He emerged from the backstage, under the projection of lights, with four shadows closely following his footsteps. These were the four versions of him before me: one carefree, one reserved, one disdainful of everything, and one, solely submissive to me. These descriptions were all absurd; none of them truly represented him. Only at the piano was he truly himself. He gently lifted his forehead, his face glowing pale under the spotlight, much like the rest of his body's skin. I thought of George Sand's epithet for Chopin, "my dear corpse." He was now as pale as death, yet brimming with vitality. He was not a corpse but a flower blooming on a high peak. Even in the solemnity of a classical music concert hall, when he appeared at the piano, he could elicit uncontrollable screams from the audience. The movements of his fingertips were like vines extending from him, growing from substance to ethereal. The seductive sounds of the piano continued infinitely, climbing from the edges of the eighty-eight keys to beneath the stage, scaling the stairs, crossing each barrier, penetrating every body. Sharp notes pierced bones, soft arpeggios seeped into blood, pulsating chords struck the heart, until cracks appeared in that thin membrane, and the roots of the music took hold at the edge of everyone's hearts.
In the final piece, the F minor Fantasia, it transitioned from a continuous slow section to an allegro tempo. His wandering gaze focused on me, and within his eyes, I saw endless fantasies, a world he absolutely dominated. Anyone attempting to enter would be doomed, irreversibly lost. I found myself falling under his control, gazing into the abyss, seeing through the desires he projected onto me, leaving nothing but emptiness, or perhaps, something hidden by him. Music was his way of concealing, his dual-sided protection for my desires, nurturing his passion for music. As all the pieces concluded, he vanished backstage. His departure left me stranded in a world beyond, left only to humbly plead for his promised "Raindrops." I poured all my requests and love into fervent applause, yet my applause was indistinguishable from the others', indiscernible to Ye Xi.
He emerged once more, performing Chopin's Nocturne. I hoped the next piece would be "Raindrops." Instead, "Tranquil Andante with Glorious Grand Polonaise" began, and he didn't play "Raindrops." I felt disheartened. This should have been the final encore; there was nothing left. Why? Was he afraid of remembering me, or was he too fatigued, forgetting our arrangement? I concocted many excuses for him, unwilling to believe he didn't love me. I envisioned Ye Xi's inner world, shrugged it off; perhaps it was his enigmatic nature that drew me in. As the music reached the sixteenth-note triplet at the end, his gaze once again turned to me. His eyes, along with the final octave chord, lingered at the climax. Once again, he drew me into his fantasy, this time into a morning love affair.
Ten seconds passed, and the piano resounded once more. This was his third encore, "Raindrops." He still gazed at me, and ripples danced in my eyes, like the splashes of raindrops. Thousands of eyes in the venue were fixed on Ye Xi, yet his remained steadfastly on me. It was like being chosen from among thousands, a special favor bestowed upon me. These raindrops were his dew, descending only for me. As the music returned to D major, the continuous eighth notes fell into my eyes like raindrops. My eyes couldn't bear their weight, tears overflowed, streaming down my cheeks like a downpour, soaking my mask. I had to take it off and dry it with tissues. Yexi seemed to notice my tears. As he lifted his face, a tear fell from his left eye. I couldn't tell if he was moved by me or for some other reason. The tear trickled down his cheekbone, shimmering in the spotlight. As the performance ended, he stood and returned backstage, leaving behind the thunderous applause. The bouquet of flowers from his fans was forgotten on the stage. His straight-backed silhouette retained a divine radiance, while I alone knew beneath his tails, he was merely mortal. This body was that of a youthful, vigorous young man, filled with the hunger and desire of youth, yet also offering me the most sincere and tender corners of his heart.
I sat there motionless until the venue staff asked if I was feeling unwell. It startled me to realize I was the only one left in the concert hall. I brushed it off, claiming everything was fine, then hastily left the hall. Sitting in the taxi, I pulled out my phone to find three unread messages from Ye Xi.
"You cried." "I miss you." "I'm back at the hotel. Where are you?"
I cursed myself for not being able to fly back to the hotel room. When the taxi reached the hotel gate, I dashed back to my room. With the door slamming shut, my wildly beating heart finally settled. Without hesitation, I only wanted to kiss every corner of Ye Xi's body.
He hadn't even had time to change out of his tails. I untied his white bowtie, stripped off his tailcoat, his shirt, his trousers, eagerly offering him kisses for the rest of my life.
"Why did you come back just now?"
"Your 'Raindrops' made me lose track of time."
"Really? You made me cry. I thought I saw you wiping your tears."
"Yes, I cried."
"I rarely cry. I only cried once before, when my mom took away my favorite TV."
"So I've taken your 'first time' again."
"Yes."
"You said you missed me. Is it true?"
...Silence.
"What kind of missing was it? Like this? Missing my body?"
..."Silence."
"Ye Xi, Ye Xi."
"Yeah?"
"I want you to know how much I love you." I brought him to the mirror, his cheeks warm, shy, and he lowered his head. "Look at us, right now it's two individuals in one body."
"Yan Feng, Yan Feng."
I stood behind him, my hand under his chin, lifting his lowered head. He looked at the reflection of us in the mirror, a shy smile gracing his face, his nose turning red.
In the mirror, we loved each other deeply, but in the world outside, we couldn't be sure. In the narrative of the unknown, we didn't care to explore the uncertainties of the future, only focused on looking at each other in the mirror, full yet empty, filling desires with each other's bodies. But at that moment, we didn't know that desires would only grow as they were filled, until nothing in the mundane world could satisfy them. I thought that by exerting all my strength to reach the depths of his body, I could reach the depths of his soul and express my deep love for him. I thought that by emptying myself entirely, it was like emptying my heart and lungs for him, and if possible, I would risk everything I had for him. But what did I have, apart from a wandering soul? From the mainland to Taipei, then to New York, none of it truly belonged to me. Perhaps only music, not lyrics; lyrics were too concrete. It was in the melody, every chord, different modulations, different arrangements, or different instrument accompaniments. That was our shared world.
"Xixi, you're so beautiful."
"Ah." He placed both hands on the mirror, burying his head.
"I want to write songs for you. From now on, every song of mine will bear your name."
"Ah..." He trembled slightly.
"I have no talent, except for meeting you."
"Mmm..." He glanced sideways at the mirror.
"You are the source of all my talents."
"Ah, mmm..." He turned to look into my eyes.
"As long as you're here, I won't wither away."
"Mmm, mmm..." He still didn't say anything, using his breath to convey everything.
In that instant, my soul merged with his, how honored I was to be so close to his spirit and flesh. All the unhappiness and wandering in my life had been waiting for this moment, waiting for Ye Xi to illuminate me.
"Ye Xi..." I called his name, as if summoning Apollo, the god of the sun, the god of music, the god of same-sex love. He would illuminate the path for me and Ye Xi, safeguard our ideal musical world, and protect our love.
I trembled uncontrollably, until my body slowly softened, and my soul retreated from Ye Xi's world. Still, I held onto Ye Xi, his limp body leaning against my chest, as I pressed against his shoulder. I was his support, and he was mine. In the mirror, the two of us were indistinguishable.
"You're returning to Taipei the day after tomorrow." His words plunged me into the mire of reality.
"It's okay. I'll come find you."
"I won't take it seriously," he chuckled.
"Regardless of whether you take it seriously or not, it's something I'll do." I guided him to the desk.
"I think we need to be more realistic."
"Being with you is my reality." I opened the Cartier bag, took out the red box, and embraced Yexi with both arms, holding his hands as I opened the gold-trimmed box.
"This is a gift for you, LOVE." I whispered by his ear. "I know you might not be able to wear rings now, so maybe you can wear this bracelet instead."
He remained silent.
"I know you might be afraid, but loving you isn't complicated. I'll do everything I said. I'll cherish this love carefully." I took off the bracelet and helped him put it on.
"I'll disappoint you. I'm not as determined as you." He turned his head away.
"It's okay. I know it's not easy." I opened another box. "This is a necklace. You can hang the ring on it. It'll be close to your heart, so your heart can hear my love, and you'll follow your heart."
"Thank you, Yan Feng."
That night, the hotel window couldn't be fully opened, so I left a crack in the window frame. The spring breeze gently brushed into the 30th-floor hotel room, filling it with a damp yet sweet scent, mixed with a unique blend of salty sea air and a hint of unidentified pollen. It was the distinct aroma of the seasonal wind, as well as the taste of lovers intoxicated with love. Even the impending separation couldn't disturb this rich fragrance. I drowned in the scent of Ye Xi's hair, intertwined and entangled in the rich chess game of emotions, and fell asleep in a daze.
The next morning when I woke up, he was nowhere to be found, but I remained unwilling to fully wake up, still immersed in that aroma.
After the performance in Nagoya, it was time to return to Tokyo. His contract with Dezhi was sure to be successful. As I expected, in the afternoon after returning to the Park Hyatt Tokyo, Dai Yanzhi sent a text message, just five words: "The contract was successful." This added a touch of victorious joy to our impending separation from Ye Xi and me.
As I boarded the flight back to Taipei, I envisioned Ye Xi's bright future. He would surely become a master like Horowitz, with countless talented pianists praising him. Ye Xi would have students like Argerich and followers like Fu Cong, becoming a treasure of the world. And what could I do to help him? I could surely help him gain more recognition. When everyone sings the songs I write, they'll catch a glimpse of their idol's idol, a person like the sun, a human Apollo. As I thought about our grand ambitions, my phone vibrated.
As I boarded the flight back to Taipei, I envisioned Yexi's bright future. He would surely become a master like Horowitz, with countless talented pianists praising him. Yexi would have students like Argerich and followers like Fu Cong, becoming a treasure of the world. And what could I do to help him? I could surely help him gain more recognition. When everyone sings the songs I write, they'll catch a glimpse of their idol's idol, a person like the sun, a human Apollo. As I thought about our grand ambitions, my phone vibrated.
"Please inform upon landing in Taipei. Meet at the radio building tomorrow at 10 a.m. sharp. See attached notice." It was a text from ArLong (Dragon brother).
Work made me happy, especially if I could resonate with Ye Xi. Even if I could only help him in the slightest, I felt it was worth it. As for the publicity, I believed he would understand. Without stimulating topics, it's hard to grab public attention. If I could make more people aware of me, I could spread my music. As for the style I thought of, it would inevitably include elements of my hometown, combined with the company's Westernized packaging. I thought I could call it a fusion of East and West, representing both the Chinese countryside and the voice of Chinese people on the world stage. I believe this would be the awakening of Chinese pop symphony. And this was the inspiration Ye Xi gave me. He had already ventured into the world as a Chinese person, carving out an irreplaceable position in the white-dominated world. He had won the Chopin Prize, the first time a person of East Asian descent had been recognized in the Western-dominated music world. And I, in the field of pop music, would bring the voice of the Chinese to the world.
As the roar of the airplane's engines filled the air, the music of Ye Xi and me was about to create a deafening roar worldwide. One represented classical sound, the other represented pop sound. Let our love intertwine within them, known to all. I looked out at the airplane's porthole, and the white clouds floating in the sky lifted my dreams. Even if this was just a dream, so what? Countless dreams exist in anticipation of the realization of this love. God may not condone same-sex relationships, but He wouldn't be cruel enough to shatter every beautiful dream. Moreover, I believe in God. It is His encouragement that guided the encounter between Ye Xi and me.