Perhaps that fever had dulled his mind. Although it came and went quickly like usual, for a long time after that, Tong Xilin fell into a disordered, chaotic phase.
He began, frequently, both unintentionally and intentionally, bringing up Tong Yuzhi in front of Kong Ji.
He hadn’t liked mentioning Tong Yuzhi to Kong Ji before because it made him feel like he was “complaining.” In Tong Xilin’s concept, complaining was a very melodramatic behavior. He was far too accustomed to the survival mode of “talking is useless.” And indeed, it was useless. Kong Ji taking him in and bringing him home had already solved his enormous problem. What good would it do to keep bringing Tong Yuzhi up every day? Life had to continue. The dead couldn’t come back to life.
Yet, after realizing Kong Ji’s special nostalgia for his dad, Tong Xilin often found himself battling in his own head.
He didn’t want to bring up Tong Yuzhi; whenever the topic came up, he felt the person Kong Ji saw wasn’t him.
He wanted to bring up Tong Yuzhi, because whenever it related to him, Kong Ji’s attitude towards him underwent a subtle shift. His tone of voice, his physical gestures—all became more intimate and ambiguous.
For example, when Kong Ji took him to buy clothes. Previously, Tong Xilin would never interfere with Kong Ji’s choices. He’d try on whatever was handed to him, buy it if Kong Ji said it looked good, change it if not. He didn’t raise objections because he trusted Kong Ji’s taste and had no particular demands regarding his own style.
This time, when they were picking clothes, Kong Ji paid unusual attention to white. After buying two jackets, he grabbed him a white, semi-turtleneck wool sweater.
Tong Xilin thought of the eternally unchanging black, white, and grey in Tong Yuzhi’s wardrobe, thought of the crisp white shirt in his ID photo. He took the sweater without a word and silently went to the fitting room to change into it.
The wool sweater was slightly fitted, very similar to the black one Kong Ji wore. It clung to Tong Xilin’s somewhat slender chest, making him look like a straight, upright sapling.
Tong Xilin stood before the mirror, silently assessing himself. Kong Ji walked up behind him, reaching out to pull the tag off the back of his collar, and praised him. “Looks good.”
“When my dad was young, did he really like white?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes.” Kong Ji pressed his cheek against Tong Xilin’s hair, their eyes meeting in the mirror. “He suited white. You suit it too.”
“My impression is he wore black more often,” Tong Xilin said.
Kong Ji didn’t speak further, watching Tong Xilin for a moment with a half-smile, then patted his waist. “Let’s go, check out.”
The next day, Tong Xilin proactively wore this new sweater to school, along with the scarf Kong Ji had given him, loosely covering half his face.
Kong Ji watched him for a long time, then came over and straightened his inadvertently rolled-up school uniform sleeve.
“Take it slow on the road,” he spoke almost directly against Tong Xilin’s ear. His early-morning voice carried a low, husky quality that sounded incredibly ambiguous to Tong Xilin’s ears.
Ambiguous.
Tong Xilin pondered this word during class. Amidst a deep sense of helplessness, he admitted it: he was deeply addicted to the ambiguity Kong Ji brought him—even though the true target of this ambiguity wasn’t him.
Life was somewhat like an exam, always a process of repeatedly sensing, choosing, and arriving at an answer. But life was more accommodating; there seemed to be no absolutely right or wrong options. Life permitted unsolvable situations, so he could let himself sink into a daze where no answer could be found.
So it was an unsolvable problem.
Resting his cheek on his hand, listening to the teacher lecture, Tong Xilin repeatedly circled the corresponding question number with his pen tip.
“What are you scribbling blindly?”
Zhou Qi obnoxiously tugged at his practice book, the pen drawing a long black gash across the paper.
Tong Xilin looked up towards the podium. The teacher had already packed up the courseware and left, and the class was buzzing with noise.
“Class is over already.” Zhou Qi spun his phone, looking at him. “What’s up with you lately? Spacing out all the time.”
“Tired.” Tong Xilin dropped his pen on the desk and rubbed his face.
“Jerking off too much?” Zhou Qi’s gaze wickedly darted down towards his crotch.
Tong Xilin was in no mood for jokes. He slumped onto his desk. “I’m gonna sleep, wake me up for class.”
“Don’t sleep yet,” Zhou Qi propped his phone up, swiping the screen for Tong Xilin to see. “Help me pick something.”
The screen displayed pictures of two plush dolls. Tong Xilin recognized this: a StellaLou and a Hello Kitty.
“You’re buying this?” He enlarged the pictures to see the details and chose the StellaLou. “This one.”
“For my girlfriend.” Zhou Qi didn’t want to expend any brainpower. Whatever Tong Xilin chose, he simply placed the order.
Tong Xilin figured it was probably that girl Zhou Qi had been constantly chatting with on his phone recently.
“You don’t know her,” Zhou Qi volunteered before being asked. “The one from that game we played together last time.”
Tong Xilin had zero recollection and hadn’t been curious about who his girlfriend was anyway.
But he thought of Kong Ji.
It seemed like he should give Kong Ji something too.
Even if not out of personal feelings, just based on how much money Kong Ji had spent on him over the past six-plus months, Tong Xilin felt he should express his gratitude.
The idea of giving a gift—either you never have it, or once it pops up, you want to act on it immediately. But this matter was also a challenge for Tong Xilin.
He hadn’t really had friends before. No one in his class ever invited him to birthday parties, so he had zero experience exchanging birthday gifts with others.
The only time he gave something was to Tong Yuzhi, back during the Father’s Day of his first year of middle school. Their young homeroom teacher, practicing character education, held a special class meeting telling students to not only remember Mother’s Day but also appreciate their fathers’ hard work. A kid without a mom truly had no concept of this. That class meeting suddenly made Tong Xilin realize he didn’t even know what date Tong Yuzhi’s birthday was. Mainly because his own birthdays were always muddled through. Every June 18th, Tong Yuzhi would cook two extra dishes and make him a bowl of noodles, and that was considered a birthday celebration. It was even less lively than the June 18th online shopping battles.
With this new awareness of Father’s Day, that year, Tong Xilin took twenty yuan from his piggy bank—a small handful of bills and coins—and went to buy Tong Yuzhi a phone case. Dark green. He had thought it looked quite nice, so he remembered it clearly. He hid the phone case until Father’s Day. With a shy feeling, he presented it to Tong Yuzhi and wished him a happy Father’s Day.
Tong Yuzhi took it and glanced at it. No expression, no comfort. He just replied flatly, “Your allowance is for buying practice books. Don’t waste money on useless things.”
Tong Xilin stood there rooted to the spot like he was being punished for a while, then picked up his schoolbag and went back to his room. He never gave Tong Yuzhi anything else again.
Some experiences, when you’re too young, you have no concept of them; even the sadness is very slow to register.
Now, recalling that failed gift-giving, a slight bitterness welled up in his chest. It suddenly struck him: perhaps Tong Yuzhi resented him very much. A man who could fall in love with another man, at least when he was with Kong Ji, surely never imagined his life would include a son.
“Did you ever give your dad anything?” Tong Xilin turned his face to ask Zhou Qi.
“Why?” Zhou Qi found this funny. “You playing that gratitude game like people online? Someone gives their partner a gift, and people jump in asking ‘Did you ever buy anything for your parents?'”
“No,” Tong Xilin realized Zhou Qi, despite being a bad student, was incredibly quick-witted when it came to being sarcastic. “I’m looking for a reference.”
“You want to get your uncle something?” Zhou Qi asked.
“Mn.” Tong Xilin nodded.
Zhou Qi’s relationship with his dad was ice-cold warfare. Racking his brains, he couldn’t offer any helpful suggestions, just the typical things: cologne, lighter, electric razor.
Tong Xilin recalled the brands Kong Ji usually used and searched on Taobao. The prices starting at four digits immediately met his eye. Gritting his teeth, he could technically afford it, but he wanted to gift Kong Ji something smaller and more exquisite, something he could carry with him, something that would make him think of Tong Xilin every time he saw it.
“With your uncle’s vibe, how about some accessories?” Zhou Qi chimed in with ideas. “Necklaces, rings, that kind of thing. A watch you can’t afford. Hey, does your uncle have pierced ears?”
Kong Ji didn’t have ear piercings.
Following Zhou Qi’s suggestions, Tong Xilin tapped through the recommendation pages, his gaze finally resting on a simply designed men’s bracelet.
The day the gift arrived happened to be Sunday. The SF Express courier brought it to the door. Hearing the doorbell, Kong Ji got up to answer it, but Tong Xilin rushed ahead to stop him.
“What did you buy?” Kong Ji found his behavior amusing, asked with a smile.
“Secret.” Tong Xilin blocked the entryway while signing for it, hiding the box from view. Returning to his room and closing the door, he carefully studied it.
A black, thin cord leather bracelet, linked together by a silver-bronze circular ornament. Not even silver, just a purely decorative piece. For such a small trinket, the price wasn’t low—a considerable expense for Tong Xilin. He’d had to grit his teeth when ordering, but now, trying it on his wrist, the money spent entirely transformed into satisfied delight.
It suited Kong Ji perfectly.
He raised his wrist against the window and took a picture of himself wearing it. Then he carefully took it off, placed it back in the gift box, and took another photo.
Kong Ji was off today, sitting in the living room watching a movie and scrolling his phone. Hearing Tong Xilin come out, he turned to look at him, cigarette between his teeth. “Finally willing to come out?”
“Uncle.” Tong Xilin walked over and sat next to him. Unable to think of any preamble, he directly handed over the box. “Bought you a gift.”
One of Kong Ji’s eyebrows lifted slightly as he reached out to take it.
Waiting for Kong Ji to open the gift, Tong Xilin observed his reaction, a little afraid he would show an expression like the one Tong Yuzhi had back then.
But Kong Ji didn’t criticize him at all for wasting money. Opening the box and glancing inside, the corner of his mouth lifted into a very charming smile. “It looks good.”
“Really?” Tong Xilin’s eyes instantly lit up. Joy bubbled up in his heart like fizzing soda, filling his entire chest. He lifted one leg onto the sofa, propping his upper body closer to Kong Ji, and urged him, “Try it on.”
Kong Ji handed the box back to him and simultaneously extended his left hand.
Kong Ji’s hands were very nice to look at—long knuckles, clearly defined wrist bones, faint blue veins visible just beneath the skin.
“Put it on for me,” he said to Tong Xilin.
Tong Xilin opened the bracelet. Instead of putting it directly on Kong Ji’s hand, he first grasped his wrist briefly. A light, tentative grip.
This feeling of having someone securely held in his palm was very peculiar for Tong Xilin. He couldn’t help sneaking a look at Kong Ji’s reaction. Kong Ji was resting his other elbow on the back of the sofa, propping his cheek as he looked down at him, the corner of his mouth still curving upwards.
“What made you think of giving me this?” he asked Tong Xilin.
Tong Xilin fastened the bracelet with a soft “click” and made up an excuse. “New Year’s is coming soon. A New Year’s gift for you.”
Kong Ji fell silent, turning his wrist. His index finger gently scratched inside Tong Xilin’s palm.
If the topic of the gift had ended there, it would have been enough to make Tong Xilin happy for several days.
But he desperately wanted to imbue this bracelet with a meaning solely belonging to him. He blurted out, asking Kong Ji, “Has anyone else ever given you a bracelet?”
Kong Ji lifted the bracelet before his eyes to admire it. His downward-angled eyelashes cast distinct shadows over his eyelids, concealing the emotions in his eyes.
“Your dad gave me one,” he flicked Tong Xilin on the forehead. “It broke.”
