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He thought that the summer had passed, but the cicadas are chirping outside. He wished it were winter, back at that moment when the snow fell onto the cold ground, and the world was a decolourised mess.
It’s only in winter that he can meet that person, a person who only comes when the plum blossom blooms.
Ma Tianxiang takes in a deep breath, feeling the hot, humid air of the summer night against his skin. The stickiness feels terrible. He wishes time could pass faster. Then, he can meet that person whom he misses dearly - Yan Lang.
——
Tianxiang can still remember the time when he was looking out the window and saw a man walking through the snow in thin clothes, searching for a place to stay. It’s rare for there to be snow in the southern province, so he remembered this instance distinctly. His backyard sprouted plum blossoms, their scent carried by the crisp, cold wind into his nostrils.
He didn’t know what had taken over him to open that window and call for that man to come inside.
“Hey! Isn’t it late?” He called out as he waved towards the wandering man, “Come inside! I’ll give you a place to stay for the night!”
The man nodded and quickly waddled his way through the snow to the front door of Ma Tianxiang’s house, looking like a duck trying to cross a road.
Opening the door, Ma Tianxiang gave this mysterious man a big smile, “Hello! Come on in!”
The man shyly nodded. Tianxiang distinctly remembered this man had a face red as a tomato, or perhaps even redder than that. The winter was clearly too cold for this man.
“Why are you out so late in this terrible weather?” Tianxiang immediately started boiling hot water to make a cup of tea. That man was shivering when he walked in.
“... I was kicked out.”
“Fuck the dude who kicked you out.”
“They were my family.”
“Oh.”
“... Yeah.”
“Sorry, man, must’ve been rough,” Tianxiang placed down two cups of warm tea he had made on the table, one in front of the seated man, and the other for himself.
As he sat down at the table, Tianxiang could get a closer look at the man’s rose-red cheeks and dark brown eyes, glancing down at that steaming, warm tea cup. He looked younger than he anticipated, as the way he hunched his back while walking towards his house made him look like an old man.
“It wasn’t.” The young man sighed as he gently caressed the cup. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
This was the first time Tianxiang had heard of someone getting used to being kicked out of their house in winter. “Sorry, what?”
“My family didn’t want me to be here when they were preparing for the new year.” The young man looks up at Tianxiang, “By the way, kind sir… What’s your name?”
“Ah, right! Ma Tianxiang, and you?”
“You can call me Yan Lang.”
Tianxiang blinked as he tried to register that name, “... That’s… an interesting name.”
“I was born when the swallows come by*.”
“Hah! Now I wish my name came from when horses fly in the sky**!” Tianxiang cracked a joke to make the conversation more interesting.
They talked, joked, and laughed. Something about Yan Lang drew Tianxiang closer and closer towards him.
Yan Lang was born in a distant town. After he was kicked out, he walked all the way here, in the cold wind and the freezing snow. Tianxiang was shocked that he survived doing so.
“You walked… all the way from there?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re staying here, brother.” Tianxiang puts both his hands on Yan Lang’s shoulders.
“... I can?”
“Of course.”
The silver-white land gave way to the red, pink, and white plum blossoms, as if decorating the snow with dots of blush, the sweet scent sneaking through the night slowly.
The snow started to melt as spring came forward. The last bit of the plum blossom drooped and fell to the muddied grounds of Tianxiang’s backyard. He woke up that day to find Yan Lang missing.
“Yan Lang?” He called out. No response.
Walking out, he searched the ground for steps and asked the people around him. No one saw a young man leaving.
Could he have evaporated out of thin air?
Ma Tianxiang searched the streets near his house and asked his neighbours. None of them reported having seen a young man walking in the snow yesterday, nor have they seen a young man leave the house. This greatly confused Tianxiang, for he was sure that he had met Yan Lang and talked with him, conversed with him of the ups and downs of life over beers deep into the winter nights. He sighed as he returned home, his mind bewildered and deeply disappointed.
The plum blossom’s flowers had wilted and fallen as the swallows flew past the rooftops of houses, calling for spring’s arrival and bringing good fortune to crop growth and flourishing plants. The bald tree stood there in the green patches of grass surrounding it, still and unnerving.
Tianxiang searched his room for evidence of Yan Lang’s arrival. He needed to make sure he wasn’t making any of this up; Yan Lang mustn’t have been his delusion, and he mustn’t have been insane! He searched through the kitchen, the table, and the drawers. This search even led him into his study, where his manuscripts and failed drafts of his novels lay miserably on the floor and desk. Nothing.
And then, he finally searched his bed.
When he lifted his pillow up, he saw a single branch with a few plum blossom buds, not yet fully bloomed. This was proof that Yan Lang was here.
He remembered jumping for joy when he saw that single branch. This was proof that he wasn’t insane!
Then… Where could Yan Lang be now? He couldn’t help but want to find answers to that question, but everyone around him still believed he was absolutely losing his mind, and that he should “stop being obsessed over another man and maybe find a woman to marry and have children”, as his old lady neighbour would “politely” suggest to him with very beautifully spoken language.
Days turned to months. He waited and waited for Yan Lang to appear once again. He wanted to see him, the young man who, by some miracle, had landed in his life and made him feel, somehow, alive after his monotonous routine.
Ma Tianxiang used to be an author, or he was aspiring to become one, but all of his works were being rejected because their plots were “not engaging enough for the general public”. He thought about posting online to gain attention through unconventional methods, but attracting attention on the internet was still niche back then, and even though many people viewed it, there was no guarantee they would ever pay him.
Essentially, he couldn’t use this method to support himself. He was always in between rides to the editorial office and his study, day and night, tirelessly working for something he wanted to express but couldn’t get published. He was burning out fast, and the only thing that kept him going was watering the plants in the yard. He had written about the plum blossom tree in the yard, the tree that bloomed every winter to give a soothing, sweet scent. It was this scent that he fell asleep to, this scent that calmed him on the most frustrated nights, this scent that got him out of slumps.
The scent lingered until winter left. No other flower’s scent can replace this particular smell.
In truth, he wished winter would last, because the rest of the seasons made him realise how lonely he was.
He was alone, kept to himself, and even brief interactions with others were met with judgmental comments. He never understood how people can pass judgment on anyone without having a conversation or two. Perhaps that was the reason why he liked the neighbouring old lady. She didn’t give much judgment of his character without speaking to him.
It’s sad that she passed away the summer five years ago.
Maybe he just… never let go of that feeling. Maybe he just never had a proper way of grieving; it was just there, lingering in his mind. That old lady was neither family nor friend, but to think that a mere acquaintance could make him feel this way… Perhaps he was truly lonely.
So, by the time autumn came, he looked up to the sky, seeing the rounded moon that shone like a bright jade plate. Maybe someone will come into my life… He wished, maybe… Someone would truly understand me…
I wish… Someone like that exists.
That winter, the plum blossoms bloomed a deep red.
——
The cicadas chirp as the summer’s heat keeps scorching everything underneath it. Ma Tianxiang sighs as he lies on the floor, the fan turning at a fierce speed, trying to fight against the humid weather that is out there. He sighs as he tries to keep his eyes open under the warm temperature in his house.
He stares at the ceiling of his house as he lies on the floor, all sweaty from the heated weather. Then he gets a call on his phone, and when he checks, it shows his editor. He picks it up.
“Mr Ma?”
“Yes?”
“I’m happy to inform you that your book has passed the review committee, and your series will be published.”
Tianxiang couldn’t believe it. His heart is thumping like thousands of horses running across the earth, “... What?”
“Your book has been published.” The editor on the other end repeats himself, his voice slightly shaking with excitement.
He jumps in joy. All the hard work paid off.
“Thank you so, so, so much!” He can’t contain his excitement in his voice as he thanks the editor through the phone, “Without you, I couldn’t have made my story pass the publishing committee!”
“No worries, it is our job as editors to assist the author, after all.”
“Don’t be so modest, editor Li!”
“I certainly am not.” Editor Li replies with a frank tone.
“Nevertheless, thank you so much!” Ma Tianxiang thanks the editor again, then ends the call and takes a deep breath.
That… That has to be real.
He couldn’t be dreaming. If he is dreaming, he will be in shambles if he wakes up.
Tianxiang pinches his leg and then his face. Nothing.
This isn’t a dream! Another jump of joy, with a little bit of exciting cheers.
He can only thank Yan Lang for his continuous support through the rough times. It was Yan Lang who convinced him to keep writing and to pursue the passion he thought he could never succeed at. He can already imagine Yan Lang’s smile as he talks to him about this story.
The summer night only makes him feel lonelier by the hour as he thinks of Yan Lang.
The cicadas won’t stop chirping loudly into the night. It is getting a bit annoying. Ma Tianxiang wants to chase them all away and silence them. He can’t bear hearing the serenade of mini chainsaws. It absolutely hurts his ears.
When are you coming, Yan Lang? I hope you come by this winter…
He can’t stop thinking about him. He just can’t stop thinking about Yan Lang and his smile and his charm and his blush and his-
Am I… in love?
Madness comes in several forms, one of them is love. Tianxiang shakes his head. It can’t be. He can’t be falling in love with another man; that is absurd. He likes women, right?
He remembers that in high school, there were boys hanging around and somehow getting their hands on magazines he had never seen before. They said it brings them joy seeing naked or near-naked women on the pages. He only nodded in agreement because he thinks he has to.
Perhaps… he never liked girls to begin with, but being in love with a man? What would Yan Lang think? Yan Lang probably sees him as a friend, nothing weird like… boyfriends… right? He ruffles his hair like crazy as he tries to wrestle with this fact.
“Hmm… You find yourself not knowing what to do with the frustration you feel?”
“Yeah… Probably because I never had any friends to hang out with.”
“Maybe writing might help!”
“Huh?”
“You used to write, right? Make use of your emotions, and write with passion!”
He finds himself at his tidied desk, a pen and manuscript paper in hand. He starts to write.
Another sleepless summer night passes.
——
Winter. The cool autumn air is replaced by the chilling, dry winds of winter as it carves the windows with snow and ice. Ma Tianxiang watches the windows to look for Yan Lang. He hopes Yan Lang will appear tonight.
There, in the distance, a figure appears, dressed in a deep shade of red in the cold winter wind. Yan Lang is walking towards his house again. Tianxiang smiles, trying his best to hold his tears.
“I missed you so much, Yan Lang!” Tianxiang hugs Yan Lang’s thin body tightly as he exclaims, “I have so many things to tell you!”
“As you have each year.” Yan Lang smiles a little while patting Tianxiang’s back, “May you so kindly release me from this embrace?”
“Ah! Sorry, sorry!” Tianxiang releases Yan Lang from his hug, chuckling awkwardly, “I got too excited! I just… missed you so much…”
“I miss you, too, Tianxiang.” Yan Lang’s frozen, rosy cheeks and his words make Tianxiang blush uncontrollably.
“You… you do?”
“I miss you every year, Tianxiang.” Yan Lang chuckles a little from Tianxiang’s reaction, “Don’t you remember? You said you missed me every year, and I always reply the same.”
“Hahaha… I must’ve forgotten…” Tianxiang laughs awkwardly, his thoughts racing in his mind. Yan Lang is too close to him; he might as well have fried his brain trying to speak to Yan Lang right now.
“Your face is awfully red…” Yan Lang looks concerned over that cheek colour, “Are you cold? Do you need any help?”
“N-no… I’m good…” Tianxiang blushes redder as he steps away a little. Yan Lang looks too cute; he feels like his heart is about to explode.
“Um… Okay, if you say so!” Yan Lang smiles after showing concern, before passing Tianxiang into the living room. The teas are already prepared; Tianxiang is ready for Yan Lang’s arrival.
“Y’know? I got my novel published!”
“Really?” Yan Lang looks surprised as he claps his hands together, “That’s great! I know you worked so hard on this project…”
“I know, right? I thought I wasn’t gonna get my stuff published like before, but I did!” Tianxiang cheers as he puts his hands over Yan Lang’s clasping together, “I couldn’t have done any of this without you. Y’know, Yan Lang?”
“It is ultimately your hard work-”
“No! You ignited my passion for writing once more!” Tianxiang grins widely, tears leaking from his eyes, “I couldn’t thank you enough for how you’ve inspired me to write and continue writing… I was about to drop off from the one hobby that gave me joy, and it was you who made me find that joy again!”
“You’re the one who wrote the work, not me, Tianxiang.” Yan Lang smiles warmly, “So, again, congratulations on getting your work published~!”
“Yan Lang~...” Tianxiang sniffles before sobbing happily. He is seeing the face he had been thinking about all this time. He is listening to the words and the sound he had been longing for an entire year, every year.
“... Why do you… keep on leaving me alone?...”
Yan Lang sighs as he pats Tianxiang’s back, trying to calm him down from his sobs, as if he’s comforting a child, “I’m visiting you every year, no? I’m not abandoning you…”
“No! I want you to stay with me, at least until spring, alright?” Tianxiang clasps his hands together like he is praying to Yan Lang, “Pretty please?”
Yan Lang thinks for a moment. He breathes out a sigh and caves in, “... I will.”
The swallows circle around the trees as spring arrives. Tianxiang opens his eyes, seeing Yan Lang by his side.
“You stayed!” Tianxiang hugs Yan Lang as he grins enthusiastically.
“Mhm.” Seeing Tianxiang’s joyful expression, Yan Lang smiles as well. He tries to push Tianxiang away slightly as he tries to sit up. “It’s morning, and the sun’s up, rise and shine!”
“But I don’t wanna…”
“Didn’t the editor tell you to work on another series for now?” Yan Lang squints his eyes as he gets off and stands up, “You'd better start working, or the deadline will get you!”
“You’re not my mum…” Tianxiang turns away, but Yan Lang drags the blanket away from him, making Tianxiang shiver and hiss in the spring’s cold. “What are you doing?!”
“Get up.”
“Gimme the blanket!”
“Get. Up.”
“Fine…” Tianxiang sighs in resignation as he gives in, getting off the bed to get ready for another day of planning and writing. Yan Lang sits in the living room, waiting for Tianxiang’s return.
Yan Lang looks out the window, where the trees are starting to grow their leaves, and the flowers are preparing to bloom. The winter is fading while the season of life is coming. He knows he shouldn’t be here.
“Yan Lang?”
Yan Lang turns his head to see Tianxiang standing in the living room, looking at him, then at the window. “You’re up and ready.”
“Of course I am!” Tianxiang confidently states with a bragging expression, even though there’s not much to brag about in front of Yan Lang, “Were you looking at the view outside the window?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty.”
Tianxiang moves closer to the window to look at the flower buds and the growing leaves from the trees, “It’s so pretty~! Everything seems to be coming back to life, right, Yan Lang?”
There’s no reply.
He turns his head to the sofa. There’s only a branch of a wilted white plum blossom on the sofa where Yan Lang sat just now.
Yan Lang had disappeared again.
The plum blossom tree seemed to be ill recently, even though Tianxiang takes care of it by pruning and watering. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he just feels that the plant isn’t doing so well as before. He starts to take extra care of it.
Yan Lang didn’t come this winter.
Nor did he come the next winter.
Nor the winter after.
Tianxiang stopped writing.
——
As Tianxiang lies in bed, his body tired and his mind foggy, he tries to find the strength to sit up and get ready.
It’s another winter. Perhaps he would come again.
Stop it. You know it won’t happen. You know this is just a dream.
Tianxiang pulls himself together and sits up in bed, feeling as if his body weighs him down, as if his arms and legs are shackled in lead, chained to an invisible barrier that keeps him from moving.
He doesn’t want to sit up. He doesn’t want to do anything. He couldn’t sleep, and he can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the same dream, over and over again, even though he knows the ending of that dream will be something he never wanted to face.
He’s gone. You know he is.
Maybe, in reality, Yan Lang never existed. Maybe, in reality, Yan Lang was just something he had imagined because he felt alone.
He was just a miserable individual who couldn’t do anything right, and he still is, to this very day. He is nothing but a man who can’t do anything he wants, with nothing besides solitude. There is only silence in the house he lives in, because there will be no one visiting.
He’s gone, Tianxiang. Just like everyone else in your life.
He has to pull himself together. He can’t give up on himself. Tianxiang tries, again and again, to leave this bed and push himself to get ready. He remembered the day Yan Lang disappeared, that spring, when he called out to him, telling him he needed to get up.
Get up. He thought to himself, Get up and get ready. The sun’s up, rise and shine.
He can’t lie down and do nothing. He needs to continue his life, even without a purpose.
Perhaps… He shouldn’t have pursued his interest in writing. Perhaps, he should’ve just… given up, chosen a business class to attend, and learn about marketing. Maybe then, he could’ve had a better life doing that instead of writing, something that digs deep into your heart and asks the most painful questions to make something that people might not even like.
I love writing.
I love writing… right?
He knows how Yan Lang would respond. He’d say yes. Of course, he would. He always had his back.
… Do I love writing?
Facing the bathroom mirror, Ma Tianxiang takes a deep breath. He has to face himself, the person who is anything but successful. Do I love writing?
Sure, it is painful. Sure, it hurts to not be recognised by what you’ve presented simply because it isn’t engaging enough for a wide audience. Sure, it takes time and effort and so much concentration to create something that you feel satisfied with, even though others won’t approve of you.
… But it’s fun.
It feels… good. It feels like emotions flow through him every time he writes; characters come to life, and they are all a part of him, or at least part of his own creation. He can’t think of an alternative universe where he didn’t write, because he just loves it.
Writing has infiltrated his life.
Even though it’s painful… It’s still fun.
He must continue writing.
He will continue writing.
Ma Tianxiang steps into the messy study, filled with crumpled paper and scribbled-out manuscripts, the shelves covered with a thin layer of dust. He sits down in front of the desk, taking a pen and paper.
Write something. His hand trembles, as if refusing to cooperate. His hands are weak as he puts the tip of the pen on the page, his brain trying to configure a thought that could possibly transcend into words on this blank slate in front of him. He must write something down, or he feels like he will never pick his life back up again. The rusty gears in his brain start turning, churning out something feasible as an idea.
No matter how hard he thinks, the only thing he can think about, right at this instant, is Yan Lang.
Every thought connects back to him, his shared memories with Yan Lang, his successes with Yan Lang, his sorrows with Yan Lang, every high and low point in his life, Yan Lang was there. How can he ever think without being reminded of him?
Before he realised it, Yan Lang had become a part of his life as well, just like writing.
So, he writes about him, from the moment he met Yan Lang to the moments of him missing Yan Lang; from the moment he and Yan Lang shared happy stories with each other to the moment he shared his frustrations and sorrows with Yan Lang; from the moment he tried confessing his feelings to Yan Lang to the moment he lost Yan Lang… He pours every bit of his emotions into words, and painted the pages with everything that he had experienced, heard, seen, with Yan Lang.
I bet you didn’t know, Yan Lang.
I loved you, and I don’t know where you are now, but I wish you knew…
I still love you.
I still do.
Just like I love writing, I love you, too.
And I’ll love you in every iteration of our lives.
He sees Yan Lang in the pages. He sees him in his head. He sees him everywhere in his life.
I hope you are well.
I will keep writing. Will you be proud of me?
He looks out the study window to see the backyard, where the plum blossom tree stands amid a thin layer of snow, its flowers fewer but pure and white, hidden in the snow's silver fabric.
The plum blossoms have bloomed again. You’d always leave one when you leave.
I hope you’ll come back to see me one day. The winter nights have always been unbearable for me, because it tells me in the cold that I was alone.
Let’s talk in the winter night till sunrise. I want to see the sunrise with you.
I’ve watched the sun rise and fall for countless days waiting for you, yet none of the dawns and dusks will feel any special without you being there.
In truth, I just want someone to be with me, and it just has to be you.
Something warm drips down on the pages and the back of his hands as he keeps writing. His vision blurs, but he can’t stop. His nose turns sore temporarily before his breaths become shallow. He sniffles and then sniffles again, trying to control his physiological reaction to the overwhelming feelings inside of him, but he can’t.
He sobs.
There’s nothing more alive than the feeling of bittersweet endings.
I hope you can see this. I really hope you do, Yan Lang. I’m sorry I never told you any of this, and I must thank you again for the time you spent with me. I will never forget them.
Please… Come back safe.
The winter wind hollers as the windows tremble. He can’t hear it. He can’t feel the winter cold that’s seeping through the doors and crevices of his windows. He must continue writing everything down.
This is his life. No matter how many failures and successes he’s experienced, this is his life.
And his life can’t happen without Yan Lang and writing.
As his pen stops, so have all his thoughts, all poured onto the paper by ink into words of confession and promises. He’s exhausted everything in his system now.
Ma Tianxiang closes his eyes.
He can finally sleep tonight.
——
“Yan Lang?” Tianxiang finds himself standing in a field of daisies, looking at the lonely tree on the top of a hill. He sees a figure standing next to the tree, caressing its bark, “Is that… you?”
He’s seen this before. It’s the same dream again.
The young man turns around. Suddenly, Tianxiang finds himself in front of him, making him flustered.
“Tianxiang…” Yan Lang smiles softly, his eyes hold a hint of melancholy, “I had to leave…”
“Don’t go!” Tianxiang reaches out to Yan Lang, but he’s suddenly far away from Yan Lang again. He runs as fast as he can to reach him, but Yan Lang just keeps getting further away, and eventually, out of his view.
Tianxiang turns around, looking everywhere, trying to find that young man. He sees the plum blossom tree.
“I’ll come back to you… I promise.” Tianxiang feels a hand on his shoulder. It feels warm. The warmth seeps through his body, as if giving him strength, “Please… Wait for me…”
Tianxiang wakes up from the dream, his eyes watering. Finding himself in bed, he can only feel his head dizzy and aching, his body weak and shivering, feeling cold and hot at the same time. He knows this is a sign of a fever. He’ll just sleep it off.
His throat is slowly losing his voice as he gets on a call with his editor. Tianxiang apologises to his editor for the longest slump he has been through, and that he has the first draft of a work he really wanted to write about on his desk; he’s currently too sick to send it through the post or in person. The editor can tell from his voice that he’s not feeling well, and understands it perfectly; authors’ health conditions aren’t ever ideal because of how harsh the publishing business is.
Tianxiang sighs. Everything is done. He stares at the ceiling, his eyes still forming tears as he thinks of the dream. He said to wait for him… right? He smiles a little, sweating in bed while his body shivers and aches.
He calls out for one last time, for his first and ever love, “Yan Lang…”
“... Tianxiang!”
Tianxiang chuckles a little. He finds this ridiculously laughable. Is he hallucinating Yan Lang because of his illness? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing right now.
“I must be dreaming again…”
“Tianxiang! It’s me! Yan Lang!” Tianxiang feels a hand on his forehead, and the slight quiver in the concerned, soft-spoken voice, the tone all so familiar.
“Yan… Lang…?” Tianxiang smiles weakly, “You really came…”
“Of course! I told you, didn’t I?” Yan Lang smiles, though his face can no longer hide his desperation and fear. Tianxiang’s burning, and he isn’t getting any better.
“... You hadn’t aged one bit…” Tianxiang whispers, barely audible.
Yan Lang pauses his moves temporarily, before taking a deep breath, “I’m a spirit, Tianxiang… Of course I won’t age.”
“Haha… I waited for you…” Tianxiang chuckles a little before sputtering into coughs, “Are you… proud…?”
“... Of course.” Yan Lang gently caresses Tianxiang’s cheek before putting another cool, wet towel on it, “And you’re going to get better and keep writing…”
“... Surely… I’ll definitely write more…!” Tianxiang grins. For a second, Yan Lang thought that Tianxiang had got better.
“I’ll come visit you… Every year…” Yan Lang holds Tianxiang’s hand tightly, “Please… I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be…”His eyes are teary as he whispers, “I’m really… happy…”
Yan Lang can feel the strength of his hand slipping away.
“... Thank you… for being in my life…”
Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.
I’ll reach for those memories whenever I miss you.
May these moments forever last.