When he stepped into Jiang Tong’s home, the first thing Xiao Fengtai noticed was a pungent, choking odor. The scent was dominated by the bitter, medicinal tang of decocting Chinese herbs, layered with dust, printer ink, leftover food, and the heavy scent of exhaled carbon dioxide. It was a rich, thick miasma that surged toward him like a charging army. Despite his best efforts to maintain a neutral expression, he couldn't help but recoil a few steps, holding his breath and exhaling through his mouth to suppress the rising nausea in his chest.
He had spent the entire journey mentally preparing himself, believing he could remain composed regardless of the environment. However, hearing about hardship was one thing; witnessing it was another. Standing in this dark, cramped, and foul-smelling old apartment, he found himself dejectedly missing the star-rated hotel he had stayed in the night before.
"Xiao Tong is back!" Hearing the door open, Fang Dayong hurried out of the kitchen. As he pulled the kitchen door open, a cloud of damp, medicinal steam billowed out, making Xiao Fengtai feel as though he were suffocating.
Jiang Tong clearly noticed his discomfort but chose to ignore it.
"This is my classmate from Singapore," he introduced to Fang Dayong. "He’s traveling in Beijing for the summer and decided to stop by since he was in the neighborhood."
"Why didn't you say so sooner!" Fang Dayong was incredibly hospitable. "We don't have much to offer... Sit down, sit down. I’ll go downstairs and buy some fruit and snacks."
"Where’s Mom?" Jiang Tong asked.
"She went with Beibei for a follow-up exam. They’ll be back soon." Fang Dayong ushered the two of them into the main room to sit, then brought a kettle from the kitchen to pour water for Xiao Fengtai. "It’s hot out. Have some water first."
The water cups were a mismatched set, their inner walls stained with yellowish-brown tea residue, and visible white flakes of limescale floated in the water. Xiao Fengtai steeled himself and took a sip of the plain boiled water. It tasted bitter at the back of his tongue, and his throat felt as if it had been scraped by sandpaper.
"Thank you, Uncle," he said with a forced smile.
Fang Dayong waved it off, saying it was no trouble, and placed the TV remote on the coffee table. The furniture in the room was extremely simple and clearly aged. Because miscellaneous items were piled everywhere, the space felt cluttered and tiny. Although Fang Dayong had lost a significant amount of weight over the past year, he still seemed too burly for the small room. As he moved about, he constantly knocked over medicine boxes or bumped into washbasins, creating a continuous clatter.
The door slammed shut, and Fang Dayong’s heavy footsteps gradually faded into the distance. Xiao Fengtai and Jiang Tong sat side by side; for a moment, neither spoke.
"The place is small, so I won't keep you for dinner," Jiang Tong said flatly. "You can check the flights now. We’ll leave after resting for a bit."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Xiao Fengtai’s throat felt constricted. "These things... why did you hide them from me?"
"Because it has nothing to do with our relationship," Jiang Tong whispered. "Hurry up and book the ticket. It’ll be hard to get to the airport later if we hit traffic."
"I could have helped you!"
"I don't need your help!"
Xiao Fengtai stared at him in disbelief, as if looking at a stranger. Realizing he had lost his composure, Jiang Tong took a deep breath, suppressing the agitation in his heart.
"This is the only flight," he said, opening a booking website and showing the phone screen to Xiao Fengtai. "Fill in your passport information so I can pay."
"There’s no need to book a ticket," Xiao Fengtai said softly. "They’re still in Beijing today."
"I lied just now."
Jiang Tong gave a bitter laugh. "I see."
"Then that’s fine. Give me the address of your hotel, and I’ll send you back in a bit."
"China isn't like Singapore. You aren't familiar with the place. Once you’re back, stay with your group and stop running around."
The Jiang Tong who had just exploded with rage almost seemed like a hallucination. He had reverted to the way he was in Singapore—gentle, considerate, even a bit nagging. To him, life was a series of neat squares; no surprises, no conflicts, everything orderly and within his grasp.
But they could never go back to how things were. This tiny apartment was a small urn; a part of the Jiang Tong in Xiao Fengtai’s heart had died the moment he stepped inside.
His teacher, his lover—the brilliant, gentle, reserved, and handsome young scientist—it turned out his calm and poise were all an illusion. He thought of Jiang Tong’s clean, cozy little apartment in Singapore and the wishful fantasies he’d projected onto him: a refined and serious stepfather, a beautiful and gentle mother, a close-knit and harmonious little family... The first eighteen years of Jiang Tong’s life—the years Xiao Fengtai had imagined to be pure and bright—had actually been spent in this cramped, dark concrete box, the kind Xiao Fengtai had only ever seen in news reports or picture books.
Xiao Fengtai said softly, "Jiang Tong, do you look down on me?"
He was willing to share everything in his life with Jiang Tong—his past, present, future, his most secret hopes, and his deepest pains. He had thought Jiang Tong felt the same, but now he realized the other man likely viewed his feelings as nothing more than a bout of adolescent fever. Jiang Tong probably never truly loved him, Xiao Fengtai thought; he was just going along with it, looking down from a height as he watched him go mad under the influence of hormones.
No wonder he didn't want to take the "final step." Why would a normal adult male be interested in a child, a green brat?
"Whatever I say now probably won't matter." Jiang Tong’s laugh was full of pain.
"Why did you have to come?"
Xiao Fengtai would have found out eventually. Although Jiang Tong hadn't held much hope, he had fantasized about it a few times. Once he got an offer from a North American lab, once Xiao Fengtai went to university, once his academic career prospects were clearer... once he had enough of a foundation to stand on, if they were still together, Jiang Tong would have introduced him to his family.
But absolutely not now. Not now, when he had nothing, when his future was murky, and when he was at the mercy of others.
The lock turned, and Fang Dayong returned carrying two full grocery baskets. Seeing Jiang Tong and Xiao Fengtai sitting in their original spots with stiff expressions and the TV off, he immediately assumed Jiang Tong was being a poor host. He hurried to pile various snacks and fruits onto the coffee table and warmly invited Xiao Fengtai to stay for dinner.
"No need, he has things to do." Xiao Fengtai was about to speak, but Jiang Tong had already declined on his behalf. "You should rest. We’re leaving right now."
His tone was respectful but exceptionally firm. Fang Dayong shrank back slightly, seemingly a bit afraid of him. It was obvious to any observer that Jiang Tong was the one who truly had the final say in this house.
Xiao Fengtai was physically and mentally exhausted and had no intention of causing a scene. He followed Jiang Tong out submissively. Jiang Tong hailed a taxi by the roadside. Xiao Fengtai thought they were going back to the hotel and gave the address, but Jiang Tong acted as if he hadn't heard, giving the driver a destination Xiao Fengtai didn't recognize.
Xiao Fengtai didn't know what Jiang Tong was up to. The young man remained silent the whole way, showing no intention of explaining.
*Maybe he’s afraid I’ll leak his family situation when I get back to Singapore, so he’s going to dispose of the body under the cover of night,* Xiao Fengtai thought indifferently, staring blankly at the neon lights flickering past the window.
The taxi stopped in front of a small hutong. Though the alley was narrow, it was brightly lit and bustling with people. Signs with the character for "Skewers" bent from red neon tubes hung crookedly against the walls, providing a vivid footnote to the heavy scent of cumin and the mess of bamboo sticks littering the ground.
This was hardly a good place for a murder.
Jiang Tong carried Xiao Fengtai’s luggage and strode into the hutong. The path was pitted and uneven; Xiao Fengtai’s silver designer suitcase bumped against the asphalt from time to time, making a cringeworthy scraping sound.
Most of the stalls had folding tables and chairs scattered outside. Jiang Tong stopped outside the largest "Skewers" sign and plopped down at an empty table.
Xiao Fengtai sat down after him and immediately noticed the folding table was reflecting light—not because of the table itself, but because of years of accumulated grease shining under the lamps.
He tried his best not to think about what the folding stool he was sitting on had been through.
It was dinner time, and they were surrounded by diners: "bare-chested men" wearing nothing but large shorts with layers of greasy sweat on their beer bellies, young girls with straw-yellow dyed hair and vibrant blue and purple eyeshadow, and little punks with tattooed sleeves, small ponytails, and ripped T-shirts... The sound of meat sizzling in oil, the roar of the exhaust fans in the background, the clinking of beer bottles, Beijing slang, laughter, and shouting all merged into one. It was another scene he had only ever witnessed on television. Xiao Fengtai felt as if his small stool were a piece of driftwood on a turbulent sea; he drifted in an ocean of sound, light, and smell, feeling slightly dizzy.
Jiang Tong called out loudly for a waiter. Caught off guard, Xiao Fengtai was startled by his volume. Jiang Tong skillfully ordered lamb skewers, chicken skewers, grilled squid, and several items Xiao Fengtai had never heard of (what was *banjin*?), along with two cans of beer.
The food and drinks arrived quickly. On a large stainless steel tray, various skewers were piled like a small mountain, with a shallow layer of unidentifiable grease and leftover sauce floating at the bottom. The beer had just been taken from the freezer, and condensation quickly formed on the cans, radiating a chill in the summer heat.
Jiang Tong popped both cans open. "Eat up. It’s best while it’s hot."
Xiao Fengtai sat motionless.
Jiang Tong picked up a skewer of meat and began to eat with gusto.
"Weren't you accusing me of hiding everything from you?" Jiang Tong washed down a mouthful of food with a gulp of beer. "I went to middle school right next to this hutong. I grew up eating this stuff."
Xiao Fengtai picked up a skewer of something unidentifiable from the tray. Steeling himself, he began to chew vigorously.
The ingredients at small eateries weren't fresh, so they were doused in heavy spices to mask the taste. Xiao Fengtai’s tongue soon lost all sensation from the spice. He gulped down a large mouthful of ice-cold beer to soothe the heat, only to be sent into a coughing fit by the bitter liquid.
"Never had a drink before?" Jiang Tong was amused by his disheveled state.
"The first time I drank, I was only this big." He used his fingers to indicate a very short distance. "My mom told me. She said my dad loved to drink, and every time he did, he’d dip a chopstick in and feed me a little."
"He even lied to me and said beer was orange soda. I believed him at first, but later, even when he poured me real soda, I wouldn't drink it."
"I’m not originally from Beijing. I only moved here in seventh grade when my mom remarried. My hometown was slow at teaching English, so I initially ranked at the bottom of the grade. My mom would wake me up at five every morning to memorize vocabulary."
"My Gaokao scores were average. Luckily, the Singaporean government, for whatever reason, came to our school with a sponsorship program. After I got in, my mom specifically went back to our hometown to burn incense for my dad."
"During my sophomore year, she was diagnosed with lymphoma. We stayed up all night at Peking Union Medical College Hospital to get a registration number. The doctor prescribed Rituximab. Do you know how much Rituximab costs?"
He swayed slightly and held up two fingers. "Twenty thousand. A small fifty-milliliter bottle costs twenty thousand yuan."
"A hospital is truly a money-pit. Lab fees, bed fees, medicine fees, nursing fees, equipment fees... so much, so much money, thrown into the water without even making a splash."
"I’ve ghostwritten papers for people," he suddenly changed the subject. "I dared to write on any topic. The continuation of authoritarianism in the twentieth century, an analysis of Southeast Asian colonial literature, using game theory to analyze the current landscape of international trade... I wrote whatever paid the most. I ghostwrote homework, too. I liked doing freshman physics and math assignments—the pay was low, but I could finish them fast."
"The Singaporean government stipulates that you must stay and work locally after graduation, otherwise you have to pay back the entire scholarship."
"I don't want to stay in Singapore. I want to go to America, to the most advanced immunology labs. I must get a full scholarship."
Xiao Fengtai remained silent amidst the drunken clamor. He finally understood Jiang Tong’s intention.
"Why did you insist on knowing these things?"
Jiang Tong was still smiling—a very steady, very gentle smile, yet it made Xiao Fengtai’s nose sting.
"I have never looked down on you," Jiang Tong said slowly.
*It’s I who look down on myself.*
"It’s I who look down on myself," Xiao Fengtai said suddenly.
Jiang Tong was stunned.
Xiao Fengtai tilted his head back and drained the rest of the beer in his cup. Seeing that Jiang Tong didn't move, he poured himself another full glass. The white foam rose slowly, eventually cresting the rim and flowing down the side of the cup.
Xiao Fengtai gripped the glass tightly; the bubbles felt wet and cold against his fingers. The alcohol was like a stream of liquid fire, only beginning to burn once it hit his stomach. A hidden flame spread like a prairie fire, rising from within, making his head heavy and giving him the courage to say things he usually wouldn't dare.
"Before today, I was actually always very afraid," he said to Jiang Tong.
"I felt I wasn't good enough for you."
Jiang Tong stared at him in disbelief, momentarily speechless. He almost thought Xiao Fengtai was being sarcastic, but the boy’s gaze was open and clear, without a hint of mockery or pretense.
"Even though the age gap isn't that large, I always felt your life was very far away from mine. You seemed like you would never lose control."
"Unlike me," Xiao Fengtai struggled to find the words. "Your life is... very balanced. You know what you want, and every single day, you work toward it with your feet on the ground. You’re a reliable friend, a diligent student, a responsible teacher. You play every role so well."
"...Anyway, all the misunderstandings between us are your fault," he said decisively. "Looking at you, anyone would think you were raised in a scholarly, middle-class family—and one where the parents got along exceptionally well, too!"
Otherwise, how could he have so much energy left over to share warmth and care with others?
"Compared to you, I feel very childish, very stupid. After we got together, I often wondered: what do you like about me?"
"My persistent, unrequited passion? My decent looks? Or my money?—to be precise, my family’s money?"
"I didn't like any of those answers, so I was scared. Maybe before I even grew up, you would have already grown tired of me. Or maybe you never liked me at all, so you didn't bother letting me see the flaws in your life."
"You were right. I just *had* to know these things."
"I want to know your past failures, your pain, which subjects you were bad at in middle school, the times you embarrassed yourself in front of friends... Teacher Jiang, I don't want to be your student anymore. I want us to be two equal people."
"Is that very dark?" Xiao Fengtai gave a miserable smile, only then realizing his eyes were brimming with tears. "Using your tragic life to compensate for my own deep-seated inferiority. I never thought the day would come when I’d say I’m so poor that all I have is money."
"It sounds so pretentious."
Tears finally spilled over in large droplets. He dropped all his defenses, surrendering to Jiang Tong, baring his neck for the blow.
"But Teacher Jiang, I can't help it."
"I love you."
He didn't want Jiang Tong to see his tearful eyes, so he focused on staring down at the table, watching the tears splash onto the faux-birch grain.
*Never again.* Xiao Fengtai’s mind was a mess, but one thought was clear. He would never again allow himself to appear this humble before anyone or anything.
The table seemed to vibrate slightly, but he didn't pay it any mind. A breeze brushed past him, and in the next second, his arm was gripped tightly.
With one hand pulling the suitcase and the other hoisting him up, Jiang Tong strode toward the end of the alley. He stumbled along after Jiang Tong, his arm belatedly feeling a dull ache and the numbing tingle of restricted blood flow.
Was Jiang Tong angry? Would he scold him? Or just break up with him right here?
The alcohol had dulled his brain. He was struggling to think when his back suddenly hit a wall with a jolt, pinned there by Jiang Tong.
"Hurry up and reach adulthood."
Jiang Tong’s voice was closer than he had imagined. Xiao Fengtai had just opened his mouth to answer when he was kissed deeply by Jiang Tong.
Between the noisy lights of the night market and the constant flow of traffic on the main road lay a short fork in the path, without streetlights or the sound of people. Absolute darkness and relative silence. His heartbeat, Jiang Tong’s heartbeat, the sound of Jiang Tong’s fluttering eyelashes, the sound of their skin rubbing together, the sound of their tangled breaths—everything was suddenly magnified and magnified again, making every cell in Xiao Fengtai’s body resonate. Jiang Tong was kissing him as if he wanted to devour him whole. In his slight state of oxygen deprivation, Xiao Fengtai felt a wave of vertigo. Jiang Tong was craving him; his tongue was delivering his desire—a scalding, aching desire.
***
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