Bai Sijun finally left Mei Yuchen’s villa with a gloomy expression.
A cold wind, carrying the winter’s end chill, blew by. Bai Sijun shivered, realizing that he had left his scarf at Mei Yuchen’s place. After some hesitation, he decided not to go back and retrieve it.
Before coming, Bai Sijun had made numerous assumptions. He had considered the possibility that Mei Yuchen might come up with unreliable excuses to evade him or directly avoid communication. However, he didn’t expect this visit to end with him unable to fend off Mei Yuchen’s questions.
Someone once said that what you worry about most probably won’t happen.
This statement held some truth because what usually happens is unpredictable and often worse than what you anticipated.
So, what is sex, really?
Bai Sijun spent almost the entire day pondering this question.
Mei Yuchen asked him about his preferred position. In Bai Sijun’s limited sexual experiences, he had only tried missionary and doggy style. If he had to choose, doggy style was more comfortable, but he couldn’t say he liked it very much.
In the end, Bai Sijun never had much liking for the act itself.
He could never tell if a girl was genuinely comfortable or just acting to please him. Each time, it ended with his climax, and afterward, there was only a sense of emptiness.
Sometimes he even wondered why so many people liked spending time with others when doing it alone was much more convenient.
This didn’t seem to be a question easily understood with a casual thought.
Bai Sijun lived in a four-bedroom apartment, renting a secondary bedroom. The master bedroom was occupied by a male tenant with a separate bathroom, while Bai Sijun shared a bathroom with two female tenants.
The warmth of the shower eased the tension in Bai Sijun’s mind after a long day. He temporarily cleared his mind and unintentionally examined his body.
Overall, he was thin, but he had muscles where they were supposed to be.
His right hand unconsciously slid over his left rib, coming to a stop.
Bai Sijun stared straight at the spot where his heart was beating, and his thoughts drifted back to Mei Yuchen’s question.
Was his nipples sensitive? He didn’t know. He didn’t touch this area unless necessary, and no one else had ever touched it for him.
His right hand moved up, brushing over that particular point.
Some things were strange. In unconscious moments, one might have done something countless times, but when done purposefully one day, the feeling would be completely different.
That was Bai Sijun now. He was shocked by his own reaction to the sensation in his lower abdomen.
…
The rapid breathing gradually calmed down, and Bai Sijun realized he seemed to have been taught a new skill by Mei Yuchen. A difficult-to-describe sense of shame welled up within him.
After closing the shower, Bai Sijun, while drying himself, continued to think about the “homework” assigned by Mei Yuchen.
He was well aware that Mei Yuchen’s question was like a threshold. If he couldn’t express his views, Mei Yuchen would never be able to discuss the ideas behind their works.
It was similar to how people with sophisticated tastes never deigned to share their interests with those outside the circle.
In the end, Bai Sijun decided to seek answers from books.
He browsed through Douban, found several books by Junichiro Watanabe, and made a reading list. The reason for choosing Watanabe was simply that this author depicted the nature of men vividly.
Opening the first chapter of “Lost Paradise” in his office, Bai Sijun dimmed the screen’s brightness, feeling a bit uneasy due to the explicit sexual descriptions. He was afraid a colleague might pass by and see what he was reading. However, as he continued reading, he became immersed in the world of the book.
In “Lost Paradise,” love was unhealthy and unconventional, with disillusionment and decadence permeating every sexual encounter. Sex was an indispensable part of the novel and its central theme. Without those explicit descriptions, this book might have been just an ordinary tale of infidelity.
Shoulder tapped suddenly, Bai Sijun was forced to withdraw from the book’s world. He had become too engrossed, to the point where the real world seemed unreal to him.
“Xiao Bai, not busy now?” Editor Li Lan bent down slightly, asking.
Reading novels certainly didn’t count as being busy, and Li Lan’s inquiry didn’t seem like a question; it was more like confirmation.
“Not busy. Is there anything you need help with?” Bai Sijun locked his screen and habitually asked.
“The water dispenser has been out of water since this morning,” Li Lan said, realizing it might sound like blaming and quickly added, “I can’t open that lid. Can you please help?”
The office water dispenser was a filtration type that required someone to refill it after use. Opening the lid of the water dispenser was not difficult; it only required pressing a hidden button. However, it seemed like everyone regarded it as a high-difficulty task that only Bai Sijun could accomplish.
Bai Sijun politely smiled at Li Lan and then walked towards the pantry.
Although he had been promoted to a formal editor, he still hadn’t shaken off the label of being a “gofer.”
He must make Mei Yuchen’s book a success.
While adding water to the water dispenser, Bai Sijun told himself.
Bai Sijun spent the entire weekend clearing his reading list. When he stood in front of door A-111 again, he felt a bit more confident.
Writers could better reveal human nature through sex; it could be considered a “shortcut.”
Many writers had taken this shortcut. Reading Guo Moruo’s works would help understand why he was such a scumbag. Upon careful thought, the saying that male students majoring in Chinese were mostly fickle might have some truth to it.
This time, Mei Yuchen didn’t pretend to be away. After Bai Sijun entered the hallway, he noticed that the snacks he brought last time were gone, and the scarf he left behind was hanging on the coat rack.
“What are we going to discuss this time?” Mei Yuchen sat on the single-seat sofa in the living room, lifting one leg casually onto the sofa.
Bai Sijun placed the newly bought snacks on the coffee table, sat down, and said, “I’ve been thinking about the question you asked me last time.”
“And?” Mei Yuchen lazily curled the corner of his mouth. “Did you try it out at home? Are you sensitive or not?”
Bai Sijun: “…”
If there were a crack in the ground right now, Bai Sijun would want to crawl into it immediately. His ears felt a bit hot, and without thinking, he knew they must be turning red.
Leaning on the sofa armrest with his chin, Mei Yuchen surveyed Bai Sijun’s reaction.
“Ahem.” Bai Sijun cleared his throat. “I read Junichiro Watanabe’s works after going back…”
“That erotic novelist?” Mei Yuchen interrupted.
“…”
He couldn’t back down. Regardless of what kind of monster Mei Yuchen was, he was just a writer after all.
Taking a deep breath, Bai Sijun continued, “I think reading his books can help me deepen my understanding.”
“Is that so?” Mei Yuchen chuckled. “Wouldn’t practice help you understand better?”
Bai Sijun pursed his lips, suddenly realizing that Mei Yuchen didn’t take their communication seriously at all. He was intentionally making things difficult. Like bouncing off a bottom, he retorted sharply, “The difference between a writer and a criminal lies in practice.”
Mei Yuchen raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat surprised.
“A writer transforms thoughts into words, while a criminal puts thoughts into action,” Bai Sijun paused. “So, since we’re discussing textual matters, let’s not involve practice.”
Mei Yuchen chuckled throatily, and finally, he burst into laughter.
After a while, he stopped and said, “Good.”
Bai Sijun finally felt relieved, but then Mei Yuchen suddenly asked, “Why do you think so many writers commit suicide?”
Bai Sijun understood now; Mei Yuchen’s questions had no boundaries.
He had just started to gain some insight into sex, yet Mei Yuchen had already shifted to the topic of life and death.
“Do you know ‘No Longer Human’?” Mei Yuchen asked again.
“I do,” Bai Sijun dared not relax his vigilance. “By Osamu Dazai.”
“The title is a mistranslation.” Mei Yuchen’s expression remained indifferent, revealing nothing of what he was thinking. “Osamu Dazai wanted to express the idea of being unworthy as a human. However, when translated, it feels like he’s complaining about the world.”
So what? What does that have to do with him?
All of Bai Sijun’s questions were written on his face.
“Why do you do this job?”
“Do you find it interesting?”
A series of questions from Mei Yuchen pressed down on Bai Sijun like mountains, making it hard for him to breathe.
He swallowed his saliva and struggled to say, “I’ll come another time…”
Mei Yuchen didn’t say more. His eyes drifted to the snack box on the coffee table.
As Bai Sijun reached the hallway, he subconsciously reached for the coat rack.
His scarf had been here for almost a week. During this time, he had to walk with his neck tucked in.
But as he was about to take the scarf, Mei Yuchen’s voice came from behind, “Leave the scarf; I’ll use it for a convenience store run.”
