What exactly that dirty joke about “holding it” implied, Qi Yang didn’t truly grasp at the time.
His only understanding of matters between men and women came from that one page in his middle school biology textbook, and the occasional dirty joke and passed-around pornographic pictures and novels among the boys.
But even those were only half-understood. After all, he was still young. Qi Yang wasn’t very interested in those images either.
He just knew clearly that anything related to the crotch was humiliating. Like in period films, when someone would make their enemy crawl through their legs to let them go, Han Xin’s crotch humiliation.
Or like an emperor having his consort undress him, which somehow carried a flavor of submission from the lower to the higher.
Qi Yang didn’t really want Mu Yicong to help him hold his dick to pee. Just the thought of someone else touching him down there was disgusting.
But when he turned around and saw Mu Yicong standing behind him with cold eyes, that psychological pleasure from humiliating this person surged through him again, bringing a wave of satisfaction.
“Help me take it out,” Qi Yang taunted him, facing Mu Yicong.
Mu Yicong’s gaze first settled on Qi Yang’s face for a few seconds. Then, with a droop of his eyelashes, his gaze slid down to the spot on Qi Yang’s pants that was slightly tented from holding his pee. His expression was unreadable, his gaze subtle and unfathomable.
“Like what you see?”
Qi Yang, catching every micro-expression on Mu Yicong’s face, was buzzing with anticipation, waiting for him to make a move.
And Mu Yicong did make a move, and very quickly at that.
So quickly that Qi Yang thought he was about to throw a punch at his face. He raised his arm to block, but a dull pain shot through his groin.
Mu Yicong had gripped him hard, right through his pants.
As the pain shot to his brain, Qi Yang reflexively brought his knee up, smashing it into the same spot on Mu Yicong.
Mu Yicong grunted and punched Qi Yang in the gut.
Things crashed and clattered from the sink as they were knocked to the floor. They fought from the bathroom all the way to the living room. In the end, Qi Yang went home walking with his legs apart.
Zou Meizhu was leaning on the sofa holding Qi Xing, watching TV. Hearing Qi Yang come in, she turned her head and called out, “Yangyang, you’re back! Why is it later than usual today? Is your foot still hurting?”
Qi Yang scowled and went straight into his bedroom, slamming the door so hard it rattled.
“Who pissed him off today? Always acting like he’s been shot.” Zou Meizhu shook Qi Xing’s little hand, teasing her.
Qi Xing turned her head and grabbed a strand of Zou Meizhu’s hair to play with.
The force of Mu Yicong’s grip wasn’t strong enough to make Qi Yang feel like he was dying, but it wasn’t weak either. He felt uncomfortable for the entire night.
His nerves throbbed and jumped, staying hot even as he tried to sleep.
He didn’t know if it was because of that heat, but that night, Qi Yang had his first nocturnal emission.
Waking up to the sticky discomfort, Qi Yang threw off the covers, overwhelmed by an unspeakable shame.
He quickly took a shower and changed his underwear and bedsheets.
Qi Dahai got up to pee and heard the washing machine humming. He glanced at Qi Yang with a man-to-man knowing and slightly sleazy grin.
“Growing up, son.” He patted the back of Qi Yang’s head. “What did you dream about?”
Qi Yang couldn’t remember a single fragment of what he had dreamed about last night.
He only vaguely recalled his mind wandering in that hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, replaying that careless grip from Mu Yicong, feeling nothing but annoyance.
Feeling his ears burn, Qi Yang deliberately kept a straight face, pretending he didn’t understand what Qi Dahai was talking about. He grabbed his backpack and ran.
From that day on, Qi Yang and Mu Yicong didn’t speak for a very long time.
The service of picking him up and dropping him off stopped; the plan to go to Mu Yicong’s place for lunch breaks wasn’t mentioned again, even after his fracture healed. They sat at the same desk at school, ignoring each other, like two strangers who had never had any conflict.
Strangers to the point of being deliberate.
“Yangzi, you seem off lately?”
Liu Dameng was the first to notice the change in Qi Yang.
“What’s up with you and Mu Yicong? I haven’t seen you bother him at all.” He banged on the keyboard in the internet cafe booth like it was a firecracker, not taking his eyes off the game as he asked Qi Yang, “Are you really going to turn over a new leaf and follow his example?”
“He’s dead.” Qi Yang stared at the screen, controlling his character, and reminded him.
“Oh, fuck!” Liu Dameng quickly turned his attention back to the game.
Cui Wu and two others were crammed in front of a computer in the corner. They had been whispering since they entered the booth, giggling and grabbing at the keyboard, not playing the game either. No idea what they were up to.
“Fuck, found it!” Cui Wu suddenly slammed the table, scaring the crap out of Liu Dameng’s character, who was barely clinging to life.
“What the fuck is your problem?!” Liu Dameng yelled, slamming the mouse.
“Screw the game for a sec, you two,” Cui Wu crooked his finger, beckoning Liu Dameng and Qi Yang. “Come check this out.”
“A good thing? You guys aren’t watching porn, are you?” Liu Dameng slid his chair over and immediately let out an even louder “Holy shit!” before urgently shouting, “Yangzi, get over here!”
Qi Yang finished his current game before looking at their screen.
Looking past the three or four heads crammed in front of the screen grabbing for earphones, he saw a blur of pale, undulating flesh on the monitor.
“How did you find this?” Liu Dameng’s eyes were glued, elbowing Cui Wu.
“That guy,” Cui Wu said, too engrossed to even remember the name. “The sports rep gave it to me.”
“Fuck, that dog.” Liu Dameng laughed. “I still have that magazine of his in my backpack. So you were rushing us to come to the internet cafe after school for this?”
“What else did you think I rented the booth for?” Cui Wu snickered.
They were really getting into it. As Qi Yang watched the images on screen, he inexplicably thought of that sudden grip.
That feeling of angry shame came rushing back.
What the hell was this?
He had been trying to mess with Mu Yicong, and ended up getting attacked himself.
The booth went quiet, the faint sounds of pleasure leaking from the earphones turned up to max volume, mixed with the increasingly heavy breathing of the boys. Qi Yang felt the air becoming thin and foul.
So damn dirty.
He irritably pushed away the keyboard and headed for the door. Liu Dameng called after him, “Where are you going, Yangzi? Fuck, at least close the door!”
When the group finally emerged from the internet cafe, their faces flushed, Qi Yang was leaning against the wall, eying them sideways.
“Had a good look?” He raised an eyebrow at Liu Dameng.
“Acting all innocent.” Liu Dameng was a bit embarrassed, hooking his arm around his neck. “I don’t believe you didn’t want to watch.”
“Yangzi is probably afraid he’ll get a reaction,” Cui Wu said with a sly grin.
Qi Yang kicked him.
“Talking about Qi Yang?” someone teased Cui Wu. “You were breathing the heaviest just now. If we hadn’t been here, you’d probably have your pants down by now.”
They all walked off laughing and joking, planning to buy some snacks on the street and head back to school for evening self-study.
Qi Yang was at the back, fiddling with his phone. As he passed the neighborhood across from Mu Yicong’s place, he heard Liu Dameng call out from up ahead, “Isn’t that Mu Yicong? With Ren Wei?”
He looked up and saw Mu Yicong first, a tall, clean profile. Ren Wei was beside him, his head tilted, talking. Mu Yicong had a faint, almost-smile on his lips, nodding occasionally, still with that same arrogant, dismissive air.
“How come they’re coming out of the same neighborhood?” Liu Dameng turned to ask Qi Yang. “Do Ren Wei and Mu Yicong both live here?”
“How should I know?” Qi Yang said, bumping him with his shoulder and continuing on.
Cui Wu watched them for a moment and asked Liu Dameng, “What’s up with Yangzi? Seems to be in a bad mood today.”
“He’s been like this for a while,” Liu Dameng said. “Mu Yicong must have pissed him off again.”
“I don’t like the look of Mu Yicong either,” Cui Wu said. “Never a smile for anyone.”
“Still needs to be taught a lesson.” Liu Dameng started telling Cui Wu about how they used to mess with Mu Yicong in middle school.
Not long after that, Mu Yicong got his workbook back. He opened the cover, which had a shoe print on it. The inside pages once again had bold black marker writing: Dumbass.
And it wasn’t just one page. Nearly every page was covered in all sorts of crude, profane insults.
Ren Wei came over with his own book to ask him something, saw the writing in Mu Yicong’s workbook, and paused for a moment.
“What’s this?” he asked, studying Mu Yicong’s expression.
Mu Yicong didn’t say a word. He closed the workbook and put it in his desk, then looked up at him. “What is it?”
“Ah.” Ren Wei glanced at Qi Yang, who was napping with his head on his desk. He lowered his voice and spread open his own textbook. “There’s a problem I’d like you to help me with…”
During the evening self-study, when Mu Yicong’s books were defaced for the third time, Old Wu came to the classroom and knocked on Qi Yang’s desk. “Come out.”
Qi Yang had actually paid attention in class for once that day. He was picking out problems to do on the exam paper. He looked up at Old Wu, put down his pen, and followed him out.
“Were the words in Mu Yicong’s notebook written by you?” Old Wu asked him bluntly in the hallway outside the classroom.
“Which words?” Qi Yang asked him back. “Did he say it was me?”
“Don’t worry about who told me,” Old Wu stared at him. “If I pull the surveillance footage and it turns out to be you, versus you admitting it now, it will be two very different outcomes.”
“Then go pull the footage,” Qi Yang said, feeling this guy was being unreasonable.
Old Wu waved for him to go back in. Then he called out Liu Dameng, Cui Wu, and a few other troublemakers in the class.
Qi Yang didn’t know what the others were asked, and he couldn’t be bothered to find out.
When school was out, Liu Dameng came over, clenching his jaw, and muttered, “Fuck, that bastard learned how to tattle to the teacher.”
“Did you do it?” Qi Yang looked at him.
“Yes and no.” Liu Dameng grinned, exchanging a glance with Cui Wu. “Don’t worry, they won’t find out about us.”
The Mu Yicong that Qi Yang knew wouldn’t tattle. If he was pissed off enough, he’d just come straight to Qi Yang for a fight.
But he didn’t say anything. Remembering his own “crotch humiliation,” he felt a bit pleased.
No one admitted to defacing Mu Yicong’s books. Whether Old Wu actually checked the surveillance footage or not, or if he checked and found nothing, was unknown.
He set aside a class period for a meeting, emphasizing that students should be united and friendly, not form cliques, and not engage in campus violence.
And that was that.
But after that meeting, the things Mu Yicong had experienced in ninth grade, one after another, began to happen again in his high school life, even more intensely.
Qi Yang still didn’t talk to Mu Yicong at school.
He waited patiently, waiting for Mu Yicong to lose his patience and come to him.
