Bai Xizhou and Wen Ruqing drove to Wen Ruqing’s old apartment. December nights came early—streetlights glowed as the city slipped into darkness.
Wen Ruqing sat in the passenger seat, his neck wrapped in a plaid scarf, half his face buried in it. He closed his eyes and rested. Though the drive was short, he was worn out—and quickly fell asleep.
He wore his watch, perhaps to hide the faint marks on his wrist. Bai Xizhou wore the matching watch Wen Ruqing had given him—at a glance, they looked like a pair’s set.
When the car pulled into the complex and parked, Bai Xizhou gently woke Wen Ruqing, who yawned and opened teary eyes.
They walked upstairs together, only to realize neither had the key—the only two had been given to Wen Qing and her husband. So they stood at the door and, without choice, knocked.
Wen Qing’s husband answered, greeting them warmly and ushering them inside. Bai Xizhou followed Wen Ruqing, and the moment they stepped in, Wen Qing’s husband patted Bai Xizhou’s shoulder, giving him a knowing look. Bai Xizhou, puzzled, allowed himself to be led to the study.
Realizing Bai Xizhou had been called away, Wen Ruqing felt no upset. He headed to the kitchen to help until Wen Qing ushered him aside to serve dishes, then called him back to find Bai Xizhou in the study—only to be diverted again to plate food.
Since it was Bai Xizhou’s birthday, Wen Ruqing had arranged a cake. Wen Qing set out a modest yet plentiful meal. Only then did Bai Xizhou and Wen Qing’s husband emerge from the study, arm in arm—like close brothers.
Wen Ruqing sensed something off.
While Wen Qing’s husband was distracted, Wen Ruqing slipped next to Bai Xizhou and tugged his sleeve.
“Did he say anything to you?”
“He said that to punish me for corrupting you, we have to get drunk tonight,” Bai Xizhou joked, half-opens his eyes.
Suddenly, the living room lights went out. Instinctively, Bai Xizhou grabbed Wen Ruqing’s hand. But Wen Qing emerged holding a birthday cake, candles lit, stepping forward.
Since none of them were big on sweets, the cake was small, topped with a scale—reflecting Bai Xizhou’s profession.
“Happy birthday, Xizhou,” Wen Qing smiled serenely in candlelight.
She handed him the cake, indicating he should make a wish. Bai Xizhou froze—motionless.
Memories of past birthdays flooded him: solemn parents sitting across, their faces blank, lifeless. The hired help would place a candle-topped cake in front of him. He’d make an empty wish and blow it out. His parents would say “Happy Birthday” perfunctorily, in perfect unison.
That cake, adorned with decorative pieces he couldn’t eat, matched the emptiness he’d felt—dressed in splendor, but heart hollow.
“Just… make a wish,” Wen Ruqing urged softly.
Bai Xizhou finally nodded, eyes reflecting the flame. He closed them, made a wish, and blew out the candle. The lights flicked back on—so bright he blinked.
“I didn’t know your favorite… so I only remembered you don’t like eggplant. Try this—see if my cooking’s regressed?” Wen Qing, setting the cake aside, coaxed them to sit. She placed a rib on Bai Xizhou’s plate.
Her eyes glowed with affection, hoping for approval. Bai Xizhou took a bite—it tasted the same, yet felt different.
Wen Qing’s husband followed suit, passing him a chicken wing. He said it was Wen Qing’s specialty and urged Bai Xizhou to eat more.
Throughout the meal, the couple kept filling his plate, inquiring about his life.
“Being a lawyer must be exhausting. Your meals must be irregular—eat more for strength.”
Ironically, Bai Xizhou’s meals had become healthier than anyone else’s.
“But Ruqing has put on some weight—he’s not as thin as before.”
Wen Ruqing offered a shy smile. Bai Xizhou looked at him, pride lighting his eyes—he’d nurtured this.
“Oh! I forgot!” Wen Qing exclaimed, fetching a jar from the fridge. “This is plum wine—the last jar. We all brewed it together. We don’t have more anymore, but you two made it together—it’s precious.”
The brown liquid held plums dried through soaking. Upon opening, the soft scent of plums balanced the sting of alcohol—sweet and fragrant.
A sip brought back memories: brewing side by side, hand-washing and bottling plums. Wen Ruqing had coaxed a bitter plum into his mouth—and he’d retaliated. At the time, neither expected this day—but if they’d known, they would’ve made more.
Bai Xizhou thought: though they couldn’t drink that old batch again, the person he made it with was right here. He drank deeply, warmed by love, watching the people seated.
They were there to celebrate him: Wen Qing and her husband’s care manifested in food and smiles. For once, the family he longed for felt real—not a recreated new family with Wen Ruqing, but Wen Ruqing’s family truly becoming his.
Bai Xizhou laughed wryly, finishing his drink. Beneath the table, Wen Ruqing’s hand slipped into his—steady, reassuring.
Outside, the winter cold raged—but inside, warmth overflowed. Bai Xizhou, tipsy, felt relaxed. Wen Ruqing didn’t dissuade him. The dinner ended with Bau Xizhou a little dull, Wen Qing’s husband tipsy. He excused himself; Wen Qing asked Wen Ruqing to help clean, sending Bai Xizhou to wait on the sofa.
“Ruqing, I’ve seen you light up since you’ve been with Xizhou,” Wen Qing said as she cleaned. “I think you’re truly happy—and that makes me happy. Take care of yourself and Xizhou. We’ll head back tomorrow.”
“Not staying longer?” Wen Ruqing asked, though only a short visit.
“We have to. Your sister’s break starts soon.” Wen Qing replied, motioning farewell. “Tomorrow, you don’t need to send us off—we’ll go on our own.”
Wen Ruqing hesitated, but agreed. He asked Wen Qing to call when they left—she promised.
As they started out the door, Bai Xizhou’s voice cracked from the sofa, “Qingqing—let’s go home. I want to go home.”
He emerged, hugging Wen Ruqing from behind, leaning into his shoulder, utterly unashamed—even while Wen Qing still watched.
“Weren’t you supposed to wait here?” Wen Ruqing felt embarrassed as he opened the door.
Wen Ruqing gently broke the embrace—but Bai Xizhou held onto his hand, his fingers touching the wedding ring.
“That’s enough—just take him home,” Wen Qing intervened, ushering them out. Before leaving, she asked, “Will you two come back together for the Spring Festival?”
“I’ll ask when he’s sobered up,” Wen Ruqing answered, reminding Wen Qing to travel safely. She nodded and left.
Out in the frosty darkness, Bai Xizhou sat in the front seat clutching the plum wine jar, silent, staring at Wen Ruqing’s neck—where two fresh hickeys peeked from under his turtleneck.
It was only 8 pm—dark as midnight. As Wen Ruqing slid into the driver’s seat, cold air drifting in, he asked:
“Why are you still holding it?”
Bai Xizhou looked puzzled. “I… feel it’s a shame. We didn’t drink the wine we brewed together.”
“Not a shame. We still have time—we’ll brew plenty more,” Wen Ruqing said, bending to kiss him. “I’ll be with you.”
He believed Bai Xizhou was stronger—but realized he, too, was fragile and needed love. His indifference had born from caring too much.
Snowflakes began to fall—sparse at first, then ungenerous. The flakes melted on Wen Ruqing’s coat.
“Qingqing—it’s snowing.”
Bai Xizhou reached to catch one—but it disappeared in his hand.
Today was Winter Solstice, the city’s first snow—and Bai Xizhou’s birthday.
He stayed seated, letting snow settle on his shoulders. Wen Ruqing pulled him up—but Bai Xizhou stayed still, turning to Wen Ruqing, drawing him into a kiss under full white sky.
They were alone in the snowy night as Wen Ruqing brushed snow from Bai Xizhou… only to find his hand caught.
“Qingqing… you’re not focused.”
Breathing plum wine-scented air, Wen Ruqing felt tipsy—though he hadn’t drunk.
“Love me, Qingqing,” Bai Xizhou’s whisper fell soft as snow.
They watched the first snowfall together—promising to never part.
“Bai Xizhou, I love you.”
Tonight’s wind and snow would bear witness.
