No matter how much money you poured into it, a wedding always felt dull and clichéd.
Even if someone unleashed a torrent of creativity to conjure up a dreamlike ocean or an Egyptian temple backdrop, it would trend on social media within three days and soon devolve into a cheap package deal hawked nationwide.
By contrast, the guests cared far more about what they’d eat that day and whether the feast was lavish enough.
Lao Qu had invited plenty of friends he’d worked with before. The tables were filled with people who all knew one another, sharing a touch of that nostalgic camaraderie from years past.
Many had come specifically to see Lin Shanyan. Occasionally, someone recognized Meng Duimo, exchanging a few laughs over drinks to forge a connection.
You could sit and chat idly with casual acquaintances or those you barely knew, but when leaders or big bosses appeared, you had to stand, crack jokes, and down drinks.
Lin Shanyan had hoped to unwind at his friend’s wedding banquet, but it proved more exhausting than pulling overtime. He kept up a steady, affable smile the whole time, though his face had long since gone stiff. He had to sneak in rubs when he could.
Meng Duimo noticed and quietly inserted himself into a few conversations, blocking drinks on his behalf.
Lin Shanyan didn’t mind a bit.
Back when they’d been together, Meng Duimo had shielded him from every one of those obligatory toasts. It had become an unspoken habit between them.
Still, a few glasses of red and white inevitably went down, blending into a light, hazy buzz.
In that half-drunk state, the mind sharpened paradoxically, growing clearer than before.
A flicker of sorrow crept into Lin Shanyan’s smile. Meng Duimo saw it and understood: Lin Shanyan was usually so composed that his emotions stayed buried out of sight. Only today had they begun to surface, just a little.
The emcee had prepared meticulously, delivering an impassioned toast that perfectly stoked the atmosphere.
It wasn’t until a heaviness settled at the back of his head that Meng Duimo realized he’d had quite a bit to drink that day.
He was drunker than Lin Shanyan—and yet more sober than ever. Gazing out over the wedding, he began to think, fully and clearly: If it were him and Shanyan tying the knot, what would every moment be like?
Meng Duimo knew full well that he and Lin Shanyan had been broken up for three years, with no chance of rekindling the flame.
Besides, as public servants, same-sex romance and office affairs were both strict taboos. They could never throw a banquet like this for friends and family.
Even in the cold clarity of impossibility, the man stubbornly clung to his drunken haze, mentally walking through each detail, pondering it all with care.
Lin Shanyan favored Western style, so he’d wear a suit. Meng Duimo could picture scooping him up—whether in a wedding gown or a white tuxedo—and ravishing him in the dressing room until the world spun.
Lin Shanyan loved cool purples and silvers, so the bouquet and hall would doubtless be decked out in those hues.
He disliked children, so families with multiples would get seats toward the back.
The rings, the tie, the vows, and that moment when the emcee declared them officially wed.
Meng Duimo drew a deep breath, downed a glass in one pained gulp, his fingers trembling against the stem.
You love me so much. I can’t leave you.
We were meant to get married.
We were meant to cherish each other more deeply than anyone here.
Lin Shanyan, adrift in his thin buzz, grew drowsy and slumped half against the man beside him.
Slow on the uptake, he turned to look. Their gazes locked for a few seconds.
Meng Duimo stayed silent, nudging the tip of his shoe against the other’s.
Dark gray pressed against deep black, neither pulling away.
Lin Shanyan curved his lips in a smile. Inwardly, without a word to his ex, he thought: If it were us getting married, the cake would be blueberry-filled—three or five layers of pure white cream rosettes, dotted with pale golden sugar stars.
Meng Duimo, you must have known ages ago that I love silver-purple.
If it were us, you’d transform the whole banquet hall into a deep purple starry sea.
I’d protest aloud that no one wants such flashy colors, all the while smiling—and stealing kisses from you in the dressing room.
They held each other’s gaze in silence through those seconds.
It was as if three years had driven them ever farther apart, yet they had never truly left one another’s hearts—sinking, clear, and profound.
Someone else approached to chat and network, introducing a deputy bank president.
Meng Duimo rose to shake hands, exchanged endless pleasantries, downed another drink, and finally sat back down.
His movements betrayed the drunkenness at last. As his hand fell, it brushed Lin Shanyan’s knuckles by accident.
Lin Shanyan glanced over on instinct and murmured a polite apology.
But Lin Shanyan didn’t react. Instead, beneath the table’s edge, his hand reached out on its own, gripping Meng Duimo’s wrist at the web between thumb and forefinger. The dry, textured touch suddenly loomed large.
Meng Duimo tugged away on reflex, but the grip held. He looked at Lin Shanyan, who lifted his eyes—hazy with unshed tears, or perhaps amusement.
Meng Duimo pulled harder, but still, he was held fast.
Stubbornly, futilely, helplessly, he refused to let go.
“You’ve had too much to drink,” he said in a low voice.
Lin Shanyan nodded with a smile, his eyes red-rimmed. He had no idea what else to say.
The man’s hand covered his, taking control, slowly prying their fingers apart.
Yet in the very next second, as if possessed, he seized it again. Their fingers intertwined fiercely, clenching so tightly that pain shot through them both.
Lin Shanyan’s drunken haze cleared for a fleeting instant from the ache. He stared at Meng Duimo, drenched in the downpour of his gaze, dark as a rainy night.
Rage and anguish ignited in Meng Duimo’s chest.
He had never thought it fair.
Why could so many people live out their lives as whole humans? Why could so many grow old alongside the ones they loved?
Why couldn’t he and Lin Shanyan? Why was it utterly impossible?
He released his grip, tugged his tie tight, and rose to his feet. “I’m stepping out for a smoke,” he said coldly.
Lin Shanyan sat frozen for a time, waiting until the dizzy sway ebbed away. Then he stood slowly and made his way toward the restroom.
He was truly drunk tonight.
He needed to splash some cold water on his face.
The main courses had just arrived, and the guests lingered at their tables. A faint trace of cigarette smoke hung in the restroom air.
As he washed his face, Lin Shanyan thought hazily that the scent was strangely familiar.
In the next instant, a hand yanked him away.
His mind blanked out, nerves dulled by alcohol, registering only a sharp bang as the world spun—from the mirror to the cramped inner chamber.
Meng Duimo’s kiss crashed down like a storm of fury and resentment.
Yet his lips were soft, the kiss scorching hot. He was even careful not to hurt him.
Lin Shanyan was so far gone he could scarcely tell dream from reality. He hooked his arms around Meng Duimo’s neck by instinct, murmuring soft, senseless sounds into the kiss.
His voice was clear and deep as a cold spring, laced with a drunken seductiveness.
The man wouldn’t let him squirm. With one hand, he pinned both wrists high overhead and plunged deeper into the kiss.
“Breathe,” he warned, voice strained against the rising heat. “Don’t make a sound.”
Tears clung to the corners of the young man’s eyes. He nodded obediently, still lost as to where he was or why he couldn’t move.
Meng Duimo pulled back just an inch, hands still locked on those wrists, gauging exactly how drunk Lin Shanyan was.
He was taking advantage of him.
But Lin Shanyan only curved into a slow smile, tilting his head like a willing conspirator. Even with his wrists bound, he leaned in as far as he could, brushing a gentle kiss against the man’s tightly pressed lips.
Like prey offering itself up, innocent and unknowing, drawing close to its hunter.
Meng Duimo released him—but they couldn’t part. In a heartbeat, their mouths tangled again in endless licks and kisses.
Seizing every breath from each other. Numbing every scruple, every shred of restraint.
In his drunken fog, Lin Shanyan thought that if he were just a few years younger, he might have dragged Meng Duimo down right there and taken him.
He’d been wild in front of him more than once—no need to pretend otherwise.
The kiss dragged on, long and insatiable. Until Meng Duimo’s phone buzzed twice and Lin Shanyan’s once.
“Bro, where you at?” Lao Qu sounded thrilled. “We’re waiting to hand out red envelopes—where’d you disappear to?”
“Back in a sec,” Meng Duimo replied, forcing his voice to steady. “Work call came up. Just sorting something out.”
Even as he spoke to Lao Qu, he had Lin Shanyan pinned against the marble wall with one hand.
The young man, still deep in his cups, lavished kisses on his wrist, then the sensitive underside of his forearm.
Kissing and licking at random, ravenous as if even a taste would sate him.
The instant the call ended, Lin Shanyan sank his teeth in. Blood beaded faintly at the edge of the mark.
Meng Duimo winced in pain but didn’t flinch away.
He pulled his lover into a crushing embrace, lips brushing his ear.
“Why don’t you just eat me?”
His breathy whisper trembled with barely contained need.
“Or maybe I’ll eat you.”
“Lin Shanyan, if you block me again, I swear I’ll lose my mind.”
The young man melted into his arms, as if already devoured whole—sinking in without a fight, letting the embrace squeeze until it hurt.
He seemed half-awake, half-lost, and as Meng Duimo’s arm circled his neck, one cheek grazed the fresh bite.
He lapped at it tenderly.
His tongue coaxed away every tiny bead of blood, savoring it like a favorite delicacy—or soothing the man he cherished most.
Meng Duimo felt his love spiraling utterly out of control.
Even if he died tonight, it wouldn’t matter—as long as he could be with Lin Shanyan, he wouldn’t care about anything.
“Bullshit,” the young man suddenly said.
“Meng Duimo, dating or not?”
Meng Duimo stood frozen in place, as if he hadn’t heard clearly.
Lin Shanyan had already woken up. Still savoring it, he grasped the other’s elbow and licked the wound once more, then straightened the other’s cuff and smoothed the wrinkles on his own suit and tie.
“Let’s head out. Lao Qu is still looking for us.”
“What were you asking me just now?”
Lin Shanyan opened the door and observed for a moment before quickly walking out.
He washed his face again, fully emerging from the hazy daze.
“I say, Meng Duimo, do you want to date me?”
We’ve reconciled like a mended mirror, reignited from dead ashes, blazing like dry wood and raging fire.
Meng Duimo said “okay,” then dazedly washed his face, tidied up his collar and sleeves under his new boyfriend’s direction, and even styled his hair.
When he sat back down at the table, he was still in a daze. At first glance, even the jiwei prawns on the plate looked endearingly cute.
