Male God fanfic: Rong Si’s parents Part 3

maripaz: Is Rong Si’s mom just a flighty vixen? And where did she run off to? It’s time for her side of the story! Her thought process is scattered and her story ends up being pretty outrageous so this part turned out quite long. Also, anyone with medical knowledge, knowledge of the arts or knowledge of mental disorders might find it easier to turn off that part of their brain while reading! I took a lot of liberties and… basically made a lot of stuff up. -_-;;

Part 3: Lin Feiyun

I stood in front of the calendar and smiled. It was that day again. Even though I felt a hole in my heart, I couldn’t repress the smile that bubbled up. Or was it the other way around? I was genuinely happy, and the happiness made me sad.

Lots to do today. I had already bought most of the groceries I’d need, just need to get some last-minute seafood items, but that could be done later in the day. My flurry of activities would start in the afternoon, and as always, I would spend the morning in peace.

Underneath the calendar was his picture, and I stared at his beautiful, ugly face as a lump formed in my throat. He had a prominent scar from childhood that was obvious but not dominant, and one mostly noticed how open and plain his face was. It’s no secret that westerners cannot tell Chinese people apart, and Yitu could definitely be classified as one of those generic, Asian people faces.

At least, until you met him in person. Then his eyes would light up and crinkle with wickedness. His wide lips would part, and his smile would bring you home with him. Comfort. But not too comfortable. He could always keep you on your toes with his wit.

I gave him a smile, wished him good morning, and then moved on to the studio. I watered the plants and said hi to all his last pieces of art that I had amassed into this one room. Actually, it was very well organized. I had paintings put into rotation, and his sculptures neatly arranged at different eye levels around the room. My own work, whatever I was currently doing, was always in the middle of the room, where I could swivel around and meet inspiration at every corner.

I was currently working on an abstract painting, a mash-up of traditional chinese calligraphy and the abstract sensuousness of the American painter Georgia O’Keeffe. I had selected as inspiration a clay sculpture by Yitu, an amorphous blob of bodies (or was it?) that was at once sensuous and disgusting.

You felt dirty looking at it but also wickedly pleased. I always thought of an old grandmother with saggy breasts. You feel embarrassed at first glance, but then you think of the grandmother in her prime, how unabashed she is about her body, how confident she was and is, and you secretly titter at her. Grandma knows what you’re thinking, and she gives you a conspiratorial smile. She’s not dead yet.

Haha! Yitu’s art always reminded me of this. The beauty of life around us, in both the good and bad, the conventionally pretty, the aggressively ugly.

In a good mood, I set about getting my breakfast ready. Just a cup of tea and a biscuit. And then I set about reminiscing and remembering my days with Yitu.

I met him at a low point in my life. Not my lowest point, haha! So many of those! But still a low point, and I walked into his art class with no expectations. I just wanted to kill time, force myself to socialize and maybe not sit in a corner of the room crying.

But then he bounded in. He didn’t even say anything. He did a weird little jig and then started acting as a traditional Chinese opera performer and then a monkey. Then he pointed to the student next to him and gestured with his smile and hands to join him.

As a monkey? The student was so confused. He hesitantly made some monkey gestures, his face completely red but his eyes kind of laughing, and Yitu groaned, made an exaggerated No movement, pointed to his heart, to the student’s heart and kind of waved his arms around. “What’s in your heart?” His actions were completely clear.

And so it was that we all went around, pushed the chairs and tables out to the side and acted out our heart’s desires. All while being mostly silent, except for a few caws and sounds. (Someone’s deepest desire was, apparently, to be a crow.) At the end of the class, we were all laughing, giddy and completely at ease with each other. Yitu gave a rare, but not so rare smile and officially began the class.

I was hooked! The classes were a revelation, and I could tell the other students thought so too. There was such a camaraderie that had sprung up from that first impromptu, improvisational class. We knew instinctively that there would be no judgement there. We were free to be ourselves, and the art– it is so cliche. It flowed!

The classes themselves had little structure. If you wanted structure, it was there. Yitu gave out topics beforehand, was well-prepared and always had a lot of interesting background information to share and to shape how the assignment should be viewed. But the structure was just a guideline.

If you wanted to follow his guideline, his assignment, how he viewed the art and what he had planned for us, you could. Or you could just do your own thing, interpret it however, sit and chat with a friend if you had something on your mind. It was our space, to do whatever we needed to do to get our creativity out, to have an outlet and release.

I did not partake as freely in the camaraderie. I was friendly with everyone, listened when needed and quipped with everyone, but I largely did my art and kept my own life private. Yitu would come around, as he did to everyone in the class, and we would banter, discuss the art and exchange some harmless pleasantries. He would leave, and I would feel so happy, like I had a genuine friend at last, even though in my head, I thought, “He does this with everyone! The man would have a billion friends if he could get around to everyone in China.”

No matter. The classes made me happy. I didn’t need preferential treatment or special consideration from him. But then one night, I happened to be one of the last ones to leave the class. I normally left early, a little guilty that I had left my family to have this selfish alone time, but I was quite immersed in what I was drawing that night and kept thinking, “Just a little longer. It should be OK.”

Everyone was leaving, and I started to feel a little panicked that I would have to break this flow of drawing that I was in. My strokes were getting a little erratic, and Yitu gently walked over and placed his hand on the canvas.

“Feiyun.” I looked up, wide-eyed and guilt-ridden.

“There’s no one else using this room for the night. You can stay and finish what you want. I’ll be there in the corner.” “Don’t worry. I don’t have a life so you are not bothering or inconveniencing me.”

I blinked, and one side of my head told me I should be modest, decline and go back home like a good wife. But I looked at him boldly, nodded curtly and said, “Thank you.”

And then I went back to painting in peace. I painted in peace, but my mind and body were in turmoil. Or, it was very odd. A part of me was in peace. The picture in my head and my arm were in harmony, and the brush moved of its own accord. The rest of my mind and my heart were awash in guilt and uncertainty.

Actually, it was a small part. Most of me was happy, but that small lump of guilt was quite insidious. “Go home. Go home! You loose woman. How can you be alone with a man this late at night? You have a baby at home and a man who works himself to the bone to support you and let you gallivant about drawing every week!”

OK, Rong Si was not a baby at the time, but he basically stopped growing in my head after kindergarten.

I had the presence of mind in the beginning to call Rong Cheng and let him know that I was staying late to finish a painting so I felt pretty free to finish drawing in peace.

When I was done, I put the brush down and sighed contentedly. I looked at the picture, and aside from those few, erratic brush strokes from before, which were kind of hidden and only visible to my eye, it was exactly as I had envisioned it in my head. It was bold and beautiful, and I felt peace and strength when I looked at it.

I had no idea how late it was and had forgotten that Cheng Yitu was actually in the same room with me and had been waiting for me all night. I looked around apologetically and found him staring at me and the painting from his corner of the room. He was partially hidden in the dark since the light bulb in that corner had burned out, and for the first time, I saw his face without a smile on it.

He was staring at me and the painting in a strange way, vulnerable and almost afraid. My old radar immediately went up. I could almost always tell when a guy started to like me, and although it had been a long time, and I was not quite sure, the dusty antennae picked up a little ping.

It alarmed me, and as my eyes narrowed and I looked at him again, his normal expression came back, and he strode over with a smile.

“It’s really beautiful,” he said, with a bright but wistful look in his eye. “I’m sorry if I scared you back there. Your piece reminded me of a turbulent time in my life. It was also bold and beautiful, like your painting. But also very troubled. I couldn’t help remembering.” He turned to me and smiled. “What do you think of it?”

I looked at the painting again. “It also reminds me of a rough time in my life. But in my head, I remember it as bold and beautiful.”

I smiled and looked up at him. It was subconscious. I hadn’t meant to give him that smile, but it came out. Instead of blinding him, he took it in stride and rewarded me with a deep, private smile of his own.

“Oh my gosh,” I had thought, and then I had a faint impression that I was a goner.

I tried to keep more of a distance after that, but I also subconsciously pulled out all the old tricks. I knew which smiles of mine were irresistible to people and I knew precisely when to act coy, vulnerable, open, lighthearted, inscrutable. I definitely captured the hearts of the other people in the class when I finally opened up and unleashed Lin Feifei.

However, I was also constantly at war with myself. I liked the class, and I liked being myself, but I also felt like a fraud. I felt so guilty going back home to that prison trap, wondered why I couldn’t be happy there, why I couldn’t be myself, why I had to be so happy in that strange space and not at home.

As the real me started leaking out, I could also tell that Yitu was starting to fall for me as well. I saw his struggles and knew he was trying to keep his feelings in check and maintain a distance. Like me, he failed.

Some nights he looked a little unwell, and he would ask if I could stay after and help him clean up. Of course, he only asked because I also lingered after class a little longer than everyone else. We were both unsure of what we were doing. And to be fair, we didn’t do anything on those nights.

We talked or drew. I found out that when I had been experimenting with my college “art” crowd, he had actually been doing the things we were only thinking and talking about. He didn’t go into detail (that would not have been proper at the time), but even without disclosing details, we both talked about that time in our lives with joy and a head-shaking, I-can’t-believe-I-did-that air.

We shared our thoughts and feelings, and it was so nice. It really felt like I was getting closer with a best friend. Except that he was male, I was female, and I was getting more and more attracted to him. At one point, I told my husband that I was falling for him, and when he responded with his usual hug and no-response, I sort of felt like that was permission to like Yitu more. !_!

Finally, things were getting really unbearable. And Rong Cheung told me to just go to him. I felt so free! I knew I shouldn’t. I should stay home and take care of Rong Si, but I was so happy. Why was the happiness so wrong? Rong Cheng gave me a little smile, and somehow, I felt like he had made peace with the fact that I didn’t love him anymore and that he didn’t need to hold onto me anymore.

I rushed to Cheng Yitu that night. I knew his home address and rang the doorbell with a giddiness. When he opened the door, I bounded in and told him we could be together, my husband had given me permission.

His face was horror-stricken, and for a second, I panicked. Was I wrong? Did he not like me? OH MY God!!!!! But he looked at me with blood-shot eyes and said, “Feiyun. I have AIDS.”

WHAT?!?!:!::!!! I didn’t even know what he was talking about. I can’t believe he kept his cool long enough to explain to me, like a child, what that even meant. He had just found out the news that day and was still processing it himself.

Apparently, in his helter-skelter days, he had gotten HIV. His past was truly drama-worthy. He grew up in a wealthy family and began to question if he was gay in high school. When he came out to his family, they disowned him, and that was when he fell into the art crowd. This was the turbulent time he had spoken of before as he bounced from partner to partner, eventually landing with a “sponsor” who kept him as a sort of pet.

The sponsor was wealthy and well-connected and introduced him to the art scene that my college friends and I only aspired to. He continued in sort of a drug-fueled haze, partying himself into oblivion and “doing art” until one day he was contacted by his family lawyer.

His parents had passed away, one after the other, and while his father had disinherited him, his mother had reinstated him as the heir to their wealth. Her last letter to him detailed how much she loved him and how she had wanted to rail against his father’s decision but could not. He had tied up the estate so that Yitu’s mom could not share their fortune with Yitu while she was living, and so she had written Yitu as her heir and slowly wasted herself away.

It’s unclear why she didn’t try to contact him during this time, but I always figured Yitu had to have gotten his dramatic streak from somewhere.

Grief-stricken with his mother’s letter and guilt-stricken with her admonition that he “live properly”, he left the underground art scene, took the money to set up an art foundation, studied the arts and began teaching art classes, which I then attended.

Which brings us to that day. He had been feeling progressively sicker the months before, and when he finally went to the hospital for some persistent mouth sores, they actually recommended testing for HIV. That day he had just gotten off the phone with the doctor who informed him that he had full-blown AIDS.

He must have contracted HIV in his experimental days, and it had lain dormant until that time. His mother’s timely letter had allowed him to get his life back on track and take up healthier habits. That likely contributed to how long the virus stayed dormant in him. But it always wins in the end.

And so it was that just when I was prepared to spend the rest of my happy days with him, I instead spent the rest of his days managing his illness and hiding it from his grandmother.

I know!! There were more twists to his life!! His parents had passed away, but he still had a living grandmother. After hearing the diagnosis, I felt sure there were drugs or something he could take that could slow the progression of the disease, but he would have none of it! He said his grandma would find out what he actually had (through connections with the hospital, or something?) and so he spent the rest of his life pretending he had cancer!!!

It didn’t make any sense to me, but he said if he was treated for AIDS, that made it more real and left more of a trail that his grandmother could then find. Instead, we “made up” a liver cancer diagnosis and lied to his grandma that he was getting treatment from excellent doctors that he had found himself (i.e. he did not need his grandma’s physicians).

Somehow the old lady bought it and never suspected anything… She died a bit after Yitu did and actually grew quite fond of me. I don’t know why she never asked us to get married.

The rest of the time, I inhaled Cheng Yitu’s life. I went back to Rong Cheng, explained everything and told him I would be nursing Yitu personally. When his condition worsened, Rong Si was old enough to look after himself, and I moved into Yitu’s house.

We didn’t know anything about AIDS at the time. We thought even kissing would transmit the disease to me, and so we did everything except exchange any type of bodily fluids. It was hard. It was a hard time, but I remember it with such joy.

We talked about everything. I washed his body when he grew weak, nursed him as he wasted away. I met all of his friends, so many, as they stopped by to reminisce or chat. Somehow the knowledge that his time with us would be short impelled us to do whimsical things and brought us closer together, faster.

We had dim sum picnics where I would buy various hawker food or prepare some myself, and we would eat inside in a mock street market setup. As his condition worsened, we did everything possible to bring the outside in, and under his companionship, I confronted my past and made peace with my bipolar tendencies.

I opened up, accepted myself. I loved his friends and felt so comfortable and confident with them. When the crazy thoughts came back, Yitu found some incredible ways to manage them! Only him! I was still so happy.

What happened to him was unfair, but I rarely thought of it like that. We had a beautiful time together, and after he passed away, I just continued as I had been living. I took up control of his art foundation, I wasn’t very interested in teaching, but our old class continued to get together and stay in touch. His friends became my friends, and I live a balanced, carefree artist’s life.

Somehow I became a mentor to the younger artists in our crowd. I guess being financially free is pretty helpful as I can flit about and do what I want. When someone is struggling, I can help because my own needs are so well met. I can dispense advice because my own life is trouble free.

Even today, which should be a sad day, will be a joyous one because we’ll be doing our ritual dim sum picnic. I’ll get the food ready and as people come in, we’ll sit, chat and talk about Yitu, his life, our life, what’s been going on. I love it. I guess even in death, he transferred his life to me and gave me the path to happiness.

But enough reminiscing. I must get ready for the party! As I move to clear the ledge, my eyes are caught by a red envelope. I pick it up, and I know what’s underneath. An invitation.

After much consideration, on [Lunar Calendar Date] [Gregorian Calendar Date] (Saturday), the eldest son: Rong Si and eldest daughter: Li Erqin will have their wedding ceremony at [venue] …

And like that, my bubble is burst. My heart clenches into that familiar grip. I thought I had left those feelings behind long ago. But Oh, Rong Si…

---

maripaz: This part was mostly about introducing Cheng Yitu (and maybe trying to gain some sympathy for her), and it’s in the next part that she starts reminiscing on her painful past with Rong Cheng.

[Part 2] [Table of Contents] [Part 4]