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“Still not eating?”
Hou Ning straddled the stool backwards and called toward the bathroom: “We haven’t eaten all day. Let’s go get food.”
The bathroom door opened, and Li Xun came out bare-chested, moving to sit on the windowsill to dry his face.
This was the place they were renting temporarily. From the window, the rooftop of the opposite building was cluttered with discarded furniture and a tangled mess of electrical wires. It was six-thirty in the afternoon. The sky at the horizon was a thick, saturated amber, and the last of the daylight filtered through the old wooden window frame, casting a dark cross-shaped shadow across Li Xun’s back.
A white towel draped over his head concealed his face. Water droplets traced the contours of his body and dripped onto the floor, leaving a thin trail of wet marks.
“Let’s go eat,” Hou Ning said again.
Li Xun tossed the towel aside. “You go. I have somewhere to be.”
“Where?”
Li Xun didn’t answer. He got to his feet — his hair, not fully dried, fell in separate, stubborn strands.
“Where are you going?” Hou Ning asked again.
Li Xun pulled on a t-shirt, walked to the door, and grabbed a black baseball cap from the top of the shoe rack, pulling it low over his face, making his features even harder to make out.
He pushed the door open and left. Hou Ning called after his retreating figure: “Where are you even going?”
Li Xun hailed a taxi. About forty minutes later, the car turned into an ordinary residential area on the west side of the city.
The compound was lit up with pathway lights. Flowers and poplar trees had been planted along the paths, and one or two stray cats darted through the bushes from time to time. In the courtyard, elderly residents sat playing cards. Couples strolled past. In the brightest, liveliest spot at the center, a group of children chased and shouted — loud, but the kind of noise that didn’t grate.
Li Xun checked the building numbers on the nearest block, then walked with his head down along the path. After a short while, a promotional display stand came into view.
Li Xun looked up. Inside the display frame was a full-size promotional photo of a man in form-fitting dance trousers and a deep V-neck, twisted into a pose radiating boundless energy. The photo was life-size — Li Xun had to tilt his head back slightly to see the top, and it had been a long time since he’d had to look at anyone at that angle.
The courtyard gate was half-open. Li Xun stepped inside. A stone-paved path ran through the center, flanked on both sides by a neatly tended lawn and rows of pine trees. Beyond that was a short flight of steps leading up to a closed wooden door, connected to a small balcony. The curtains inside were drawn. Nothing was visible.
Li Xun stood looking at that door and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.
He was just about to light it when the door flew open with a bang. Li Xun’s heart gave a jolt. He looked up. A little girl, six or seven years old, poked her head out. She saw Li Xun — and let out a shriek without warning, cutting through the quiet of the night.
“Miss Chunli, I keep telling you not to open the door — you’ll let the mosquitoes in and then you’ll come complaining to me.”
The man’s voice was warm and unhurried, as smooth and measured as the rumble of distant thunder. The one called “Miss Chunli” screamed and tried to bolt, but a large hand caught her.
“Class isn’t over. Where do you think you’re going?”
As the voice drew closer, a handsome man stepped out from inside. His hair was meticulously styled, and he wore a deep crimson shirt with the collar open, hinting at a well-built chest beneath. He had on a pair of black trousers that showed off the clean lines of his long legs.
He scooped Miss Chunli up with one arm; Miss Chunli dissolved into squealing laughter and pointed toward the figure in the courtyard.
Fu Yizhuo turned to look.
The nearest pathway light was three meters behind the display stand at the entrance. What little light made it this far was barely worth mentioning, and the person standing there was nearly swallowed whole by shadow.
“Miss Chunli,” Fu Yizhuo said, his gaze settling on the baseball cap, leaning in to negotiate quietly with the little girl on his arm. “If you can take that person’s hat off and bring it to me, I’ll buy you a doll tomorrow. Deal?”
Miss Chunli perked up at once. Fu Yizhuo set her down, and she marched right up to Li Xun with complete confidence. She was barely as tall as his hip. One hand gripped his trouser waistband, the other stretched upward as far as it could go — she couldn’t even reach his chest.
Li Xun stood perfectly still.
Miss Chunli looked up. Her gaze met the steady, expressionless look beneath the brim of the cap, and her eyes slowly began to well up.
“Give me the hat,” the little girl said, her voice small and plaintive.
Li Xun still had the unlit cigarette between his fingers. He looked down at her for a moment, then at last tucked the cigarette away and handed her the cap.
Miss Chunli skipped triumphantly back to Fu Yizhuo. Fu Yizhuo took her into his arms and studied the person in the courtyard. “Miss Chunli,” he said quietly, “look at that man over there.”
Miss Chunli turned. Fu Yizhuo asked: “Do you think he’s handsome?”
Miss Chunli stared at Li Xun’s face and nodded, her cheeks going pink.
Fu Yizhuo smiled. “You and I have very similar taste. Go back inside.”
Miss Chunli giggled and scurried back into the classroom.
“And you — come in,” Fu Yizhuo called to Li Xun. Li Xun hesitated for two seconds, then stepped forward.
The dance studio wasn’t large. The floor was clean and smooth, and one wall was covered by a full-length mirror plastered haphazardly with photographs and the little accessories girls tend to love. At this hour, four or five children were still there, running riot, not a bit of dancing happening.
Fu Yizhuo led Li Xun over to the windowsill, where a stack of practice mats was piled up. He gestured at them.
“Sit.”
He settled himself onto a small wooden stool. Given his height and build, his thighs looked like they were about to split the thing open.
“How long have you been out?”
Li Xun gave a quiet laugh.
“Why does everyone use the same opening line?”
“Because you never tell any of us anything,” Fu Yizhuo said.
Li Xun said nothing.
“You’ve changed a bit,” Fu Yizhuo said. “Let me get a better look.”
Li Xun’s gaze dropped to the floor in front of him. Fu Yizhuo leaned in and studied him for a moment, then said: “Actually, no. Still the same as before.”
Over by the children, things had gotten too rowdy — a yogurt drink had been knocked over and spilled across the floor. Fu Yizhuo’s face crumpled in dismay.
“Ah, my floor…”
He got up, went to the back room for a mop and paper towels, and crouched down to clean up the yogurt. Miss Chunli seized the opportunity to ambush him from behind, wrapping her arms around him with all her might. Unfortunately her arms were too short for his broad back — the moment he stood up, she slid right off.
Fu Yizhuo returned to his stool.
“Why did you open a dance school here?” Li Xun asked quietly.
“Are you asking why I opened a dance school, or why I opened one here?” Fu Yizhuo glanced at him. Li Xun looked away.
“The dance school is because I love it. As for why here…” Fu Yizhuo smiled. “Also because I love it.”
“Is it profitable?” Li Xun asked.
“What do you think.” Fu Yizhuo said miserably. “Absolutely dire. I’m practically surviving on nothing but air.”
Another silence.
“But I’m not at all worried about the future,” Fu Yizhuo said.
Li Xun looked over at him. Fu Yizhuo leaned back against the mirror and held Li Xun’s gaze quietly. “And you?” he asked.
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