FQ chapter 52

A little over fifty words. Luan Ye stared at it for five full minutes before tossing his phone down.

There was a pack of cigarettes on the desk. He pulled one out and put it in his mouth. His hand trembled slightly as he lit it.

Bai Mingchuan did it on purpose.

Luan Ye had blocked him. Bai Mingchuan could’ve used someone else—Mr. or Mrs. Bai, even the company’s email—but he chose to send it from Bai Mingcheng’s.

He used Bai Mingcheng’s email to ask Luan Ye if he could come back and sweep Bai Mingcheng’s grave.

That was Bai Mingchuan’s style. If Bai Mingcheng had been full of warmth and light to the point of being naive, Bai Mingchuan was the complete opposite. Most of the time, people around him couldn’t guess what he was thinking.

One Christmas holiday, Bai Mingcheng was still alive. They were chatting in the yard. Luan Ye forgot what they were talking about, but Bai Mingcheng had laughed and pinched his cheek.

Even though Mr. and Mrs. Bai had already gone to bed, Luan Ye instinctively looked up at the balcony.

The parents weren’t there—but Bai Mingchuan was. Standing on the balcony of his room, holding a glass of red wine, expressionless. Watching them from above. Who knew how long he had been standing there.

The next time Luan Ye saw Bai Mingchuan was at Bai Mingcheng’s funeral.

After Bai Mingcheng died, Luan Ye lived in a daze. He couldn’t face Mr. and Mrs. Bai, couldn’t attend classes, couldn’t go home. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Bai Mingcheng lying in a pool of blood.

After the funeral, Luan Ye attempted suicide for the first time and was rushed to the hospital. When he woke up after the critical period, Bai Mingchuan was standing beside his bed, still in his suit.

“Don’t do things that are pointless and only cause trouble for others,” Bai Mingchuan said coldly. “Or do you think Xiao Cheng would be happy if he knew?”

Luan Ye was silent for a long time, then apologized to him.

At the time, he wasn’t even 20. At the doctor’s recommendation and arranged by Bai Mingchuan, he was admitted to a psychiatric hospital. The closed environment, severe depression, and anxiety made him unable to work or contact the outside world. His only connection to reality came from Bai Mingchuan’s monthly visits.

During that time, Luan Ye relapsed several times, engaged in self-harm and hunger strikes. The hospital always notified the primary contact. Bai Mingchuan would reluctantly show up—not to ask why, but to say, “Because of Mingcheng’s death, our parents are already in poor health. If you keep this up, neither our parents nor Mingcheng in heaven will be at peace.”

From then on, Bai Mingchuan became skilled at using their parents and Bai Mingcheng’s names to control Luan Ye’s emotions.

But back then, Luan Ye didn’t think it was wrong.

He was sick in a foreign country, alone. The Bai parents didn’t want to see him because of their grief. He’d lost contact with his own family. The school processed his withdrawal. Technically speaking, the only person he was familiar with during that time was Bai Mingchuan, who visited once a month.

Later, when he was discharged, Bai Mingchuan paid all the medical bills and let him stay in one of his unused apartments. When he started working, all photography gigs were coordinated through Bai Mingchuan’s people. Every collaboration had to go through him first before it reached Luan Ye.

Back then, Luan Ye was filled with guilt toward the Bai family. He obeyed Bai Mingchuan in everything. He also sincerely, blindly admired and deeply appreciated him.

At first, he called Bai Mingchuan “Bai Ge,” but after being discharged from the hospital, he gradually dropped the surname and just called him “Ge.”

After knowing him for thirteen years, he truly regarded Bai Mingchuan as an older brother.

When he had just been discharged, the only person he interacted with was Bai Mingchuan. Sometimes when Xu Song or others he knew tried to contact him, Luan Ye’s first reaction was to instinctively avoid them. He rejected all outside messages, refused visits from friends, and rarely spoke to anyone.

Once, he even tried to go out shopping by himself, but because the commercial district was too crowded, his anxiety suddenly flared up in the crowd. In an instant, he forgot where he was going, and only after a long time did he manage to make his way home.

After that, he basically never went out, except when Bai Mingchuan came to see him and occasionally took him out for a meal.

It wasn’t until later, as his condition gradually improved, that he began trying landscape photography.

Xu Song was right—he really did have talent in this field. Luan Ye’s name slowly became known in the circle, he won some awards, the price of his photos kept rising, and people wanted to meet him or collaborate with him.

Luan Ye didn’t really care about any of that. All his business dealings were handled through Bai Mingchuan, and he simply followed his advice on which ones to accept. But landscape photography was inevitably a profession that required traveling around the world. During the period when his illness was just under control, he mainly stayed in North and South America, then gradually started expanding farther out.

In the instability of life on the road, he actually found inner peace.

Inevitably, he also met other landscape photographers along the way. During their exchanges, someone asked if he wanted to join a small group going to Tanzania to photograph the animal migration.

At that time, Luan Ye’s mental state was relatively good. After considering for a few days, he agreed, and informed Bai Mingchuan, who was then in New York, through his studio assistant.

He would usually inform Bai Mingchuan in advance about where he was going and roughly when he would return. At first, Bai Mingchuan didn’t object. But later, when Luan Ye went to Greenland with several peers, the extreme cold prevented his phone from turning on, and he missed two of Bai Mingchuan’s calls.

When he returned home after that shoot, Bai Mingchuan was waiting in the living room.

He didn’t seem angry, and his tone was calm. He just took Luan Ye out for dinner, asked about the shoot, who his companions were, and how they got along.

It wasn’t until the end of the meal that Bai Mingchuan suddenly asked:

“Are you still taking your medication lately?”

“Mm?” Luan Ye looked up at him, unsure what he meant.

They were eating steak. Bai Mingchuan only ate his rare, the meat on the plate glowing red under the light. He put down his knife and fork, speaking slowly.

“I asked the doctor. You’ve been in good shape recently—you can try stopping the medication. Starting next week, he won’t be delivering it to you anymore.”

He looked at Luan Ye, speaking casually:

“Go outside and walk more, as per the doctor’s orders. If anything comes up, contact me.”

As Bai Mingchuan had said, the family doctor stopped all of Luan Ye’s depression and anxiety medications.

The following spring, Luan Ye relapsed into depression, halted all his outdoor shoots, and stayed in California to resume medication and therapy.

…..

He finished his cigarette and pressed it out in the ashtray.

If Bai Mingchuan’s last email had just been a reminder, then this one should be considered a warning.

But Luan Ye wasn’t as agitated as last time—at least not to the point of shaking hands from anxiety or suddenly lashing out in anger. Last time, he had even cursed at Fan Qing…

Luan Ye briefly lifted the corners of his lips, then let them drop.

Maybe it was because he had been away from Bai Mingchuan for too long, or because his time in Xuehu Village had been too comfortable and free, or maybe simply because… he thought of Fan Qing.

Even though Bai Mingchuan had used such a method to remind him, Luan Ye, for once, didn’t have an episode.

He only felt a trace of fear.

Not the fear of seeing another unexpected email from Bai Mingchuan.

But the fear of being dragged back into the past again—to those times of panic attacks on the street, being unable to go outside for days, even unable to draw open the curtains.

Luan Ye let out a long breath, pulled out another cigarette, and reached for the lighter.

Before he could grab it, his phone buzzed twice. He glanced at it—Fan Qing had sent him a picture.

Luan Ye paused, then picked up the phone and opened the message.

Fan Qing had taken a picture of a car trunk stuffed full: pomegranates, oranges, two large bags of grapes… Enlarging the picture, he could see bags of eggs, cured sausages, and two boxes of crispy fried pork.

Fan Qing followed with a message:

[Grandma insisted I bring some sausages for my dorm mates, but I have no idea how they’re supposed to eat them.]

Luan Ye suddenly laughed, and the fear from a moment ago completely vanished.

Fan Qing then sent:

[Brought you some grapes.]

Luan Ye:

[I see. You must’ve picked clean all the ripe ones.]

Fan Qing:

[Yeah, I shared them with everyone. Anyway, if we didn’t finish them, Grandma used to feed them to the chickens.]

Luan Ye:

[?]

Fan Qing:

[Did I say something wrong?]

Luan Ye couldn’t stop laughing and asked:

[When are you coming back?]

Fan Qing replied:

[I’ll be back by evening.]

Luan Ye:

[Come over when you arrive. I miss you.]

Fan Qing stared at those last three words for a long time. The melancholy he felt about leaving home suddenly lifted, and he even couldn’t help smiling.

He quickly typed back:

[Got it.]

Grandma tapped him twice on the back and asked loudly:

“What are you grinning at?”

“Nothing.” Fan Qing quickly put away his phone. When he turned, Grandma had already put another bag of figs inside.

“Don’t take this to school—it’s overripe. Eat them quickly before they rot. Three to five a day, don’t waste them.”

“Okay.” Fan Qing chuckled helplessly and nodded: “Got it.”

“Did you bow to your parents yet?”

“This morning, I did. Told them I’m heading off to school.” Fan Qing replied.

Grandma nodded with satisfaction and pulled out a bright red plastic bag from her clothes. Inside, wrapped in a handkerchief, was a stack of cash.

“Don’t give me money,” Fan Qing immediately said. “Keep it for yourself.”

“I grow my own vegetables and farm my own land—what do I need money for?” Grandma said. “Don’t you need money for school?”

“I’ve got enough. From my savings, my holiday work, and the red envelopes I just received. It’s enough for next semester.” He quickly tied the bag shut again and stuffed it back into her pocket without giving her a chance.

“Really enough.”

Grandma looked at him: “Really?”

Fan Qing smiled: “Really. I’m not lying.”

At last, Grandma stopped pulling out money, but she opened another bag instead:

“Then take this with you.”

She pulled out a little golden gourd tied with a red string, gleaming brightly.

“Your parents brought back the gold, and I had this made for you when you were little. For protection. You were too young before, I was afraid you’d lose it, so I never let you carry it. I’ve kept it safe.”

She wrapped it up in the handkerchief and pushed it into his hand.

“Take it with you. If you don’t like it, you can have it made into a bracelet or a ring—whatever you prefer.”

“This is just…” Fan Qing looked down at it, eyes burning hot. “For me?”

“It’s always been yours. Who else would I give it to?” Grandma laughed, patting him. “In the blink of an eye, you’re eighteen already. Stay safe out there.”

Fan Qing carefully put it into his bag, smiling and nodding: “I know.”

“Alright, off you go.” Grandma said.

Instead of leaving, Fan Qing hugged her tightly. He was much taller now, bending down to rest his head against her shoulder.

“Be careful at home. Ask the neighbors for help if you can’t manage something, don’t push yourself. Don’t go up the mountain in the early winter evenings, it’s dangerous. My phone number’s written on the calendar, the top one—call me if you need anything.”

“Goodness, never seen such a nagging young man.” Grandma chuckled. “Go on, go.”

Fan Qing finally let go, got into the car, and drove off. As the car pulled out, he leaned out and shouted loudly toward her:

“I left five hundred yuan on the living room coffee table—it’s for you! Don’t forget to use it!”

That caught Grandma off guard, and she almost came chasing out:

“What are you leaving me money for? Keep it for yourself!”

Fan Qing just smiled. The car turned the corner, and her figure grew smaller and blurrier in the rearview mirror.

He had timed it well, arriving at Xuehu Village just after sunset. First, he unloaded all the goods from the car. The fruits, sausages, and eggs he couldn’t take to school were divided into several portions—one for Li Ge, and others for Qiao Feibai, Granny Mu, and Luan Ye.

He first sent a message to Luan Ye, asking if he was home.

No reply.

He waited, then tapped on his profile picture.

No auto-reply was set up. The chat box stayed empty except for the system note, no answer from the other side.

He grew anxious, hesitated three seconds, then directly called.

This time, Luan Ye picked up.

“You’re back?”

His tone was relaxed, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Fan Qing felt a bit relieved.

“Mm. Are you home?”

“According to your request, I’m scouting outside.” Luan Ye said.

Fan Qing laughed: “Where are you scouting?”

The sound of wind could be heard clearly from his side:

“Just reached the opera stage. Come over.”

Fan Qing hurried upstairs, threw on a jacket, and rushed out toward the stage.

It was evening, with a few people strolling around—not as empty as the other night. So Luan Ye wasn’t sitting on the stage, but under the green tree opposite. In the twilight, he wore a light blue short-sleeved shirt, looking especially fresh.

When he saw Fan Qing running over, he curved his lips into a smile and opened his arms.

Not far away, some tourists were taking pictures, men and women.

But their cameras were all pointed toward the opera stage.

But the sky wasn’t dark yet.

But no one noticed the two of them.

But…

Fan Qing quickened his pace and went over to hug Luan Ye.

He really missed Luan Ye.

After hugging for about five or six seconds, Luan Ye lifted his eyes and glanced around. Among the tourists taking pictures not far away, one of them turned back to look at them, then turned away again.

He leaned his face to the side and kissed the tip of Fan Qing’s ear, whispering, “If you don’t let go, they’ll start taking pictures of us instead.”

Fan Qing rubbed his face against Luan Ye’s ear with a smile, then let go and sat down beside him.

“Why are you out today?” Fan Qing asked.

“Qiao Feibai’s parents are leaving tomorrow. They’re downstairs talking, all emotional farewells.” Luan Ye hooked his little finger around Fan Qing’s as Fan Qing propped himself up on the stone steps. “So I came out for a walk.”

Then Luan Ye fixed his eyes on him: “You’ve been eating well back home?”

“Did I get fat?” Fan Qing straightened up without realizing it, touching his own face. “My grandma’s been stewing meat for me every day.”

“You didn’t get fat. You just look really energized and healthy.” Luan Ye kept staring at him.

Fan Qing stared back, then lowered his hand from his own face and instead lightly brushed Luan Ye’s chin.

“Why do I feel like you’ve lost weight?” Fan Qing said.

“Really?” Luan Ye smiled. “Maybe because Li Hongkuo’s been squeezing me dry.”

Fan Qing blinked: “Huh?”

“I shouldn’t have added him on WeChat. After I sent him those photos and videos, he got so worked up he started messaging me every day,” Luan Ye said. “One minute telling me how many likes and views. The next minute asking if this media outlet can repost, or if that official wants to meet the photographer, is it okay…”

“If it weren’t for you, I’d have blocked him already.”

Fan Qing laughed while listening: “Why’s he so annoying?”

“I told him you’d be back soon.” Luan Ye raised a brow. “So he can go bug you instead.”

“Fine.” Fan Qing nodded with a smile.

Before going back to school, he really did need to settle all the papermaking workshop business. After all, Luan Ye had gotten him a share of the profits—he couldn’t just take money without doing anything, and he especially didn’t want to embarrass Luan Ye.

Luan Ye looked at him, lips curving slightly upward.

“Some time later, a friend of mine is coming. I’ll introduce you.”

“A friend?” Fan Qing was briefly stunned, then realized. “The one who bought you the camera?”

“Mm. He’s coming with his partner. They want to meet you.”

Fan Qing hesitated for a few seconds. “Meet me?”

“You’re my boyfriend. Who else would they meet?” Luan Ye said.

Fan Qing looked at him, unable to hold back his happiness mixed with nervousness.

Meeting Luan Ye’s friend—another photographer, probably talented, maybe around Luan Ye’s age or older.

“He’s a really easygoing thirty-year-old handsome photographer. Don’t be nervous,” Luan Ye said lazily, seeing through him. “They travel to a lot of places. It’s just on the way, they want to stop by. Just show them around a bit. This is our turf.”

Fan Qing smiled. “Mm.”

Our turf.

Hearing Luan Ye say it suddenly made Fan Qing feel much lighter, even—very happy.

Our turf.

“Once they leave, you’ll probably have to head off to school too.”

Fan Qing responded: “And you? Will you stay here, go back to Hangzhou, or…”

“Bai Mingchuan messaged me today,” Luan Ye said, looking at Fan Qing.

Fan Qing quickly looked up at him.

By now, the sky had already darkened. The tourists who’d been taking photos earlier had gone. In the dimness, Luan Ye’s calm eyes stayed on Fan Qing.

“What… Did he say?”

“Bai Mingcheng’s death anniversary is coming up.” Luan Ye hesitated a long time before speaking. “He asked if I wanted to visit the grave.”

Fan Qing shot to his feet, staring at Luan Ye with furrowed brows.

“Is he out of his mind?!”

“Probably just trying to warn me,” Luan Ye said with a smile, tugging Fan Qing’s clothes to make him sit back down.

Fan Qing sat, but his frown didn’t relax.

“Then you—”

“I have to go back,” Luan Ye said.

After a moment, Fan Qing nodded. “Okay.”

He didn’t ask: When will you come back? or Will you come back? To Xuehu Village, or to Hangzhou—either way.

This was the first time Luan Ye had so plainly said he needed to return to America. It made Fan Qing panic a little. His head was full of questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask—because once he did, it would feel like he was forcing Luan Ye to choose.

At least with him, he wanted Luan Ye to feel free.

So instead he only asked: “Are you doing okay?”

“Hm?” Luan Ye turned his head.

“Your mood, emotions, health,” Fan Qing said. “Any discomfort, or…”

“A relapse,” Luan Ye finished for him.

“This time it’s actually fine.” He smiled, looking relaxed.

“It’s just… other than that, he probably doesn’t have any other cards to play. Thinking of it that way makes it easier.”

A leaf from the big tree fell onto the bench. Luan Ye picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers.

“If this were before, you probably wouldn’t even see me right now.”

Fan Qing looked at him.

“Maybe I’d already have left, gone to hide somewhere new. Or locked myself away. Either way, avoiding people.”

“Maybe it’s a habit from being sick. I thought if I just didn’t bring things up, didn’t touch them, they didn’t exist.”

“To avoid what’s already happened, I refused to mention or remember it. Didn’t know how to face my mom, so I hid from her all these years. Didn’t know how to handle certain people or things, so I ran here.”

“Then after coming here, I fell for you.” Luan Ye looked at him. “Didn’t know if I should date an eighteen-year-old high schooler, so I held back, not daring to say it first.”

Fan Qing’s brows knitted tight. Luan Ye smiled, handing him the leaf.

“But this time, for some reason…”

“The first person I thought of was you,” Luan Ye said. “I just… really wanted to see you.”

He laughed at himself after saying it. “Lucky I didn’t hide. Otherwise, wouldn’t you have been crying, wondering if I’d ghosted you?”

“…I wouldn’t.” Fan Qing felt both sad and amused. “At most, I’d just wait under your building every day, see when you’d come out.”

“And if I never came out?”

Fan Qing didn’t hesitate. “Then I’d wait longer.”

This time, it was Luan Ye who felt both sad and amused. He asked, “What if I didn’t hide from Granny Mu, Qiao Feibai, Qu Jie, Da Yao, Boss Li, Li Hongkuo, or the bun-and-noodle seller at the village entrance…”

He rattled off names like reciting a menu, getting more and more unserious: “What if I just didn’t want to see you?”

“That’d be fine,” Fan Qing smiled. “As long as… you didn’t lock yourself away again.”

“You can watch Granny Mu make insoles every day, listen to Qiao Feibai sing, stroll around the village when you’re free, grab a coffee. At night, go to ‘Go See The Mountains’ for drinks, or chat with Li Hongkuo—”

“Chat with him?” Luan Ye raised a brow.

“Listen to him chat,” Fan Qing corrected.

Luan Ye laughed for a while, then looked at him, eyes full of his reflection. “So I can avoid you?”

“…You can.” Fan Qing said.

Luan Ye raised his brows.

“You can avoid me.” Fan Qing paused, then spoke again, voice clear and firm.

“But don’t avoid love.”

Not the years carved into the heart like scars at nineteen, too painful to look back on.

Not the raw but steadfast presence at twenty-eight, steady as a tree.

Not even the small things—a pear at a photo shoot, a packet of pine resin at the Torch Festival, Granny Mu’s flower pastries, ‘Go See The Mountains’ free wine and songs, the little fat dog wagging its tail like a propeller at the café…

All those moments, grand or small, painful or joyful, stitched together into every instant of being alive.

Don’t avoid any of it.

Luan Ye stopped smiling.

He looked straight at Fan Qing. The laughter in his eyes faded, turning faintly red. After who knows how long, he suddenly spoke.

“I’ll come back.”

Fan Qing froze.

Luan Ye repeated, “Unless I die, I’ll definitely come back.”

Fan Qing grabbed his hand tightly, voice serious. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“I’m not just saying it.” Luan Ye smiled. “And what I’m about to say isn’t casual either—I wanted to say it on the night of the Torch Festival, but I was afraid I’d scare you.”

That night, with blazing flames of the festival, firecrackers and fireworks, laughter and singing filling the air—what he heard wasn’t only that.

He heard blessings of health and longevity. He heard Fan Qing’s steady, fearless “I like you.”

And he heard, for the first time in so long, the clear trembling of his own heart. When he leaned down to kiss Fan Qing, he felt his soul cutting through years of unease, avoidance, panic, and retreat, bending down from midair.

“I love you,” Luan Ye said.

Fan Qing gazed at him, then finally reached out and hugged him tightly, resting his head against his cheek, his arms tightening again and again.

“I—” Fan Qing choked, drew in a deep breath, and for the first time tried to say it. But all the emotion overflowing inside him made the words stick in his throat.

Luan Ye sighed, hugging him back, and finished the sentence for him.

“I know.”