40

September in Paris brings a sharp chill, and by evening, a light, steady rain had started to fall. Lu Sen pulled on his jacket the moment he stepped off the plane. Outside the terminal, he saw Ji Huai waiting for him under a dark blue umbrella.

Is that for me? Lu Sen asked with a grin, nodding toward the jacket in Ji Huai’s hand.

I figured you didn’t have one on you, so I brought it, Ji Huai said.

Don’t you know I grew up in Paris? Lu Sen ducked under the umbrella, and as they walked toward the car, he added, But thanks anyway.

Don’t mention it. Ji Huai popped the trunk and helped Lu Sen load his luggage.

Once they were inside, Lu Sen grabbed a tissue to wipe his hands. Just as Ji Huai went to start the car, Lu Sen leaned in close. Ji Huai glanced at him, and Lu Sen’s brownish-green eyes met his. He brushed a spot on Ji Huai’s shoulder, smiled, and said, You’ve got some rain on you here.

Ji Huai was always a bit cold with people he didn’t know well. He nodded and said, Thanks.

As they drove toward the city center, the wipers swished in a steady rhythm. Lu Sen’s phone rang. He answered it, beaming, So, why is the great photographer Xu Yan calling me personally?

Cut it out, Xu Yan said. Did Ji Huai pick you up?

Nope. I’ve been waiting at the airport entrance for ages and haven’t seen a soul. Lu Sen leaned back lazily, casting a sideways glance at Ji Huai as he spoke. Did he decide I was too much trouble and just not come?

No way. Ji Huai left over half an hour ago. Is there traffic? Xu Yan muttered to himself. Hold on, let me call him and check.

No sooner had Lu Sen hung up than Ji Huai’s phone rang. It was mounted on the dashboard, and Lu Sen reached over to tap the answer button. Xu Yan’s voice filled the car: Ji Huai, where are you?

On the road, Ji Huai replied.

Still on the road? Lu Sen’s already there and says he’s been waiting forever.

Got it, Ji Huai said flatly.

Don’t just 'got it' me. Step on it. It’s raining and freezing out there—if you freeze my photographer, you can’t afford the damages.

Mm.

His nonchalance clearly frustrated Xu Yan. Don’t 'mm' me! If anything happens to him, I’m taking you as payment!

Lu Sen finally spoke up. That works for me. No problem.

Silence fell on the other end of the line.

Ten seconds later, Xu Yan hung up without a word.

Oh dear, Xu Yan is mad, Lu Sen said, sounding entirely insincere. And it’s his birthday, too. This really isn’t great.

Ji Huai offered a faint smile but didn’t say anything.

Xu Yan’s apartment was huge, but because he was always traveling and lived alone, it felt a bit empty. Ji Huai punched in the code, and Xu Yan poked his head out from the kitchen: You’re here?

Thought you were mad at us, Lu Sen said.

I am, Xu Yan said, looking down at the shrimp paste he was prepping. You two teamed up to mess with me. You’re doing the dishes.

Hot pot? Lu Sen asked, glancing at the table to change the subject.

Yeah. I’ve been running around so much I haven’t had a proper meal. I was craving this. Xu Yan set the food down. Come on, sit, sit.

The three of them sat around the table. Lu Sen noticed a pile of gifts on the coffee table—likely from colleagues and partners—and then saw the suitcase by the sofa. Where are you off to next?

Barcelona the day after tomorrow, Xu Yan said, taking a sip of orange juice. I’m exhausted.

What’s there to be tired about? Lu Sen laughed. You’ve won awards, you’ve held exhibitions—you’re a big-name Chinese photographer in this industry. If you didn’t want to go, the company wouldn’t dare push you.

I still want to shoot more on my own, Xu Yan said. You have to let your work do the talking, right? You know that better than anyone.

I do, Lu Sen said. How long has it been? Two and a half years? Have you thought about when you’re heading back to China?

Two years and four months, Xu Yan said, dropping vegetables into the pot. Still a while. I’ll wait until next year at least.

And if you do go back, what’s the plan? Lu Sen looked at him earnestly. Are you going back to TIDE, or joining my studio? I suggest you consider the latter.

Lu Sen had started his own studio over a year ago. He was still a TIDE photographer on paper, but his focus had shifted. He was in town to shoot posters for a film festival, which happened to coincide with Xu Yan’s birthday, so he’d arrived early.

The editor-in-chief reached out to me, said she wanted me to head up the location shoots, Xu Yan mused.

Don’t listen to her. You know how much of a nightmare location shoots are, and given your current standing, it’s not worth it.

But your place is mostly artists and indoor studio work. I’m used to landscapes; I might not adapt well.

Give me a break. You’ve been shooting people for ages—those photos from the fashion show last time were praised to the heavens. Besides, I do plenty of location work too.

Xu Yan gave him a knowing look. Oh, so you know how much of a nightmare location shoots are, then?

Alright, Lu Sen said coolly. You’ve really picked up some bad habits out here.

Xu Yan laughed and turned to Ji Huai: When are you heading back?

December. January at the latest.

Working back in China? Lu Sen asked.

Yeah.

Transferred to be the big boss at the China branch, Xu Yan sighed. Our Ji Huai—a successful man, young and accomplished, an industry elite.

Ji Huai dropped a beef ball into his bowl to tell him to shut up.

The orange juice eventually turned into wine. It wasn’t easy for them to get together when they were all in different countries. Xu Nian had wanted to fly out for the birthday, but he couldn’t get away from work, so he’d entrusted Lu Sen with a gift for Xu Yan.

After a few drinks, Xu Yan opened the gift from Xu Nian. It was a short scroll tube. He pulled out the paper inside, took one look, and tossed it aside, expressionless.

Lu Sen picked it up. In bold, powerful calligraphy, it read: 'May you ride the wind and break the waves, and reach the heights of a true one.'

Is he mentally challenged? Xu Yan asked.

Lu Sen laughed. Not bad. Honestly, seeing the shape of the tube, I thought it was something else.

Something else? Xu Yan was a bit tipsy and looked confused.

A massager, Lu Sen said, rolling the paper back up and putting it into the tube with a straight face.

Get out.

They drank until late. Ji Huai was staying over at Xu Yan’s, while Lu Sen was heading home. Looking at the mess on the table, Xu Yan muttered, I told you guys—you tricked me, so you’re doing the dishes.

Lu Sen leaned back in his chair, refusing to move. Ji Huai stood up to clear the table: It’s fine, I’ll wash them.

As he headed to the kitchen, Lu Sen watched him. When he turned back, he caught Xu Yan staring at him. Lu Sen asked, What’s up?

Xu Yan didn’t answer. He looked at Lu Sen, then at Ji Huai, and finally said, Nothing.

Yeah, right. Lu Sen didn’t push it. He checked his phone; his driver was already downstairs. It was time to go.

When he stood up, he accidentally knocked over a glass, spilling half a drink onto his lap. His pants were soaked. Xu Yan leaned over to look and said, I’ll find you a pair of pants to change into. Lu Sen nodded and followed him into the room. Xu Yan tossed him a pair of sweatpants and walked out.

When Ji Huai reached the doorway, Lu Sen was just pulling off his pants. Honestly, Lu Sen’s physique was even better than the models he usually shot—lean, powerful, and aesthetic. Back at the company, Tang Yunyan had often grabbed him to try on sample clothes, just as she did with Xu Yan.

He stepped into the sweatpants, his pale skin disappearing beneath the fabric. Lu Sen folded his wet pants and turned around, locking eyes with Ji Huai. Neither of them reacted; it was just one man looking at another.

Dishes done? Lu Sen asked with a smile.

Xu Yan’s doing them. Your luggage is still in my car, so I’ll head down with you.

Sure. Lu Sen walked out. As he passed Ji Huai, he paused, tilted his head, and sniffed near Ji Huai’s neck. What cologne are you wearing?

Ji Huai looked down at him: Forgot.

Nice taste, Lu Sen said with another smile.

After saying goodbye to Xu Yan, Lu Sen and Ji Huai went downstairs to grab the luggage. The rain had stopped. Lu Sen got into the car, and Ji Huai, who was only wearing a T-shirt, stood outside. Lu Sen rolled down the window: Go back up. It’s pretty cold out.

Ji Huai nodded and turned back toward the building. As the car pulled away, Lu Sen saw someone standing under a streetlamp by another building, holding a small cake in one hand and a black umbrella in the other.

The car stopped, and Lu Sen got out.

He went straight to the point: Here for Xu Yan? He knew exactly who it was. He’d seen him in Otaru, waiting outside the hotel at Xu Nian’s wedding… Lu Sen had even expected him to be here—they’d been on the same flight to Paris today.

Shen Zhi’s face looked pale against his black sweater. He didn’t admit or deny it, only saying, It’s his birthday today.

Yeah.

Could you… do me a favor and give this to him? Shen Zhi held up the cake, his voice low. Just say it’s from you, or that a colleague sent it.

Xu Yan’s already full, he doesn’t need cake, Lu Sen said. Or you could give it to him yourself and see if he wants it.

Shen Zhi pressed his lips together, his hand dropping. He said nothing.

He’s on the third floor, Lu Sen said, pointing to a window. That’s the kitchen. Xu Yan should be doing the dishes right now.

Shen Zhi followed his gesture. He knew Xu Yan lived on the third floor; he knew that was the kitchen. He could even picture Xu Yan standing there, head bowed, washing the dishes.

It’s half an hour until midnight. Isn’t it a shame not to tell him happy birthday? Lu Sen asked with a smile.

Shen Zhi just stared at that window.

Was it a shame? Of course it was. He’d had so many chances to say happy birthday to Xu Yan in person, but he’d said nothing. Two years ago in September, four months after Xu Yan had moved to Paris and three months before his law exams, Shen Zhi had stood in this exact spot—no, maybe six or seven steps to the left, under that tree—watching Xu Yan walk by with his suitcase. They had been only a few steps apart.

That day, Xu Yan had just returned from Lucerne. He’d celebrated his birthday at the company and was heading home with gifts from his colleagues, talking on the phone as he walked. Shen Zhi hadn’t caught what he was saying; he’d just tried his hardest to see that profile in the lamplight. He saw Xu Yan wearing a white shirt, a smile on his lips, his hair a little longer, not looking too thin.

He watched Xu Yan walk closer, then further away, and enter the building. Shortly after, the light in the third-floor window flickered on.

Last September, on Xu Yan’s birthday, Shen Zhi had waited in the same spot until dawn, but he hadn’t seen him. He found out later that Xu Yan had been camping by a lake near Mount Fitz Roy that night, capturing the sunrise on the main peak that would go on to win the professional landscape category at the Sony World Photography Awards the following year.

He’s doing well, doing what he loves, with achievements and a future, Lu Sen said. I don’t think he wants to be disturbed.

With that, he got back into the car. The tires crunched over the thin puddles on the road, and he drove away.

Shen Zhi remained where he was. Twenty minutes later, he saw Ji Huai come downstairs to take out the trash. Half an hour after that, the light on the third floor went out.

Xu Yan’s birthday was over. Shen Zhi looked quietly at the dark window. The wind in Paris was no different from anywhere else. Past one in the morning, a light rain began to fall again. Shen Zhi opened his umbrella, carried the cake, and turned to leave.