Chapter 25 - The Fragile Ladder
Jiang Tong was monitoring the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the centrifuge when his phone vibrated. It was Xiao Fengtai.
"Where are you?" The boy’s voice was ragged, his breathing heavy and uneven, as if he had just sprinted through a marathon.
"The lab," Jiang Tong answered instinctively, his mind still half-buried in data. Then, the anomaly of the call registered. "What’s wrong? Why do you sound like that?"
"Working overtime, as expected." On the other end of the line, Xiao Fengtai let out a bright, ringing laugh. It carried a note of triumphant vindication. "I’m downstairs."
The boy’s unannounced arrival struck Jiang Tong with a mixture of shock and delight, though the former far outweighed the latter. He hurried down the stairs of the faculty building, emerging into the heavy, humid air of the Nanyang evening. He found Xiao Fengtai sitting on the stone steps, his violin case resting beside him like a silent companion. His suit jacket had been discarded carelessly on the concrete.
With his back turned to Jiang Tong, the boy’s white shirt was translucent with sweat, clinging to the thin, sharp curves of his scapulae—those delicate "butterfly bones" that seemed too fragile for the weight of the world he carried. The lights from the laboratory windows, neatly bisected by their frames, cast elongated, distorted yellow rhombuses across his back. They looked like watercolors diluted with too much water; the luster had faded, replaced by an ambiguous, damp chaos.
"Kenneth," Jiang Tong heard himself call out. His throat felt tight, his limbs strangely numb. It was as if his physical form were melting into the sweltering tropical twilight, leaving only a core of pure consciousness suspended in the air.
Xiao Fengtai stood and turned. Seen from the front, he looked as though he had been fished out of a river. He scooped up his violin case and grabbed his expensive wool jacket in one hand, giving Jiang Tong a casual, weary wave. "Good evening."
Before Jiang Tong could fully process the sight, he had already stepped down to meet him, instinctively reaching out to take the jacket and the violin case. The fine-spun wool felt smooth and heavy in his hands—a material designed to sculpt the wearer’s silhouette into something regal and upright. In the relentless heat of the Island, however, it was nothing more than a wearable sauna.
Yet, no one was foolish enough to run a marathon in such attire. In the world of glittering lights and clinking crystal where Xiao Fengtai belonged, the indoor temperature was a perpetual twenty degrees Celsius. In that world, clothing had long since ceased to serve any basic functional purpose; it was merely a costume for the elite.
Jiang Tong’s eyelid flickered. He decided to play along with whatever drama was unfolding, maintaining a calm facade. "I’m sorry. I thought this week’s Chinese lesson had been canceled."
"There’s nothing to apologize for. It *was* canceled," Xiao Fengtai said bluntly. He leaped down the final three steps, his calfskin loafers hitting the ground with a sharp, decisive *click*.
He began to walk away with an air of absolute certainty that Jiang Tong would follow. And Jiang Tong did, hurrying to catch up.
"Show me around the school," Xiao Fengtai said suddenly after a period of silence. "Maybe I’ll study here—who knows."
*You certainly won't,* Jiang Tong thought privately, yet he readily agreed.
The timing was poor. It was a weekend evening; the university’s most popular museums and libraries had already shuttered their doors. The campus of S-University was dominated by modern architecture—monotonous glass curtain walls and fluid, aerodynamic curves that resembled a series of undersea crystal palaces in the deep blue of the night. They were striking at first glance, but eventually became tedious. Jiang Tong offered brief explanations at the major landmarks, and Xiao Fengtai nodded along cooperatively, though his expression remained aloof and indifferent.
The campus was neither too large nor too small. Since Xiao Fengtai seemed to lack genuine interest, Jiang Tong was happy to cut the tour short. Near the campus exit, where the grounds met a seaside park, he bought two iced coffees. Xiao Fengtai pressed the cold plastic cup against his cheek, letting out a long, satisfied sigh.
"It’s nice here," he said with mock solemnity. "I think I’ll stay in Singapore for university."
Jiang Tong offered a gentle counter-argument. "I think you could get into an overseas school with a much higher ranking."
Xiao Fengtai scoffed. "Rankings are just things magazines invent to swindle people out of their money." He let his smile fade, his expression turning somber. "In the end, which university I attend—or whether I attend one at all—makes no difference to me."
"I hate him," he added abruptly, his jaw tightening until his teeth audibly ground together. "I hate how he always wins. I hate how he controls everything."
*A domestic dispute,* Jiang Tong realized, feeling a wave of relief. It was common for adolescent boys to stage brief "runaway" protests in the heat of rebellion. Even Jiang Tong, as disciplined as he had been, once spent a night wandering the streets under the guise of extra tutoring. He had found internet cafes boring and lacked the courage for bars, so he had simply cycled in circles until he was exhausted enough to go home.
"I don’t mean to lecture, but parents' decisions—especially at your age—are usually correct," Jiang Tong said softly. "If you truly dislike his choices, perhaps instead of a frontal confrontation, it would be more effective to respect their stance while quietly holding your own. Let time do the persuading."
"I’m long past the stage of teenage rebellion," Xiao Fengtai said impatiently. "You’ve probably never Googled my father’s name."
Jiang Tong remained unruffled by the sharp edge in the boy's tone. "A scholar’s occupational hazard is over-researching his own life. It does no good for oneself or those nearby. If there is anything about him I must know, someone will eventually tell me."
"A good habit, though it makes you miss out on a lot of life’s entertainment," Xiao Fengtai noted with a nod of approval. "I’m too lazy to explain it, but you should look him up when you get back. It’s a long, spectacular story."
"His life has nothing to do with me," Jiang Tong whispered. "I only care about the parts of this world that concern me—and that is a very small part indeed. Since you’re too lazy to tell the story, it clearly isn't important."
Xiao Fengtai stopped in his tracks. Jiang Tong was nearly two heads taller than him, and the boy had to look up to meet his eyes. In the moonlight, Xiao Fengtai’s pupils seemed to hold the shimmering reflection of water.
"Jiang Tong," his voice was soft, nearly drowned out by the rustle of leaves and the distant rhythm of the tide. "Do you often have late-night heart-to-hearts like this?"
A playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His lips looked incredibly red, incredibly lush. Jiang Tong felt a momentary lapse in focus. He had to exert every ounce of his willpower to keep his left hand still, to stop himself from reaching out to cup the boy’s jaw.
"I’ve had them with friends a few times. But as a teacher, this is the first time I’ve had one with a student," he heard himself reply. That strange sense of floating, of detachment, returned.
"A part-time teacher," Xiao Fengtai corrected in a low voice.
They were standing very close—too close. Jiang Tong could see the stray droplets of condensation from the iced coffee clinging to Xiao Fengtai’s cheek. The moonlight and the lamplight were fractured by the shadows of the trees, lending the boy’s expression an indescribable air of secrecy and gravity.
Then, a cool, soft sensation brushed against his fingertips. Jiang Tong shuddered. Xiao Fengtai had taken his hand.
The boy’s movement was light, cautious. He held Jiang Tong’s hand as if he were cradling a fragile dream or a handful of mist. Jiang Tong did not move. He could feel the slight tremor in the boy’s fingers.
Both remained silent. Silence itself became a language. An invisible force seemed to press against the back of Jiang Tong’s head, forcing him to look down. Their eyes met. They were so close that Jiang Tong could see his own reflection in Xiao Fengtai’s pupils—a distorted, dark silhouette. He looked like a ghost haunting the boy’s body.
The silhouette stared back at him gloomily, urging him to act. Here was a beautiful, innocent youth from a family of immense wealth, with a brilliant future, who was inexplicably fascinated by him. If Jiang Tong wished, he could pull Xiao Fengtai into his arms and kiss those lips with the desperation of a traveler drinking from a desert spring. He knew the boy would not resist; he would succumb. A body raised on milk and honey—would it be exceptionally supple and fragrant?
Jiang Tong was used to responsibility and self-sacrifice. He didn't complain about it, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Xiao Fengtai was a feast laid out just for him. A first love was like a summer plum—crisp, sweet, overflowing with juice, leaving a lingering aftertaste. Who could refuse it without blinking?
The boy could even be a ladder, a vine Jiang Tong had long prayed for, capable of uprooting him from a life of heavy, sordid calculations and exhausting endurance. Jiang Tong had no doubt that once Xiao Fengtai saw more of the wider world, he would eventually grow tired of him. But until then, if he were careful and patient, he could end the relationship gracefully and walk away with a happy ending for everyone.
This was the greatest stroke of luck in Jiang Tong’s twenty-one years—a compensation from the heavens for every hardship he had endured.
*Hold his hand back. Throw away the damn coffee. Tell him you like him, too. Tell him you love him.*
The brighter Xiao Fengtai’s eyes grew, the clearer Jiang Tong’s silhouette became. That tiny, malformed black figure living in the boy’s beautiful apricot eyes hissed its demands.
*You like him anyway. Move. You’ll never get another chance like this.*
But Jiang Tong could not move.
It all happened in a flash. Images flickered through his mind like a fast-forwarded film: Xiao Fengtai’s arrogant smile when they first met; the stage lights rising as the violin bow carved a semi-circle in the air; his sister’s eyes wide with disbelief when she received the iPad; his mother’s pale, swollen face; the dim light on Xiao Fengtai’s thin back; the giant *Titanic* poster; Pei Jing’s harsh, scrutinizing gaze.
*"The ability to think rationally is the only thing that distinguishes you from a Kenyan gorilla."*
He pulled his hand out of Xiao Fengtai’s grasp.
"It’s too late. I’ll call a car to take you back." He made a show of reaching for his phone. "Or do you want your family driver to pick you up?"
Xiao Fengtai turned his head away. Jiang Tong’s silhouette vanished from his eyes.
"I don’t need the driver. The fare... I’ll give it back to you separately next time." Xiao Fengtai took several deep breaths, making the sob in his voice almost imperceptible. "Please give me my violin and my jacket."
Thank heavens, the e-hailing taxi arrived quickly. Jiang Tong moved to open the door for him, but the boy, with his long legs, beat him to it and slid inside. His urgency was almost comical, as if the world outside the car were a war zone and the taxi were a Noah’s Ark sailing toward a better future. Before Jiang Tong could even say goodbye, the car sped off, disappearing into the distance.
Standing in the haze of gasoline exhaust, Jiang Tong felt a surge of pleasure mixed with a sharp pang of pain. He felt a sincere gratitude toward Pei Jing and a profound pride in himself. This was a correct, noble decision—the quintessential Jiang Tong decision. Though he had nearly succumbed, he had reined himself in at the critical moment, proving his selflessness and virtue once again.
He tossed the crushed coffee cup into a bin and walked into a public restroom. As he washed the sticky, sweet, brownish liquid from his hands, the last trace of agony in his heart vanished without a trace.
***
**GLOSSARY OF NEW TERMS**
