Morning and Evening Chapter 2

Chang Ming’an was absent-minded all day.

Miss He, who had lived next door when he was a child, had been hidden in a small corner of his memory, something he thought he had forgotten. Yet he found that he still remembered her gentle, watery voice and the can of hawthorn slices that had been thrown into the trash. She had been a very good person; he simply did not know what had become of her later.

In the end, Chang Ming’an decided to make one more trip.

The next day after getting off work, he returned to the old house, went straight to the building next door, counted the floors one by one, and climbed to the fourth floor. He hesitated outside the door for a while, then knocked gently.

He waited anxiously, but no one answered. He knocked again, still with no response. He began to wonder whether he had merely dreamed the night before.

Someone from across the hall opened their door to throw out the trash. Seeing Chang Ming’an standing there, they asked somewhat warily, “Who are you looking for?”

Chang Ming’an quickly pointed to the unanswered door and asked, “Excuse me, is anyone living here?”

“Yes.” The man looked Chang Ming’an up and down.

Still puzzled, Chang Ming’an continued, “When will she be back?”

“I don’t know.” The neighbor set the trash bag by the door, slammed the door shut, and spoke with obvious impatience and disdain.

Autumn had arrived, and a slight draft swept through the hallway. Chang Ming’an lit a cigarette and stood by the door, smoking. It was an ordinary iron door with a red “福” character pasted on it. The paper was old and worn, probably put up years ago; one corner was peeling and drooping, swaying slightly in the wind.

After finishing his cigarette, it was already dinnertime. People coming and going in the hallway all stared at Chang Ming’an as if he were a monster with three eyes. Whenever he met their eyes, they hurried past, as if afraid he might speak to them.

After finishing his second cigarette, still no one had returned. Chang Ming’an had not eaten, and his stomach growled. He chuckled self-deprecatingly and began to wonder what he was doing.

Just as he was about to leave, he suddenly heard the sound of high heels tapping on the stairs.

Chang Ming’an looked intently, and there she was.

Today she wore a light green cheongsam that reached mid-calf, making her look like a slender bamboo swaying in the wind. She saw Chang Ming’an standing by the door, frowned, and looked at him suspiciously.

Chang Ming’an noticed that she was only half a head shorter than he was, and the chilly fragrance of plum blossoms was faint. He said awkwardly, “H-hello.”

She nodded and said, “Hello.”

Her voice was lower and a little hoarser than Chang Ming’an had imagined, with a slight nasal tone, as if she had a cold. She took out a bunch of jingling keys from her small purse, opened the door, and turned slightly to the side. “Come in.”

Chang Ming’an was stunned. Inviting a stranger into the house so casually seemed far too careless.

He hesitated, but seeing that the homeowner had already gone inside, he had no choice but to follow, closing the door behind him.

The room was small, one bedroom and one living room, and surprisingly messy. Things were piled up haphazardly. Through the open bedroom door the bed looked equally disordered, the blankets heaped in a careless pile. It did not look at all like the room of a well-dressed young woman.

Chang Ming’an stood awkwardly in the room. He was tall and felt very uncomfortable in the small, cluttered space. The homeowner who had led him in, by contrast, seemed quite at ease. He took off his high heels while holding onto the dining table and casually tossed them aside, leaving his bare feet on the floor. When he bent over, the waist and hips of the cheongsam drew taut.

Chang Ming’an quickly looked away, rubbed the tip of his nose, and said, “It’s cold. Don’t go barefoot.”

The man turned to look at Chang Ming’an, bare feet still on the ground. His toenails were painted a vibrant bright red that made his skin appear even whiter. He looked at Chang Ming’an with almond-shaped eyes whose corners tilted slightly upward, said nothing, and began to unbutton the collar of the cheongsam.

“You…” Chang Ming’an panicked and wanted to raise a hand to stop him, but was too embarrassed to touch him. He took two steps back, tripped over a small wooden stool on the floor, and almost lost his balance. He looked thoroughly disheveled.

The buttons were undone down to the chest; the soft fabric drooped, revealing a large expanse of fair, flat skin.

Chang Ming’an stared in disbelief, stammering, “You… you are…”

The man stopped what he was doing, widened his already round eyes even more, and looked at Chang Ming’an with suspicion. “I’m a man.”

Chang Ming’an was struck dumb. Only then did he realize that after the person in front of him swept all his long hair back, the exposed shoulders were wider than those of an average woman. The area once covered by the high collar of the cheongsam was now exposed, revealing a prominent Adam’s apple. His groomed features also carried an undeniable masculine air. Yet he was already quite handsome and slender, and his presence was so captivating that it held Chang Ming’an spellbound.

The man frowned, lips slightly pursed, and stepped forward impatiently. With a hand painted with red nails he shoved Chang Ming’an, causing the half-undone cheongsam to slip a little farther, revealing the collarbone, chest, and most of one shoulder, white with a hint of pink, like a newly opened peach petal.

He held a rubber band he had just picked up from the table between his teeth, and with both hands gathering his messy hair he mumbled, “Do it or get out.”

Chang Ming’an had never doubted his sexual orientation in his life, and he still did not at this moment. But the person in front of him possessed a beauty that blurred gender lines and was both unrestrained and strangely endearing. Chang Ming’an had much to say yet did not know how to ask. His gaze lingered on the still-bare feet. Perhaps the floor was too cold; the toes curled restlessly and then spread again.

Chang Ming’an used his foot to slide a pair of women’s slippers that lay haphazardly by the door toward the man’s feet and said, “Put these on first.” The long hair had been hastily gathered, not very neatly, with several stray strands falling around the neck. The man looked at Chang Ming’an as if he had discovered something new, delicate eyebrows raised. He had applied exquisite makeup, the eyeliner slightly upturned at the corners of his eyes.

“Turns out you’re a good person,” he said.

Feeling inexplicably praised, Chang Ming’an kicked the slippers closer again and insisted, “Put them on.”

“I won’t wear them.”

He chuckled lightly and kicked away Chang Ming’an’s good intentions. One slipper struck the corner of the table; the other disappeared under the sofa. Before Chang Ming’an could grow angry, the man took two steps forward, draped his arms around Chang Ming’an’s neck, and pressed his body against him. The crisp scent of plum blossoms instantly enveloped Chang Ming’an.

He clung like a vine to a large tree, soft and boneless, and whispered close to Chang Ming’an’s ear, the words carrying a hidden meaning.

“You’ll have to take them off anyway.”