The wait wasn’t long, only half a minute or so, and the door opened from the inside.
It was getting dark, but the lights weren’t on inside. The corridor light barely penetrated, creating a narrow crack of brightness in the dim room.
Sheng Min’s figure was hidden in the shadows, and Li Xuan couldn’t see him clearly, only catching sight of his long, distinct fingers resting on the doorknob, like freshly made porcelain.
“You’re sweating,” the porcelain-like hand withdrew and quickly handed over a tissue, “Wipe it.”
“Thanks.” Li Xuan took a step forward, then finally saw his face clearly.
He really had lost weight. Li Xuan thought, unsure if it was due to the lack of sunny days in the South or something else, but he looked pale, as though drained of color.
“Why are you here at this hour?” Sheng Min seemed to be at a loss for words. He smiled lightly and said, “Long time no see.”
“Twenty-seven days,” Li Xuan said without thinking.
At that moment, both of their faces showed a bit of surprise, and they instinctively turned their heads away to avoid eye contact.
The silence stretched on too long, and the motion-sensing light above them turned off. Li Xuan lightly tapped the wall to turn it back on. The light came on suddenly, and the gaze Sheng Min had been directing at him was caught off guard, causing him to hurriedly lower his head.
“Do you want to come in for a bit?” After a while, he asked hesitantly.
“Is it convenient?”
“It’s fine.” Sheng Min stepped aside, “Come in.”
The slippers Li Xuan had worn were still placed by the shoe cabinet, making him feel like a traveler returning home.
Before turning on the lights, Sheng Min hesitated, “The place is a little messy, don’t mind it.”
“It’s okay.”
With a slight noise, the broken cups and chairs, the scattered cake, all exposed to Li Xuan’s eyes, as well as Sheng Min’s slightly uncomfortable expression.
The cream on the wooden floor looked like moldy cotton, and the chocolate-shaped “22” was stepped on by someone, broken into an unrecognizable shape.
“I haven’t had time to clean up.” Sheng Min forced a smile but didn’t dare to meet his gaze.
Li Xuan could easily tell whose doing this was. Since Sheng Min didn’t mention it, he wouldn’t bring it up either, though his throat felt tight. “Are you okay?”
“Of course.” Sheng Min smiled, “You sit down.”
Li Xuan pressed his lips together, walked to the storage room to grab a broom and mop. Sheng Min noticed his intent, “No need, I can do it…”
“I’ll do it.” Li Xuan said firmly.
The furniture wasn’t a big deal, just needed to be put back up, but the scattered glass and ceramic pieces were harder to clean. When Li Xuan finished sweeping everything into the trash, he realized it wasn’t just the cups, but also a few ceramic ornaments that Sheng Min really liked.
“I’ll buy you new ones later.” Li Xuan, feeling a lump in his throat, said instinctively.
Sheng Min pressed his lips together without replying, simply urging him, “Okay, give me the broom. You go wash your hands.”
When Li Xuan came out of the bathroom, he didn’t see Sheng Min. After looking around, he found him on the balcony.
The wind blew through the living room windows, lifting the thin fabric of his shirt, billowing it behind him like wings about to fly.
It was dynamic, yet Sheng Min stood still like a painting. Perhaps in ink, it didn’t need much color. Li Xuan leaned against the doorframe, lost in watching him for a while before slowly walking across the living room to him.
After cleaning the stains, everything in the living room was familiar again.
The cushion on the sofa was one they had bought together. Many ordinary afternoons, Li Xuan would come out of the study and see Sheng Min quietly reading a script while resting his chin on one of them.
The decorative painting on the wall was something they had hung up together, and he had been holding the ladder for him.
Even the pens placed under the TV cabinet were from the brand that Li Xuan was used to…
Li Xuan felt a bit dazed, as if the month of separation had never happened and they were still living together.
As he passed the study door, he suddenly felt the urge to check if the bed had been moved. The thought came uncontrollably, and his fingers acted before his brain, already turning the door knob.
The sound of the door hinge turning was lighter than a sigh, and the single bed was left in place, along with the potted plants that hadn’t been taken away… Everything behind the door felt like a still photograph from the past.
The only addition was a huge delivery box in the corner of the room. Li Xuan recognized the logo on it from a famous computer company. A vague suspicion pierced his mind like a needle, but the next moment, he still walked over.
The bottom of the box had the model number and specifications, everything from the main unit to the monitor was the highest configuration. His guess was confirmed when he saw the recipient’s name: Li Xuan. His name had never been so glaring.
Behind him, there was the faint sound of footsteps. Li Xuan turned around, cleared his throat, and said with a voice that was a little strained, “Sorry, I just opened the door.”
Sheng Min shook his head, “It’s fine.”
Li Xuan placed his hand on the box and, seeing his hesitation, asked, “When did you buy this?”
Sheng Min paused for a moment, “One night, you said the software was malfunctioning, and the laptop couldn’t handle it, so you had to go back to the office… It was already quite late.”
But that was a lie Li Xuan had told him, just to get him out of the way. Later, Sheng Min found out.
Both of them probably already knew the truth, so Sheng Min didn’t continue. Li Xuan could only ask awkwardly, “So, you’ve just kept it here? Haven’t had anyone set it up?”
“I don’t need to.”
“Then why not return it?”
“Why return it?” They stood at the opposite corners of the room, light shining from different places. The shadows on the floor intertwined, and Sheng Min stared at them for a long time before speaking softly, “It just arrived too late. I only found out after I ordered it, there weren’t any in stock, and I had to wait a month… I thought it could be a birthday gift for you.”
He looked up and said, “Happy birthday.”
“Happy birthday,” Li Xuan responded softly.
Sheng Min smiled, “It’s good that you came today. You can take it back with you… It’s been here for a few days, and I didn’t know how to give it to you…”
The smile made Li Xuan’s heart ache.
“Sheng Min,” he interrupted him, gently calling his name, “I actually came to ask you if you want to go watch a play?”
……
They rushed to the theater, and there were only ten minutes left before the show started.
There were posters on both sides of the entrance, in an abstract style, with pale green leaves floating above winding rivers. In the middle was the title of the play, written in childish, graffiti-like fonts: “When the Moon Falls.”
The director and playwright, Yin Qianping, was very well-known, a leading figure in the country’s avant-garde theater.
But as Qi Boyuan had said, no matter how dry the paper on engine development was, Li Xuan could focus on it for an entire morning. As for plays, he was honestly not very interested. Whether the director was famous or not didn’t matter much. The reason for choosing this play was simply that Sheng Min seemed to really like this director’s works—most of the plays he often read scripts for were by this person.
This was a new play with limited performances, and tickets were hard to come by. Most of the audience were loyal fans. By the time they arrived, the seats were almost all taken. Fortunately, their seats were almost at the center, so it wasn’t hard to find.
“It’s fine, no one recognized us.”
After sitting down, Sheng Min took off his ivory white baseball cap and carefully adjusted his mask. Li Xuan quietly reassured him.
Sheng Min nodded, his mask covering most of his face, leaving only his bright, crescent-shaped eyes visible. The seats were close together, and even though the air conditioning was quite cold, Li Xuan could still faintly feel Sheng Min’s warm breath. As they moved, Sheng Min’s hand accidentally brushed against his fingertips. For a brief moment, Li Xuan’s breath caught, and his fingers froze involuntarily.
Fortunately, the lights in the audience dimmed at just the right moment, and the play began.
The story had no specific time period, feeling like it could have taken place in the last century or even today.
In the early spring, with the last traces of snow still melting, a young man meets a dancer in a small town on the edge of the world. After their eyes meet, they spend a spring night together.
It wasn’t love at first sight, nor did they fall in love. Perhaps the town was too small, and they kept running into each other at different street corners. They would share a meal or a night, and then leave without saying goodbye.
A week later, the young man left the town, just as quietly as he had arrived. The dancer stayed, continuing her simple, uneventful life.
The spring passed quickly, and summer ended.
In the final scene, the dancer sat in front of a broken mirror in the attic, sorting through clothes she no longer needed. When she looked up again, she saw a familiar yet unfamiliar figure in the mirror.
The crimson curtain fell, and a hoarse male voice read the final lines of the play:
“Xie Yi looked outside the mesh window.
The moon hid behind the clouds, decaying leaves fell, casting broken green shadows on the ground. The sky hadn’t brightened yet, and no one knew when it would.
But at least he came back.
Before the next goodbye arrived, they were together.”
