A despicable man

Despicable.

Ding Ding felt that no word could describe him more aptly.

He had approached with an ulterior purpose, and though there had been some sincerity in it, it was pale as paper beside Bai Congming's unreserved purity.

Ding Ding washed his hands, feeling dirty.

"Clean!"

Bai Congming stood in the doorway, pointing at the hands Ding Ding had been washing for almost ten minutes. "All washed!"

Ding Ding murmured an acknowledgment, looking dispirited, and let Bai Congming support him back to the bed to lie down.

It was as though a minor injury had reduced Ding Ding from a sturdy grown man to a tottering toddler who needed tender care and careful supervision.

The feeling was utterly unfamiliar, carrying a warmth he could lose himself in, yet also leaving him restless.

Ding Ding was happy, but dared not be too happy, because he did not know what he could offer in return for this care.

Money, he had none; love, too, was in short supply.

Like a vagrant who had wandered into heaven by mistake, his arms had been piled with treasures, yet he could offer nothing at all in return.

"I can manage on my own."

Bai Congming turned a deaf ear and went back to fiddling with the potatoes in the corner, preparing to cook them with rice.

Ding Ding quietly suggested using a little less salt. Bai Congming readily nodded and did not add a single grain.

"..."

Just as Ding Ding thought that was all dinner would be, Bai Congming tipped the potatoes and rice into the rice cooker, but did not turn it on. He got up, took some money, and said he was going out.

"Where?"

Ding Ding looked at the deepening night outside and remembered that the fool was afraid of the dark. He immediately started to get up. "I'll go with you."

"No." Bai Congming wrinkled his nose. "You, slow!"

With that, he jogged out through the courtyard gate.

"..."

Rejected, Ding Ding scratched his cheek. Unable to sit still anyway, he hopped around the room on one leg.

There was not much in the room. The only thing that intrigued Ding Ding was the wardrobe, which was like Doraemon's magic pocket: anything could be pulled out of it.

Rough as he was, Ding Ding was not in the habit of rummaging through someone else's belongings. He merely eased the door open a crack and peered inside.

The top shelf held clothes, neatly folded. Half were extremely plain black, white, and gray; the other half were a dazzling riot of colors.

Red, yellow, purple, blue... every color imaginable. Even fluttering butterflies could hardly have been more colorful.

He could see other things beneath the clothes, but could not tell what they were, so Ding Ding left it at that, closed the wardrobe door, and hopped over to the other side.

The room was only so big, a mere three or five steps across. Ding Ding spotted a plastic bag beside the potatoes in the corner, with a note weighed down by a potato.

Ding Ding bent down and picked up the note. One glance at the graceful handwriting told him it was not Bai Congming's.

It explained how to brew the herbal medicine, then said to ask Little Bai for the medicine pot; he always kept the things at home in good order.

Not knowing Ding Ding's name, the writer had addressed him as "Little Bai's partner," which made Ding Ding flush with embarrassment.

Toward the end, the person who had left the note began going on about Bai Congming's good points.

It said he was kindhearted, clever, and well-behaved. Every line was filled with an elder's affection and protectiveness.

The final lines were written very small, as though for fear Bai Congming would discover them:

"If you're a good person, you will surely be rewarded.

If you have bad intentions, us old folks aren't to be trifled with either."

Ding Ding laughed it off, put the note away, and sat where he was to wait for Bai Congming's return.

How could people be divided into good and bad?

A bad person could win universal applause with a single good deed, while one misstep from a good person meant their true colors had shown.

Ding Ding did not know how to define his own goodness or badness, and so that word surfaced in his mind again.

Despicable.

While Ding Ding had been washing his hands, Bai Congming had arranged the Pink Lily of the Valley in a mineral water bottle. Such rare and exquisite flowers looked utterly out of place in it.

Ding Ding was ashamed of what he had thought when he first saw the bouquet.

His narrow-minded assumption that others were like him only made that ardent affection seem all the more precious.

Perhaps I shouldn't have stayed, Ding Ding thought.

But the thought vanished in an instant, because light footsteps sounded at the door.

Bai Congming returned carrying a bag, his eyes lighting up when he saw Ding Ding-even knowing he could not leave, he had still worried he would come back to find him gone.

After washing his hands, Bai Congming added the diced cured pork from the bag to the rice cooker and pressed the cook button.

"Meat!"

Ding Ding reached out to him and took his hand, drawing him onto the same stool to squeeze in beside him.

"Why don't you eat it when you're on your own?"

As though afraid of putting too much weight on him, Bai Congming barely rested against his leg. He frowned. "Hard. Can't cut!"

Ding Ding made a sound of understanding. "Then how did you manage to cut it this time?"

"Five yuan."

It took Ding Ding a moment to understand, and then he sighed.

"Bring it home next time. I'll cut it for you."

Little Bai did not earn money easily. It did not grow on trees-how could he afford to spend it like this?

"Next time" was such a lovely phrase. Bai Congming vaguely felt that perhaps his wife would not leave this time.

Thinking it, he said it aloud.

"Brother Ding won't leave. Live with me."

Ding Ding pressed his lips together. "You want to live with me that much?"

"Yes!"

"Even if I can't give you anything?"

"Yes!"

Both answers rang out firm and clear. In that moment, Ding Ding thought, To hell with being despicable.

Bad people got everything, while all he wanted was Bai Congming.

"I won't leave," Ding Ding said. "Give me a little time to get back on my feet. I'll give you everything."

Having received the answer he wanted, Bai Congming could not help stamping his feet, forgetting that he was still sitting beside Ding Ding. Every stamp landed on Ding Ding's instep.

There was a gash on one foot, and with the jolting, blood began seeping through the dressing.

Without a change in expression, Ding Ding leaned gently against Bai Congming, marveling inwardly that heaven had treated him well after all.

He had thought he had nothing left, yet even a withered tree could find spring again.

The rice cooker began giving off a delicious aroma. Having gone hungry all day, Ding Ding's stomach growled, a bowl set before him as he waited to eat.

It was a little funny, but Ding Ding felt good.

After years of flying south and circling trees thirty thousand times, the wandering magpie had finally found a place to roost.

His heart felt full. So this was having a home.

"Why don't you stir-fry anything?"

"Hot," Bai Congming said. "Fire, hot. Scary."

"Let's buy an induction cooker."

"Buy!" Bai Congming agreed at once, only then asking, "Battery cooker?"

"...An induction cooker." Ding Ding smiled and answered him amid the rice cooker's beeping. "There's no flame, so it's not hot. We'll need a pan too, and seasonings... I'll cook for you from now on. If we're going to live together, we should do it properly."

Bai Congming listened as he dished up the rice, steam rising from it and its fragrance filling the room.

"We'll just have to use your money first. Once this cast comes off in a couple of days, I'll go out and figure something out. I won't let you suffer..."

Outside the window, a curved moon hung high, and the Bougainvillea swayed, shedding a petal that drifted to the ground.