On a rare quiet weekend, Wen Di was woken up by the noise of a power drill.
The devilish buzzing drilled straight into his brain. He groaned, covering one ear with his hand while clutching his stomach with the other, and began to roll around in bed. Maybe it was because he hadn’t eaten raw food for too long, and after a Japanese meal yesterday, his stomach felt like a gust of wind was rushing around, and turning over and raising his hands made him feel nauseous.
And that sudden intrusion of the power drill was like blades carried by the gust of wind, sawing repeatedly at his fragile nerves.
Wen Di got up in a rage, went to the balcony and looked in the direction of the sound—of course, who else could it be but the annoying neighbor causing a disturbance on a weekend?
He shut the window, dug out his phone, and logged into his alternate account, angrily questioning: [What kind of work is being done on the weekend?!]
After a few minutes, the person on the other side replied: [Sealing the balcony.]
Wen Di’s molars ground together: [Couldn’t you do that on Monday?]
The neighbor replied: [The wind’s strong these days. What if my clothes get blown over to your place?]
As if to emphasize the importance of the statement, the power drill began to roar again.
Wen Di grabbed his pillow and wrapped it around his head, but the cotton only served as a futile attempt to block out the noise.
The phone screen lit up, and another message popped up: [When you were wringing out the shirt, were you imagining it was me?]
Wen Di’s face was full of question marks.
Neighbor: [Now the left sleeve of that shirt is two millimeters longer than the right one. It is impossible to wear it.]
Wen Di’s pupils suddenly dilated. Wha…two…ah?!
Maybe, just maybe, he had infused a bit of negative emotion when wringing out the shirt, but what difference would two millimeters make?!
Wen Di: [Are you sure it’s not your left and right arms that aren’t the same length?]
Neighbor: [Can you be a little more logical? Do you think I measured it with my arms?]
Wen Di: [Toad, beetle, bat.]
Neighbor: [You’re wasting your life reciting such third-rate works. Don’t you have anything more meaningful to do in your life?]
Wen Di felt a surge of anger shoot straight to the top of his head, along with the bloating in his stomach, stirring up a storm in his brain. He typed on his phone screen with the intensity of a mechanical keyboard: [Have some respect for your ancestors, the matter of nature is eternal and unchanging, those atoms that make up Shakespeare might be inside your body.]
Neighbor: [By that logic, there might be paramecium atoms in your body too.]
Wen Di yelled “Fuck!” stood up, and threw his phone onto the bed. At the same time, the sound of a hammer hitting the wall rang out from the balcony next door.
He glared at the wall, his almond-shaped eyes burning with anger as if they could pierce through and turn the person on the other side into a sieve.
May a pox grow in your throat, you loudmouthed, heartless dog!
Verbal curses were useless. The clashing of glass frames next door drifted over like the triumphant beat of drums.
Wen Di fell on the bed, covered his head with the blanket, rolled over twice, and stopped only when he hit the wall. It was unbelievable that he had fought with his neighbor four times so far, exchanged hundreds of sharp words, but he hadn’t won a single round!
What a shame for his career in verbal battles!
He rubbed his hair in annoyance, once again feeling helpless about the sudden turn of events in his life. Something good had just happened last night, and then he ran into this unlucky guy.
Thinking about last night, Wen Di suddenly held his breath, picked up his phone, and checked for unread messages. He exited the app, went back in, refreshed, exited again, went back in, and refreshed.
No friend requests, no unread texts, and no missed calls. It seemed that the professor had no intention of contacting him yet.
He reassured himself that it was only just past eight in the morning; the professor might not even be awake yet.
He secretly hoped that life had some kind of conservation law, such as that a weekend plagued by noise could be exchanged for a little luck in his love life.
Unfortunately, after he finished eating, washed the dishes, and spent the entire morning revising his paper, his phone remained silent.
He consoled himself by thinking that the professor was someone who loved sports and might have gone rock climbing. Hanging mid-air, he couldn’t possibly check his phone.
In the afternoon, Wen Di read literature and worked on his group meeting PPT. The scratching feeling of anxiety became more and more intense, so much that he had to lock his phone in a drawer to stop himself from refreshing it every two seconds.
The sounds of drilling and hammering from the balcony had ended, the sun was setting, and the streetlights flickered on, but still, there were no new messages.
He comforted himself that the professors were all very busy, who knows which project had tied him up this time?
By the time a thick night color built up outside the window and a few wisps of cloud gathered around the moon as it rose into the sky, Wen Di finally accepted the reality: there would be no progress today.
He forced his right hand to put down the phone and collapsed onto the bed, trying to fall asleep.
Maybe tomorrow, or the day after…
The phone suddenly rang.
Wen Di sat up suddenly, held up the phone and checked it carefully. It was a number with no remarks.
It wasn’t a text message or a friend request; it was a direct call? Was the professor that type of person?
Although he was a little confused, he decided it was better to be hopeful than dismissive. Wen Di pressed the answer button.
The other side was silent for two seconds, as if surprised that he had actually picked up. Then, a familiar voice came through: “Sam, long time no see.”
Wen Di put down the phone, hung up the call, blocked the number, and then hugged himself tightly, rubbing hard to eliminate the goosebumps that had just appeared.
What he wanted was peach blossoms, not dead leaves that had been buried for five years and had rotted!
All that talk about conservation laws—what a load of crap! Life is a series of misfortunes, and God is cold and indifferent, especially to unfortunate people like him.
He looked out the window at the dim crescent moon. The call was disconnected, but the sound lingered. The voice evoked memories of the midsummer of August, like a whirlpool, instantly throwing people into the past time and space. There were layers of memory fragments, sharp and dazzling.
It had already been ten years.
Ten years ago, in the heat of August, he took a bus for over an hour, then transferred to a bus and subway, finally arriving at the renowned provincial key school. The sun hung glaringly in the sky, so hot that even the cicadas were agitated, chirping like firecrackers.
He wiped the sweat, put the duffel bag on the plank bed. The nylon fabric bulged, tightly wrapped with a rope to prevent the zipper from bursting open. Before he could untie the knot, a tall figure walked past by the window.
Wen Di looked up and saw 16-year-old He Wenxuan.
That one glance caused a small stir in his heart.
Tall with broad shoulders, his short hair clean and neat, and his back straight as a rod. He was wearing the same loose plaid school uniform and black straight-leg pants. It would look shabby on others, but it made him look fashionable and stylish.
Wen Di glanced down at himself. His pant legs were dusty, and his school uniform shirt was also too big. His mother said he would still grow, so she bought a size larger. The uniform was already oversized, and since he was skinny, it hung loosely on him.
The top students in the provincial capital really were different.
During the first couple of days of military training, the scorching sun blazed overhead. Having just arrived, he wasn’t used to the climate and environment, and embarrassingly became the first in his class to suffer from heatstroke.
All he remembered was standing at attention, and suddenly the concrete ground began to spin, rushing toward him. The next time he opened his eyes, he saw the white curtains of the infirmary.
The air conditioning was comfortable, the bed was clean, and sitting beside him was the boy he had met on the first day.
“You…” Wen Di felt a flicker of hope in his heart. “Did you also get heatstroke?”
The boy smiled. “I carried you here. You didn’t forget that, did you?”
Wen Di felt embarrassed, for that thoughtless sentence and for something else.
The boy held two bottles of water in his hand. He looked at the sweat on his forehead flowing down to his chin and then dripping onto his collar. He handed him one of the bottles and said, “My name is He Wenxuan.”
Wen Di, feeling groggy, took the bottle and felt a heaviness in his chest, as if something was blocking his airways.
At that time, he didn’t know there was such a thing as homosexuality in the world, but love was an instinct.
He grabbed the exercise book to ask each other questions and went to the stadium to watch the game. After He Wenxuan sprained his ankle, for a whole month, he fetched water, delivered meals, bought snacks, and even helped with laundry. On an autumn night, He Wenxuan dragged his healed leg and walked with him across the campus. The dim light casted shadows that made everything seem heavy. When they walked to the shadow of the camphor tree, Wen Di suddenly stopped, gathered his courage, and said ‘I like you. Let’s be together ba.’
The other person was taken aback for a moment, then smiled and said: You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting. I thought you’d never say anything.
Wen Di was in a daze and his mind was in a mess, so he cautiously asked: Does this count as a yes?
The boy ruffled his hair and said: Of course.
He Wenxuan’s father was an entrepreneur, the president of Boxin Optics. He went abroad for an exchange program in elementary school. He spoke fluently in a foreign accent and talked about current affairs and famous Chinese and foreign figures. His peers were the children of judges, researchers, and engineers. When Wen Di was with his friends, he always felt like a muddy taro on a fruit stand.
He had a mix of admiration and affection for He Wenxuan. He thought that such a gifted person with a rich family background and extensive experience must have his own plans and considerations, and every choice he made was made with considerations that he could not see.
It wasn’t until he grew older and saw more of the world and more perfect people that he suddenly woke up.
What calculations, it was just fucking selfishness.
It had been five years since the breakup, but he could still call and say hello as if nothing had happened, which showed that this person had not changed at all.
It was truly unlucky to run into the remnants of the past. Wen Di lay down, closed his eyes, and silently prayed that he wouldn’t invade his dreams tonight.
Barely five minutes of peace later, the phone rang again, this time from a different number.
Wen Di took a deep breath. He should have accumulated enough luck points; it couldn’t be the same person…
He answered the call, and a familiar voice came through. “Aren’t you going to say anything to me?” The other person sighed. “I’m a bit sad.”
Wen Di rolled his eyes. How many phone numbers did this person have?
Perhaps sensing that Wen Di was about to hang up again, the caller added: “There are no restrictions on buying SIM cards in the U.S.”
These rich kids had too much money to burn. Wen Di gritted his teeth and said: “Hurry up and say what you want to say. I’m going to sleep.”
The other side fell silent, and this moment of blank time made Wen Di furious.
“I missed you so much.” He said at last.
“Don’t be disgusting.” Wen Di warned.
“Really,” the voice on the other end said, “When you were around, I was the happiest and most at ease. Every time I walked through Chinatown and saw the steam from the dim sum carts, I would think of you. Remember when I sprained my ankle? The smile on your face when you opened the breakfast bag is something I’ll never forget for the rest of my life…”
“I said,” Wen Di, impatiently rubbing his pillow, “You don’t like me, you want a nanny. You are so rich, you can hire one for 10,000 or 20,000 yuan. I guarantee that they will serve you comfortably. Why are you looking for me?”
There was a hint of surprise on the other side: “How could you think that? We are each other’s first love ah.”
My goodness, when he was young, he stumbled over a piece of wood, and now that piece of wood thought he was the white moonlight. He really knew how to cover his face with gold leaf.1脸上贴金 (To flatter one’s face) is a derogatory term used to describe self-praise
Wen Di bent his knees and rested his elbows on his legs to make himself more comfortable and to ease the burning anger in his chest. “Is first love some sacred lotus on a snow-capped mountain? A Buddha statue on a pedestal?” Wen Di said. “It’s just a collection of mistakes. You keep hanging around, constantly reminding me of my past all the time. It’s really annoying.”
The other party was silent for a while, then said: “Those were the most beautiful times of my life. I’m sorry you don’t see it that way. Trust me, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll turn it back to the colorful way it was.”
After not seeing him for a few years, he was still as glib as ever. He even talked about ‘making it up’, even though he had obviously destroyed it himself.
“No, thank you,” Wen Di said, “Don’t call me again. You don’t know how much I have hidden my ability to curse when I was with you. I advise you not to ask for trouble.”
He thought that when the words were said to this point, the proud son of heaven must have taken an angry stance, but he didn’t expect that he didn’t hear the hang-up prompt tone.
Forget it, he would hang up. He moved the phone away from his ear and was about to press the red button when the other party spoke.
“I did lie to you back then,” the other person said, “but didn’t you lie to me too?”
In the next moment, Wen Di pressed the hang-up button, nearly jumping off the bed in anger.
This guy still had the nerve to expose his scars!
Damn you, despicable dog! Filthy, arrogant, and boisterous scoundrel! May you die of the plague and disease, for you’ve made me say such things!2This is the translated literally. The equivalent original line is: You taught me language, and my profit on ’t, Is I know how to curse. This is from The Tempest Act 1, Scene 1
Wen Di was filled with rage, unable to vent it. He stared at the screen, directing his resentment toward the person who had vanished without a trace.
If it weren’t for waiting for his call, he wouldn’t have encountered such an unexpected disaster.
What had that smart, handsome bastard been up to these past few days!
The author has something to say:
Sealing the balcony (no)
The two lines of curses still come from The Tempest
T/N: The literal translation for the title should be ‘May you have a pox in your throat’. Anyway, this is from The Tempest Act 1, Scene 1, when Sebastian was cursing the Boatswain; ‘A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!’
