Childhood Affection - Chapter 21 - Wake Up, Fool

Yin Qianyang sat on a small stone lion at the alley entrance, munching on a baked sweet potato. He had intended to buy just one, but the old man selling them was packing up for the day and gave him the remaining two instead.

The steamy sweet potatoes were fragrant and sweet, warming him up with just a couple of bites. He hoped to finish eating before Nie Weishan showed up.

Yin Qianyang, having finished his training early, was waiting for Nie Weishan, who brought him papers daily and usually dined at his home. However, they were currently giving each other the cold shoulder, making dinner at the same table too torturous, so he had decided to wait outside instead, taking the papers with him.

As he waited, the sky turned pitch black, yet Nie Weishan was nowhere to be seen. Yin Qianyang, growing worried, took out another sweet potato and called him. The phone rang for a long time without an answer.

After three minutes, he called again. This time Nie Weishan picked up, sounding breathless as if it had taken him great effort to answer, “I’m at… Dongqu Square…”

“Are you out riding motorcycles?” Yin Qianyang stood up abruptly and started walking quickly, “Why do you sound like that? What happened?”

The call was abruptly cut off. Clutching his phone, Yin Qianyang quickened his pace and then broke into a run. It was a cold mid-November night, and running made his airways ache. He clenched his teeth and raced to the intersection, quickly hailed a cab, and urged the driver to rush to Dongqu Square.

The driver noted, “It gets pretty chaotic there at night. A bunch of youngsters tearing up the overpass on their motorcycles, bound to be trouble sooner or later.”

Yin Qianyang stared out the window, his palms sweating, Nie Weishan’s strained voice mingling with the driver’s words like a tightening band around his head.

“Driver, please, faster!” he urged, feeling the lingering warmth of the sweet potato in his coat pocket.

That night, Nie Weishan had asked him, “Yang, do you like me?”

Arriving at Dongqu Square, Yin Qianyang threw a hundred yuan at the driver and dashed out of the cab. He ran towards a group of motorcyclists, scanning the young people gathered by the roadside.

“Boss!” He vaguely remembered the boss’s face and rushed over to ask urgently, “Boss, have you seen Nie Weishan? The guy who came to race here before, we came together once, think!”

The boss paused for a moment, “Yeah, I know him. That lad was here today, said he was feeling down. They went up to the overpass to race. Oh look, they’re coming back now.”

Yin Qianyang turned and ran to the street corner. The returning motorcyclists were arriving one by one. He checked each rider, hoping to spot Nie Weishan, but he wasn’t among them.

As the first motorcycle stopped, he grabbed the handlebar and demanded, “Where’s Nie Weishan? Why didn’t he come back with you guys?”

“Who are you?” the rider removed his helmet and turned to ask the others, “The guy we beat up cause he lost and had no money?”

The others laughed, and Yin Qianyang felt as if his bones were being pierced by their mockery.

“You beat him up? Where is he?” His gaze hollowed, he stepped back but still clutched the handlebar, then leaned forward with all his strength and shoved, knocking the rider and his bike to the ground!

His energy seemed inexhaustible, his fists and feet moving relentlessly. The others rushed over and threw him to the ground, but he got up and fought back fiercely, eventually standing wobbly among the defeated crowd.

The boss, quite frightened, said, “Stop causing trouble here, go check on your friend. They usually take Gongnong Road intersection as the finish line. I’ll have someone follow and bring the motorcycles back.”

Yin Qianyang picked up a motorcycle and revved it up, the engine roaring as he sped down the street, his face smarting from the cold air without a helmet. As he plunged down from the overpass, his eyes reddened.

The Gongnong Road intersection was usually deserted at night, especially with the drag racing making passersby avoid it even more. Yet, a crowd had gathered. As Yin Qianyang approached, the sound of his motorcycle’s engine turned heads. He braked sharply, ditching the bike on the curb, and shouted, “Move!” as he burst through the crowd.

Nie Weishan lay on the ground, his face bloody, the blood from his nostrils congealing, his hair matted with dirt and leaves.

Yin Qianyang crouched down and cradled Nie Weishan in his arms, choking up, “What are you all looking at? Isn’t it cold enough for you at night? Go home, or I’ll lose it.”

Had Nie Weishan felt this terrible when he had been the one wounded?

No, surely worse because Nie Weishan had already confessed his feelings for him.

But if he didn’t like Nie Weishan, why was he this devastated?

They took a cab home, Yin Qianyang holding him tightly all the way. At the alley entrance, he carried Nie Weishan back to their house. The house was quiet, everyone else seemed to be asleep. He settled Nie Weishan on the bed, then fetched a warm towel to clean him up.

With the blood wiped away, Nie Weishan’s face was unmarred, still handsome. Yin Qianyang gently touched the injured areas and said, “If you can’t take it, I’ll carry you to the clinic.”

Nie Weishan grabbed his hand, a smile breaking through, “It doesn’t hurt, I was pretending, because it felt too good when you were holding me.”

Yin Qianyang’s lips trembled, he felt like he was sprinting on the track, about to break through the last barrier, “I even avenged you. How are you going to thank me?”

Nie Weishan struggled to sit up, leaning into Yin Qianyang’s embrace, “I want to offer myself to you. If you think it’s a fair trade, then agree. Like the pomegranate tree and the jujube tree in the yard, let’s be together.”

“Don’t play the martyr, knowing how soft-hearted I am,” Yin Qianyang’s arms encircled Nie Weishan, his hands soothing along his back, “The pomegranate tree has to wait years for the jujube sapling, and you can’t handle a few days?”

Nie Weishan admitted, “I can’t stand it.”

Yin Qianyang also smiled, having crossed the finish line, “Then let’s be together, I’m willing.”

He turned and kissed Nie Weishan’s face, carefully avoiding the injured lips, kissing his cheek, temple, neck, and Adam’s apple for a long time. Then, almost embarrassed, he whispered, “Weren’t you offering yourself? Why so shy?”

Nie Weishan blushed but still reached out his hand.

The feeling was indescribable. Yin Qianyang bit Nie Weishan’s ear, his breaths deep in his throat and heart.

“Weishan… damn!” He suddenly woke up, sweat soaking his body under the quilt, Yin Qianyang stared into the darkness, his heart pounding as if it would leap from his mouth. He sat up, gulping water from the glass on his nightstand until his breathing steadied, then sat shocked and awake.

His hand slowly reached into his underwear; it was wet.

He had had a wet dream about Nie Weishan.

This was more shameful than wetting the bed as an adult.

Yin Qianyang hastily went to the bathroom to change his underwear, and after climbing back into bed, he clutched a pillow helplessly, his eyes even shedding a few tears.

One tear for the dream’s heroic rescue, so vivid yet so falsely disappointing.

Another simply because of the relief that Nie Weishan wasn’t really hurt, which was a comfort greater than any.

He closed his eyes, thinking of buying a baked sweet potato to share with him tomorrow.

Opening his eyes again, there was no need to ponder; he had already painted that picture in his dream, embarrassingly enough. Burying his face in the pillow, Yin Qianyang’s cheeks burned until dawn.

And dawn wasn’t the end of it. When he ran into Nie Weishan at the alley entrance in the morning, he was practically steaming, his ears burning, as he quickly turned and sped away. At the intersection, he bought a large baked sweet potato.

Nie Weishan was back to normal, not waiting for Yin Qianyang to make his feelings clear. Whatever, Nie Yingyu was right; just seeing him was beautiful enough, no need for more, be content with what you have.

Yin Qianyang was purely embarrassed; he wanted to confess, but recalling that dream, he couldn’t find the words, feeling they would just come out all wrong. He sat in class, buried in his book, yet magically remembered the geography he had memorized the day before.

He glanced over secretly, his ears burning again, and muttered, “So thrilling, can’t handle it.”

His phone vibrated twice; it was a message from Qin Zhan: “Meet in classroom 505 an hour early this afternoon to discuss the arrangements for next weekend’s competition.”

Yin Qianyang replied, asking, “Will the results be announced the same day?”

Qin Zhan responded, “Yes, even the Olympics announce results immediately; why would this small competition take days?”

Yin Qianyang asked again, “Is there a prize for spirit?”

Qin Zhan replied, “You think this is a school sports day? But I could use the team funds to buy you a plaque from the gift wholesale market, just without a stamp.”

“I’m just not confident,” Yin Qianyang turned off his phone as class began. He gazed at the geography teacher but thought about his plan.

Just grabbing someone and asking if they like you is too crude; he wouldn’t do that.

He’d wait for the competition day, let Nie Weishan wait just outside the finish line, then crash into him and declare his feelings. Damn, just thinking about it was exhilarating.

The geography teacher also stared at him, “Yin Qianyang, you’re all flushed and seem quite lost. Stand up and recite the U.S. agricultural belts.”

Yin Qianyang immediately stood up: “The Wheat Belt, Corn Belt, Cotton Belt… Livestock and irrigation agriculture belts!” He recited fluently, then turned to Nie Weishan and flicked his tongue with a pop!

The whole class was stunned, the teacher included. Nie Weishan looked shocked, yet there was a hint of intrigue in his confusion. Yin Qianyang realized what he had done and coughed, “Teacher, should I also recite the Great Lakes? They’re pretty close!”

During lunch break, while the whole class went to the cafeteria, Nie Weishan and Yin Qianyang, the usual mealtime pioneers, stayed in the classroom. Nie Weishan stood up and ate another baked sweet potato at the back of the room, asking, “What was that in geography class?”

Yin Qianyang, eating the other half, thought for a moment, “Ever seen a traditional opera? The actors perform on stage, supported by many in the audience. The gong and drum beats get faster and faster until suddenly it all stops, the movements and gestures all set, then the audience bursts into applause, but the actor only winks at one person.”

He couldn’t wink seductively, but he couldn’t help but make a popping sound.

Nie Weishan squeezed his sweet potato out of shape, “Who are you winking at?”

Whomever you like, Yin Qianyang thought to himself.

He tore a piece of paper from his notebook, rubbed it on his head to generate static electricity in the dry winter air, making his hair stand on end.

He placed a chair under the camera, stepped up, and stuck the paper over the lens, covering it completely. It was 99% likely the camera wasn’t on, but Yin Qianyang didn’t want to risk that 1%. It wasn’t fear, just embarrassment.

“Come closer,” he leaned towards Nie Weishan, then pressed his head against his chest, face to face, “I have a competition next weekend, come with me.”

Nie Weishan compromised on the ridiculous posture, “Aren’t these competitions closed to the public?”

Yin Qianyang rubbed his head against Nie Weishan’s, “Family can go.”

With the faint sweet scent of baked sweet potato in the air, Yin Qianyang almost felt intoxicated. Dreams and reality blurred, his head heavy, he couldn’t distinguish them, merely whispering boastfully, “I’ll show you what the melody of youth is, what the romance of athletes is… So I have to hold off a few more days, please forgive me.”

That “please” shot like a soft arrow into Nie Weishan’s heart, tickling the itchiest part. He had just decided to be content, but Yin Qianyang had stepped even closer.

It was impossible to handle.

He really wanted to shrink Yin Qianyang down and keep him clenched in his hand forever, like the most treasured candy of his childhood.