Last night’s stars, last night’s breeze (昨夜星辰昨夜风)

⚠️ Content Warning:
This story contains depictions of adult content, consensual intimacy between male characters, emotional themes of longing, grief, and political undercurrents. Reader discretion is advised.

In 1983, the rumor that almost every household in Yugoslavia owned a car finally drew the General Secretary’s attention. The Ministry of Commerce dispatched an inspection delegation abroad, and Yu Qian, recently transferred to the central government, took on the assignment and set off for Yugoslavia with a small team.

It was mid-spring when their group landed in Belgrade. Yugoslavian officials received the visitors warmly and guided them through tours of factories and schools. Along the banks of the Danube River, where high-bridged noses and blue eyes followed them with curious glances, Yu Qian heard Chinese being spoken among the crowd.

"Зху? погледај тамо. (Zhu? Look over there.)"

Tolya patted Zhu Qiyu on the shoulder, pointing toward Yu Qian’s group.

"Људи у вашој земљи су овде. (People from your country are here.)"

Zhu Qiyu lifted his head and looked in the direction Tolya pointed.

"They're officials," he said, then remembering Tolya couldn't understand, he added in Russian, "Они чиновники. (They are officials.)"

Perhaps hearing the familiar sound of his native language, Yu Qian turned his head through the crowd, trying to locate the Chinese face behind the voice—and he succeeded. Beneath a memorial tower dedicated to some unknown predecessor, Yu Qian saw a young, spirited face, standing beside a local companion. Yu Qian walked over and extended a hand to the fellow countryman, saying, "Hello."

Zhu Qiyu looked a little surprised but quickly composed himself.

"Hello, sir," he replied, bowing his head politely, allowing Yu Qian a glimpse of the cowlick at the crown of his head.

"Are you studying here?" Yu Qian couldn't help but ask.

"Yes," Zhu Qiyu answered respectfully. "I came last year as an overseas student, sponsored by the government."

"In Novi Sad?" Yu Qian asked, referring to the best university in the region.

"Of course." Zhu Qiyu smiled with pride, but it wasn’t the kind of pride that grated on others. "Since I came to study, naturally I had to attend the best school."

"And you'll graduate...the year after next?"

"Yes," Zhu Qiyu nodded. "After graduation, I plan to return to China and find a job related to my field."

"And what is your field?"

"Mathematics," the young man replied with a smile. "Actually, going to the Soviet Union would have been better. But—you understand..."

Yu Qian pressed the young man's hand slightly, signaling that he understood.
"Of course," he said. "For now, Yugoslavia is a good choice."

The young man looked visibly relieved that Yu Qian understood.

"Yes," he said, grasping Yu Qian’s hand again. "If you need, I could act as a guide during your stay."

"That would be wonderful," Yu Qian said, in a tone that was neither overly enthusiastic nor cold. "Although we already have local guides, I'm sure you, as a fellow Chinese, can point out things you believe are worth learning from."

"I'll do my best." Zhu Qiyu gave his hand another firm shake. "If you need me, you can find me at the Faculty of Mathematics, University of Novi Sad. I live in the dormitory, Building Six. Just tell them you're looking for a Chinese student with a hard-to-pronounce name. They'll know."

Yu Qian chuckled, this time with genuine warmth.

"A Chinese student with a hard-to-pronounce name...Got it."

They agreed to meet again another time. Yu Qian turned back to rejoin his delegation, while Zhu Qiyu slowly walked back toward the university with his classmates.

Tolya glanced back and forth between the two men, then patted Zhu Qiyu on the shoulder.

"Да ли је то пријатељ кога познајете? (Is that a friend of yours?)"

Zhu Qiyu smiled and shook his head.

"Нет. (No.)" he said. "Это только для китайцев, в четырех морях есть братья. (It’s just that among Chinese people, within the four seas, all are brothers.)"

Zhu Qiyu followed Tolya back to their dormitory, where he pulled out his beloved Advanced Algebra Problem Collection and began leafing through it in silence. Tolya, trimming roses by the window, turned back after a while and noticed his friend hadn't turned a page for some time.

"Да ли још увек размишљате о том кинеском? (Are you still thinking about that Chinese man?)"

Zhu Qiyu lifted his head. There was a faint look of hesitation on his handsome face.

"Да. (Yes.)" he admitted. "Я думаю...да. (I think...yes.)"

Then he lowered his head again, staring down at the pages of the exercise book.
He couldn't bring himself to confess the thought hidden deepest in his heart:

I think—though I'm not entirely sure—

I might already be enchanted by him.

The next evening, the dormitory warden knocked on Zhu Qiyu’s door.
"Кинези, неко те тражи. (Chinese, someone is looking for you.)"

Zhu Qiyu threw on a jacket and went downstairs. As he reached the entrance, he saw Yu Qian standing under a sky flushed with the colors of a rose, reaching a hand out toward him.

"Comrade guide," Yu Qian said, "I think we need you."

Zhu Qiyu smiled—it was hard to say whether it was the word "comrade" or the word "need" that moved him more. He placed his hand in Yu Qian’s.
"Where would you like to go? What would you like to see?"

"We’re hoping to get a sense of Belgrade’s commercial activity and public security," Yu Qian said, his tone gentle, almost an invitation. "Since the local staff are off-duty now, we were wondering if you had time to accompany us?"

"Of course." Zhu Qiyu broke into a smile. "Happy to be of service."

So Zhu Qiyu led him down the streets of Belgrade. In the night breeze, their conversation drifted, intermittent and casual.

"Why didn’t you bring your colleagues along?" Zhu Qiyu asked.

"This is after-hours," Yu Qian replied lightly. "I can't exactly force others to work overtime. Of course, perhaps I'm imposing on you too..."

"Don’t be so polite," Zhu Qiyu said with a laugh, turning his head to smile at him. "Comrade." He deliberately emphasized the word.

Yu Qian laughed as well. "Very well. No need for politeness between comrades."

They walked along the street, flanked by shops with modest signs and shopkeepers smiling quietly under the warm lights. On a sudden impulse, Zhu Qiyu ducked into one of the stores and emerged with a paper bag filled with peaches. He wiped one off and handed it to Yu Qian.

"Here, have one."

Yu Qian hesitated, but when he looked up, he caught Zhu Qiyu's smiling eyes—and saw him silently mouthing the word he had stressed earlier.

Comrade.

Yu Qian told himself: fine. No need for politeness between comrades.

The peach wasn’t fully ripe, its taste sharp and a little sour. Yu Qian chewed slowly, somehow thinking of the young man walking beside him—a boy from Beijing, barely in his twenties, who had traveled across continents just to study and someday serve his homeland.

He bit into the peach again, felt its juice burst in his mouth, and, without meaning to, spoke aloud the thought lingering in his heart: "Over a year away from home—it must have been hard for you."

Zhu Qiyu turned his head, a peach clamped lightly between his teeth, his eyes crinkling into a smile.

"I’m not afraid of hardship."

He pulled the peach away from his mouth.

"After all, didn’t the revolutionary predecessors also travel across oceans? They weren’t afraid of hardship, and neither am I. Besides, things are much better now than they were then."

Yu Qian wanted to say—that’s not quite the same.

But he couldn’t say Zhu Qiyu was wrong either. If they were back home, in a political study session or at a revolutionary lecture, Yu Qian would have wholeheartedly encouraged the young, told them to go to the farthest frontiers, to dedicate themselves to the nation.

Back then, he would have agreed without hesitation: the hardships today are nothing compared to those of the revolutionary pioneers. If they could endure it, so should you.

But now, looking at the young man beside him—thin, resilient, still growing like a bamboo shoot—Yu Qian felt an inexplicable tenderness.

He pitied him for leaving home so young.

He pitied him for drifting alone in a foreign land.

Standing there in the soft glow of streetlights, Yu Qian could no longer measure him by politics.

Because right now, this wasn't a "member of the ambitious young generation" standing before him.

It was simply a boy with a paper bag of peaches, leading him through strange streets.

A thin, fragile young man.

Yu Qian followed him past the shopfronts, past alleyways blinking under broken lamps, past the flowing traffic and the briefcases carried by foreign faces.

At last, they reached a plaza.

Doves of peace took flight into the sky, and at the center of the square, a little angel clutched a harp, spraying a thin stream of water into the air.

Zhu Qiyu pulled Yu Qian down onto the steps of the plaza and turned to look at him.

"Did you see what you wanted to see?"

Yu Qian gazed at him.

"I saw you."

Zhu Qiyu wanted to laugh, but he knew it wasn’t the moment for laughter.
He turned back to stare at the fountain’s spray, hugging his arms to his chest, rubbing them against each other.

After a long silence, he dropped his head and said, his voice as sour and astringent as a peach: "How long are you staying?"

"Six weeks."

"Are you married?"

"My wife passed away a few years ago."

Zhu Qiyu made a small sound of acknowledgment.

"I’m sorry. I think that's what I’m supposed to say."

"You don’t have to," Yu Qian replied gently. "If you don't want to."

"I don't know how to say it," Yu Qian continued, "but I believe...you and I feel the same thing. We..."

"Yes."

Zhu Qiyu cut him off abruptly, lifting his head in a panic.

"Yes."

"Then there's nothing more to be said, is there?" Yu Qian said, sure now that the young man before him was of the same kind.

"No," Zhu Qiyu murmured, rubbing his face with both hands.

"I understand everything."

After that day, they often met up, so frequently that even Tolya was astonished.
One evening, after returning from a date, Tolya ran into Zhu Qiyu on the dormitory stairs. He patted his friend’s shoulder in surprise.

"Да ли морате да изађете тако касно? Зху, јеси ли се заљубио у тог кинеског? (Heading out so late? Zhu, have you fallen for that Chinese man?)"

Zhu Qiyu pressed a finger to Tolya’s lips, signaling him to stay quiet.

Tolya stared at him with wide, innocent eyes, his expression practically spelling out the answer: I knew it.

Zhu Qiyu chuckled without giving a reply, still holding the flower in his hand as he made his way downstairs.

Tolya squinted after him—and realized that the flower Zhu was carrying was the very rose he had tossed him earlier that day.

Tolya smacked himself on the forehead.

Good friend, you're beyond saving.

The night wind brushed past Zhu Qiyu’s shoulders like flowing clouds.

His steps were light as he ran across the plaza, and sure enough, he found Yu Qian waiting by the fountain.

Like a magician pulling a trick, he produced the rose from behind his back.

"For you," he said.

Yu Qian took the rose and smiled. "But what am I supposed to do with it?" he asked, looking up. "My colleagues will notice."

"It doesn't matter," Zhu Qiyu said, as if offering not just a rose, but his own heart.

"Enjoy its bloom for just one night. After that, you can let it drift away with the water, toss it in the trash, or crush it underfoot—it’s all up to you. That is the fate of a rose."

"Then I shall..."

Yu Qian reached out and tucked the rose into the little angel's hand at the center of the fountain.

"I always thought this statue was Cupid," he said with a laugh, "but I never understood why he was holding a harp."

Zhu Qiyu smiled as he watched. "Now he has an arrow. A thorned one."

"A golden arrow?" Yu Qian turned, visibly pleased with his handiwork.

"Of course," Zhu Qiyu said, reaching out to take his arm. "Comrade, what would you like to explore tonight?"

"I’ve spent enough time observing shops and streets," Yu Qian said thoughtfully, "Perhaps it's time to see something else."

"Would you like to learn about the tourism and hospitality industry?"

There was a mischievous glint in the young man's eyes.

"So soon?" Yu Qian said, feigning a troubled expression. "Maybe we should take it a little slower."

Zhu Qiyu slipped an arm around him.

"But comrade, you don't have much time left to explore."

Yu Qian leaned into him, letting himself be held.

"There’s still time," he said, soothing the younger man. "Don't worry."

"All right then," Zhu Qiyu said, standing firm so Yu Qian could rest against him. "Shall we learn about the film industry tonight?"

"Sounds good."

So Zhu Qiyu dragged Yu Qian off to a nearby cinema.

The late-night showings were reserved for classic films, and when they arrived, the screen was already playing a movie they both knew well: The Bridge.

Zhu Qiyu spread his hands helplessly.

"Classic as it is," he said, "this really isn't the moment I wanted to hear a song about burying comrades after battle."

He turned his head away from the screen, refusing to look.

"Can we find another theater? Our first movie night, and it’s Farewell, Friends! What a terrible omen."

Yu Qian nodded. "I’ll follow your lead."

They spent the entire night wandering through the city’s cinemas, only to discover, to their growing disbelief, that every single theater was screening The Bridge.

By the end, Zhu Qiyu looked downright aggrieved.

"Can’t they play something a little more cheerful?"

Yu Qian was just as helpless, though the helplessness was not only toward the theaters, but also toward the young man beside him—the boy who was slowly, imperceptibly pulling at his heartstrings.

He pulled out his notebook, methodically recording the situation of each cinema in Belgrade, then racked his brain for something to cheer Zhu Qiyu up.

"Maybe you know there’s a guzheng piece called Four Movements of Brocade?" he offered.

"I don’t," Zhu Qiyu said, looking a little deflated. "Will you tell me about it?"

"It’s one of the representative pieces of Shandong-style guzheng," Yu Qian explained, swallowing once before continuing, "though that’s not really the point. I just wanted to say...this piece has another name. It’s also called The Bridge."

"And?" Zhu Qiyu looked intrigued.

"The piece is divided into four sections," Yu Qian said. "That’s why it’s called Four Movements of Brocade. The final section is called Universal Celebration, and it’s often played at weddings."

Yu Qian reached out, lightly catching Zhu Qiyu’s arm.

"Uh...this sounds a little awkward. But what I mean is: bridges aren’t always bad omens. Maybe you can cheer up a little."

Zhu Qiyu laughed. "It’s definitely an awkward story. But I get it. And it does cheer me up."

He tucked Yu Qian under his arm as they walked down the street.

"It’s fine. You don’t have to specially comfort me. I’m just childish. It passes quickly."

He raised his wrist to glance at his watch. "It’s getting late. Still want to wander around, or should we head back?"

Yu Qian leaned closer to look at it. "What time is it?"

"A little past eleven," Zhu Qiyu said, slipping the watch off and handing it over.
"I can't go back anyway. I’ve already missed the dormitory curfew."

"Me too," Yu Qian said, returning the watch to him. "Then...where should we stay tonight?"

"Let’s just keep walking," Zhu Qiyu suggested, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Let’s see if Belgrade’s streets ever end."

Yu Qian gave a silent nod.

So they continued down the endless road.

The spring night was misty with the scent of flowers, and a pale moon hung in the sky behind a veil of clouds.

Branches of apple trees stretched from courtyards along the street, and five-petaled blossoms bloomed at the tips.

Zhu Qiyu recognized them, and a stray thought surfaced—Tolya’s beautiful Italian girlfriend had once said the flower language of apple blossoms was "trap."

He swallowed the thought and tightened his hold on Yu Qian’s hand, leading him forward.

Minute by minute, the distant hills seemed to creep closer.

The moon climbed to its zenith, and a shaft of silver light fell onto the chipped paint of streetlamps, giving the road a stark, almost medieval chill every fifty meters.

Zhu Qiyu led Yu Qian up a ladder propped against a wall, onto the rooftop of an abandoned building.

"Sit," Zhu Qiyu said, steadying Yu Qian’s arm. "It’s fine. See? The windows downstairs are all broken. No one’s around."

"You’re crazy," Yu Qian said, but there was no reproach in his voice.

He reached out and tapped Zhu Qiyu’s nose, smiling. "Young people are crazy."

Zhu Qiyu laughed, his eyes shining.

And in that laughter, Yu Qian heard another meaning:

And you’re any better?

Zhu Qiyu pulled a peach from the paper bag—the one he had bought earlier outside the cinema—and handed it over.

Yu Qian examined it for a moment, unable to hide his amazement. "You really do like peaches."

"Peaches are nutritious," Zhu Qiyu said, rubbing the fruit gently. "My mother told me. Back when I still lived at home."

Yu Qian propped himself up on one arm. "You've never talked about your family before."

"Because there’s not much good to say," Zhu Qiyu said, his gaze turning faintly somber.

"The most ordinary, sad kind of story. My mother was my father’s child bride, back before the founding of the country."

He paused, watching the peach spin between his hands.

"My father went off to war, my mother stayed home to care for my grandmother.
After the revolution, when free love was allowed, my father married a young nurse.
They got the certificate first—and only then did he tell my mother."

He lifted his head with a sardonic smile.

"My grandmother was still alive then. At first, she didn't want to let my mother go.
After all," he half-laughed, "I was a son. But when cadres came knocking, warning it was bigamy and her son would be jailed, she rushed to drive my mother out."

Zhu Qiyu kept rubbing the peach, his voice low and steady. "I was small enough then. And lucky, too, that the nurse had already given him a son. I wasn’t needed anymore."

"My mother took me and ran away in the middle of the night. All the way to the Women's Federation. Anyway, now she’s in Beijing, living with old folks."

Yu Qian stared at the peach in his hand, suddenly feeling it less sweet.

"Your father..." he said slowly, "was a real bastard."

"More or less," Zhu Qiyu said lightly, as if the story no longer had the power to wound him.

He bit into the peach.

"Afterward, I never asked about them again. Let them live however they wanted. Nothing to do with me."

"That’s fair." Yu Qian nodded, taking a bite. "Today's peach tastes sweeter than the last."

"And redder too," Zhu Qiyu said, trying to pry open the pit with his fingers. "Oh, by the way. I haven’t asked your name yet, have I? May I?"

Yu Qian thought for a moment, then said, "Yu Qian."

"I’m Zhu Qiyu," the young man said, lifting his head with a bright smile. "Sounds like our names match."

"Funny, isn’t it?" Yu Qian chuckled. "Have you ever been to the Imperial Ancestral Temple?"

"What Imperial Ancestral Temple?" Zhu Qiyu waved dismissively.

"That’s called the Working People’s Cultural Palace now."

He slipped an arm around Yu Qian again. "Comrade, your political consciousness really needs some improvement."

Yu Qian laughed so hard he couldn't swallow his peach properly and ended up having to spit it out.

"Fine, fine," he said, wiping his mouth. "I was just trying to accommodate old Beijing speech habits."

"Hey, hey, hey! None of that," Zhu Qiyu said quickly, covering his mouth. "What’s wrong with old Beijingers? Not all of them came from noble banners. Most were working people too."

He grinned. "We should be proud to study hard and serve our country when we return—and despise those who betray it for profit."

Yu Qian leaned against him, laughing until he was out of breath. "Young man, you've got substance."

"Of course," Zhu Qiyu said, patting his chest. "Anyone who studies math is full of substance. Demidovich’s Problems—that’s real substance."

He straightened up a little. "When I go back, I’ll come work at your ministry as a junior accountant. I’ll keep an eye on you every day."

"That won't work," Yu Qian said, eyes smiling into crescents. "I’m not in the finance department."

"Then I'll become a mathematician," Zhu Qiyu said. "And train a whole new generation of students—"

"And then?"

"Send them to Yugoslavia," Yu Qian said, laughing so hard he lost hold of his peach, "to fall in love with Chinese cadres on inspection tours!"

The peach rolled off the rooftop and burst open, its juice soaking into the dust like a small pool of blood.

Yu Qian looked down, feeling a twinge of guilt. "Sorry. That was your peach."

Zhu Qiyu laughed, pulling another one from the bag. "It’s fine. It wasn’t on purpose."

Yu Qian accepted it solemnly. "This time, I’ll hold onto it tight," he said.
"No more laughing. Seriously."

But Zhu Qiyu couldn’t help laughing, giving him a light push.
"Eat up, old comrade. You’re the worst! Laughing and teasing people too."

Yu Qian gave up pretending and gnawed at his peach, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the hazy, silver moon.

A thought floated to the surface. "You’re graduating the year after next, right?"

"Yeah, summer after next."

"When you get back," Yu Qian said, "come find me. The Ministry of Commerce."

He smiled. "Just tell the guard you’re looking for Yu Qian."

"And if they don't let me in?"

"Wait at the gate at eight in the evening. That's when I usually finish work.
The moment I walk out—you catch me. I'll definitely remember you."

"You said it yourself."

"I said it," Yu Qian confirmed.

A peach pit rolled down from the roof.

"I’ll wait for you. Don’t worry."

"All right," Zhu Qiyu said softly, a nameless sorrow stirring in his chest.
"When I get back, I’ll find you."

"Deal."

"Not one of us missing."

Another week passed.

Tolya noticed that his friend hadn’t even flipped open the cover of his Advanced Mathematics Problem Set.

He hurried down from the window, grabbing Zhu Qiyu’s hand.

"Зху, је ли то кинески занимљивији од више математике? (Zhu, is that Chinese man more interesting than higher math?)"

Zhu Qiyu’s face flushed slightly. He looked a little embarrassed but nodded. "Да. (Yes.)"

Tolya circled him in pity, then caught his hand again. "Зар не мислите да не изгледате као сами? (Don’t you think you’re not acting like yourself anymore?)"

Zhu Qiyu blushed deeper and nodded. "Но у меня нет выбора. (I have no choice.)"

Tolya's eyes widened in alarm. "Он вас је присилио? (Did he force you?)"

Zhu Qiyu shook his head, lowering it. "Любовь. (It’s love.)"

Tolya groaned and smacked his forehead, collapsing onto the bed. "Јеси ли луд, колико дуго може да остане овде? И обојица сте мушкарци, зар не знате? (Are you crazy? How long can he even stay here? And you’re both men—you know what that means!)"

Zhu Qiyu raised three fingers silently. "Менее трех недель осталось. (Less than three weeks left.)"

He dropped his head even lower, a hoarse voice scraping from his throat. "Мне все равно. (I don’t care.)"

Tolya sat up abruptly. "Након тога? Хоћете ли га наћи када се вратите у своју земљу? (And after that? Will you still find him after you return home?)"

"I’m going to," Zhu Qiyu said without hesitation. "Я собираюсь. (I will.)"

Tolya rolled off the bed, dropping to one knee in front of him. "Да ли Кина дозвољава овакве ствари? (Does China even allow things like this?)" he said urgently.

"Добар пријатељ, будан си. Он је службеник—Ово је оно што сте ми рекли. Ниједан званичници неће бити дозвољено да се баве хомосексуалном. Третираће се само као ментално болесно, а затим ће их бити уклоњене са њихових положаја. А ви, не прелазите ни математичке књиге. Ово је превише погрешно. Да ли чак и имате знање у мозгу? (Good friend, wake up. He’s a government official—you told me so yourself. Officials aren’t allowed to be homosexuals. They’ll be treated as mentally ill and stripped of their positions. And you—you don’t even open your math books anymore. This is all wrong. Don’t you even care about your knowledge?)"

Zhu Qiyu murmured a low protest. "Я узнал тех, у кого есть домашнее задание несколько дней назад... (I already mastered the material. I got all the homework right a few days ago...)"

"Да, да. Свакако, (Yes, yes. Of course,)" Tolya said, cradling his hand with real worry.
"Наравно да знам да сте геније. Али Гениус се не би требао зауставити у вежби у учионици. То знате сами. Не желите да се сада не побољшате? (I know you’re a genius. But even a genius can’t stop at classroom exercises. You know that yourself. Don’t you want to keep improving?)"

Zhu Qiyu gently squeezed Tolya’s hand in return. "После того, как он вернулся, подумал я...Я снова забрал упражнения. Это всего лишь короткое время, (After he leaves, I’ll pick up the exercises again. It’s only for a short while.)"

He lowered his head and whispered, "Осталось всего лишь три недели. (Only three weeks left.)"

Tolya looked at him with deep pity. "Добри пријатељи, највећа несрећа на свету је да се заљубљују. (Good friend, the greatest misfortune in this world is falling in love.)"

"Нет, (No,)" Zhu Qiyu said firmly without even thinking, "Это самое большое счастье в моей жизни. (It’s the greatest happiness of my life.)"

After that night, Zhu Qiyu continued to meet Yu Qian as usual.

On evenings spent by the fountain or atop rooftops, they dreamed together about a life waiting for them once they returned home.

"Zhu Qiyu and Yu Qian on the rooftop, where spring winds carry whispered promises."
(Commissioned by 华谣 for her writing.)

Zhu Qiyu grew more skilled at picking peaches, and every time Yu Qian would remark that this one tasted sweeter than the last.

Zhu Qiyu often replied with a shameless grin, "It’s not the peach that’s sweet. It’s me."

Yu Qian would burst into laughter.

As the weather grew warmer, the trade delegation’s time to return drew near.

These two, who had only known each other for six weeks, had already exchanged names, secrets, and bodies—as if they had loved each other for a lifetime.

On the night before departure, Zhu Qiyu intended to walk Yu Qian back to the guesthouse early.

But unexpectedly, Yu Qian made one last request of Belgrade.

"Maybe you could take me to learn a bit more about...the hospitality industry?" he said.

Zhu Qiyu looked at him in surprise. "If I remember correctly, you have a ten o'clock flight tomorrow morning."

"You remember right." Yu Qian’s eyes sparkled under the night sky.

"But—" He hesitated, a little shy. "I thought about it. Parting comes too soon. Reunion feels too far away. So..."

Zhu Qiyu understood instantly. "In that case, it would be my honor."

They ducked into a small alleyway inn, but were gently turned away by a friendly hostess.

"Мы не можем принять иностранных гостей, пожалуйста, прости меня. (We cannot accommodate foreign guests, please forgive us.)"

They tried several more inns, but all with the same result.

The sky over the 40th parallel north was already starting to lighten.

Yu Qian pulled Zhu Qiyu into a dark alley without streetlights. "You take it from here."

Zhu Qiyu glanced at his watch. It was 3:15 a.m.

There wasn’t much time left for the city or for them.

He stopped hesitating. Pressing Yu Qian against the wall, he began peeling away his clothes.

Not that Yu Qian needed much encouragement.

Rather than predator and prey, they were two wild creatures hidden away in the night. The only thing separating them from beasts was the shame that still lingered in their hearts.

In the silence of the alley, Yu Qian struggled to suppress his moans. The rough bricks scraped red marks across his back, as if the ancient city itself was scourging the sinners of forbidden love.

Zhu Qiyu slid a hand behind him for support. "Does it hurt?"

Yu Qian wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck, and Zhu Qiyu caught sight of his bitten, bleeding lips.

"Maybe we should put something between you and the wall," Zhu Qiyu whispered, "before it scrapes you raw."

Yu Qian shook his head fiercely, pressing his forehead into the curve of Zhu Qiyu’s neck.

"No," he said hoarsely.

"No. Let it hurt. Only if it hurts will I remember you. Only if it hurts will I never forget."

There was a tremor in Zhu Qiyu’s eyes. "...You don’t have to hurt like this," he wanted to say.

If forgetting me makes you happier, then forget me.

But Yu Qian bit into his neck before he could speak, then moved to his shoulder, sinking his teeth in harder.

"No," Yu Qian muttered against his skin.

"I don’t want to forget you."

Zhu Qiyu followed the line of his lover’s neck, seeing the dark bruises forming on his back.

"I don't want you to hurt," he said, voice almost breaking.

But Yu Qian kept biting. "I don't want to forget you."

When Yu Qian finally lifted his head, his eyes glistened faintly with tears.

"I am guilty," he whispered, "I have mental illness, I have lifestyle problems. Let the world say whatever it wants. All I know is…I love you. Only when I love you do I feel alive."

Alive.

Not in the grand vision of building the nation, not in the mechanical rhythm of being just another cog in the machine.

Of course, he loved his work, just as Zhu Qiyu loved their country.

But that wasn’t life.

Life was blood coursing through veins, organs living and pulsing, not political slogans clashing like armies.

Their lives belonged to a great cause that was inevitable.

But greedily, selfishly, Yu Qian wanted to stretch out his hand, reach beyond politics, and seize something.

Something to prove he was still alive.

From the moment he saw Zhu Qiyu on the banks of the Danube, he knew.
He belonged to him.

The young man's life shone like the sun itself, and Yu Qian could almost hear the blood rushing through his body.

He fell in love with him, inevitably and completely, as if falling into fate itself.

I belong to you, Zhu Qiyu.

And I know you love me too, like Andersen loved his fairy tales.

Our meeting is one of the few miracles this world still allows.

At four o'clock, the Belgrade sky had already begun to pale.

Zhu Qiyu helped Yu Qian dress, rummaging through his pockets.

"Sorry," he said, laughing a little, "I couldn’t find any tissues."

Yu Qian smiled back, forgiving him easily. "It’s alright. Let’s leave it that way."

Let it be a relic of their love.

Zhu Qiyu finished buttoning his shirt, then remembered the bag of peaches that had witnessed everything.

He pulled out the biggest one and offered it to Yu Qian.

"Peach?"

Yu Qian stared at it for a long time.

"It’s so red."

"Well, it’s a summer peach," Zhu Qiyu said gently.

Yu Qian took a bite.

The peach was soft, bursting with juice that ran down his fingers.

Zhu Qiyu stepped forward, caught his wrist, and licked the droplet away.

"It’s sweet," he said.

Yu Qian’s hand trembled, wrapped in Zhu Qiyu’s mouth. He shuddered violently at the heat.

Closing his eyes, he breathed out, "Zhu Qiyu."

Hearing his name, Zhu Qiyu looked up. He saw Yu Qian, slumped against the wall, trembling like he was reaching climax.

"You love me," Zhu Qiyu said simply, without a hint of doubt.

Yu Qian’s hand shook again. He handed the half-eaten peach to Zhu Qiyu.

Zhu Qiyu lowered his gaze. A deep bite mark marred the flesh, just like the marks now on his own collarbones.

The missing piece twisted the shape of the peach into something strange, something incomplete.

And Zhu Qiyu understood.

This peach he bit into—it’s me.

And I’m strange now because you’ve taken my heart away.

"You should go," Yu Qian said, still panting lightly against the wall. "I’ll wait for you in Beijing."

"Alright."

Zhu Qiyu picked up the bag of peaches and placed it carefully at Yu Qian’s feet.

"For you."

Yu Qian nodded, watching his young lover walk away.

That day, during his analytic geometry class, Zhu Qiyu caught sight of an airplane flying high overhead through the classroom window. He turned back to the blackboard, knowing it was time to pick up his problem sets again.

Two years later, Zhu Qiyu graduated from the University of Novi Sad as an outstanding student. On graduation day, Tolya, who was a year ahead of him, came back especially to see him, standing proudly with his beautiful Italian girlfriend.

"Добар пријатељ, да нисте појурили у Кину, позвао бих вас да попијете моје венчање! (Good friend, if you weren't rushing back to China, I would have invited you to my wedding!)"

Zhu Qiyu was packing his things when he heard this, and looked up in delight.
"Ты собираешься выйти замуж? (You’re getting married?)"

Tolya proudly introduced the girl beside him. "Наравно. Ово је моја вереница Јулија. Ви сте је видели раније. (Of course. This is my fiancée, Julija. You’ve seen her before.)"

Then he turned toward her and said, "Bella, ово је мој кинески пријатељ, има тешко кинеско име. Како се зове ...зху? (Bella, this is my Chinese friend. He has a hard-to-pronounce Chinese name. What was it...Zhu?)"

"朱祁钰," Zhu Qiyu said with a smile. "Почему вы называете свою невесту «другом»? (Why are you calling your fiancée a ‘friend’?)"

Tolya blinked, confused. "Када сам назвао Јулиет 'пријатељи'? (When did I call Julija a friend?)"

"Шта сте управо рекли, (You just said,)" Zhu Qiyu prompted him, "Bella."

"Ох, то није. (Oh, that's not it.)" Tolya scratched his head, laughing. "Кинески су погрешне филмове песмама. Певање је било 'Лепота, збогом', не знам зашто га кинески људи преведе у 'пријатеље, збогом'. (You Chinese are misled by film songs. The lyrics were originally ‘Beauty, farewell,’ not ‘Farewell, friends.’ I don't know why Chinese people translate it that way.)"

Zhu Qiyu froze. A strange sense of unease rose in his heart. "Је ли то тако...(Is that so...)" he murmured.

Tolya didn’t notice his discomfort. He patted Zhu Qiyu on the shoulder. "Да ли сте сутрашњи авион? (So you’re on tomorrow’s flight?)"

"Да, (Yes,)" Zhu Qiyu said, doing his best to sound cheerful. "Планирам касније да ходам на улици касније и на крају погледам град Београд. (I’m planning to walk around a bit later and have one last look at Belgrade.)"

"Ово је врло добро. (That's very good.)" Tolya smiled.

"Онда вам више нећемо сметати, (Then we won’t bother you any longer,)" he turned to look fondly at Julija, "Онда идемо на припрему за венчање! (Let’s go prepare for the wedding!)"

"Ок, честитам! (Okay, congratulations!)" Zhu Qiyu pulled out two pieces of candy and handed them over. "Желим ти слатко! (Wishing you sweetness!)"

"Хвала! (Thank you!)" Julija said brightly, "Такође желим вам и ваш љубавник среће! (And I wish happiness for you and your lover, too!)"

After Tolya and his fiancée left, Zhu Qiyu wandered alone through the streets of Belgrade. He bought a bag of peaches, as usual, eating as he walked.

When he reached the little alley where they had said goodbye, a Romani woman holding a child blocked his path.

"O țară străină, văd că vă confruntați cu o alegere. În curând plecați aici, dar după plecare, vă va aștepta o doom. (Stranger from a foreign land, I see you are facing a choice. Soon you will leave this place, but after you leave, doom awaits you.)"

Zhu Qiyu didn't understand her language and tried to step around her, but the woman kept speaking urgently.

"Știu ce îți pasă. Dar nu este doamna iubirii, ci doamna vieții. Dacă nu puteți pleca aici, este posibil să fiți capabil să evitați acest tip de doamne. (I know what you care about. But it’s not the lady of love that concerns you, but the lady of life. If you don’t leave here, you might avoid that fate.)"

Zhu Qiyu couldn’t make sense of her words, but seeing her anxious expression and the child in her arms, he guessed she might be asking for food. He reached into his paper bag and handed her a peach.

"У меня нет ничего, это для тебя. (I have nothing else. This is for you.)"

Unexpectedly, the Romani woman took the peach and smashed it hard onto the ground. The flesh burst open on impact, juice splattering onto the stone-red walls. She stamped her foot at the mess and cried out:

"Asta e, asta este! (That’s it, that’s it!)"

Stunned, Zhu Qiyu stared at the crushed peach and the dirt-smeared pit. When he looked up again, the Romani woman had already disappeared into the distance.

Through the entire month of June, Yu Qian waited, but the person who had promised to meet him at eight o'clock never came. Another month passed—and still, nothing.

All through 1985, and even into 1986, he never saw Zhu Qiyu again.

He had tried investigating the department that had sent Zhu abroad, but after making inquiries, he received no news.

At that point, the only step left was to find Zhu’s family—yet Zhu had never told him his mother's name.

Yu Qian fell into a state of anxious helplessness. He even thought about flying straight to Yugoslavia to search for him, but he could not get the necessary approvals from his unit; after all, he lacked any "reasonable" justification.

In the end, he turned to the newspapers and tried to post a missing person notice. But perhaps the editors believed there were more urgent cases—missing children, perhaps—so by the time Yu Qian's notice finally made it into print, it was already 1987.

On those many sleepless nights, Yu Qian would sometimes wonder whether Zhu Qiyu had fallen in love with someone else, or simply forgotten their promise.
But he quickly dismissed such thoughts.

He wouldn't forget me, Yu Qian knew.

From the moment their eyes met on the banks of the Danube, he had known he would never forget this young man—and Zhu Qiyu, he believed, would never forget him either.

He trusted Zhu Qiyu's love as firmly as he trusted his own.

Those chosen by the god of love do not turn back.

Then why hasn't he come to find me?

Yu Qian could not understand.

In the spring of 1992, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, and Slovenia declared independence.

The Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was officially dissolved.

When Yu Qian saw the news, he was utterly stunned.

He sent letters to the University of Novi Sad—first addressed to Zhu Qiyu, then to the mathematics department, and finally to the university president.

He had no idea if any of those letters would ever be received or read.

But he clung to hope like a drowning man grasping at a blade of grass.

No, Yugoslavia could not collapse.

If even a vast country could fall apart, what about the people who had once lived in it?

How was he supposed to find him?

Like a shattered peach that could never return to its original form, the past could not be pieced back together.

In the vast sea of humanity, Yu Qian never saw Zhu Qiyu again.

He never even heard his name.

As time wore on, he even began to doubt whether Zhu Qiyu had ever existed at all. Had the six weeks they spent together in Belgrade been just a dream of his own making?

Did I really love? Yu Qian asked himself.

Yes, he had loved.

That much he could never deny.

He had been loved, too.

But who was the one I loved—and who loved me?

Where was he now?

Had he lost his way?

Would he ever find his way home again?

Yu Qian would never know.

Yu Qian was, in a way, fortunate.

He never witnessed the bombs falling on Belgrade in 1999, never saw the deaths and the helpless cries that followed.

Had he seen it, his heart would surely have shattered.

Before that terrible summer arrived, he had already fallen, honorably, at his post.

Those who later arranged his affairs said that, on the nightstand in Yu Bu's home, there stood a small statue of Cupid.

In Cupid’s hand, held a single rose.

Yu Qian went to his death without ever finding the answer to that question.

In truth, fate had given him the answer long ago—he simply never saw it.

On June 12, 1985, tucked into the narrow columns of the Beijing Evening News—the section usually reserved for missing persons and lost-and-found notices—a small piece of news appeared, something that did not quite seem to belong there:

"A Yugoslav passenger plane crashes, all aboard confirmed dead."

What had forced that piece of news into such a forgotten corner of the paper?

The headline of the Beijing Evening News that day read:

"Deep Mourning for the Great Mathematician Hua Luogeng."

The End.