LCP Ch 6

“…Did you hear me?” The girl’s black short hair contrasted with her fair skin, making her look even sharper and more composed. Chi An knew she was right.

But was there really nothing Liang Ce needed him to do? Was there nothing Liang Ce wanted to do to him?

Chi An thought back to the kiss Liang Ce had placed on his forehead yesterday: “Chi An, do you care about me?”—that was what Liang Ce had wanted to ask.

I do care about you. Chi An had given his answer. He then changed his display name on Liang Ce’s screen to “Propose to him.”

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Chi An stayed in Liang Ce’s living room until he absolutely had to leave. Then he went home first, where he was scolded right on cue by his dog. Liang Ce had already told him that he helped feed the Border Collie last night. Chi An was both grateful and annoyed: Ugh, so annoying. He goes out of his way to feed the dog late at night, but why couldn’t he just do the same to— Chi An’s mouth had no filter, but that part couldn’t be written into this story.

He replied with a sticker of a piggy leaning in close. Liang Ce didn’t send any further messages. To Liang Ce, was this piggy sticker sent by “Chi An,” or was it sent by “Propose to him”? Chi An speculated while coaxing his dog, having no idea whether the other party had noticed the changed nickname.

Then Chi An returned to the hospital and no longer had time for wild thoughts—he had to treat a Maltese suffering from canine parvovirus. The owner was a young boy wearing a primary school uniform who rushed in with bloodshot eyes, holding the dying pup in his arms. Sobbing uncontrollably, the boy whimpered that he had money and his parents weren’t home, asking if they could save the puppy first. The hospital’s warm air heater was running, which clashed directly with the smell of vomit and feces covering the pup. A newly hired intern couldn’t hold it back and rushed to the restroom to throw up, but Chi An stepped forward as if he couldn’t smell a thing. Steadily picking up the exhausted, dehydrated dog, he arranged for tests and administered injections and IV fluids after confirming a strong positive. The puppy had a seizure halfway through; because the blood test showed high inflammation, Chi An worried about dehydration and kept a close eye on fluid replacement. By the time the puppy’s condition stabilized and Chi An walked out through the clinic’s front door, the cool breeze finally made him realize how bad he smelled.

He jogged home to take a shower, only to realize after stepping into the bathroom that the water had been shut off. Just then, Liang Ce called him again. The moment the call connected, Chi An blurted out, “Wait a second, the water at my place is cut off. Can I come over to your place to take a quick shower?”

Liang Ce seemed stunned for a moment, but quickly agreed, adding a gentle reminder: “Dress warmly. I’m downstairs at your building.”

Chi An didn’t put on very thick clothes, because he had only remembered the second half of that sentence. Skipping the elevator, he ran down the stairs, paused at the second floor to catch his breath for two pants, and then slowly walked out. He handed Liang Ce a fresh face mask: “I smell pretty bad right now. I just treated a puppy with parvo,” he paused, unable to stop himself from adding, “and I saved it.”

“You’re amazing.” Liang Ce seemed to be in a great mood, a smile gracing his face. He took the mask but didn’t put it on. Instead, as if completely immune to the smell, he unraveled his scarf and wrapped it around Chi An’s neck: “I didn’t drive. Let’s walk a bit faster—it’s warm inside.” Then he took Chi An’s hand.

Why was Liang Ce here? Why didn’t he drive? Was he like me—so anxious to meet that he forgot the faster way, knowing only how to run over clumsily? Chi An and Liang Ce didn’t live far apart. During that brief moment of holding hands, Chi An mulled over these questions again and again. He allowed his mind to run wild.

Liang Ce brought him inside, showed him how to adjust the water temperature, and handed him a fresh bath towel and slippers. Twenty minutes later, Chi An popped his wet head out and asked where the hairdryer was.

Chi An’s hair had grown a bit long. Usually, he kept it in a half-up bun, but right now it fell completely loose, giving him a gentle look. Liang Ce walked into the bathroom, naturally pulling out the hairdryer to help him dry his hair. Liang Ce’s hairdryer blew a breeze infused with vaporized essential oils, making Chi An feel drowsy in the pleasant scent.

Once his hair was dry, Chi An stood in the kitchen wearing Liang Ce’s long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants, watching him pour a cup of warm red date and longan tea from the kettle and hand it over. Liang Ce was truly good at taking care of people; anyone would effortlessly be well cared for by him. But only Chi An worked hard to stay fully conscious of it. He noticed and appreciated every single easily overlooked detail. Only he knew just how wonderful Liang Ce truly was.

Chi An explained the situation to Liang Ce, saying he planned to catch a quick nap and then head back to check on the pup, since its condition had been dire upon arrival: “But it took the initiative to drink water today, so I think there’s hope it’ll pull through.”

Speaking of the puppy made him lose his fatigue. He continued, “The owner is great too. He looks only nine or ten years old, but he stayed by the puppy the whole time. Some adults wouldn’t bother saving a pet in that state,” Chi An paused to take a sip of water. “But even if an owner genuinely didn’t want to save it, I’d pay out of my own pocket to save it anyway. As long as there’s a sliver of hope, I have to give it a try.”

Liang Ce listened intently until he finished. After a brief pause, he asked with feigned nonchalance, “Does that apply to everything? As long as there’s hope, you’ll give it a try?”

Chi An looked at Liang Ce—his most hopeless endeavor—and smiled subtly, saying yes.

Liang Ce was somewhat taller than Chi An, so he could look down at him. But leaning against the counter, he leaned forward slightly and looked up into his eyes. He looked at Chi An like another puppy waiting to be rescued, yet his request was modest.

Liang Ce said, “Then how about giving me a try, too?”

During the summer break when he was twelve, Liang Ce’s classmate was taken to an amusement park by his mother, while Liang Ce was taken into the kitchen by his. His mother taught him how to make scrambled eggs with tomatoes. Adding oil, she tossed the food in the wok with a spatula, then handed it to him: “Do you want to try?”

That was the very first chance to “try” in Liang Ce’s memory. He took the spatula, stepped onto a small stool, and clumsily stirred the eggs and tomatoes. Scalding hot oil splattered onto his knuckles and arms; the pain made him afraid to open his eyes, but he neither trembled nor shrank back. His mother praised him for doing a great job.

From that moment on, Liang Ce understood the first rule of trying: anyone who fails to seize their first chance to try simply couldn’t endure the unfamiliar pain that came with the attempt. And he was the best at enduring pain. That was why Liang Ce was able to grasp every opportunity to try, making himself a bit more useful each time.

Chi An had no idea that Liang Ce could precisely control how much force he used to hold his hand down on the stapler without hurting him—all because Liang Ce was the person who had endured the most pain.

He only needed a single chance to try.

Just as Chi An was about to answer, his phone rang—it was the intern reporting on the puppy’s condition. After listening, he looked up and said, “I still want to go back to the clinic.”

Liang Ce lowered his eyes, but Chi An had more to say:

“…Do you want to come with me?”

Liang Ce drove Chi An back to the hospital, waited for him to check on the terrier, and then sat beside him on the floor in front of the cage. Chi An switched off the fluorescent overhead lights, asking him an ambiguous question in the dim room: “When you said to give you a try… how are we supposed to try?”

For Chi An, asking this question was a completely novel experience. Just like over the past few years, he had gone through a chaotic, exhausting day, leaving his body completely drained like a withered plant. He shouldn’t be thinking about seducing anyone; he should only want to fool himself, resolve his physical needs in an un-sexy, purely practical way, and go straight to sleep. He was truly so tired that he probably wouldn’t even remember any nightmares when he woke up.

Yet this time, he found that he had taken off his gloves, washed his hands, and turned off the harsh overhead lights—all just to exchange an ambiguously intimate line with Liang Ce in a slow, unhurried voice. He wanted to entice Liang Ce, wanted to hear him utter verbs far more scandalous than “try.” There was no hidden agenda; he simply wanted to.

As for Liang Ce—a person who hated scrambled eggs with tomatoes yet could cook them flawlessly—he didn’t hear a seduction, but an interview question. How much unfamiliar pain would Chi An require him to endure? He was eager to test himself. So he answered:

“I know it might be hard for you to accept someone new right away.”

—Huh? Then who was the old person?

“But I’m actually pretty good at being in a relationship. If you have even a little bit of affection for me, I think…”

—Wait a second, the previous question doesn’t matter anymore, and I can’t hear whatever comes next either—what do you mean “pretty good at being in a relationship”? Who on earth did you learn that from?

Chi An felt he was no longer just a plant; he was like a Peashooter, practically bursting with annoyance. How was Liang Ce good at relationships? When he licked Liang Ce’s lips earlier, Liang Ce hadn’t even opened his mouth!

He knew Liang Ce had a boyfriend during university, because he had once stumbled upon a post that person made on the campus confession wall featuring a photo of Liang Ce—not the stiff ID photo Chi An kept inside his phone case, but a blurrier, far more handsome candid shot. The post asked the wall to help find him, saying they met in the cafeteria, that it was a stolen shot, and that he looked so good in his gray hoodie.

From that day on, the very first thing Chi An did every morning while studying on the East Coast of the US was to read through all the previous night’s confessions. He scrolled through every single comment under that post, trying to figure out how things were going. Did they make any progress? Chi An scrolled for a whole month. One day, after finishing an exam, he woke up from a nap, opened his eyes, and saw the guy returning to thank the wall, saying he and LC were now together.

Having just woken up, a dazed Chi An thought: Didn’t I just wake up from a nightmare? Where am I now?

Chi An followed the comment section to find the guy’s social media account, hiding his browsing history as he spent day and night studying the kind of person Liang Ce liked. Most of the guy’s selfies were taken from a high angle, making his round eyes take up half his face, framed by the brownish fringe of a wolf-cut hairstyle. Other photos showed him with friends, clinging to someone’s arm, looking no taller than 170 cm. Even in front-facing photos wearing loose clothing, his shoulders were narrow, giving him a fragile look that genuinely evoked a desire to protect him.

Meanwhile, Chi An had already shot up to nearly 180 cm, with long collarbones and neat short hair. Fresh out of a farm internship a few months back, he had built up his back muscles from lifting dogs and holding sheep. Perhaps—at least in the eyes of most people—Chi An was the handsomer one, but none of that mattered. If Liang Ce didn’t like it, it was useless. Chi An stayed up all night looking through it all, wondering helplessly the next morning: Should I grow my hair out first?

In the end, before his hair even had time to grow long, just a week later, the guy posted a long call-out essay announcing their breakup, claiming LC was “no good.”

On the other side of the ocean, Chi An grew furious all over again: What do you mean “no good”? Why does this guy get to know so much about Liang Ce? Why does he get to publicly post things that I can only dare to imagine in secret? “Because you didn’t go after him!” his roommate reminded him, making Chi An realize that he was probably angry at himself.

Chi An thought dark thoughts: Even if Liang Ce was “no good,” he had to be no good in front of HIM—not wearing a stitch of clothing, only getting it up when he finally knelt down. He didn’t want to do this out of PTSD or OCD; he was just a pervert. He was hopelessly obsessed with Liang Ce. He had nothing to defend himself with. Let others interpret it however they wanted.

Lost in his own thoughts, Chi An let out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh, asking with a touch of aggression, “Are you really that good at being in a relationship?” Then he tilted his head, “You don’t even know how to kiss.”

He hooked his arms around Liang Ce’s neck, his now-longer hair brushing against Liang Ce’s shoulder. Touching lips to lips, he gave Liang Ce a genuine kiss: “Last time at the lounge bar, you didn’t even kiss me.”

Caught completely off guard by the pull, Liang Ce’s ears flushed bright red. His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before snapping back to gaze at him with absolute focus. And just like that, Chi An suddenly felt his anger vanish. His annoyance dissipated, returning him to a ordinary plant, willing to hide away his withered leaves and give things a try with Liang Ce. Just as he was about to open his mouth to say, “Actually, I—”

Liang Ce’s left hand cupped the back of his neck, suddenly exerting force to tilt Chi An’s head, and pried open his lips to kiss him.

Liang Ce slid in with effortless ease, making intimate sounds for Chi An to hear, begging him to notice how he was trembling. Chi An felt so overwhelmingly good he wanted to cry, yet feeling even better because he couldn’t.

The kiss wasn’t rushed, only unyielding. There were no redundant, frivolous movements—it was as if everything was designed solely to learn what made Chi An feel best. Liang Ce pressed into Chi An’s lips, then pulled back; entangled with Chi An’s tongue, then released it; gave Chi An a chance to catch his breath, then drove him breathless again. He tilted his head with such devotion, giving Chi An a reason to sit on his lap, before cupping Chi An’s head to deepen the kiss even further.

Only after a long while did Liang Ce release him, murmuring in a breathy voice, “I do know how to kiss.”

With an innocent gaze in an erotic posture, Liang Ce looked up at Chi An: “If you’re not satisfied, stay with me and let me practice more.”

Then, rubbing his nose against Chi An’s like a spoiled child making a confession, he whispered, “I learn very fast, okay?”