Chapter 70

Before returning to the country, the days were spent in various farewells.

Xiang Feiran first vacated his apartment in Boston, cleared out all his personal items, and packed the remaining luggage back to New York.

He had Xiao connection to Boston. Over the two years, he had not established any real life in the city but had only existed in the laboratory, his apartment, the band rehearsal room, and on the way to the airport.

There were many Chinese PhD students and postdocs at Harvard, forming a tight-knit circle. Before he arrived at Harvard, news about him had already spread, with various rumors: some talked about his article on climate change’s effects on alpine plant species, which had attracted attention from Nature (news); others claimed that Harvard’s only male prodigy had finally arrived; and there were even acquaintances from high school boasting about his past achievements. Some said he came from a prestigious academic family, backed by prominent figures.

In the field of biology, with the surname Xiang, it was easy to make connections.

Xiang Weishan, his father, was a renowned scholar and businessman with numerous achievements. In the field of biomedicine investment, “Weishan Life” had seen its market value bounce back to its peak within two years, and as the founder, he had regained his former glory.

Before this, no one had linked Xiang Feiran with Xiang Weishan because Xiang Feiran was too low-profile. His research on the systematics and evolutionary biology of the Gentianaceae family was not considered a star topic.

No one thought a famous scholar, who was adored wherever he went, would send his successor into such an obscure field.

This was the most loved type of gossip in academic circles, and it indeed caused quite a stir. However, with such a clear resume, Xiang Bo’s academic reputation was preserved, and the person being criticized was another graduate student.

When encountering his half-brother at school, Xiang Feiran remained unfazed.

Xiang Weishan’s biological family name was Zhou. After being recognized by his biological parents, he kept the name to honor Ambassador Xiang’s adoption, but his children with his second wife took back the “Zhou” surname.

Zhou Yao always considered himself the “legitimate” eldest son of Xiang Weishan. His greatest trouble was the effort required to pretend to be a genius, especially with a true genius around as a comparison.

Zhou Yao’s Harvard graduate offer was arranged through Xiang Weishan’s cooperative laboratory. However, when faced with real research, his shortcomings were exposed. After a year of a pitiful life, he was nicknamed “Big Son” in the overseas student circle, not “Too Big,” because he had “no real substance.”

Although frustrated, Zhou Yao essentially didn’t care about these voices and continued living the typical life of an academic second-generation rich kid: luxury cars, beautiful women, and attention—if only Xiang Feiran weren’t around.

With comparison comes harm. Zhou Yao had no other venue to flaunt his wealth and had to repeatedly show off in front of Xiang Feiran.

He showed off his sports car, invited super-famous influencers, and flaunted his designer brands. But the pleasure he gained from this was minimal, relying on his imagination, because no matter how he flaunted himself, Xiang Feiran’s gaze remained unmoved, only with a slight frown and no engagement.

When he finally saw a girl with Xiang Feiran, he seized the opportunity, lowered the window of his McLaren, and whistled casually: “Pretty girl, want to sit in my passenger seat?”

Shang Mingbao, well-mannered and restrained, asked quietly, “Who are you?”

Xiang Feiran responded coldly, “I don’t know him.”

Zhou Yao took off his sunglasses and said, “Don’t know? Oh, your mother is dead, my mother is on vacation, so strictly speaking, I can’t be your brother?”

Xiang Feiran stopped, said nothing more, and simply extended his hand from his pocket, impatiently beckoning him.

Zhou Yao actually got out, pushing open the car door, and asked, “What—”

The next moment, a punch landed on his face.

With a loud bang, the McLaren made a muffled sound, and the once arrogant young man felt his head buzzing, unable to react. He heard a woman’s scream and endured several more hits.

When the fists stopped, his neck was tightly gripped, his face forced up, his nose crooked from the blows, his posture disgraceful.

As his vision cleared, he saw the man holding his jaw.

The man still had no expression, only sharp, cold eyes hidden beneath his hair, showing no concealment of his disgust: “Want to live longer?”

This was the first time Shang Mingbao saw Xiang Feiran angry, or perhaps out of control. He spared no mercy; the hand that had been punching him had reddened, and blood oozed from the skin wounds.

After buying iodine and bandages, she clumsily bandaged his injuries.

“How is it that your… half-brother lives better than you?”

Zhou Yao’s sports car was expensive. Shang Mingbao didn’t know the price in the US, but in Hong Kong, it was over four million.

Xiang Feiran calmly said, “Brain replacement.”

Shang Mingbao couldn’t help but laugh.

Her bandaging was so poor that a slight injury looked like it was about to rot. Xiang Feiran tore it off and handed her a band-aid: “This.”

Shang Mingbao, disapproving of his actions, said, “Since I can’t do it well, you do it yourself.”

Xiang Feiran said calmly and seriously, “You do it well and quickly.”

“…”

Shang Mingbao smirked, while saying it was scientifically unfounded, and placed two band-aids, pressing them down properly: “Don’t get it wet.”

“Starting tonight, or wait until you leave?”

Shang Mingbao: “…”

He decisively said, “It can only start when you leave.”

Despite the intense conflict, Xiang Feiran appeared calm. Only when he embraced her, during the unusually long embrace, did Shang Mingbao sense a deep, silent sadness.

It wasn’t sadness, nor was it sorrow, but a kind of melancholy. He had detached himself, as if dealing with someone else’s affairs, observing someone else’s life.

This incident alarmed both parties’ PIs, and subsequently the school administration. Zhou Yao maintained a strained composure and, out of respect for Xiang Lianqiao’s identity, did not call the police. However, he insisted that the school take action and cancel Xiang Feiran’s appointment.

The postdoctoral researcher was just a temporary worker, and he felt his request was reasonable. However, Professor Harvey staunchly defended Xiang Feiran, sending three emails to the school to argue for his case. Zhou Yao’s PI subtly expressed that he was unable to help and asked not to be bothered.

The next day, Xiang Weishan flew in personally from the Bay Area to handle the situation.

As both were his biological children, Xiang Weishan calmed the situation. By the time he left the school office, Zhou Yao was the only one left; Xiang Feiran had already left.

After understanding the whole situation, Xiang Weishan reprimanded his younger son and called his ex-wife, who was deep in sleep at that hour, to scold her for her lack of upbringing and foolish genes. He was wealthy, his children awaited his inheritance, and his last two wives were busy scheming against each other, all fearful of him. Despite the humiliation from his rage, his ex-wife endured it.

To make amends, Xiang Weishan invited Xiang Feiran to dinner. Knowing that Xiang Feiran would likely refuse, he went directly to his office to wait for him.

Unfortunately, Shang Mingbao arrived right after, running into him without knowing what expression to make or whether to greet him.

Xiang Weishan had already investigated her name but had not confirmed her background. He was cautious about the children using him for personal gain, so he had never truly grasped his relationship with them. Connecting Shang Mingbao to Hong Kong businesses was just his speculation.

“I’ve met your brother. He’s currently selecting partners from the mainland,” he began casually, “He is a rare talent.”

Shang Mingbao’s lips slightly parted, and her eyes momentarily relaxed upon hearing about her family, although it was only for a second, which was enough for Xiang Weishan.

Xiang Weishan was somewhat surprised. Xiang Feiran had chosen such an unattainable girlfriend?

Was it an attempt to distance himself from his father, or did he not seem as indifferent to fame and fortune as he appeared?

“I heard Zhou Yao spoke disrespectfully to you. I’ve already reprimanded him and am here to apologize on his behalf.”

Shang Mingbao couldn’t bring herself to say “It’s okay,” merely pursing her lips and standing stiffly upright.

Xiang Weishan smiled wider: “Feiran is also my child. I have no reason to be partial. However, he is very stubborn and refuses to use my money, even his grandfather’s money—which is my father’s money—he won’t use. With your background, you have to endure his stubbornness alongside him. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Shang Mingbao found his words harsh. Her bright, round eyes clearly glared at him: “I don’t know what you mean, Uncle. Feiran is very good to me, and I haven’t suffered any grievances.”

Xiang Weishan smiled more deeply: “So, he has wholeheartedly and with all his effort treated you well.”

“Of course,” Shang Mingbao replied firmly.

That day, Xiang Weishan left before Xiang Feiran came out of Professor Harvey’s office. But he did not leave the U.S. After completing his collaboration assessment in the Bay Area, he returned to Harvard to find Xiang Feiran.

“You found such a wealthy girlfriend. Why didn’t you tell your father?”

Xiang Feiran glanced at him: “What do you want to say?”

Xiang Weishan enjoyed his son’s intelligence and directness, finding it endlessly stimulating and enjoyable to spar with him.

“Living at the top of the pyramid is very hard when trying to relate downward. Feelings are just a temporary comfort. Over time, she might not say it, but don’t you feel that you’re wronging her? She is suffering because of her love for you.”

His eldest son only showed some reckless aspects in front of him, retaining the youthful arrogance he once had.

Xiang Feiran’s lips curled slightly, his gaze coldly sarcastic but not saying another word, as if his smirk had already said it all.

Xiang Weishan was patient: “Feiran, my career also involves you.”

“She will return to her pyramid, and I will be in my rightful place. Save it.”

“You are also at the top of the pyramid.” Xiang Weishan narrowed his eyes. “Your grandfather was a vice-ministerial diplomat and honorary dean of the International Relations College; your mother is one of the best botanists; your father built his fortune from scratch here—” He tapped his head. “With a net worth of tens of billions. You, a genius—tell me, where should you be?”

Xiang Feiran had no patience to continue, and turned to leave.

During his two years as a postdoc at Harvard, Xiang Weishan visited him much more frequently than before, always saying the same things. After “Weishan Life” was eliminated from the mainland strategic cooperation list of the Shangyu Group, he revealed his true nature, angrily scolding Xiang Feiran for being ungrateful.

After a while, sensing that Xiang Feiran was in a time-limited relationship, and that economic differences were not enough to manipulate him, Xiang Weishan withdrew like a beast retreating into the jungle, biding his time for the next opportunity.

He did not know that his eldest son was very good at hiding his emotions. His repeated remarks about “her suffering because of love for you” did not go unheard.

After clearing out everything in Boston and having all the necessary meals, Xiang Feiran had his final dinner with Shang Mingzhuoo.

Shang Mingzhuoo received an appointment as an associate researcher and planned to stay in Boston for a long time. Despite the much-criticized long winter, she liked its chill and clarity.

“If you leave, Xiao Pixiu won’t visit me often,” she toasted him, feeling a rare pang of reluctance in this farewell.

Xiao Pixiu was the new name she gave to Shang Mingbao because her monthly allowance of 150,000 had not increased, and she was always relying on selling information or begging from her older siblings, or using charm to relieve her debts.

The older siblings told her she should learn this and that, buy gemstones, dresses, and shoes, and they turned a blind eye while subsidizing her. No one knew that she was hiding the five million dollars given to her by the business, which she hadn’t spent a penny of, truly a Pixiu (a mythical creature that only takes in wealth but doesn’t let it out) in essence.

“Since we were colleagues, I’m giving you a gift,” Shang Mingzhuo said, opening his phone and sending a picture.

It appeared to be a very joyful party, with golden confetti like snow under the crystal chandelier, falling on a girl’s head and shoulders, sticking to her laughing face. She was tilting her head back, smiling widely with her teeth visible, her eyes crescent-shaped, with a light cream on the tip of her nose and all ten fingers covered in cream. Her pink cake dress was left in tatters, only the straps remained, with thin arms under her straight shoulders.

“It’s from her eighteenth birthday after-party,” Shang Mingzhuo revealed.

Xiang Feiran had been looking for too long, so Shang Mingzhuo had to remind him, “This is for you; you can save it and look at it later.”

Xiang Feiran then smiled slightly, self-deprecating and relieved, and tapped to save the image. “You’re right.”

“I have many more cute photos of her,” Shang Mingzhuo raised an eyebrow. “Shall I send you new ones when we meet again next year?”

Xiang Feiran left Boston with this promise and returned to New York.

Back in New York, the endless dinner parties continued. Colleagues, classmates, mentors, interns from Columbia, Simon and his new girlfriend, and members of the 21N band.

He thought he had simplified his life, only to realize how many connections he had when faced with farewell.

“Xiang Bo, will there still be time for me to apply for your PhD program after I return to China?” Lin Xi joked, “You will definitely become the most sought-after boss.”

Thomas asked him not to play mute anymore, and the lead singer sent him many photos, all taken when Shang Mingbao visited the rehearsal room. Sometimes late at night, she would fall asleep on the bass drum.

Shang Mingbao’s furry head snuggled into his arms as they looked at the photos together, commenting on which ones were nice and which were ugly and should be deleted.

“Hey, Felix,” the guitarist raised his glass, looking into his eyes. “Maybe this is the last time we see each other. Though it’s not very rock to say, let’s have a toast.”

Xiang Feiran smiled. “Maybe when I’m fifty, I’ll come back to New York to watch the sunset.”

That night, at 21N, they played an old song, “My Back Pages.” Xiang Feiran still didn’t speak, contributing his usual stable, accurate, and powerful drumming.

They agreed to play this song again when they were fifty, and if someone died, they would play it at his grave.

Late at night, he still detoured to that not-so-good Japanese izakaya and ordered a bowl of not-so-good ramen.

It was the last time; maybe it was time to try something different? But the last time was also fine, with a beginning and an end.

In the swirling steam, Xiang Feiran picked up a chopstick of noodles and smiled in relief.

He and Shang Mingbao had both drunk too much and were supposed to take a cab home, but Shang Mingbao insisted on taking the subway.

What a group of rats, graffiti with claws bared, gang youth in hoodies trading leaves.

The subway was empty late at night, and they sat together. Shang Mingbao’s palms were cold with sweat, unsure if it was excitement or nervousness.

If not for her whim, he wouldn’t have taken her into the subway.

Xiang Feiran held her hand tightly. “Satisfied?”

Shang Mingbao leaned into his ear. “Once you leave, no one else will take me to experience these things.”

Xiang Feiran’s eyes were deep as he looked down. “Have you ever thought that maybe you don’t need to experience these things? They’re not good things.”

Shang Mingbao tilted her chin to look at him. The lights in the subway car flickered, then went dark, and she leaned in to kiss him.

This kiss was intense from the start, with a sense of losing control. They went to West 56th Street, and from the moment they exited the elevator, they eagerly clung to each other, tearing off their coats.

The fluffy keychain on the key swayed back and forth several times before the key was inserted into the lock.

The door opened, and without bothering to turn on the lights, they stumbled from the foyer to the bedroom. Xiang Feiran, no longer patient or restrained, picked her up and kissed her while pressing her onto the bed.

Because they were drunk and lost control, he imagined he heard Shang Mingbao call him “hubby.”

Because they were drunk and lost control, he discovered that the second breathless, unfamiliar term was not an illusion but Shang Mingbao’s real voice, tinged with alcohol, fragrance, and warmth, with a nasal tone, thin and trembling, as if it were pressed down by some immense emotion.

Because they were drunk and lost control, she called him… like this?

They had been together for three years, intimately and deeply hundreds of times, but she had never called him that. The most provocative was “Teacher Xiang,” the most difficult for him to suppress was “Brother Feiran,” when she was hurt, he was “Xiang Feiran,” and when she cried, she called him a “bastard.”

She had never called him that.

“Hubby.”

Xiang Feiran froze, abruptly waking from the alcohol-soaked and possessive desire, as if stung by a needle.