Under Clear Skies Chapter 18: My House is Dirty

Chapter 18: My House is Dirty

Translated by Fefe of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Addis

The blood from earlier had already dried, making the t-shirt stick firmly to his back. “Hold on,” the doctor repeated. But he didn’t make a sound and just sat on the chair with his back to Tang Heng.

The doctor picked up his scalpel and started cutting from the bottom of the shirt, until the fabric was separated from the skin. “Your hair color is nice.” The doctor suddenly glanced at Tang Heng. “Where’d you do it? I want to try it.”

“A salon down the road. It’s called…” But the man was bald?

“Called what?”    

“Silky—”

Before Tang Heng could finish, he watched the doctor raise his arm, lifting the fabric in an instant.    

He still didn’t make a sound, but his body trembled.

His back was bare now. It was bloody—many long, narrow wounds from the sharp shoulder blades to his tight waist still had blood seeping out. The doctor sighed. “How’d you get hit by a beer bottle like this? It’s troublesome.”

“How is it troublesome?” Tang Heng asked anxiously.

“I have to disinfect it, get the shards out of him, wrap it up—and that’s not the end. Just watch, he’ll get a fever tonight.” As he spoke, he pinched up a cotton ball with tweezers and dabbed the rubbing alcohol. “Tell me if it hurts. I go down hard.”

Tang Heng cried, “Then be gentle!”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “You think I’m embroidering? How do I disinfect by being gentle?!”

The alcohol-soaked cotton ball was pressed onto the wound. That instant, Tang Heng saw him tilt his head and arch his back, as if wanting to escape from the pain. But that was only one instant. He stopped moving. Even when he clenched his fist and veins bulged on his arm, he didn’t move again.

Soon, that cotton ball turned a faint red color. The doctor tossed it and got a new one. By the time the wound was clean, the trash can by his foot was filled with red cotton balls.

And those injuries appeared clearly before Tang Heng. His back should be attractive—wheat-colored, broad and straight shoulders, fluid muscle lines that cinched at the waist. But right now, the red cuts swelled like the marks of some cruel torture.

“Don’t just watch,” the doctor said to Tang Heng. “Chat with him and distract him. C’mon.”

“Okay…” Tang Hesitated. Then he walked over and squatted down. “Does it hurt?”

“No shit.” The doctor’s head peeked out from behind. “It hurts like hell!”

Tang Heng: “…”

But then, why didn’t he say that?

A few more seconds passed. The boy finally spoke, but his voice was still calm. “No problem.”

It wasn’t alright, it wasn’t doesn’t hurt. It was no problem. Which meant—it must hurt so much.

Tang Heng felt like someone squeezed his heart. This feeling was unfamiliar. Thinking for a moment, he extended his hand. “Hold onto me.” Maybe this would help share the pain.

But he didn’t move and just looked down. Gazes neither had a temperature nor touch, but Tang Heng felt heat on his hand.

A moment later, Tang Heng suddenly realized what posture he was in, facing this boy.

Squatting, looking up, hand outstretched. Like he was begging—a mortal begging piously before the statue of a god. Tang Heng stood up abruptly and stepped back. “Are you thirsty?” he asked awkwardly. “I’ll go buy water.”

“No need.”

“Then, are you hungry?” Tang Heng fished out his phone. “I’ll call food delivery. You can eat after you’re done.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then what do you want?” Tang Heng was annoyed suddenly. “I’ll get you whatever you want.”

His tone was upset, but the other still sounded calm. “I’m fine. You can go home.”

“You call this fine?”

“Mn.”

“You—”

“Hey!” the doctor interrupted them. “Listen to me!”

The two exchanged glances and stopped speaking.        

“You, injured guy, you’re going to have a fever tonight and need someone to watch over you.” He turned to Tang Heng. “You, get him some nutritious food! Don’t just eat burgers and fries all day! Do you have lotus and ribs soup?”

“Yes.”

“That’s right, eat more protein! Get some food to help with blood loss!”

Twenty minutes later, the doctor tied up the last bandage and said, “Don’t get the injury wet and turn on the aircon after you get home—it’s too hot. It’s easy to get infected.”

The boy stood up steadily. “Thank you. How much money?”

“I’ll take 70. Thankfully, you didn’t get stitches. Oh, come back to change the salve.”

Tang Heng went toward the doctor. “I’ll pay.” He stuck his hand into his pocket and froze. His wallet was in his guitar case and he’d shoved his guitar at Jiang Ya.

“No change?” the doctor asked. “A hundred is fine too! I can give you change!”

Tang Heng: “…”

“I’ll pay.” The boy handed over a big pile of coins and bills of various amounts. The doctor counted for a moment before saying, “Perfect! It’ll be 15 for the salve change tomorrow.”

When the two walked out of the clinic, the boy was still wearing remnants of the blue t-shirt from before. His back was covered in white bandages, making him seem both sad and laughable. This was when Tang Heng realized that the front of his t-shirt had the four small words, Youth Grad School Tutoring.

“I’ll give you the money tomorrow,” Tang Heng said.

He grunted in reply, not rejecting, and just said, “No hurry.”

Tang Heng: “Then…”

“Bye.”

“Huh?”

“It’s pretty late,” he said. “You should go.”

Tang Heng couldn’t help but curse under his breath. “You think I wanna follow you around?” he said, rapid-fire. “Fuck, I’m just scared you’ll get a fever and get braindead! Don’t you think it’s a pity if the top of the class of the math department turns stupid from a fever?!”

As soon as he finished, the doctor lifted the curtain and placed his trash outside the door. “Quite a pity,” he answered offhandedly.

Tang Heng glared at the boy, not understanding what he was thinking—from a regular person’s perspective, the boy got hurt because of him, so it was logical for Tang Heng to take care of him, right?

“Maybe he’s waiting for his girlfriend to take care of him,” the doctor said knowingly, poking his head out again. “Don’t be a third wheel.”

Tang Heng: “…” Was that so? 

The two stood in the small alley at a stalemate. The heat of the summer night surrounded them. In just half a minute, Tang Heng’s forehead was damp. He didn’t know if the boy’s injuries would have sweat and how much it would hurt.

Half a beat later, the boy turned around. “My house is very dirty.” He sounded a little helpless.        

“Let’s go,” Tang Heng said firmly.

He followed him, snaking through the alleyway again. Broken-down, low-level buildings were crammed into this area. As they walked into the depths of the alley, even the streetlamps disappeared. Tang Heng used his phone screen to illuminate the path, avoiding many puddles of dirty water and trash piled on the side of the road.

He’d wondered what my house is very dirty meant—He could imagine messiness, but just how dirty was it? Now, it made some more sense. Maybe the building itself was very dirty. These houses were about to get torn down for gentrification, so they’re indeed dirty and worn.

The person leading the way finally stopped. There was a two-story building before him. Tang Heng wrinkled his nose.  

A pile of trash sat before the entrance. There wasn’t even a trash can—they were just piled under the sky and he could hear the dancing flies clearly. There were some holes in the wall and a few broken bricks were scattered nearby. The boy circled to the side and climbed to the second floor with the ladder, clanging. The metal ladder didn’t seem very steady. Each step made Tang Heng suspect that it would collapse.

Fortunately, the ladder didn’t collapse. The boy dug out his key and opened the door. The wooden door was spotted with age, but it didn’t actually creak when it opened.

“No need to change your shoes,” he said. “Sit anywhere.”

The room was so small that he could see the bed from the doorway—a narrow steel cot. Entering, he saw two shipping containers stacked next to the bed. A plastic board was placed on the container with an open book on it. The other side of the bed, on the ground, was an electric stove and a chair.

Tang Heng didn’t sit. “This is your rented apartment?” he asked tentatively.

“Mn.” The boy twisted the switch on the wall. “School hasn’t started yet. Can’t live in the dorm.”

There was a metallic creak from above. Tang Heng looked up and discovered with a shock that it was a fan. The fan started turning slowly; the wind produced was hot.

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “It won’t fall down.”

“I…” Tang Heng didn’t know what to say. “I’ll call food delivery.”

“I thought you don’t have money?”

“You pay first and I’ll return you tomorrow.”

When Tang Heng finished speaking, the boy was silent again.

“…What’s wrong?” Did he think he wouldn’t pay up?

“I,” his face was expressionless, “don’t have that much cash.”

“Two hundred would be enough,” Tang Heng said incredulously.

“I had 100, but I just spent 70.”

“…”

Tang Heng suddenly understood why he didn’t want him to come.

Come for what? Call food delivery? No money. Take care of him? It didn’t seem necessary. He couldn’t even do turn on the aircon when you get home—this shitty room didn’t even have air conditioning! 

“Give me a hand,” he suddenly said. “Pull my shirt… I can’t raise my arm.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Tang Heng walked over to him, a bit dazedly, and grasped the bottom of his t-shirt, slowly pulling it down. His collarbone shimmered with sweat; half of his not-too-obvious abs were exposed, half were covered by his jeans.

Tang Heng averted his gaze, pretending to observe the structure of the steel cot, waiting for him to put on his clothes. But he didn’t seem to plan on doing that. “I’ll make some food. Want some?” he asked Tang Heng.

Tang Heng was about to reject him by instinct, but he swallowed the words. “Thanks. Let me help you.”

“Use that pot to get some water from the bathroom and boil it on the stove—you know how?” He was quite good at ordering people around.

“Yes.” Actually, it was Tang Heng’s first time doing this kind of stuff. He rarely ate at home. Plus, he had a nanny who cooked at home. He never had to do it himself.

The bathroom reeked of mold. Tang Heng got some water and placed it on the electric stove. Then the boy said, “Open the container on the top. There’s food inside.”

“Oh.” Tang Heng lifted off the plastic board, then opened the container’s lid—there were indeed food inside.

A bag of Laotan sauerkraut beef ramen, a bag of spicy beef ramen, one egg.

Tang Heng was silent for two seconds. “That’s it?”

“I don’t have a fridge. I can only store some ramen.”

“This egg… It hasn’t gone bad, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

“…”

Tang Heng sat on the chair beside the electric stove. He held the two bags of ramen with his left hand and the egg in his right hand—cautiously, lest he shattered it with his grip. Meanwhile, the boy said on the bed, shirtless, expression so calm that it was distant.

The water hadn’t come to a boil yet, so there was nothing to do. They were both quiet for a while. “How much is rent per month?” Tang Heng asked for small talk.

“Two hundred.”

“That’s…pretty cheap.”

He made an mn and didn’t reply.

It was like this again. Tang Heng had trouble describing the feeling, but he knew that this person was guarded against him. Even though he’d followed him to his house, they were sitting together in this hot and humid room, waiting for the water to boil, and they’d eat ramen together later—but he was still guarded. Tang Heng could feel it.

Why? Because he caused him to get hurt? It was the truth though.

“Thanks for today,” Tang Heng said in a low voice.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m serious. If you weren’t there… they’d definitely smashed my guitar.”

“Mn. Be careful next time.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask why?”

“Why what?”

“Why I need to protect my guitar.”

“Must be expensive.”

“It’s not.”

“Oh.”

“It’s from my dad.” For some reason, Tang Heng felt the need to tell him, “My dad has passed away for 11 years.”

The other was silent. A moment later, he actually took the initiative to ask a question. “Why were those people fighting you guys?”

“We stole their place. It’s that bar tonight. Long Love.”

“Stole their place?”

“Their band used to sing there, but it’s changed to us now.”

“So they need to fight?”

“We already fought once, actually.” Tang Heng felt guilty for some reason. “I broke the fat guy’s arm.”

“Mn—water’s done.”

Tang Heng turned and saw that the water was boiling inside the pot. The hot air was blown by the fan and spread throughout the room. He ripped open the two bags of ramen and tossed the dried noodles inside. Turning, he asked, “Do I put the sauces in together?” Wouldn’t the flavor get messed up?

“Put it in,” the other said.

Then Tang Heng cracked the egg open. The egg white and yolk flowed into the stove. Fortunately, he’d seen his nanny crack eggs at home and knew to do it from the center.

The dried noodles hadn’t fully separated, so Tang Heng picked at them with the chopsticks.

“What are you doing?”

“Separating the noodles,” Tang Heng said, “so they heat up evenly.”        

The boy walked over, glanced at the pot, and sat back down. “You broke up the egg.”        

Tang Heng: “…Ah.”

“Stir it some more,” he said. “Turn it into egg drop soup.”

A few minutes later, the two of them each held a bowl of Laotan sauerkraut spicy beef egg drop soup ramen and ate with loud slurps. The room neither had ventilation nor air conditioning. Adding the hot air from the noodles to the fact, Tang Heng’s forehead became covered with sweat. His white t-shirt was soaked through too. But after the rollercoaster tonight, he actually didn’t care anymore. He just felt that the bowl of ramen before him right now was an unprecedented delicacy—it was crazy.

After eating the noodles and drinking the soup, Tang Heng stared blankly at the chipped bowl. He’d never thought that, one day, he’d sit in this kind of room and eat ramen with someone he didn’t even know the name of.

              

Oh right—”What’s your name?” Tang Heng asked. “I’m Tang Heng. Tang as in the Tang Dynasty. Heng written as the character for balance, with a grass particle.”

“Li Yuechi.”

“How do you write it?”

“Yue as in the moon, Chi as in to gallop.”

Li Yuechi. So, his name was Li Yuechi. Inside, Tang Heng thought that it’s a pretty name and suited the boy before him.

Li Yuechi stood up and walked to the window. The room’s window was tiny and narrow too—it had a wooden frame and aged gout on the glass.

“That’s Long Love, right?” he suddenly asked.

“Huh?” Tang Heng walked over and poked his head out of the window. It was all low-level houses in this area, so the view was quite good. Looking into the distance, he could vaguely see specks of light in the darkness, like the flickering lights of fishing boats in a serene sea.

Somewhere on the right, he could make out a bit of pink. It was indeed a corner of Long Love’s sign. Jiang Ya often complained about the owner’s aesthetics, saying that the pink sign gave off a red district feeling.

“It’s Long Love,” Tang Heng said. “You can see it from here?”

“Can hear it too. They sang outside on one night.”

Tang Heng turned toward him. “When?”    

“Probably half a month ago.”

“I was there that day.”

“Really?” Li Yuechi laughed. A warm night breeze ruffled the strands of hair on his forehead. His face was so close to Tang Heng. This was the first time something like gentleness appeared on his face since they’d met.

“I had a tutoring job that day and was so, so tired when I got back. I just stood there and suddenly heard someone sing—” He softly hummed, “The summer night’s breeze, swayed you in my arms.” Then he laughed again, as if shyly.

Tang Heng’s cheeks burned and he froze in his spot.

“Do you know what this song is called?” Li Yuechi asked.

“…Summer Night’s Breeze.”

“Did you sing it that night?”

Tang Heng turned away and shot out, “No!”