Chapter 78: 第 78 章

Wen Fu ran and threw himself straight into Fei Bolin's arms. Fei Bolin's brain hadn't caught up yet, but his hands had already opened and pulled Wen Fu tight against him, tucking him behind his back.

Fu Tong chased over, panting, slammed to a stop in front of Fei Bolin, bent over bracing his knees, every word punctuated by gasps for air: 'That... Wen Fu... classmate...'

Wen Fu's face was normal, his breathing even, but he just stared without speaking, gripping Fei Bolin's hand, constantly trying to hide behind him.

Seeing him this scared, Fei Bolin naturally assumed Wen Fu had been threatened or bullied badly. Without a word he stepped forward half a pace, arm out in front of Wen Fu, looking at the still-panting Fu Tong with a hard expression.

Fu Tong just panted for three minutes straight.

Once he caught his breath, Fu Tong spoke again, throat dry, voice hoarse, tremblingly holding out the crumpled love letter: 'I hope you... can reconsider.'

Wen Fu completely hid behind Fei Bolin.

Fei Bolin sensed something was off. Combined with Wen Fu's strange reaction, he lowered his guard halfway and reached for the envelope in Fu Tong's hand.

Fu Tong knew who he was—anyone from that year of Hanyang Class at No.1 High School knew Fei Bolin.

So Fu Tong handed the letter over, hesitating for a moment at the transfer: 'Are you... really his brother?'

Fei Bolin looked back at Wen Fu. Wen Fu didn't react, just poked his head out with an impatient, faintly disgusted look, glaring at Fu Tong.

Fei Bolin asked quietly: 'Who is he?'

Wen Fu said: 'Bastard.'

Fei Bolin understood immediately.

He looked at the crumpled letter in his hand, raised his eyes, silently asking Fu Tong what the letter meant.

Fu Tong didn't answer directly, just pointed at Wen Fu and asked Fei Bolin: 'Can you give him the letter for me? At least let him take a look.'

Fei Bolin flipped the letter between his fingers, looked at both sides, then nodded.

Fu Tong said: 'Thanks.'

Then he walked away, looking back every few steps.

Only after the guy was gone did Fei Bolin say: 'He's gone, stop hiding.'

Wen Fu poked out from behind him, looked around this way and that like he was scouting, confirmed no one was there, then walked with a dark face to the back of Fei Bolin's e-bike to grab the helmet.

He didn't cling to Fei Bolin to put it on him like before. Wen Fu buckled it himself, hugged his backpack to his chest, and silently waited for Fei Bolin to get on.

Fei Bolin saw it all, knew Wen Fu was unhappy he'd taken Fu Tong's letter. He didn't ask more for now, focused on finishing his last two deliveries, then rode to the market near home. Before getting off, he reminded Wen Fu: 'Stay on the bike, I'll be right back.'

He'd only walked a few steps into the market when Fei Bolin felt something growing on his back.

He turned—Wen Fu was silently following him, step for step.

Turns out he'd grown a tail.

He reached back. Wen Fu took his hand with a cold face.

Fei Bolin walked, picking out things Wen Fu liked, asking: 'Pumpkin?'

'Yes.'

'Mushrooms?'

'Yes.'

'Potatoes?'

'Yes.'

'Fish?'

'Yes.'

Fei Bolin looked back again—Wen Fu still had a cold face.

Cold face, but didn't miss a single thing he said yes to.

Everything sorted, Fei Bolin and Wen Fu got on the road home, riding into the sunset again. Fei Bolin heard Wen Fu humming.

'What are you singing?' Fei Bolin asked.

Wen Fu denied it: 'Not singing.'

Fei Bolin asked again: 'Did you write it?'

Wen Fu still argued: 'Not me.'

Fei Bolin: 'When did you write it?'

Wen Fu stayed stubborn to the end: 'Don't know.'

Fei Bolin praised: 'Sounds really good.'

Wen Fu immediately leaned over: 'Really?'

Fei Bolin laughed.

Wen Fu huffed, then kept singing.

Fei Bolin listened quietly for a while, then suddenly asked: 'What did that guy give you?'

Wen Fu went abruptly quiet.

Fei Bolin pressed: 'What did he say to you?'

Wen Fu didn't answer.

Fei Bolin's curiosity was up, he had to get to the bottom of it: 'Not even me?'

Wen Fu played dead.

Fei Bolin said softly: 'Little sis?'

Wen Fu finally spoke: 'He said he likes me.'

Fei Bolin slammed the brakes.

Luckily there weren't extra vehicles in their non-motorized lane right now, and they happened to hit a red light ahead. Fei Bolin stared at the changing red numbers on the signal, his ears buzzing.

His gaze scattered to the overpass in the distance, then back to the red light, finally fixing aimlessly on the empty space ahead: 'What do you think?'

The sounds around them went fuzzy and hazy. The sunset's glow was like an invisible hot air balloon, enclosing Fei Bolin and Wen Fu in one space, everyone else shut out. He heard Wen Fu say without hesitation: 'I hate him.'

Fei Bolin's lashes trembled. He asked quietly: 'Why? Just because he likes you?'

Wen Fu wasn't the type who could articulate his own feelings. He knew Fei Bolin's likes, knew what time Fei Bolin woke up and slept every day, knew Fei Bolin loved cilantro and hated peppers. He could recite every one of Fei Bolin's preferences like a catalog. But his own loves and hates were a tangled mess. So if Fei Bolin gave him a reason, he'd accept that reason—Wen Fu didn't care why he actually hated that person.

He nodded: 'Yeah.'

Fei Bolin didn't ask anymore.

After dinner that night, the two of them sat in front of the window on their own little chairs, catching the breeze. Fei Bolin looked at the slowly rising night and asked: 'Want to see what the letter says?'

Wen Fu gave him a half-glare, half-sidelong look—meaning, why are you bringing this up again—and shook his head: 'Don't want to.'

'You got someone's letter, you should respond,' Fei Bolin said. 'It's polite.'

Wen Fu asked: 'Do you have to reply to every letter?'

Fei Bolin thought: 'At least if there's no malice, you should reply, right? Saying thanks is the least you can do.'

Wen Fu couldn't find a counterargument, so he compromised, lowering his head: 'Fine.'

The two of them huddled under the lamp and opened the letter, reading:

'Dear Wen Fu, hello!'

'I'm Fu Tong, Class of 2015 at the College of Popular Music. You might not be familiar with my name, but actually I've known you for a long time.'

'From that summer of my second year of high school, when I saw you perform from the stands at the track field, to learning you were Little Red Hare, the one who stunned everyone at No.1 High School's sports meet—I went around all the public social platforms at school, trying to find out more about you beyond what I already knew. Before I knew it, all my teenage attention had focused on you.'

'That year of high school passed too fast. I didn't even have time to find your contact info before the college entrance exam took me away from everything at school. Sorry if this is presumptuous—back then I only knew your class and name, but I never dared bother you in person. I could only take a photo of you from the wall of outstanding student representatives and save it on my phone to ease the missing. You barely showed up at school, and our classrooms were a whole floor and countless rooms apart. Apart from that one breathtaking glimpse on stage, I almost never saw you again.'

'In this vast sea of people, I thought after graduation I'd never see you again. Who knew that in college I'd get the chance to know you all over.'

'At first I thought it was just someone with the same name, but you looked too much like the one in my memory. Finally, like a coward, I started cautiously trying to find out about you, and confirmed you were the person I'd been looking for.'

'This is the second year I've liked you. Soon it'll be the third. I believe there'll be many, many more years after.'

'I'm a native of Rongzhou, but after getting into college my family already bought me a place in Jin City. If you'd consider trying things out with me for a while (or longer), you don't need to worry about money. I promise I'll wholeheartedly support you in everything, in every way.'

'If you'd move in with me, that would be even better.'

'We're seventeen, eighteen years old—we're supposed to try bold and open things.'

'I'm healthy, no bad habits, and never shy about pursuing love and freedom. As long as you're willing, whether physically or emotionally, I promise I can give you a great relationship experience. I'll be your qualified boyfriend, your sexual partner, even your partner for life.'

'Please consider carefully, accept my thoughts—at least don't be too quick to refuse!'

'Fu Tong'

'October 5, 2015'

Fei Bolin skimmed the last few lines, swept past them, then covered that section with his hand and asked Wen Fu: 'What do you think after reading it?'

Wen Fu's brows knit tight: 'Makes me want to throw up.'

He wasn't exaggerating. His eyes just kept scanning down the page, and the further he read the more his chest felt tight, the harder to breathe. Those last lines he half understood, half didn't—he just couldn't catch his breath, felt almost a stomach cramp, wanted to gag.

Fei Bolin's expression stayed neutral. He stared at the thin letter for a moment, then—whatever he was thinking—reached into the pen holder, took out a pen, and handed it to Wen Fu: 'Then write him a reply rejecting him.'

Wen Fu quickly wrote: 'I don't like you.'

He looked up after writing and found Fei Bolin still watching him.

Reluctantly, he changed the reply to: Thank you, I don't like you.

He looked up again, and Fei Bolin relented: 'I'll put it away for you.'

Seeing Fei Bolin agree, Wen Fu dropped the pen and bolted to the bathroom like he'd touched something filthy, turning on the tap to wash his hands.

Fei Bolin listened to the rush of water in the bathroom, silently tucked the letter back into the envelope, and stood up to head for the door.

Passing through the living room, he called toward the bathroom: 'I'm going to the supermarket for some stuff, want anything?'

Wen Fu was still washing his hands under the rushing water: 'Jule Milk!'

Fei Bolin closed the door and left.

Wen Fu came out after washing his hands, stood in the living room looking around. With nothing to do, he didn't want to stay home alone, so he just opened the door and ran out to find Fei Bolin.

They rented in the most secluded building inside their Residential Complex. There was no supermarket inside the complex—to buy anything they had to walk through the whole place to get out the main gate.

But the complex had more than one gate. Wen Fu and Fei Bolin both liked taking the shortcut near the side gate, which cut their time in half compared to the main gate.

A few minutes later, halfway along the shortcut, Wen Fu suddenly spotted Fei Bolin standing in front of the public trash can under the shade of a tree ahead.

The streetlights in the complex were dim, and it was dark, but Wen Fu had good eyes and spotted Fei Bolin right away. Fei Bolin's eyes weren't great, though, and had been getting worse over the past year-plus. So even standing in the open, with Wen Fu just a few meters diagonally behind him, his peripheral vision couldn't pick up Wen Fu's presence.

Wen Fu leaned against the tree trunk at the corner, holding it as he watched what Fei Bolin was doing.

Two seconds later, he saw a small flame in front of Fei Bolin.

—Fei Bolin was burning the letter.

The flame had caught on the envelope. Fei Bolin held the envelope pinched between his fingertips, lighter in his other hand, his thumb idly pressing the lighter's switch over and over. As the flame at the nozzle flared up and died again and again, he watched in silence as the orange-red fire tongue at the top of the envelope slowly crept down toward his fingertips. The moment the flame was about to reach his fingers, Fei Bolin dropped the barely-one-corner-left envelope into the trash can.

That burning corner of the letter drifted down like an autumn maple leaf falling, fluttering from Fei Bolin's fingertips into the trash can, and in those few seconds turned completely to ash.

Fei Bolin turned and left, heading to the supermarket to buy Wen Fu his milk.

Wen Fu stood behind the tree, tilted his head, looked at the trash can holding the envelope's ashes, blinked slowly, and didn't follow.

That night when Fei Bolin came back, Wen Fu was browsing the web on their one laptop at home.

Fei Bolin had bought the computer after military training. They needed it for college homework and course materials—no matter how tight money was, this wasn't something to skimp on. In September, Fei Bolin had spent a few days comparing options and bought one with decent value, kept at home for both of them to use.

'What are you looking at?' He set the Jule Milk he'd bought next to Wen Fu, bent down to look at the screen with him. 'Signing up?'

Wen Fu was browsing the sign-up page for that music variety show he'd looked at yesterday. One more week and the last round of auditions would be in Jin City.

'Want to go?' Fei Bolin asked.

He'd already planned to have Wen Fu sign up, but yesterday he'd been interrupted by a delivery notification while out. Even if Wen Fu didn't look, he'd planned to check it himself online these past couple days when he had time, and if it fit, talk it over and sign Wen Fu up.

Wen Fu nodded, but hesitated when he saw the two-hundred-yuan entry fee and that the Final Round was centered in Zhejiang Province, with travel and hotel costs on his own dime.

Fei Bolin smiled beside him: 'As long as you can make the Final Round, don't worry about the money.'

Wasn't all the money he worked so hard to earn for exactly these moments in Wen Fu's life that couldn't be missed?

The future belonged to both of them. Fei Bolin was carefully planning for everything they had.

'Sign up,' Fei Bolin said, patting Wen Fu's head. 'I'll go get the ID.'

After uploading the ID and paying the fee, Fei Bolin could clearly feel Wen Fu's mood lift a lot.

That night, lying in bed, Wen Fu kept sniffing at Fei Bolin.

Fei Bolin couldn't take it anymore, pressed a finger against Wen Fu's forehead to keep him from leaning into his chest: 'What are you sniffing?!'

Wen Fu suddenly called out: 'Bo-ge?'

Fei Bolin: ?

Wen Fu: 'Have you been smoking lately?'

Fei Bolin's fingers stiffened: 'Why do you suddenly ask?'

Wen Fu flopped back onto the pillow: 'Just asking.'

Fei Bolin didn't pick up the thread, and Wen Fu went quiet too.

The faint sounds of breathing rose and fell in the room. This time Fei Bolin spoke: 'Have you figured out what song to sing at the audition?'

Wen Fu said: 'Yeah.'

'Sing your own?'

'Not singing it.' Wen Fu had learned his lesson the year he competed in his second year of high school, knew how important song choice was. 'Auditions and the Final Round, sing songs everyone knows. Other competitions, then originals.'

In a format where audience and judges both decided and voted, the most important thing for a contestant—besides singing ability—was song choice. The song couldn't be too generic and overplayed, but it also couldn't be a brand-new original. Best to pick something with a certain level of difficulty and recognition—something that showed skill and resonated emotionally with most people.

As for originals, best to find a chance to show them in the middle stretch between auditions and the Final Round, when the competition was just starting, contestants weren't at their strongest, and there was plenty of room and confidence to perform well.

The second Friday, someone at the Music Academy was having a birthday dinner, booked out a bar and invited a lot of people, including Wen Fu.

Wen Fu had originally planned to refuse, but Fei Bolin had to work his part-time job until midnight that day, so he told Wen Fu it wouldn't be bad to hang out with friends, and once he'd had enough fun, Fei Bolin would come pick him up at the bar on his way home from work.

When Wen Fu heard Fei Bolin was going to come pick him up in front of everyone, he imagined it for a second and thought it'd be pretty cool, so he nodded and went bravely.

That day there'd been an autumn rain, the temperature had dropped. Fei Bolin had clearly bought Wen Fu autumn clothes ahead of time, but Wen Fu didn't want to wear them—he loved wearing Fei Bolin's old clothes.

He went to the bar in Fei Bolin's old hoodie, and the moment he arrived, started looking forward to going home.

And then he ran into Meng Yu at the bar.

Meng Yu was surprised to see Wen Fu too. He'd been invited by someone else, told it was a friend's sister's birthday, just coming to join the fun. Didn't expect to run into Wen Fu here.

Luckily Wen Fu's face was naturally cold. Though his mood before seeing Meng Yu and after seeing Meng Yu were two different things, his expression didn't change.

Too bad he didn't want to deal with anyone, but someone wanted to bother him.

Wen Fu sat in the booth where his elective class classmates had gathered. Meng Yu swayed left and right, came over carrying two specialty cocktails.

Passing a server, he even had them prepare six tequila shots and send them to Wen Fu's table.

As if he'd known all along Wen Fu wouldn't give him a friendly face, Meng Yu walked up to Wen Fu, didn't say anything, just pulled a stack of red bills from his pocket: 'Take a sip, I'll give you a hundred?'

He knew Fei Bolin's family wasn't well off. Including Xu Wei's side, they'd been keeping tabs on Fei Bolin off and on, even knew Fei Bolin was currently doing delivery work part-time.

No money? Then there's something to talk about.

Sure enough, with Wen Fu people are people and money is money. Someone shamelessly offering him money—he glanced at the glass, the stuff inside was some weird blue-green color. Though Fei Bolin had told him not to drink, he pretended it was just a beverage, took the glass, sipped, got burned and frowned, muttered to himself that it tasted bad, then snatched the hundred from Meng Yu's hand and kept looking toward the door, waiting for Fei Bolin to come pick him up.

'Have a few more sips,' Meng Yu shifted his feet, trying to squeeze in next to Wen Fu. Wen Fu didn't budge, so Meng Yu had to lift his half-lowered butt back up.

Wen Fu glanced back at him, impatiently took three sips, and snatched three hundred from his hand.

Just then the server brought the tequila.

Meng Yu raised an eyebrow, pointing at the six tequila shots and a bottle of Wusu Beer on the table: 'These—empty one and I'll give you a thousand.'

This was a game they used to play at bars—stacking cash under glasses or beer bottles, more or less depending on the stack, more money meant more drink underneath. Whoever emptied the glass got to take the cash. That was why Meng Yu had brought so much cash tonight.

The stakes in this game were just for fun among people who spent money like water. But Meng Yu had spotted that Wen Fu didn't know liquor, so he put six small tequila shots and a bottle of beer in front of him. A normal person going for the thousand would definitely pick the beer, way lower in alcohol than tequila. But Wen Fu was a novice, and sure enough went for the small tequila shot first.

For someone who didn't usually drink, with that cocktail as a base, the rest of the tequila wouldn't need much—two shots and they'd be wasted.

The tequila glass had salt rimmed around the bottom and top. Wen Fu raised the glass and downed it in one go—when his tongue hit the salt his whole face scrunched up like a bitter melon.

Meng Yu watched his reaction, was sure he hadn't drunk before, and asked deliberately: 'Not good?'

Wen Fu was about to answer 'salty,' but looked up and met Meng Yu's shifty eyes. He didn't want to waste a single extra drop of spit, just held out his hand: 'A thousand.'

Meng Yu handed over the thousand with a smile: 'Five more shots.'

Wen Fu drank them one by one. The further he went, the worse Meng Yu's face looked.

Four or five thousand gone, and this kid Wen Fu showed zero signs of getting drunk.

Not to mention liquor has a delayed kick—but no matter how delayed, surely drinking that much should leave a person at least a little out of breath?

Meng Yu knew he'd met a born drinking vessel.

But he also understood—no matter how good a person was at drinking, there was always a limit, always a point where they'd get drunk.

Watching Wen Fu pocket over six thousand and stop drinking, Meng Yu wasn't willing to give up. He pointed at the last bottle of Wusu on the table: 'This one! Drink this and I'll give you two thousand!'

Wen Fu wouldn't play along. Wen Fu had his limits. He'd earned enough for the flight and hotel to Zhejiang Province for the Final Round with Fei Bolin, so he wouldn't be greedy. No matter what, he wouldn't drink anymore.

It was 11:45 now. Fei Bolin was about to come pick him up. He was waiting to drink some water to dissipate the alcohol smell so Fei Bolin wouldn't notice.

Meng Yu's eyes rolled, he grabbed Wen Fu and said: 'Do you know why Fei Bolin missed the English portion of the college entrance exam?'

One sentence pulled Wen Fu's attention over.

Wen Fu's dark eyes fixed on him, asked seriously: 'Why?'

Meng Yu snickered, pointed at the Wusu on the table: 'Drink that and I'll tell you.'

Wen Fu immediately leaned over to grab the bottle.

Meng Yu snatched the bottle away, held it behind his back: 'Some people leak beer from their mouth—bottle against the lips, drink half, spill half. It's two thousand yuan, my money didn't fall from the sky.'

Wen Fu said: 'So?'

Meng Yu opened the bottle, raised an eyebrow at him: 'I'll feed it to you.'

Wen Fu was even more confused.

This guy rushing to give him money was one thing, but how could there also be rushing to serve someone after giving them money?

He felt this behavior was kind of pathetic, but Fei Bolin had taught him that was an impolite word, like 'bastard'—not something to say out loud. So Wen Fu held back.

He said: 'Then feed me.'

Meng Yu reached out and pinched both sides of his jaw, bent down: 'Your mouth is small, I'll pour slowly.'

Wen Fu wanted to say his mouth only looked small, could hold plenty, could even mess with Fei Bolin's tongue. But he didn't want to drink too fast either, and mostly didn't want to waste a single extra word on Meng Yu. So he stayed silent and let Meng Yu pour the beer into his mouth.

The rounded glass mouth pressed against his lips and teeth with a soft clink. Wen Fu instinctively closed his mouth around it, and the cold beer poured in through the opening.

His earlier feat of downing a cocktail and tequila in one go had already drawn plenty of attention. Now with Meng Yu pressing a beer bottle right to his lips to pour, even more people looked over.

A faint shutter click sounded from a corner.

Wen Fu finished the beer, still showing zero sign of drunkenness. Meng Yu knew he had no hope of getting him drunk. Though feeding him beer had satisfied him a little, he wasn't willing to accept that Wen Fu had worn the same expression the whole time facing him.

So when Wen Fu asked him why Fei Bolin had missed the English exam, Meng Yu leaned close to Wen Fu's ear and said one long sentence.

During that sentence, most people's eyes drifted away from them. Wen Fu's expression slowly froze.

Then a sharp, loud sound of a glass bottle shattering on the ground came from where he'd been sitting. By the time the people around realized what was happening, Wen Fu had already kicked Meng Yu to the floor, sat on Meng Yu's chest, and was gripping his collar, wildly throwing punches at his face.

Screams erupted around them. Wen Fu's fists were red—whether from blood flowing from Meng Yu's forehead or nose staining his hands, it was unclear.

The people around couldn't pull him off at all. No one had ever realized Wen Fu was this strong. No matter how many arms reached from behind, Wen Fu sat firmly on Meng Yu's chest, throwing punches like he meant to kill him.

Until a voice cut through the noisy crowd: 'Xiao Fu!'

Wen Fu didn't turn his head, but that hand grabbed him and easily pulled him up off the ground.

As Fei Bolin pulled Wen Fu away, he turned back and looked deeply at Meng Yu. That look was dark and profound, making Meng Yu see that the thick shadow over Fei Bolin from that afternoon of the college entrance exam hadn't faded yet.

But Fei Bolin couldn't turn things around anymore.

—Both Meng Yu and Xu Wei thought so. No matter how much they hated him, he couldn't turn things around.

The only resistance Fei Bolin could manage in this life was looking at them with eyes like that. But unfortunately, looks were the weakest threat—Meng Yu wouldn't lose a piece of flesh or a layer of skin.

He took the tissue someone handed him, pressed it to his bleeding forehead and nose, watched Fei Bolin and Wen Fu's backs, smiled with lingering satisfaction, waved once, then waved again: 'Let them go, let them go.'

Fei Bolin didn't look back again.

Today was Friday. He hadn't ridden the e-bike, but taken the subway to near the bar and walked over. The moment he walked in, he saw Wen Fu pinning Meng Yu to the ground, beating him.

This was the first time Fei Bolin had seen Wen Fu hit someone in full rage. Everything else compared to this was child's play. When Wen Fu's eyes truly went red, no one could pull him off.

Luckily he still recognized Fei Bolin's voice and would listen to him.

The two of them walked one after the other down a breezy sidewalk. The row of open bars beside them was full of decadence and indulgence, heavy metal and folk music crashing against their eardrums. They wove through a maze of colorful lights, finally reaching the end of the street. Few people here, rainwater calm.

In the cool autumn wind, Fei Bolin heard a quiet sound of nose-sniffling.

Wen Fu followed behind him, separated by a length of shadow, wiping tears with the back of his dirty, blood-stained hand. Like that first night when he'd knocked on Fei Bolin's door, using the same dirty hands to wipe at his own beaten nosebleed, never quite getting clean.

The road ahead had nowhere left to walk. Even the streetlights couldn't reach here.

Fei Bolin stopped, still separated from Wen Fu by that long shadow behind him.

He stared at the last paving stone under his feet, asked softly: 'What did Meng Yu say to you?'

Before the words were out, Wen Fu crashed into his back from behind, arms wrapped tight around him: 'They bullied you...'

Wen Fu's voice was muffled, thick with a nasal tone—probably because his face was buried in Fei Bolin's back. Fei Bolin felt a dampness spreading across his back.

'They bullied you.' Wen Fu gasped against him in broken breaths, his words resonating through his chest word by word with Fei Bolin's heart before reaching his ears. 'I hate them.'