Jiang Tong had been in a few insignificant relationships before, but none had ever left him feeling such a profound sense of deprivation. Once-a-week Chinese lessons weren't enough; squeezing in meetings during the week wasn't enough; even daily calls and video chats weren't enough. He used to silently mock those couples who couldn't bear to be apart for a single second, but now that he was in the thick of it, he found himself even worse. He wished he could just fold Xiao Fengtai up and carry him around in his pocket all day.
He knew Xiao Fengtai felt the same way and had been looking forward to the summer break for a long time. When discussing plans for the summer, the boy talked incessantly. Jiang Tong listened in silence, guilt pressing against his chest like a water-logged sponge, making his throat feel tight.
"...So, what do you think?" Xiao Fengtai finally remembered his presence and turned to look at him. "I know you'll probably be holed up in the lab eighty percent of the time, but please, it's summer—a student's legal right to a holiday. You have to learn to balance work and play."
"I only got the news last week, but I probably won't be staying in Singapore this summer," Jiang Tong said, forcing himself to speak.
Xiao Fengtai lowered his head and fell silent, his entire demeanor wilting at a visible speed.
"I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner." Jiang Tong reached out to put an arm around the boy's shoulder, but the other flinched away.
Jiang Tong gave a bitter smile.
"I really want to stay too, but next semester is application season. There are only a few labs in the world doing immunology, and even fewer that offer full scholarships. I don't have an advantage in terms of my undergraduate school or my research experience."
"Professor Gu is being kind enough to help me; I can't miss this opportunity."
He could have presented a more persuasive argument—after all, what could be more justifiable than accompanying a mother bedridden with terminal cancer? But Jiang Tong decided to keep Xiao Fengtai in the dark for as long as possible. He didn't want Xiao Fengtai to pity him.
"Don't try to coax me like I'm some adolescent girl," Xiao Fengtai glared at him. "I understand the logic; I just need some time to digest the gap between my expectations and reality."
"Alright, alright." Jiang Tong raised his hands in surrender. "Then may I ask if I can serve you a bowl of wontons to replenish your energy so you can adjust your expectations as quickly as possible?"
Xiao Fengtai picked up his phone to hide his face, looking like he didn't want to deal with him. Jiang Tong didn't mind; he turned into the kitchen, opened the fridge to take out the pre-wrapped wontons, and set a pot of water to boil.
"...Put more shrimp filling in mine," Xiao Fengtai’s reluctant voice drifted in from the living room just a second before the wontons hit the water.
Jiang Tong covered his mouth, trying his best to stifle his laughter. He couldn't let this bowl of wontons be sacrificed in vain.
The dispute over the summer break was a negligible blip in their lives, soon tossed to the back of his mind. Thanks to the combined effects of dopamine, serotonin, and adrenaline, couples in the first flush of love might be the most understanding and tolerant people in the world.
Jiang Tong’s stepfather, Fang Dayong, was a Beijing local who had "missed the mark" on every opportunity. He had wholesaled VHS tapes, run shell companies, and even worked as a labor contractor for a while. However, such was fate; while others rode the waves of the Reform and Opening-up to make a fortune, Master Fang’s frantic splashing had resulted in nothing but losses. He hadn't made a cent and had lost everything down to his underwear, eventually driving his wife away in a fit of rage.
Fortunately, no matter how much a local messed up, there was always a house to fall back on. Both Fang Dayong and Song Yiyi were honest people; their second marriage was simply for companionship. Neither ever raised their voice at the other. Together with their pair of bright and lovely children, the life of this reconstituted family was quite pleasant.
Until Song Yiyi was diagnosed with a tumor.
Jiang Tong dragged his luggage out of the airport and immediately spotted Fang Dayong waiting at the exit with his hands on his hips. Having not seen him for over a year, he was much thinner than in Jiang Tong's memory. His cheeks, once ruddy and plump with fat, had sunken, revealing wrinkles and signs of aging.
He hurried forward with a light jog. "You shouldn't have troubled yourself. I could have just taken the airport shuttle."
Fang Dayong grabbed a suitcase in each hand and headed toward the parking lot. "Forget it. Our family runs a taxi business; we aren't short of the gas money for these two trips."
The drive from the airport to home required crossing most of Beijing. Fortunately, the evening rush hour had passed, and the roads weren't congested. The radio was buzzing with listener call-ins and seasonal C-pop hits: *I love you, you love me, I don't love you, I love you but pretend I don't.* Fang Dayong kept the radio volume very high; Jiang Tong suspected it was his way of avoiding an awkward atmosphere in the car.
They remained silent for most of the way, occasionally exchanging trivialities. Was school busy? How were the final exam results? Beibei’s dream university... As the taxi pulled into the residential compound, Jiang Tong thought he heard Fang Dayong let out a soft sigh of relief.
The apartment was a 1960s Soviet-style "tube" building—uniform matchbox shapes with protruding security bars draped with drying quilts, plastic colored ropes, faded paper windmills, and air-dried cured meat. In Jiang Tong’s impression, the Fang family's old house was dim and cramped. He wasn't sure if it was psychological, but after not seeing it for over a year, the fifty-square-meter two-bedroom apartment felt even more dilapidated and smaller than he remembered. The entrance hallway was piled with stacks of medicine boxes waiting to be sold for scrap, taking up most of the space and leaving only enough room for one person to pass at a time. A single bed was set up in the small parlor, with several out-of-season coats tossed haphazardly upon it. The seams where the walls met the ceiling had turned black, giving rise to winding, jagged cracks.
The door to the main room was closed. Fang Dayong said softly, "Your mom is already asleep."
"Beibei hasn't finished her evening self-study yet. I'll have to trouble you to make do in the parlor for tonight. Tomorrow I'll tidy up properly and set up a bed for you in her room."
"Dad, there's really no need." Jiang Tong’s tone was gentle but firm. "There are dorms at the school. I'll stay for one night to see Mom and Beibei, and then I'll leave tomorrow morning."
"Beibei is a big girl now; it's not appropriate for her to squeeze into a room with me anymore."
Fang Dayong sheepishly agreed and then hurried to the kitchen to get toiletries ready for him. Jiang Tong understood his awkwardness. Fang Dayong was in the role of the family's pillar but was unable to fulfill the corresponding obligations, having to rely on his legal son to support the household expenses. Jiang Tong’s very existence was proof of Fang Dayong’s incompetence—the personification of shame, 182 centimeters tall, 52 centimeters wide, and weighing 70 kilograms. Fang Dayong was suffocated by his presence and needed constant, brief escapes to breathe fresh air.
Jiang Tong waited until Beibei returned before washing up and going to bed. The young girl was oblivious to the subtle tension between the adults; though she kept her voice low, she couldn't hide her face full of excitement and joy as she pulled Jiang Tong aside to whisper for a long time.
Jiang Tong hadn't expected to suffer from insomnia on the small single bed he had slept in for years. The early hours of the morning were the quietest time in the city. He lay flat and still, staring at the shadows of the streetlights projected onto the ceiling. There was no air conditioning in the living room; an old electric fan hummed at the foot of the bed, its outer cover loose. *Clack, clack, clack*—a rhythmic tapping, a kind of white noise that was simultaneously hypnotic and bracing.
Jiang Tong couldn't sleep because as soon as he closed his eyes, he thought of Xiao Fengtai. He thought of the view from the hexagonal study in the Xiao residence—the lush green grass, the azure sea. He thought of the Guarneri violin and the handmade suit jacket Xiao Fengtai had carelessly tossed onto the steps.
His phone buzzed. He swiped the screen open to find a photo Xiao Fengtai had sent him. The night sky was tinted blue-purple by neon lights, and a flamingo pool float drifted in a fluorescent swimming pool. The vast stretches of bright blue and pink made the lights of the distant skyscrapers seem dim. Young men and women were dressed in light summer clothes, their collagen-plump cheeks overflowing with smiles as bright and fervent as the summer sun.
Xiao Fengtai only showed half of his face on the screen, his wet bangs plastered to his forehead; it was clear he had taken a dip as well. The subjects of the photo seemed very familiar with him, making funny faces at the camera.
"I really wish summer would never end." Jiang Tong sensed Xiao Fengtai was flaunting his life to him, albeit in a roundabout way that felt like a poorly disguised attempt at provocation. Xiao Fengtai always acted this way. Usually, Jiang Tong found it cute, but in the sleepless dawn after a six-hour flight, he suddenly felt an indescribable irritability and frustration.
His self-esteem was very solid and self-contained. Jiang Tong wasn't angry at anyone. This irritability was akin to jet lag, or altitude sickness. Returning to his own life from a pseudo-reality glossed over by dreamlike, peach-colored hormones made him realize how suspended and ethereal life on that small island was. Meanwhile, the other party remained completely oblivious, still immersed in that suspension. An ensemble performance with a mismatched tempo always left one feeling like there was a lump in their throat.
***
