Yang Yi lived in a tower block in the East District. These were typically high-rises exceeding eighteen stories; in a city like Nanjing, where land was as precious as gold, developers naturally never missed an opportunity to maximize profit. With a massive influx of migrant workers, people generally clustered in rentals outside the Fifth Ring Road, far from the old city center. Not only was the rent cheaper, but the subway reached in all directions, making it convenient to go anywhere.
The West District, where Wufang was located, consisted of old developments—mostly six-story walk-ups without elevators.
Yang Yi was an only child, though he had an elder sister five years his senior. His parents had adopted her when Yang Yi was in kindergarten, and she had later married and moved to Nanjing. Because her name contained the character for "flower," Yang Yi always called her Hua Jie (Sister Flower) or Xiao Hua. Since she had graduated several years before him, Xiao Hua had even sent Yang Yi living expenses during his senior year when his budget took a hit due to his relationship at the time.
The two shared a deep bond. Xiao Hua was always responsive to Yang Yi's needs, and back then, she was the only one he told about his girlfriend. "Mie Mie, if you're ever short on cash to pick up girls, just ask me," were her exact words.
Xiao Hua's husband—Yang Yi's brother-in-law—was in the import-export trade and owned a garment factory in Nanjing. Xiao Hua handled the finances and management there. She was doing exceptionally well in the city, becoming the talk of the town among relatives during New Year gatherings. Back in school, Yang Yi had secretly resolved to make a name for himself in Nanjing just as she had.
Since Xiao Hua wasn't living at home, Yang Yi's parents had been dead set against him moving to Nanjing after graduation. His father was a fairly influential entrepreneur in their hometown, and his mother was a mid-level manager at a garment factory. They lived a comfortable life and wanted Yang Yi to build his career locally.
They had scouted two paths for him. The first was joining the Navy in their coastal hometown. As a college graduate, he would benefit from policy incentives: a 50% tuition refund plus a spot as a reserve officer. Moreover, Yang Yi wouldn't be a regular soldier; once he cleared the three months of boot camp, he'd be a "literary soldier," essentially carrying a camera and taking photos of leaders. The second path was a reporter position at the local daily newspaper. Both options seemed perfectly aligned with his major; his parents had clearly put a lot of thought into it.
But Yang Yi refused to return home at any cost. He had only chosen the arts because his academic grades were poor; to him, the military and school were equally rigid and stifling places. He doubted he could even survive three months of boot camp. As for being a reporter, Yang Yi had studied photography, but his focus was on commercial advertising. While he'd taken documentary courses, he found them overly simplistic, dry, and lacking in creativity. Returning home meant living in that palm-sized town for the rest of his life. Yang Yi refused to accept that fate.
"I'm going to find my own way in Nanjing, just like Xiao Hua."
When his parents refused to fund his move or rent, Yang Yi sold his college photography gear: a Canon 40D, a Nikon FM mechanical camera, and several lenses. Altogether, he scraped together just under 8,000 yuan—enough to survive in Nanjing for at least a few months. Anyone in photography knows that the lens is more important—and often more expensive—than the body. But Yang Yi was vain; he only bought high-end bodies and paired them with low-end lenses. That way, when he took the camera out, any layman would think he looked incredibly prestigious.
With money in hand, finding a place in Nanjing was easy. Yang Yi had contacted the landlord through a small flyer near a subway entrance. To be precise, it was a "sublet-lord" (er-fang-dong). Because of the high demand from migrant workers, a business had emerged where people leased entire apartments, partitioned them, and rented them out as individual units. After haggling with the sublet-lord, Yang Yi managed to snag a small "second bedroom" (ci-wo) for 770 yuan a month, down from the original 800. It was less than fifteen square meters.
To Yang Yi, 770 felt like a bargain; to the sublet-lord, that 30-yuan discount felt like pulling teeth from a tiger's mouth. At the time, Yang Yi was quite satisfied with the room. After all, his college dorm was tiny and shared by four people. Having a private space for the first time felt like a level of happiness he had never experienced. On the day he moved in, he bought a variety of ceramic mugs from a stall near the subway to decorate the room. At night, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window at the traffic on the Fifth Ring Road, he felt like he was finally tasting the life of a great metropolis.
The floor was a bit of a mess, though. Despite the solid wood flooring, the apartment's main network hub was located in the second bedroom. A router sat on the floor, surrounded by a chaotic tangle of cables that snaked under Yang Yi's door to reach the other three tenants. But none of that mattered compared to the value. The second bedroom was cheaper than the master, and unlike the other rooms, it wasn't a partitioned "closet." The apartment had two partitioned rooms. When Yang Yi moved in, no one else had arrived yet. One of those partitions was only about eight square meters; sleeping there would have felt utterly oppressive.
Yang Yi's favorite piece of furniture was a large desk, which the sublet-lord had supposedly scavenged from a second-hand market. It clearly looked like something discarded by a company boss. But before Yang Yi could truly enjoy it, the guy from the partitioned room next door dragged it away. It wasn't exactly a robbery. The guy was from the Northeast, named Qian Tao. After crossing paths a few times, they became friendly and even drank together. One day, after coming back from drinks, Qian Tao entered Yang Yi's room and took a fancy to the desk.
"Buddy, this desk is so huge and you've got nothing on it. What a waste," Qian Tao remarked.
"I haven't decided what to put there yet," Yang Yi replied. He didn't have much; the things he'd brought from school didn't even fill a single suitcase.
"Give it to me then. My room is tiny and my desk is useless." Before Yang Yi could process this, the guy had already started moving. "I'm taking it, okay? I'm taking it!" With every "taking it," he tugged harder. By the time Yang Yi reacted, the desk was halfway out the door.
An eyeglass case sat on the desk. It contained Yang Yi's glasses from college; his prescription had worsened since then, making them blurry, so he'd replaced them. But since they'd been with him for years, he couldn't bring himself to throw them away.
"Leave the glasses!" Yang Yi shouted. Qian Tao stopped, picked up the case, glanced inside, and tossed it onto Yang Yi's bed.
"Why do you have two identical pairs?" Qian Tao thought the glasses Yang Yi was wearing and the ones in the case were the same. Black, full-frame resin glasses. Yang Yi only ever liked this one style.
"They're different, okay?" Yang Yi retorted. The lens size and the thickness of the frames were completely different.
Qian Tao dragged the desk away. After a bout of clattering next door, he pushed his old, small desk into Yang Yi's room. Yang Yi didn't really care about the useless large desk, but later, looking at the small desk in his room, he felt it just didn't fit the vibe of his space.
Qian Tao had another little quirk: he was a lecher. Several times, he had discussed with Yang Yi how great the figure of the girl in the other partitioned room was and how much he wanted to get to know her. Even the girl from the couple in the master bedroom was part of his conversation topics. Qian Tao was 1.7 meters tall, with thick shoulders that made his neck look exceptionally short. His square face was covered in "heat-rash" acne. Whenever a girl walked past the hallway, his eyes would dart around, scanning her from head to toe like an X-ray. It was definitely heat-rash; "puberty acne" wasn't something someone his age should have. It had to be suppressed internal fire.
On weekends, the Old-Timer, Yang Yi, and Qian Tao would play Zha Jin Hua (Fried Golden Flower) at home. Qian Tao truly maximized the resources of the shared rental; since his room was small, he used Yang Yi's room as a living room. Back then, they played with a 1-yuan ante. If they didn't have change, they used Yang Yi's business cards to keep score. Yang Yi had printed those cards after he was promoted to a full-time employee, hoping to show off to clients. Who would have thought their only use would be as poker chips? Each card represented 1 yuan, fifty cards per person. When someone ran out, they'd buy more from the winner with cash.
However, in a game with a 1-yuan ante, if you don't call, you only lose 1 yuan per hand. Yet Yang Yi managed to lose five hundred that day. They played from evening until dawn without stopping. Qian Tao, who was break-even, was exhausted, and the Old-Timer, who had won plenty, wanted to quit. But Yang Yi was tilted (shang-tou). He wouldn't stop until he broke even. Even when he ran out of money, he kept "borrowing" cards from the Old-Timer on credit. By the time his debt reached 100, the Old-Timer tossed the cards onto the table and went back to his room.
"I'm done. Going to sleep."
"What's wrong with him?" Yang Yi asked Qian Tao.
"You keep playing on credit; why would he be happy?" Qian Tao put down the cards and went back to his room, too. That box of business cards had never been officially handed out to a single person. Now, they were all blackened from being handled so much that they were unusable...
Because he'd only gone to sleep at dawn, Yang Yi woke up at noon. The girl from the partitioned room was cooking in the kitchen; the sound of stir-frying and the smell of oil fumes had already reached his room. She was the last to move into the shared apartment. Before her, the kitchen sat empty; the couple in the master bedroom and Qian Tao never cooked. So, it had to be her.
Yang Yi recalled the little white lace item from the bathroom yesterday and felt a sudden rush of blood. He thought about pushing the door open to create a chance to chat, but then he felt his messy, greasy bangs. Disheveled and unkempt... better not. There would be plenty of chances later.
He took a photo of yesterday's offer and saved the address of the physical exam hospital on his phone, fearing he might lose his way. While taking the photo, he noticed the line again: Exam fee to be paid upfront by the employee. Fee: 140 yuan.
Yang Yi instinctively looked at the cash on his desk: five hundred. That was close... How could he have forgotten? If he had lost yesterday, he wouldn't even be able to afford the medical check-up today. Counting on his salary was even less reliable. If it didn't hit his account by next Monday, he'd call to ask.
He decided to shower first. He waited until the girl finished in the kitchen and returned to her room before heading to the bathroom. The white lace was gone. Yang Yi felt a twinge of disappointment. While showering, the urge came, and he spent a long time relieving himself in the bathroom.
Outside the door sat a package. Yang Yi picked it up and saw the recipient's name: Wei Qing.
The girl from the partitioned room. It was a nice name. Yang Yi noted her phone number and memorized it. Memorizing numbers was easy for him; his secret was to associate the digits with homophones to create a memorable sentence. She was probably still eating lunch; she'd see it when she came out. Yang Yi placed the package on the shoe rack inside and headed down to the subway.
The hospital wasn't overcrowded like a typical Grade-A facility. There weren't many departments—just the basic ones required for an entry-level physical. When it came to height and weight, the doctor told him he was 179.5 cm tall and weighed 126 pounds. Normal. He hadn't exceeded 130 since college. The only place with a bit of muscle was his shoulders. Back in his basketball days, he used to lift dumbbells in the dorm to build shoulder strength, giving him an advantage during physical contact.
The eye exam was the part he was most confident in. In every check-up since he was a kid, his vision was always 2.0. When handed the booklet of color-blindness tests filled with dots, he quickly read the hidden shapes:
"Turtle, fish, 868, 101, sunflower, 66..."
"Look at this page again. What is it?" The doctor flipped back a page, interrupting him.
Yang Yi confirmed, "Sunflower."
"It's a flower," the doctor said impatiently, as if Yang Yi were challenging her professional dignity.
"Aren't those sunflower seeds?" Yang Yi pointed to the large yellow area in the center of the petals.
"Look at the whole thing. The whole thing."
"The whole thing is still a sunflower." Yang Yi grinned at her.
"Slight tendency toward color blindness," the doctor muttered without looking up. She glanced up at him with just her eyes, then noted "No color blindness" on the form.
"Thank you." Yang Yi took the form and returned it to the front desk.
The hospital would courier the results to Beitong Advertising's HR department next week. All Yang Yi had to do now was show up on Monday with his receipts and other onboarding materials.
On the way back, Yang Yi pulled out his phone and looked at the chat with Quan Quan. It had been several days and she still hadn't replied. He didn't know if she was busy or had just forgotten. It had been over a year since Yang Yi graduated. He and his college girlfriend had broken up amicably upon graduation. Mao Lin—that big dummy who had been single for four years in school—had already found a girlfriend in Nanjing. Yang Yi was starting to feel a bit anxious.
Who says youth is always in bloom? Even flowers have a time to wither. If Quan Quan could be his girlfriend, that would be great. But for now, she didn't seem very proactive. Actually, Yao Mei was okay too, but Xiao Lin and his crew loved to joke; yesterday's events shouldn't necessarily be taken seriously.
As it stood, only one person was both reliable and proactive. Who? Wei Qing. Recalling the number he'd memorized, Yang Yi sent a text.
"Did you get your package? I put it on the shoe rack for you."
"Who is this?"
"The guy from the second bedroom."
"How do you have my number?"
"It was on the shipping label."
"Clever."
"Haha. I was afraid you wouldn't see it, so I thought I'd text you."
"Ah, thanks. Just got home and saw it."
"Great. I'm almost home myself."
Yang Yi's last sentence had two meanings: one was to end the conversation, and the other was to tell Wei Qing he'd be home soon so they could meet—at the very least, he could make some noise while opening his door so she'd come out.
He walked upstairs and through the dim hallway. Just as he was about to enter his room, Wei Qing's door opened. Today, Wei Qing was in a black nightgown with transparent straps. From a distance, her youthful silhouette was perfectly visible, though her long hair was still piled on top of her head, likely from when she was cooking.
"Hi, just got back from my physical," Yang Yi said, taking the initiative for the first time, bolstered by the earlier texts.
"I just made a bunch of seafood. Want to come try some?" Wei Qing said, walking toward him.
In the poorly lit hallway, the hem of her gown swayed rhythmically. Through the silk texture, Yang Yi thought he saw a glimpse of that "little white lace" again. As she got closer—whether it was the lighting or the black gown—Yang Yi realized her skin was surprisingly pale. The two overburdened straps bit slightly into her skin, revealing a surprisingly voluptuous charm. Was this really the same skinny, dark girl from before?
Upon hearing the invitation to her room, Yang Yi began to hesitate. He'd been out all day in the summer heat and smelled of sweat; he didn't want to ruin her appetite.
"I've eaten. Maybe another time," Yang Yi said, turning his doorknob. His door was already open.
"Oh... sure. I'll ask you next time then." Wei Qing hesitated for a moment, then turned and went back to her room. In that moment of turning, Yang Yi immediately regretted his decision. Because the back of that black nightgown featured a plunging, deep-V cut.
Who says only girls are fickle? Boys are the same. Especially young ones.