Chapter 4: N. A Birthday Gift

Ning Yixiao stood up, paced around his hotel room for a few moments, returned to the desk, and finally picked up his phone to dial Elvis’s number, inquiring about Liang Wen in a roundabout way.

Elvis was a warm-hearted and cheerful researcher who enthusiastically introduced his junior colleague, piling on a heap of positive adjectives like “brilliant,” “friendly,” and “humorous,” which unknowingly added fuel to Ning Yixiao’s fire.

“Shaw, you aren’t trying to get me to poach him, are you? Let me give you a heads-up: my junior colleague was born into a middle-class family, owns property in the Bay Area, New York, and Seattle, and isn’t exactly strapped for cash. Plus, he truly loves being a clinician; he enjoys serving individual, concrete cases and has no interest in theoretical research. I’m afraid you won’t be able to hire him.”

Ning Yixiao smiled, appearing indifferent. “Do you have his contact information, then?”

Elvis quickly sent it over. “Got it? Though he rarely answers unfamiliar numbers on his private line; you could try his clinic number.”

He paused and corrected himself, “Oh, no, wait—I just remembered he isn’t at the clinic lately. Come to think of it, he’s actually in Seattle these past two days; I think he’s attending an art gallery exhibition…”

Like a sophisticated operating system capturing a keyword, Ning Yixiao immediately asked, “What exhibition?”

In his mind, he recalled what Su Hui had said that afternoon—something he had started to mention before changing the subject.

“An installation art exhibition.” Elvis, assuming Ning Yixiao was simply eager for talent, generously shared the details. Despite not holding out much hope, he kindly wished him luck.

After receiving the exhibition details, Ning Yixiao sat still for a minute before finally calling Carl to demand that he cancel his flight for the next morning, book him an exhibition ticket, and push back all of tomorrow’s postponable schedule.

He could hear the confusion and hesitation in Carl’s voice over the phone. It was no surprise; Ning Yixiao didn’t know what he was doing himself.

Ning Yixiao discovered that he couldn’t stop working.

As soon as he stopped, as soon as his brain found even the slightest gap, he couldn’t help but wonder: What is Su Hui doing right now? Who is he talking to? Who is he having dinner with? Who is he spending this “lovely night” with?

Like a dead-loop code, it kept reporting errors, kept running—a continuous, endless stream of mistakes.

He wished someone could help him terminate this code, but it seemed no one could, not even the self inside his own dreams.

Having slept for only three hours, Ning Yixiao arrived at the art gallery at 8:00 AM the next morning and entered the exhibition hall.

It was larger than he had imagined. Walking through the venue, he saw all sorts of visitors, each approaching the art with an attitude of appreciation—except for himself, the least pious among them. Ning Yixiao suddenly felt a sense of irony that he had really come here on a whim based on someone else’s passing comment.

It was a contradiction: he hoped for a tangible encounter, yet he didn’t want to meet—didn’t want to have to see him through the presence of a third party.

That would mean a connection truly existed between them, whereas he and Su Hui were supposed to have nothing left to do with each other.

This wasn’t a solo exhibition. The two-story hall was filled with installation art from many creators under the theme “Your Birth.”

Ning Yixiao spent all his time on work; he had almost never been to a place like this since moving to America. He had no time to appreciate art, and he was afraid to.

He avoided anything that would make him think of Su Hui. Yet, even he hadn’t expected that as soon as this person appeared, all his defenses would fail. He even found himself resorting to such clumsy ploys just to get closer.

Comparing the photos Elvis had sent, Ning Yixiao looked around, searching for Liang Wen. It seemed he was out of luck; he searched almost the entire first floor and saw no sign of him.

He headed to the second floor, contemplating whether his judgment had been wrong, when—amidst the crowd of viewers and artworks—he saw Su Hui in a single glance.

In that moment, he felt happy for Su Hui, because Su Hui had truly achieved what he wanted.

But he wasn’t the same as he had been yesterday.

Ning Yixiao stood frozen, unable to take another step forward.

Su Hui was in a corner of the second-floor gallery. He had a small patch of white space to display his work, drenched in blue light.

It was many, many broken butterflies suspended by fine threads, folded from white paper, with words faintly visible on the paper.

However, the title of the work had nothing to do with butterflies. It was called The Net.

The focal point of many installation pieces is the suspended object, so artists often use lighting to make the suspension threads invisible. But this piece was different—it was the exact opposite, emphasizing every single thread.

If one looked only at the thousands of suspended butterflies, one saw butterflies. But if one shifted their gaze to the wall, they would find the shadow of the “net” designed by the fine threads. In the shadows on the wall, every butterfly was trapped within a complete web, unable to be free.

Ning Yixiao could read it. Whether six years ago or six years later, he could read Su Hui’s work.

The butterfly was not a butterfly; it was freedom.

Under the theme of “Your Birth,” the answer Su Hui provided was: Freedom born in a prison.

Beneath the huge, marvelous installation, he wore a fuzzy grey cardigan and a very long, oversized colorful plaid scarf. His face was small, his chin buried completely in the scarf, making him look like a student, yet his beauty was unobstructed and unmistakable.

Unlike other creators who would zealously explain the core of their work, he stood quietly to the side, his hands lowered, his eyes watching those who came up to see his work.

In that moment, Ning Yixiao’s ordinary vision suddenly became preternaturally sharp. He could clearly see the tiny expressions on Su Hui’s face: his nervousness and anxiety, the small glimmer of satisfaction when he received affirmation. He also saw the grey-green fountain pen held in his hand, and the number “21” on the wall behind him—things that should have been barely noticeable.

Yet he saw them all with perfect clarity.

Ning Yixiao stifled his inner thoughts, yet couldn’t help but take one more step forward to get a better look at his exhibit.

Suddenly, he saw Su Hui turn his head, retreating half a step like a startled small animal, and a subtle, soft smile appeared on his face when he saw the person who had approached.

That was Liang Wen.

When he had first read the profile, Ning Yixiao had harbored a sliver of hope that the other man might just be Su Hui’s attending psychiatrist. But this doctor—successful, young, and promising—was accompanying a patient even for private work, serving him hot tea, handing him gloves, and helping Su Hui tidy his scarf. Perhaps he would drive him home, or to a hotel, or even take Su Hui into his own apartment.

He wondered if a doctor really needed to go that far.

Ning Yixiao’s legs felt solidified in place, as if he had suddenly become an exhibit here, waiting for others to view him. If so, he was entirely unqualified, not truly worthy of being placed here; he would only be bewildering, laughable.

Realizing this, Ning Yixiao turned around and left the floor without lingering.

In the process, he bumped into a boy dressed in a very Christmas-y style. The red and green plaid shirt the boy wore reminded Ning Yixiao that tonight was Christmas Eve.

December 24th—his birthday.

Realizing this, Ning Yixiao paused on the steps, then slowed his pace as he went down. He passed the many exhibits on the first floor, his calm and stability slowly mending from the depths of his heart until he walked out of the museum.

After getting into the car, Carl, who had been waiting in the passenger seat, turned his head and asked about the florist’s inquiry regarding whether there were any preferred flowers, or if he had any allergies, so they could adjust according to the client’s request.

Ning Yixiao’s expression was cold, and he said nothing, which frightened Carl into silence.

After a while, Carl tried to suggest, “White roses should be fine… or perhaps narcissus. What do you think?”

Ning Yixiao felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and rolled down the window.

“Anything is fine. Just not peonies.”

Carl let out a sigh of relief. The flowers his boss hated weren’t even under consideration, so he happily said “OK” and reminded him, “Shaw, it’s not the season for peonies anymore.”

Ning Yixiao looked at the vast, white snow outside the window.

That’s right. It hadn’t been summer for a long time.

“Let’s go.”

That afternoon, in the VIP lounge waiting for his flight back to the Bay Area, Ning Yixiao dialed a number based on information provided on the website.

“Hello, is this the person in charge of ‘Your Birth’ installation exhibition?”

“Yes, how can I help you?”

Ning Yixiao looked at the passenger plane waiting outside the floor-to-ceiling windows and said calmly, “I would like to collect one of the exhibits—number 21. Auction or direct purchase, either is fine.”

“Oh, really? You don’t need to go through the auction process for this one. Are you a collector or…”

“An individual. I just happened to see it and liked it very much.”

“Very well. I will coordinate the specific process with you. This is the first piece to be collected in this exhibition.” The other person’s tone carried a smile. “If the creator knew someone loved his work so much, he would be very happy.”

Ning Yixiao did not smile.

“I want to remain anonymous.”

“Anonymous?” Such requests weren’t rare, and the person accepted it quickly. “Very well, that’s no problem. We will keep your personal information private. We look forward to you receiving your chosen piece.”

“Thank you.”

On the plane back to the Bay Area, Ning Yixiao thought that because his 27th birthday was approaching, buying himself a birthday gift was nothing excessive.

This gift was made by Su Hui, and it reminded him of the smile Su Hui had worn just now, which was no different from that summer when he had first met him.

Therefore, at 30,000 feet, Ning Yixiao dreamed of the Su Hui from six years ago. It wasn’t entirely foolish.