Morning and Evening Chapter 3

Chang Ming’an felt a chill on his neck first, from the forearm chilled by the autumn wind, then warmth, both warm and tantalizing. The person’s cool nose brushed against his chin, tracing back and forth along his jawbone. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, lacking the familiar feminine curves Chang Ming’an knew, yet still making him feel hot.

After a moment of confusion, Chang Ming’an came to his senses, frowned, and tore the person off himself, feeling somewhat annoyed.

He Mu stumbled a couple of steps after being pushed. He steadied himself by holding onto the back of the sofa and instinctively raised his arm to shield his head. After blocking his head for a while without hearing any further movement from Chang Ming’an, he lowered his hand, adjusted his open collar, and looked at Chang Ming’an standing by the door.

Chang Ming’an had slightly droopy eyes and appeared very docile when expressionless. But at that moment he was frowning and holding a defensive posture because he had been offended. He tilted his head slightly, and from He Mu’s angle one could see his sharp jawline, like a strict parent facing a child who had made a mistake.

Enraged, He Mu pursed his lips, which he had meticulously outlined, and strode over without a word, his bare feet stomping on the floor. He flung the door open, shoved Chang Ming’an out, and slammed the door shut. Caught off guard, Chang Ming’an, his face still contorted with anger, felt a surge of absurdity as he faced the closed door and could only sigh.

The neighbor across the hall was probably startled by the sound of the door slamming, so he opened the door a crack and peeked out.

Chang Ming’an quickly went over, took out a cigarette case from his pocket, shook out a cigarette, and handed it to him, saying, “Uncle, can I ask you something?”

Seeing Chang Ming’an being swept out of the house neatly dressed and behaving properly, the uncle across the hall finally accepted the cigarette, his face full of suspicion, and asked, “What do you want to know?”

Chang Ming’an thought for a moment, then spoke slowly and gently, avoiding the main point: “I am the cousin of the boy across the street. He has a bad relationship with his family and ran away from home. His mother asked me to come and persuade him. The boy is stubborn and can’t be persuaded in a short time. You know, parents are most afraid that their children will go astray. I don’t know if this boy has met any bad people.”

The middle-aged man looked as if he had just realized something, his wariness turning into worry. He grabbed Chang Ming’an’s arm and kept nagging him, “Oh dear, this child, you should persuade her to go home. She’s such a nice young woman, dressing like this every day. Every few days some young men come over, and each time it’s a different one. The old house isn’t soundproof; they’ll hear the noise when they’re doing ‘that’…”

Chang Ming’an was taken aback for a moment, then asked, “What is it?”

The middle-aged man lowered his voice, his expression a mixture of shame and deep resentment, and said vaguely, “It’s… it’s that thing…”

Chang Ming’an immediately realized what was happening, his ears burning slightly. He cleared his throat twice, offered the uncle another cigarette, and said, “Thank you.”

The middle-aged man tucked the cigarette behind his ear, exchanged a few polite words, and closed the door.

Chang Ming’an stood in the gradually darkening stairwell. It was dinnertime in every household, and through the doors he could hear the faint sounds of everyday conversations and television broadcasts. The dim yellow light seeped through the cracks in the doors, dividing the darkness into patches. He could not help but recall the gossip about Miss He from his childhood, which was exactly the same as it was then.

He walked back to the tightly closed door. There were no lights on inside, and not a ray of light leaked through the crack, but he could faintly hear sounds.

The person inside was humming a song, the voice soft and slightly hoarse.

“Twinkle, little star, twinkle, little star, it winks at you…”

Chang Ming’an understood; it was a Shanghai folk song, soft and gentle.

He unconsciously raised his hand and gently knocked on the door, asking through the door, “Is your surname He?”

The singing inside suddenly stopped, and there was no more sound. Chang Ming’an knocked several more times, but no one answered, so he had no choice but to turn around and leave.

He Mu listened inside the door for a while, then peeked through the peephole to make sure the person outside had finally left before turning on the light. He tucked his feet, which had been chilled to the bone by the floor, slipped on his slippers, and went to change his clothes. He changed into a dark purple robe made of silk, which felt cool and slippery against his skin.

He carefully hung the cheongsam he had taken off on the clothes rack, opened the old-fashioned double-door wooden wardrobe, and hung the cheongsam up.

The small house was a mess, as he disliked tidying up, but the wardrobe was neatly organized, with about a dozen cheongsams hanging inside—long and short, made of cloth, velvet, and silk, all ironed smooth. As He Mu hung the clothes, he hummed that song again. He had never been to Shanghai, but this little tune from the alleyways was deeply etched in his mind, always slipping out of his mouth involuntarily.

Only a small table lamp was lit in the entire room, and the rest of the place was pitch black, but He Mu felt particularly safe and comfortable in the darkness. He put Chang Ming’an, who had suddenly appeared, out of his mind, took a hot shower, lay down on the messy bed, rolled up in the blanket, curled up with his legs, and fell asleep.

Two days later, Chang Ming’an went there again.

He could have ignored it; he did not even know the other person’s name. But he went anyway, all for that small tube of hawthorn slices. When Chang Ming’an was in junior high, his father had died in a car accident. Widows often faced gossip, and rumors were circulating that their old house was about to be demolished. He deeply understood how precious kindness was, especially kindness extended by someone surrounded by malice. “I’ll make another trip,” he thought.

When he arrived, he ran into the uncle from across the hall again. The uncle seemed about to leave, and when he saw Chang Ming’an he quickly grabbed him and whispered, “There’s someone inside, a man, he’s been inside for a while…”

Before Chang Ming’an could speak, a muffled thud came from behind the door, like something heavy had fallen to the ground.

Both were startled, and the older man hurriedly left. Chang Ming’an went up and knocked heavily on the door, but before he could knock twice the door suddenly opened. He Mu was wearing a woman’s nightgown, his long hair haphazardly draped over his shoulders. The front of the robe was wide open, revealing several dark red hickeys mixed with teeth marks that stood out against his fair skin. His lipstick was smudged, the corner of his mouth a rosy red, while his cheek was bruised.

“What’s wrong?” Chang Ming’an asked.

A man with an ordinary appearance walked out from behind He Mu. His shirt hem was pulled out of his pants, as if he had hurriedly straightened it. He was full of anger. He grabbed He Mu’s arm tightly, without even glancing at Chang Ming’an, while his other hand was about to close the door.

He Mu turned around and flung the man’s hand away, coldly saying, “You can leave now.”

The man was so angry that his face turned red. He pointed at He Mu’s nose and cursed, “What kind of hypocrite are you, pretending to be virtuous when you’re a prostitute!”

Seeing the situation turning sour, Chang Ming’an pulled He Mu behind him and said to the man, “Let’s talk this out…”

Some of the neighbors had already heard the noise and were secretly peeking outside. The man’s chest heaved twice, and he finally pointed fiercely at Chang Ming’an before walking away without looking back.

Chang Ming’an pulled He Mu back into the house from where he had been exposed to everyone’s gaze and closed the door.

The room was a mess; chairs were overturned, and a teacup was broken. Chang Ming’an looked at the undisguised cleavage on He Mu’s chest and felt a headache coming on. Before he could speak, He Mu glared at him and said, “What, it’s you again?”