Gone With the Wind

Zhong Dao was clearly caught off guard and shocked to see Sui Qingchi here. For a moment, he suspected that this man might not even be Sui Qingchi. After all, the other party was wearing sunglasses. Maybe, just maybe, they were two completely different people. But no matter how he deceived himself, he knew that’s all it was; self deception. The tint on the sunglasses wasn’t deep enough to hide his facial features at such a close distance, Sui Qingchi’s appearance wasn’t one that you can see anywhere.

He looked back at Fu Cuo in disbelief. The man on the sofa was obviously speechless for a long time. Finally he only said “Go back first. I’ll tell you later.”

Zhong Dao absentmindedly stepped out, head full of questions. The door wasn’t too wide, and Sui Qingchi didn’t give him much space to pass. He met the King who he thought he’d only be able to see from the other side of a screen, and smelled the cologne mixed with a faint smell of tobacco on him. When he reached the end of the corridor he couldn’t help but look back. Turns out Sui Qingchi was also looking at himself. A powerful stare, piercing right through his body.

It was truth rather than flattery. The superstar was just as impressive as he was on screen. Tall with long legs, wearing a black shirt and a watch that looked expensive. Extraordinarily handsome with excellent taste, but the whole person gives off a bitterly cold aura. Zhong Dao immediately turned his head away. He then heard an unceremonious sound of the door closing behind him. ‘Bang,’ as if it was slammed shut right on his face.

Fu Cuo failed to stop Sui Qingchi from coming in. He naturally walked in and asked him, “Who’s he?”

Fu Cuo felt there was no need to hide, “He’s my student. He’s learning music from me,” and asked, “How did you know where I live?”

Sui Qingchi took off his sunglasses and put them in his pocket, “You asked me how I got your number before, right? Did I answer you then?”

Fu Cuo nodded in his heart and understood. He really shouldn’t ask meaningless questions.

“What song was he singing just now?” Sui Qingchi asked.

Fu Cuo looked at Sui Qingchi without mentioning his shoes. Wearing his leather shoes, he strode straight into the house, as if to hide the fact that he was standing eavesdropping outside the door. Sui Qingchi was always like this. He’s afraid to show his weak side. The more domineering his attitude was, the more guilty he was. But to expose and embarrass him was such a boring thing to do, something that adults wouldn’t bother with. Fu Cuo thought, ‘I’m not like you.’

“Just something I wrote casually,” he answered.

“I want that song. Name a price.”

“It’s not for sale.”

Sui Qingchi frowned, “Then how come he sang it?”

“He sang for fun.”

With his brows furrowed, Sui Qingchi sneered, “Do you write songs to rot in the hard disk?”

“It was written for West Wind. Now that West Wind is gone, it might as well just rot in the hard disk.”

Sui Qingchi glanced at him, “You should know that when I listen to a song once, It’s going to be engraved in my memory.”

Fu Cuo repressed his anger and raised his head, “Sui Qingchi, I can’t help you if you’re going to be this shameless.”

“Well, that’s fine. You can write me another song.” Sui Qingchi went to the sofa and sat down. “I’ll give you the money. I can agree to any other conditions you have.”

Fu Cuo heaved another sigh in his heart. He knew that once Sui Qingchi wanted something, it wasn’t easy for him to let it go. “You’re the King, a superstar. There are countless people who would give their all to write songs for you. Why do you bother to find someone who’s already quit.”

“What King? The Chuunibyou King?” Sui Qingchi looked around the room and said to himself, “There are countless people who adore me and want to sleep with me. Why should I bother with an ex-lover?”

This sentence effectively tightened Fu Cuo’s expression.

Sui Qingchi leaned over to look at him and his eyes sank, “Because I’m that cheap, happy?”

Fu Cuo took a deep breath and stood up, “Just leave. I’m never going to write songs for you, so don’t come looking for me anymore.”

He then heard Sui Qingchi ask behind his back, “…I’m a little thirsty. Do you have any water?”

Fu Cuo was helpless and looked at the direction of the open kitchen, “Over there, pour it yourself.”

Sui Qingchi got up and poured himself a glass of water. He drank it in one breath. It seems that he really was thirsty.

“You’ve drunk the water. Can you go now?”

Sui Qingchi turned his back to him. Resting his hands on the water dispenser, he let out a heavy breath. “Fu Cuo, you really…”

Fu Cuo waited to see the man reveal his true form. Sure enough, Sui Qingchi turned around and became the well known Chuunibyou King, “… It’s really shameless. You’re like the stone in the pit[1].”

Fu Cuo didn’t bother to pay attention to him and scolded in his heart. For Sui Qingchi’s temper, this is just the prelude. If he’s angry, Sui Qingchi would even insult his idol.

“Is West Wind really that important? Is your dream West Wind, or is it music?! You can hate or dislike me, but do you think I’ll be the one hurt in the end? I release records and go on tour, live in villas and drive luxury cars. I’m living fucking well!”

‘Ah, an eighth grader’s temper tantrum, truly an anomaly.’ Fu Cuo disapprovingly thought.

“Do you want to take revenge against me? Fine! Wait until you’re as good as Yu Fei and become a top tier producer, then you can refuse me everytime I make an appointment. Only then can it be considered revenge!”

Fu Cuo was stunned for a moment and raised his head. Sui Qingchi also seemed to be stunned. He quickly realized what he said. Anger, shame, and embarrassment flashed through his eyes, which made Fu Cuo feel a bit unbearable.

He could only pretend that he didn’t see it, so he didn’t fight back. He bowed his head and said, “I’m going to work. Please go back.”

Sui Qingchi couldn’t say anything in return. Sure enough, he soon turned and left.

Fu Cuo breathed a sigh of relief. However, less than five seconds after the door was opened, Sui Qingchi turned back again. Fu Cuo simply stared at him in confusion.

Sui Qingchi’s face darkened, “There are dogs outside.”

“Since when were you afraid of dogs? Don’t you have a pet dog?”

Sui Qingchi’s eyes lit up with surprise, “How did you know I have a dog?”

Fu Cuo said with a stiff face, “Online, TV, your news are practically everywhere.”

How did he know? It could be seen on Weibo. Who knows whether it was a fan or a paparazzi, but a photo of Sui Qingchi leading a dog out of a pet hospital was revealed and put on the Internet. Fans and passersbys were discussing what kind of dog it was all night. Fans went to Sui Qingchi’s Weibo to leave a message saying that the dog is so cute and passionately discussed the dog’s breed. He felt funny and sad at that time. Sui Qingchi, who hates others interfering in his life, finally tasted the bitter fruit of being peeped at every day.

Because too many people came to ask what kind of dog it was, the next day, Sui QIngchi wrote two words on his Weibo, “Mixed-breed.” There was nothing more to say, but there were still fans who were tenderly stubborn and said that it seemed to have Samoyed blood. Turns out that Sui Qingchi would directly reply with a “Who knows. I’ve never seen a Samoyed.”

In his trance, Sui Qingchi said sternly, “I’m not afraid of dogs. I’m talking about them.”

Fu Cuo had a bad feeling. He got up and went out. Looking downstairs, he saw several sneaky figures at the entrance of the alley. Sui Qingchi is like a banana peel, bringing all the flies, mosquitoes and bees to him, but it’s no use blaming him now. Blaming Sui Qingchi is the most useless thing in the world.

He frowned and asked, “What now?” 

Looking back, the corridor was very narrow. Sui Qingchi stood very close behind him and was probably looking down, but it was inconvenient to poke his head out too much, so he hid behind him and looked down. As soon as he turned back, he was very close to Sui Qingchi’s face and couldn’t help feeling a little uncomfortable. They haven’t been this close in years.

Sui Qingchi looked at him and said, “Are there any other exits here?”

“What do you think?”

“Do you have a hat and mask?”

“I have a hat, but no mask.”

Fu Cuo found a baseball cap and gave it to Sui Qingchi. When he turned around, he saw Sui Qingchi taking off his clothes. Fu Cuo looked at the little exposed chest and abdominal muscles behind his unbuttoned shirt in a daze. 

Sui Qingchi cheekily smiled and said, “What are you thinking about? The hat is for you to wear.” He passed his shirt and sunglasses to him, “Put on my clothes and sunglasses.”

Fu Cuo knew what he was going to do, so he went along with it. He took off his black pullover and put it on the armrest of the sofa. Sui Qingchi took it and put it on directly. He looked at Sui Qingchi who acted very naturally, lowered his eyes and said nothing. He changed into Sui Qingchi’s shirt and buttoned the lining buttons one by one. The shirt was like a soft and comfortable net ironed on his body, still warm with Sui Qingchi’s body temperature, and the smell of cologne and cigarettes on him.

Sui Qingchi pressed down the baseball cap and threw the Porsche key to him. Fu Cuo had to go downstairs first to lure the paparazzi away.

Only after starting the car did he find out how crazy the paparazzi could be. A series of dark shadows chased out of the alley like rats crossing the street. One of them slapped here with a gun barrel, and the other shouted, “Driving style fit for the Chuunibyou King. He just threw us off his tail and sprayed the exhaust on our face!

Fu Cuo was speechless.

The car was full of Sui Qingchi’s scent. A faint smell of smoke filled the air. Fu Cuo opened the window and received a call from Sui Qingchi.

“I got in a taxi. Wait for me at the intersection ahead.”

Fu Cuo gave an “Um” sound. As soon as he put down his phone, something dripped on the back of his hand. He suddenly had a nosebleed. When he was in a hurry to find a paper towel, a wallet fell from the storage compartment he was looking through. Fu Cuo picked it up and saw the picture inside. It was a group photo of him and Sui Qingchi in the house where they lived together. It was taken years ago, back when they were still studying at CTR Conservatory of Music.

The car was parked on the roadside, and the sun shone through the windshield right onto the photo. The two boys in the photo were wearing the same style of white T-shirts. Sui Qingchi’s hair was very short, like the boys in sports school, but you could still easily tell that he was handsome. There were very few people in the world who could have such a hairstyle and still look this good. He remembered that it was because Sui Qingchi had a fight with someone, he had his scalp scratched with a knife and it left a scar. He went to get it stitched up at the hospital so he had to shave off his hair. He spent a month growing it back out.

The day the picture was taken was Sui Qingchi’s 20th birthday.

He didn’t expect to remember so clearly

He wiped off his blood and returned the wallet to its original position. His fingers touched a cigarette box inside. It was a pack of Marlboro. Sui Qingchi seemed to only have smoked a few. He pulled over and threw the box into the garbage can on the side of the road.

Sui Qingchi arrived before him and waited at the intersection. The taxi was also there. Fu Cuo already took care of his nosebleed and got out of the car. Sui Qingchi looked at him and asked, “You didn’t get photographed, did you?”

“I don’t know. I tried my best.” Fu Cuo passed the front of the car and threw the key to him.

Sui Qingchi took the car key with a cold face, got in the car, pulled open the door. He thought for a while, leaned out his head and asked, “That song… Did you really only write it for West Wind?”

Fearing another nosebleed, Fu Cuo wiped his nose and looked back, “Yeah, so don’t even think about it.”

“You’re not willing to write other songs for me either?”

Thinking that this guy was rejected by Yu Fei time and time again, he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. Fu Cuo heaved a sigh and said as nicely as possible, “It’s not that I don’t want to write songs for you, I just don’t write songs for anyone anymore.”

“Does that mean you don’t have anything against me?”

“You’re overthinking it.”

Rest assured.

Sui Qingchi looked at him and stopped talking for a while. Finally, he rolled up the window and started the car. Sure enough, a stream of tail gas sprayed on Fu Cuo’s face.

Fu Cuo got into the taxi. When the car stopped downstairs, he remembered that he didn’t bring his phone or wallet. He said to the driver, “Mister, wait for a bit. I’ll go upstairs and get you the money.”

The driver waved his hand in a good mood, “No need, the big star already paid!”

When he got home, he changed out of Sui Qingchi’s shirt. He didn’t know what to do with it now. 

The phone on the sofa flashed. It was a WeChat sent by AK asking him if Zhong Dao had been there. Fu Cuo remembered that he still owed Zhong Dao an explanation, and he tiredly collapsed on the sofa.

Later that evening, Fu Cuo went to the bar to sing. Fortunately Zhong Dao didn’t come, leaving him more time to think about how to talk about the past. He was absent-minded all night. He’d often mistakenly play the wrong notes. Fortunately, none of the audience paid attention, therefore no one noticed. But it was also unfortunate that no one paid attention.

When he got home at three in the morning, he took a hot bath. As soon as he stood under the shower head, the water on the ground turned pink. He hurried to find a paper towel to block his nose. Standing in front of the mirror, he thought to himself, ‘What’s wrong with me today? Were the nosebleeds triggered from smelling Sui Qingchi’s scent?’ He patted his nose with repulse, “How pathetic…”

When he was sleeping soundly in the middle of the night, his phone suddenly rang. Fu Cuo hurriedly answered it, but it was immediately hung up. He shook his head, threw the phone and tried to go back to sleep. His eyes closed for a while, but soon opened again.

His electric guitar was hung on the opposite wall, with Tan Si’s bass right beside it. Because of the sudden call, he remembered that he had just dreamt about West Wind.

Sui Qingchi sat barefoot by the bed and looked down at the picture in the wallet. The cigarettes in the car was gone. It must have been Fu Cuo’s doing. He didn’t know whether he saw the wallet, and whether he wanted him to see it or not.

He took out the photo and held it under the desk lamp. The original photo was torn apart by him years ago. This one was later put together with Photoshop. Just for this, he taught himself how to use an editing software. This is the sixth photo he’s done. No one knows that as a singer, he also has Photoshop skills that won’t lose to any professional retoucher. But no matter how he looks at it, it seems that he could always see the cracks from when he tore it before.

Frowning, Sui Qingchi got up, sat in front of his laptop and opened the editing software.

All the pixels tell him that the crack really doesn’t exist, but why couldn’t he let it go?

‘When can I let go…’