FIG CHAPTER 63

Zhu Lianzhen remembered this wasn’t the first time Tan Qing had emphasized “just the two of us.”

Tan Qing wanted to have the rainbow created by water spray all to himself; he liked aimlessly wandering with him, and even when celebrating his birthday, he only invited Zhu Lianzhen. Zhu Lianzhen knew Tan Qing wasn’t without other friends, yet somehow, he seemed to be the most special one.

Zhu Lianzhen really was a bit slow in some respects, but this time, a ridiculous guess suddenly surfaced in his mind.

He didn’t dare dwell on it. His mind restless, he agreed to Tan Qing’s request. “Okay.”

Tan Qing asked again, “If it’s just me staying with you, will that not be enough for you?”

“No.”

Zhu Lianzhen didn’t ask Tan Qing for a more specific reason.

He was… a bit afraid to.

He could’ve just said it in a joking tone, but he had this strange feeling, like Tan Qing might give an answer that would go beyond what he could understand.

Their first camping trip went smoothly. They chose a location in western Sichuan. Zhu Lianzhen took charge of buying equipment, while Tan Qing packed daily necessities. The weather was cool, and as they drove through the mountain roads in the off-road vehicle, they could see snow-capped peaks in the distance.

Zhu Lianzhen could tell that Tan Qing was in a good mood on this trip. Just as he’d guessed, Tan Qing didn’t really show obvious signs of joy, but he took the initiative to explore nearby spots that interested him and even crouched down to study the stones at the bottom of a pond.

When it rained, they stayed in the tent. The view outside was unobstructed. The sound of brewing coffee mingled with the patter of rain, creating a peaceful atmosphere.

Zhu Lianzhen asked, “When you were little, did you ever want to live in a treehouse?”

Tan Qing shook his head.

“Then did you ever open an umbrella and drape a blanket over it?”

“Why would I do that?” Tan Qing asked in return.

“To build a secret base.” Zhu Lianzhen pointed above them. “Like this.”

Tan Qing glanced up at the tent’s ceiling and said, “Never thought about it.”

To Tan Qing, Zhu Lianzhen’s questions sounded like the remnants of a childlike heart. He could only relate it to how he used to hide in a closet when playing hide-and-seek. Compared to Zhu Lianzhen, his own childhood was undoubtedly dull, and he didn’t have that many carefree or whimsical fantasies.

Starting from the idea of wanting to live in a treehouse, Zhu Lianzhen began to talk about his childhood, telling Tan Qing all kinds of stories.

He said that before the age of three, whenever someone poked the tip of his nose, he’d make a “beep—” sound because he believed that he was not only a child but also a little car. He kept showing this off to classmates in kindergarten until a teacher finally corrected his misunderstanding of what species he belonged to.

As soon as he could speak fluently, his mother enrolled him in dance classes. She had adored many world-famous superstars and wanted to cultivate that same interest in Zhu Lianzhen. Fortunately, it awakened his artistic talent. The first dance he learned at five years old was “Beat It,” which he performed for his mom, and was rewarded with a giant chocolate bar.

He hadn’t had the heart to eat it. He kept it for a long time, then gave it to his mother as her birthday gift, because it was the most precious thing he had.

He hadn’t been nervous at all in his first street dance competition. Looking back, Zhu Lianzhen found it a little surprising how blindly confident he’d been as a child. After all, the judges back then were all industry OGs, and yet he had actually approached them backstage to ask for a battle. They hadn’t gone easy on him just because he was a kid, but brought out their real skill and competed with him seriously.

Later, when Zhu Lianzhen himself reached the age and level to serve as a judge, he also came across kids just as “reckless” as he used to be. And that was when he understood why adults should take every bit of naive passion seriously. Not just out of respect, but to let the kids see clearly, even at a young age, just how far they still were from the top.

Only then would they dare to burn bright in their youth and chase after the version of themselves they dreamed of becoming.

“I also worked as a children’s clothing model in elementary school,” Zhu Lianzhen said, “but it was too tiring. After a few magazine shoots, my mom stopped letting me do it. But I actually enjoyed it because I didn’t have to do homework while working. Oh, and I used to bury my homework in flower pots. My mom noticed something was off when she watered the plants. When she dug them up, the notebooks were all destroyed by the water. Hahahahahaha!”

“You were this bad even as a kid?”

“I wasn’t bad!”

He talked freely, his words flowing with ease. Tan Qing sat beside him, lips slightly curved, listening attentively. From time to time, he would chime in with a question, trying to learn more details about Zhu Lianzhen.

Finally, Tan Qing asked him, “Why did your parents give you this name?”

Zhu Lianzhen thought for a moment, then said, “My mom insisted on having the character ‘Zhen’. She wanted her child to live sincerely. ‘Lian’[mfn]lián 涟 = ripple[/mfn] was added by my dad. He said…” Zhu Lianzhen reached out and pointed toward a lake in their view, where raindrops were now falling and rippling across the surface, “That when he met my mom, it felt just like those ripples spreading out on the water.”

Tan Qing didn’t look toward the lake. His eyes remained fixed on Zhu Lianzhen.

“What about you?” Zhu Lianzhen asked casually.

“It doesn’t mean anything. I was just born on Valentine’s Day,” Tan Qing answered truthfully.

Zhu Lianzhen blinked, thinking about something on his own, then told him, “Being born on that day must mean your love life will go really smoothly.”

Tan Qing gave a soft laugh. Whether at the words themselves or Zhu Lianzhen’s deliberately serious tone, it was hard to say. He asked in return, “I’m an idol—how exactly would a love life go smoothly for me?”

“Good point.” Zhu Lianzhen had been so focused on saying something nice that he completely forgot the most obvious fact: their company strictly forbade them from dating.

The tent fell silent for a moment before Tan Qing suddenly spoke. “Zhu Lianzhen.”

“Hm?”

Tan Qing didn’t continue. He had only called the name, unable to hold it in.

Zhu Lianzhen didn’t understand why but responded anyway, calling out in return, “Tan Qing!”

“Mm.”

“Tan Qing?”

“Mm.”

“Tan Qing—”

“Mm.”

“Hahahahahahaha.”

“…”

On the way back, Zhu Lianzhen slept leaning against the car window. Sometimes the car jolted, and Tan Qing would reach out to cushion Zhu Lianzhen’s head and help him sit upright. Before long, Zhu Lianzhen still hit the window with a soft “thud.” He half-opened his eyes in a daze, sulking from not getting enough sleep.

Rare were the days they could set aside the sparkle of stardom and just enjoy some peace. Tan Qing often thought back to when he had first met Zhu Lianzhen; his temperament hadn’t changed at all, only that his smile had never been shown to him.

Their off-road vehicle passed over a steel bridge. The orange-red sunset lit a burning hole in the sky, with rays of dusk spilling out, drunkenly draping over their faces.

If only the bridge could’ve been a little longer.

Everyone thought this friendship would remain steady: pure, solid, repeating day after day. As long as they stayed within bounds, didn’t overthink, and understood that the ambiguity in front of the camera was just part of the act and fanservice necessity… But human greed takes root and grows all too easily in a single stray thought. Being accepted wasn’t enough; they also wanted to be indulged. Honesty wasn’t enough; they also wanted to cross the line.

They could’ve gone on never doubting each other’s intentions, suppressing every hidden stir of emotion.

—Until that knowingly reckless kiss happened.

–

On a silent snowy night, even the wind had frozen still.

There was no doubt that using “practicing a kissing scene” as an excuse to steal someone’s first kiss while they were drunk was absolutely taking advantage of the situation.

Tan Qing felt no guilt, nor did he gain any satisfaction from the transgression. He chewed up the lemon candy that had just been in Zhu Lianzhen’s mouth and swallowed it, quietly watching him.

A snowflake had landed on Zhu Lianzhen’s eyelash, nearly getting into his eye. He kept blinking quickly, his expression flustered and at a loss. Before he could gather his shock, Tan Qing spoke first and said, “I’m sorry.”

He sounded genuinely apologetic.

After a pause, Tan Qing added, “I was drunk.”

“Y-you didn’t drink at all?!” Zhu Lianzhen had witnessed that he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol tonight. “I’m the one who’s drunk…”

“Then will you still remember what happened when you wake up tomorrow?”

“I’m already awake!” Zhu Lianzhen shouted. The cold air rushed into his nose, sharp enough to sober him up even more.

He had kissed Tan Qing—the situation was both too easy to understand and too absurd.

“We were… too careless,” Zhu Lianzhen tried to classify the incident as a sudden accident, like walking with his head down and accidentally hitting a railing, or lying in bed playing on his phone and dropping it on his face. Practicing kissing by “accident” must be a common occurrence too, right?

Even though tongues were involved… Wait, tongue?!

“It wasn’t an accident. I did it on purpose.” Tan Qing honestly admitted his impure intentions, rejecting Zhu Lianzhen’s panicked attempt to cover it up.

Zhu Lianzhen asked in shock, “On purpose?”

“I wanted to kiss you, Xiao Zhu,” Tan Qing explained with a look of complete willingness to accept any consequences. “I thought using the excuse of practicing a kissing scene could create an opportunity.”

Zhu Lianzhen stopped thinking.

Had Tan Qing shown even the slightest bit of regret, Zhu Lianzhen wouldn’t have felt so completely lost. One person wanting to kiss another, even a child could understand what that meant.

His head spun a little, and his heartbeat jumped irregularly. In the freezing snow, more and more flakes landed on his nose and cheeks, but he burned from within, unable to feel the cold.

After a while, he finally spoke. “Th-then, are you still going to keep practicing?”

Tan Qing hadn’t expected that response. He thought he’d be met with a much angrier reaction.

“Practice what? The fake kiss?” Tan Qing asked in return. “You still want to keep practicing with me?”

“Didn’t you say you needed to rehearse before filming!” Zhu Lianzhen was still in shock, but a second later, he had a sudden realization and let out an “Ah,” staring blankly at Tan Qing. “You tricked me.”

His teammate had stolen his first kiss. The ridiculous fact now lay plain before his eyes.

Tan Qing took half a step forward, removed his scarf, and wrapped it around Zhu Lianzhen’s neck. Zhu Lianzhen blankly accepted the gesture, but couldn’t help but purse his lips. He caught a whiff of lingering cologne and shivered for no apparent reason.

He pressed his lips together again, then suddenly grabbed Tan Qing’s hand.

“Don’t, it feels weird…” Zhu Lianzhen’s voice trembled.

“It’s not like I haven’t put it on you before.”

“I’m talking about myself.” Zhu Lianzhen frowned, eyes darting, unsure what to do. It was like there was a crumpled ball of paper in his chest, and when Tan Qing got close, it felt like it was being squeezed tight.

Tan Qing let his hands drop and said, “I know. After tonight, you’ll hate me.”

After a long silence, Tan Qing spoke again. “Sorry for leaving you with a terrible memory. Something like this isn’t something you can just forget… I owe you.”

Zhu Lianzhen lifted his hand and pulled the scarf off.

When Tan Qing saw this gesture, he instinctively looked away and finally managed to calm himself.

Before this, he had already imagined the worst-case scenario. Every mental reconstruction had worn down his hopes enough that now, he could accept the result with peace.

And this result was already the best he could’ve hoped for.

Just as Tan Qing was about to take the scarf back, he heard the crunch of snow beneath Zhu Lianzhen’s feet. The next second, the distance between them suddenly shortened.

Before he could see clearly, a cool touch landed on his lips.

Without the scarf between them, Zhu Lianzhen only needed to slightly lift his face to press his lips to Tan Qing’s. His fists were tightly clenched, and he even forgot to close his eyes, not to mention his stiff jaw.

This barely counted as a kiss, especially compared to Tan Qing’s from moments earlier.

It lasted only a few seconds before Zhu Lianzhen quickly pulled away and said hurriedly, “I don’t want you to owe me. This makes us even.”

Tan Qing’s fingers curled inward. For the first time, he realized breathing could feel this heavy. Without thinking, he directly asked, “So it’s easier to become strangers once we don’t owe each other anything?”

Zhu Lianzhen didn’t seem to understand what he meant. He explained on his own, “Because you didn’t discuss it with me before kissing me, so I had to launch a sneak attack too.”

His nose and ears were red, unclear whether from the cold or the heat.

Tan Qing asked again, “Is this kind of thing… something you can talk over?”

Zhu Lianzhen’s drunkenness had long worn off. He was completely sober now, his logic back in place. He scolded, “Of course you can’t! What kind of decent person kisses a teammate just because they feel like it! Are you that dumb and still dare to ask!”

“But,” Zhu Lianzhen’s voice softened slightly, his gaze complicated as he looked at Tan Qing, “but if it’s you, I think… it’s not like it can’t be discussed. Also, I hate hearing you apologize to me.”

He said it quietly, then nervously looked up to see Tan Qing’s reaction. But the other man only stared at him deeply and didn’t continue the conversation.

Zhu Lianzhen couldn’t help but ask, “Did you hear what I said just now?”

“I heard it clearly.” Tan Qing stared at him. “So does that mean I can kiss you now?”

Zhu Lianzhen froze. He thought: Didn’t we already kiss twice? Wasn’t that enough? But he still seriously asked, “How do you plan to kiss me?”

Tan Qing replied, “Like we’re rehearsing a kissing scene again.”

Zhu Lianzhen, still a bit dazed, gave a slow nod. “Then… okay.”

Tan Qing couldn’t help but laugh.

He reached out, wrapped his arm around Zhu Lianzhen’s shoulder, and pulled him into an embrace. He said softly, “Just kidding. We don’t need to kiss anymore.”

Zhu Lianzhen’s heart pounded like a drum, and through that hug, Tan Qing’s warmth enveloped him completely.

After a while, a question belatedly popped into his head, “Does this mean… we’re gay?”

“Can you accept that?”

Zhu Lianzhen didn’t know. Everything had been laid bare too suddenly, and he hadn’t had the time to form any understanding of that identity. But there was one thing he knew for sure: he could accept Tan Qing.

Before he could answer, Tan Qing added, “It’s okay. You can change your mind anytime. Maybe when you wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll forget all about tonight.”

“I already told you, I sobered up a long time ago!” Zhu Lianzhen protested.

Tan Qing lowered his head, burying half his face in the curve of Zhu Lianzhen’s neck and shoulder, closing his eyes.

His voice carried a trace of unreadable emotion. “Mm. I’m one who hasn’t been sober all along.”