Chapter 15: P. A Place of Refuge

Su Hui pushed open the heavy door with force.

The sight that met Ning Yixiao’s eyes left him frozen in place. He was like a man who had never believed in fairy tales, suddenly falling from the muddy reality of his life into an Alice-in-Wonderland dreamscape.

The factory looked so ordinary from the outside, yet inside, it was filled with exquisite, unparalleled art—that was the first word that came to Ning Yixiao’s mind, even though he had never truly experienced art before.

His twenty-plus years had been barren, arduous, and suffocating; he had almost lost the ability to appreciate beauty altogether.

But here, there were art pieces filling every corner, and just like Su Hui had the first time he crashed into Ning Yixiao’s field of vision, they struck at the very core of his existence.

“Did you make all of these?”

He gazed at Su Hui, walking past a thin, overlapping expanse of giant waves.

Su Hui nodded, whispering, “I just made them whenever.”

He became a bit shy, tucking his hands behind his back. He walked over to the side of the “waves,” crouched down, and pressed a button. Suddenly, wind began to blow; the meticulously arranged fans fluttered the “waves,” fluently creating the effect of tides surging layer by layer.

“The one at the entrance is the sea I made. I love the ocean, but I haven’t really seen it yet,” Su Hui said with a shrug and a smile. “They don’t allow me to go out, and they don’t like taking me on long trips.”

“So you made one yourself.”

Ning Yixiao looked up, staring at the blue-textured tulle and the carefully set pleats. Gold powder was dusted on every cresting tip, making them look like real, shimmering waves rising and falling freely in the breeze.

“Yes.” Su Hui smiled, watching the piece with him. “But maybe it doesn’t look quite right. I made it by looking at pictures. I tried many times and tested many types of materials, but I don’t think it’s quite accurate.”

Ning Yixiao remembered the sea he had grown tired of in his childhood—the terrifying, dark sea. Only at noon in the summer, when the sunlight poured down, would it be this beautiful, just as Su Hui had captured it.

He had created the most beautiful sea, beautiful enough that one could forgive every imperfection.

“It’s very much like the real thing,” he said with a smile. “It’s beautiful.”

These words seemed to light up a dark corner in Su Hui’s heart, making him feel warm and safe.

This was the first time he had brought someone other than his grandmother to his secret base. He was nervous, afraid that Ning Yixiao wouldn’t understand.

Su Hui felt like an impulsive child who, having taken a liking to someone, was eager to hand over their diary, hoping to be read, to be completely dissected and understood.

Ning Yixiao viewed every piece with great seriousness, maintaining a very polite distance for appreciation, which made Su Hui increasingly happy. He felt a bit excited, and the pace of his speech quickened.

“This is a planet, made of glass,” Su Hui explained, using cute gestures. “For a while, I would pick up discarded glass items every day—many were shattered. After I brought them back, I broke them into even smaller pieces, dyed them yellow, and glued them together into a hollow sphere. Inside is a lightbulb, and the outer ring is an LED strip. Look.”

As he spoke, Su Hui pressed a button. The lights inside and out ignited, and the planet made of broken glass became incomparably brilliant, as if it were truly glowing with starlight.

“Does it look like Saturn?” he asked, looking at Ning Yixiao.

Ning Yixiao gazed at the planet, paused, then turned to look at Su Hui, his eyes finally settling on his hands.

“Did you get hurt making this?”

Su Hui froze for a second. He had never expected Ning Yixiao to react this way; it felt foreign to him, and he nervously gripped his hands together.

No one had ever asked such a question.

Ning Yixiao stared at his fingers, already knowing the answer. He turned away to focus on admiring the piece, giving his feedback: “It’s very beautiful. It’s the best-looking planet sculpture I’ve ever seen.”

“But,” he added, “you need to protect your hands next time.”

“Oh.” Su Hui’s pursed lips revealed a trace of a smile. He led Ning Yixiao further ahead and corrected him, “It’s not a sculpture; it’s installation art. Everything I make is, though I’ve never received professional training.”

“You could try,” Ning Yixiao blurted out, but then he suddenly remembered what Su Hui had said—that he couldn’t choose his own major—and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pity.

He didn’t understand why someone like Su Hui, with such a superior background, could be so unfree.

His own lack of freedom stemmed from material deprivation and a harsh fate; these things couldn’t be changed—they were decided the moment he was born.

But Su Hui was different. It shouldn’t be like this for him.

Su Hui didn’t know what Ning Yixiao was thinking; he was still daydreaming about a bright future. “Actually, I’ve secretly looked into many schools that are excellent in this field. I hope my illness stabilizes soon, and then I can convince them to let me study. I really want to leave this place and do what I want to do.”

Ning Yixiao wanted to say you will, but it felt too light, like empty flattery. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he didn’t want to pierce the hope Su Hui held in his heart.

After a moment of silence, he changed the subject. “How did you find this place? Your family hasn’t been here?”

Su Hui smiled and shook his head obediently. “This was a sixteenth birthday gift from my grandmother—a place no one else could find.”

He jingled the key in his hand. “Except for her, no one has ever been here.”

“No, that’s not right.” Realizing his mistake, Su Hui corrected himself immediately. “Today, my secret base has welcomed a new guest.”

He stood still, wearing a gentlemanly smile and extending his arm like the Little Prince in a fairy tale. “Welcome.”

Ning Yixiao found it hard to describe his emotions at that moment. It was as if all the good things in the world were happening at once—so good that it felt unreal.

Beyond the giant waves and the planet, there were many smaller installations. Su Hui introduced them one by one, from “Melting Sunflowers” to “Colored Ball Storm.” Everything was delicate, cute, and full of creativity.

He spoke rapidly, with an energy and excitement different from his usual self, like the rabbit leading the way in a fairy tale—every gesture revealing his innocence.

Suddenly, Su Hui seemed to see something and excitedly grabbed Ning Yixiao’s wrist, pointing to a small device in the corner and leading him toward it at a trot.

“Ning Yixiao, this is my sanctuary.”

Su Hui always called him by his name so solemnly, so sincerely—panting, smiling—making Ning Yixiao hate the name a little less in that instant.

But he couldn’t look directly at Su Hui’s smile, so he looked at the work he had made, doing his best to be an attentive viewer.

The sanctuary Su Hui spoke of was more like a giant cocoon made of crumpled, glued waste paper. The outside was covered in thick, snowy white silk thread, looking expensive, though the inside was quite cheap.

All the waste paper had been painted blue, the paint glowing with a faint fluorescence.

Su Hui said he had designed it for himself. Whenever he was unhappy, he would try to crawl inside, as if his life had returned to the beginning—he became that tiny embryo again, safe and secure.

As he spoke, he parted the threads and actually crawled inside, curling up within. He looked out with his head half-lowered, his eyes soft and pitiable.

“Ning Yixiao, do you want to come in and try?” He reached out a hand.

For some reason, Ning Yixiao’s first reaction was to refuse. “The space doesn’t look very big.”

He felt he shouldn’t be the one there.

But Su Hui said firmly, “I want you to come in.”

Ning Yixiao struggled internally for a long time, but finally, he succumbed to the look in Su Hui’s eyes—like a small animal—and squeezed into his sanctuary, his warm, safe cocoon.

The space was indeed not large. As he had imagined, Ning Yixiao curled up, squeezed in beside Su Hui.

They were incredibly intimate; the curves of their bodies were almost perfectly aligned, leaving no distance between them.

He occupied a part of Su Hui’s sense of security.

The blue paper cocoon cast a faint, dim glow on Su Hui’s fair face—a fluorescent blue—as if they were in the smallest aquarium in the world. There were no sharks, no white whales, only each other.

“Does it feel safe? The feeling of being wrapped up?”

Su Hui looked up at the top of the cocoon, his arm pressed against Ning Yixiao’s, gazing quietly. “Whenever I am sad or hurt, I hide in here and pretend that I am just a moth egg, and I haven’t seen the world yet. Being an adult who never makes a mistake… it’s really so hard.”

Ning Yixiao watched him, momentarily dazed.

He had taken a free tour, yet he felt this experience was more valuable than anything—so valuable that he realized more clearly than ever: this didn’t belong to him, and he couldn’t afford it.

“Yes,” Ning Yixiao couldn’t help but admit. “It’s so hard.”

Su Hui turned his face with a smile, a trace of childlike innocence on his face.

“Ning Yixiao, thank you for taking me in.”

As their gazes met, his heart skipped a beat.

“I don’t know how to describe the feeling of you being here with me. It’s like I can’t explain it clearly, so I just wanted to bring you into this cocoon and let you try it for yourself.”

In the narrow sanctuary, surrounded by the fluorescent blue light, Su Hui looked at him, his eyes gentle. As he spoke, the pink tongue piercing between his lips appeared and disappeared, like some kind of magnificent omen.

“Just like this. It’s very safe.”