Liang Zhen sang solo, with pauses between every two words, sounding both grand and lazy. The last word was stretched by him, and his voice continued downward, as if intending to sing only that sentence.

As he sang until breathless, he suddenly realized why he had felt uneasy before. He was about to ask, but just as he opened his mouth, Shao Mingyin turned his head, leaving him speechless for a moment.

Shao Mingyin asked him, “Not singing anymore?”

“Ah… I’m singing! Why wouldn’t I sing?” Liang Zhen tried to pluck the guitar strings, then sighed slightly with a hint of distress, confessing to Shao Mingyin.

“This song… I only know the chorus well, and haven’t memorized the other lyrics much.”

“I see.” Shao Mingyin nodded, shifting his gaze back to the stove. Whether it was an illusion or not, at that moment when Shao Mingyin blinked, Liang Zhen saw a hint of a lost emotion in those eyes, an emotion he had never seen before, one he had never expected to see in Shao Mingyin.

He began to recall different instances with Shao Mingyin, the one who kicked the door and arrested him, who made instant noodles for him, who put money in his guitar case flat, the one who didn’t push him away from hugs, who brought him home and made tomato and egg noodles for him. Every Shao Mingyin was gentle and warm, every Shao Mingyin had a smile, a smile so beautiful that anyone who saw it would feel at ease and trust him.

He also remembered Shao Mingyin sucking him off in the restroom cubicle, but this time it wasn’t about desire. He just remembered it, remembered that day until the end, when Shao Mingyin let him tug at his hair and deep throat him, not getting annoyed even when cum got on his lips and cheeks, he just blinked slowly, his expression calm. Liang Zhen had always thought it was because Shao Mingyin had done this to others as well, so he was accustomed to it, and for that, he felt a hint of jealousy.

But now his thoughts had changed, though it was still speculation. He thought that maybe Shao Mingyin’s ability to remain unfazed was indeed just that. Just like now, Shao Mingyin was standing three or four meters away from him, looking at him in such a way that he inexplicably felt like this person didn’t care about tomorrow, as if tomorrow didn’t matter to him. And indeed, Shao Mingyin didn’t care about tomorrow, the future, prospects. If he did, being an outsider, why would he come to Wenzhou to be a street police officer?

Liang Zhen finally understood why he felt uneasy. He finally remembered that Shao Mingyin was also an outsider.

Shao Mingyin was also a stranger just like him. He came from Lanzhou, but where did Shao Mingyin come from? His Mandarin was standard without any accent, and his lifestyle didn’t show any regional traits. He had been in Wenzhou for a few years, so wouldn’t he miss his home, miss the mountains and rivers he came from, miss the lakes and seas?

So that moment of loss seemed precious in Liang Zhen’s eyes, it was the only emotional expression of Shao Mingyin so far, it was about hometown and roots, Liang Zhen’s only breakthrough.

And he wanted to seize that moment.

So he started to play the prelude. He indeed didn’t remember some of the lyrics, but his pitch was good, he could always rely on memory to reproduce the melody of that song. It’s just that he played it very slowly, note by note slowly coming out, he bowed his head, his gaze focused on the fretboard and guitar strings, the first line of the beginning was: “Slipped out of the green city square gate.”

That wasn’t the original lyrics of the song. On one hand, Liang Zhen really couldn’t remember where “slipped out” was, on the other hand, he was confident in improvising. He often rapped, not the fast-paced freestyle, he had memorized quite a few rhymes, even if he couldn’t rhyme perfectly, he definitely wouldn’t pause.

But the lyrics, after all, were improvised on the spot, inevitably they were colloquial.

“Slipped out of the green city square’s gate

With a guitar to the Nantang intersection

The urban management officers rushed to the night market street,

The leaking roof met the rain, not a penny in hand”

Liang Zhen himself found it funny, but he continued to sing:

“In the last season of wishes

I met Officer Shao holding an umbrella…”

Liang Zhen looked up, it was about to be the chorus, he effortlessly picked up those chords, the melody was also engraved in his mind, he didn’t need to stare at the guitar carefully to fret, of course, he also wanted to look up, to see Shao Mingyin, to know if he liked him singing like this.

Then he saw Shao Mingyin turning his head to look at him.

Liang Zhen’s throat tightened, and his voice lagged by about a quarter of a beat before he cut in. It wasn’t the chorus yet, and he sang:

“In the last season of wishes,

Can I stay with you for a night?”

Before the last word was out, the guitar accompaniment was just monotonous notes, merely helping Liang Zhen stay on key, not forming a complete melody. But when the wish for “stay with you for a night” came out, he seamlessly transitioned into the G, A, Fm, and Bm chords. Unfamiliar with the beginning, his vocal range had been in middle C, sounding plain. But after the chords came out, he quickly shifted to D, making his clean voice shine in the higher range. He looked at Shao Mingyin and started with that phrase about mountains and seas.

As if asking Shao Mingyin, Liang Zhen sang:

“Who comes from mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas,

Yet is confined to day and night, the kitchen and love.”

He finally sang it, sang it for Shao Mingyin in the kitchen—

Who comes from mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas, yet is confined to day and night, the kitchen and love.

Liang Zhen felt an unprecedented comfort. His intention was simple, just to sing for Shao Mingyin. Having sung it, he was content. He didn’t even continue playing the four eight-beat interludes; he didn’t want to play the guitar anymore.

He just rested his hand on the guitar and started singing a cappella—

“Arriving at the borders of self-awareness,

Seeing his father smoking in the clouds,

He said, ‘Child, reconcile with yesterday,

Just like we did before.’”

The first two lines, Liang Zhen was still singing, but gradually, his tone slowed down, no longer like singing, more like telling a story, reciting a poem. Shao Mingyin, at some point, had turned entirely to face Liang Zhen at the door. He didn’t say a word, just quietly listened to the song and the poem. He blinked, his double eyelids smoothing out when he closed his eyes, showing no folds, then his eyelids trembled slightly as he reopened them, revealing the black-and-white simplicity of ink painting. Shao Mingyin’s eyes were dark and intense, like his hair, which made Liang Zhen want to touch it, to let his fingers run through and grasp the strands. He couldn’t fathom the emotions in Shao Mingyin’s eyes, but he wanted to, wanted to understand the emotions there.

Liang Zhen stared at Shao Mingyin without blinking. This Shao Mingyin wasn’t smiling, but it made him feel more real than ever. He saw Shao Mingyin’s lips finally move, slightly parting and then closing again. Liang Zhen was sure that Shao Mingyin wanted to sing, that he would sing, if given the chance, an approach, an invitation.

So Liang Zhen moved closer.

He moved slowly, as if afraid of startling Shao Mingyin. He stepped lightly, avoiding any collisions with the guitar case and surroundings. The latter four lines were the opposite of the first four; he started reciting but transitioned into a melody.

As he got closer, so did the melody.

“Using infinite methods suitable for the future,

To replace the stars and rivers within,

Using infinite ways suitable for the future,

To love the birds that gather and scatter.”

He stood in front of Shao Mingyin, no longer playing the guitar, but once again singing acapella—who comes from mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas.

Like black ink seeping into white paper, Liang Zhen’s voice had a subtle penetrative power even in silence. He stood in front of the person, slightly lowering his head to make eye contact. He could see his own reflection in Shao Mingyin’s eyes, just as Shao Mingyin saw his reflection in Liang Zhen’s eyes. In a small apartment in Wenzhou at night, he and a boy named Liang Zhen from Lanzhou stood in a narrow kitchen, seeing themselves in each other’s eyes.

Shao Mingyin opened his mouth, seemingly enchanted. He slowly uttered each word, unable to reach Liang Zhen’s pitch, but the tune was accurate:

“—yet confined to day and night…”

He paused, his Adam’s apple trembling noticeably, unable to continue. Just as he was about to cover it up with a smile, he felt Liang Zhen move closer. Liang Zhen lowered his pitch, lower than middle C, to a level that was easy to follow. His gaze never left Shao Mingyin as he repeated, “yet confined to day and night…”

That gaze was pure, without any impurities, just like his name, genuine and full of life.

This energy transferred to Shao Mingyin. He started singing, slowly, with Liang Zhen, but in tune—

The kitchen and love.

Liang Zhen smiled; he knew it. Shao Mingyin could sing, Shao Mingyin would sing.

When the last two chords were played, Liang Zhen seized that moment.

He heard Shao Mingyin sing, he heard himself sing, and in that instant, their voices blended seamlessly together—

“Just in a moment—”

That was the real final line of the song. After that, Liang Zhen stopped singing and only played the guitar, as if he knew Shao Mingyin would sing the last words haltingly, word by word. Liang Zhen played each note in perfect harmony with Shao Mingyin.

Shao Mingyin sang the final line, and after Liang Zhen seized that moment, he sang as if whispering a confession: “Hold my hand, full of contradictions.”

Just in a moment, hold my hand, full of contradictions.

Liang Zhen smiled, revealing his tiger teeth. At that moment, he was very close to Shao Mingyin; if he tried a little, his breath would hit Shao Mingyin’s face. But Shao Mingyin didn’t mind, nor did he move back. Liang Zhen, mischievous and emboldened, hooked Shao Mingyin’s finger and said to him, “You’re from Shijiazhuang.”

Shao Mingyin neither confirmed nor denied it. Looking down, he saw his own hand that Liang Zhen had just hooked, still warm from the touch. He rubbed the spot where he had been touched, trying to make a fist, but his strength failed, and he relaxed his hand.

“I once heard someone say that people sing the songs of their hometowns. I think it also works the other way around: people listen to the songs of their hometowns.” Liang Zhen suddenly leaned close to Shao Mingyin’s ear. Shao Mingyin instinctively tried to dodge, but Liang Zhen’s voice was quicker, soft and tickling like a bundle of cotton.

Liang Zhen said, “All four members of Wanqing Band are from Shijiazhuang.”

Shao Mingyin exhaled, eyes lowered, not knowing how to respond. Suddenly, there was a clattering noise beside them. Liang Zhen was startled and exclaimed. It turned out that the mung bean soup had boiled for too long, and the foam had lifted the lid.

Shao Mingyin quickly turned off the heat and wiped up the spilled soup, then ladled a bowl for Liang Zhen. Liang Zhen put down his guitar, stayed in the kitchen, and sipped the soup slowly, standing by the counter. He didn’t realize his posture, holding the bowl and drinking the soup, was exactly like Shao Mingyin had been yesterday, the day before, and the day before that. Shao Mingyin stood slightly behind, silently watching him drink the mung bean soup.

Shao Mingyin thought, so that’s how I used to be. But on closer thought, he still felt Liang Zhen was different. Liang Zhen was younger, more energetic; when faced with setbacks or grievances, a bowl of noodles and a song could revive him. He was like a little sun; his presence brought warmth to the small apartment, dispelling its unchanging coldness.

Shao Mingyin realized he had forgotten to tell Liang Zhen, the little sun, how well he sang. His “You sing really well” on the street at dusk wasn’t just perfunctory; Liang Zhen truly had a natural gift, and when he put all his genuine feelings into it, who wouldn’t like such a young, sincere, and talented guy who could sing and play guitar?

So Shao Mingyin asked, initiating the conversation.

He asked Liang Zhen, “Just for one night?”

Liang Zhen was stunned, turned around holding the bowl, eyes wide and unblinking, waiting for Shao Mingyin’s next words.

Shao Mingyin casually scratched his nose with his knuckles and pointed in a direction: “There’s a foldable military cot over there. I’ll tell you upfront, it’s only seventy centimeters wide. If you find it uncomfortable—”

“Comfortable! Comfortable!” Liang Zhen put down the bowl, leaned in, and hugged Shao Mingyin. Shao Mingyin thought he was done being excited when Liang Zhen smiled a silly smile and gave him another bear hug.

This time, without the guitar between them, their bodies were mostly touching. Shao Mingyin, not used to this, placed his hand on Liang Zhen’s chest, intending to push him away. As he did, Liang Zhen’s earlier smile flashed before his eyes.

A happy smile, showing his tiger teeth.

Shao Mingyin’s open hand rested on Liang Zhen’s chest for a few seconds, then his fingers curled back. Finally, his hand slowly slid down.