When Zhou Ziheng woke up, his first instinct was to reach for his arm. The bed was empty—Xia Xiqing was no longer in the room. Jet lag felt unpleasant, but for a celebrity like him, it had become a regular occurrence. Zhou Ziheng sat up, the sunlight so bright it made him squint. The painting opposite the bed still hung there. Looking at it now, it really wasn’t very well done.
He should have signed up for an art class when he was taking those extracurricular lessons as a kid, Zhou Ziheng thought.
He remembered the self-portrait he’d taken down last night. Getting out of bed, he lifted the mattress on his side and found the painting still there. He breathed a sigh of relief. Turning around, Zhou Ziheng spotted his suitcase leaning against the wall.
He intended to take the painting back and hide it away. With that thought, he rolled up the canvas and tucked it into the bottom layer of his suitcase.
When he emerged after washing up, he saw a cup of coffee and a bread roll wrapped in light brown kraft paper on the small coffee table in the living room. Zhou Ziheng sipped his coffee, took the bread roll, and prepared to open the door. Just as he pulled open the blue iron gate, he heard Xia Xiqing’s voice. It turned out he was downstairs, chatting with the landlady he mentioned.
Zhou Ziheng walked to the railing, took a bite of the roll, and quietly watched Xia Xiqing below. He always relished these moments of observing Xia Xiqing, especially when he looked so vibrant and animated.
The old lady matched his description perfectly—wearing a dark green dress with yellow floral prints, her hair streaked with gray, and a kind smile that lit up her face. When Xia Xiqing spoke to her, he spread his long legs wide, hands resting on his thighs. He tilted his head, those beautiful eyes fixed on the grandmother. Paired with his light blue striped short-sleeved shirt and dark blue knee-length shorts, he looked just like an adorable high school student.
Before long, a little girl in a pink dress suddenly darted out, fluttering like a young lark, and immediately wrapped her arms around Xia Xiqing’s leg. Xia Xiqing chuckled happily as he crouched down, hugging the little girl and pressing his cheeks against hers, left and right.
Xia Xiqing was truly beautiful—no matter how many times he saw him, he felt the same. This thought made Zhou Ziheng determined not to embarrass himself in front of him. He remembered his hair was slightly tousled from sleep, so he stuffed a bread roll into his mouth, freeing his hands to smooth his hair. He also adjusted his light green T-shirt and brushed crumbs off it.
But just then, the little girl in Xia Xiqing’s arms suddenly lifted her head, pointed skyward, and shouted something in a language Zhou Ziheng couldn’t understand. All three of them looked up at once. The old lady’s surprised expression was utterly charming. She brought her hand to her mouth, uttering an adorable sound of surprise, then lowered her head to speak to Xia Xiqing, her tone sounding like a question.
Blunder. Blunder. Zhou Ziheng hastily adjusted the bread stuffed in his mouth, offering an awkward smile to those below while nervously smoothing his tousled hair.
Xia Xiqing smiled with pursed lips as the little girl mimicked her grandmother’s words and repeated the question. He pinched her cheek gently and answered in English.
“My boy.”
His voice was too gentle, soft and faint, yet the warm June breeze carried it to Zhou Ziheng’s ears.
For some reason, he even felt that “my boy” was more heart-fluttering than “my boyfriend.”
Xia Xiqing tilted his head and called out to the dazed Zhou Ziheng, “Come down.”
“Oh.” Zhou Ziheng descended the stairs, finishing the bread along the way. He overheard the little girl pestering Xia Xiqing in halting English, “Then… am I your girl?”
Xia Xiqing pursed his lips at that. “Well… how about this? Until you find your own boy, you’ll be my little girl.” The little one beamed with delight. She ran to the small potted plant by her door, plucked a tiny red rose, and trotted back to offer it to Xia Xiqing. Xia Xiqing refused, but she insisted, tiptoeing to press the flower against his ear.
“Now you are my boy.” The little girl declared with perfect seriousness, making the landlady standing nearby laugh.
Zhou Ziheng walked over and crouched beside Xia Xiqing, speaking to him in English too. “Even though this guy took your flower, he’s still mine, not yours. Got it?”
Xia Xiqing nudged Zhou Ziheng with his shoulder and said in Chinese, “Why are you still arguing with a kid?”
Zhou Ziheng ignored him, turning to the little girl with complete seriousness. “Get it?”
The girl pouted, thought for a moment, then ran off to pick another daisy. Standing on tiptoe, she pinned the flower to Zhou Ziheng’s ear.
“And you are my boy!”
Xia Xiqing and Zhou Ziheng exchanged a glance, then both burst into laughter. The landlady was also delighted, telling her little granddaughter, “You can’t go around saying things like that to every handsome boy you see.”
The two chatted with the landlady at the door for a while. Xia Xiqing glanced at his watch—the time he’d agreed upon with the professor was approaching. He bid the landlady family farewell for now and led Zhou Ziheng toward the Academy of Fine Arts. Zhou Ziheng removed the little daisy from his ear, twirling its slender stem between his fingers. With his other hand, he reached for Xia Xiqing’s, pulling him closer.
Xia Xiqing glanced at him with a faint, amused smile and clasped Zhou Ziheng’s hand in return. The joy bubbling inside him was impossible to contain—like a soda bottle shaken violently, its cap popping off with a bang as sweet bubbles surged out wildly, beyond any remedy. Xia Xiqing felt utterly infected by Zhou Ziheng’s energy, like a lovesick teenager. The moment he saw Zhou’s smile, warmth flooded his entire body, making him want to hug him, to kiss him.
He even thought that if he could spend his whole life nestled in that tiny rented apartment with Zhou Ziheng, it would be pure happiness.
On the way, they passed a boy selling handmade cookies. Zhou Ziheng bought a large box and started stuffing them one after another into Xia Xiqing’s mouth. When Xia Xiqing shook his head and said he didn’t want any more, Zhou Ziheng stuffed them into his own mouth instead.
The little house wasn’t far from the Academy of Fine Arts. They arrived shortly after setting off. Just as they stepped through the doorway, Xia Xiqing received a call from his advisor. The professor’s office was on the second floor, with a small garden downstairs. Zhou Ziheng sat alone on a bench waiting for Xia Xiqing.
Xia Xiqing’s decision to leave school and return to China had actually been his professor’s suggestion. This time back, he intended to retrieve some works stored with the professor and formally bid farewell.
Professor Bianchi stood up the moment he saw Xia Xiqing, stepping around his desk to embrace him. “Long time no see, Qing.” A meticulously dressed man in his mid-forties, he sported a different colored pocket square every day.
“It’s been a while. How have you been lately?”
Professor Bianchi shrugged with a smile. “Of course. Though I might be doing even better if you were here to help me.”
Italian men, young and old, were all smooth talkers. Xia Xiqing was long accustomed to it. He chuckled. “God forbid. A troublemaker like me shouldn’t cause you any more trouble.”
After chatting for a while, Xia Xiqing asked if he could retrieve some of his old works. The professor readily agreed. Holding a fountain pen, he tapped it on a blank notebook while his eyes fixed on Xia Xiqing’s face. Xia knew what he wanted to say. Sure enough, within a minute, the professor asked, “Though I’ve always known you were popular, I can’t help but ask—are you in love?”
Xia Xiqing rubbed the tip of his nose, his expression hesitant at first. But soon he placed both hands on the table and shrugged. “That’s right.”
“Good heavens,” the professor exclaimed in disbelief. “You’ve never admitted it before.” He shook his head with a smile. “You’ve been here five years, and I’ve never seen you like this… not once.”
Xia Xiqing stared at a document on the professor’s desk, its beautiful handwriting catching his eye. He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I never thought this day would come either.”
“That person must be an angel,” the professor laughed heartily. “Otherwise, how could they possibly have charmed you?”
You’ve hit the nail on the head. Xia Xiqing felt his ears start to burn.
“I must say, you’re a different person now. You used to be so melancholy, forcing smiles despite your inner turmoil. I was always worried about you.” The professor sighed deeply. “But now it’s different. I can see you’re truly happy. Your smile is genuine. I’m genuinely happy for you.”
Xia Xiqing felt a pang of emotion. Back then, he’d locked away his gloom inside, appearing sociable and popular on the surface, but his paintings couldn’t hide the truth.
“I am… very happy now,” Xia Xiqing murmured, a faint smile spreading across his face like ripples unfurling in the breeze. “He changed me.”
He saved me.
“No,” the professor replied firmly, surprising Xia Xiqing. “You deserved it.”
“You weren’t saved by someone else. It was your resilience that allowed you to wait for him.”
Xia Xiqing felt a pang in his nose. He couldn’t stand how easily his emotions fluctuated now, how fragile and sensitive his heart had become. Yet he had to admit, these words were deeply moving.
Suddenly, he desperately wanted to introduce the professor to Zhou Ziheng—though he also thought it might seem childish, like showing off. Still, he hoped the professor could see for himself just how wonderful Zhou Ziheng was.
After a moment of internal struggle, Xia Xiqing stood up. “He’s downstairs. Would you like to meet him?”
“Of course.”
The two walked together to the office window. Looking down at the lush little garden below, Xia Xiqing paused in surprise. Zhou Ziheng, seated on the bench, held out his hands, and three or five white pigeons flew onto his hands, pecking at his palms. Two clumsy young pigeons landed on his shoulders, their tiny claws clutching his mint-green jacket.
Zhou Ziheng’s face was filled with a patient, gentle smile. After the young pigeons finished eating, he took another piece from the box, crumbled it, and placed it in his palm. It made his already light hair color appear soft and shimmering.
“He truly is an angel,” the professor remarked with an expression that screamed I-knew-it. Yet his face quickly softened into a contented smile. “Qing, seeing you like this now makes me very happy.”
Xia Xiqing turned his head, his eyes clear. “Thank you.”
By the time they descended the stairs, most of the pigeons had flown away. Only one small one remained, pacing back and forth on the bench as if busy with something. Zhou Ziheng watched the little pigeon, finding it increasingly amusing. Hearing footsteps, it turned its head. The moment it saw Xia Xiqing, it immediately stood up. “All done?”
Xia Xiqing nodded and walked over to him. Seeing Zhou Ziheng pick up the empty cookie box, he teased him offhandedly, “Where are the cookies?”
“Huh? You ate them all?” Zhou Ziheng put his arm around his shoulder. “I thought you didn’t like them.”
“I don’t like them, so I fed them to the pigeons.”
Caught out about what had just happened, Zhou Ziheng looked surprised. “You saw?”
Xia Xiqing pointed upward. Zhou Ziheng followed his finger and looked up. Standing by the second-floor window, a middle-aged man was smiling at them.
It felt like meeting the parents. Zhou Ziheng awkwardly scratched the back of his head and smiled up at his mentor.
“You should’ve told me you wanted to meet someone. I would’ve done my hair.”
Xia Xiqing shot him a glance. “You really take your idol persona seriously.” But he quickly added, “What exactly were you hoping to look like?”
Xia Xiqing feigned disgust, wiping his face and pushing Zhou Ziheng away, though the smile on his face was impossible to hide. A tall, young Italian boy approached. Xia Xiqing didn’t pay much attention until the next second when the boy called out his name.
“Hey, Tsing!”
His footsteps halted. Xia Xiqing turned toward the voice. Before he could respond, a young man with brown hair strode up, embraced him warmly, and exclaimed, “Long time no see!” His face was lit up with surprise.
“Long time…” Before he could finish, his arm was yanked by a strong grip. Turning his head, he saw Zhou Ziheng’s expression shift abruptly. Gone was the sweet, docile look from moments ago, replaced by pure aggression. Hostility plastered across his face, as if he feared the other wouldn’t notice.
A truly unexpected wolf-like transformation.
“And this is…” The young man glanced at Zhou Ziheng, the atmosphere growing awkward, yet he still managed a smile.
“Lucas. He’s my boyfriend,” Xia Xiqing stated decisively. He then turned to Zhou Ziheng and introduced in Chinese, “This is my classmate from grad school, Lucas.”
Zhou Ziheng greeted Lucas in English. Even after Xia Xiqing had spoken, he remained uneasy, his gaze still brimming with wariness.
“You’re really handsome,” Lucas remarked, completely ignoring Zhou Ziheng’s childish possessiveness. His attention was entirely focused on Zhou’s face, which blended Eastern and Western beauty, and his exceptionally well-proportioned physique. “Your proportions are perfect for drawing the human form. Are you mixed race? Or are you like me?”
Though his relationship with Lucas had been reasonably amicable, Xia Xiqing couldn’t stand the way Lucas was openly eyeing Zhou Ziheng up and down. Especially as fellow art students, he knew they both possessed an innate ability to see through the human form. The thought made him uncomfortable, like someone had touched something precious to him.
He’d never imagined he could feel such intense possessiveness.
So Xia Xiqing quickly changed the subject. “You just got back from somewhere?”
“Yeah, I went to the church. Took two new guys there for some sketching.”
Speaking of which. Xia Xiqing glanced at his watch. “I have to go. Something came up.” He grabbed Zhou Ziheng’s hand, ready to leave.
“Want to grab dinner tonight? There’s a new little bar that just opened, pretty nice.”
“I have plans. Next time.” Xia Xiqing waved twice at Lucas behind him.
“Hey! Can I give your little boyfriend my number?”
“No way.” Xia Xiqing didn’t even turn around, tightening his grip on Zhou Ziheng’s hand. Zhou Ziheng couldn’t understand what the two were saying, but something felt off. He tentatively asked, “Is he insulting me?”
Xia Xiqing burst out laughing. “Yeah, he said you’re ugly.”
“What’s ugly about me?!” Zhou Ziheng usually couldn’t care less about others’ opinions, especially about his looks. But today, he was unusually sensitive. He pressed his hand against the stubborn tuft of hair on his forehead again. “I think I’m better-looking than most people here.”
How adorable. Xia Xiqing couldn’t stop laughing, reaching out to touch his chin. “Not most people—every single one.”
He added cheerfully, “Our Hengheng is the most handsome.”
As Xia Xiqing led him out, he kept glancing at his watch, seemingly in a hurry. The sun climbed higher, reaching its zenith in the sky and bathing all of Florence in brilliant light—the deep gray pavement, the winding alleys crisscrossing the city, the sea of brick-red rooftops. Not far away stood a tall building, imposing and solemn. Amidst this bustle, Zhou Ziheng suddenly felt a reckless romanticism reminiscent of Roman Holiday.
Watching Xia Xiqing’s back, he suddenly felt that Xia Xiqing belonged in a place like this. He had felt this way once before in Wuhan. Whether in the bustling night markets filled with the hustle and bustle of everyday life or on the art-infused streets of Florence, Xia Xiqing’s presence always felt so perfectly natural and fitting.
“I was planning to show you the David at the Academy of Fine Arts—the real thing,” Xia Xiqing said, slowing his pace as he tugged Zhou Ziheng’s wrist. They were almost there; the brick-red dome of the Duomo di Santa Maria del Fiore was already visible.
“Then why didn’t we see it?” Zhou Ziheng walked beside him, his attention almost entirely captured by the nearly hundred-meter-tall Gothic cathedral. The outer layer of fishbone-patterned marble decorations created a sense of lavish accumulation—cream-white marble, dark green glaze, classical sculptures everywhere. It was so exquisitely crafted it hardly seemed like a church, but rather some priceless work of art.
“The original is breathtaking, but I wanted you to see this instead. No, hear this.”
Xia Xiqing abruptly halted his steps before an exceptionally tall skyscraper, glancing down at his watch.
“Where is this?” Zhou Ziheng also looked up at the towering structure. He’d done his travel homework, trying to match what he’d seen online with reality. “Is this… the Giotto’s Bell Tower?”
Hearing Zhou Ziheng’s words, Xia Xiqing couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re quite the scholar, Mr. Zhou.”
“That’s right.”
Zhou Ziheng was about to speak when suddenly, a long, drawn-out toll echoed through the air. its metallic clang drawn out and stretched, piercing through clouds and shattering stone, striking straight to the heart. He felt his body lose control, frozen by this solemn, awe-inspiring ancient chime. His entire being seemed electrified, his very soul trembling endlessly with the resonating sound waves.
Just as he stood transfixed, Xia Xiqing kissed him. A soft, gentle kiss, like a cloud shed by the bell’s resonance, drifted languidly onto his lips.
Xia Xiqing gazed into his eyes, sunlight generously bathing his fair face, making him resemble a meticulously carved angel of pure white in a church.
“Truthfully, I fell for your voice not long after we met,” he murmured, his eyes brimming with tenderness like a mountain stream after spring snowmelt. “So many times I wanted to tell you—whenever I hear you speak, I’m always reminded of the bells of the Cathedral of a Hundred Flowers.”
He hadn’t told him because it felt too profound—a genuine, heartfelt association and admiration. Unlike the teasing words spoken in flirtation, this was unconscious. To share it would be like laying his heart bare before him.
Too dangerous, too real.
When Xia Xiqing spoke these words, Zhou Ziheng inadvertently recalled the analogy he’d once drawn for himself—Rodin’s Kiss. Whether deliberately teasing or genuinely expressing emotion, Xia Xiqing always described himself using these priceless works of art, making Zhou feel unworthy of such comparisons.
Zhou Ziheng lowered his head, his palm gently caressing Xia Xiqing’s nape. His deep, magnetic voice resonated in perfect harmony with the echoing chimes of the ancient city clock. “Where does it resemble that?”
As the final chime of the hour lingered with a drawn-out echo, Xia Xiqing told him in the gentlest voice.
“Both… make my heart flutter.”
Leave a Reply