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Chapter 84: Transparent Raincoat
The entire audience was shocked as soon as the law school’s opening design came out — it was an absolutely stunning scene of an ancient beauty walking within the rain.
“Holy shit, she deserves to be the school flower. Nan Jia’s too beautiful.” Qin Yan had been stunned the moment Nan Jia pulled off her bamboo hat during her second pose. He turned his head over, only to realise Song Yu hadn’t been seriously watching the show at all; his head was turned to the side.
He shook Song Yu’s arm. “You really aren’t interested in looks. Our Nan Jia’s so pretty, and yet you’re not even looking?”
Song Yu didn’t retort back. He said under his breath as though to himself, “Did something happen?”
“What’d you say?”
Without waiting for Qin Yan to understand, Song Yu stood up and directly left.
“Hey!” Lin Rong had been focused on recording the show, and when she noticed her son suddenly getting up, she used a low voice to call out to him, trying to keep her rich lady demeanour. “Xiao Yu, what are you doing? Hurry and come back, your brother’s designs are about to come out!”
But Song Yu walked away without even looking back.
Qin Yan thought Song Yu was sometimes truly very bizarre, but on second thought, perhaps he really did find the entire thing very boring.
How could there be someone so uninteresting who didn’t have a single shred of interest towards the pretty faces and perfect bodies filling up the stage.
Just as Qin Yan was inwardly scoffing at Song Yu’s indifference, Song Yu had already appeared in the backstage. When he saw the panic, he grabbed someone and asked what’d happened, learning that the closing model had gotten into an accident.
Yue Zhishi was calmly giving out commands. “Qu Zhi, you take over. The rhythm of the models going on stage needs to remain stable. Chen Pi, look for volunteers and helpers to clear these boxes and props away.” He felt a bit of self-reproach. “I should’ve made sure they emptied out this area earlier.”
Chen Pi was still very angry. “This isn’t your fault. Blame the staff — we already told them about it, but they still didn’t do anything. Once the competition’s over, we definitely have to complain and get them to compensate Chen Yu!”
They currently didn’t have the time to think about future matters. Yue Zhishi caught Zhou Yi’s arm and said, “Zhou Yi, please help Chen Yu change out of the clothes.”
“I’ll go.” At this moment, Xiao Qi was no longer as delicate as before, coming forward to hold Chen Yu’s arm. “Zhou Yi still needs to be responsible for the switching of models backstage. Let me do it.”
In the beginning, everyone had worried about Xiao Qi’s timidity and the possibility of her not daring to speak, and so they’d assigned her to the styling team in consideration. Now that all the models had been dressed up and styled, the backstage truly did need a guy more.
Their first round’s runway was already more than half-finished. Qu Zhi was still at the front and was very steadily giving them feedback about the show — there wasn’t much time left.
“Are you sure you can do it?” Chen Pi felt slightly doubtful; after all, Chen Yu was over 180cm. Without even mentioning the fact Xiao Qi needed to support an injured person, her standing next to him was already the most adorable height difference.
“I can.” Xiao Qi was very firm. “I already called and asked two other guys in our year to come help.”
Everything was so urgent, and so everyone let Xiao Qi support Chen Yu over to change out of his clothes. Chen Pi thought about it after they’d walked off, thinking it didn’t feel quite right.
“Xiao Qi’s a girl with such extreme social anxiety, and yet she managed to call other people for help just for Chen Yu? And even going to a place like the hospital where there are so many people?”
Zhou Yi found it strange as well. “I saw Chen Yu constantly approaching Xiao Qi earlier, but she was still a bit afraid of him. Could it be…”
“Not bad, getting injured yet winning the loli’s heart. Didn’t get injured for nothing!”
Yue Zhishi wasn’t able to pay attention to the team’s gossiping; he rushed over to the styling area to look for Song Yu after getting his clothes.
There wasn’t much makeup on Song Yu’s face. His hair was combed upwards, exposing his superior features completely, but in order to coordinate with the surprise in the final outfit of the show, the stylists had Song Yu put on a pair of smokey blue contacts.
“You have the clothes?” Song Yu looked towards Yue Zhishi, the deeply blue colour of his eyes underlining the cold and unhurried air about him.
“Mn.” Yue Zhishi pulled down the clothes from the rack. There was a certain order to the way the clothes needed to be worn, but since Song Yu was only there as an emergency model, he wasn’t sure how to wear them — and so Yue Zhishi, as the designer, needed to assist.
Only the two of them were in the dressing room. Yue Zhishi guided Song Yu through the clothes while he continued communicating with his teammates through his headset.
“Understood.” He swept his eyes over his watch. “Three minutes are enough.”
Pulling off the sweater he had on, Song Yu revealed his bare chest. Yue Zhishi accidentally met his eyes as he handed over the clothes, and he lowered his head back down bashfully. “Uh, that one goes inside. And the translucent button up raincoat goes outside.”
Song Yu saw his pink ears and was just about to tease him about why he was so embarrassed when they hadn’t done anything when the door suddenly opened. Moving on reflex, Yue Zhishi pulled open that shirt meant to be worn on the outside and covered Song Yu up; he swiftly turned his head around and said to the intruding model from another school, “Someone’s changing.”
The model instantly apologised and closed the door. Yue Zhishi let out a sigh in relief — and yet Song Yu started to chuckle.
“Was that necessary?” He pinched Yue Zhishi’s face and then pointed at the shirt in his hands, ridiculing how Yue Zhishi had done something without thinking. “The shirt’s transparent.”
That line was so familiar.
Yue Zhishi pushed the clothes into his hand, fumbling, and urged as he turned around, “Hurry and change.”
“Looks like the puppy’s very protective of his food,” Song Yu said, voice casual. He put on the inner blue shirt and then abruptly realised there were some dark red splotches on it — they looked like intentional embellishments, but they looked even more like bloodstains.
Yue Zhishi’s heart was pounding; it had been like that since Song Yu had suddenly appeared. He felt like he still couldn’t understand Song Yu.
“How did you end up here?” Yue Zhishi sniffed. He kept his back to Song Yu as he softly said, “I thought you didn’t want everyone looking at you.”
“That’s correct, I don’t like it when people do. But how I treat someone depends on who it is. You didn’t ask me.”
Yue Zhishi spun around without conscious thought and argued to Song Yu’s face, “Didn’t senior Nan Jia look for you?”
Song Yu had already changed into the clothes and took the cowboy hat from Yue Zhishi’s hands, hanging it on his waist according to Yue Zhishi’s previous instructions. He repeated his earlier words once again. “You didn’t ask me.”
Yue Zhishi first frowned, and then that pair of large eyes blinked twice before he finally pouted.
“How could there be someone as troublesome as you, I even thought you…”
“How could there be someone as silly as you,” Song Yu said, interrupting his thoughts. “I waited for so long, only to end up waiting for someone very similar to me. You may as well anger me to death.”
Yue Zhishi was just about to cutely whine, but then Qu Zhi’s voice came through his earpiece. He didn’t stay there for much longer, holding Song Yu’s hand as they ran to the models’ waiting area.
Within the congested and chaotic corridors, the person he loved most ran with him towards that bright stage. And the clothes he’d thought would never touch his body: they now emerged openly and honestly towards everyone — through him.
“It’s the second round’s final outfit right now.” As she stood under the stage, Qu Zhi said to the model, “You’re going a bit fast, take a few more seconds on your pose.”
Yue Zhishi and Song Yu arrived at the models’ waiting area, the boxes now already cleared away. Chen Pi’s eyes widened as soon as he saw Song Yu; from the bottom of his heart, he sighed, “Handsome guys will be handsome…. Le Le, would I be able to reincarnate into your family in my next life?”
“Stop joking around.” Yue Zhishi focused on the monitor screen. The model for the luminous bodysuit Qu Zhi had designed for the second round had already finished, and she was currently heading back inside.
The remaining models were ready for the last round. Yue Zhishi told them, “Everyone open your umbrellas, remember you have to head out with them held up.”
Faced with such a tense and complicated competition, that small child who had once been only able to follow around behind him was now able to independently take charge. There was a subtle and complicated emotion in Song Yu’s heart — he really wanted to stroke Yue Zhishi’s hair.
Chen Pi started to count down, and Yue Zhishi’s heart started to race. This final round was their elevation of their ‘rain’ theme; Yue Zhishi had essentially thought up the conceptual design by himself while the other team members had merely refined and filled it in.
If Song Yu hadn’t been standing by his side at this very moment, no matter how nervous he was, Yue Zhishi wouldn’t have displayed it. He would’ve forcefully clenched his hands together and paced back and forth a few times at the very most, but Song Yu was now in a place Yue Zhishi could reach out and touch.
He was constantly, continuously being reminded — he now had someone he could depend on.
Yue Zhishi caught Song Yu’s arm and called out gege once, the speed of his words coming very quickly as he said, “Make sure you’re paying attention to your earpiece, we’ll immediately let you know if something’s happening. Oh yes, the pose — you still remember what I said, right? You can also just walk naturally, and what else is there… Let me think.”
Seeing how nervous he was, Song Yu deliberately asked in order to divert his attention, “What reward will you give me for helping you with something so important?”
Yue Zhishi tilted up his head as soon as he heard the question; his pair of brown eyes slightly widened, but he very quickly accepted Song Yu’s exploitation. “Up to you. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’ll give you anything.” Yue Zhishi was as earnest as a little child taking out all of his toys.
Song Yu’s mouth lightly curved. He ended up ruffling Yue Zhishi’s hair.
The second round’s lights were the highly saturated blue of cyber-culture, and so they darkened during the thirty seconds of transition.
“Three, two, one.” Chen Pi commanded the third round’s opening model, “Go!”
Separate rays of platinum lights aimed downwards and lit up the long and narrow T stage, and more rain came from the top of the stage compared to the last two rounds.
The first model alighting onstage was particularly tall, wearing a black beret and a black mask. A large black transparent umbrella made out of a soft plastic was held up, and there was a silver chain twined around the handle, snaking all the way to the hand holding the umbrella.
“Did you design this outfit too?” Song Yu stared at the model’s stage walk, thinking his steps looked like a female walk.
“Mn. I designed half of the outfits in this round.”
The outermost layer of the model’s clothes was an ill-fitting, voluminous black suit jacket. There were many white paper seals attached to the jacket, as though he himself was sealed away. Step by step, the model arrived at the halfway point of the T stage, and then Yue Zhishi held onto his headset and told the model, “Now. Move quickly.”
He had just spoken when the model lifted his left hand and tore off the suit jacket on his body, revealing a vividly red one-piece dress. The ill-fitting suit jacket was thrown off the stage, and in the midst of the audience’s cries of surprise, he took off his hat — long, straight and jet black hair cascaded down. For his pose, he pulled off his mask and revealed striking feminine eye makeup and red lips.
Someone below the stage had already realised. “Does this stand for trans?”
“I think so, no wonder they got a male model. The outfit should mean that!”
“So cool!”
The audience’s emotions were already ignited by the third round’s opening. Holding up the umbrella, the model walked away, leaving behind a silhouette that didn’t quite match with the common expectations of the world, and yet was still extremely beautiful.
Models headed onstage one by one immediately after. One of them was dressed in numerous fabrics that had been processed to look like the ‘shabby’ trappings of youth. She undid her buttons for her pose — a golden heart lay inside.
Another model wore an oversized black windbreaker, derogatory words such as ‘you’re terrible’ and ‘you’re too ugly’ printed on top. Her mask had a smile on it, and for her pose, she took it off. There was still another mask underneath — except now, it held lips downturned in the shape of a cry.
Other than these, there was also a girl who wore a white dress dotted with rain. The front of it was perfect and gorgeous, and yet the back had been shredded, stained with mud and about to fall apart. A lofty woman, high above others, whose magnificent clothes were stamped with banknotes and flowers and yet held no joy on her face. A lady, specifically made up to look like an old granny, who wore a flowery skirt only a young girl would wear.
All of these vastly different models walked towards the audience in the rain. The stamped words on their clothes looked different at first glance, but they were actually all made from the various shapes of the character for ‘rain’; from oracle bone script to regular script, the evolving fonts came together and became distinct words.
There was one similarity among the models. Every single one of them held up a black umbrella — an umbrella that was wrapped in chains.
“It’s almost your turn.” His heart about to fly out of his chest, Yue Zhishi double checked that the captions on the screen were changing.
Compared to the journalism team’s eye-catching production, the law school’s stage background was extremely simple. They used only a shifting screen of rain for their final round, a glass window in front. The glass was faintly fogged up, and there were two rows of English words that looked like they had been written by a finger.
The first row had not changed since the beginning. Rain is a gift of nature.
But the second row would change upon each model’s appearance, corresponding to the ever-changing chemical element of their theme.
The caption for the closing of the show was a classic line from a movie:
Love is a force of nature.
When Song Yu saw the background quote that belonged to him, he realised his suspicion from earlier when he was changing his clothes had now received an answer.
And so, in the last few seconds before he walked, Song Yu stood at the entrance to the stage and leaned in closely to Yue Zhishi. In the midst of the music that hid away everything, he said one line.
It was also a line from a movie.
“I wish I knew how to quit you.”
It was as though an electric current ran through Yue Zhishi’s entire body when he heard, and his clear, light coloured eyes filled with an unforeseen joyful surprise as if in answer to an obscure code word.
He was a little too surprised, and before he could say another word, Song Yu had already walked onstage.
As he walked out towards everyone’s eyes, Song Yu wore a blue button-up shirt smeared with blood. He was clearly holding up an umbrella like all the other models, but he also wore a dark yellow raincoat on top of his shirt. It was a long, transparent button-up raincoat, reaching down to his calves. Compared to many of the other outfits earlier, this one wasn’t stamped with words and looked extraordinary clean.
The two colours overlapped, and the two shirts nested into each other; both the impact and the composition of the design were extremely outstanding. A seemingly mismatched western cowboy hat hung in front of his waist, and it was the largest hint for this entire outfit.
And that pair of melancholy blue eyes also came from a male lead within a movie.
The rain came down in torrents, and Song Yu strode towards the end of the T stage and then, stood still.
Some audience members below had already guessed the name of the movie from the line on the screen and Song Yu’s outfit.
“Two bloody shirts stuck together, as well as a cowboy hat and blue eyes. Is this an homage to Brokeback Mountain?”
“So this outfit is hinting at those who identify as homosexual?”
For his pose, Song Yu lowered his right hand that was holding up the umbrella. Different from everyone else before, he gave up on concealment — he stoically, calmly accepted the rain.
And this torrential rain accepted him as well. The rainwater drenched the raincoat he wore on the outside, and the originally transparent fabric, after being doused with water, suddenly revealed different and diverse colours.
Little by little, a curved rainbow appeared on his raincoat.
“So your finishing move is this!” Chen Pi sharply smacked Yue Zhishi’s arm. “That’s too cool, how’d you do it?”
“I changed the raincoat fabric using a special process. I added a rainbow pattern onto it using dyes that would change colour after coming into contact with water. You wouldn’t really be able to see it when the fabric’s dry, the pattern’s pretty much completely clear. I experimented so many times just for this — the dye was also purchased in Guangzhou.”
“Your trip to Guangzhou was so worth it, not only did you get fabric for the first two rounds, you even managed to get special dyes. The rainbow’s too beautiful.”
“Mn.” Yue Zhishi looked at the Song Yu displayed on the monitor, and let out a smile.
“Once the skies clear after the rain, shouldn’t there be rainbows?”
After Song Yu turned around, all of the models once again headed onto the T stage. Except this time, the umbrellas in their hands were no longer black — but rather, hued with rainbows.
Every single model was a distinctive symbol, representing different people. They stood on the rain-soaked stage, and the background music, originally pounding with rhythm, also started to transform. It turned into the classic title song from Singin’ in the Rain.
When the lyrics “I’m singing in the rain” arrived, the entire mass of models did the same thing as Song Yu: they let go of the umbrellas that concealed yet shackled them and stood next to each other on the long, long stage, shoulder to shoulder. There were no lampposts here for them to dance on, so everyone faced the audience with their shoulders straight and heads high. They raised up their faces under the heavy rain that fell equally for every single person, and like Andy from Shawshank Redemption, they opened up their arms towards the sky and torrential rain, unreservedly rejoicing in the gifted equality and freedom.
And the words on the screen also changed — it became a row of beautiful handwriting.
[We are so different, but we are all standing in the rain.]
The music faded, and the hazy, fogged up glass window was no longer the same. Everything became clear, shadows replaced by sunlight, and the rain left behind a final present: a glorious rainbow.
The stage’s rain also stopped, and the stage lights became incredibly bright. The designers headed onstage one by one, gathering together with the models.
Thunderous applause rang out, many students even giving them standing ovations. It was as though this was no longer only a clothing exhibition — but rather, a powerful and brilliant statement.
With his own selfish motives, Yue Zhishi stood next to Song Yu as everyone watched on. There was a small rainbow flag on his cheekbone, and with his soft hair and white sweater, he looked like an angel.
Just like everyone else on the stage, he openly held Song Yu’s hand underneath the lights and bent over at the waist, giving the audience a deep bow of gratitude.
The moment he straightened up, he turned his head; he and Song Yu looked at each other and shared a smile.
Xiao Qi managed to rush back for the end, her neck circled by Chen Yu’s scarf. Qu Zhi and Nan Jia were hugging each other; Chen Pi, who had always been their team’s uplifting and humorous heart, had reddened eyes, and Zhou Yi — always so mournful and uncertain — finally, in this moment, laughed in happiness and self-assurance.
“Thank you to the law school for showing us such a spectacular fashion show! Now, let’s have our next school competitors begin their show!”
Curtains descended on their dream, and as the group of people walked off stage, Song Yu arrived behind Yue Zhishi within the surging flow of people. He caught his arm and took him away, separating them from the crowded sea of people.
They were very close to each other, Yue Zhishi’s back almost leaning on Song Yu’s chest. But Song Yu’s raincoat still had water on it, and he remained a slight distance away, not wanting Yue Zhishi to get wet.
Having thought of something, Song Yu couldn’t help but lower his head and ask, easing in, “Why did you turn the outer shirt into a raincoat?”
The two overlapped shirts were an homage to Brokeback Mountain’s tearjerking ending. Ennis had lost Jack forever and was unable to take even his ashes away. It was only when he noticed the postcard and the two shirts hanging together in Jack’s closet that he started to cry in grief, understanding that those items were all that were left of them.
They left that cramped passage and entered the relatively spacious backstage. Yue Zhishi slightly retreated, going to Song Yu’s side.
“As I was designing this round, I remembered many things. I thought of the first time I came here to look for you after you distanced yourself away from me once you started university. I was holding a clear umbrella that couldn’t conceal anything. At that time, the feelings in my heart should’ve been completely exposed, and it was just a coincidence that you also lying to yourself. To you, I am forever transparent.”
“Did you know?” He tried to recount his memories in a relatively light voice. “Before I confessed to you while woozy from a fever, there was a period of time I was confused. I remember there was a day that kept pouring. I couldn’t sleep and didn’t dare look for you; I just hid myself away and watched the movie. I also read the short story. There’s a line in the story that goes: ‘I placed your shirt in mine, thinking I could protect you that way.’”
The backstage was filled with noise, and in order for Song Yu to hear him clearly, Yue Zhishi leaned in so closely that his warm breaths softly puffed onto the side of Song Yu’s face.
“The two shirts represented the two of them. Even if there was nothing left in the end, the shirts were like two inseparable layers of skin, growing together.”
Song Yu was silently listening, and he thought of the globe he’d covered up, layer by layer. Retaining a lover’s shirt didn’t quite match Yue Zhishi’s personality, but it was very much something foolish he himself would do.
“It was raining really loudly outside the dorm at that time. The noise was so loud I started to imagine strange things. I imagined that if it were me, I definitely couldn’t be only a cotton shirt worn on the outside, especially on such a rainy day.”
He gazed towards Song Yu’s deep eyes, a pure smile on his face.
“I’d be a transparent raincoat — that way, you wouldn’t get rained on.”
The author has something to say:
The night he finished Brokeback Mountain, Yue Zhishi decided to leave behind his ashes in his will. But at that time, he had only dared to write: my older brother, Song Yu.