The progress bar is almost at its end. As the video finishes, Gao Zhun rubs his eyes in the darkness and closes his tablet. There is a faint hum in the cabin. He turns to look at Fang Chi beside him, who has fallen asleep. Without his glasses, his hair falls loosely over the bridge of his nose, giving him a scholarly air that is very endearing.

He leans in close and licks a damp circle around Fang Chi’s ear. Fang Chi wakes up instantly; seeing who it is out of the corner of his eye, he mumbles, “Not sleeping yet…”

“I’m feeling a little…” Gao Zhun’s hand moves onto his thigh, sliding up the fabric of his dress trousers until it slowly reaches between his legs, kneading with a moderate pressure. Fang Chi is fully awake now and presses down on his hand. “Someone might see!”

Gao Zhun doesn’t care. “They’re all asleep.” He unzips his trousers, pulls the metal zipper all the way down, and reaches inside. After a few casual grabs through the cotton underwear, Fang Chi is obediently hard.

“No,” he says, squeezing his legs together, though he has no intention of making Gao Zhun take his hand away. “With these symptoms you have right now…”

“It’s called sex addiction,” Gao Zhun says, clearly disliking his mention of symptoms or sickness. “It’s only a mild case. Besides…” He uses his thumb to rub slowly against the hot, tender flesh. “Don’t you like it?”

Fang Chi lets out a groan, his breathing becoming rapid. “Didn’t we agree… that we would try not to do this while we’re out on this trip…”

“The plane hasn’t landed yet, so it doesn’t count as being ‘out’,” Gao Zhun says while continuing his work, his tongue sliding into the corner of Fang Chi’s temple. Then, like a mischievous cat, he clings to his shoulder, licking his eyes in a sticky, affectionate way. “Shall we go to the bathroom?”

Fang Chi feels as though his head is about to explode. He instinctively wraps his arms around his back, spreading his fingers to press firmly against him. “It’s too conspicuous…” He is referring to the first-class cabin; including them, there are only four people, and only one restroom.

“Go to the back?” Gao Zhun nuzzles against him, nearly climbing onto his lap, cupping his face and kissing his lips desperately. Fang Chi is so overwhelmed he is completely intoxicated, and he offers no opposition, effectively giving his silent consent.

Gao Zhun tugs him up, and Fang Chi follows him closely. The two men brush past the first-class curtain side-by-side and head toward the restroom behind the economy class cabin. At that moment, Fang Chi glances at his watch. It is midnight in Beijing time, and apart from a few young people wearing headphones playing games, the passengers are basically all sound asleep.

Both restrooms are empty. Gao Zhun picks one at random, grabs Fang Chi’s shirt as he follows him in, and locks the door behind him. Once the door is shut, he immediately takes off his pants, puts down the toilet lid, and sits on it, showing his rear to Fang Chi in a provocative way.

Fang Chi looks at him, then at the door, steeling his heart, and presses forward.

It might have been a bit painful, as Gao Zhun lets out a cry. It isn’t loud, but it frightens Fang Chi. “Shh!” he commands. “No noise allowed!” As he speaks, he thrusts. Gao Zhun is forced to twist his waist, his brows knitting together. He grips Fang Chi’s shirt sleeves, his rear contracting incessantly. “It’s… it’s a bit…”

“A bit what!” Fang Chi can’t wait any longer; he braces his waist and begins to thrust harder. Gao Zhun wants to say “it’s a bit tight,” but after only a few thrusts, the space between his spread legs melts as if it were a river of water, and transparent fluid drips onto the gray plastic floor.

Since Fang Chi won’t let him cry out, he covers his mouth and moans to himself, swinging his waist wildly as he does so. As he swings, most of his body hangs off, barely clinging to the toilet. Fang Chi tries to hold him, but he is moving too violently to keep a grip.

“Slower… be slower!” Fang Chi has to support him by the back of his neck.

Gao Zhun acts as if he is possessed. He takes his phone out of his pocket, switches to the front-facing camera, and records without a shred of restraint. On the screen is his face flushed with desire, eyes hazy and unfocused. Watching himself like this makes him even more excited. He flips the phone to film the hem of his messy shirt and a patch of bare belly. The skin is flushed a pale pink, with something rising with high spirits. He brushes it aside to focus on the mess between his legs and the thick, large penis inserted into his rear.

“Ch… Charles!” Gao Zhun gently shakes his calves, hooking Fang Chi closer, then points the phone at him. Fang Chi doesn’t refuse, merely giving him an unfriendly glare through the lens. “That’s enough.”

Gao Zhun laughs, turns the phone face down on his chest, and says coquettishly, “Then kiss me.”

Fang Chi takes a deep breath, puts in a great deal of effort, and pulls him up suddenly, holding him against his body. “You just know how to ask for this and that.”

Gao Zhun is filled to the brim, his toes barely touching the floor. “Who told you I’m so greedy…” He lightly presses his lips together, slowly rubbing Fang Chi’s earlobes with his hands, and leans down to kiss him—they hold each other tightly, at an altitude of twelve thousand meters.

Fang Chi reaches the hotel holding his waist. It is a luxury romantic suite with a king-size bed and rose petals scattered everywhere. Gao Zhun helps him to the bed to lie down, teasing him as he undresses him. “That was uncalled for. It wasn’t even that intense.”

“It must have been that last hold,” Fang Chi says, his expression quite pained. “Did you put on weight?”

“Don’t blame me for your lack of stamina,” Gao Zhun says. He strips him completely naked, straddles him while still wearing his shoes, and slowly unties his tie. “I brought massage oil. Want a special service?”

Fang Chi looks up at him the expensive jacquard tie, his taut waist and looks away unnaturally. “No need, I’ll be fine after a rest.”

Gao Zhun doesn’t let him avoid it. He straightens his chin, leans down, and kisses him, starting shallow and going deep. Fang Chi doesn’t cooperate at all. “No, hey, don’t…” He tries to push Gao Zhun off, but having no strength left, he begs for mercy. “My waist is already like this!”

Gao Zhun chuckles, rises from his body, and licks the saliva from the corner of his mouth. “Scared?” He gets out of bed, pulls over his suitcase, finds a bottle of massage oil from a storage bag, and rubs it between his palms. “Turn over, lie down.”

The oil has a sweet lavender scent. Fang Chi obediently flips over, exposing his sturdy waist, back, and firm, uplifted rear. Gao Zhun admires him for a while, crawls onto the bed, and uses the heels of his hands to push slowly against the dimples in his lower back. “How is this pressure?”

Fang Chi narrows his eyes, feeling comfortable. “Do you even know what you’re doing? Don’t break me.”

With a “slap,” Gao Zhun gives his rear a smack. “How about this pressure?”

Fang Chi buries his face in the sheets and laughs muffledly. “Let’s stick to the way you were doing it before.”

Gao Zhun stands up, uses his oily fingers to unbutton his shirt, and pours the massage oil over himself, top to bottom. He remains motionless for a while. Fang Chi turns his head in confusion and sees him silhouetted against the sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His eyes widen. “You’ve got to be kidding…”

Gao Zhun is as bare as him now, climbing onto the bed and hovering over him. “Full body oil massage, never played like this?”

Fang Chi wants to refuse, but as soon as Gao Zhun’s slick chest presses against him, he loses his voice. He remains silent, and Gao Zhun keeps his mouth shut with mutual understanding, his waist and hips swaying like a fish, rubbing against him in a wave-like motion.

“Ah… ah…” Both of them pant in turns. The room is filled with happy sighs and somewhat suppressed moans. On the sheets, their hands are locked tightly together, unwilling to relax even in the slightest.

Fang Chi stays in bed until the afternoon, feeling somewhat better. He gets up and goes with Gao Zhun to see several churches. By the time they finish, it is already night. They grab a bite to eat at a street cafe and then walk, arm in arm, into a fairly famous gay bar. It is more like an old tavern, with rattan chairs of all sizes. They sit in the back and order two rums.

This place allows for song requests. A thin, dark-skinned man in his fifties plays the piano to accompany them, and many guests go up to perform. Gao Zhun listens to a few tracks—”You Are Beautiful,” “Whistle,” and “Someone Like You”—all popular songs. On a whim, he slips the man a fifty-dollar tip and sits on a high stool under the spotlight. Gripping the old-fashioned microphone, he puts one foot on the chair rung, exposing his geometric ginger-yellow socks below his pant leg and a narrow strip of his lower calf.

“Siempre que te pregunto,

Que cuando, como y donde,

Tu siempre me respondes,

Quizas, quizas, quizas…”

I always ask you again and again, when, where, and how we will be together, and you always reply: perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

It is an old Cuban song, but the lyrics touch the heart. Gao Zhun sings quietly, looking at Fang Chi with fiery eyes as he does so. The little round lamp on their table is lit, and Fang Chi is trapped in that orange-red circle of light, looking down shyly.

“Y asi pasan los dias,

Y yo desesperado,

Y tu, tu contestando,

Quizas, quizas, quizas!”

When the song ends, many people cheer for him. Gao Zhun covers the microphone with his palm and leans over to say something to the thin dark-skinned man. The piano music suddenly changes; after a long glissando, it shifts into a restless, upbeat melody. Gao Zhun stands up from the chair, walks around the steps to jump off the stage, and casually plucks a camellia from a vase on the front table to tuck into his suit pocket:

“Bitty, boppy, Betty,

On weekends she’s your honey,

Then comes Monday,

And that’ll be ‘sir’ to you!”

It is a cheeky song about a newly appointed local prosecutor who takes off his tie and puts on pearls and jewels every Friday after work, transforming into a “sweetheart” for men. Naturally, Gao Zhun sings it very cheekily.

“She’s a boy who doesn’t show it,

And though the guys all know it

None of them seems to mind…”

His target is Fang Chi, but he circles around indirectly, table by table. Those men reach out to grab his hand, raising their glasses to him affectionately, as if he really were the Betty in the song, the favorite girl who knows how to dance to hard bop jazz.

“You really can’t ignore her,

And if you don’t adore her,

There might be something wrong with you!”

Finally, he reaches Fang Chi. He gives him an arrogant, suggestive look, and the whole tavern starts hooting. Fang Chi covers his mouth, shyly raising his eyes to peek at him. Gao Zhun pulls the camellia out of his pocket and hands it to him, looking as fresh and delicate as a drop of dew.

“On weekends she’s your honey,

Then comes Monday,

And that’ll be ‘sir’ to you!”

Fang Chi takes the flower, stands up boldly, wraps his arms around Gao Zhun’s waist, and, amidst the cheers in a foreign land, kisses him repeatedly. Finally, he leans against his ear and diligently whispers, “Sir!”

Leaving the bar, they head to a gay club. It is a very typical one, with a dance floor, pink lights, and go-go boys. Just after ten o’clock, artificial foam starts to cascade continuously from the ceiling. When the lights hit it, it turns multicolored. The crowd is agitated, and the hands Fang Chi and Gao Zhun were holding are pushed apart, pulling them further and further away through layers of foam.

The music blasting from the speakers is a Lady Gaga song. Fang Chi anxiously edges toward Gao Zhun, but he hasn’t moved more than two steps before a tall boy with a bare back blocks his path. He is a genuine blond youth, eighteen or nineteen years old, half a head taller than Fang Chi, rubbing against him while dancing.

Fang Chi is a bit dazed, staring blankly at him. He is truly beautiful, a type of beauty Asian men don’t possess. The foam wraps around him, melting against his body and running down his snow-white muscles. He shouts something at Fang Chi, but the music is too loud to hear. Fang Chi shakes his head, so the boy simply puts his arms around Fang Chi’s shoulders and kisses him wildly.

Fang Chi pushes him away in panic and even anger, but the man clings on and won’t let go. Perhaps he has had too much to drink, as he stretches his neck to lick Fang Chi’s temple. Fang Chi instinctively searches for Gao Zhun. Amidst so many people, he spots him instantly. Gao Zhun is “alone,” far away in the crowd. He clearly sees the blond boy, but he isn’t angry; instead, he glances away as if giving his silent permission.

For an instant, Fang Chi feels as if something has pierced his heart deeply. He doesn’t understand; he doesn’t understand why he would permit it.

Back at the hotel, he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t know how to ask. It is an emotion that can only be felt and not described in words. After showering and lying in bed, he is uncharacteristically restless. Gao Zhun, half-draped in his pajamas, casually hands him a red card. Written on it in several languages is: “Couple’s Video: Record your exclusive memories.”

“Where did this come from?” Fang Chi asks, frowning.

Gao Zhun pulls back the quilt and lies down beside him. “Someone shoved it into my hand when we were leaving the club.”

The next morning, they go to the tailor shop they had booked in advance, each getting one formal suit and one casual outfit, with a fitting scheduled for fifteen days later. Fang Chi checks his watch. “Earlier than planned. Where shall we go for a drink?”

Gao Zhun walks ahead, then suddenly turns back, his eyes sparkling. “How about we go to that place on the card?”

Fang Chi immediately shows resistance. “That kind of video… I’m not that open-minded.”

Gao Zhun leans in, linking his arm with his. “Keep it as a souvenir; we can reminisce later.”

Fang Chi lowers his voice. “If I want to reminisce, we can just do it ourselves,” he says. Then, realizing this is Canada and no one can understand Chinese, he speaks louder. “Letting me be in front of a camera, I really… I can’t get hard.”

The moment the words are out, someone looks over toward them with a laugh. Fang Chi’s face turns red instantly. He grabs Gao Zhun by the waist and pulls him under the street-side awning. “When we do it in bed and have someone standing by, don’t you feel uncomfortable?”

Gao Zhun thinks for a moment, then narrows his eyes. “Actually… I’d really like to try it.”

Things Gao Zhun wants to try, Fang Chi generally can’t stop. Half an hour later, they are at the address on the card. It’s a three-story building that looks like an ordinary residence. Fang Chi puts his hands on his hips, still wanting to back out. “What if it’s a scam? The crime rate around here…”

“I looked it up in the car just now,” Gao Zhun says, walking past him and ringing the doorbell directly. “The reviews are pretty good.”

The door opens from the inside. Gao Zhun shakes hands with the person and greets them. Fang Chi bites the bullet and follows him in. Unexpectedly, the living room is decorated very warmly. The person receiving them is Asian, with the surname Kim presumably Korean-descendant. They chat briefly, and the price is not expensive. Kim smiles and leads them to visit the filming room. The photographer is a big guy with light-brown scruff and tattoos in an Eastern European style on his elbows and knees. Kim calls out to him, and he gives a foolish, friendly smile.

The variety here is quite extensive; the rooms are decorated into various scenes, including a medieval castle, an old monastery, and the top room on the third floor even has a Third Reich swastika flag hanging, with several Nazi uniforms on the hanger. Fang Chi feels uncomfortable and secretly tugs on Gao Zhun’s shirt corner. “Let’s go.”

Gao Zhun doesn’t express an opinion. Kim, seemingly noticing their hesitation, runs far off to open another door. Inside are intricate Arabian embroidered curtains, seven or eight silk cushions, and a large hookah on a typical Istanbul rug. On the wall is a pair of Arabesque-style carved window shutters. Gao Zhun sees them at a glance and knows they are antiques.

“Let’s use this room,” he says, turning to Fang Chi.

Fang Chi was originally hesitant, until Kim asks very seriously, “Need other items? Lash? Handcuffs? Panties or black suspenders?”

Fang Chi touches his nose in embarrassment and whispers a request for black garters.

Kim brings them over brand-new, adding the cost to the bill. Gao Zhun seems a bit reluctant, looking a little awkward as he discusses it with Fang Chi. “I’ve never worn these… normal stockings are fine, but these…”

Fang Chi is no longer shy at this point, eager to try. “Change into them, I’ll help you.”

The photographer and Kim are in the room setting up the lights for the shoot. Fang Chi pushes Gao Zhun behind a makeshift tent to change. It’s just like the song Gao Zhun sang—he takes off his suit and tie and puts on women’s lingerie. A tiny pair of lace panties can barely hold his crotch. Gao Zhun is even less willing. “No, it’s too small…”

Fang Chi strokes his arm, coaxing him slowly. “Who was the one who said they wanted to film a sex video?”

“I wanted to film it,” Gao Zhun says, wearing the expression of a child who has made a mistake, his eyes slightly red. “But I didn’t want to wear this kind of stuff.”

Fang Chi immediately embraces him, stroking his back inch by inch. “I like it very much…”

Since he likes it, what more can Gao Zhun say? He puts on the long stockings, tightens the wide waist cincher, uses two elastic embroidered bands to clip the panties and the top of the stockings together, wraps himself in a big bath towel, and walks out with his head buried.

The lights are very bright, even a bit searing. He lies down in the center of the Kilim rug according to instructions. Kim arranges the silk cushions around him, then shows the effect to the photographer. Fang Chi has finished changing and comes out as well, also wrapped in a bath towel. Seeing Gao Zhun shining white under the strong light on the rug, he opens his mouth in awe.

Kim gives them a rough explanation of the precautions, points like camera angles, and the filming scale regarding private parts. When it comes time to start, Gao Zhun becomes shy, looking pitifully at Fang Chi. Whenever this happens, Fang Chi feels an intense surge of emotion. He leans in and pulls him into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

Gao Zhun instinctively avoids the camera. “I don’t want to film anymore, really.”

Fang Chi laughs, pulling at his bath towel while saying, “It’ll be over soon. Didn’t you say you wanted to leave a souvenir?”

Gao Zhun grips the bath towel, not believing him at all. “You’re never fast…”

Kim asks if they are ready. Fang Chi cleanly rips off his own bath towel, nods at him while naked, and leans down to lie on top of Gao Zhun. “Look at me,” he says tenderly, cupping his face to kiss him in detail, using his hands to peel off his bath towel with a few quick motions and flicking his wrist to throw it far away.

The camera is already rolling. Fang Chi covers Gao Zhun thoroughly, so only a pair of long legs are visible, wrapped in smooth black stockings, with toes curled and tucked conservatively.

Fang Chi licks down the curves of his body—the muscle pulled tight on the side of his neck, the sensitive skin in the hollow of his collarbone, his right nipple, the thin ribs—traces of saliva shining under the lights and evaporating quickly. Perhaps because he is facing the lens, Gao Zhun seems panicked. At the slightest touch from Fang Chi, he moans excitedly as if he were being penetrated, and for the first time, he repeatedly tilts his head to look down.

It’s clear Fang Chi likes those tights. He unclips one of the garter straps, cups Gao Zhun’s entire rear, and sucks as he peels the stockings down. Gao Zhun’s panties are completely stretched, like a ribbon pulled to its limit, barely wrapping around his rear. Fang Chi notices, rubs them nonchalantly with his hand, and gives a sharp tug, shattering the fabric in his hand.

Gao Zhun makes a sound like a cry, twisting his rear and rubbing it back and forth on the rug, calling “Charles” softly. Fang Chi brings his black and white legs together, thrusts his own hard lower body into the crevice above his ankles, and takes him into his mouth at the same time.

“Ah?” Gao Zhun trembles violently from head to toe, pushing Fang Chi’s head in disbelief. He has never let him use his mouth before; this is the first time, while he is dressed in erotic women’s clothing and calling out wildly on camera.

The photographer and Kim notice his strange performance too. Because he keeps thrusting his rear, the camera position is indeed a bit off, so Kim suggests a close-up. When the dark lens presses in close, Gao Zhun grips Fang Chi’s hair, gasping for air as he begs them: “Don’t… don’t film me!”

He forgets to use English, unashamedly pinching his tiny nipples and thrusting wildly toward Fang Chi’s mouth. His eyelids and chin are flushed red, only his lips, bitten tight, turning a shade of blue.

Fang Chi doesn’t let him finish in his mouth, but suddenly roars meaninglessly, flips him over, pulls the X-shaped ribbon ties on the black waist cincher, and thrusts fiercely from behind.

Gao Zhun grabs the silk cushion beside him, eagerly placing it under his stomach, lifting his rear high like a frog or some other creature, spreading his legs to both sides. His rear muscles tremor spasmatically without end. In the lens, it looks flushed red, with a beautiful Chinese character tattoo above the cleft of his buttocks. Kim gestures to the photographer to take a close-up of Fang Chi’s crotch.

They enthusiastically guide him, telling him to act rougher and more masculine. To Asian ears, those words are undoubtedly filthy, and Fang Chi hits him even harder and more recklessly. The camera focuses on the union of the two and the “Zhun” character rubbed damp and sticky on Fang Chi’s lower abdomen. No one notices that Gao Zhun, down below, is already rolling his eyes in a near-death state, screaming as he shoots onto the cushion.

After just over an hour of filming, it’s not even three o’clock when they return to downtown, so they go to the shop they booked to pick up the rings. While trying them on in the VIP room, Gao Zhun still seems dazed, soft, and constantly leaning against Fang Chi. There are three or five clerks accompanying them, and Fang Chi dodges them in embarrassment.

“Control yourself,” Fang Chi says, putting some distance between them. “You look like you’re on drugs; they’ll think I induced…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Gao Zhun laughs brilliantly. “Induced rape?” He hooks his little finger around Fang Chi’s ring finger. “The rings are already ordered; you’ve already induced me who knows how many times.”

“No,” Fang Chi argues. “They’ll think I’m rich and bought the rings just to get you into bed.”

Gao Zhun laughs heartily. “Look at the suits and you can tell who the sponsor is, okay!”

Fang Chi has nothing to say, nodding in annoyance as he goes to swipe his card to pay. Gao Zhun clings to his waist from behind, very possessively. Once in the elevator, he immediately buries himself in Fang Chi’s arms, saying enthusiastically, “Today is the last night, I’ve prepared a surprise for you.”

Fang Chi plays with his hair. “What surprise?”

Gao Zhun smiles, presses his lips together, and says nothing.

Back at the hotel after dinner, it’s just past nine o’clock. The doorbell rings, and when Fang Chi opens the door, he is startled. A pair of ginger-eyed people carrying large bags walk in. Judging by their attire, they are strippers, and he understands that this is the “surprise” Gao Zhun mentioned.

Gao Zhun comes out of the bathroom to greet them. After a short question, it turns out they are a sister and brother. They take a CD player out of their bags and demand payment first. Gao Zhun has it ready, and Fang Chi glances at the thickness of the cash in his hand—it is definitely more than just for dancing.

Fang Chi and Gao Zhun sit on the edge of the bed. The sister and brother move chairs in front of them and take off their thin trench coats one after another, revealing SM-style leather clothing underneath. Fang Chi grips Gao Zhun’s hand tightly, and Gao Zhun returns the grip knowingly. He chose the clothing style; he knows Fang Chi likes these things. Fang Chi tilts his head slightly to whisper in his ear: “When you were on camera…” his warm breath spraying on Gao Zhun’s cheek, “…you were much sexier than them.”

The music starts—pop songs whose names he doesn’t know. The brother and sister shake their ginger-red curls, swaying their hips and kicking their legs indulgently around the chairs. Before long, they are stripped down to their underwear, shaking their youthful bodies and poking out their red tongues, which are pierced with studs, in a seductive way.

Gao Zhun gives the sister a wink, signaling her to go to Fang Chi. She, experienced in her craft, steps forward in ten-centimeter stiletto heels, puts her hands on Fang Chi’s shoulders to push him backward, and then climbs on top of him, swaying gracefully.

The brother naturally goes toward Gao Zhun. Gao Zhun calmly admires his snow-white abdominal muscles and the light-red hair below his navel, then turns to look at Fang Chi, who is having his shirt pulled open by the woman, being teased passionately.

Gao Zhun stands up and walks toward the guest room with an expressionless face. The boy follows him, trails him into the room, and shuts the door behind him.

“Bottom or top?” the boy asks, then adds that he is okay with either. Gao Zhun ignores him, pours a glass of white wine, and sits by the balcony. “Just wait,” he says. “You can leave when they finish.”

The boy laughs with contempt and rips off his underwear. He is truly large, with a beautiful shape, and has two gold rings at the base. “Try me,” he says. “Fill you with ecstasy.”

Gao Zhun isn’t moved. He is intently listening to the sounds outside. He wants to see the scene, yet he doesn’t want to. Fang Chi with a woman—he has given his silent consent for his final indulgence.

The boy angrily puts his underwear back on and pushes the door to leave. The moment the door opens and closes, Gao Zhun hears him greeting his sister. Gao Zhun frowns and follows him out. Sure enough, the girl is standing there fully dressed, smoking while waiting for her brother to pack his things.

And Fang Chi? The big bed is empty, and the bathroom door is open, with the sound of rushing water. Gao Zhun walks over and leans against the door frame to peek in. Fang Chi looks up from the sink and sees him in the mirror. “Huh?” He seems very surprised. “You didn’t with that kid…”

It is self-evident—neither of them did. Fang Chi throws down the towel and turns around. “Seriously, this didn’t surprise me at all.”

Gao Zhun lowers his head, not knowing what mood he is in, and mumbles, “I didn’t want you to have any regrets.”

“What regrets?” The sound of the door closing outside comes—they have left. Fang Chi lifts Gao Zhun’s chin.

“You like women more, right?” Gao Zhun looks at him, fluttering his eyelashes. “On the last night of bachelorhood, I wanted you to do as you pleas…”

Fang Chi kisses him fiercely, mocking himself as he does so. “She tossed and turned on me for ages, but I didn’t have a single reaction.”

Gao Zhun presses against him, clearly feeling he is hard below. “Nonsense…”

“It was when I saw you in the mirror…” Fang Chi says in a voice as soft as can be, while pulling a tube of lipstick from his dress trouser pocket.

Gao Zhun stares wide-eyed. “You stole her stuff?”

“You gave them so much; I’m just balancing the books,” he says, clumsily unscrewing the cap and, with Gao Zhun holding his head up, shakily painting his lips. “Won’t you give me a smile, darling?”

The next noon, coming out of the city hall, the sunlight is exceptionally bright. Fang Chi takes off his sunglasses and turns to ask Gao Zhun on the steps: “Do you feel like this isn’t real? We…”

“Blue hydrangea, cold cash, divine, cashmere, cologne, and white sunshine…”

It’s Fang Chi’s phone. He checks the number and answers immediately. “Hi, we just finished the paperwork,” he sounds very excited. “Yes, the ceremony is next month, the suits aren’t ready yet… haha, thanks!”

Gao Zhun walks to his side, watching him laugh like a child. “Good, good, tomorrow night is no problem, see you then, bye!”

“Who did you invite?” Gao Zhun asks.

“Who do you think,” Fang Chi says, putting his arm around his shoulder and walking together with their arms linked. “Since we’re already in Canada, we might as well have a meal together. Haven’t you always wanted to see Zhen Xin?”

Gao Zhun says with disapproval, “It’s you who wants to see Zhang Zhun, right?”

“Thinking about anything is useless now,” Fang Chi says, pursing his lips pretentiously. “The marriage is done, and Canada doesn’t allow divorce. I’m dead in your hands for good.”

“Oh, really?” Gao Zhun tugs hard on his tie, pulling him in front of him. “Beg me, and I might consider giving you a way out.”

“I beg you,” Fang Chi says, so close he bites his lower lip the moment he leans in, “let me die even more completely…”

The sunlight is just right, and a large flock of newly landed pigeons is cooing and foraging in the square.

The End