The first Friday in June, Xia Xiqing suddenly asked Zhou Ziheng to take him on an overseas trip. At that moment, Zhou Ziheng was peeling an apple for him. The bright red, curled-up strip of peel snapped off, making him feel a bit regretful.
“Where to?” Zhou Ziheng took a bite of the apple himself. The crisp, juicy sound made Xia Xiqing’s heart flutter. Taking the apple from Zhou Ziheng’s hand, he bit into it too, mumbling, “Firenze.”
He spoke Italian—the first time Zhou Ziheng had ever heard him use the language. It felt fresh and utterly charming. The familiar syllables made him realize instantly, “Florence?”
Xia Xiqing nodded. “You’ve always wanted us to travel together, right? It’s perfect timing—I need to visit my teacher and ask him for a favor.”
Ever since learning of this plan, Zhou Ziheng had been in a state of extreme excitement. He was the type who meticulously planned everything in advance, whether acting or writing papers—a classic trait of a rigorous science guy. Xia Xiqing, however, was the complete opposite: carefree, spontaneous, and living day by day. Seeing Zhou Ziheng’s meticulously gathered materials, Xia Xiqing found it both amusing and exasperating.
“Hey, you’re coming to my alma mater, not going on a solo trip,” Xia Xiqing said, poking Zhou Ziheng’s forehead with his finger. “Why are you turning yourself into a tour guide? Don’t I know my way around, Mr. Zhou?”
Zhou Ziheng caught his index finger, pulling it to his lips for a kiss, like a hummingbird touching a delicate flower’s stigma. “I know, but I also want to learn about the city where you went to school. That way, I won’t be completely clueless.”
“It’s fine.” Xia Xiqing crossed his legs and sat opposite him, deliberately teasing him. “Anyway, I’m not into your intellectual side.”
The words barely left his lips before Zhou Ziheng lunged straight at Xia Xiqing, burying his head in the other’s shoulder. He tilted his head to press a soft kiss against Xia Xiqing’s neck, then, unsatisfied, opened his mouth to bite the skin—and the faintly pulsing vein beneath it.
“Are you a dog?” Xia Xiqing asked, though his arms automatically wrapped around Zhou Ziheng’s back.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not too bad.”
So he bit again, making Xia Xiqing gasp sharply. His hands pinched Zhou Ziheng’s face, pulling him up, kneading and rubbing that handsome face before inexplicably kissing him again.
He loved Zhou Ziheng far too much. Xia Xiqing thought this as the kiss left him breathless.
On the first day of the workweek, the two of them flew low-key to Italy. After a flight of over ten hours, they arrived in Florence at dawn. Due to the nature of his work, Zhou Ziheng had never traveled alone. Every trip was accompanied by Xiao Luo and other staff members, always in a group. Xia Xiqing, however, was different. He always traveled alone, especially when abroad.
“Where’s our hotel?” After stowing the suitcase in the trunk, Zhou Ziheng squeezed into the backseat next to Xia Xiqing. “Is it close?”
Xia Xiqing leaned casually against Zhou Ziheng’s shoulder. “I didn’t book a hotel.”
“You didn’t book a hotel?” Zhou Ziheng was skeptical. “Then where are we staying?”
“Sleep on the streets, I guess.” Xia Xiqing’s voice carried a hint of amusement. The driver seated behind the wheel was a portly Italian man in his fifties, his bulky frame squeezed into the compact seat. Yet his laughter rang out heartily. Spotting the two young Asian men, his first instinct was to address them in his broken English, thick with an Italian accent. Xia Xiqing, however, responded directly in Italian. “You can speak Italian.”
The man couldn’t help but show surprise. “Your accent is so authentic.”
“I used to be a student at FUMI.” Xia Xiqing smiled, lifted his head, and gave the driver their destination. Coincidentally, this enthusiastic gentleman lived nearby. They chatted for quite a while before he finally stepped on the gas, driving toward their home in the late night.
Zhou Ziheng sat beside him, his eyes fixed on Xia Xiqing. His Italian was completely different from his Mandarin. His face lit up with vivid expressions, and she’d often press his lips together almost without thinking—a quick, light press where his tongue flicked against his gums, creating a playful trill. Sometimes she’d gesture with his hands, his eyes crinkling with laughter.
“The houses here are all so beautiful. You have excellent taste,” the uncle praised sincerely as they prepared to exit the car.
“I think so too,” Xia Xiqing smiled at him.
“Did you rent a car?” The uncle leaned his arm against the window, concerned for him.
“No.” Xia Xiqing shook his head. “But I’ll consider renting a small car tomorrow.” Zhou Ziheng stood beside him, staring blankly. He thought Xia Xiqing sounded utterly adorable when he said that “no”—not like a crisp English negative, but with a heavy nasal resonance. The initial point of articulation wasn’t the mouth or the vocal cords, but the nasal cavity.
His nose wrinkled slightly, producing a sticky resonance like an “em” in his nasal cavity. His shoulders hunched ever so slightly, paired with the gentle shake of his head. Finally, the soft tip of his tongue touched his upper palate and withdrew swiftly. All these tiny details came together to form this little “no.”
Too adorable, like a kitten refusing to be stroked.
“Well then, have fun, you pretty Oriental boys.”
The driver pulled away, leaving them in a quiet alley flanked by beautiful Italianate houses. A sharp crescent moon hung in the narrow sky above the alley entrance, casting a soft, grayish-white glow.
Zhou Ziheng spoke up, mimicking Xia Xiqing’s tone from earlier, “Did you just say ‘no’?”
Xia Xiqing’s right eyebrow arched, a surprised smile playing on his face. True to form for a top student, but he deliberately wanted to tease Zhou Ziheng. He shrugged his shoulders, “Boh~”
Another adorable interjection. Zhou Ziheng’s heart skipped a beat again. The unfamiliar sound that sprang from Xia Xiqing’s lips was as endearing as a tiny pansy by the roadside.
“What does that mean?”
What Zhou Ziheng didn’t know was that compared to a simple negative statement, the interjection “boh” was far more playful, meaning “I don’t know,” and could be used anytime. Xia Xiqing particularly loved using this word in his speech.
“Boh.”
“What does it mean, exactly?” Zhou Ziheng trailed behind him, suitcase in tow. They climbed the green wrought-iron staircase winding around the exterior of a beige house. The zigzagging steps looped twice before reaching the top floor. Xia Xiqing halted before a sky-blue door, turned, and addressed Zhou Ziheng one last time, “boh~”
With that, he stuck out his tongue. This deliberately cute gesture landed like a direct hit on Zhou Ziheng. Before Xia Xiqing could revel in his triumph, Zhou Ziheng pinned him against the blue door. His arms tightened around Xia Xiqing’s waist, their warm bodies pressed together through the thin cotton layer of their shirts.
The cold white moonlight spilled over Zhou Ziheng’s ear, illuminating Xia Xiqing’s face and softening the sly smile playing there. Zhou Ziheng lowered his head, his straight nose gently brushing against Xia Xiqing’s. His voice was deep, richly mellowed by the night.
“Aren’t you being a little too wicked?”
Xia Xiqing tilted his head back, his full lips parting slightly. His moist, soft gaze met Zhou Ziheng’s lowered eyes as his hands lay limply draped across Zhou’s hips. He let Zhou continue this suggestive caress.
Only when Zhou Ziheng lifted his gaze to meet his did Xia Xiqing speak, his face appearing the kindest and purest as he whispered seductive words.
“If you don’t kiss me now, I’ll get even worse.”
The soft breathiness in his voice soaked Zhou Ziheng’s heart in dampness. Just as he lowered his head to capture Xia Xiqing’s lips, the other dodged him with a smile. “Too late.”
He fished a key from his jeans pocket, bent down to unlock the door that hadn’t been opened in over a year, and reached inside to flip on the light switch. Warm yellow light instantly flooded the small studio apartment, casting a cozy glow on the beige walls.
“What the hell does ‘boh’ even mean?”
Xia Xiqing sighed at his relentless curiosity, dragging his luggage into the room. “I don’t know.”
“How could you not know?” Zhou Ziheng brought in another larger suitcase, placing it beside his own in the corner before taking Xia Xiqing’s hand.
“Boh means ‘I-don’t-know,’” Xia Xiqing said, tugging Zhou Ziheng toward the small sofa in the living room. As his weary body sank into the plush cushions, he let out a contented sigh, tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling.
The decor of this small house was quite intriguing. The living room furniture was all beautiful Italian classical style, even the coffee cups were exquisitely crafted like carved art pieces. The brick-red ceiling resembled mahogany panels pieced together, yet upon closer inspection, it seemed more like a painted surface. The crystal chandelier refracted iridescent light, casting concentric circles of varying sizes onto each small pendant. Yet the house was also brimming with the warmth of everyday life. The off-white walls were covered with numerous paintings—some richly colored oil paintings, but mostly casual sketches pinned up somewhat haphazardly. There were also pages torn from books, their origins unknown, pinned alongside the paintings with tiny silver thumbtacks.
These little details of daily life were entirely Xia Xiqing’s style.
“Is this the place you lived in when you were studying?”
“That’s right.” Xia Xiqing rested his head against Zhou Ziheng’s neck. “I was still living here at the end of February last year.”
Zhou Ziheng had assumed Xia Xiqing lived off-campus, but never imagined it would be such a tiny studio apartment. Yet upon reflection, it felt like exactly the kind of place Xia Xiqing would inhabit.
“Didn’t the landlord rent it out to someone else during the year you were gone?”
Xia Xingqing shook his head. “The landlord is a very kind old lady. I specifically asked her to hold the place for me, and I pay her rent regularly. Back then, I didn’t think I’d be in China for too long. I always knew I’d come back.” As he spoke, Xia Xingqing drifted off into thought. “That grandmother is seventy years old. She lives with her husband on the first and second floors. They also have an adorable little granddaughter. Every morning, the old lady would sit on a little stool by the front door on the first floor, combing her granddaughter’s hair. Whenever she saw me coming downstairs, she’d wave enthusiastically, ‘Ciao~’” He mimicked the landlady’s greeting and smiled again.
Zhou Ziheng loved hearing these stories. His otherwise limited imagination suddenly came alive, picturing Xia Xiqing rushing downstairs with his backpack, greeting the old lady.
“His late wife used to be a cobbler who repaired leather shoes. She was very skilled, and many people sought her out, so she often carried her small toolbox around making house calls. When she returned, she would always bring Grandma a small flower—sometimes an iris, sometimes a rose.”
“Whenever I saw him arranging flowers for Grandma, I’d think to myself, ‘Life is truly wonderful,’” Xia Xiqing sighed with a smile. Then he leaned sideways, resting his head on Zhou Ziheng’s thigh, his gaze drifting from the ceiling to the depths of Zhou Ziheng’s eyes.
He slid a finger along the bridge of his high nose, gently tracing down to the curve of Zhou Ziheng’s lips. Like the softest brushstroke, his touch delicately traced the outline of his mouth.
“If you live long enough, you’ll always meet someone who loves you back,” Xia Xiqing murmured.
Zhou Ziheng’s heart skipped a beat, as if pierced by that slender finger. He lowered his head and kissed Xia Xiqing’s delicate eyelids.
After resting in the living room for a while, Xia Xiqing led him into what had once been his bedroom. The bathroom was fairly spacious. After showering, they both changed into loose T-shirts. Xia Xiqing sat cross-legged on the bed, falling silent. Zhou Ziheng stood beside the bed, drying his hair with a blow dryer, his fingers gently teasing through the strands, tenderly brushing against his scalp.
“Luckily, the landlady always has someone clean for me, so I can just go straight to bed. Otherwise, cleaning the room alone would take all night.” Xia Xiqing stared at the walls. “But these things on the walls are too messy.”
He was referring to the bedroom walls plastered with paintings. These couldn’t really be considered Xia Xiqing’s finished works—they were mostly emotional outbursts, half-completed sketches. Some weren’t even that; they were just chaotic clusters of lines. Hearing this, Zhou Ziheng also turned his attention to the paintings on the wall. Honestly, most of them were abstract, even dark. Since meeting Xia Xiqing, he had rarely seen him paint in this style; most of his work was refined and elegant classical pieces.
Directly opposite the center of the bed hung a large oil painting, far more complete than the others. The face depicted resembled a human visage, yet it was fragmented into numerous pieces by lines, like a shattered mirror’s reflection. The eyes were red, the cheeks black, the lips pale—each fragment painted a different color, creating an eerie sensation.
Beneath his gaunt face lay a black heart—the most realistic element in the entire painting. Veins connected to the heart flowed with black blood, nourishing it like venom.
Xia Xiqing’s eyes rested quietly on the painting, not uttering a word.
Zhou Ziheng could sense his emotional shifts, though he couldn’t explain why. It felt as if their hearts were tied together by a thin red thread—the slightest flutter in Xia Xiqing’s heart tugged at his own.
As if saying, Hey, the person you care about is hurting.
Zhou Ziheng turned off the hair dryer, ruffled Xia Xiqing’s hair, and kissed his crown twice. “What’s wrong?” He saw Xia Xiqing’s eyes fixed on the painting and tried asking, “What is it a picture of?”
Xia Xiqing’s voice held little emotion, as if he were describing today’s weather. “My self-portrait.” He added, “My past self-portrait.” As if this clarification could lessen Zhou Ziheng’s pain. But even he knew it was futile. He turned away, burrowed under the cool blanket, and lay on his side, closing his eyes.
“I’m so tired,” Xia Xiqing murmured softly. “Let’s sleep.”
Zhou Ziheng lay down beside him, gently patting his shoulder to lull him to sleep.
But long after, Xia Xiqing still hadn’t fallen asleep. His eyelashes cast trembling shadows under the bedside lamp. Zhou Ziheng held him close, offering the security he needed.
“Do you know why I rented this place?” Xia Xiqing remained eyes closed, stubborn in his own quiet way.
“Because it’s small. A small place won’t feel too empty.”
“Mm.” Xia Xiqing continued, “I came to Italy almost solely to escape my past, but I found that after arriving here, I became a different person again. I was the only Chinese student in my class, and my Italian wasn’t very good back then. Often, when people were talking behind my back, I could only rely on their expressions to figure out what they were saying.”
Zhou Ziheng frowned. “What did they call you?”
“Freak, looks like a woman, things like that…” Xia Xiqing sighed. “But honestly, I didn’t mind that much. Compared to what happened when I was younger, this was nothing. And later, I actually became the social center of that circle. Pretty ironic, when you think about it.”
“Back then, though, my teacher was deeply worried about me. He thought I had serious psychological issues. He believed that if I kept using painting to express my twisted inner world, it would only push me into greater danger.” Xia Xiqing’s lips twitched. “He even forbade me from painting for a while, sending me off to study abroad, wandering around Europe.”
Zhou Ziheng thought of that painting. “So this painting was created by you during that period.”
“Yes.” Xia Xiqing suddenly lifted his eyes. “That was who I was back then. I won’t lie to you.”
Of course I didn’t want you to see my dark side. Of course I wished to conceal those scars, those ugly, decaying areas, and all my weak, rotten, lonely moments. But how could I say these things weren’t me?
I’ve had so many moments of pretense, but at least in front of you, I don’t want to keep pretending.
Because you appeared, giving me love I’d never known. You told me I was beautiful.
So I’ll… believe it for now.
Xia Xiqing’s consciousness gradually sank into a soft place, like clouds, yet deeper than clouds. He vaguely sensed the person beside him had left, but he couldn’t tell if it was dream or reality. He felt panicked, yet unable to reach out and hold him tight. His consciousness dissolved, slipping away bit by bit.
When he awoke the next morning, sunlight flooded the small bedroom, spilling across the pale blue summer quilt covering them. Summer breezes teased the curtains, using the scent of a double-petaled rose to knock on the windowpane. Xia Xiqing stirred awake, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. Only when consciousness slowly returned to his limp body did he open his eyes.
Zhou Ziheng was still asleep, his sleeping face beautiful. Back home, he’d always rush to get up, so Xia Xiqing rarely saw him asleep. He lay on his side, watching for a long while. Every sharp edge softened in his slumber, like distant mountains veiled in mist.
Xia Xiqing wondered if he should go buy some local specialty breakfast items. Sitting up, he cracked his neck and prepared to get out of bed for his morning routine. Strangely, he noticed a box of colored pencils scattered across the bedside table, along with several crumpled paper balls.
He hadn’t paid it much mind until the moment he looked directly at the wall opposite.
His self-portrait was gone. In the center of the wall, once covered in drawings, now hung a clumsily drawn, even somewhat comical picture. It depicted a boy’s face, smiling brilliantly. The soft, muted colors of the crayons gave it the feel of a child’s artwork.
Filled with confusion, he walked over and examined it closely. At the very bottom, a line of writing had been added. The elegant handwriting only accentuated the childish style of the drawing.
[Portrait of Xia Xiqing. —by: Zhou Ziheng]
Author’s Note:
I saw a comment in the discussion section yesterday that was so well-written, I wanted to share it with everyone.
[Xia Xiqing’s affection for himself is merely a case of loving the house and the crow that perches on it.]
