EGRV 43 | The Gift

[This was the best thing he could give him.]

The thrill of victory is far more restorative than bed rest. When Chi Yu had his check-up three weeks later, the doctor gave him the green light and told him he could resume normal training. But in those three weeks, too much had happened.

Not long after he returned home that day, he opened his computer and saw an email in his inbox. It was from Summit. A staff member from their PR team, responsible for brand endorsements, had contacted him, wanting to schedule a call first. The call came to his cell phone from the Canadian team; the employee herself was based in Whistler, and it was clear from her voice that she was a seasoned ski enthusiast who had done her homework. She knew his background and could recite the medals he had previously won.

Having been “led on” by Rossignol when he was eighteen or nineteen, Chi Yu wasn’t overly excited. At the time, he just thought it was a coincidence, because the New Year’s gift he had received two weeks prior was a blue jacket from Summit, which seemed to be a sign of something. He even told Liang Muye, who wasn’t surprised and said he would treat him to dinner. He had said quite proudly at the time, “See, I told you the new year would be better.”

His relationship with Liang Muye was different from before the new year. They didn’t talk much, never as deeply as they had that one night, but they spent more time together. Every evening they met, they would have sex. Liang Muye would hold him down from behind or pull him in face-to-face. It always began with a tacit understanding, became intense and breathless in the middle, and ended with intimacy, an excessive intimacy.

This relationship could probably be considered friends with benefits, mutually desired, but the things they did together went far beyond just that.

Liang Muye took him to Squamish a few more times. Chi Yu, with his right arm still in a sling, even tried bouldering on a simple route, a classic beginner’s outdoor climb in Squamish named ‘The Titanic’ because the strange rock resembled the bow of a ship. Huang He, who was also in his early twenties, loved this route. He said that although it was simple, only a V2 in a climbing gym, it was elegant and exquisite. 

“You don’t need a high mountain to have a good line,” Huang He had said with a look of fascination. He even taught Chi Yu the “left-hand solution” on the side, telling him to watch the beta.

Left arm straight, switch the right foot on the hold to the left foot, push up with the left hand, then lift the right foot, grab the hold above and to the left with the left hand, pull the body up, then follow with the left foot…

Chi Yu finally got a taste of what it was like to be one of his own students—his eyes learned it, but his hands couldn’t. No matter how strong he was, his power came from his legs. With just one hand, he couldn’t support his entire body weight. He jumped down, leaned against the soft crash pad, and smilingly asked Huang He to climb ‘The Titanic’ for him one more time.

In the end, the two of them got yelled at by Zheng Chengling, who had rushed over. Zheng Chengling said Chi Yu had competitions coming up and shouldn’t risk another fall.

Liang Muye, however, trusted him. At the time, he was filming footage of Pan Yige training from a distance, with his camera set up on the ground, turning back to smile at Chi Yu from time to time. Just like in The Funnel, just like in the Diamond Bowl, an adventurer recognizes his own kind in the eyes of another; he knew Chi Yu knew his own limits.

At the end of the day, he would sleep in Liang Muye’s room. The dynamic rope was coiled in a heap, cams and quickdraws were scattered on the floor, and the cinema lens was set up in a corner of the room. Nothing had been put away. When night came, they were naked, squeezed onto the narrow single bed. That day, his left hand was so sore he could barely hold a knife and fork. Lying in bed, he was serviced by Liang Muye the entire night.

After entering him, Liang Muye wrapped his arms around his neck, touching the love bites he had left there. But then he suddenly lifted his body, looked down at him, and said, “Let me film you.”

Chi Yu looked up and saw the cinema camera set up in the corner, startled, and immediately broke free from his embrace.

Liang Muye found his jumpy reaction amusing and explained, “Not now. I mean, film you skiing.”

Chi Yu asked him what he would use and how he would film it. They had come in too hastily, and the C300 hadn’t been put away yet; it was collecting dust in a corner of the room.

Liang Muye pushed his head back into the pillow and, while fucking him from behind, slowly told him, “Not with this big guy. I’ll use my Nikon.”

Chi Yu turned back and asked him, “You’ll follow me and film? Can you even keep up?” His tone was casual, with a hint of smugness, like a challenge.

Liang Muye’s penis was buried deep inside him. The bridge of his nose rested against his neck as he said, “I won’t move. I’ll shoot from a fixed position.”

Chi Yu replied, “Not afraid I’ll spray your lens with snow?”

Liang Muye ground against that sensitive spot that made him unbearably aroused and said, “Then Coach Chi should try to control himself, don’t get too wild.”

Chi Yu held his breath, arched his back, and took the large member in deeper. He responded, “I’ll try my best. Are your hands steady?”

Liang Muye reached out, tracing a line down his groin to his swollen penis, and relieved his desire stroke by stroke, whispering into his left ear, “My hands are very steady. I also have a stabilizer.”

Chi Yu didn’t have a comeback this time.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. His calves trembled, and his voice quivered. Mimicking the way Huang He had called him during the day, he gasped by his ear, softly calling him Director Liang.

Liang Muye cursed under his breath. This time he couldn’t hold back and came first, deep inside him.

Chi Yu vaguely remembered that just before climaxing, he had said, “Okay, film me. It’s good to leave something behind.”

He felt the person behind him pause for a moment, but he didn’t answer.

He hadn’t expected Liang Muye to be a man of his word and actually want to film him.

One evening in early February, Chi Yu was closing up at Mr. Yu’s shop when a car pulled into a street parking spot in front. He knew it was Liang Muye just from the sound of the engine.

The man walked in wearing a black shell jacket, braving the light snow, carrying a box of ramen in his hand.

Chi Yu didn’t know how he knew he hadn’t eaten, or how he knew he was still at the shop.

As he was devouring the noodles with his head down, Liang Muye suddenly said, “How about we go to the back mountain tomorrow to film you skiing off-piste?”

Chi Yu remembered the circumstances under which they had last discussed this and blushed a little. He quickly lowered his head and took a few more bites to hide it, only then willing to look up and say, “What I said that day… I wasn’t joking. Can you keep up with me? I don’t want any accidents.”

In the past few weeks, Liang Muye’s snowboarding skills had improved rapidly, far surpassing ninety percent of the people he had ever taught. But off-piste was still off-piste, a place where risk and challenge coexisted.

“I can ski,” he finally said. 

“Haven’t done it in years, but I can.”

Of course. Liang Yichuan was a freestyle skier, one of the top athletes in the country; his older brother couldn’t be too bad.

Chi Yu put down his food container and said, “Alright. Do you have a favorite pair of skis? I’ll let the boss know and grab you a new pair from the shop.”

Liang Muye smiled, thanked him, and said, “Atomic Bent 100, 180cm. Do you have them? If not, a little shorter is fine too.”

As expected. Just from the name, it was clear these weren’t skis for beginners. The Atomic powder artist series had gorgeous graphics; he had good taste.

Chi Yu nodded and asked Liang Muye to follow him to the storage room to get the skis. There were ready-to-rent skis in the warehouse, but he didn’t even glance at them. The Board Shop had been receiving next season’s sample skis from various manufacturers over the past few weeks. Chi Yu, well-practiced, walked to the Atomic pile and pulled out a brand new pair of Bent Chetler 184s from the plastic wrap.

“Take the BCs. The snow will be deep off-piste tomorrow.”

Liang Muye was quite surprised. 

“They’re brand new.”

The best people deserve the best gear. Chi Yu didn’t own much himself, and he wanted to give this pair of skis directly to him, as a clumsy farewell gift. But he might not accept them. And he probably didn’t need them.

Chi Yu just glanced at him, nodded, and didn’t respond.

That night, Liang Muye waited for him to finish closing up the shop before leaving. As they stepped outside, Chi Yu put on his New Year’s gift, the blue Summit jacket. He looked down and only then noticed that Liang Muye was also wearing a black Summit jacket—the same lightweight material, even the pocket placements matched. It was the same model as his.

It seemed Zheng Chengling’s gift was a one-for-one, wholesale deal. But why Summit…

It was on the drive home that Chi Yu realized something.

The night after he had the call with the Summit Canada brand endorsement team, the employee who had contacted him directly added him on Instagram and sent him a private message, again expressing her admiration and hope for a collaboration. Chi Yu hadn’t followed her back at the time; he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

He opened his phone to follow her back and only then discovered another person in the list of followers who was a mutual friend of both him and this employee: Zheng Chengling.

So he followed Zheng Chengling back as well. Clicking on his profile, he saw that Zheng Chengling’s bio clearly stated “Summit China.” In the photos below, the Summit logo was visible in every one. A quick computer search of Zheng Chengling’s name revealed that he was the marketing manager for Summit China.

It was definitely not just a coincidence.

Thinking back, during the days he spent in Squamish, he had seen several of the climbing team members decked out in Summit gear from head to toe. He remembered the drive back to the city after the competition a few weeks ago, when Liang Muye had insisted on taking him past the Squamish cabin. At the time, he had only said it was to hand over the keys and see a friend. The real purpose, he finally understood. Back then, he had thought Liang Muye was ignoring his feelings after a night of fun, even using him as a trophy to show off. But he had been too naive.

The end of February was approaching day by day. They had never spoken of what that final day would be. Chi Yu had been avoiding this topic with unprecedented determination and perseverance. But how could avoidance ever be worthy of his kindness?

Chi Yu sighed, finally making up his mind. He rummaged through a corner of his room and found a few things he had treasured for a long time. The few simple Polaroid photos they had taken at the foot of the mountain, one of Liang Yichuan’s ski journals, and that Doraemon piggy bank. It was money Liang Yichuan had saved behind Liang Jiansheng’s back. To keep it hidden from his father and the rest of the family, he had kept it all at Chi Yu’s place.

Inside the Doraemon piggy bank, there were two thousand, one hundred and forty dollars and three cents. Chi Yu took it out and counted it, piece by piece. From the day he came home from the hospital to the day of Liang Yichuan’s funeral, he had counted it countless times, afraid of missing a single coin.

When he first started his recovery, he hadn’t found a job yet. If it weren’t for Mr. Yu letting him work at the ski shop, he would have almost missed his rent that month. At that time, he was prepared to sleep in the trunk of his car for half a month, waiting until he could walk again to find another job to earn some quick cash. Even then, he never thought of touching that two thousand dollars. Unfortunately, he never had the chance to personally hand these things over to Liang Yichuan’s family.

Their ending had already been written three years ago; he couldn’t escape it. Since there would come a day when the truth had to be told, it was better to tell him the whole truth then, and return to him all the memories that belonged to Liang Yichuan.

This was the best thing he could give him.