Chapter 14

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Hotpot was a magical thing. No matter where or who you eat it with, it will manage to warm your heart.

Initially, when they sat down in the illegally converted private garage-turned “authentic Sichuan hotpot” place, Zheng Yi felt very uncomfortable.

The shopfront wasn’t clean; yellow char stained the whole wall, and the inside swam with noxious gas… every detail put Zheng Yi on his guard, but then the pot was put on the boil and they’d picked up their chopsticks. Once the flavours overwhelmed his palate, Zheng Yi’s guard evaporated into thin air like the hot broth before him.

For one thing, the hotpot was really so good that Zheng Yi forgot his surroundings; but another thing was Zheng Yi’s sudden twinge of guilt.

This place was recommended by Chen Gong—if he started to whine and moan, Chen Gong would definitely be embarrassed. Anyway, even if Chen Gong’s mother had passed away quite some time ago and his emotions had since stabilised, having to remove her from the official household records today probably brought back some of the pain…

Zheng Yi, with a sense of unwavering loyalty in the face of death, willingly acted the part of the perfect guest, hoping to cheer him up.

Zheng Yi seemed reckless and vengeful, but at the end of the day, he was quite a sentimental man.

Since the moment he accidentally spied Chen Gong being violated in that secret recording, Zheng Yi had gained a strange sense of responsibility, as if he had been the one who committed the crime. He couldn’t bear to oppose the other or make things difficult for him any more. He even felt like he needed to “atone”, or “pay him back”…

Zheng Yi knew, after calming down a little, that he had nothing to do with the matter. The right thing to do was just as Qiu Mang had said: respect his boundaries, protect his secret, don’t touch Chen Gong’s scars.

But Zheng Yi couldn’t snuff out the worry burning in his heart.

When Chen Gong was eating, Zheng Yi snuck a peek at him.

Chen Gong’s head was bowed as he munched noisily, the top of his head facing Zheng Yi. His hair, which usually stuck up straight, had been left unstyled, making him look much gentler than usual.

Zheng Yi looked back down. When he saw his old faded bowl, he felt pain in his heart. Chen Gong had specially brought him here to eat “good food”, but in his own eyes it seemed so old and dilapidated. A world really was made of all sorts of people.

As a member of the elite and a beneficiary of his class, Zheng Yi felt sympathy for Chen Gong’s suffering.

And as he sympathised, he had no way of ridding himself of the despair that sympathy brought.

His emotions turbulent, all he could do to calm himself was say “eat up”.

After they ate, Chen Gong paid– it was only 70-ish yuan. The princely Lord Zheng did some quick maths: it was about the price of an Americano with an extra shot plus a ham panini. His usual breakfast-for-one was worth a generous sup for two at a back-alley street stall…

So the poor–no, uh, Chen Gong lived in a completely different dimension from his own…

They returned to the hotel on foot again. Zheng Yi didn’t complain; after that feast, his stomach felt extremely bloated, so it was good to walk about and digest things. The two walked in silence, one behind the other, for about five minutes. Zheng Yi suddenly felt that the silence was settling uncomfortably, so he caught up in a few steps and pulled out two cigarettes, offering one to Chen Gong. In a blind attempt at conversation, he said, “That was really tasty…”

“Mhm.” Chen Gong took the offered cigarette and reached into his pocket for a lighter. “That business is pretty old, and they’ve never moved before. It’s an old shop that gets its customers by word of mouth.”

“You used to eat there?”

“…I used to smell it,” said Chen Gong, smiling.

Zheng Yi didn’t understand. “What do you mean, smell it?”

Chen Gong lit his cigarette and inhaled. “When I was little, only rich people could eat in restaurants. I’d heard that this was a good place, but we couldn’t afford it, so I never ate there. After school I’d walk past sometimes, so I could smell it.”

Zheng Yi felt like exclaiming, “This is a ‘restaurant’??” But he suddenly realised that it might hurt Chen Gong’s feelings. He paused before continuing, “When was the first time you ate there?”

“The first time… I was an adult—second year of university. In my second year I had a job, so I was earning my own money and saved up a little nest egg; during the winter holidays I finally got to eat at this restaurant I’d been dreaming of for so long.” Chen Gong’s voice seemed to carry a thread of pride, like a high school kid who was showing off after shooting a perfect three-pointer.

Though he spoke of the past in such a light-hearted tone, Zheng Yi felt a little anxious.

Zheng Yi knew that the job Chen Gong found was the one Qiu Mang had mentioned to him before—”a lounge singer”; it was this job that led to him being assaulted.

Zheng Yi looked at Chen Gong. He was no longer a boy; his back was broad and he seemed invincibly strong; at the end of the day, he could smile and put the horrors of the past behind him. Zheng Yi stared for a long time, thinking of how cruel fortune could be. There were some who did their best to move forward, who gave their all and faced this ugly world with optimism, and still failed to escape its deep pits.

Distracted, Zheng Yi choked on his cigarette. The spice in his gut flared up again, searing his throat. Zheng Yi choked so hard his eyes watered.

“Not used to the brand?” asked Chen Gong.

Zheng Yi smiled. “It’s not that. It was too spicy earlier, and my mouth’s still…”

Still injured.

Chen Gong avoided Zheng Yi’s gaze. After a moment, he threw out a non sequitur: “Wasn’t there clear soup too?”

Zheng Yi elbowed Chen Gong lightly. “You Sichuanese people and your clear soup—what can you cook in a little cup of broth down the middle of the whole pot of red oil?”

Chen Gong chuckled. “Did you not like it?”

“It was good, I liked it a lot—it’s fresh.”

Zheng Yi’s “fresh” was a Beijing turn of phrase: he didn’t mean the ingredients were fresh, but that the flavours were rather novel to him.

Chen Gong blanked for a few seconds. Even when he finally collected himself, he wasn’t sure what he was thinking, so he said quietly, “You fancy people like to try fresh things, but you get sick of them once you have them.”

Zheng Yi nodded. “That’s true. I honestly wouldn’t dare to eat it a second time.”

Chen Gong didn’t make another sound.

–

When they reached the hotel, the two bid each other a simple goodbye and returned to their respective rooms.

When he had shut his room door, Chen Gong finally sighed in relief—he still felt a trace of fear.

After this afternoon’s “direct confession” from Zheng Yi, Chen Gong had actually thought about how to respond to Zheng Yi’s confession with utmost care. He thought and thought until 6 o’clock came and still couldn’t figure it out. Thickening his skin and asking Zheng Yi out for hotpot was a matter of keeping a promise, as well as a signal to him that “I won’t be disgusted and avoid you just because you confessed to me”…

Chen Gong had hoped that the two would be on better terms, but he never thought of being on those terms… It was so unexpected that it caught him completely off-guard. His arch enemy, completely opposed to him, suddenly confessed—the plot twist was 100% unexpected.

Zheng Yi was such a frivolous little prince. Chen Gong had no idea what he was thinking, but he felt that he was probably looking for something novel—bored of the fine delicacies around him, he had quitted his throne for a taste of smoke among the hoi polloi.

Chen Gong scoffed; he felt that Zheng Yi’s feelings towards him were too fickle to be trusted. But… what if there was a ten-thousandth of a chance… that Zheng Yi was serious? Wouldn’t it be awful of him to dismiss Zheng Yi’s feelings on his own?

The more Chen Gong pondered the matter, the more frustrated he became.

While he was thinking hard on this side of the wall, Zheng Yi was splayed out, sleeping soundly on the other.

For Zheng Yi, the “confession” was just an emergency operation to explain away his bizarre behaviour in a logical way. He met the problem, solved the problem, then turned the page.

After last night’s flight delay, the matter of his “lost” ID card delaying his check-in, and the whole day’s work surveying the tourist spot, Zheng Yi came back from the hotpot dinner and dove straight under the duvet. Full and drowsy, he fell asleep instantly.

He only woke up at around 11 o’clock, feeling some nausea and confusion.

He lay on the bed mindlessly flicking through his Wechat Moments for a while, getting bored after looking through a few stories.

He felt a bit like getting up and going out, maybe having a late supper nearby, but he didn’t feel comfortable bothering Chen Gong— their relationship had thawed a bit, but they weren’t really friends…

Zheng Yi was fidgety, and lit a cigarette.

When a man gets bored, even the smoke rings before his eyes start to form pretty features. As he watched the smoke he exhaled speed away from him, then slow and drift, sinking or floating, they seemed to curl into the outline of a lamb.

His right hand occupied by his cigarette, Zheng Yi reached out his left to grab his “little lamb”. When he pulled back and opened his fist, his hand was empty.

In the weak evening light, Zheng Yi lifted his left hand into the air.

Looking at his palm, Zheng Yi remembered that when they had been punished to stand outside holding hands, Chen Gong gave him his right hand, and he used his left hand to hold it.

…After they had held hands for some time, Chen Gong’s hand had begun to form a thin layer of sweat, making their palms sticky; Zheng Yi twitched his hand, leaving a bit of space between their palms for the heat to evaporate the moisture, cooling them down a little…

Zheng Yi had touched the hands of many men in his lifetime, and they had all been different from this one—he had a shittonne of calluses; it was rough and hot… It made him uncomfortable, very uncomfortable.

Zheng Yi spent a long time staring up at his left hand in the air, and realised he was very bored. Since he was bored, he might as well entertain himself the easiest way a man could.

Zheng Yi stubbed out his cigarette and reached his left hand into his duvet. As he closed his eyes to dream, his brain produced the untimely image of that clip—Chen Gong drowsily unaware of how he was being violated…

If he had been awake, Zheng Yi imagined that Chen Gong would have been fighting with all his might…

What if the violator wasn’t a greasy, disgusting man with a beer belly, but a good-looking guy with an eight-pack, like himself? Based on Chen Gong’s personality, Zheng Yi imagined that he would knock out their lights with a punch…

What if he wasn’t being violated? What if it was consensual?

Enough of that.

Zheng Yi snorted. His thoughts were so ridiculous that he had to laugh at himself.

–

11.43PM.

Chen Gong glanced at the time. He had filtered out the CVs that Qiu Mang had sent over, shortlisting the two most suitable candidates. After sending Qiu Mang a reply to invite them for the interview, he had packed his computer away. Suddenly, he noticed the shadows from the lamp shaking.

Chen Gong looked up and confirmed it: the hanging lamp was indeed shaking.

—Probably an earthquake.

His phone received a broadcasted warning for an earthquake in some parts of Sichuan—a magnitude of 3.5.

“Such a small earthquake, I’m surprised we could feel it in Chengdu…” Chen Gong closed his news app and opened his music player. He chose a suitable playlist and put it on.

He stripped off his T-shirt and threw it on the bed, then went to the toilet, about to brush his teeth and wash his face. Before he managed to open the disposable toothbrush pack, Chen Gong heard banging on the door.

Chen Gong picked up the music-playing phone from the sink, walking over to the door and opening it a crack.

He found Zheng Yi pale-faced, his trousers unkempt and his shirt unbuttoned, revealing an attractively chiseled figure.

Chen Gong pulled the door open. Then he noticed Zheng Yi holding two dripping wet towels. “What are you doing?”

Zheng Yi stuffed one of the towels into Chen Gong’s hand and took a deep breath before he could speak clearly. “Run! It’s an earthquake!”

Chen Gong stood stunned for a moment before quickly throwing the wet towel that Zheng Yi had given him onto the floor and rubbed his soaking wet phone on his shorts in a desperate attempt to save it.

He frowned and yelled at Zheng Yi, “You idiot! It’s an earthquake, not a fire, why are you handing out wet towels?”

Zheng Yi was dumbstruck. “Huh?” Two seconds later, he regained his panic. “Ah—in any case, we need to get out!”

Chen Gong looked at Zheng Yi, who had been scared silly by a 3.5-magnitude earthquake, and glanced at the wet towel he had flung onto the ground. For some reason, though he usually dealt with things calmly, his head felt surprisingly feverish.

–

Credits:

Author – Liang Azha (Weibo|Twitter)

Raws – Nandemonaiya

Translation – Nandemonaiya

Proofreading – Nandemonaiya, Terukutie, Zhiming

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< 13. The Conversation over Hotpot Incident

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