Chapter 73 [Extra]:
Monologue on the Plane (Jian Wu’s POV)
The plane slowly ascended, the slight weightlessness like a hook, clutching at my heart.
I don’t consider myself a crybaby.
But I can’t explain why I’m crying like this on the plane.
Tears are truly a mysterious thing, clearly a part of the body, yet completely uncontrollable.
The 7 am sunlight grew brighter and brighter, illuminating the city below.
This was the first day of my breakup with Song Shuci.
A beautiful, sunny day.
“Gege, why are you crying so sadly?” The person beside me suddenly asked. I turned to look at him, but my vision was blurred by tears.
Perhaps sensing my unfocused gaze, the little boy reached out and waved his hand in front of me.
It reminded me of the time when Song Shuci first got his glasses in elementary school.
I found it amusing and teased him, taking his glasses and holding up numbers for him to guess. Song Shuci would always retort that he was just nearsighted, not blind, and his prescription wasn’t even that strong, but he would still play along with a sullen face until I got bored.
He always thought I would be afraid of him if he pretended to be annoyed.
But I knew he actually quite liked me.
He was never one to hide his true feelings.
I didn’t understand when I was young, I just thought he was strange, why would he buy me things with his allowance and scholarship money, yet pretend to be cool and indifferent towards me?
But as I grew older, I gradually discovered Song Shuci’s secret.
It was probably when I was in seventh grade. I became addicted to a MOBA game, and as a result, I became very close to Cheng Xian, who also loved the game.
I used to wait for Song Shuci outside his classroom after school and walk home with him, but during that time, to sneak off to the internet cafe with Cheng Xian before my parents got home, I stopped waiting for him.
I didn’t dare tell Song Shuci about playing video games. He was very strict about this, like a traditional parent, he definitely wouldn’t let me go to an internet cafe, so I lied, saying it was too noisy outside his classroom, that I wanted to go home and do my homework. He, of course, said “Whatever” with his usual indifferent expression, seemingly not caring at all.
During Labor Day, my dad was at school teaching the competition math class, and my mom went back to her hometown to visit my grandparents. Usually, in such situations, I would stay at Song Shuci’s house, eat with his parents, and do homework with him. But that time, addicted to the game, I would pretend to go home after dinner, then, when Uncle Song and Auntie Xu weren’t paying attention, sneak off to the internet cafe with Cheng Xian downstairs, naturally not doing homework with Song Shuci.
Perhaps because of this, Song Shuci finally noticed something was off.
Just as Cheng Xian and I won a difficult battle at the internet cafe and were about to celebrate with a cola, I turned around and saw Song Shuci’s face.
Cheng Xian immediately panicked and ran away, leaving me in an awkward staring contest with the frosty-faced Song Shuci.
I thought he would criticize me or threaten to tell my parents.
I never expected him to simply sit down in Cheng Xian’s chair, take out his homework, and say to me: “You continue playing.”
I played for another two hours.
And he sat beside me, in that dim, unpleasant environment, and did math problems for two hours.
Honestly, I initially thought he was trying to make me reflect on my mistakes through comparison. I scoffed inwardly, this method wouldn’t work on me, after all, I had always been self-sufficient, never comparing myself to others.
Until two hours later, I finally realized… he just wanted to accompany me.
Perhaps afraid I was tired, he even ordered me a drink.
After finishing the drink, I didn’t continue playing.
I stood up and told him “Let’s go home.”
It was already dark then, the streetlights dim, the shadows of the roadside trees hiding us. He walked in front, I followed behind, neither of us speaking.
He had always been quiet before high school. When we were together, it was mostly me talking non-stop, and him listening.
But after walking for a while, he suddenly turned around, took my bag, and put it on his shoulder.
He was already carrying a bag, so now he had two bags on one shoulder, looking slightly comical from behind, but perhaps because his back was always straight and tall, I still thought he looked cool.
I nudged him, telling him he could carry one bag on each shoulder, so it would be more balanced.
He seemed a little speechless, neither responding nor doing as I said, just quickening his pace.
So I caught up and tugged on his shirt.
He stopped and turned to look at me.
After a while, he said, if I wanted to play games in the future, I could ask him to accompany me, and handed me a wrapped box.
It was a PSP, a tenth-anniversary limited edition.
He continued walking, and I looked at his back, my heart suddenly aching.
He wasn’t as aloof and independent as he appeared, or only enjoyed being alone.
He wanted me to be with him.
I really wanted to tell him then that I was also willing to be with him, even if he didn’t buy me anything, but I didn’t know if it would hurt his pride, so in the end, I pretended I didn’t notice anything.
Thinking of this, I probably smiled, creating a strangely profound expression—tears streaming down my face, yet suddenly smiling, looking like some all-knowing villain.
The little boy beside me suddenly had a chuunibyou moment and asked me: “Are you some kind of prophet? Do you know this plane is going to crash?”
I was speechless, but perhaps his words were prophetic, because the plane suddenly started shaking.
The little boy grabbed my hand and asked: “Gege, then do you know how to survive?”
I could only tell him: “I’m not a prophet, and the plane isn’t going to crash.”
“Then why are you crying?”
He was really persistent, just like I used to be when pestering Song Shuci.
I took a new tissue, wiped my face, turned the boy’s head back, and looked out the window.
Why was I crying?
Perhaps because I had once again lost someone important to me.
The last time was when I was in ninth grade, when I lost my father.
I was always very grateful to Song Shuci.
During that time, when I was emotionally numb, unsure how to face the future, he was the one who helped me through it. Those painful, old memories were chaotic, only his embrace and his voice remained clear.
The person who accompanies you through your darkest moments is always different.
So, even though I didn’t want to go to No. 6 Middle School, where there were too many memories of my father that made me sad, I still chose to follow in Song Shuci’s footsteps.
I wanted to be with Song Shuci.
I had already lost one family member, I couldn’t bear to drift apart from him just because we weren’t at the same school.
Song Shuci in high school was outstanding, or rather, he had always been outstanding. His good looks and excellent grades were enough to make him the center of attention at any stage of his education.
I was a year younger than him, and my classmates, because of this, were very interested in him. And because I was close to him, I became a messenger for many, relaying their questions about his feelings for them.
I actually found it a little troublesome, but like Song Shuci said, I couldn’t say no.
When I acted as a messenger, Song Shuci’s answer was always “Not interested,” or “I don’t know her,” just like the persona he projected to many – the aloof, handsome, and academically gifted school idol, but I always felt he wanted a relationship.
Perhaps because the night we came out of the internet cafe left a deep impression on me, I always felt he wasn’t as aloof as he appeared, that he needed intimacy.
So when a sincere girl came to me, expressing her affection for Song Shuci, and asking me to help her understand him better, I didn’t refuse.
That night, I talked to her for a long time on the playground. Like a professional wingman, I told her many stories about Song Shuci and me, of course, only the good ones, like how he helped me get back my stolen toys, how he told me jokes when I was down. We had grown up together, there were so many stories, I could talk forever. Then I introduced his hobbies, his favorite color, his favorite songs, his favorite movies… Perhaps because I seemed too familiar with him, the girl even joked that I was the one who had a crush on him.
High school girls liked to make such jokes. Some boys would find it offensive, but I was probably thick-skinned and always took it as a compliment to our close relationship.
Until, not long after, Song Shuci confessed to me.
I still vividly remember that day, because I was so shocked. Song Shuci’s words were a huge blow to my understanding of relationships and gender, no less shocking than hearing the Earth was flat and the TV was round.
I repeatedly told him we were both boys, but he told me firmly that boys could also like boys.
Boys… could also like boys?
The internet wasn’t as widespread back then, and we spent most of our time at school, so our main source of information was books, and at most, some jokes from the girls. I never took it seriously, after all, “homosexuality” was a completely foreign concept to me.
I couldn’t respond to Song Shuci’s pursuit.
I couldn’t imagine how two boys could be together.
But he was persistent. I thought he would give up after a while, but he clearly had the endurance of a marathon runner, relentlessly pursuing me.
I wanted to persuade him to be “normal,” so I started searching for information online, trying to convince him, but after researching, I found that it couldn’t really be called “abnormal.”
Biologically speaking, it was a matter of genes.
Then what about my genes?
It wasn’t like I couldn’t accept Song Shuci being like this, or rather, I didn’t want to say I couldn’t accept it.
Even if he was wrong, I wanted to understand him from his perspective, and besides, I didn’t think he was wrong.
But I still firmly believed we shouldn’t have a relationship beyond friendship or brotherhood, it would bring us too much trouble, family, parents, social stigma, all burdens we would have to face.
Until he kissed me.
Physical contact between people is truly magical. Even after countless more intimate encounters later, that first kiss remained my most vivid memory.
The fog that day was indeed very thick, even the buildings outside were blurry through the bus window. The bus driver even slowed down, and I, on that unusually slow bus, rode from the starting point to the terminal, repeatedly analyzing every emotion in my heart.
I was certain there was no disgust or rejection.
But there was a genuine flutter.
My mind replayed that moment, a clear sense of pleasure amidst the nervousness, a subtle pull in my chest as I recalled it, like a volcano after eruption, not as intense, but with lingering aftershocks and warmth.
Did I also like him? Was I also… gay?
I pressed my forehead against the window, letting the vibrations of the bus travel through me, trying to clear my mind and find an answer.
When I got home, Song Shuci was packing.
He had moved into my house after my father passed away, and we had been sleeping together since then, but he was now moving out.
We looked at each other, then he lowered his eyes and continued packing, silent.
This was unexpected. I thought he would tease me about the kiss or my panicked escape, because that was how he had always been, but that night, he was just silent. I suddenly realized that perhaps because he had been so playful and enthusiastic during his pursuit, I had forgotten that before my father passed away, he wasn’t very talkative.
I didn’t try to stop him, I thought we should both calm down, so I helped him pack his things.
But I didn’t expect that I would be the first to break.
I couldn’t sleep alone in my bed.
I needed to hear his voice to fall asleep.
If you asked me what my most vivid memory of Song Shuci was, it would be the countless nights he held me while I slept, the sound of his voice.
That voice was different.
I liked resting my head against his neck, my ear against his shoulder or chest, so I could feel his warmth. Perhaps because of this, I always felt his voice, coming from above, was also warm, carrying a gentle, low tone that he didn’t have when speaking normally.
I had described it to him before, saying it was like looking at someone through a soft-focus lens after taking off their glasses, his voice, heard through his body, would also sound deeper and more magnetic.
He complained that I had never been nearsighted and didn’t understand the struggles of nearsighted people, that taking off your glasses only made you feel insecure.
I didn’t believe him and retorted, was he someone who felt insecure? He was speechless, and, unable to argue, pulled the quilt over my head, trying to shut me up. When I struggled and pulled the quilt away, looking up at him, he had already changed the subject.
I missed him.
I missed the times we bickered and chatted in this bedroom, did homework together, or just messed around. I would occasionally think of that kiss, of the many sleepless nights when I fell asleep to his voice.
I probably also liked him a little, I wasn’t sure, I only knew I was dependent on him, I missed him, I couldn’t accept our relationship fading.
I had already experienced the loss of someone important in my life, I couldn’t lose him again.
So, for the first time, I tried to consider… what if we were together?
It didn’t seem completely unacceptable. Lovers, friends, brothers, as long as he was always by my side, as long as I didn’t lose him, what difference did the label make?
He, like my mother, was the last, most important person in my life.
So I prepared a song for the New Year’s Eve concert, intending to use it as a stepping stone to mend our relationship.
But standing on the stage, seeing him run towards me, I felt that same subtle, indescribable flutter I felt when he kissed me.
This time, it wasn’t because of the kiss, but simply because I saw him.
Perhaps it was the hormones of puberty, or perhaps I truly liked him but didn’t dare to admit it, but the feeling was too clear, too real, for me to deny.
I realized that the questions I had before, about homosexuality, no longer mattered.
Intense affection was such a clear thing, you didn’t need to analyze it to understand your own heart.
So, on that snowy night, by the wintersweet tree, I kissed him.
We naturally became lovers.
The early days of our relationship were truly blissful. If life was inevitably difficult, then this love was a sweet medicine. No matter what troubles we encountered, as long as we saw each other, we would be happy, like some strange mechanism that automatically triggered joy upon merging, defying reason, but incredibly effective.
I was happy to be with him, happy to hear him talk, happy to see him smile. Even when he wasn’t smiling, just focusing on his own things, I was still happy.
I wanted to hold his hand when we walked, hug him when it was cold, kiss him when we parted and reunited, my heart racing when I saw him walk out of his classroom, a smile appearing on my face before I even realized it.
During his freshman year and my senior year, we were separated for the first time for so long. The longing was like a constant ache. We would spend hours on the phone every day, across provinces. I held the phone like a treasure, telling him every little detail about my boring school life, and he would tell me about the bustling City A, about his university life, I listened with rapt attention, imagining my life after entering university, even my motivation for studying increased.
Then I got into A University of Technology, and we took the high-speed train from City B to City A together, pretending to look at the scenery outside, our hands clasped together under the seats for the entire journey.
If I could, I really wished time could forever stop in that innocent ivory tower.
But we eventually had to leave, to face the real, cruel world outside.
Our unexpected coming out forced us to face financial pressure.
I joined various tutoring groups, going from one complex to another for trial lessons.
When I first decided to tutor, I was determined not to teach math. Many people couldn’t understand my aversion to math, even Song Shuci, because of my excellent math scores, repeatedly advised me to major in math or transfer to the math department. I couldn’t explain to them why I had such strong PTSD towards this subject because of my father’s passing. I knew I was good at math, but every time I solved a problem, I would think of my father, how he used to draw geometric shapes on my palm, how he explained the logic to me, how I woke up in the middle of the night and saw him vomiting blood in the bathroom.
But in the end, because it paid the most, I still ended up teaching math.
Just like how life was often unsatisfactory, things rarely went as planned.
Let alone doing what you liked, even refusing to do what you disliked was often difficult.
I seemed to understand Song Shuci’s talk about “future” and “plans,” but perhaps because I was naive and childish, or lazy and foolish, I only understood, but never truly adopted his suggestions.
If I had listened to him earlier, perhaps my life would have been smoother.
But I wasn’t someone who liked to have regrets.
Compared to him, who couldn’t tolerate making mistakes, I felt that even mistakes were valuable.
I couldn’t force myself to be constantly striving just because life didn’t give me the time or opportunity to make mistakes.
A person was first and foremost a human being, then a cog in the machine of society.
So we gradually started having conflicts.
Song Shuci didn’t used to control me, but perhaps because of the financial pressure from our families cutting us off, as he became more demanding of himself, he also started having high expectations of me. I hated him controlling me, so I avoided it as much as possible, not mentioning these things. We could still get along happily as long as we didn’t talk about the future. I would pretend not to hear whenever he mentioned it.
We maintained this delicate balance until I failed the first exam, graduated, and left City A.
He tried to persuade me to stay in City A and retake the exam, but considering the financial factors, I chose to go home and prepare.
This was our second long-distance relationship, but my mentality was completely different from the first time.
Song Shuci started his PhD, working on research projects in the lab, extremely busy. At first, he would still call me when he was doing experiments that didn’t require much brainpower, but the lab had too much interference, the signal was always bad, and after a few tries, we tacitly gave up.
Long conversations were reduced to short, fragmented exchanges, mainly about daily life and my study progress. He would also share any valuable study materials with me.
I liked him, but seeing such messages, I couldn’t help but feel annoyed.
He also cared about my studies during our first long-distance relationship, but perhaps because I saw how hard he was working, and I knew what life as a graduate student was like, I couldn’t study with the same anticipation and motivation as I did during my senior year of high school.
So, rebellious, the more he contacted me, the more I avoided him.
I wasn’t in a good state during that time. Living at home without any income, studying all day, plus my mom’s occasional persuasion to break up, I finally couldn’t take it anymore and found a job. I thought I could earn some money to make our lives in City A easier, and also distract myself from the negative emotions of exam preparation.
It turned out that when you were under too much pressure, you lost the ability to express and receive love.
It wasn’t until I failed the exam because of my arrogance and saw Song Shuci cry that I realized how much I had hurt him.
So I agreed to go to City A with him and try again.
Actually, I thought later, this was probably the biggest mistake of my life.
There were so many possibilities for me in City A. I could have looked for a job during the peak hiring season, or I could have tutored students like I did in university. At worst, I could even practice my gaming skills, which were still decent, and become a game coach or streamer, but I, stuck in my old ways, took someone else’s choice as my own and followed the trend, choosing the path I disliked the most.
There was a saying, if a path is difficult, it’s meant to temper you.
There was also a saying, if a path is filled with obstacles, it’s God’s way of telling you you’re on the wrong path.
Both sayings had their merits, but I just felt… if I hadn’t chosen to go to City A and focus solely on exam preparation, I wouldn’t have broken up with Song Shuci.
Unfortunately, people are often lost and confused when they’re young, lacking vision and foresight, only able to cross the river by feeling the stones, only realizing they’re on the wrong path after hitting a wall.
I watched the plane fly through the clouds, the city that held so many of my memories buried beneath the thick, white clouds. Midway through the flight, people started opening their tray tables and watching pre-downloaded videos.
I hadn’t prepared for this. My phone was in airplane mode, I couldn’t do anything. I clicked around randomly and somehow opened my call history with Song Shuci.
Although I had changed my SIM card, the call history was still there. The bright red missed call notifications were an eyesore.
I closed my eyes, my head and eyes aching.
I had a deep psychological scar from not being able to reach Song Shuci on the phone.
The night before last, when I couldn’t reach him, it was as if I was back in that night when I was sixteen, lying alone in my bed at home, dreaming that my father had passed away, waking up to an overwhelming sadness. I called my mom, but no one answered. I called Song Shuci several times, but couldn’t reach him. I comforted myself, they were probably asleep, I would go to the hospital and see my dad in the morning.
The next morning, I lost my father.
And this time, I had also separated from Song Shuci.
Fate was like a journey with the same destination. Even if you escaped it once, you couldn’t escape it the second time, you still had to experience it.
When my father passed away, when I should have grown up and become independent, Song Shuci let me live in naivete for a few more years.
And now, I finally couldn’t rely on anyone emotionally anymore.
I had to grow up.
So, although leaving him was painful… I still chose to do so.
We had influenced each other too deeply, and this love had brought too many negative emotions.
I remembered when I was young, my dad taught me how to solve problems. I spent half an hour on a geometry problem, using many complex calculations. Although I did arrive at the final answer, because the process was too complicated, the answer was wrong. And my dad, with just three auxiliary lines, showed me another solution, arriving at the correct answer in less than five minutes.
He said my method also worked, but it was too much effort, too tiring, and prone to errors. Next time, if I encountered a situation where the calculations became increasingly complex, I should stop and think, and re-examine the problem.
Then what about the problem of love?
I could insist on staying with Song Shuci, but could I really see that day—although we were together, we were always arguing, or I was constantly compromising and doing things I didn’t like for him, and he, for me, abandoned his principles and became pragmatic and materialistic, even pushing his body to the limit, making me, one day, have to face his medical reports, just like I faced my father’s?
That wasn’t what I wanted.
I wanted Song Shuci to be happy, but now, our relationship was clearly bringing him more burden than happiness.
The clouds outside the window dispersed.
Perhaps we both needed some time to stop and think, to find the best solution to this problem.
-END-
