Chapter 45: “I Have Absolutely No Such Thoughts About You Either.”

Tong Xilin possessed a childlike naivety in some aspects.

Tong Yuzhi had never taught him how to make friends. Growing up in isolated conditions had shaped him into a mostly passive personality when it came to socializing.

Like those students left alone on the sidelines during free activity periods in PE class, he would only cautiously join the group when specifically called upon and invited.

Therefore, he wouldn’t approach people who were unwilling to engage with him, nor did he think about closing the distance—just like those former classmates who isolated him, or Wu Zihao, who harbored inexplicable malice.

But for those he recognized as good people, his friends—like Zhou Qi and Qin Ji—he truly treasured them. He believed that as long as communication was possible, their relationship could return to how it was before.

During that brief time sitting alone and spacing out at the small square, after suppressing his emotions, he seriously contemplated Kong Ji’s words.

Kong Ji had indeed given him a warning, using the insight of a middle-aged man to analyze aspects of Qin Ji’s personality that he himself hadn’t seen.

Perhaps Kong Ji was right, but Tong Xilin always wanted to analyze problems based on his own understanding of his friends, in his own way.

So Tong Xilin thought that by clearly emphasizing the word “friends” to Qin Ji, with Qin Ji’s emotional intelligence, he would naturally readjust the dynamic between them.

But what followed in his interactions with Qin Ji was different from what he expected.

Qin Ji did still chat and laugh with him.

When their schedules overlapped, they went to the tutoring center together for classes, and returned together after. When their part-time jobs differed, they’d just exchange greetings before heading out. After a busy day, returning to the old building, Qin Ji would sometimes buy cheap ingredients to make something to eat. Tong Xilin would send him money, and they’d share a bit of food.

However, Qin Ji’s attitude during their time alone increasingly included things that made Tong Xilin uncomfortable.

The most obvious was the increase in physical gestures.

One evening in mid-August, Zhou Qi called Tong Xilin for a video chat. He had finished his offline meetup and returned home, eager to share his emotional journey during the trip.

At that time, Tong Xilin had just completed his self-assigned daily study tasks. Stretching his stiff shoulders, he lay on his bed to take the video call and chatted idly with Zhou Qi for a while.

The two were laughing and talking when Qin Ji called out “Tong Xilin” from outside and directly pushed the door open to come in.

“I cooked some noodles, added crab sticks and fish balls. Want to join me?” he asked Tong Xilin.

“Sure,” Tong Xilin turned his head to glance at him, ready to flip over and sit up. “I’m a bit hungry actually.”

Before he could even flip halfway over, a hand landed on his lower back.

Qin Ji bent down by the bedside. In this half-leaning, half-pressing posture, he naturally and casually brought his head next to Tong Xilin’s, looking together at Zhou Qi in the video and greeting him with a smile.

“What kind of pose is that, you two? You’re practically stacked on top of each other,” Zhou Qi was eating a popsicle. Seeing Qin Ji’s face suddenly pop up, he nearly dropped the popsicle from his mouth. “You gay or something? Stay away from my buddy.”

Zhou Qi’s comment was just straight-guy banter, completely without any ulterior interpretation.

Qin Ji also just smiled and didn’t respond to it, still politely asking Zhou Qi when he’d come to hang out again.

Tong Xilin only felt a wave of discomfort wash over his entire body.

In that moment of discomfort, he even questioned himself: Was it because of what Qin Ji said before that he was being overly sensitive? Guys throwing an arm over a shoulder or bumping heads—like Zhou Qi taking that photo with him last time—these moments of suddenly close proximity were all perfectly normal.

Besides, the phone screen was so small. For both to be in the frame, they naturally had to lean in close.

So he didn’t show anything. He just moved the phone a bit towards Qin Ji’s side and used the motion of turning over to get off the bed from the other side, putting distance between himself and Qin Ji’s hand.

When the two went downstairs to eat the noodles, he also didn’t hang up his video call with Zhou Qi. Propping his phone up in the middle of the dining table, he naturally pulled the small bowl of noodles over, picked up his chopsticks, and was about to eat.

“Eat this bowl,” Qin Ji blocked with his hand and swapped the large bowl to Tong Xilin. “This one has a poached egg. For you.”

If there were one egg per person, Tong Xilin wouldn’t have been polite about it.

But Qin Ji emphasized there was only one egg, and that he was giving it to him. Tong Xilin hurriedly pushed it back towards him.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Zhou Qi in the video couldn’t stand it anymore. “Should I order another portion of noodles with egg for you guys? Quit fussing over one damn egg. If neither of you eats it, give it to me.”

Zhou Qi, like Qi Yuan, didn’t bother to accommodate Qin Ji’s financial constraints. Not to mention, he already looked down on Qin Ji a bit, finding him petty.

His comment made Qin Ji lower his eyelids and not push back anymore. The bowl with the egg ended up going into his own stomach.

If the discomfort during that noodle meal was Tong Xilin overthinking, the increasing physical contact from Qin Ji afterward only made him more certain of the source of his unease.

Fingertips being held when passing things. Qin Ji’s hand clasping his shoulder and pushing him forward when they went out together. Even one night, after Tong Xilin finished showering and came out to hang laundry, Qin Ji suddenly ruffled his hair, urging, “Remember to blow-dry it.”

Some gestures were likely unintentional. Others were so deliberate they made Tong Xilin intensely awkward.

With the knowledge of each other’s orientation, these things had already surpassed natural physical contact between same-sex friends.

Until one time at the tutoring center—during a break between classes, as Tong Xilin was explaining a problem to a student, Qin Ji came over with an opened bottle of iced water, tapped the desk, and asked him: “Tong Xilin, want some water?”

Tong Xilin looked at the wet lip of the bottle, the condensation and water droplets rolling down, and fixed his gaze steadily on Qin Ji’s eyes.

In his twenty years of life so far, ever since Tong Xilin entered adolescence and developed emotional awareness, he had only had intimate, ambiguous interactions with Kong Ji.

Touching, guiding Kong Ji to touch him, using the same fork to eat yellow peach—Tong Xilin had done all these things.

No matter how much he wanted to make excuses for Qin Ji, the hidden intentions behind these actions were glaringly obvious.

At this moment, looking at Qin Ji, he felt just as transparent as Kong Ji must have felt looking at him back then.

“Not drinking,” he refused Qin Ji politely and distantly. “Thanks.”

Qin Ji held the water bottle, as if he wanted to say something else. But the student asked another new question. Tong Xilin didn’t look at him again, withdrawing his gaze to continue explaining the problem to the student.

That night, back at the old building, Qin Ji invited Tong Xilin to watch a movie together.

“What movie?” Tong Xilin asked.

“An old film,” Qin Ji had already downloaded it on his phone and sat close beside Tong Xilin on the sofa. “Wong Kar-wai’s ‘Happy Together.’ Have you seen it?”

“Watching on a phone isn’t convenient,” Tong Xilin moved away from their touching arms and stood up to go upstairs. “I’ll go get my laptop.”

The laptop was set on the dining table, each person on their own chair.

Tong Xilin put enough distance between them. Both feet were propped on the edge of his chair, his arms loosely wrapped around his calves—a posture that inherently implied a barrier.

He agreed to watch a movie with Qin Ji because he felt he needed to formally speak with him once more.

He didn’t know how to start the conversation directly and hadn’t figured out the specific wording or approach. Watching a movie might be a gentle way to open the topic.

But the opening scene of two men intertwined made him freeze instantly.

“This movie was my awakening,” Qin Ji, during this intimate scene, turned his head to look at Tong Xilin and said softly, “At the most stressful time during my re-study year, I thought I’d find a movie to ease my mind. The impact was huge.”

Tong Xilin didn’t speak. He hadn’t watched many movies, and this was his first time watching a same-sex themed film.

His attention was completely drawn into the movie. It wasn’t until the end credits rolled that his entire being was wrapped in a sense of melancholy loss. He let out a deep sigh from his chest.

“He Baorong was too capricious,” he murmured, lost in thought. “He was always loved, so he always thought no matter when he turned back, Li Yaohui would be waiting for him.”

“You don’t like it?” Qin Ji asked.

“Who?”

“This movie,” Qin Ji said. “You don’t like this ending?”

Tong Xilin liked the movie. The ending was also very fitting. He was just melancholy.

“Actually, the ending for most gay people is like this,” Qin Ji started talking about topics beyond the movie. “In the end, they all get married and have children, returning to a normal life. Many people are like this.”

Marrying and having children.

A normal life.

Eight ordinary-sounding words. Framed within this topic, framed within the experiences of Tong Xilin’s life, they only struck him as ironic.

“So you think that way too,” he asked Qin Ji in return. “Even knowing your own orientation, knowing what you truly like, in the end, you’ll still choose to live a ‘normal’ life.”

“I’m the only son in my family,” Qin Ji gave a bitter smile. “My mom raised me and my sister by herself… It hasn’t been easy for her.”

So what was Tong Yuzhi’s hardship then?

Tong Xilin didn’t understand, couldn’t empathize, and didn’t plan to try.

A period of silence fell between the two of them.

After the silence, Tong Xilin, for the first time since knowing Qin Ji, formally called his full name: “Qin Ji.”

“Mm?” Qin Ji turned his face.

“Maybe being direct will make things awkward. From the start, I wanted to avoid this kind of awkwardness. But I feel some things can’t be glossed over. If we keep glossing over them, we might not even be able to remain friends.”

Qin Ji didn’t make a sound, continuing to look at him.

“Do you have feelings for me?” Tong Xilin asked.

“I do,” Qin Ji’s response at this time was very direct, nodding to admit it. “Especially after you came back that day, bought water, didn’t avoid me, and still said we were friends.”

He had taken Tong Xilin’s emphasis on “friends” as a signal allowing development.

“The ‘friends’ I meant,” Tong Xilin no longer used euphemisms and shattered this layer of cellophane paper that was preserving face for both sides, “was genuine friends. No other meaning whatsoever.”

Qin Ji thought for a moment and then asked Tong Xilin a question in return: “Do you have a very bad impression of me?”

“I know your conditions are better than mine. Even though you’re just living with your uncle, I think feelings can’t be measured entirely by money and material things.”

“We get along really well. The more I interact with you, the more I… have feelings for you.”

“We’re also not the type to mess around. Meeting someone of the same kind isn’t easy. Don’t you have any thought of giving it a try?”

He spoke several sentences in a row, and the very first thing he brought up was money and material wealth.

So Tong Xilin answered him starting from that angle.

“Indeed, it can’t be measured by money.”

If money could measure everything, he could have just become a substitute for Kong Ji directly.

“But what happens after giving it a try?”

Qin Ji didn’t speak.

“We’re friends, roommates, about to spend five years together day and night,” Tong Xilin asked him seriously. “Even if the following years aren’t made awkward by these things to the point where we can’t even be roommates, what about after graduation? You’ll go back, get married and have children, be a so-called ‘normal person’?”

“I can’t understand that kind of thinking from you guys.”

The corner of Tong Xilin’s mouth lifted.

“It’s pretty laughable.”

The old building was eerily quiet. Amid this silence, Qin Ji pondered for a moment, but the new question he asked was: “Putting all that aside for now… do you have any feelings for me?”

“Can’t put it aside.”

Tong Xilin said.

“I have absolutely no thoughts about you in that way. I don’t like you.”