wall, crushed a spider, and fixed the rattling window latch. Then, he sat cross-legged with elegance, continuing to tinker with the device—he wasn't sure if it was a radio or a recorder—hoping to have a song playing for Pei Cangyu when he arrived.
How much longer? He wanted to call, but decided against it.
Baishi waited for his "equal" friend to arrive. He was in a pleasant mood, almost wanting to whistle. When Pei Cangyu arrived, what would he say? It had been a long time; Pei Cangyu must really need him, because Baishi was different from all of his other friends. Baishi must be special to Pei Cangyu.
Then, Baishi felt his phone vibrate. He lunged for it. Pei Cangyu said he had arrived.
Baishi rushed to the window to wait. After some searching, he finally spotted Pei Cangyu’s figure downstairs. At this, Baishi finally felt a bit of relief.
But as a dog approached, Baishi suddenly remembered what Zhou Linyuan had told him: "There's a dog that's killed people; it comes out occasionally at night." His heart nearly leaped out of his chest. He was ready to climb out and pull Pei Cangyu away, but that "man-killing," ferocious dog succumbed beneath Pei Cangyu’s hand.
Pei Cangyu petted the dog, looking up at Baishi with a triumphant wink.
He smiled so brightly that Baishi’s heart skipped a few beats.
Baishi stepped back. The room held only the faint light of the moon. The radio was crackling and hissing, pipes were vibrating behind the walls, and the sound of Pei Cangyu’s huffing breath drew closer and closer. Baishi retreated to the edge of the bed and suddenly went still.
He felt terrified.
He was about to see Pei Cangyu. For some reason, what should have been the most ordinary thing made him feel exceptionally afraid. He was so nervous he wanted to vomit. He stared at the window, counting the seconds. Pei Cangyu would appear in that window any moment now. After Baishi’s solitary realization, after his world-shattering epiphany, his nostrils were now filled with the "scent of the past" brought by Pei Cangyu’s approach: the fallen leaves of September, the fragrance of grass and mud in October, the cold winds of November, the breakfast porridge of December. The river embankments, the willow banks, the pool halls, the blood on Pei Cangyu’s forehead, his cool skin, the curve of his calves as he ran on the playground, his lonely face under the dim lights of his apartment stairwell, his test papers, the faint freckle on his left index finger...
Then, Pei Cangyu hopped onto the windowsill.
He crouched on the frame, wobbling slightly as he gripped the edges to steady himself, then beamed at Baishi. “Hey, don’t we look like we’re having a secret tryst?”
Baishi felt a chill run through his entire body.
That radio or recorder he could never fix miraculously began to sing. It was Barcelona’s “Till Death.” It was singing: *“You looked right to me, with tender eyes and shakin' knees.”* Pei Cangyu was still hung up on what he had just said; he scratched his head, his face a bit red, and muttered, “Let me say that again...”
Baishi reached out and grabbed him, pulling him down to tumble beside him. He gazed at Pei Cangyu, leaning close, breathing with him on this bed. He smelled the faint fragrance on Pei Cangyu—shampoo or body wash. He felt an ache, a discomfort he couldn't put into words.
He looked at Pei Cangyu’s profile, that innocent and lovely expression. He touched Pei Cangyu, and Pei Cangyu curled up with a laugh, dodging his hand and saying it tickled, yet he didn't actually move away. Pei Cangyu’s belly was cool. He had run here in the middle of the night because of a single phone call from Baishi, asking nothing, thinking nothing. He had come in the freezing night, come for Baishi.
Baishi looked at him and felt a profound distress, as if something were blocking his throat, making it impossible to breathe.
Kiss him, burst into tears, or die right this second.
Finally, he spoke. “Pei Cangyu...”
Pei Cangyu turned his head and looked at him innocently. At that moment, Baishi remembered the way Pei Cangyu had beaten him on the rooftop, and that image overlapped with the innocent face before him. He thought Pei Cangyu was simply too good. He needed Pei Cangyu. He needed to say something.
But Pei Cangyu blinked, laughed, and leaned his head against Baishi’s chest. His soft ear pressed against Baishi’s heart. Looking down, Baishi could see Pei Cangyu’s exposed neck and his peacefully resting head. Pei Cangyu said with a chuckle, “Whoa, your heart is beating so fast...”
As he said this, the warmth of his breath nearly melted Baishi’s heart.
***
