FQ chapter 40

Outside the window, a stream of people holding torches had already begun. Young and old, men and women, all carried torches. Everyone from the bar joined the crowd and headed toward the village square.

In the square center, the fireworks had finished, and the largest torch was lit, roaring as it burned, lighting up half the sky. People took turns coming up to light their own torches—one after another catching flame—forming a flowing river of orange in the darkness, stretching across the sky.

At some point, a sound system had been set up in the square, blasting music at full volume. With screams and laughter on all sides, the whole place was so loud it bordered on chaos.

“What the hell!” Luan Ye shouted at Fan Qing beside him. “Why are there so many people!”

He had been here for quite a while, but it was his first time realizing that even such a small village like Xuehu could hold so many people during a festival.

Fan Qing raised his voice to match the noise: “Tourists! And folks from nearby villages!”

“What about Qiao Feibai and the others?” Luan Ye shouted back. “Weren’t we all coming together?”

Fan Qing motioned for him to look ahead—Qiao Feibai was already wielding a torch in a mock battle with a group of half-grown kids, flailing flaming torches at one another. Trails of orange-red fire danced through the air.

“…What the hell is wrong with them?” Luan Ye said, half amused, half helpless.

“It’s fine!” Fan Qing shouted with a laugh. “Someone’s watching them!”

A few large vats of water had been set up near the square just in case. Most tourists didn’t dare to swing their torches around like the villagers and instead just carried them like props, parading through the village.

Some, like Qiao Feibai, had thrown themselves into the fray. People were even sprinkling rosin powder onto the flames, filling the air with a strong, fragrant scent.

Luan Ye and Fan Qing wandered around with their torches, following the crowd. Even though it was night, many village shops were still open. Some villagers had set up stalls by the road, selling small torches, rosin powder, flower crowns, and colorful braids. Business was unexpectedly good.

So clever—Luan Ye thought he should’ve brought his camera to take souvenir photos for people. Ten yuan per shot, and Fan Qing could print them on the spot.

Thinking of this, Luan Ye glanced at Fan Qing and couldn’t help but grin.

An elderly woman walked toward them. She had about ten flower crowns draped over one arm, each made with fresh flowers woven into a circle, glowing charmingly under the torchlight.

Luan Ye met her eyes and sensed that she might call out to him. Fearing she’d shout “Xiao Lan” in such a huge crowd, he quickly walked over on his own.

The old woman smiled and gestured for Luan Ye to lower his head. She took a flower crown and placed it on his head, then said something in Bai language.

Luan Ye didn’t understand, but he smiled with her and said, “Thank you.”

After she walked away, Luan Ye turned and asked Fan Qing in the midst of the noisy crowd, “What did she say just now?”

“She was giving you a blessing!” Fan Qing shouted back.

“What?!”

At that moment, some kid nearby set off firecrackers—crackling and popping so loudly they drowned out every other sound. Fan Qing leaned in close to speak by Luan Ye’s ear.

“She said—”

His warm breath carried the faint scent of rosin, and as he leaned close, it enveloped Luan Ye in that moment.

“She said: ‘May you be free from illness and disaster, and live on endlessly.’”

Luan Ye looked up at him. Behind him, a long line of torches stretched endlessly like a dragon, and the flower crown on his head swayed gently in the wind.

Fan Qing raised a hand to adjust the crown. Smiling, he said, “Keep it on—it looks good on you.”

Night had deepened, and the square’s speakers blared even louder, now playing lively dance music. Men and women joined hands in rings around the central bonfire and began to dance in traditional circles—an inner ring, an outer ring, all moving in rhythm.

Qu Jie and the others were dancing too. She spotted them and frantically waved for them to join in. Luan Ye just smiled, waved her off, and stood at the edge of the square with Fan Qing, watching the crowd.

The energetic music, the dancing people, the busy stalls, and the torch-wielding kids—all of it was immersed in sparks and the scent of pine resin.

Everywhere, there was life and joy.

“They are so full of happiness,” Luan Ye murmured.

“Who is?” Fan Qing asked.

Luan Ye pointed to the singing and dancing crowd. “The people who live here—they seem so happy.”

“You’re living here too,” Fan Qing said.

Luan Ye turned to him with a smile. “Just for now.”

Amid the flames shining from all directions, he was bathed in light, and flickering fire reflected in his eyes as he looked at Fan Qing.

Just for now.

Fan Qing looked as if he’d been burned by the fire—his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly.

Suddenly, a group of children burst out from a nearby alley, waving torches wildly. One of them flung a handful of rosin powder into the air. In a flash, the flames surged and scattered sparks in Luan Ye and Fan Qing’s direction.

Fan Qing reacted quickly, pulling Luan Ye back a few steps.

“Shit.”

Luan Ye looked up, startled. The group of kids had already run off, and a faint shout echoed behind them—“Sorry—!”

“You okay?” Fan Qing asked.

They both looked down. Luan Ye was unharmed, but the sparks had left dark smudges all over his white clothes.

“…Those kids are definitely wetting the bed tonight,” Luan Ye said with a frown, then couldn’t help laughing.

“Want to change?” Fan Qing asked. “That one’s probably ruined.”

“It’s fine,” Luan Ye shook his head. “I was about to head back anyway.”

“Not staying longer?”

“It’s too noisy—my ears hurt after a while.” Luan Ye looked at Fan Qing. “Let’s go. I’ll make you some tea.”

Fan Qing chuckled. Luan Ye’s torch was nearly burned out, so he took it and tossed it into the central bonfire. The two of them headed back to Granny Mu’s house.

Once the door closed behind them, all the noise from outside was cut off. The peace was immediate. Luan Ye let out a breath and turned to give instructions.

“Grab any tea from the rack in the tea room. The teaware’s on the table—bring it all upstairs.”

Fan Qing replied, then went to fetch the items. By the time he returned, Luan Ye was no longer in the courtyard. He followed him upstairs and opened the door. Luan Ye was standing by the bed, halfway through changing clothes, his back to Fan Qing, a bit of bare waist still showing.

Fan Qing quickly looked away and set the tea on the table.

“Black tea okay?” he cleared his throat.

“Sure.” Luan Ye glanced over his shoulder. “That was fast.”

As the room settled into silence, they sat on the couch waiting for the tea. The table wasn’t as big as the one in the tea room, and with the kettle on it, there was only a bit of space left—just enough for the flower crown Luan Ye had received.

It was beautifully made. The flowers ranged from white to pink, fading in and out among scattered green leaves.

Luan Ye pointed at it. “What flower is this?”

“Galsang flower.”

“This is Galsang?” Luan Ye was surprised. “I thought it was rare.”

“In Yunnan, it’s common—grows by the roadside.” Fan Qing smiled. “Its blooming season is long, from summer to autumn.”

Luan Ye had come right in time for the season.

He looked at the crown and chuckled softly. “What a coincidence.”

“What is?” Fan Qing asked.

“That I came to Yunnan at this time, during the Torch Festival, during Galsang’s blooming season.” Luan Ye took a sip of tea. “And that I happened to go out shopping the day I arrived—and met you.”

“If I’d come in winter, it probably would’ve been different.”

“Why?”

“In winter, I probably would’ve just forced myself to sleep through it all,” Luan Ye said. “Trekking ten kilometers just to buy bed sheets really tested my willpower.”

Fan Qing laughed.

“No Torch Festival or Galsang in winter either,” Luan Ye added.

“There are winter traditions too,” Fan Qing said.

“Yeah?”

“You can come back in winter and see.”

Luan Ye smiled, looked down, and took another sip of tea without speaking.

Fan Qing fell silent too. The only sound left was the soft bubbling of the tea.

“…When are you leaving?” Fan Qing finally asked.

“Probably end of August,” Luan Ye thought aloud. “Around the time your school starts.”

“Going abroad?”

“Still undecided.”

Fan Qing didn’t press further.

End of August—that was just a little over a month away. He would leave Xuehu for university, and Luan Ye would leave too—for somewhere even he hadn’t decided on.

The timing and way they’d met and would part—it all felt rushed and out of their control. Even after the goodbye, they’d head toward separate paths.

Suddenly, Fan Qing spoke.

“Actually, sometimes… they bloom in winter too.”

Luan Ye looked at him. Fan Qing pointed at the Galsang flowers on the table.

“Yunnan winters aren’t as cold as elsewhere. Sometimes the sun is warm, and the temperature rises—so they think it’s the right season and bloom even in winter.”

“When everything is just right,” Luan Ye said.

“Exactly.” Fan Qing smiled.

“When everything is just right.”

“They don’t think the season is wrong. If the weather feels right, they bloom.”

Then, very softly, Fan Qing added:

“Just like… I met you this summer.”

Luan Ye’s hand holding the teacup froze.

“Like you said earlier…” Fan Qing smiled faintly. “What a coincidence.”

From a tiny mountain village in Yunnan to the U.S., they were separated by mountains, valleys, rivers… by nine years, and a past they had never shared.

But still—but still—

Tonight, they were both here.

After making a certain decision, Fan Qing’s voice grew more steady.

“I know you’re just here traveling. You’ll leave soon.”

Luan Ye listened quietly without interrupting.

“We’ve only known each other for a little over a month. Before this, we’d never met. After this… who knows.”

“…Mm.” Luan Ye looked at him.

“And I know… you have a boyfriend.”

That’s good, Fan Qing thought. At least this time I remembered.

Luan Ye looked at Fan Qing. At first, his eyes filled with a smile with each word. But when he heard that last line, his throat bobbed slightly—he seemed like he wanted to say something.

“But I still want to tell you—even if it’s just to let you know—” Fan Qing didn’t let him speak, insisting on finishing.

“I like you.”

God, what a dumbass thing to do—Fan Qing thought.

He’d never been in love. He never imagined his first confession would be so… wildly dramatic.

But this time, he didn’t avoid it. He looked into Luan Ye’s eyes and repeated it again:

“I like you, Luan Ye.”

The lively festival outside might not have quieted down yet, but inside the room, it was completely silent. So quiet that it felt like they could hear each other’s breathing and heartbeat.

Luan Ye looked at him. His hands still seemed to carry the lingering warmth of the torch, but his heart felt like it had been soaked in water—damp and heavy—spreading slowly to his eyes.

His heart had turned into mountain rain, and his eyes into misty hills.

“Well—”

The first word came out hoarse. Luan Ye paused, trying to make a joke to mask the strange tone in his voice.

“Well, what now? Are you planning to be the third wheel?”

Fan Qing replied calmly, “Can I?”

Luan Ye was caught completely off guard and froze on the spot.

I think I’ve gone crazy, Fan Qing thought.

But even though, according to Luan Ye, his boyfriend was nearly perfect, Fan Qing figured he had plenty of good traits too. Like that time in Shangri-La when Luan Ye commented that he had big eyes, long lashes, and…

“I’m pretty obedient too,” Fan Qing added.

Luan Ye stared at him for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“You’re not drunk tonight, are you?”

Fan Qing blinked, then understood what he meant and couldn’t help laughing. “No.”

The two looked at each other and laughed for a while. Once Luan Ye stopped smiling, he stared seriously at Fan Qing, raised a hand to his cheek, leaned in, and lowered his lashes.

He kissed Fan Qing.