On the way back, the snow was falling harder. In the square, a giant Christmas tree—at least three or four meters tall—stood shimmering under the heavy snowfall, cloaked in white. It was breathtaking and made the festive atmosphere feel even richer.
Fang Li got into the car, cupped his frozen palms, and breathed warm air onto them, then pressed them to his ears. Qin Weidong reached into the back seat and passed him a bottle of warm milk wrapped in his coat.
“It’s still hot. Drink it.”
“Still holding a grudge?” Fang Li accepted the bottle, twisted the cap open, and took a sip after blowing on it. “I only scratched you a little… It was an accident. And who told you to embarrass me in front of Qiao Shi?”
The red mark on Qin Weidong’s jaw had not faded much even after two and a half hours. It hardly looked like a “light scratch.”
Fang Li glanced at it and felt a little guilty. In truth, he’d started regretting it the moment they left the venue—after all, Qin Weidong still showed up to pick him up, didn’t he?
He reached over and gently touched Qin Weidong’s cheek. “Alright, don’t be mad… I’ll give it a rub.”
In the rearview mirror, Fang Li’s slender fingers looked even paler than the milk bottle. He’d been looking healthier lately. The warmth from the milk had reached the base of his fingers, but his fingertips were still cold—like snowflakes brushing lightly against the skin. Qin Weidong narrowed his eyes at the sensation.
He said nothing. It was hard to tell whether he was angry or not.
Fang Li was used to this kind of silence. His mind drifted back to the concert and the lead singer Vadina’s voice. Toward the end, the band had covered one of the songs Fang Li often heard since coming to New York—“New York, New York.”
It was the theme song from the film New York, New York, and had become wildly popular after being covered by American singer Frank Sinatra. It was now practically an anthem for the city.
Fang Li remembered the tape should be in the car and pressed play on the CD player.
“I’ll make a brand new start of it in old New York…
If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere…
It’s up to you, New York, New York…”
Fang Li softly hummed along to the jazzy melody. He had a great ear for music. While others struggled to follow its rhythm, the tune flowed through him as naturally as water.
“It’s really coming down tonight.”
A snowplow dispatched by the city had blocked the road, causing a temporary traffic jam. Fang Li rolled down the window and reached out to catch a falling snowflake.
Just as he brought his hand back in, Qin Weidong raised the window on his side and wiped the snowflake from Fang Li’s palm with a tissue. “It’s cold. Don’t catch a cold.”
“…You’re too cautious. I’m not some little kid with zero immune system…”
“Did you forget what the doctor said? The first year is critical. Your heart’s still recovering.”
Qin Weidong remembered every single word the doctor had said. Fang Li, on the other hand, sometimes wondered how he could forget things that happened only a day or two ago, while Qin Weidong could remember everything so clearly.
“By the way, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Fang Li said, “There are a lot of music programs in Brooklyn—very free in style. Some even let you audit classes. I was thinking of sitting in on a few starting tomorrow…”
“Audit classes?”
Fang Li nodded. “You’re too busy with your own classes. I get bored at home all day. Plus, my English is better now—I don’t need my personal translator following me around 24/7.”
“You get bored at home?”
“Yeah, really bored.”
Qin Weidong thought for a moment. “There are plenty of malls near the apartment. You could walk around, hang out with Qiao Shi. I’ll cover the bill.”
“Qiao Shi’s busy. He’s not like me, just wasting time every day. His life’s actually fulfilling. And you know I don’t like shopping…”
Fang Li had never been very materialistic. Even here in New York, surrounded by luxury boutiques, he didn’t seem tempted. His coat wasn’t cheap, but it had been bought by Qin Weidong. Honestly, even if someone handed him an 80-yuan coat from back home, he’d still wear it without complaint.
Fang Li hugged the record in his arms, gazing out at a street musician singing outside a little tavern.
Only when he was immersed in music did his eyes take on a different kind of light. Over the past two years, that glow had grown more and more vibrant—so much so that Qin Weidong couldn’t ignore it, even if he wanted to.
He couldn’t quite describe the feeling. He just knew that he didn’t like seeing Fang Li this passionate about something.
By the time they got back to the apartment, snow had already begun to pile up. Qin Weidong told him to wait, got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door—and picked Fang Li up in his arms.
Fang Li let out a startled cry. “What are you doing?!”
“Your shoes will get wet.”
Qin Weidong grabbed the record as well, along with a pair of keychains tucked inside—two small silver guitars. He glanced at them before carrying Fang Li toward the front entrance of the apartment building.
For some reason, Fang Li suddenly thought of that year when they had been at their lowest. It had snowed then too, but unlike New York’s festive snow, that snowfall had brought only despair.
Back then, Qin Weidong had only been nineteen, yet he had still carried Fang Li on his back. When Fang Li had lost everything, it was Qin Weidong who swept the snow from the steps so he could stand on solid ground.
Fang Li squirmed in Qin Weidong’s arms. Even thin as he was, he was still a grown man. Qin Weidong furrowed his brow and scolded him, “What are you doing?”
Still, his arms held firm and steady, not loosening at all. Fang Li squirmed like a restless worm until he managed to climb up and face Qin Weidong directly.
He wrapped his legs around Qin Weidong’s waist, snowflakes falling from the tops of his boots, and leaned in to kiss Qin Weidong on the lips.
“I swear, that was the last time I’ll ever slap you.”
Qin Weidong snorted coldly, clearly skeptical of the promise.
“So,” Fang Li said, shifting his hips, “do you agree to let me audit those classes? I’m telling you ahead of time this time.”
Qin Weidong let out a hiss and cursed, “Stop squirming…!”
When they got out of the elevator, he opened the door and roughly yanked off Fang Li’s snow-covered boots, dropping them on the floor. Fang Li didn’t seem to care that Qin Weidong was dragging him toward the bedroom.
“You know, even Qiao Shi can tell how mean you are. I’m doing this for your own good, reminding you to learn to control yourself—it’s for the sake of your public image…”
Qin Weidong didn’t bother responding to his twisted logic. “I will control myself.”
“Will you really?”
Fang Li looked skeptical. Qin Weidong, mustering his utmost patience, said, “You love music—whether it’s playing piano, writing songs, auditing at a music school, or singing… I won’t stop you. It’s not that big of a deal. If you tell me, I’ll try… not to stand in your way.”
“Try?” Fang Li raised an eyebrow. “I’ve always wanted to ask—why don’t you like me… liking music? You clearly indulge me in everything else…”
It was true. Ever since they were kids, if Fang Li asked for something twice, Qin Weidong almost always gave in.
Qin Weidong didn’t answer. Fang Li pressed him: “Come on, tell me—what is it that bothers you?”
“I don’t like seeing you obsessed with something.”
“Why not?” Fang Li asked, genuinely confused.
Qin Weidong didn’t want to talk about it—he didn’t know how to explain it. The agitation was irrational. He pushed open the bedroom door. “Are you getting down or not? I’m going to run the bath.”
Of course, Fang Li wouldn’t get down—who stops right at the climax? “Tell me why first…”
After his persistent questioning, Qin Weidong finally spoke, his expression a little strained. “That’s my place.”
Fang Li tilted his head. “What?”
He patted Qin Weidong’s cheek. “Say it—!”
After enough pressure, Qin Weidong finally revealed a mix of impatience and frustration. “They’re unnecessary. They take up too much of your attention and time. I hate that.”
Fang Li blinked, then finally understood. For a moment, he was speechless. Then he punched Qin Weidong’s shoulder hard. “You’re unbelievable…! It’s just music! Music! It’s a hobby! It’s not a person! What’s going on in your head—do you honestly think I’d fall for someone else just because I like playing piano and singing?”
Qin Weidong’s face darkened immediately. His voice followed, laced with threat. “If you dare—”
“Dare your head!” Fang Li was completely exasperated by this man’s overbearing possessiveness. Wasn’t that supposed to mellow out with age? People were supposed to grow up, weren’t they? But somehow, Qin Weidong’s possessiveness had only gotten worse over time—especially after coming abroad. What, did foreign universities offer compulsory courses on “how to keep your lover firmly in your grip”?
Fang Li felt mentally exhausted. Qin Weidong had always been like this.
When they were kids, Fang Li was good-natured, handsome, and came from one of the more well-off families in town. Lots of girls at school would fold paper cranes and give them to him. He didn’t notice at first and just kept them in his bag. But later, when he went to look for them, they were gone. Turns out Qin Weidong had been tossing them into the stove to burn during every lunch break—without a trace left behind.
And that wasn’t all. Even after they left Chongsi, he hadn’t changed. On the mines, Qin Weidong once caught him a little rabbit in the rain—Fang Li adored it. But after they moved to Jinyang, Qin Weidong gave the rabbit to Feng Hui while Fang Li wasn’t looking.
When Fang Li tried to get it back, Feng Hui’s sister had already started raising it, and he was too embarrassed to ask for it again.
Fang Li used to think these were all minor things. He was too lazy to fuss over them. But now he was beginning to realize that his years of not minding had only allowed Qin Weidong’s possessiveness to grow into a real problem…
That Saturday, he took the subway to the Brooklyn Conservatory of Music. It was an easy ride. Qiao Shi had spoken to a classmate in advance, and a sweet girl named Wu Xuxu came to pick him up. She was from Jianjing and majored in musical theatre.
Wu Xuxu showed him around campus and took him to a few composition classes. The professors were lively and engaging, explaining complex concepts he’d struggled with during self-study using examples from award-winning pieces.
Although Fang Li found it hard to follow at times, he took lots of notes. They also wandered around several Brooklyn neighborhoods—this place felt like a hub for cutting-edge art, and he was dazzled by everything he saw.
Qin Weidong knew about Fang Li’s auditing classes, and though he didn’t stop him, he didn’t exactly approve either. He only asked Fang Li to text him when he got on the subway and again when he got off—even though there were only a few stops in total.
Time flew by, and Fang Li received more good news. Before leaving the country, he had sold two songs to Waves Music. Now, both had been given lyrics—one to Ding Haoyang’s band, and the other to a newly signed female singer at the company. The band’s track had already been released on their album.
Ding Haoyang’s song was one of the lead tracks. Though their first album hadn’t been a breakout success compared to other debut bands, sales were decent. At the very least, the company saw potential and was prepared to promote them.
Because the lyrics had turned the song into a heartfelt ballad in classic Cantopop style, they had gained a solid following of female fans. The band had even started landing commercial gigs, many of which specifically requested that song.
Fang Li exchanged texts with Ding Haoyang and could feel his joy and excitement from the other end. Ding Haoyang said he had already mailed him a copy of the album and reminded him that if he wrote any good songs while abroad, he shouldn’t “waste them on the foreigners.” The company would definitely take them.
Finally, Ding Haoyang teased him that their agent, Brother Han, had been beating his chest and sighing dramatically ever since learning that Fang Li had gone abroad. He’d moaned that he had missed out on a sure-to-rise superstar—and that none of the company’s new signees had even half the star quality Fang Li did.
Shortly after Christmas, as the Chinese New Year approached, Fang Li received the album Ding Haoyang had sent. On the cover, Wu Ke and Ding Haoyang stood at the front. Yang San’s hair had been dyed back to black, grown out, and permed into bangs. He wore sunglasses and stood far left, looking effortlessly cool.
Fang Li placed the CD into the player, but before the first track could start, the phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID—it was Ye Yunshan—and handed it to Qin Weidong to answer.
Qin Weidong listened silently for a while before saying, “I won’t be going back for New Year.”
“I’m doing fine here… I’ll take care of myself.”
“Who…?”
Fang Li saw Qin Weidong frown. “Mom, we didn’t prepare anything extra at the apartment. It’s not really suitable for girls to stay here…”
After hanging up, Fang Li asked, “What’s going on?”
Qin Weidong replied, “A distant cousin of mine and her friend are studying in Boston. They’re not going back to China for the New Year, and my mom wants them to spend it with us.”
Fang Li thought for a moment and said, “Then let them come. We still have two extra rooms, don’t we? Just have the housekeeper prepare them.”
Qin Weidong clicked his tongue and shot him a glare. “You really don’t care, do you…”
It wasn’t that Fang Li didn’t care. He just didn’t want to make things harder for Qin Weidong when dealing with Ye Yunshan.
Ye Yunshan loved him—Fang Li could feel it. But her love always seemed to clash with theirs.
“You sure it’s okay not to go back for New Year? Auntie Ye’s been calling you a lot lately…”
“It’s fine.”
Fang Li knew Qin Weidong was worried about his health. Last time, the long-haul flight had made him so sick he’d nearly been hospitalized right after landing. The doctor had advised him to avoid long-distance flights for the next year.
Fang Li said, “It used to be because we didn’t have a home. But now you do. If you don’t go home for New Year…”
Chinese people are traditional—no matter who it was, even someone like Fang Hongqing would always go back to the old house every New Year, no matter which wife he brought along. All the more so for a family like the Qins.
Fang Li had always carried this complex—he wanted Qin Weidong to be with him no matter where or when. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel that wanting that made him selfish.
“My home is you, first and foremost.”
Qin Weidong said, then leaned down to kiss him—a gesture of comfort. To him, it wasn’t some grand romantic line, just stating a fact. He took out his phone. “They’re arriving tomorrow. I’ll book a hotel for them.”
Axolotl Translations 
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