That evening, Qi Yang had a bit of trouble falling asleep.
Just a bit—only two or three hours past his usual bedtime.
But during those two or three hours, he felt like he was possessed. His mind was filled with nothing but that youthful, brash male voice and Mu Yicong’s words: “I used to like you.”
What exactly did that word “used to” mean?
In the first few months after dropping out, Qi Yang didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. He didn’t even have a concrete grasp of the fact that his home and his life had been turned completely upside down.
For the first eighteen years of his life, Qi Yang had been raised by unreliable parents to be arrogant and reckless, with not a single obedient bone in his body. He had never imagined his life would face adversity, and even if it did, his proud, ambitious younger self had no doubt he would get through it just fine.
The third time Zou Meizhu tried to kill herself, he watched the woman who couldn’t live without her husband, and for a single moment, he thought coldly and wearily: maybe dying would be easier for her. At least it would be easier for me, her son.
Then Qi Xing, sitting on the floor in soiled pants, crawled over and bumped against Qi Yang’s leg, snapping him out of it. Qi Xing was too young. She had to have a mother.
So at that time, Qi Yang’s biggest and only task was to keep an eye on Zou Meizhu.
His youth ended the moment he smashed up the principal’s office and walked out the school gate. But the moment Qi Yang truly realized that his life had been put on hold at eighteen came on June 8th of that year, when more than half the street outside his home was hung with banners and silenced for the Gaokao.
That day, Qi Yang carried Qi Xing downstairs to buy food. Watching groups of students his age walk past, accompanied by their parents, he suddenly understood that he had really lost something.
The feeling wasn’t especially strong at the time. After all, he had never been a serious student. Even if Qi Dahai were still around and had greased the wheels to get him into middle school, he couldn’t have bought his way into college. He wasn’t Mu Yicong. Even if he hadn’t dropped out and had taken the Gaokao, he wouldn’t have scored well.
As Qi Yang walked in the opposite direction of all those students on the street, he told himself that.
Until the day Liu Dameng and Cui Wu came to treat him to a meal, carrying their college admission letters and finally free from the pressure of senior year.
Liu Dameng had skipped class with Qi Yang, gotten into fights, and goofed off for six years, yet he still got into a vocational college. Cui Wu’s foundation was a bit better—a third-tier undergraduate school. At the time, those two had no social awareness. Influenced by the TV shows and novels of their youth, they put on a show of youthful bravado, each holding up a beer bottle to clink with Qi Yang, loudly comforting him with lines like, “Going to school doesn’t mean anything, Yangzi—you’re the real man.”
Qi Yang acted like he didn’t care. He really thought he didn’t care. He tipped his head back and downed the whole bottle.
After the meal, he turned down Liu Dameng’s invitation to spend the night at an internet cafe, packed up the leftover barbecue, and headed home.
Back then, Qi Yang’s alcohol tolerance was so low that even a single bottle of pineapple beer made his heart race. His temples throbbing, he made it to the entrance of his neighborhood, leaned against the streetlamp—which hadn’t bent yet—and threw up until he couldn’t stand straight.
When he got home, he checked on Qi Xing, who was already asleep, and Zou Meizhu, who wasn’t causing trouble. Without even showering, he closed his bedroom door and face-planted onto his bed.
The pillow muffled his breath and silently absorbed the tears that started streaming from Qi Yang’s eyes.
Why was he crying?
Young Qi Yang was baffled.
After all, if nothing had happened, he would have felt nothing but indifference and numbness toward the Gaokao.
The tears that had no answer ten years ago finally found an explanation tonight, on this mildly sleepless night, as Qi Yang squinted through cigarette smoke and pondered Mu Yicong’s word “used to.”
Because people don’t cherish what they have the right to; they only feel regret when that right is taken away.
Because the Gaokao really was the watershed for ordinary kids.
This watershed wasn’t just about academic qualifications. It marked the point where he became permanently, completely, and irreversibly a different kind of person from all his former classmates and friends.
Qi Yang was strong-willed and proud. Sometimes he thought he was pretty amazing—he had managed to prop up this broken family, and now he could even save a little money for Qi Xing’s treatment.
But the huge gap he had deliberately buried deep inside—or rather, the inferiority complex that came from being a high school dropout (Qi Yang despised that word; he never allowed himself to think that way)—had been permanently seared into his life at eighteen.
It was all in the past.
The flamboyant Qi Yang that Mu Yicong had liked had died at eighteen.
The last cigarette burned out in the darkness. Qi Yang pinched the butt and stabbed it into the ashtray, which had already built up a small pile.
For the first time, he calmly faced himself—faced the faint inferiority hidden deep in his heart.
Strange.
Qi Yang thought.
This inferiority had never shown its face in front of Liu Dameng, who had opened his own shop and become his own boss; or Cui Wu, who had landed a civil service job; or Ren Wei, who had cleaned up nicely; or even the polished and wealthy Mu Yicong. Yet tonight, upon hearing that young male voice beside Mu Yicong, it finally found an answer.
Qi Yang transferred the calculated amount directly to Mu Yicong via WeChat. Mu Yicong didn’t reply, but Qi Yang knew he would understand.
After the transfer, he pulled the quilt over himself and closed his eyes to sleep.
And that “still possibly” liking him now.
A homosexual man spending such an intimate evening alone with another guy—what else could it be?
That bastard Mu Yicong was nothing but a complete pedophile.
Whether it was pride or inferiority, all the emotions that churned at midnight would reset when he woke up the next day.
Qi Yang didn’t have the leisure to wallow in past melancholy. Whether Mu Yicong liked him or not had nothing to do with him. After his annual leave and an extra week off, it was time to go back to work.
The Lantern Festival was like the first autumn rain after a scorching summer. Once that day passed, the weather started cooling rapidly.
The first good news of the new spring came from Liu Dameng: his wife was successfully pregnant.
The guy was so happy he was practically bouncing. Even before his wife’s belly had started to show, he was already gathering Qi Yang, Cui Wu, and a few close buddies for a meal.
“Let me make this clear—my boss lady and the little boss in her belly are right here.” Liu Dameng, face glowing with happiness, raised his glass and called out, “You guys are all decent drinkers, so drink your fill. But if anyone dares to light up a cigarette today, don’t blame Dameng for getting pissy!”
Liu Dameng’s wife was named Ma Jiajia, and she had brought two girlfriends along.
Plus Cui Wu and the other guys’ girlfriends, the whole table started teasing, joking that the unreliable Liu Dameng was suddenly showing some awareness now that he was going to be a dad.
“All talk and no action,” Ma Jiajia said with a playful smack at Liu Dameng. “As if you’re not the one sneaking out to the balcony to smoke in the middle of the night.”
Qi Yang had no interest in starting a family or having kids of his own. But seeing Liu Dameng like this, he genuinely felt happy for him. He smiled and tapped his water glass against the wine glass Liu Dameng extended.
The meal was lively. Most people at the table were already settled down with families, so the conversation revolved entirely around pregnancy preparation and domestic chatter.
Qi Yang was usually quiet in these situations. He listened to them talk, didn’t drink much, and barely chimed in. Everyone at the table knew him well enough, so no one took offense. The atmosphere was harmonious.
But after a few rounds of toasts, he noticed a woman sitting diagonally across from him glancing his way now and then.
“Woman” was Qi Yang’s generic term for any female around his age, a habit left over from his school days. In reality, everyone at the table was around thirty, with the youngest being twenty-seven.
This woman was Ma Jiajia’s friend. He hadn’t seen her before. Her black hair was tied in a loose bun at the back of her head. She had a high nose bridge and deep-set eyes, and she carried herself with a certain elegance.
After sweeping her eyes over Qi Yang a few times, she turned aside, covering her mouth, and whispered something to Ma Jiajia.
As Ma Jiajia listened, she blinked and also glanced at Qi Yang, then whispered back to Liu Dameng.
Liu Dameng listened, his mouth curling into a grin. He patted his wife’s leg and winked at Qi Yang.
Qi Yang could guess what they were talking about. He pretended not to notice, lounging lazily in his chair with his arms crossed, continuing to listen to the others chat.
When the meal ended and everyone was preparing to head to a KTV, Liu Dameng came over.
“Little Su, what do you think?” He deliberately pulled Qi Yang into the corridor of the KTV and handed him a cigarette.
“Who?” The corridor couldn’t block out the caterwauling from the private rooms. Qi Yang tilted his head slightly, leaning closer to Liu Dameng.
“Little Su!” Liu Dameng practically shouted. “My wife’s friend, the one sitting next to her!”
“She seems fine.” Qi Yang looked at him. “What about it?”
“She’s taken a liking to you! What do you mean ‘what about it’?” Liu Dameng said. “She wants to get to know you. I didn’t want my wife to come to the KTV—too smoky and noisy—but she insisted on coming along so Little Su would feel more comfortable.”
Qi Yang knew Liu Dameng genuinely hoped he would find someone and settle down, but he truly had no such intention.
“What’s there to like about me?” He lit his cigarette, a faint smirk on his face as he stared at Liu Dameng. “That I’ve got a mom at home who plays mahjong all day, or a little sister I have to take care of for the rest of my life?”
“Ah, come on.”
Liu Dameng glanced through the glass window of the private room, then pulled Qi Yang further away.
“You two have to get to know each other first, then take it slow. Little Su’s got a pretty free-spirited personality. And here’s the key thing—she’s been divorced. Was married for just a year before calling it quits.”
Qi Yang felt like this guy’s brain had gone mushy from all the pregnancy prep.
“What about it?” Qi Yang stared at Liu Dameng. “Just because someone’s divorced means they should settle for a family like mine?”
“No, that’s not it—let me finish!” Liu Dameng jabbed him with his elbow. “She got divorced because she’s DINK. She doesn’t want kids. Her ex-husband agreed at first, but after they got married, he went back on his word. He and his mom kept pressuring her, even poked holes in the condoms…”
Someone came out of the private room to use the bathroom. Liu Dameng shut his mouth, shouted a greeting to the person, and once they were gone, continued pestering Qi Yang.
“This girl’s got guts. When she found out she was pregnant, she got an abortion right away. Morning procedure, afternoon she was writing the divorce agreement.” He lit a cigarette for himself too. “If she weren’t DINK, my wife wouldn’t be so willing to set up her friend with you.”
Liu Dameng meant well, deliberately provoking Qi Yang with those words, and Qi Yang understood.
“Don’t worry about it.” He patted Liu Dameng on the shoulder. “I need to head back. If Qi Xing sees I’m not home too late, she’ll start throwing a fit. Take your wife home too—she’s pregnant, shouldn’t be exposed to all this noise.”
“Perfect timing!” Liu Dameng grabbed his arm. “I’ve been drinking, so you can drive the three of us home. Little Su came with us, so it’d be rude to make her take a cab back alone.”
Qi Yang chewed on his cigarette thoughtfully. If Liu Dameng hadn’t said all that, he wouldn’t have minded helping out by giving the friends a ride.
But after hearing him out, he was less keen.
“Alright, it’s settled!” Liu Dameng didn’t give him a chance to refuse. He stubbed out his cigarette and went back into the private room to call everyone.
Qi Yang let out a silent sigh, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and crushed it into the trash can.
Little Su and Ma Jiajia came out first, arms linked. Liu Dameng was still inside telling the others to keep singing while he saw his wife home.
“Sorry to trouble you, Yangzi.” Ma Jiajia smiled at Qi Yang with crinkled eyes.
Qi Yang gave a faint smile.
Ma Jiajia nudged Little Su, who was quite straightforward. She said directly to Qi Yang, “Thank you. My name is Su Jia.”
“Same pronunciation, different characters,” Ma Jiajia chimed in. “Her Jia is the one meaning ‘reward.’”
Qi Yang nodded to her. “Qi Yang.”
Everything was normal as they left the KTV. But when they reached the parking lot, Ma Jiajia suddenly said she was thirsty and dragged Liu Dameng off to buy water.
That left only Qi Yang and Su Jia in front of the car.
“Get in first.” Qi Yang opened the passenger door. It was still cold in early spring, and Su Jia was already wearing shoes that exposed her instep, stamping her feet from the chill.
“What about you?” Su Jia asked.
Qi Yang held up the cigarette pack in his hand.
“Then I’ll wait outside too.” Su Jia smiled and tilted her head, holding up two fingers to indicate she also smoked.
Qi Yang was about to toss her the pack when a familiar Bentley drove past and parked in the spot opposite them, honking its horn.
Mu Yicong got out of the car. As he looked at Qi Yang leaning against the hood of his own car, he raised an eyebrow slightly.
