Chapter 88: N. Cycle and Repeat

Su Hui didn’t go straight to the venue. After smoking, he first went to the Fine Arts department office to confront the department head about the anonymous report. To be safe, he turned on his phone’s recording app before entering.

The administrator looked visibly conflicted, claiming the situation was out of their hands.

“Actually, Mike has made trouble several times before. Out of respect for his father, we haven’t escalated things. He is very dissatisfied with your career progress. You might not know this, but he had a photography exhibition scheduled recently that was canceled due to… special circumstances.”

“His exhibition has nothing to do with me.”

Su Hui’s long-standing tolerance had not earned him respect, so this time, his tone was far more resolute. “The so-called ‘special circumstances’ are nothing more than trouble he brought upon himself. He was high on drugs today when he came to my studio to cause a scene and physically assaulted my students. That, I absolutely cannot tolerate. You are all well aware of every move he makes, yet you turn around and demand that the victim accept it calmly.”

“I know, please don’t get agitated.” The department head, aware of Su Hui’s bipolar disorder, was afraid of provoking him and avoided speaking too directly. “Eddy, many things aren’t as simple as they seem. You know, these students are here with the support of our donors. Without them, many would struggle to complete their education…”

“So, because his father is a donor, he is allowed to bully other students and slander a teaching assistant with impunity?”

The administrator fell silent.

Su Hui was deeply dissatisfied with their stance. “If that’s the case, I have nothing more to say. I am voluntarily applying for suspension effective today to facilitate your administrative investigation. However, I hope Professor White will not be harmed by such malicious slander. His students are spread across the United States; you should know better than I do how much influence he carries.”

The official stood up immediately, trying to keep him there. “Wait, Eddy, please calm down—”

Su Hui turned around, raising an eyebrow. “Do you think I look like a mental patient right now?”

The man was instantly silenced. After a pause, he tried to salvage the conversation, “I just think there’s a better way to handle this; it just takes time. Both sides could reach a consensus.”

“I have no common ground with a racist who has violent tendencies and a drug addiction, and I don’t have the time to waste on this. I expect the academy to discipline the wrongdoer fairly and impartially.”

After leaving the academy, Su Hui hailed a taxi.

“Where to?”

“Dia:Beacon.”

He had discussed the venue for his first exhibition extensively with Keisha. Eventually, Su Hui chose this contemporary art museum on the outskirts of New York. Firstly, it offered expansive space—larger than many galleries in the city—which was perfect for installation art that required room and negative space. Secondly, it was located on the banks of the Hudson River with beautiful scenery. Two years ago, when he first visited, he had fallen in love with it the moment he stood inside and saw the vast, bright lawns through the floor-to-ceiling glass.

When he arrived, Keisha was already inside, making final lighting adjustments.

“How is it? Isn’t it great?”

Su Hui nodded. Seeing the artist introduction poster at the entrance with his academic credentials listed, he felt a flicker of irritation. He couldn’t understand why, once people had money and power, they felt they could flip right and wrong.

“For tomorrow’s media interviews, I want to ask them not to mention the academy I teach at,” Su Hui told Keisha.

“Why? Did something happen?” Keisha was curious but took note of his request anyway.

Su Hui didn’t say too much. “Just a minor conflict. In any case, I’m currently suspended, so it’s not easy to explain.”

“Alright, I understand.”

“Also…” Su Hui thought of his recently unstable mental state. He wanted to say something, but just as he opened his mouth, Keisha was called away by a staff member.

“Keisha, come take a look at this. Is the wallpaper missing in this section?”

“Coming!” Keisha packed up her pen and notebook, patted Su Hui on the shoulder, “I’ll go check that out, we’ll talk later. You check the rest one by one.”

“Okay.” Seeing her leave, Su Hui sighed and rallied his spirits to finish the final inspection.

To make things easier for the opening the next morning, Keisha had booked him a nearby hotel so he wouldn’t have to return to the city. Su Hui worked at the gallery until late at night and returned to the hotel alone to rest.

Lying in bed, he found it hard to sleep. That afternoon, he had received another call from the academy’s investigative team, asking questions he felt were entirely unnecessary—they even touched on his private life.

Su Hui felt deeply helpless but couldn’t vent his frustration. At dinnertime, he had received a call from Professor White, who seemed to be aware of the situation and comforted him, telling him not to take it to heart.

The hotel’s king-sized room felt spacious, yet it made Su Hui miss Ning Yixiao intensely. He knew Ning Yixiao was extremely busy today; Carl had mentioned he’d even taken a last-minute flight to the Bay Area to handle an emergency.

He knew this kind of longing wasn’t exactly “normal”—they were both independent adults who couldn’t be together every second.

Su Hui thought that perhaps he had actually grown onto Ning Yixiao’s body; once separated, the pain would stretch out like taffy.

Tossing and turning, he couldn’t help himself and sent a message to Ning Yixiao.

[Little Cat: I miss you so much.]

Ten minutes later, his phone rang—it was Ning Yixiao.

“Su Hui, it’s only been a few hours since we parted?”

Strangely, the colder his voice was, the sexier it sounded, making Su Hui’s heart itch.

“Mm…” Su Hui wanted to count the time, but his mind was too chaotic, so he gave up. “I just miss you. The hotel room feels so empty; I feel like I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Where are you?”

“At the airport, about to board. I’ll come find you very soon.”

Su Hui knew that if he boarded now, he wouldn’t land in New York until early morning. And knowing Ning Yixiao’s obsessive nature, he would likely find it hard to sleep on the plane.

“I miss you too.”

Ning Yixiao suddenly spoke.

Su Hui’s anxious heart was easily calmed by that single sentence. Across the electromagnetic waves, his scorching heartbeat was held within the timbre of Ning Yixiao’s voice.

“Get some sleep. We’ll see each other when you wake up.”

“Okay.”

After hanging up, Su Hui picked up his phone and recorded a short video. He paced around the room, opened the balcony door to look at the pitch-black scenery outside, wanted to smoke but couldn’t free his hands to light it, and nearly dropped his phone when he set it on the railing. He didn’t look very smart, but he was smiling happily.

He didn’t know that Ning Yixiao, unable to sleep on the plane, watched this five-minute video countless times.

Six hours later, Ning Yixiao landed in New York at dawn. He picked up flowers and had the driver take him directly to the art museum, arriving right at the agreed-upon time.

The exhibition didn’t open until 10:00 AM, but Su Hui had asked him to come an hour early, promising that the special invitation would get him in.

Sure enough, as soon as Ning Yixiao showed that slightly childish 3D handmade card, the staff member at the entrance smiled and let him in.

The theme of the exhibition was the Chinese character “洄” (Hui/Eddy), with his English name below it. Seeing these two terms together for the first time, Ning Yixiao suddenly realized they held the same meaning.

“Eddy” meant “whirlpool,” and “洄” referred to swirling water.

Ning Yixiao hadn’t been interested in word games before, but now, influenced by Su Hui, he found the joy in deconstruction and interpretation.

Because he arrived early, the gallery was completely empty. As he walked through, he noticed that starting from the first floor, the decor and design were divided into two distinct parts:

One half was snow-white, while the other was a deep, moody gray-black. The white section’s floor-to-ceiling windows were covered with iridescent, warm-toned film, and the sunlight spilling in from the beautiful lawn outside acted like a natural, dreamy filter.

The other half of the gallery, covered in deep black wallpaper, had somber lighting. The window glass was masked with dark blue film, and narrow strips of blue light fell in sequence, looping repeatedly like an otherworldly space from which one could never escape.

Without needing any explanation, Ning Yixiao instantly understood the core theme of the exhibition: Su Hui’s bipolar disorder.

He had treated the layout of this museum as a massive collective installation, facing his illness head-on and storing works of all sizes within it.

Right there on the first floor, in the space where black and white intersected, was a vast, open area.

It was dimmed and tall. The installation consisted of three parts: on both sides were “concrete forests” built of metal and cement, and in the narrow gap between them, a “sun” moved slowly.

The man-made sun was a giant spherical acrylic installation.

Inside the transparent acrylic, red smoke was sealed. Tracking lights from above provided backlighting, creating a hazy sunset, shifting slightly from east to west.

At the moment it vanished, the screen in the back projected the time: 15 minutes and 20 seconds.

This was the Manhattanhenge they had shared, and the very first piece every visitor would see.

“Ning Yixiao, you’re here!”

Hearing the voice, Ning Yixiao turned to see Su Hui waving at him from not far away.

He was wearing a loose, irregular blue-purple shirt and white trousers, his hair half-tied, wearing Bluetooth earbuds. As he ran, his shirt hem fluttered—he looked just like a butterfly flying toward him.

Under the man-made sun, Ning Yixiao embraced him.

Su Hui buried his face in Ning Yixiao’s shoulder, smelling that familiar scent, and his restless, anxious heart was suddenly soothed.

He looked up. “We’re dressed so perfectly together.”

Ning Yixiao was wearing a rare white suit jacket—an oversized cut—with a blue inner layer, making him look tall and handsome.

He was holding a bouquet of peonies.

“For me?” Su Hui was pleasantly surprised. He realized then that it was indeed peony season.

He and Ning Yixiao had walked all the way from winter to early summer.

Ning Yixiao handed him the flowers. “Congratulations to my little cat on your first solo exhibition.”

“Thank you.” Su Hui took them, burying his face in the large bouquet, remembering how he used to pick flowers for Ning Yixiao in the garden.

Ning Yixiao pinched his cheek. “I hope I’m not late.”

“No.” Su Hui glanced at his watch—forty minutes until the official opening. “You’re just in time.”

Ning Yixiao didn’t quite understand what “just in time” meant, but the next moment, Su Hui grabbed his hand and led him to the staff elevator, pressing the button for the third floor.

“Where are we going?” Ning Yixiao looked down at him, his gaze soft.

“To see the exhibition.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Mm.” Su Hui smiled. “This is my first solo exhibition, so I wanted to invite my boyfriend to be my very first visitor…”

The elevator doors opened slowly.

Su Hui looked back, his eyes flowing with tender love. “To see the most important piece in this exhibition.”

Ning Yixiao followed him out. “Starting with the most important one immediately…”

But a second later, his footsteps froze in place.

In the center of the massive third-floor gallery sat a single, sprawling work, located exactly at the center of the black and white—like the sun on the first floor, it bridged the gap between mania and depression.

What met his eyes were doors—not just one, but arches nested infinitely inward. The passage and the doors were wrapped and covered in countless letters, creating an infinite space created from handwritten mail.

“In my eyes, every letter contains information about time, but they aren’t just measuring tools like clocks; they are an eternal memorial to time. So I used those crowdfunded handwritten letters to create this special tunnel of space-time.” Su Hui explained.

“Is there one from me?” Ning Yixiao looked at the letters on either side.

“No.” Su Hui tucked his arm into Ning Yixiao’s. “I couldn’t bear to. I’ve collected every one you ever wrote to me.”

Ning Yixiao smiled and looked down at the ground.

Underfoot was paper piled up like snow, but in the very center, a long path was paved with uniform squares.

What was peculiar was that some of these squares were lit up with a faint fluorescent blue light, while others were dark. Ning Yixiao observed closely and noticed that the lit-up parts were marked with the number ‘1’ in the bottom right corner, and the dark ones with ‘0’.

In this way, they linked together to form a long string of binary characters.

Is it binary?

Ning Yixiao wasn’t sure, but with every step, he memorized them in his heart.

Overhead, a large screen projected oil-painting-like images: a vast green lawn, blue-purple flowers, and massive winds that reminded one of helicopters—only here, the wind was actually blowing against the curtain, rolling like waves.

It was very similar to the movie they had watched when they first met in the AV room.

At the end of the space-time tunnel stood a three-meter-tall cube, covered in a massive gray cloth. Sewn into one corner of the cloth was the name of the work: Reset1224.

“You pull it.” Su Hui handed the corner of the cloth to Ning Yixiao.

Ning Yixiao hesitated. “Me?”

“Mm.” Su Hui stood on tiptoe, leaning into his ear. “This is my birthday gift to you.”

Ning Yixiao froze, looked down at the name, and pulled away the covering.

The full view left him breathless, as if he had returned to six years ago, breaking into Su Hui’s secret base for the first time, pierced by a dream he had never witnessed before.

The transparent exterior was shaped like a giant capsule, holding countless crystalline blue glass fragments, layered and overlapping. Soaked in the light from behind, they formed a dreamy, transparent glacier.

It looked exactly like the blue glacier Ning Yixiao had climbed alone years ago.

It was as if Su Hui had hand-picked a fragment of it, storing it here for him to admire.

“Give me your hand.”

Su Hui opened his palm and smiled at him.

Ning Yixiao did as he was told. His outstretched hand was guided by Su Hui to a button on the base, and he pressed it.

Suddenly, the giant transparent capsule emitted a shattering sound. The “glacier” disintegrated, splitting apart like a mirror. The glass fragments separated and, pulled by semi-transparent mechanical devices, floated upward and dispersed, filling the entire capsule within minutes.

Ning Yixiao noticed a timer appearing on the base.

As time ticked by, those separated glass fragments approached one another, pushed by the device toward the top, and combined one by one. In the end, they assembled and restored themselves to their original complete form, albeit entirely inverted—yet just as crystalline and dreamy.

The glacier had been restored.

He glanced at the time on the base: exactly 12 minutes and 24 seconds.

Ning Yixiao couldn’t help but curve his lips.

So that was it.

In infinite space-time, even if they separated, they would meet again.

At this moment, his non-romantic soul grasped the true meaning of this work of art.

Su Hui explained, “There are exactly 1,224 fragments in here. Half of them are laser-engraved with the letter ‘S’, and half with ‘N’. They are transparent; you have to look closely to see them.”

“I set 12 minutes and 24 seconds as a time unit. Every glass fragment is connected to a wire pulled by the mechanism. Under program control, every time unit, the glacier inside the space-time capsule experiences a complete shattering and reorganization, cycling over and over.”

He looked at Ning Yixiao, his hands climbing up to the nape of his neck. “Do you like it?”

Ning Yixiao nodded. “Mm.”

He couldn’t say more; at this moment, all words had become incredibly barren.

Ning Yixiao only knew that there would never be another person in this world who would pour their heart and soul into building a dream for him like Su Hui.

He suddenly thought of many years ago, when his young self was trapped in that fishing village—beaten, cursed as a “bastard”—and seeing his equally pitiful mother, he couldn’t vent his sorrows and could only sneak away to cry alone on the empty beach.

The recurring tides were like a massive shackle of space-time, cycling endlessly, just like the painful life he couldn’t escape.

At that time, in order to find the courage to survive, he had imagined many versions of the future, thought about what a superior life he would have after he made something of himself.

But that sky-high ambition from back then was nothing but dust compared to the second he held now.

So, the lonely child from back then would also have a day where he was dazzled and intoxicated by heavy, tangible love.

“There is only one pity.” Su Hui’s face was covered in a psychedelic blue, his pupils clear, reflecting only Ning Yixiao’s face. “This gift is six and a half years late.”

But the final result was definitely better than it would have been six years ago—after all, he had grown, too.

“Thank you.” Ning Yixiao kissed him within the gift that was his own. “My little artist.”

The title made Su Hui a bit shy. He pursed his lips in a smile. “You’re welcome.”

With his hands behind his back, he tugged at Ning Yixiao to step back. “Let’s go to the very back and look; there will be a different effect.”

So Ning Yixiao held his hand and walked through the space-time path of squares one more time. This time, he recounted them according to his memory—it was indeed binary.

Even though Su Hui didn’t understand computers, he had quietly tucked these little thoughts about him inside.

“By the way, these squares…”

Before he could explain, Ning Yixiao pulled out his phone and handed it to Su Hui. The screen displayed a binary sequence: [101011011101011111010001001010000110011101100010]

“48 squares in total. I just memorized them; that’s right, isn’t it?”

Su Hui was stunned, his already large eyes widening even further. “You really did win that gold medal…”

Was this memory ability too exaggerated?

“Mainly because they can be converted. Once you calculate the first few, you can basically guess the rest.”

Ning Yixiao exposed his little secret. “These squares combine to form my name. Binary converted to base-62 is ‘ShawNing’, right?”

Su Hui felt the joy of having his little easter egg found immediately. “You’re too amazing to see that. As expected of my boyfriend.”

Ning Yixiao also laughed. “I can’t believe you didn’t set them up wrong.”

“I checked it so, so many times!”

Walking to the starting point, he turned to look at the space-time capsule. The glacier inside shattered once again, falling into a new cycle, but Ning Yixiao felt a peace he had never known before. Because he was very sure that no matter how many times it shattered, the glacier would be restored.

This massive installation art piece, when put together, was actually Su Hui’s subtle confession.

[No matter how many times, I will always return to your side.]

“Can I collect this piece?” Ning Yixiao looked at Su Hui.

A smug little expression appeared on Su Hui’s face, and he tilted his head. “Mm…”

He stepped back a few paces, walked to the side of the entrance of the “space-time tunnel,” and like a magician, pulled a white folder from nowhere. He returned to Ning Yixiao’s side and handed it to him.

Ning Yixiao opened the folder. The first page was a signed collection agreement. Su Hui had already signed the [Artist] field, and the [Collector] field was pre-printed with the name “Ning Yixiao.”

“Ning Yixiao, you don’t even need to collect it.”

After saying this, Su Hui flipped to the second page. “This sheet is the prototype sketch from six years ago. The original is gone, but I restored it. The ones behind are the detailed drawings from the last six months.”

“These are all yours.”

Su Hui took his hand and placed it against his own cheek, rubbing against it.

“And so am I.”