Zhou Xiwei wakes up three times during the night– twice, to the sound of someone (Qian Li, probably) vomiting, and once, near dawn, when the temperature unscientifically drops so low that he’s forced to dig for warmth and pile random extra blankets around himself like a small animal in a burrow. Tropical climate? He was lied to! Lied to, he says!
But he’s quickly dragged back to sleep each time– the beautiful sleep of someone emotionally and physically exhausted. The sleep of the dead, if you want to be macabre about it.
…
Zhou Xiwei wakes up in a completely un-macabre mood.
In the light of day, with his sister drool-snoring barely two arm lengths away from him, how can he not feel full of optimism and warmth? He reflects on all that happened the night before, and can’t help but feel that everything, even the ominous gray clouds and the untreated pine furniture, is simply beautiful.
Their ship capsized, far from any known shore, and every last one of them made it through alright. Everyone he loves, and several people he doesn’t, are completely fine. That doesn’t happen, that’s a miracle– that and being in warm, masculine clothing is enough to see him greet the day with something close to glee.
Like last night was just a fever dream.
But maybe he’s the only one– when he opens his door, he finds everyone else’s still closed. Seems he’s the first person awake? ‘Lazybones,’ his mom would call them. God rest her soul.
He shrugs and creeps along the hallway, to where a stool piled with towels suggests a bathroom on offer. Sure enough, the linens don’t lie to him, and he gets the nostalgic rush of a shared dormitory bathroom– narrow stalls and shared trough shower and all. There’s even little shower shoes, and the very first package he grabs is his size.
His size and a nice teal color and sturdy enough that it solves the issue of not having shoes to wear outside (thanks, yachting rules about not wearing shoes on the boat).
His optimism increases.
He’s not a big fan of being on display, so being up early enough to snag a private shower? Excellent, just like the shoes are.
He takes advantage, hurrying back to his room and returning to rig up a little privacy screen, just in case his sister or Mother Song walk in. That’s just being a gentleman. But then? Then he strips down and sighs and feels the bone-deep contentment of hot water. When he looks down, he even finds an army of fancy little soaps to lather up with, which is way more than he was expecting from an empty dormitory for a school that no longer seems to exist.
Ha, he can smell like cypress and amber, just like he likes– masculine clothing, masculine scent, the steam clearing the salt from his body? What a wonderful 180 from the night before.
The idea that his luck is just a little too good? Suspicious, even?
Never enters into it.
After all, this is a morning just filled with optimism!
—
Song Bai is the second person to wake up, still groggy and crimped after a night of fitful sleep, full of wind that was too loud and fucking Qian Li hurling. But as someone that’s gone for a morning run practically every single day since he turned fourteen, even near-death experiences and miserable sleeping arrangements can’t keep him from getting up and getting moving.
His expectations for free lodging are low, but he’s still disappointed.
The morning starts out okay.
Even if the towels outside the bathroom are scratchy, they’re clean. And even if the bathroom is old and outdated and public, at least there’s some sad attempt at a privacy screen put up in the corner, so that he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of the ladies, or make things more difficult than necessary for poor XiXi.
But that’s about where the positives end.
The water is almost as cold as the ocean was, and the water pressure garbage, and there’s only unscented and half-finished soap available, the kind that leaves a film on you that makes you wonder if you’re cleaner or dirtier than when you started. Blegh. No good morning starts with cold, piddling water or having to scrub yourself raw so that mechanical grating takes the place of soap in getting the grime off.
Bright red, he shudders and wraps up quickly, drying off and, in another disappointment, having to change into the same clothes that he slept in, because beggars can’t be choosers, and based on what he saw last night, their hosts definitely aren’t eccentric billionaires.
He’s not even sure they have bank accounts. So he should count his blessings. Stay humble.
He really is grateful. He’s just been pampered too long. He knows that.
He feels a little ashamed of it.
Chastising himself to be more like Zhou Xiwei and less like his mother, he cleans up the water drips he left and brushes his teeth with the thankfully still packaged toothbrushes and goes out of his way to return to the bathroom after, with tarps and string to improve on the makeshift curtain, so that the single shower becomes five stalls, with one very private one in the corner for the ladies. And his cute, shy little didi.
And almost like karma is real– he finds that when he washes his hands after his good deed, the water is warm!
Okay, okay, so maybe the boiler just needs to run for a bit first thing in the morning. If he’d been exposed to more provincial accommodations, he probably could have figured that out for himself and saved the discomfort.
Good information for… however long they’ll be staying?
Hopefully not long, but the lack of electricity last night has him concerned that this might be a ‘once a month delivery service’ kind of community. Well, some people pay millions for the chance to retreat and unplug. Wilderness survival is very chic. The kind of thing people write books about, and a great story to pull out at parties and business meetings.
At least everyone’s alright. That’s the main thing.
—
The nice thing about former boy’s homes is that there’s no lack of spaces for communal dining.
After taking a quick (and frankly alarming) run around the west side of the island, Song Bai follows the smell of fresh food to a sunroom with all shutters thrown open, where Zhou Xiwei, some of the crew, and a handful of strangers are setting up breakfast. Song Bai finds his lips twitching at the show of friendly, familiar industry.
If only XiXi was a girl, then he really would be…
“Do I need a trivet or anything?”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“C ktja?”
“Vbwfatlcu ab xffq atf vlrt ogbw ifjnlcu wjgxr bc atf kbbv?”
“Ah, no worries. But thanks for asking!” The young kid from last night grins brightly at Zhou Xiwei, who is, of course, helping set up the meal. In this situation, it’s appropriate, but Song Bai still can’t help but feel a little wistful, as he jogs over and helps pitch in. Zhou Xiwei is just like him– the only son of a wealthy entrepreneurial family.
Lf rtbeiv tjnf yffc gjlrfv ab yf qgbev, rtbeiv tjnf yffc gjlrfv ab cba xcbk ktja atlr xlcv bo kbgx kjr–
That’s what all their friends are like. That’s what he would be like, if he hadn’t met Zhou Xiwei.
Cmmbgvlcu ab tlr ojatfg jcv tlr wbatfg, jii atflg rjmglolmfr jgf qgfmlrfis rb atja atflg mtlivgfc cfnfg tjnf ab kbggs jybea atlcur ilxf rfgnlcu batfgr, yea mjc obmer oeiis bc yflcu fzmfiifca, jcv tjqqs.
But Zhou Xiwei’s parents died, and despite all Song Bai’s best efforts, he felt like a burden, and in that state of mind, cast himself as someone that always had to pay back generosity. Always had to be subservient, whether it was someplace appropriate, like this, or someplace where it led to cruelty, like at the first school he’d attended after the accident.
No matter what, he always acted like a perfect little wife, but he shouldn’t be a wife at all.
Still, good or bad, at this point, Zhou Xiwei can’t change his kindheartedness, so it’s best to just share the load and make sure that no one can take aim at him. Or take advantage.
“Morning, XiXi. Already making friends?”
“Song-ge!” XiXi uses his shoulder to wipe his cheek and clinks a pair of wooden tongs in greeting. “Might as well get to know where we can be useful. Did you know that pretty much everything we’re eating, they grow right here?! Isn’t that impressive?”
“Yes, very cool, but people have been growing their own food for millenia.”
Song Bai doesn’t want anyone to misunderstand Zhou Xiwei as a bumpkin. Not with his breeding.
“I know, I know. I just mean, remember how long I tried to get those little plants to grow on the sill? Never took. And Shan Yutian is younger than I was then, and every last one of these tomatoes came from his garden patch!”
The young boy– Shan Yutian– looks a little wide-eyed before shaking his head and denying all credit, hurrying back into the pantry to grab more dishes. Another cutie. Maybe Zhou Xiwei can make a friend. Though as far as gardening tips…
Song Bai doesn’t have the heart to tell XiXi that his plants always died because Zhou Xiwei’s roommates thought it was girly, and liked playing pranks like adding salt to his little watering can. He’d stopped them, but by the time he got wise, Zhou Xiwei had already labeled himself a failed plant dad, and had quietly given up on greening the space.
Asses.
Song Bai hadn’t been able to find the words to tell him he was being bullied, so it had ended just like that.
Speaking of past trauma… Song Bai looks down at the diced pork and potatoes and feels his stomach flip a little. His mother went through a fad– for two years of his childhood, he was tormented by a very high-maintenance teacup pig.
“Animals too then?”
“Ah, no, I guess it’s not big enough for that. All the meat is preserved, but the fruits and veg? As fresh as it can get! Auntie and Uncle will definitely enjoy that!”
Song Bai spares a moment to imagine his parents being delighted by anything presented so simply. And then he moves on, helping Zhou Xiwei with plates and napkins and trying not to bristle or be inhospitable, when he notices that man from last night, hovering near his XiXi.
Being nice is fine, but he doesn’t want anyone to get any bad ideas. Zhou Xiwei is too inexperienced to know how to deal with that kind of attention. That’s why he shelters him under his wings.
—
They’re ready to eat, but they’re still missing most of the Song party. And there don’t seem to be any signs of life from the dorm building across the way. If they wait, they’ll probably get to experience a 100% cold breakfast. Not appealing with a cold breeze, after being dumped in a cold ocean.
“I can go and get them!”
Once more, it’s Zhou Xiwei offering to run the errand. Song Bai squeezes his thigh under the table, their special signal for whenever Zhou Xiwei was acting more like a charity case than a rightful heir. Zhou Xiwei explains his thinking, instead of just giving in.
Which is surprising, but not unwelcome.
It’s good, if he learns to assert himself. Even if it’s a little foreign. Even if he’s asserting himself against him.
“Eating without them is rude, but making everyone else wait and have it go cold is also bad. Running for them is just easiest.”
Song Bai sets down his napkin, straddles the bench that they’re sitting on, and ruffles Zhou Xiwei’s hair before getting up. “XiXi is still the most thoughtful. But I’ll go and get them. You know those jerks. They might give you a hard time.”
But not me. They know I won’t stand for it.
—
He isn’t wrong, and Zhou Xiwei happily gives in, his chest filling with the warmth of Song Bai being so thoughtful and meticulous towards him. As Song Bai jogs off to hurry everyone else to breakfast, Zhou Xiwei (re)flattens his napkin and looks up at Shan Haoyu, who is sitting across from him. Zhou Xiwei’s contented little smile is the brightest thing on the sundeck.
“Thanks again for this.”
“You say thank you a lot.” He does. But before he can figure out how to respond to that kind of observation, Shan Haoyu continues on, a slight frown threatening to spill out as he asks, “They’re mean to you?”
The wind picks up, and Zhou Xiwei pats the gooseflash from his arms. But then, like a phantom, the cold is gone and he’s perfectly dressed for the weather after all. Odd. Not as odd as being faced with tattling on your not-friends to a stranger.
Zhou Xiwei rubs the back of his neck, like he always does when he’s nervous.
“Ha, not mean. Just, you know, not morning people, heh.” That’s a diplomatic way to put it, right? But Shan Haoyu is still frowning lightly. So Zhou Xiwei keeps explaining. “Actually, the Songs are great– they took in me and my sister when our parents passed. And my sister is my best friend– but, you know, having a sister as a best friend isn’t exactly a cool guy trait, so it’s not so strange that they’d tease a little, but they don’t mean anything by it, not really, just-”
Just pack politics.
Just some light exclusion.
Every group has a pecking order, and every one must have someone at the bottom. That’s him. He gets it. But it’s a little hard to explain something so self-explanatory. Like telling that the sky is blue, where do you even start?
Zhou Xiting has never been a morning person, but she used to run track, and she loves food, so she’s the first of the latecomers to make it to the table. She shamelessly takes Song Bai’s seat to the left of her brother. Zhou Xiwei opens his mouth to complain before shutting it again. It’s fine. There’s no assigned seats.
Making a big deal out of it will invite speculation that he can’t afford. Especially not with someone with such straightforward questions sitting across from him, watching him drink his coffee. If he complains, the guy will probably publicly ask about their relationship, and then where will he be?
Dead of embarrassment, that’s where!
“Morning, XiXi!”
“Morning, jie.”
“Thanks for the extra blankets, I knew you were my favorite brother.” Zhou Xiting runs almost as cold as Zhou Xiwei does. Before he went to shower, he was sure to add his warmest blanket to her pile, and his care hadn’t been in vain. He rolls his eyes but exposes himself by smiling again.
“I’m your only brother.”
“And you’re doing a terrific job of it.” She squeezes his forearm before widening her eyes in surprise and reaching for an icy pitcher of fruit juice. “Wow, is this cherry? My favorite!”
Shan Yutian nods and first pours for Zhou Xiting and Zhou Xiwei before helping herself.
Odd.
He’d been here the whole time, and he would have sworn that there wasn’t anything like that on the table.
Who but his sister even likes cherry-apple? Such a niche flavor, something that they fell in love with when their parents took them to Europe when they were little. And yet, he brings it to his lips, and it really is the taste of their childhood.
What are the chances?
The siblings get to enjoy a few minutes more of lighthearted nostalgia, before they hear the sounds of the rest of their companions making their way down from the dormitory building across the shallow valley.
Zhou Ziwei and Zhou Xiting both sit up straighter, straighten their silverware, and smile less.
The rest of the residents watch this transformation. Once more, a faint frown starts to bloom across Shan Haoyu’s face, and the surroundings grow the tiniest bit colder, like a cloud passing in front of the sun.
Not that there’s much sun at the best of times. Not in this place.
—
Finally, with everyone gathered together, long-overdue introductions are made around the table–
Shan Haoyu, in the center– tall and dark and handsome, in the wiry, hungry sort of way that marks young men that weren’t fed properly as children. To his side, little Shan Yutian, who can’t possibly be out of school yet, yet seems to spend his time cooking and tending to crops. He’s young and tender, like fresh bamboo, and he’s just as humble.
Life is different, in these small communities. He’s a good reminder of that.
Finally, there’s the last rescuer, the only elder they’ve seen– Xi Kuang, who once upon a time was the director of the orphanage, and stuck around even after it closed its doors and (almost) all his charges left. Explains why he doesn’t look much like the two boys that they’d first taken as his children.
According to the three of them, there are a few scattered residents that didn’t make it to breakfast– elderly that prefer not to leave their little homesteads, one or two children that run wild, and a few young men that are probably out fishing, taking outriggers as far as they dare for days at a time, in the interest of getting some fresh meat for everyone.
“The island must be special, for you to choose to stay behind.” A smiling Zhou Xiwei comments, and Xi Kuang shows faint surprise before agreeing.
“It’s… special. And there are memories here that I am not ready to leave. Though you’re the first guest we’ve had that’s had that reaction to the story.” It sounds like he added the last sentence almost by accident. And famed gossipmonger Zhang Zhiping picks up on the scent of something salacious, almost instantly.
He leans forward on his elbows, pushing his half-eaten food to the side and asking, “Other guests? Exactly how many people end up here? And why? It seems so deserted.”
It’s funny; the way he says ‘deserted’ makes it sound dirty and dingy.
But he smiles, like he’s just being a friend, like he always does when he’s picking at the people near him. He’s very good at being vaguely dickish. If only he could add that to his resume, he wouldn’t still be an idle man.
“Foolish people crash often enough. When there’s a storm, we know to go look.”
…Ahahaha.
Shan Haoyu remains uniquely forthright, responding to the edge of antagonism that most would blow off. Zhou Xiwei feels his lips twitch in delight that he really shouldn’t feel. And certainly shouldn’t advertise, heh.
In their circle, when someone takes aim at you, they’re careful to sip their drink or admire art or otherwise cover themselves in the deniability of ‘casually speaking.’ Shan Haoyu’s not like that though. He just says it directly, looking straight into Zhang Zhiping’s widening eyes as he does so.
It’s a conversation killer. Zhou Xiwei still finds it remarkably refreshing.
Shan Yutian pleadingly knocks Shan Haoyu’s knees under the table while Zhou Xiwei smiles and refills everyone’s drinks. Even the on-Mother-Song’s-shitlist yacht crew, which earns him another harvest of goodwill, though he’s too busy trying to make everyone happy to notice that he’s quickly becoming the bridge between all three groups of people.
Bah.
Well, it’s the perfect time for re-introductions, now that crew and passengers have severed their contractual relationship and are interacting as equals. (Mother Song is exactly as thrilled as imagined).
There’s Captain Li and Engineer Di (whose head is bandaged and still seems woozy), alongside the two-person deck crew of cousins Xu Mei and Xu Wang, Chief Stew Fang and…
Chef Bohai and his minder, Wang Xi, who used to be in charge of getting them all drinks, but was now in charge of making sure Chef Bohai didn’t level too much of his sarcasm at any one party. Good luck, man. In solidarity, Zhou Xiwei is sure to push the sausages closer to the guy.
Mother Song also tries to help. In her own way.
“Well, we won’t be here long, so any differences will soon be a distant memory. And of course, compensation isn’t something that we’re afraid of asking for. Really, the boat owner must be negligent, we’ll naturally use our legal team to fight for everybody.”
How magnanimous.
“Oh, so you’ll tip us on the lawsuit? Lovely~”
Wang Xi stuffs a sausage in Wang Bohai’s mouth. That steward is quickly becoming Zhou Xiwei’s favorite crew member. As a conflict-averse person, he’s always happy to have more comrades in the fight. Of avoiding fights. He’s also pretty sure he saw the two of them kissing, back on the yacht.
That makes him another type of comrade. Even more welcome. Even if his boyfriend-shaped-person is a little too acerbic for Zhou Xiwei’s taste. Or general group cohesion.
It’s nice to not be the only gay guy, for once.
Thankfully, Zhou Haoyu picks this moment to redirect the conversation: “Not here long– is uncertain. The provisioning boat only comes once a month. Sometimes storms delay it. Squabbling is not recommended.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
“Once a month? You only get deliveries once a month? If you’re lucky?!” Mother Song pushes her plate of fruit away and tuts. “That won’t work at all. We’ll simply have to call for a special trip. I’ll cover the costs for everyone.”
Money again.
Shan Haoyu looks up at the sky free of telephone poles, and over to the dead cellphone that Zhang Zhiping is still looking down at like a mournful widower. Xi Kuang– the oldest rescuer, and the one-time director of the boy’s home, ends up dashing Mother Song’s hopes more politely than his companions might.
“No phones either, I’m afraid. We had some hope when satellites took off, but we seem to be in a dead spot.”
Dead Spot.
For some reason, Zhou Xiwei feels his skin prickle at the common phrase.
Father Song takes up the mantle of ‘chief communicator,’ talking to Director Xi like they’re peers. Very egalitarian. Very obviously looking to put him at ease and find benefits, like this is just a business deal, and not the starkness of post-disaster scrambling.
It’s comforting, in a way, how routine he tries to make it.
—
“So, what do you do in an emergency? You must have some sort of contingency for things like this? Happy to help any way we can with getting things running, raising flags, that sort of thing.”
“For shipwrecks? Not really. We used to have radio communications, but something in the tower shorted, and we didn’t use it enough to justify scraping together the funds to fix it.” Director Xi coughs. “Charitable institutions have tight budgets, you know.”
Mother Song looks at the simple wood plank table, and the plastic servingware. “Yes, they do, I suppose…”
Zhou Xiwei smiles embarrassedly at their hosts and decides that as long as he’s effusive enough, no one will notice Mother Song’s ambivalence towards a spread that they obviously worked very hard to provide for them. He passes potatoes and he compliments the chef and the climate and the people–
Unfortunately, Ding Dongqi is also at the table.
“No phones, no radio– This father has to take care of everything! Alright, then lend us a boat and a map and we’ll go drag back some civilization to get us back to society.”
Being on the sailing team seems to have injected Old Ding with an absolutely unearned sense of his own seamanship. Give me a boat, like that’s an easy ask. Like a group as shoestring as this would just give up resources to someone they had to pull out of the ocean not twenty-four hours earlier.
Shan Haoyu looks at him like he’s mentally incompetent.
It’s a beautiful thing.
Fuel for a fire that Zhou Xiwei didn’t even know he was stoking, buried somewhere deep in his own long-held tongue and hidden grievances. Really, Shan Haoyu is quite handsome. Er, not that he’s looking. He’s not a lecher. Honestly! He’s just…
Appreciative? Appreciative, and the guy has a refreshing outlook and he’s good looking and noticing doesn’t mean anything more, he doesn’t-
Why does his face feel suddenly warm.
Author’s Corner:
When your ‘Oh No Boy Hot’ is triggered by the guy being dismissive towards your bullies, that’s amore~ Lowkey (highkey) adore the idea of a killer island being petty enough to take time doling out shampoo and access to hot water. Just because you can manifest wild dogs to hunt people for sport doesn’t mean that you can’t start by stubbing their toes or making their mattress lumpy.
It’s the little punishments that get one through the days!
Love the end note! This island is sounding more and more interesting! 🥰
let them suffer because of everyday little stuff like that, that’ll annoy them so much and make us so happy 😫
XiXi reminds me of Taylor Swift anti hero song
The island purring to Zhou Xiwei, being like “I’m a good island uh uh ?” And then straight up lashing cold water on Boy Song made me laugh. I also loved the sentence where the two siblings “both sit up straighter, straighten their silverware and smile less”. And instantly know how is their relationship with the Song parents in just a sentence. So good !
Ooooh, this is off to a great start. It’s going to be hard waiting for updates, but that’s a good problem to have 😊
It’s interesting to see the difference of these little… rewards and punishments? Like the nostalgic juice for the siblings. And it seems Song ge has a good amount of selfawareness, but too bad he’s his ‘cute didi’s crush where his protective big brother outlook would otherwise be pleasant. How’d he end up with those a$$hole friends? Were they just the least terrible out the old school crew or something else entirely?
Haha that’s what I was thinking, that Song Bai has just enough self awareness to be embarrassed that those idiots are his friends 😄.
I want to say I can completely identify with the Zhou siblings, but no, pretty much 100% the bitchy chef 😐. I don’t think he’s the one that will make it out alive so I just have to hope it’s a good death 😆. It is beautiful to see Zhou Xiwei beginning to feel affection for someone who appreciates it.
That’s amore all right, he’s starting to notice him yayy
Also this island is a bit creepy but also a bit funny, let’s see where this goes…