She didn’t think his little room was particularly ugly, and only complained that he didn’t have so much as a glass of water to drink. Dunhuang ran to a nearby shop for some mineral water and green tea. The room was small, with one of them on the chair and the other on the bed their knees were practically touching. Dunhuang felt awkward — Qibao was wearing a skirt, and though it was a long one, he could still sense her skin every time their legs bumped. He was having trouble coming up with things to talk about. He told her to pick out a few more movies to borrow and had just opened his bag when Huang called, asking him to deliver his DVDs. Dunhuang asked Qibao to wait, he’d be right back.
Dunhuang jogged all the way to the dormitory building, where Huang was waiting to lead him upstairs. Some of his classmates had to write film criticism essays and needed DVDs. It took him more than half an hour to talk to everyone and write down the names of the movies they needed and then get back to his room. When he pushed open the door, Qibao let out a scream, fumbling with the remote in her hand, her face bright red. Dunhuang glanced at the TV screen and saw she had pressed the wrong button — instead of stopping the movie she’d paused it, and a naked man and woman were frozen in each other’s arms on the screen. Mortified, Qibao threw the remote away from her. Dunhuang felt it was his responsibility to dispel her embarrassment, and as he picked up the remote from the floor he said,
“What are you screeching for, it’s just porn! I was watching this earlier. Why don’t we watch it together?”
“Piss off, I’m not watching that with you!” Qibao relaxed visibly.
“You’ll regret it one day, once you’re too old and worn out to bother.”
Dunhuang parked himself with exaggerated nonchalance next to Qibao, and pressed play. She’d had it on mute, but he turned up the sound — he was going all in. Qibao sat motionless, and neither of them spoke. They sat frozen upright, staring at the screen, as though they’d lost the ability to turn their heads. The couple on the screen moved fluidly, their cries and moans swelling and fading, filling the small room. They sat on the edge of the bed like two slabs of marble, only gradually becoming aware of the other’s breathing. Dunhuang moved a bit, Qibao moved a bit. Their knees touched. His heart in his throat, Dunhuang left his knee where it was, as though it had nothing to do with him. Then they slowly turned toward each other, eyes and faces on fire, and Qibao pulled him to her.
Qibao said, “Dunhuang. Dunhuang.”
Dunhuang said, “Qibao. Qibao.”
Then things got messy — as messy as they were onscreen.
Qibao stripped with a speed that shocked Dunhuang, and even more shocking was what came next. “Wild” might describe it. He had no chance to use what he’d learned with Xiaorong — all that was too quiet, too proper, he was always one step behind. This was mano-a-mano. When she was on top Dunhuang felt as though a torrential river was raging over him — he completely forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Then, the river returned to earth and he was floating in softness, in abundance.
The onscreen tussle had also concluded, replaced by a pure, flat blue, as quiet as death.
Qibao patted his face and said, “You sure are young.” What the fuck did that mean?
“I made three or four hundred phone calls before I found you,” said Dunhuang.
“Three or four hundred phone calls, just for this?” Qibao laughed, somewhat lewdly.
Dunhuang rolled off her. “Bao Ding told me to look after you.”
“Could you not keep fucking bringing him up? He doesn’t own me. We just slept together, it’s nothing. What right does he have to tell you to look after me?” She sat up and started getting dressed.
“Are you leaving?” Dunhuang sat up too, and began retrieving her clothes from the floor. “I’ll see you out.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Qibao said, tossing the clothes back on the floor. “I’m not leaving, I’m staying here tonight!”
And she meant it. They went out for dinner, and came back together. They watched an old Stephen Chow movie, Hail the Judge, then had another round in bed. In the late-night stillness, Qibao held Dunhuang. She said, “Holding you feels really solid.”
“I’m skinny now,” Dunhuang said. “If I were fatter it would feel even more solid.”
“Shut up, you joker! I mean, when I hold you I feel anchored. Sometimes, when I’m alone, I can’t cry, even when I want to. You know what I mean?”
“I hardly have time to laugh, why would I cry?”
“You men — you’re stupid!”
“Why don’t you just find someone to marry?”
“Oh it’s that easy, is it?”
“Is it hard? If no one else is willing, I guess I could be convinced.”
“Dream on! What about money? With you I’d be eating sand.”
“That’s true.”
They didn’t say anything else, and fell asleep in each others’ arms. Dunhuang dreamed that Xiaorong was standing on a pedestrian overpass, shouting his name, the way he’d once shouted hers. Tears were streaming down her face as she called, and then she floated off the bridge like an old piece of clothing. Dunhuang woke covered in sweat. Qibao was sleeping soundly, her head in his armpit, smacking her lips lightly. Seen this way, eating even in her dreams, Qibao really looked only twenty-three. Dunhuang held her tightly. Just like she’d said — he wanted to cry but couldn’t.
* * *
Dunhuang tried not to think about Bao Ding. Restock. Sell DVDs. Call Qibao when he missed her. When she wanted to come over he’d go home and wait there. When she wanted him to come out he’d put down whatever he was doing and run or take the bus to where she was. His routines were regular but hers weren’t — it was impossible for a fake ID seller to have routines. She had a lot of friends she went carousing with, and she came home at all hours — sometimes, when he called at midnight, she was still out. He urged her to be careful, it wasn’t safe for a girl to come home too late by herself. She said she’d be happier dead anyway.
He had been sorting DVDs when she said that. “That’s a nice way to talk. What if you were assaulted?”
“Do you mean for money or for sex?”
“What do you think?”
“If they’re after money I don’t have any. If they’re after sex. . well it’s about time to start shopping around, anyway.”
“You’re determined to drive me crazy!”
Qibao was intently painting her toenails black, and didn’t even look up. “Look at you, worried about this, worried about that. Even if no one else drives you crazy you’ll do it to yourself.”
That made Dunhuang pause, and he put down what he was doing. He was fucking twenty-five years old — when had he become such a nag? But after he berated himself he couldn’t help adding, “But seriously, how about we rent a place together? You could quit the ID business — they’re coming down harder on it lately.”
“Hell no,” Qibao said, kicking her legs in the air. “You stay in your place, I’ll stay in mine. I’m not interested in controlling anyone, and I sure as hell don’t want to be in anyone else’s pocket.”
“Look at where you’re living — that girl’s screeches are horrible.” Dunhuang was talking about the roommate. One night, Qibao told him to come over because her roommate wasn’t going to be home. He went, but in the middle of the night the girl came back after all, and brought a guy with her. Then it was shouting and moaning all night, as though she’d brought back a dozen guys — Dunhuang hadn’t slept a wink.
“God, so she yells a bit when she’s happy, what’s wrong with that? Not everyone’s like you, plowing away in silence.”
Dunhuang held his peace, watching Qibao minister to her toes. “I just care about you. You’re my girlfriend, after all.”