On the day of departure to Shuangye Isle, the four of them agreed to meet at the high-speed rail station’s waiting hall.
There was no direct route from Beicheng to Shuangye Isle—they had to take a high-speed train to Haitong County first, then board a ferry there.
Xie An’yu and Yu Feng arrived earlier than Zhou Yi and his colleague. They hadn’t been seated long near the ticket gate when Zhou Yi pushed his luggage through the crowd, followed by his colleague.
“Good thing you two stand out like cranes among chickens—spotted you right away,” Zhou Yi said as he approached. “Otherwise, I’d have been searching forever in this sea of people.”
Shi Wuyang chuckled behind him: “Students are all on holiday heading home. Of course it’s crowded.”
Zhou Yi introduced him to Yu Feng and Xie An’yu. “This is Professor Shi, Shi Wuyang—the ‘Wuyang’ from ‘Everything is well'[mfn]萬事無恙的那個‘無恙’ (wànshì wúyàng dì nàgè ‘wúyàng’): T/N: The Wuyang in Shi Wuyang [施無恙 (Shi Wúyàng)] is the same spelling as 萬事無恙 (wànshì wúyàng), meaning everything is well.[/mfn].”
Shi Wuyang nodded at Yu Feng and Xie An’yu: “Hello.”
“This is Yu Feng, and this is Xie An’yu,” Zhou Yi introduced them in turn to Shi Wuyang. “Both friends of mine.”
Xie An’yu’s youthful features made it clear that he was not in the same age group as them. Shi Wuyang looked at Xie An’yu and said to Zhou Yi, “This friend of yours looks very young.”
“Naturally—fresh-faced Gen Z[mfn]零零後小鮮肉 (líng líng hòu xiǎo xiān ròu): lit. post-00s generation little fresh meat. 零零後 or 00後 (líng líng hòu) is a person born between 2000 and 2009. Generation Z, often shortened to Gen Z and informally known as zoomers, is the demographic cohort succeeding Millennials and preceding Generation Alpha. 小鮮肉 (xiǎo xiān ròu) means (neologism, slang) young handsome boy; (coll.) teen idol (male); a term popular in brothels in the old society. It was used by older women to refer to young and good-looking clients. In Internet slang, it refers to young men in the film and television and modeling circles.[/mfn] kid.”
Zhou Yi’s colleague wore frameless glasses, stood tall, and carried an air of refined intellect. Compared to Zhou Yi, he looked more like the scholarly teacher type.
Zhou Yi tugged at his shirt collar and fanned himself. “Didn’t expect traveling for leisure to be such an ordeal. Transfers are one thing, but there aren’t even any direct flights to Haitong? The high-speed train takes five or six hours, right?”
Xie An’yu nodded.
“Plus an overnight ferry,” Zhou Yi turned to Shi Wuyang. “Regretting coming along with me now?”
Shi Wuyang smiled. “I’m not as delicate as you.”
“Why am I delicate?” Zhou Yi laughed. “I’m just worried you can’t handle the hardships of the journey. I’m the one who brought you out here. I have to take good care of you.”
“Making me sound like some pampered aristocrat.” Shi Wuyang glanced at the departure board. “Almost boarding time, isn’t it?”
Zhou Yi checked too and nodded: “Nearly.”
Since the trip’s expenses were split between them, Zhou Yi skipped business class tickets to ease Xie An’yu’s financial burden—though the option didn’t exist anyway for this route to Haitong County.
In the end, they had to settle[mfn]退而求其次 (tuì ér qiú qí cì): to settle for the second best; the next best thing; accept a compromise; take the second best option; go for a less ideal choice. A common saying. Its core meaning is to accept a second-best solution when the optimal option is unavailable.[/mfn] for first-class seats. Xie An’yu and Yu Feng sat in one row, and Zhou Yi and Shi Wuyang were in the seats directly behind them.
Xie An’yu placed his backpack by his feet. Yu Feng, seated by the window, eyed the bag—likely stuffed with snacks from their supermarket trip two days prior.
“Bringing books for a train ride?” Zhou Yi’s voice carried from behind.
“Five-hour journey. You expect me to just sleep through it?”
Zhou Yi chuckled. “You’re making me look like a cynical teacher.”
Shi Wuyang opened his book: “There’s a shortage of cynical teachers like you these days. Take pride in it.”
“Are you insulting me or insulting me?”
“Praise.”
Yu Feng smirked and glanced at Xie An’yu, who was typing on his phone. When Xie An’yu raised his phone toward the window, the camera unexpectedly framed Yu Feng’s face. Their eyes met briefly—Yu Feng’s through the lens, Xie An’yu’s beyond the screen.
Xie An’yu stared at the person on the screen for two seconds before immediately putting down his phone.
He had been chatting with Ding Xiaofei earlier, who knew he had already set off and asked him to take more photos during the trip to share.
“I’m taking pictures for my friend,” Xie An’yu said.
“Want to switch to the inside seat?” Yu Feng asked him.
“No need, I’ll just snap a couple casually.”
Xie An’yu randomly clicked a few shots without caring how blurry the scenery outside the window was and sent them directly to Ding Xiaofei.
A few seconds later, Ding Xiaofei replied.
Ding Xiaofei: 【Did you take these with a landline phone?】
Ding Xiaofei: 【What kind of straight man[mfn]直男 (zhí nán): (neologism, slang) heterosexual man; straight man ; man who fails to understand women. A popular internet term. It was originally a term used within certain niche circles to refer to heterosexuals. It began to be widely used on the Chinese internet around 2014, and its meaning gradually changed. In many online communities, it became a derogatory term for certain men. In Chinese, the term “straight men” is sometimes associated with “male chauvinism” and “bad taste in clothes,” as in the example of the term “straight man cancer” (直男癌, meaning “male chauvinist”).[/mfn] photography is this?】
Xie An’yu: 【There’s nothing worth photographing outside. We just started the trip】
Ding Xiaofei: 【You know what? I’m really excited right now. I’ll see you tomorrow!】
Xie An’yu: 【I bought you a lot of snacks】
Ding Xiaofei: 【[Smirk] You really do spoil me】
Ding Xiaofei: 【Did you bring any Beicheng specialties?】
Xie An’yu: 【Yes】
Ding Xiaofei: 【[Smirk]】
Ding Xiaofei: 【I’ll introduce you to my girlfriend later】
Xie An’yu: 【You don’t have to】
Ding Xiaofei: 【Nope, it’s a must. You two are the most important woman and man in my life】
Xie An’yu: 【……】
Xie An’yu: 【I just finished lunch】
Ding Xiaofei: 【HAHAHAHAHA】
Xie An’yu: 【Didn’t your cousin open a guesthouse on the island? Can you ask her to reserve a few rooms for us in advance?】
Ding Xiaofei: 【You’re not staying at my place when you come back?】
Xie An’yu: 【There are four of us. Should we sleep on your roof?】
Ding Xiaofei: 【Fair point…】
Ding Xiaofei: 【Then I’ll tell her today, but it’s probably fine even if I don’t. Her place is pretty much empty every day—there’ll definitely be vacant rooms】
Xie An’yu put down his phone and turned to see Yu Feng wearing an eye mask and headphones, his head tilted toward the window.
Behind them, Zhou Yi was still speaking to Shi Wuyang in a low voice. Most of the time, it was Zhou Yi talking nonstop while Shi Wuyang listened silently, occasionally letting out a soft chuckle.
Xie An’yu fished out the wired headphones he had bought online from his bag, plugged them into his phone, and started watching an online lecture. The sound quality was terrible—expected given the price—and the noise isolation was poor. Even with the headphones on, he could hear nearby conversations.
At some point, Xie An’yu fell asleep clutching his phone. When he woke up, his phone was no longer in his hand—it had been placed on the foldable table along with the headphones. The carriage was quiet, with most of the passengers were resting with their eyes closed.
Xie An’yu turned his head slightly and noticed Yu Feng was already awake, scrolling through his phone. Sensing Xie An’yu’s gaze, he glanced over.
Still groggy from sleep, Xie An’yu looked a little dazed.
“Awake?” Yu Feng’s voice was hushed.
Xie An’yu gave a hoarse hum in response and stood up to use the restroom.
It was a little past two in the afternoon—the time of day when everyone gets sleepy. When Xie An’yu stepped out of the restroom after washing his hands, he noticed half the passengers were dozing off with their heads tilted.
As he walked, Xie An’yu suddenly stopped in his tracks, his gaze fixed on something.
The first-class seats had ample space between rows. Even standing in the aisle, Xie An’yu could clearly see Zhou Yi by the window and Shi Wuyang beside him. What caught his attention, however, was Zhou Yi leaning his head on Shi Wuyang’s shoulder with his eyes closed. Shi Wuyang tilted his head slightly toward Zhou Yi, his nose brushing against Zhou Yi’s hair.
Shi Wuyang held that position for about five seconds, his gaze lowered before lifting again, staring intently at the sleeping Zhou Yi.
Xie An’yu had been a bit sensitive lately, not to mention the way Shi Wuyang was looking at Zhou Yi… Even the straightest of straight men would probably notice something off.
While Xie An’yu was still standing there dazed, Shi Wuyang turned his face and his eyes met Xie An’yu’s.
Truth be told, Xie An’yu’s mind was a bit muddled at the moment, so he stared at Shi Wuyang for several seconds. Shi Wuyang didn’t avert his gaze, nor did his expression change. He was so composed that Xie An’yu almost doubted himself—maybe he had overthought it. Maybe that was just how Shi Wuyang usually looked at people, born with eyes that could make even a cabbage seem like the object of deep affection.
Xie An’yu withdrew his gaze and walked back to his seat with his head down.
No.
He definitely hadn’t overthought it.
Because he, too, had once looked at Yu Feng with that same expression when Yu Feng was asleep.
That was the beginning of everything spiraling out of control.
Xie An’yu returned to his seat. Shi Wuyang was sitting right behind him, separated only by a chair back, making it impossible not to feel awkward. Whether Shi Wuyang felt awkward or not, Xie An’yu didn’t know, but he certainly did.
After all, he had just been standing there staring at the guy for ages.
“Where’s the Q.Q candy you bought?” Yu Feng put down his phone and asked Xie An’yu.
Xie An’yu snapped out of his trance. “In my backpack. Do you want some?”
Yu Feng hummed in response. “My mouth feels a little bland. I want to chew on something.”
His mouth felt bland as hell[mfn]嘴裏快淡出個鳥 (zuǐ lǐ kuài dàn chū gè niǎo): lit. the mouth is going to taste of birds; a bird is fading out of his mouth. This phrase comes from a line spoken by Lu Zhishen in ‘Water Margin‘, referring to how after he became a monk, he eats vegetarian food every day with no flavor and really craves meat. Excerpt form Water Margin 008: Monk: Sitting on a low goose-neck bench, he thought to himself, “Hell. I used to have good meat and wine every day. But since I became a monk, I’ve been wasting away from starvation. And Squire Zhao hasn’t sent anyone to deliver good food for me in a few days. My mouth is bland as hell. If only I can find some wine somehow.”[/mfn] and he couldn’t smoke on the high-speed train.
“I have some beef jerky here. Do you want some?”
Yu Feng chuckled. “What, are you reluctant to part with your Q.Q candy?”
“No…” Xie An’yu unzipped his backpack. “You said you wanted to chew on something. Beef jerky lasts longer than Q.Q candy and fills you up more.”
“Let’s start with the Q.Q candy.”
“What flavor do you want?”
“You recommend one.”
“Pineapple.”
“Sure.”
Xie An’yu rummaged through his bag and pulled out a pack of pineapple-flavored Q.Q candy for Yu Feng, who took it and glanced at the bulging backpack. “Why buy so much if you’re not going to eat it? Where’s the ceremonial spirit of a spring outing?”
Xie An’yu laughed. “These are for my friend.”
Yu Feng tore open the Q.Q candy packaging.
So all those snacks he bought yesterday were for someone else. The only true love was Q.Q candy.
“You sure know your friend’s tastes well,” Yu Feng said, biting into a piece of Q.Q candy.
“He just loves meat.”
“And you?” Yu Feng looked at him. “Just love Q.Q candy?”
Xie An’yu pulled out a vacuum-sealed pack of braised pork trotters from his bag. “I’m quite fond of this too.”
Yu Feng laughed while chewing the candy.
***
The four of them didn’t arrive in Haitong County until the evening. They grabbed a quick dinner at a noodle shop near the station and then took a taxi to the ferry terminal.
Shuangye Isle was a small, relatively undeveloped island, remote and inconvenient to reach. The ferry to the island was rather modest—the most luxurious cabin was a twin room, though at least it had a private bathroom with a shower.
Zhou Yi hadn’t been on a boat in years and was quite excited once aboard. He tossed his luggage into the cabin and ran to the deck to look at the sea.
The sun had just set, leaving a stretch of twilight on the horizon where the sea met the sky, the water dyed the same colors as the sky—indescribably beautiful.
Yu Feng stood on the deck with his camera, taking photos when Zhou Yi called out from the other end, “Hey, Yu the Great Photographer, take a picture of me and Professor Shi.”
Yu Feng glanced at him. “Fifty per shot.”
Zhou Yi laughed. “Since when has a chief photographer like you become so cheap? I’ll give you a hundred.”
Yu Feng pointed to their right. “Stand a bit over there.”
Zhou Yi struck a standard tourist pose, draping his arm over Shi Wuyang’s shoulder—so tacky it made Yu Feng’s vision darken for a second.
“Put your arm down. Don’t just stand there like an idiot… Are you posing for a military drill?” Yu Feng directed Zhou Yi. “Don’t look at my lens. Just talk naturally.”
Yu Feng had a professional habit—he couldn’t just casually press the shutter like he was taking tourist snapshots. He reflexively guided the subjects in his frame.
Zhou Yi turned to glance at Shi Wuyang, and the two of them stared at each other blankly for a second before bursting into laughter. Yu Feng waited a full minute, letting them gradually relax into a natural state.
If two guys insisted on posing, the result wouldn’t necessarily look like a display of brotherhood—no matter how they were framed, the atmosphere would inevitably blur into something else. Yu Feng had taken photos of two men together before, but no matter how he shot them, the outcome always carried a certain tension. Even in a lighthearted style, it was impossible to strip away all traces of mood.
Candid shots were more natural, less likely to come off as ambiguous.
Yu Feng moved closer, then farther away, adjusting angles and distances before capturing a few candid shots while they were talking to each other.
Hearing the shutter stop, Zhou Yi turned his head. “Done?”
Yu Feng nodded.
“Let me see.” Zhou Yi walked over and took the camera from Yu Feng to check.
The frame only showed the upper bodies of Zhou Yi and Shi Wuyang, with the background filled by the sunset and the sea. The lens had perfectly captured the moment they smiled at each other, their silhouettes sharply outlined against the backlight.
Zhou Yi looked up at Yu Feng. “A master is a master.”
“Don’t forget to transfer the hundred yuan.”
“Sure.” Zhou Yi grinned and continued to admire the photos Yu Feng had taken for him. “I just wanted a simple group shot, but you somehow turned it into a magazine spread. Professor Shi, aren’t you going to come and take a look?”
Shi Wuyang walked over, and Zhou Yi held the camera up for him, smiling. “The atmosphere’s spot on, isn’t it?”
Shi Wuyang glanced at the photo, then up at Yu Feng, offering a faint smile. “As expected of a professional photographer.”
“Getting him to take photos is expensive. We got a deal today.”
“Send me the raw files later. Payment upon delivery.” Zhou Yi handed the camera back to Yu Feng. “Where’s Xiao Xie?”
“In the room.”
Zhou Yi chuckled. “Social anxiety acting up again?”
“Probably.”
“Afraid of me?” Shi Wuyang pulled out a cigarette case and took one out.
Zhou Yi turned to look at him, amused. “Of course he’s afraid of you. The kid’s shy—gets embarrassed around strangers.”
Shi Wuyang smiled with the cigarette in his mouth. “That timid, huh?”
A while later, the sky had darkened completely. As Yu Feng and Zhou Yi prepared to leave, Shi Wuyang said to Zhou Yi, “I’ll stay and enjoy the breeze a little longer. You guys can go back first.”
“Alright. Don’t stay out too long. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold.” Zhou Yi reminded him.
Shi Wuyang nodded.
***
When Yu Feng returned to the cabin, Xie An’yu was sitting on the edge of the bed texting Ding Xiaofei. The cabin was tiny, with two single beds separated by a narrow bedside table—barely half a meter apart. Lying on one bed, you could easily reach out and touch the other.
Xie An’yu sat hunched over, his long legs bent so sharply that his knees nearly brushed the edge of Yu Feng’s bed. The space between them was so cramped that if they stood facing each other, they’d probably bump noses.
Yu Feng had been on cruise ships before, but he’d never stayed in a cabin this small.
The moment Yu Feng stepped inside, Xie An’yu tensed up, gripping his phone awkwardly, unsure where to put his legs.
The cabin wasn’t much bigger than Yu Feng’s bathroom at home. When neither spoke, they could hear each other’s breathing clearly.
“This bed…” Yu Feng frowned. “I think my bones will fall apart after one night in this.”
After a few seconds of mental preparation, he calmly accepted reality. There was a storage cabinet by the door, and Yu Feng pulled out his backpack, tucking his camera inside.
Xie An’yu stood up, intending to step outside for a bit. Staying alone with Yu Feng in such a confined space would have him buried under the covers within half an hour—either suffocating from the heat or the sheer awkwardness.
“I’m going out for some fresh air,” Xie An’yu said, opening the door.
Xie An’yu made his way to the deck. The ferry wasn’t crowded, with passengers scattered along the railings—some chatting, others gazing at the sea.
Xie An’yu stood by the railing, gazing out at the horizon.
“What a coincidence.”
Xie An’yu turned at the voice and froze for a second when he saw Shi Wuyang. He nodded in greeting. “Professor Shi.”
Shi Wuyang walked over—he had been on his way back.
“Did you come up here alone?”
Xie An’yu hummed in response. Recalling the scene he’d witnessed on the high-speed train earlier, he felt a little awkward, unsure what to say.
“Don’t worry, I’m not a pervert,” Shi Wuyang said, looking at Xie An’yu.
Xie An’yu glanced at him.
“I just…” Shi Wuyang paused. “I like Professor Zhou.”
Xie An’yu’s expression faltered, stunned by Shi Wuyang’s blunt admission.
Shi Wuyang chuckled. “You had the same expression on the train earlier.”
“I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself,” Shi Wuyang added.
Xie An’yu nodded in agreement.
Shi Wuyang smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Xie An’yu asked, “You’re not planning to tell Professor Zhou?”
“Not at the moment. I probably will someday.”
Shi Wuyang had been worried that Xie An’yu would be startled, but he was surprisingly calm.
Xie An’yu was a little curious. “What if… he can’t accept it?”
“If he can’t, then I’ll just have to relentlessly pursue him.”
Xie An’yu’s expression faltered.
Shi Wuyang laughed. “Just kidding. If he can’t accept it, we’ll have to go our separate ways.”
“…No more contact?”
“Mm, you could say that.”
“Professor Zhou wouldn’t do that.”
“I know,” Shi Wuyang said with a smile. “I was talking about myself. I’d unilaterally cut off all contact with him. Anyway, I’m heading back to my room. You should get some rest too—it’s been a long day.”
Xie An’yu nodded.
Xie An’yu didn’t stay outside for too long. When he returned, Yu Feng was already asleep in bed. He quietly retrieved his toiletries from the suitcase and freshened up briefly in the room’s bathroom.
Having sat through an afternoon’s journey, he was indeed quite tired. Xie An’yu turned off the light and got into bed. His eyelids felt heavy, but listening to Yu Feng’s breathing so close by, he couldn’t fall asleep.
After tossing and turning for half an hour, Xie An’yu finally sat up, grabbed his pillow, and moved to the other end of the bed to lie down.
***
Yu Feng had only been asleep for a short while before the urge to pee woke him up. While Xie An’yu was outside, he had been scrolling through his phone in bed and accidentally fallen asleep. When he awoke, the room was pitch black, filled only with the steady sound of Xie An’yu’s breathing.
Yu Feng fumbled around the nightstand for the light switch but couldn’t find it. He got out of bed in the dark—without his glasses, he was practically half-blind at night.
He took a step forward in his disposable slippers. The aisle was too narrow, and Yu Feng’s legs were long—his foot got caught between the bed and the floor as soon as he stepped out. Losing his balance, his shin hit the edge of the bed, and he toppled forward.
Reacting quickly, Yu Feng threw out a hand to brace himself. Only then, in the sudden movement, did he realize it wasn’t the blanket at the foot of the bed—it was Xie An’yu’s face.
The commotion was loud enough. Though Yu Feng’s vision was blurry without his glasses, he was certain Xie An’yu must have woken up.
Because Xie An’yu’s breathing had become uneven.
With one hand braced just above Xie An’yu’s shoulder, Yu Feng found himself half-kneeling, face-to-face with Xie An’yu. If he leaned any closer, his face would brush Xie An’yu’s nose.
Even though Yu Feng’s actions were completely innocent, he still instinctively explained, “I’m not wearing my glasses.”
Only after speaking did he realize how pointless the explanation was.
Xie An’yu stared wide-eyed without saying a word. Yu Feng’s breath carried the minty freshness of toothpaste.
The author has something to say:
Dear readers, I have some important real-life matters to attend to over the next couple of days and will need to take a short break. I’ll do my best to return within two days. My sincerest apologies.
[dropdown title=”List of Idiom in Chapter 50″]
鶴立雞群 (hè lì jī qún): a crane in a flock of chicken (idiom); way above the common; a crane standing in a flock of chickens; an outstanding person in a group of common people; (of a person) be like a crane standing among chickens—stand head and shoulders above others; be the pick/best of the bunch/basket; be a giant among dwarfs.玩世不恭 (wán shì bù gōng): to despise worldly conventions; to be cynical; frivolous; to trifle without respect (idiom); disdainful of the world; flippant; irreverent; dismissive of societal norms. This idiom has a dual meaning: it refers to a frivolous attitude toward life when one is dissatisfied with reality, and also serves as a strategy for self-transcendence and relief for those who encounter setbacks.
鼓鼓囊囊 (gǔ gu nāng nāng): inflated; bloated; stuffed; bulging; full and bulging (of a pocket, pouch etc); swollen; puffed up; overfilled. This idiom describes the state of an object being filled and bulging.
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