UCS Chapter 129

“Don’t send me away. I’m useful. I can protect you.”

…

Knowing everything that would eventually come of this, Gao Shi felt no relief. Only anger.

In the days that followed, Gao Gusheng and the man lived in one another’s company, depending on each other.

Whatever life the man had been living before losing his memory, it had evidently been one of considerable comfort and refinement. His small ingrained habits gave Gao Gusheng no end of difficulty.

He would only drink bottled mineral water priced at twelve yuan or more. Every meal had to include at least three dishes and a soup. The bedsheets and covers had to be changed every day, and had to have been dried in sunlight.

Gao Gusheng had endured every kind of hardship this life could offer. He had once worked as an apprentice cook and had acquired genuinely good skill in the kitchen. And yet the man found fault with his cooking again and again.

Either the vegetables were not fresh enough, or Gao Gusheng’s technique had somehow wasted ingredients that deserved better.

Of course, the role the man had been performing from the very start was that of a well-behaved stray with nowhere to go. So how could he possibly say anything that would inconvenience the person feeding him?

He simply furrowed his brow and pressed his lips tightly together, wearing the expression of someone trying very hard to force the food down, until the ever-attentive Gao Gusheng noticed something was off, and the man was able to ride that opening to point out Gao Gusheng’s culinary shortcomings in the most gently roundabout way.

Gao Gusheng had never been a proud person, but he had grown accustomed to preparing a good spread in his spare moments, cooking for himself and the people he cared about, and finding his heart soften at the sight of their happy faces and gentle words of praise.

But now he was beginning to wonder whether his cooking was genuinely terrible. Whether the director-mother and Mohua and all the others had been quietly forcing it down all along.

Perhaps he really was a terrible person. Why else would he have drawn the attention of something like the ghost king, bringing misfortune to those around him? Why else would he be incapable of receiving a lover’s sincere love, only to be drained dry and discarded?

Gao Gusheng never noticed the brief flash of impatience in the man’s eyes when the food finally arrived to his taste.

In the face of this exacting and difficult man, Gao Gusheng maintained unfailing patience throughout, because in his eyes it was not he who had saved the man, but the man who had saved him.

From the moment the man came to his home, not a single spirit dared approach him anymore.

On the occasional night when a reckless ghost came at him anyway, the man would seize it and crush it out of existence with one hand.

Before the spirits had begun to plague him, he had never once thought about how free and easy it was to simply walk through the world without anything to fear.

So he accepted all of it gladly.

The days passed, one by one. Gao Gusheng worked during the day and came home to study at night. Because the man would not eat food that had been reheated, Gao Gusheng would run home at midday to cook him a fresh meal, then run back to the shop. With so little time, Gao Gusheng often ate on the go, grabbing a bun or a flatbread and eating it while he ran.

At first the man had been injured and could not go out to work. After he recovered, he showed not the slightest inclination to leave the house, or to search for his memories or any family he might have. If anything, as though revealing his true nature, he became more and more imperious by the day.

The docile, pitiable little stray from those first days had become a tyrant, a vicious dog playing lord of the house.

Gao Gusheng was supporting two people entirely on his own.

Between the man’s medical expenses and his exacting appetite, Gao Gusheng was often left with a fifth of his wages or less to spend on himself. By the end of some months there was not enough. He had no choice but to take on two jobs and add a night shift on top.

The time available for studying shrank. Gao Gusheng squeezed what he could from the hours left, reading until past midnight.

This life was hard. Gao Gusheng did not feel it.

He loved it dearly.

The person he had once been was someone who simply gritted his teeth and kept living, with no sense of where hope lay or where the future was going. But now he had a goal. A direction. And the means to work toward it.

The little home was very small, with only one bed. Gao Gusheng slept on the sofa in the sitting room. So as not to disturb the man’s rest, he would study in the sitting room by torchlight.

Gao Shi looked down at his son’s silhouette from above. He looked so small, so slight. Twenty-two years old, Gao Gusheng should have been a grown man by now, but years of poor nutrition and inadequate rest had kept him thin and small in stature, and he looked no older than a teenager.

In the real world, Gao Gusheng at seventeen was already taller than this version of himself at twenty-two.

Left out of his sight, the son in this dream had endured so much.

Yet Gao Gusheng did not feel wronged. He held up his torch and in the dim, warm light absorbed knowledge with total absorption, like a starving beggar cramming bread into his mouth as fast as he could.

What countless people took entirely for granted was a beautiful life he could only long for.

The torchlight illuminated the small circle of space in front of him. His looks, compared to the real-world Lele, were somewhat less vivid — life’s hardships had left their marks on him — but he remained a person capable of captivating anyone who looked at him.

His long, delicate lashes were like the wings of a butterfly, holding tiny flecks of amber light, and in the depths of his eyes, which shone like a river of stars, a smile had quietly settled.

The man stood in the darkness. The deep furrow of his brow and the impatience in his eyes made it clear he had come out annoyed — the sound of pages turning had disturbed his sleep. But instead of saying anything, he found himself standing there for a long moment, watching Gao Gusheng in the warm circle of light.

After that night, something in the way the man looked at Gao Gusheng shifted almost imperceptibly.

Gao Shi felt a cold lurch in his chest.

…

Gao Gusheng worked evenings at a hotel, as a server.

He always assumed that with a blind eye and a lame leg, and little else to recommend himself, not many people would look twice at him. He had no idea how many pairs of eyes lingered on him every day, nor the calculation and hunger in the hotel general manager’s gaze whenever it fell on him.

That evening, a colleague suddenly thrust two bottles of liquor at him, asking him to deliver them to a private room on his behalf, claiming urgent need. It was on the way. Gao Gusheng thought nothing of it. Having never been exposed to the darker side of this hotel, he walked straight into the trap without a moment of wariness.

Surrounded by heavyset men with predatory intentions, Gao Gusheng was like a lamb that had wandered into a wolf pack.

He tried to leave. He drank a glass of strong baijiu as the price of being allowed to go, but men like these were never going to keep their word.

In his desperation, Celestial Master Zhang found him.

In Gao Gusheng’s eyes he arrived like a god descending from the heavens, and carried him home over his shoulder.

The man was furious. He berated Gao Gusheng. “Idiot! Those men had nothing good in mind. And you had the nerve to sit there drinking with them!”

Gao Gusheng was deeply drunk. The world was nothing but scattered light. He reached for the man’s arm by sound alone.

He smiled a vague, unfocused smile, his cheeks soft with a gentle flush of pink, his lips moist and bright as polished fruit.

“But you came, didn’t you.”

The man grew more agitated still. “If not for me—”

The rest of the sentence was swallowed by Gao Gusheng’s tears.

What he had once experienced was a scar in his heart that could never fully heal. What had happened tonight had pulled that memory back to the surface. He wept and shook, his face still wearing that smile, but his eyes utterly filled with despair.

Like a little snow figure beginning to dissolve in sunlight.

The man’s eyes darkened. He reached out and laid his hand against Gao Gusheng’s cheek.

…

Gao Gusheng fought with everything he had, pleading and begging for the man to let him go.

Until the man, growing somewhat impatient at trying to keep Gao Gusheng still, simply pulled him into his arms and held him there.

…

When Gao Gusheng woke, his body ached as though it had been ground to pieces and glued back together. He turned his head in a daze and saw the man’s sleeping face, his expression carrying a faint coolness even in sleep.

The terror of the night before rushed back in an instant. Gao Gusheng’s body went rigid. But in the very next moment, the warmth of that final embrace, and the warm dampness that had touched his forehead, settled over him like a bowl of hot plain congee after a night of heavy drinking, smoothing the fear flat.

At that moment, the man opened his eyes.

Gao Gusheng’s heartbeat surged.

The man frowned. “Why aren’t you up yet? Where’s my breakfast?”

Gao Gusheng apologised in a fluster. “I’m sorry, I—”

His voice, when it came out, was completely hoarse.

The man seemed to remember what had happened the night before. He looked at Gao Gusheng’s dishevelled state, and appeared, for once, to experience something resembling conscience. “Never mind. It’s already this late. No need to rush.”

Gao Gusheng hesitated, then asked, “Last night, you…”

The man’s brow creased almost imperceptibly. He pulled Gao Gusheng toward him with a touch of roughness and kissed him briefly on the lips.

“I like you. I want you.”

…

“Want this from your father!”

Gao Shi bolted upright from the sofa, swearing.

It was a rare occurrence to hear Gao Shi swear. Ran Qiu, thoroughly startled, crept carefully closer. “Chief, what’s wrong?”

Gao Shi pressed a hand to his forehead, accepted the glass of sweet water Ying Bujie extended to him, and downed it in one go before his mind fully settled back into place.

He looked around. He was in a rest room.

Gao Shi waved a hand and picked up his phone. “Just had an absolutely terrible dream.”

When he saw the message Gao Gusheng had sent, his pupils contracted sharply.

What did “found an injured person” mean exactly?

When Gao Shi arrived home in a great hurry, Gao Gusheng was in the middle of ordering takeaway.

Before Gao Shi could say a word, Gao Gusheng came running up to him with a face that was the very picture of distress. “Dad, I accidentally set the pot on fire.”

A heavy smell of burning filled the house. The windows had been opened despite the lingering spring chill, and it had done absolutely nothing to remedy the results of Gao Gusheng’s creative endeavours.

Gao Shi walked into the kitchen with a face full of questions, and found that this person had developed, from some unknown source of confidence, the belief that he, who had never cooked in his life, could unlock the mysteries of fire and successfully braise himself a pot of pork.

Gao Shi scowled and used a spatula to pry what could only be described as a regulation-grade lump of charcoal from the pot, which had itself turned entirely black. He turned to look at Gao Gusheng. “Did you… want iron-pot braised charcoal for dinner tonight?”

Gao Gusheng looked close to tears. “Dad, that was supposed to be braised pork!”

Gao Shi regarded him in silence. “Go ask Dahuang and Dahei. Tell them it’s braised pork and see if they’ll eat it.”

Dahuang and Dahei turned their backs, registering their contempt on the record.

Gao Gusheng swore to heaven he had not intended to waste food. He had followed the recipe step by step, yet somehow the pot had inexplicably caught fire anyway.

Gao Shi knocked on the pot. It responded with two hollow metallic thuds, carrying the air of something that had lost everything and was reduced to performing on the street.

He pressed a finger to his temple. “Tell Auntie Zhou to buy a new one tomorrow. Let’s just order in tonight.”

Gao Gusheng waggled his phone ingratiatingly. “Heh heh, Dad, I already ordered! It’ll be here soon!”

“And I ordered what Father likes too!”

Looking at his beaming, silly son, Gao Shi thought of the Gao Gusheng in the dream, hovering anxiously around the stove and waiting on the fastidious Celestial Master Zhang, and felt suddenly that this right here was much better.

If Lele wanted to learn to cook, he could learn anytime. But if he had no interest, no one could force him.

His phone rang.

“Hello? Old Lu, what is it?”

“Old Gao, the person your son called the police on — he’s gone!”

***