After the Dragons

by Cynthia Zhang

  A few of the dragons protest when Eli turns on the lights, but most settle for blinking blearily before settling back down to sleep. It’s only been a few days since Dr. Wang commandeered an underused classroom to move Kai’s dragons in, but the mix of plentiful food and cooing grad student attention means they have adjusted well.

  The dragon now numbered TF0006 chirps as Eli approaches, tail sweeping from side to side as he tracks Eli’s progress. “Hi, Xiao Huang,” Eli says, smiling as he opens the cage; with a jerky flutter of wings, Xiao Huang hops onto his gloved hand, impatient despite the bandages still covering one leg. Cabin fever most likely, and Eli doesn’t blame him — according to Kai, there were singed holes in Xiao Huang’s wings when he found him scavenging the trashcans near a sprawling shao kao restaurant, delicate membrane stretched taut and near translucent between jutting bones. Whether the injuries are the result of extended exposure to barbeque smoke from the tables of restaurant patrons or simple human cruelty, bored schoolchildren burning small creatures for entertainment, Eli isn’t sure he wants to know. Either way, Xiao Huang has healed extraordinarily well since, enough that Dr. Wang’s grad students have furiously scribbled notes about tissue regeneration and genome sequencing to develop new protocols for rehabilitation and research from the observations. Accelerated healing or not, Xiao Huang’s injuries mean it’s been weeks since he last flew properly.

  Distracting Xiao Huang with a piece of dried squid, Eli rummages through the supply cabinets for treats and flight equipment. Despite all the times Kai has demonstrated the process, Eli is still clumsy as he fixes the jesses on Xiao Huang’s legs, but the dragon tolerates it with surprising equanimity, lifting his legs to let Eli slip each anklet on. Eli scratches beneath his chin, and Xiao Huang rumbles in approval, transparent third eyelids lazily rolling over his golden eyes.

  Former house pet is Kai’s hypothesis on Xiao Huang’s past, his behavior speaking to positive interactions with humans and rudimentary behavior if not flight training. Eli wonders if it was abandonment, a family unable to take care of one more mouth, or if there is some little girl or boy in Beijing still searching the skies for their lost pet.

  Kai would say it doesn’t matter, that it’s been long enough that any bereaved owners would have lost hope. That it’s useless to lose sleep worrying about it. Kai would say this because it is the pragmatic way to think. For all that Kai is fundamentally kind — a description he would no doubt laugh at — Kai likes to think of himself as practical. No room for speculative what-ifs or regret; there’s too much to be done and no time for futile sorrow.

  But Kai is not here.

  A few students glance curiously at Eli as he walks toward the empty soccer pitch with a dragon on his arm, but it’s late enough that most passersby are focused on making their way home. Xiao Huang is off like a shot the second Eli releases his jesses, the thin creance line tethering him to Eli like a balloon string around a child’s wrist.

  At first, Eli watches him carefully, but when Xiao Huang seems content with flying lazy circles around the field, Eli relaxes his grip on the line and takes out his phone. A few new emails, most of them administrative or promotions; a picture from Tycho sent to the exchange student group chat, a blurry selfie of him and Evangeline throwing peace signs outside a karaoke bar.

  Nothing from Kai. But Eli isn’t expecting anything.

  It’s been a week of intermittent texts and stilted hellos, paths inevitably intersecting despite their mutual unease. Dr. Wang had enlisted Eli in transporting the dragons from Kai’s apartment to Beida, and Kai’s been around the lab, explaining the personality quirks of each dragon and helping develop care plans for each one. Outside of avoiding Eli, Kai is the picture of professional helpfulness at Beida, unerringly polite as he answers researchers’ questions. But Eli watches the subtle slump of his shoulders when Kai thinks no one is watching, and he fights the urge to ask Kai whether he’s been sleeping, if he’s been remembering to take care of himself in between all his Good Samaritanism.

  It won’t be welcome, and more than that, Eli isn’t sure if he’s ready to close the distance between them yet. They’ve both apologized, admitted wrong, and promised forgiveness for hurt mutually delivered, but that doesn’t mean they’re ready to talk.

  Pet project. Even now, days later and forgiveness honestly delivered, the words still burn. The idea that after all this time, Kai would think that Eli is acting out of pity — that isn’t how he looks at it, how he ever looked at Kai. His grandmother died from shaolong, yes, but that doesn’t mean anything except that Eli has a better understanding of the disease and a stronger stake in his research. It certainly doesn’t mean he’s doing this out of guilt, of all fucking things. Yes, there are similarities between his grandmother’s situation and Kai’s, but being aware of those parallels doesn’t mean his feelings for Kai are nothing but Freudian projection. It’s simple human empathy, seeing your own experiences reflected in someone else’s pain and wanting to help.

  But you weren’t the one who was sick, a voice reminds him. That was your grandmother, and in the end, she chose —

  Footsteps sound behind him, and Eli turns to see Mr. Lin, a tianlong the size of a large owl perched on each shoulder. Unlike Xiao Huang, these dragons have only thin bands and bells around their legs, but Mr. Lin has far more experience with dragons than Eli does.

  Mr. Lin raises a hand, a silent greeting that Eli mirrors. Xiao Huang glides down, wings snapping shut as he lands on Eli’s glove. Eli raises his arm so that Xiao Huang can sniff at the dragons on Mr. Lin’s shoulders, who tolerate the greeting with aristocratic politeness. Mr. Lin rolls his eyes, reaching out to pet Xiao Huang’s neck. He clicks his tongue, and the two dragons are gliding up and off into the air, midnight blue wings almost invisible against the night sky.

  “So,” Mr. Lin says as Xiao Huang races to join them, determined despite having a third the wing span of the other dragons. “You two still on that lover’s spat, or what?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You and Kai,” Mr. Lin says, pulling some dried fish out of a plastic sandwich bag. He whistles, catching the attention of the dragons before he tosses a handful of anchovies into air; the tianlong dive, a blur of dark blue scales snatching scraps from the air. Slower than the larger dragons, Xiao Huang hovers around Mr. Lin, chirping piteously until he relents and digs out another piece of fish for him.

  “What?” Mr. Lin says, raising an eyebrow when he turns to Eli. “You think just because I’m old I’m blind too?”

  “I — how long have you known?”

  “A while. Not that I care either way, but you two aren’t as subtle as you think.” Mr. Lin rolls his neck back and forth, uninterested in Eli’s imminent death by mortification. His eyes are fixed on the dragons, flying lazy loops above them.

  “You know that Kai’s sick too?” Eli says once he trusts himself to speak again.

  “Yeah.” Mr. Lin takes a lighter out, cupping a hand around the flame as he lights a cigarette. “Kid doesn’t let it show much, but it’s not that hard to tell, once you know what to look for. You’d know that, wouldn’t you?” His eyes flicker over to Eli, but his gaze is sharp. Eli can’t help wondering what else Mr. Lin has figured out, how many of the secrets Eli’s been holding so close have been painfully transparent all along.

  “I keep trying,” Eli finally says. “Telling him that he should see a doctor, get some proper treatment. But he — he won’t take help. Every time I bring it up, he just shuts down, and I — it’s a lot. He’s getting worse, but he won’t listen.”

  “And you think I’d know how to get through to him, knowing him longer?”

  “Well, not exactly,” Eli says, watching as Xiao Huang dives at one of the tianlong, who barely deigns to acknowledge him, “but I was hoping you might have some tips.”

  Mr. Lin barks out a laugh. “If only! Kai doesn’t listen to me half the time, and I pay him — kid’s a fucking enigma, and that’s when he’s not busy being a
pain in the ass. My advice, do whatever it is you’ve been doing, and don’t put up with too much of his bullshit. The rest of it’s on him. Teachers open the door, but you must enter by yourself. Old Chinese saying, by the way. Free of charge, though you’ll have to pay for a full explanation.”

  “I’ve been taking Chinese since I was five; I know what it means.”

  “See?” Mr. Lin says, flashing Eli a sharp grin. “No bullshit, just like that.” He exhales, a long plume of smoke hovering briefly in front of them before dissipating into the night air. “Way I see it, you’re already doing better than most people would.”

  Chaoyang at night is not all that different from Chaoyang in daylight: bright, loud, and crowded with enough rich expats to fund a small country’s GDP. Most days, Kai finds the district exhausting, too much noise and light and conspicuous consumption, but on nights like this, he is drawn to the hum of Beijing’s glittering streets, the oversaturation of stimuli a soothing respite from his own mind.

  Yuye House is a small, unpretentious bar identical to any other dive bar across China if not for its queer clientele, though that crowd is here less as a result of branding than con-venience. Close enough to Sanlitun for the rich foreign crowd to spill over, the bar is also far enough and dim enough for the escorts and rent boys to feel safe plying their trade. By the doorway, where a small phalanx of fans struggles valiantly against the heat, three men are engrossed in a game of twenty-four, poker-faced as they slap down cards. In a back corner, two boys sit together, legs entwined as they share swigs from a bottle of Shaanxi guopi — Kai can’t tell their age, but they can’t be out of high school. One of the boys leans his head against the other’s shoulder, smiling at him with such open adoration that Kai feels like he’s intruding. Another round of shared swigs, a lingering gaze, and they’re kissing, slow and unworried in the smoky film noir light.

  Kai turns back to his beer. There’s condensation dewing up on his mug, and he drags a finger through it, idly tracing flowers through the cool glass.

  He knows, more than anything, that this isn’t sustainable. Skipping work, avoiding Eli — short of leaving the city altogether, Kai doesn’t think he can evade Eli much longer. Eli is stubborn, especially when he thinks he’s right. Kai can’t avoid him forever. If Kai’s being honest with himself, he isn’t entirely sure he wants to.

  If Kai tries, he can summon it up again, that familiar wave of indignation as he remembers Eli standing there in all his self-righteousness, talking about should and ought to. As if by reading about shaolong in books he automatically knows best, like Kai isn’t the one with dead cilia in his lungs and throat and an immune system turning against itself, like it isn’t Kai’s life they’re talking about. It’s his life, his choice, and he could do what he wanted with it —

  His mother’s face flashes through his mind, that glowing smile as they read his gaokao results — happiness, yes, and pride, but no surprise. As though she had expected this all along, as though there was no other future she could have foreseen except this, a top score and a top school for her provincial son.

  For an instant, that proud smile had erased all the tiredness from her face, leaving her as young and beautiful as in his childhood memories.

  Kai tips back his beer, scowling when he finds the glass empty.

  That is the problem with Elijah Ahmed, has been since the start: infuriating as it may be, he’s not wrong.

  At least the beer here is cheap, Kai thinks as he orders another Harbin. The bartender hands him a can from the fridge behind the counter, popping open the tab as Kai counts out exact change. Back at his table, Kai pours the beer out into his glass, watching as the foam fizzes into liquid.

  “Kai?” a voice calls, startling him out of his thoughts. “Xiang Kaifei?”

  It’s Paofang. Wu Paofang with his European clothes and K-pop blue hair, Paofang whose dad works in Shenzhen and who wears his sexuality with the confidence of the effortlessly rich. Except this isn’t Destination or Red Dog, this is a dusty dive bar populated by locals and off-hours escorts looking for a place to unwind with their makeup off.

  But there’s no time to wonder about any of that, because Paofang is walking toward him, a drink in his hand and a smile on his face.

  “Hey, Kai! I thought it was you, but it’s so dark here —”

  “Hi, Pao,” he says, trying for nonchalance. “Didn’t expect to see you either.”

  “You’re telling me,” Paofang says, grinning as he settles in the seat next to him. “Haven’t seen you since, what — April? May? Last semester, definitely. Where’d you disappear to, last few weeks of school? I know finals are always weird, but you vanished — no texts, no calls, nothing. We all wondered what happened.”

  “Things got busy, that’s all. Essays and finals, and then I had to go home for a while, and between that and everything else, I lost track of things, I guess.” Kai assiduously studies his beer, trying not to look nervous. It’s a lazy lie, but then again, he had never quite thought through what he would tell people. Had always assumed that he would be able to skip that step altogether, could simply disappear within the city.

  A small part of him, the part that these days speaks in Eli’s voice, asks well, what did you expect? Beijing is a big city, but it’s not so big that he could avoid familiar faces forever, especially not when he keeps being drawn by habit to old haunts. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was he thinking —

  “Kai?” Pao asks, head tilted to one side. “You all right?”

  “Yeah,” Kai says, reaching for his beer. He takes a long gulp, letting the motion soothe him. “Sorry, just distracted. Think I might have had a few too many.”

  Pao studies him. Standing in a dimly lit bar in an Iron Man T-shirt with his piercings reduced to a few small studs, he looks startlingly normal, like any other college classmate instead of the prospective heir of a successful shipping company. At Beishida, their paths might have crossed, the inevitable consequence of being tongzhi within an extremely insular community, but they had been friendly acquaintances, not friends. Paofang is rich and charming, and Kai has always felt a distance from him, one he assumed that Pao would never be interested in crossing.

  “You should have told us you were in town,” Pao says, smiling with his megawatt idol smile, the one that makes legions of straight girls lament their misfortune. “Campus is basically empty these days, but enough of our crowd’s still around that we could have done something. Jing Hu was helping organize a photography exhibit a while back, something about dating apps and modern-day relationships. Honestly, I couldn’t understand half of what she was saying but it sounded like something you art types get excited about. We can still go, if you’re interested.” A hand on his forearm, more perfunctory flirtation than anything; Pao has a partner, and even if they aren’t exclusive, Kai’s seen the types of men Pao picks up, all tan muscle and advertisement-perfect blonde hair.

  “Excuse me,” Kai says, standing up and pulling out his phone, making a show of assiduously studying the screen. There’s a tightness in his chest, and his heart is rabbit-quick. Is it the alcohol? He hasn’t had that much to drink, has he? “I think there’s something I need to do.”

  It’s a transparent excuse, but Kai can’t do this anymore. They’re not friends, and he won’t let Pao offer companionship out of some misplaced sense of altruism, won’t be someone’s pity fuck.

  “Ah,” Pao says, disappointment evident even as he tries to hide it behind a smile. “See you around sometime, yeah?”

  Kai nods, not looking him in the eyes.

  Lying on his bed, pillows stacked behind him and bedside lamp dimmed, Eli opens his laptop. On the screen, his mother’s Skype avatar stares back at him, small green dot at the bottom of the photo declaring her Active.

  Eli knows he doesn’t have to do this. Despite what Kai may have said, Eli doesn’t tell his mother everything — doesn’t feel the need to and has never felt like their relationship has suffered because of it. This thing between K
ai and him, whatever it is and whatever it says about him — Eli knows that he does not owe it to anyone to disclose his sexuality, whatever he thinks it may be.

  He wants to, though. For all their clashes, his mother has always been the person he trusts most, the person he’s turned to whenever he’s had a problem he couldn’t solve on his own. Perhaps not the smartest person he knows — that is, and has always been, his father — but close, and steadier by far than his father has ever been.

  He knows that, logically, he has little to fear. Boston University is a liberal university; plenty of his mother’s colleagues are out, and she’s taught queer students before, mentored them and invited them for Thanksgiving dinner. But it’s different when it’s your own child. His mother has cousins, but no siblings, has always implicitly imagined a future for him with picket fences and child-friendly minivans, a nice girl with in-laws enough to make up for the family she didn’t have. In Massachusetts, perhaps that kind of life that could be imagined with nice boy in place of girl, but not when boy comes attached to average prognosis of three to seven years.

  And Eli knows too, when he lets himself dwell on it, that if this is so hard for him, it must be a thousand times worse for Kai. Kai, who is living this diagnosis instead of merely recounting it; Kai, who is gay in a country where that fact is only starting to be admissible. Kai, who loves his mother so fiercely he would carve out pieces of himself in the name of protecting her.

  Eli closes his eyes, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and clicks call.

  “Eli, hello!” His mother, in a pixelation now familiar, smiles at him. “How are you? You said you wanted to ask me something?”