Chapter 26: P. The Dream of the Manhattanhenge

Ning Yixiao’s breathing almost stopped.

Su Hui’s cheeks were soft and feverishly hot, brushing against his healing wound, leaving a restless, lingering ripple in his heart.

“You’re so cold,” Su Hui murmured. His face slid down, his hot breath embedding itself into the hollow of Ning Yixiao’s neck, before he began to whisper his name over and over again.

“Ning Yixiao, Ning Yixiao…”

It was like a spell, step by step, dismantling the defense system Ning Yixiao had worked so hard to build.

Just as he was about to surrender, he forced himself to wake up.

“You’re drunk,” Ning Yixiao said, gripping Su Hui’s forearm. The remnants of his willpower allowed him to regain his senses. He didn’t want Su Hui to wake up tomorrow and regret this.

“Yeah,” Su Hui’s body was limp, like a shimmering water snake. “I’m so dizzy.”

Ning Yixiao set the wine bottle down, propped him up, and, after some effort, managed to get him onto the bed.

Su Hui lay flat on the soft, snow-white bedding, eyes closed, looking like a ripe peach radiating summer heat. Ning Yixiao adjusted the air conditioning, smoothed out Su Hui’s disheveled clothes, tucked him in, and finally sat on the floor beside the bed, watching his face in silence.

Su Hui’s alcohol tolerance wasn’t great, but his behavior while drunk was quite good—very obedient.

Just as Ning Yixiao thought he had fallen asleep, Su Hui opened his eyes. They looked as if they had been glazed with sugar—bright, with reddened corners.

“Ning Yixiao.” His voice was sticky and sweet.

“Hm?” Ning Yixiao looked at him, his expression unreadable. “Do you want water?”

Su Hui shook his head. “No, I haven’t showered yet.”

“Just sleep,” Ning Yixiao told him. “It’s dangerous to shower when you’re drunk.”

Su Hui hummed, nodded, and said, “I’ll listen to you.”

“You’ll listen to me for everything?” Ning Yixiao suddenly asked.

Su Hui nodded, turning on his side and closing his eyes. “Mm.”

Ning Yixiao found this interesting and began issuing commands. “Give me your hand.”

Su Hui obediently extended a hand, letting his forearm rest on the edge of the bed. Ning Yixiao reached out and held it, as if playing with a kitten’s paw.

“Take it back.”

“Mm.” Su Hui obeyed. This triggered a strange feeling in Ning Yixiao—something like sweetness, but not limited to it.

“Su Hui, open your eyes.”

Hearing this, Su Hui dutifully opened his eyes, meeting Ning Yixiao’s gaze through the haze.

“Look at me.” Ning Yixiao’s face was devoid of expression, possessing an almost cold desire for control.

Su Hui followed the instruction, staring at him. They maintained a distance neither too near nor too far, level with each other.

“Open your mouth.”

The request was somewhat unreasonable, but Su Hui was drunk; he had lost the ability to think like a normal person, functioning only to process instructions. So, he parted his lips.

Su Hui often displayed a sense of aloofness and detachment, derived from his high, slender nose and thin bone structure, but his eyes and lips were always moist and laden with emotion. At this moment, his pale complexion flushed rose-colored, as if something was ready to be released—fragile enough to shatter at a touch, threatening to spill over everywhere.

Even through the air, without any physical contact, Ning Yixiao’s desires were stretched taut.

“Stick out your tongue.”

Su Hui did so, but only for a moment before quickly retracting it.

“You’re not wearing a tongue stud,” Ning Yixiao said, his tone remarkably calm, the question sounding more like a statement.

“Too late,” Su Hui said, his speech sluggish. His eyes drifted shut again, his voice soft. “I put it in the suitcase…”

Ning Yixiao realized he wasn’t quite right.

He was used to treating his desires with repression, but that habit had been broken time and time again since meeting Su Hui. Su Hui often presented a stance of “consume me,” awakening a deep-seated desire for control within him.

Yet, his reason held him back from inappropriate outbursts.

“Don’t drink in front of other people.”

After saying this, Ning Yixiao got up to tuck him in properly. He returned to the bathroom and splashed his face and hands with cold water, dousing the rising flames of desire. His hair, left to air-dry, was still half-damp, still carrying the sweet scent of Su Hui.

They lay side-by-side in a hotel in a foreign land. The night was bright, the light covering Su Hui’s body like a thin veil. Ning Yixiao found it difficult to sleep.

He thought of his childhood—the brutal, visceral sounds of sex coming through thin walls, the cursing and the slapping, all of which made him want to vomit. He thought of his mother’s sobbing. For a biological father who never appeared, for a romance, she seemed to have sacrificed everything, gaining only endless pain. For the sake of that lover, she eloped, broke ties with her family, and came to his hometown—a place that smelled of fish—carrying a child who would drag down the rest of her life, living hand-to-mouth while waiting for him to return.

He heard the man had gone to Japan, or perhaps another country, and married someone else. Ning Yixiao still remembered his mother’s collapse when she received the news; she was beautiful when she sobbed, but beauty was useless.

Why would anyone give up everything for love? Why would anyone love only one person for their entire life?

Ning Yixiao didn’t understand then, but he swore never to be that kind of person. So, when he discovered he was starting to sink into this, he felt a fear as if fate had gripped his throat.

“Ning Yixiao.”

In the deep blue room, long after midnight, Su Hui’s voice was like a soft beam of light. He was facing away from Ning Yixiao, pulling him back to reality.

“Hm?”

Su Hui’s voice was still not entirely clear, hazy and soft. “Ning Yixiao, I’m currently sick.”

Ning Yixiao was stunned. He didn’t hesitate to sit up and reach out to feel Su Hui’s forehead. Fortunately, he wasn’t feverish.

“Where do you feel uncomfortable?”

Su Hui smiled, caught his hand, and instead of answering the question, said with drunken intimacy: “Don’t be afraid of me.”

Ning Yixiao suddenly remembered the night Su Hui disappeared at the party, stroking the forehead of a stray dog and whispering, Don’t be afraid of me, I’m not bad.

He still didn’t understand why Su Hui would say this. No one would be afraid of something so beautiful.

“I’m not,” Ning Yixiao said, his words meant to soothe. “You are very good, very cute.”

“Am I…” Su Hui’s voice was garbled. He turned over, his back to him.

“Mm.” Ning Yixiao pulled his hand away and tucked it under the quilt. In a voice so quiet only he could hear, he added, “You are the cutest person.”

Then, will you love me?

Su Hui opened his eyes and asked in his heart. The drunkenness had completely vanished, but he revealed nothing, acting as if everything was peaceful.

The night was silent. As the sky began to pale, Ning Yixiao rose. Su Hui was half-awake, feeling the door open and close; Ning Yixiao seemed to have gone out, but he was too weak to get up.

A while later, he felt his hand being lifted, followed by a beep. He woke up. Ning Yixiao was leaning over the bed, taking his temperature.

He truly thought Su Hui had caught a cold or something similar.

Su Hui opened his eyes and asked him what the temperature was.

“36.7, a normal temperature.” Ning Yixiao’s tone seemed relieved. “I thought you were sick.”

He noticed Su Hui’s lips were dry and poured him a glass of water. “Drink a little.”

Su Hui took the glass, finished the water, and went to the bathroom to take a quick shower. He changed into fresh clothes as if last night had never happened—as if he hadn’t pressed his face against Ning Yixiao’s to compare their temperatures, and hadn’t, even after sobering up, feigned drunkenness to nearly confess his illness.

They took the bus to the symposium, held at a beautiful university. The bus drove through a tunnel—the driver said it was an undersea tunnel. For the first time, Su Hui didn’t care about the ocean; he only wanted to hold Ning Yixiao’s hand in the darkness. But the tunnel was too short; his wish was extinguished by the light before it could be realized.

After getting off the bus, they walked through the unfamiliar school, separated by a sea of people. They reached a strange, spacious lecture hall and waited for the symposium to start.

Seats were divided by department, and Su Hui sat at the very edge of the Finance section. Ning Yixiao was the third student to present in the morning. The two before him were native American students from this university. Compared to them, Ning Yixiao possessed a natural, calm steadiness. His spoken English exceeded Su Hui’s expectations; he was on par with the native speakers, even using more concise phrasing, which allowed even an outsider like Su Hui (in the field of Computer Science) to understand a great deal.

He wore a white shirt, which looked more approachable than yesterday’s attire, but he still radiated a subtle sense of control. This was especially true in the details: when he explained a certain deep-learning formula, he took a whiteboard marker, casually unbuttoned his sleeves, and wrote and spoke fluently, his movements fluid and without hesitation.

Throughout the presentation, Ning Yixiao’s solid foundation in mathematics was fully displayed, and he answered the teachers’ and students’ questions with ease. He didn’t love inserting jokes into his lecture to win big laughs like the American students, but he was confident. When finally showing the results on his slides, he casually remarked, “Of course, if you give me more time, these results will surpass manual efforts by much more.”

A forty-year-old blonde professor in the audience was very interested in his research and jokingly invited him to her laboratory: “I welcome you anytime.”

“Thank you very much.” Ning Yixiao smiled, giving an ambiguous response: “I will always remember this lovely invitation.”

When facing things he didn’t want to do, he was best at being ambiguous—Su Hui knew this well. Someone else might have immediately said, “It would be my greatest honor to join your lab,” but Ning Yixiao didn’t want to go—or rather, his goals were far beyond that, so he used ambiguity to decline.

Ning Yixiao was clear-headed, goal-oriented, and appeared as if he wouldn’t stop for anyone or anything not in his plan.

The last person to report from the Computer Science department was Feng Cheng—the son of Su Hui’s driver. Su Hui stared at Feng Cheng’s face, finding that he didn’t look like his father at all. He looked shy, his English wasn’t very fluent, but the content of his report was quite good and solid.

During the tea break, Ning Yixiao, having performed well, was stopped by several professors. He handled the effective networking gracefully, obtaining contact information and promises from professors that would be helpful for his future. Su Hui didn’t bother him; he walked to the side, picked up a piece of sliced cake, and ate it quietly.

He noticed someone looking at him and, sensitively following the gaze, found it was Feng Cheng.

Su Hui walked toward him. Feng Cheng’s gaze was panicked, looking as if he wanted to run away.

“You’re Uncle Feng’s son,” Su Hui opened, his voice gentle and soft.

Feng Cheng finally stilled, nodded, and said nothing.

Su Hui smiled. “You’re so nervous.” Although he wasn’t good at socializing himself, he felt this boy was the child of an acquaintance. Remembering how Feng Zhiguo had wanted to accompany his son only to be rejected, a sense of pity arose in him, so he took the initiative: “I’ve heard your father mention you; he is very proud.”

Feng Cheng looked at him. “Really?”

Su Hui nodded. “Are you younger than me?” He raised his eyebrows. “Freshman year?”

Feng Cheng nodded. He always looked at Su Hui with his head slightly down, not making direct eye contact, but timidly looking with the upper half of his pupils. Once their eyes met, he would lower his lids like a snail.

“Thought so.”

“Your report was very good,” Su Hui encouraged him with a smile. “Don’t be so nervous. Eat this cake, it’s delicious.”

He handed a piece of cake to Feng Cheng, smiling as he told him what Feng Zhiguo had said on his first day of work, like the origin of Feng Cheng’s name, not realizing that Ning Yixiao’s gaze remained fixed on him.

He looked like a leopard that had locked onto its prey.

Before long, Ning Yixiao, surrounded by the crowd, walked over and stood between the two of them, his tall figure casting a dark cloud.

“Chatting so happily.”

Su Hui was always startled by him, though this time was better. It wasn’t clear whether his words were a question or a statement, so he looked at him. Strangely, he read a hint of anger in Ning Yixiao’s smile.

“This is Feng Cheng,” Su Hui kindly didn’t mention the relationship between the boy’s father and himself, only saying, “Your junior.”

Ning Yixiao felt the boy looked familiar, but for a moment, he couldn’t remember why. He smiled. “Hello, Junior. Your report was very interesting.”

It was as if Feng Cheng had something stuck in his throat; it took him a long time to squeeze out a “Hello, Senior.”

Su Hui smiled and said, “See, I told you. Your own senior thinks you did a great job.”

Seeing Feng Cheng like this, Ning Yixiao didn’t intend to make things difficult for him. He pulled up a random excuse and took Su Hui away.

The Finance department’s reports weren’t scheduled until the afternoon, and Su Hui only took the stage near the end. He didn’t have the “trained” air of an elite; he was very casual. When he spoke in a non-native language, the softness and lightness in his tone were even more pronounced, and he spoke technical terms as if he were reciting poetry.

“You don’t seem like a student of this field,” the professor in the audience said quite directly, smiling as he spoke. Other students followed suit, laughing along.

On stage, Su Hui looked slightly shy. “You’ve seen right through me.”

Having completed his task, he walked down, feeling very relaxed. Since there was one more student reporting afterward, Su Hui, sitting in the corner, quietly picked up his bag and left. Standing in the outer corridor, he composed a message to Ning Yixiao.

[Little Cat: I want to leave first.]

He soon received a message.

[Ning Yixiao: Didn’t you say you wanted to stay and eat at the school cafeteria together?]

[Little Cat: I’m not staying. I don’t like the food here.]

[Little Cat: Do you want to leave with me?]

After sending the message, he stood in the corridor and waited for a while. He didn’t wait for the vibration of his phone, but the side door of the conference room opened. Ning Yixiao stepped out, closed the door, and told him, “Let’s go.”

Su Hui felt happy; he pursed his lips and smiled. It was very hot outside, and the humid, muggy summer air surrounded them. Leaving the campus full of young people, Su Hui followed the navigation and took Ning Yixiao onto a crowded subway. Surrounded by an unfamiliar language, there was a strange sense of security.

No one knew them here, which meant they could do anything.

They didn’t have to care about the eyes of others, could speak boring words in a strange language no one understood, or tug at arms and coat corners, pretending not to care as they made small, intimate gestures they wouldn’t have dared in the past—no one would jump out to point fingers.

The only pity was that Su Hui overestimated his sense of direction. He got off at the wrong station and took the wrong road, and by the time they emerged, dusk had already fallen.

Chaotic freedom was the hallmark of New York. In the bustling crowd, it felt as if only the two of them were walking against the current. Comparing the map on his phone, Su Hui realized he had indeed made a mistake.

“What do I do? I think I’m lost,” he smiled at Ning Yixiao like a child.

Ning Yixiao was helpless against him and laughed along, the two of them not knowing who was laughing at whom.

“Let me see.”

“Alright.” Su Hui handed him the phone. “But this street seems very pretty.”

As they walked forward, Su Hui was afraid that Ning Yixiao, busy looking at the phone, would bump into someone, so he took the initiative to grab his wrist, feeling as secure as if he were grabbing his own possession.

“There are so many people here.” He found it strange; the cars were blocking the road, and so were the people, yet they didn’t seem afraid of crashing into each other.

“Wait.” Ning Yixiao spotted a blue sign that read “42nd St.” He checked his orientation, and not far in front of them was the overpass shown on the map. He led Su Hui toward it.

“After the overpass, turn right and walk two hundred meters…” As he was speaking, his hand was tugged by Su Hui.

Su Hui pointed at everyone on the road. “Look, what are they waiting for?”

Ning Yixiao looked. Every person on the street had stopped in their tracks, looking up or holding up their phones, waiting for something. People around them were discussing something enthusiastically, their words including terms related to the sun.

Su Hui was more sensitive than him. As if he had discovered something, he grabbed his arm and pulled him up the overpass, running quickly to reach the crowded bridge.

“Ning Yixiao,” Su Hui looked not far away, at the book he had once read now presenting itself directly before his eyes, “the sun is about to set between these two buildings. It’s the Manhattanhenge.”

He looked over. A rich, pure orange was suspended between the dark silhouettes of the buildings. The sun only revealed a small part of itself, but the scene was immediately filled with the unsparing light of dusk. Every street, every crevice of the grid-patterned blocks, was embraced by the brilliance.

Everyone had stopped and waited for this, expressions of happiness on their faces. Photographers had set up their equipment, wanting to capture that unique second.

Tiny dust motes danced in the sunlight, like stardust circling Su Hui. The golden sunset fully enveloped every inch of his body, the sea breeze invading the city, blowing Su Hui’s hair and clothes, and the corners of his mouth.

“So beautiful.”

Su Hui’s pupils reflected the entire setting sun. He stared intensely at the sun traversing the center of the city, as if wanting to carve this moment entirely into his mind.

The sun sank westward at an imperceptible speed, gradually reaching the center of the gap between the buildings, entering the most perfect, beautiful moment second by second. But this magnificent beauty would not stay for any viewer; once it passed, it gradually drifted away, bit by bit.

Su Hui didn’t seem to want it to leave, so he kept walking to the right on the bridge, as if chasing the falling sun.

Everything beautiful has an expiration date; he couldn’t bear to miss it.

Suddenly, Su Hui gave up the chase, turned his head, and looked into Ning Yixiao’s eyes amidst the golden ocean.

For Ning Yixiao, it seemed this was the only unique second.

Su Hui’s gaze didn’t dodge; he looked on bravely, as if there were burning trains in his eyes, or fragments of light floating on the surface of the twilight sea.

“If you were going to die in the next second, what would be your greatest regret?”

Within his blood, something suppressed was faintly boiling. His reason wanted to refuse to answer, wanted to leave the crowded onlookers, but his hand was held fast by Su Hui.

“Would you regret it?” he asked again, repeating the question.

Not far away, a photographer said that this Manhattanhenge lasted 15 minutes and 20 seconds.

In the final second, Ning Yixiao gave up being a sober adult.

He pulled Su Hui into his arms and kissed him.

Embracing, sucking, lips and tongues intertwined, teeth brushing against teeth.

They were the two ends of a burning silk ribbon, ultimately defeated by a fate that destined them to be the same ash.

When they parted, the sky was growing dark, and a tiny bead of blood bloomed on Su Hui’s lip. Ning Yixiao lowered his head and leaned in once more, gently kissing away the sweet-tasting blood.

“No regrets left,” he whispered.