Archive of Our Own

You’re asking something difficult, you know. I don’t have any good stories. Fables? What, you think I’m Aesop or something? Forget it. I can’t remember much these days.

There are some things I can recall, of course. I’m not senile. But you wouldn’t believe me anyway. What, you would? You’re sure? We’ll see about that. Listen, you see those woods behind the house, past the oak shed? I know someone who once lived there. In the woods, silly. Not the shed.

I know a lot about those woods. You’ve probably heard to keep out of them, which is for your own good. It’s dangerous to go alone. But I wasn’t alone—I had company, of course.

Sit still, for Christ’s sake. Do you want to hear this or not? You do? Alright then.

Let me tell you a story. Here it goes.

Far past the rolling blue mountains, down the suburban streets into a Western-style house, Zhao Lijie ran barefoot across the hardwood floor. The floor creaked and cried out as his heels pounded over it. He was seventeen carrying a bag that collided against his long legs. Had someone been listening from the basement, they would have gotten the impression that Lijie did not know how to run.

Stopping at the front door, he dropped his bag next to the shoe rack and bolted in the opposite direction.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he whispered under his breath. “Can’t wait…!”

Soon, softer footfalls followed in his wake. “Ah, this haizi!” a voice called out. “What are you hurrying for? You’ll forget your bag!”

“I won’t!” Lijie shouted from the kitchen.

“Make sure to listen to your uncle.” A short, wrinkled woman wearing a purple apron emerged from the hall. “And don’t forget your ticket! You won’t go anywhere without it.”

Rounding the corner, Lijie skidded to a halt before the tiled entryway. He dropped a second, slimmer bag next to his first. Its handles drooped to the left. Its zipper, jammed in the middle, had no trouble holding together the meagre contents inside.

“That’s all you’re bringing?” the woman said sharply. “Do you plan on going butt-naked all summer?”

“Ma,” Lijie groaned, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Seriously. I made sure to pack everything.”

Lijie’s mother watched as he shuffled into a pair of slippers, tilting precariously from one foot to the other. His shoulders, narrow and bony, folded inwards. He paused for a moment to push his glasses up.

“If you forget your bag on the train, I won’t buy you another one,” she threatened.

Lijie straightened his spine. He grabbed the two half-zipped bags and slung one over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, Ma,” he said exasperatedly. “I’ve got it. I’ve been going there every year, you know. Geez.”

His mother’s lips formed a thin, pink line. “Here, put this on,” she said, extending a straw hat to Lijie. It had a wide brim and rough, poky edges, likely belonging to his grandfather. Lijie regarded it for a moment.

“It’s alright,” he said finally, putting a hand on the doorknob. “Besides, that looks crazy old. I’m not a senior citizen." And with that he twisted open the front door and burst outside. “See you later!” he called over his shoulder. His sandals smacked the bottom of his feet as he hurried down the steps, taking them two at a time down to the street below. Once fully out of earshot, he slowed to a jog.

The suburbs stretched before him on either side of a strip of asphalt. Cicadas thrummed, their song filling the air like the sun’s heat, or the faint breeze. Still jogging, Lijie flip-flopped his way down the middle of the street until he reached a bus stop. Its metal overhang gleamed under full sunlight. He knew by now it was the bus which led to the train station.

Thrusting his bags down on the bench, he turned around and stared out from the overhang. He shielded his eyes. There was no bus in sight. Still, he looked to his right and left, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had too much energy to sit down.

After a moment of searching, Lijie faced forwards, where a line of dense shrubs divided the road from someone’s backyard. He knit his fingers together in front of him and stretched. A small noise squirmed in the back of his throat. Nearby, the shade of a tree crossed his left cheek.

As the cicadas died down, slowly, Lijie opened his eyes. He inhaled and looked towards the sky.

He was eight when he first met him. On a warm summer day, much like the one that now warmed him, he had been lost in the forest of the mountain god. The forest was said to be where the spirits lived by the townspeople. After running around, looking for a way out, Lijie had become so tired he could hardly move. Falling to the grass, he pulled his knees to his chest and began to cry. He cried, fear and isolation taking hold—and it was then that someone found him.

Face buried in his forearms, Lijie pressed down on his eyes until blooms of colour appeared beneath his eyelids. His chin tasted salty. Just then, he heard a foreign voice.

“Hey, short guy.”

Lijie paused and lifted his head. His vision was blurry. Upon looking around, he saw nothing but a vast expanse of bushes and foliage. Sunlight poked through the gaps in the trees. As he turned his head to the very left, however, Lijie spotted a figure half-hidden behind a trunk. He paused.

From what he could see, the stranger was dressed oddly. He wore a long, pleated pair of trousers that resembled a skirt, whose bright red stood out amidst the forest. The stranger peeked at Lijie with one hand on the side of the trunk. He seemed to regard him warily. A long, silken white sleeve fell from his arm towards the grass.

“Why are you crying?” the stranger asked.

Lijie’s lips parted as another sliver of him appeared. The stranger wore a mask. It covered his entire face, made of rough white plaster and some other sturdy material. Two angular, expressionless slits were carved into it, serving as eye holes. Most strangely, the mask sported a set of ears. Paired with a black fingerprint of ink for a nose, it looked exactly like a fox. Three slim, red stripes had been drawn on either side of the mask, which resembled whiskers. Frozen, Lijie gazed at the stranger for a moment longer.

Then, in a flurry of limbs and grass—

“Gege!” Lijie cried out. “Please help me! I’m scared!”

Splaying his fingers, he ran towards where the stranger stood, arms outstretched and reaching for his clothing. He charged like a bull, fully intent on wrapping his arms around the stranger’s waist. Relief surged through him. Had he finally been saved? Who was this older brother? Lijie was scarcely a breath away when the stranger sidestepped.

“Oh, heck no—” they said.

Suddenly, Lijie’s face was met with soft, wet grass. His chest and knees dug into the ground. The wind was knocked out of him, and briefly, Lijie wondered what had happened. He laid there on his stomach, inhaling the scent of clovers. The world spun beneath him in slow circles.

Lijie lifted his head. Propping himself up on his palms, he twisted around to look at the stranger. His glasses, which he’d received on his seventh birthday, sat askew atop his nose. He had already broken them multiple times.

The stranger stepped further out from the tree. “Er, sorry…” he said slowly. “You have a leaf in your hair, by the way.”

Lijie could now see his full figure. The stranger seemed much older than him, standing a full metre taller. He guessed he—if he was a he—had to have been a teenager, one whose voice cracks and awkward lilt had yet to fade. His spindly, pale fingers still gripped the trunk. Stunned, and just a little bit hurt, Lijie continued to stare wordlessly. He shook his head back and forth to rid his bangs of grass.

“You’re a human child, right?” the stranger asked. Lijie looked at him, confused. “If a human touches me, I’ll disappear,” he explained.

He was trying to speak slowly, using the gentle tone adults did when talking to children, but it sounded unnatural in his adolescent voice. Lijie blinked, bits of grass falling from his shirtfront as he sat up on his knees. He regarded the stranger with wide eyes.

“If a human…?” he repeated. “So, Gege isn’t a human?”

“Gege is”—the stranger hesitated—“something that lives in this forest.”

Lijie cocked his head. “What?” he murmured. After a brief pause: “Then, you must be one of the spirits!” he cried excitedly, clasping his hands together. His voice’s loud, ringing quality seemed to startle the stranger. “But…” Lijie frowned. “What do you mean by ‘disappear’?”

The stranger didn’t respond. Standing over Lijie, he looked impossibly tall, though not as tall as the adults at home, or the cousins who occasionally came to visit. The forest rang with cicadas. Their song swelled in the summer heat, taking up every bit of air space. Bits of light that made it through the treetops appeared in patches atop the grass. Lijie’s hand occupied one of these patches. He gazed up at the stranger and his white mask. Its mouthless expression made knowing what he was thinking about impossible.

Wordlessly, as if in a trance, Lijie stretched his fingers out to touch the hem of the stranger’s robe.

“Oop—” The stranger took a step back, easily avoiding him. The way he moved, swift yet playful, urged Lijie to continue. Springing up from the grass, Lijie opened his arms and launched himself towards the stranger. His palms met the bark of a tree. Turning around, Lijie saw he was standing a pace away, hands tucked into the sash around his waist. Lijie pushed off the tree and dove for him. Missed again.

Soon, a wide, giddy smile appeared on Lijie’s face. With an air of delighted mischief, he chased after the stranger, fingers grasping for a centimetre of the fluttery robe he wore. The stranger avoided him in backwards leaps, leading him along in a zig-zag pattern.

Lijie’s heart soared. The tears on his face had dried up, and other than the ache in his eyes, he’d forgotten all about his fear. He watched as the stranger stumbled once as they neared a tree. He wore white split-toe socks and traditional sandals, the wooden kind with two slim beams beneath their soles. Lijie wondered how he was able to move so fast. He had only seen those kinds of shoes in textbooks.

Lijie was dangerously close to reaching the stranger when, mid-giggle—his vision went dark. There was a loud whump.

Falling onto his ass in pain, Lijie clutched his forehead and whimpered. He could already feel a welt forming there. Fresh tears sprung up in his eyes. A handful of leaves fluttered to the grass from the force of his impact.

Once he regained his bearings, Lijie mumbled sulkily, “Gege really isn’t human after all…” He rubbed one eye. “I mean, no human would hit a kid like that!”

Standing behind him, the stranger wielded a short, thick branch, likely picked up during his stumble. He gazed down at Lijie, who was still holding his forehead. A soft breeze flirted with the back of his hair. He sighed.

“To disappear—” he began, “means to be gone forever.” He spoke in a steady manner, pulling Lijie’s thoughts away from pain.

Lijie turned to look at him. He dropped his hands from his face. The stranger’s head was tilted back, as if gazing at something far past the treetops. His silhouette eclipsed a rare gap in the trees, where sunlight, bright white, looking glittering emerald through the leaves. Dapples of light danced over his mask.

“That’s the spell that the mountain god placed on me,” the stranger finished. “If I get touched by a human…” A brief pause. “That’s the end.”

Touching his forehead, Lijie’s brow tensed. He looked down at the grass. “I’m sorry, Gege,” he said solemnly.

“Here, shorty.”

Lijie glanced up. Between his eyes, he saw the blunt tip of a branch.

“Grab the other end,” the stranger commanded. He faced forwards, sticking the branch in Lijie’s direction without looking. “You’re lost, aren’t you? I’ll lead you out of the forest.”

Staring up the branch, Lijie noticed the slight gap between the stranger’s face and the mask as it jutted out, secured with no straps in sight. As he spoke, an elusive pink sliver of his lips could be seen. Lijie thought they looked a little like a girl’s. When he registered the stranger’s words—immediately, Lijie’s heart soared. A wide, dopey grin spread across his features.

“Thank you, Gege!” Lijie burbled, reaching out to wrap his arms around the stranger again. He ran in his direction, overcome with excitement.

The stranger, panicking, nearly tripped over his sandals trying to avoid him. “Gah—!” he yelped.

Wham!

Falling to the ground once more, Lijie clutching his forehead and rolled around. He made an exaggerated groaning noise. Bending forwards, the stranger put his hands on his knees and paused to catch his breath. “What did I just tell you?” he said exasperatedly, forgetting to put on his adult tone.

“Sorry…” Lijie murmured, sheepish, face pressed in a soft patch of grass. “I forgot.”

Moments later, the two strolled down a temple path lined by decade-old pines. The pines provided dense shade, only allowing a fragment or two of light to reach their feet. The stone path was worn and covered in patches of moss. Tōrō, or traditional stone lanterns, lined the walkway in steady intervals. Some were missing their top adornment, or their top half entirely. Lijie watched in awe as they passed beneath a gate-like structure made of tall, wooden beams.

They were holding hands—not directly, but by courtesy of the branch. The stranger held one end and Lijie held the other. Due to their height difference, the stranger had to stoop down a little. Their hands remained a generous distance apart.

Lijie stared down at his feet and counted the steps it took to cross each stair. He occasionally stumbled, to which the pull on the other end of the stick would grow stronger, and he’d be yanked back upright.

Sticking his free hand out to the side, Lijie walked cheerfully along. “Hey, Gege,” he said. “Is this a playdate?”

“A play…date?”

“You know, like when my cousins come,” Lijie explained, now focused on counting each crack in the path. “My parents let me have them all the time.”

The stranger hesitated. “Your parents let you go on dates with your cousins?”

“Yeah.” Lijie nodded. “Playdates. We’re on one now, aren’t we?”

“No, no,” said the stranger hastily. “I don’t think that’s right…”

“Why?”

Lijie looked over at the stranger, only to find he was already staring at him. The stripes on his mask came into view as he quickly turned away. “You…aren’t afraid of me?” the stranger asked out of the blue.

“Of what?” Lijie counted the stripes on his mask too. Three on his left cheek.

“Nevermind.”

Before Lijie knew it, the harsh sunlight that day mellowed into a soft gold hue. The sun sank low behind the mountains, settling comfortably in its bed of trees. The sky turned pink and baby blue in its wake.

“Just head straight and you’ll hit the mountain path,” said the stranger. He was standing beneath the last shrine gate before the path ended. Paper talismans and clattering, wooden pallets hung from ropes thicker than Lijie’s wrists. Over the stranger’s shoulder, the sky glowed yolk-orange, giving his silhouette a distinct halo.

Standing many metres away, across the short staircase up to the shrine gate, Lijie stared back. The stranger had insisted Lijie run along without him. He wouldn’t be able to walk him all the way home, regrettably.

“Will you always be here?” Lije asked. “Like, if I come back—can we meet again?”

The stranger paused. “This is the forest where the spirits and the mountain god live,” he said eventually, emphasising each word. “Set foot within, and you’ll be lost forever. You really shouldn’t come here.”

A breeze brushed past them, rustling the sleeves of the stranger’s robes and the back of his hair. Dangling from the ropes, the assortment of talismans whispered and clattered noisily in agreement.

“That’s what the villagers say, right?” the stranger finished.

Lijie paused for a long moment. It was hard to tell what the boy was thinking. His small hands, smudged with dirt and balled at his sides, contrasted with his wide open, bright eyes. The wind ran its fingers through his short bangs. When he spoke, his voice was scarcely audible over the wind. “Well,” he began, “my name is Lijie. What’s yours?”

Trees rustled around them, their gentle hiss followed by occasional gusts of stray leaves. The occasional bird cried out, sleepy, in the distance.

Lijie gazed up at the stranger, but he didn’t speak. His robes, white and red, billowed in the wind as it picked up. Leaves fell past him. Lijie honed in on his mask. Under the waning light, he could see every scratch and scrape on its surface. The stranger’s jet-black hair rippled against the mâché of his mask, their contrast like the moon and the night sky. By all appearances, he seemed to have perfectly normal hair. Lijie could even see a glimpse of his ear behind the edge of the mask.

The two slits stared wordlessly back at him. Slowly, Lijie took a step back.

“Anyways, I’ll be back tomorrow with a gift!” he shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth to be heard over the wind. “Bye!”

And so, with an inexplicable sense of embarrassment, Lijie turned and ran. He could feel the back of his neck burning despite the cool breeze. As he was hurrying away, however—

“It’s Yechan!” a voice called out after him.

Lijie stopped in his tracks. When he turned around, there was no one standing beneath the gate anymore. The wind had stopped like a sharp inhale.

Staring across the steps at the empty spot, Lijie didn’t move for a long time.

Much later, having set down the path Yechan directed him to, Lijie ran a stick over the fuzzy, soft heads of the feather-reed grass which lined it. Their usually dull beige heads looked vibrant yellow. Above, the sky was flaming, taking on shades of bright orange and custard. Pale clouds drifted across.

Humming under his breath, Lijie pushed his glasses up his nose. He’d gotten a smear of dirt on the lenses from his fall. At that moment, he spotted the hunched figure of a man appear at the end of the path. His flannel shirt looked drenched in sweat.

“Xiao Jie!” the man cried, eyes widening.

Lijie immediately dropped his stick and ran towards him. “Uncle!” he shouted, beaming with joy. “Uncle, I was in the forest and—”

“Xiao Jie-ah, you foolish child!”

Lijie’s smile was cut off by a weathered, leathery fist giving him a good knock atop the head.

“What would you have done if you’d gotten hurt?” his uncle exclaimed. “We were looking for you all day! Your mother was worried to death!”

Clapping his hands over his bangs, Lijie staggered backwards with a whimper. Then, as soon as his uncle was finished reprimanding him, he ran straight for him and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Uncle…!” Lijie sobbed, glasses smushed between the man’s white tank-top and his cheeks. “I’m sorry! I won’t—do it again!”

Pausing, the old man instinctively put a hand atop Lijie’s head, his other hand resting between his shoulderblades. The smell of tiger balm and the sharp, herbaceous rub he used to ward off mosquitoes filled Lijie’s senses. Above him, he heard his uncle sigh.

“Ai-ya, this little…” The hand between his shoulder blades rubbed circles along his back. “There, there. Uncle isn’t mad. Let’s go.”

Lijie walked a dusty, well-worn path back to the village centre—this time holding his uncle’s hand. The man’s palm was wrinkled, yet felt oddly soft. His fingers cupped Lijie’s own, able to hold his entire hand with just three.

“Uncle?” Lijie asked, trotting along at his side.

“Mm?”

“Is it true that spirits live in the forest?”

“Ahh, the mountain god’s forest,” his uncle said, as if Lijie had mentioned an old high school friend. “Who really knows? That’s what they say, at least.”

Lijie glanced over at him. He wasn’t much taller than his waist, so all he could see was his uncle’s arm and the hand that held him. He counted the veins that ran down to his wrist.

“When I was around your age, I wanted to see the spirits for myself,” his uncle began. “So every weekend, me and my friends would sneak out to go look. In the end, we never saw any.” His uncle laughed. “But I always had the feeling they were around.”

He turned towards the thin stretch of trees on their left. “If you listen closely on summer nights, you can hear sounds of music playing from the forest—and now that I think of it,” he said suddenly, “Kaikai said that she and her friends once went to a festival in the forest. But there’s no way the villagers would have agreed to holding one in there. So then, haizi, whose festival could it have been?” his uncle finished mischievously.

Lijie’s eyes widened. He imagined a festival deep in the woods, lit by blue flames that hovered in the air.

“It started this crazy rumour that they snuck into a festival held by the spirits,” added his uncle, sounding amused. He laughed again. “Ah, that really takes me back. We were so foolish as kids.”

Lijie listened to him laugh until they arrived back home. Later, once a dense blanket of darkness had settled over the village, he laid between his parents on a roll-out bed over the floor. Tossing and turning, he eventually opened his eyes. His hair, having been recently washed, left splotches on the pillowcase.

He stared up at the ceiling. Even in the darkness, he could make out the distinct patterns in the wood grain. His attention caught on a particular one: two angular whorls beneath the ceiling fan that resembled eyes. Fox eyes.

This is the forest where the mountain god and spirits live, Yechan’s voice echoed. Set foot within, and you’ll be lost forever.

Sticking his tongue in one cheek, Lijie grabbed the covers and pulled them up to his eyes. He continued to peek over them at the fox eyes on the ceiling. Soon, however, his eyelids began to drift downwards, and his vision faded out of view.

And so, with the lullaby of cicadas and a faint windchime in the night, eight-year-old Lijie fell asleep thinking about foxes.

The very next day, Lijie hurried to the shrine gate where Yechan had left him.

“You came.”

Sitting atop the steps with one elbow propped atop his knee, Yechan gazed down at him. The slits of his mask were as expressionless as ever. Lijie paused, fingers going slack around the plastic bag he held. Yechan’s sleeves, along with the pleats of his traditional trousers, fell luxuriously over the stone steps. His left foot splayed outwards, revealing the wooden beams of his sandals’ sole.

“I didn’t think you would really come back,” Yechan continued.

Lijie continued to stare, seemingly in a trance. “You…” he murmured.

“Hm?”

“You waited for me, Chan-ge!” Lijie cried, voice rising. He thrust out one hand and ran towards him. He hurried towards where the older boy sat, his plastic bag swinging noisily all the way.

Wham!

And just like that, Lijie was on his ass in the grass again, clutching his forehead.

“Oww…” he complained.

“You just don’t learn, do you?” Yechan sighed. He held the same stick in his hand, which had appeared there by mysterious means. “Also, Chan-ge? Where did you get that from?”

“I was just happy to see you,” said Lijie, ignoring his question. “Sorry.”

Dropping his stick on the shrine steps, Yechan suddenly leapt to the grass with inhuman grace. His feet touched the ground without a sound. Lijie watched as his robes surged mid-air, and the faintest, sweet scent of fabric followed.

“It’s hot here,” Yechan remarked, turning to face the mountains. “You want to go somewhere cooler?”

Pulling his knees to his chest absently, Lijie blinked up at him. His plastic bag lay forgotten at his side.

“Don’t worry,” said Yechan. He turned and began climbing the steps again, this time closer to where Lijie sat. “I’ll make sure you don’t get lost again.”

Lijie rose to his feet and collected his bag. His eyes widened at the sight of Yechan leading him deeper into the forest.

“Ehhh…?” he murmured, clearly excited. Then: “Wait for me, Chan-ge!”

Moments later, the two walked side-by-side up the temple steps Lijie had descended yesterday. Under the full sun, the shrine gates and tōrō lanterns looked considerably less eerie. They reached a small footbridge that ran over a crystalline creek. Swimming in its water below were tiny tadpoles, which Lijie gave no end of his attention to.

Somewhere along the way, Lijie had opened his bag and produced a set of popsicles. They were the most he could buy with his allowance. As they strolled, the two ate leisurely. Lijie watched in fascination as Yechan lifted his mask off his chin and let it rest over his nose, revealing just a sliver of his upper lip and mouth. While Lijie took gradual licks of his popsicle, Yechan ate in a manner he had never seen before. Twisting the popsicle around, Yechan made messy, impatient bites along its sides, reminiscent of corn on the cob.

After crossing the bridge and depositing their sticks in a shrub, the two entered a thicker part of the forest. At some point, Lijie had fallen a pace or two behind Yechan. He grew enamoured by the treetops, which seemed to stretch a thousand kilometres above his head.

Just then, Lijie stopped. He got the sense someone was watching him. Turning to his left, he saw nothing but trees. A light, humid fog drifted between their trunks. The cicadas droned on, unbothered.

Lijie shrugged and continued to walk. He didn’t see the shadow twisting its way along the forest floor, morphing, flowing, in his direction. He didn’t notice how it stopped behind a nearby tree. Yet finally, the second time Lijie turned to look—he saw a strange black mass springing from the ground, taking form like a genie pouring from a bottle.

His eyes widened in fear. All he could do was watch as slowly, the mass grew two beady-looking eyes and a cartoonishly grinning mouth. When the creature spoke, its voice rasped like screws tumbling around an oil drum.

“Who is he?” it said. “A human? Can I… eat him?

Hugging his arms to his chest, Lijie took cover behind the folds of Yechan’s robes. He made a small, frightened noise in the back of his throat. Putting a hand in front of Lijie, Yechan turned to the creature and sighed.

“No, Jaehyuk,” he said dryly. “He’s my company.”

“Is that so?” mused the creature. Peeking out from behind Yechan, Lijie paused. On second glance, while creepy, the thing resembled more of a cartoon character than it did a horror villain.

“Little human,” the creature said, addressing him directly. “Please don’t touch Yechan’s skin.”

Nearby, Yechan hissed in annoyance and rubbed the back of his neck. It seemed the pollen had an effect on him because he soon inhaled, pausing.

“If you do… I’ll eat you!” the creature finished gleefully. Lijie’s eyes widened in fear. Just then—

“Ah… A-choo!”

Yechan sneezed, sending the birds twittering out of nearby trees. While likely not intentional, the sound was jarringly loud. “Sorry,” sniffed Yechan. “Must be the…” However, he was abruptly cut off by a yelp of fear:

“Wahhhhh!”

Lijie watched as the black blob disappeared in a puff of smoke with a comedic sproing noise. What appeared next wasn’t a creepy monster—but instead a slim, wolfish looking creature with spindly hind legs and an angular face. The black markings on its otherwise golden fur gave the funny impression of glasses.

Cowering, Jaehyuk—supposedly the creature’s name—darted up a nearby tree in the blink of an eye. Where a tail might be, he instead had a barren-looking, furry rump. Lijie thought the creature looked silly, if not a bit pathetic.

“Is that a dog?” he asked, pointing at the tree.

“I’m not a dog, little punk!” Jaehyuk cried indignantly, left ear twitching. “Put some respect on my name. Gosh!”

“He’s one of the spirits,” Yechan explained. He turned to Lijie. “He transforms to scare people, but he’s all bark and no bite.”

“Hey…” Jaehyuk said sullenly. He settled heavily atop the tree branch, a whine in his throat. “That’s mean, you know. I’m just a little skittish. It’s in my nature.”

“You’re a scaredy-cat,” Yechan replied flatly. “If you’re going to scare people, at least make sure you don’t get frightened yourself.”

Jaehyuk yawned in his face, showing off his stumpy teeth, and chose not to reply. His tummy stuck out as he laid on it.

“Hey, mister,” Lijie said, reaching out one hand. “Can I pet you?”

“Can you—pet me?” Immediately, Jaehyuk sat up, clearly offended. “Kid, if you try that, I’ll bite your little hand off.”

Hearing this, Lijie squealed and ran behind Yechan’s legs again. He clutched the very edge of his robes.

“Hey,” said Yechan.

Jaehyuk turned to him lazily. “What?”

Suddenly, and in a swift, violent motion, Yechan raised his hands in claw shapes and hissed. Startled, Jaehyuk nearly fell out of his tree. He let out an involuntary yelp of fear.

“Scram,” commanded Yechan, still baring his fingers at him. “Get out of here, dumbass.”

“Wahhh!” Jaehyuk cried, this time in a mocking manner. He leapt from the tree branch and darted into the distance, jumping over and swerving around bushes as he went. “So scary! Run awaaay!”

Watching him go from behind Yechan’s robes, Lijie peeked out a step further and stuck his tongue out at Jaehyuk. Yechan cleared his throat and motioned for him to let go. Lijie obliged.

“Sorry about that,” Yechan began sheepishly. “Jaehyuk is one of the older spirits in the forest. He’s annoying, but he’s not all bad. I apologise if he scared you.”

He looked down at Lijie. For a moment, Lijie stared in the direction Jaehyuk’s furry rump had disappeared. His lips were parted. Then—

“Amazing!” Lijie exclaimed, bringing his hands together in delight. He threw his arms out in a starfish pose. “This is the first time I’ve seen a real spirit! So they really do exist!” Worked up, Lijie ran in a small circle, babbling excited nothings no one except himself could understand.

Yechan watched him with one hand on his hip. “So what did you think I was?” he asked sullenly, but Lijie didn’t respond. With a sigh, Yechan continued down the forest path. Lijie eventually noticed him leaving and, giggling, followed after him. He scurried up to his side. They walked shoulder to shoulder for only a moment before Lijie spoke again.

“So Chan-ge, do you not have a face or something?” Lijie gazed up at his shoulder. “Why do you always wear that mask?”

“No real reason,” said Yechan, staring straight ahead. “Nevermind me. Tell me more about yourself.”

Lijie tilted his head. “You’re curious?”

“Well, that’s why I waited for you.”

Hearing this, Lijie grinned, clearly pleased. He puffed up one cheek in mischievous defiance, thinking of what to say. All the while he looked up at Yechan. A strange, giddy feeling filled his chest. At that moment, Lijie felt he could run to the ends of the Earth, or jump up and touch the trees with his fingertips. Staring at the boy before him made him happy for some reason—in a way he’d never felt. Thrusting his arms out to catch the breeze between his fingers, Lijie suddenly charged in front of Yechan. He ran, laughing with glee.

Just then the trees gave way to a large, splendid meadow. The grass was young, vibrant and green, speckled with little white flowers. It went up to Lijie’s ankles and kissed the backs of his heels. All around, trees framed the distant expanse of the clearing.

Following from behind, slowly, Yechan dropped his hands from his robe pockets.

Lijie stared out the window of the train and watched fields of tall grass roll past. He glanced at his reflection in the glass. It had been nearly ten years since then, and still, he could reminisce as if it had all happened that very evening. He exhaled.

The next day, and the day after that, Lijie had returned to the forest. All summer, he ran and played around in the mountains. He remembered how once, when running beneath the trees wearing his uncle’s straw hat, the wind had picked it up and carried it onto a tall branch. The hat had been too big for him but Lijie insisted on wearing it. Troubled, Lijie worried about what to say to his uncle when Yechan appeared behind him.

Reaching up with ease, Yechan plucked the hat down. Lijie vividly remembered how his hand had looked framed against the tree, speckles of sunlight dancing within the foliage. How there was a red string tied around the hat, how Yechan’s thin fingers clasped its straw brim. Yechan had seemed so tall back then.

“You can’t reach this?” Yechan commented absently.

Lijie accepted his hat and mumbled a thank-you under his breath. “So what?” he said, feeling displeased. “Chan-ge might be bigger right now, but when I’m older, I’m gonna be super tall! Taller than Chan-ge, at last.”

“Really?” said Yechan. He sounded unconvinced. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

There were more memories of that evening, too. Closing his eyes, Lijie could see the crystalline water of a small creek, as well as a hand lowering a leaf boat into it. The boat had been folded by Yechan with astonishing ease. Amazed, Lijie had watched him set it into motion and let it drift away. They sat together as the boat disappeared into the lily pads.

Even though it was silly, it was so much fun, thought Lijie. He watched as a series of telephone poles zipped past. Then, a large tree flickered by. Lijie was reminded of another thing. One of their silly games had been chasing each other—or rather, Lijie cackling with mirth as Yechan sprinted after him.

Running around the wide stump of an ancient oak, Lijie ducked and dodged, changing direction whenever Yechan got too close. Peeking out from one side, he saw Yechan and peeked out the other. Yet every time he moved, it seemed Yechan was one step ahead. He was met with that mask, which, if Lijie focused hard enough, he could hear Yechan just as out of breath as he was. That evening, Yechan had picked up a stick from the ground and was brandishing it in his pursuit, something about being a ‘tree monster.’

Failing to outmanoeuvre Yechan once more, Lijie decided to make a run for it. He broke from the tree, smiling with glee at the thrill of being chased, and made for the bushes in the distance. Yechan started after him.

“Tree monster is coming—!” Yechan called out, before his voice suddenly cut off.

Lijie stopped and looked behind him. Yechan had fallen face-first after tripping over a root. Evidently, running with ancient wooden sandals on wasn’t very practical. For a moment Yechan laid on his belly, unmoving. Lijie immediately ran back to where he laid and peered over him. He was just about to call his name when Yechan sprang to life—getting up off the ground like he’d planned it all along.

“Unfair!” shouted Lijie, now in full retreat. “You played dirty!”

“Tree monster!” Yechan cackled, breathless, with blades of grass clinging to the front of his white robes. “Rahh! Run for your life!”

Once they had long tired out, somehow, the two ended up at the centremost spot of the meadow where small flowers grew in a blanket. Lijie sat amidst the blooms, his knees in their petals as he curated a bouquet in his fist. There were purple, peony, yellow and white flowers, all whose buds were no larger than his thumb. Nearby, Yechan laid on his back with one arm over his stomach, asleep.

Holding his bouquet, Lijie wandered over to where Yechan laid. He crouched down in the grass right above Yechan’s head.

“Hey,” Lijie whispered, leaning over his face. He set his palms down. “Did you fall asleep?”

No response. Yechan stayed quiet and still. Behind them, a small gust of wind blew through the trees. Lijie stared down at his mask. Yechan’s hair, black and soft, fanned out beneath his head. Even as it roused from the wind, the mask stayed in place.

The air had a breathless, tender taste back then. It seemed that for a moment, as Lijie looked down into that mask, the world shuffled to a halt. His own hair fell over his eyes.

Slowly, he reached out towards Yechan.

It’ll be fine if I just touch his mask, right?

He placed two trembling hands on either side of the mask. The material felt chalky and surprisingly sturdy. Still, Yechan did not stir. Lijie held his breath and lifted the mask off.

The mask came off with his fingertips, lighter than air. The wind went silent.

Lijie’s eyes widened.

The face beneath him was marvellous. Small, with the complexion of a gardenia and a pointed chin. His nose, narrow and sharp at the end, reminded Lijie of a fox. His eyes were closed. Faintly, Lijie could see his thin eyebrows beneath his bangs. As if drawn with a microscopic, feather-tipped brush, his eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks.

Then, like the sun gradually appearing from a gap in the shadows, Yechan opened his eyes.

Lijie could still remember how beautifully, frighteningly sharp they were.

“Wah!” Lijie cried, panicking as he awoke. “Sorry—!”

And just as soon as Yechan opened his eyes—Lijie shoved his mask back down on his face, effectively smothering him in the process. Yechan let out a choked noise of surprise. His hands shot up and hovered over his chest.

“Ow…” he hissed, putting both palms over his mask and rolling onto his side. “Owww.” Eventually he groaned and sat upright. He still held one hand to his forehead. “Attacking someone while they’re asleep?” Yechan mused. “You sure are one scary kid.”

“Sorry, but…” Lijie mumbled. Sullen, he averted his eyes. “You were pretending to be asleep, weren’t you? Don’t lie.”

At that, to Lijie surprise, Yechan let out a soft laugh. He propped his elbow up on one knee and rested his chin against his knuckles. The slits on his mask seemed to smile at Lijie. “I looked normal, didn’t I?” said Yechan.

“Your face?” Lijie paused. ‘Normal’ was too light of a word—Yechan looked positively divine. Unfortunately, Lijie’s small, dried-out mouth didn’t have the words to express this yet. “Well yeah,” he eventually agreed. “I guess. So then why do you wear that mask?”

“If I don’t wear this mask, I wouldn’t look like a spirit, would I?”

As Yechan sat up straighter, a cloud passed overhead, plunging the meadow into shadow. Lijie stared at his mask for a long time. He counted the red, whiskerlike markings on its cheeks, beneath its eyes, and its two crescent-shape eye holes. He pulled his lower lip beneath his upper one. The fistful of flowers had long been forgotten at his side. Finally:

“You’re weird,” Lijie said, right as the sun broke through the clouds.

Yechan leaned back and laughed.

Following Yechan down the temple steps, Lijie counted every spot of sunlight they passed. He wondered where the speckles went once they were out of sight. His footsteps were slower than usual.

“Um, Chan-ge?”

“Hm?”

“I won’t be able to come here tomorrow,” Lijie said. “I told you before that I’m only staying at my uncle’s for the summer, right? And…” his voice grew quiet. “I have to go home.” He looked up from his feet at Yechan’s back.

“Hmm,” said Yechan. It was a noncommittal sound, and Lijie didn’t know what he meant by it. Feeling discouraged, he dropped his shoulders. While he couldn’t express it, Lijie’s chest ached, and his eyes were already beginning to sting. Just then, Yechan stopped walking in front of him. He turned slightly towards him.

“Will you be able to come back next year?”

The question made Lijie’s mind stop in his tracks. And just like that, the naive, heavy sorrow which plagued him vanished.

“Oh, yeah!”

That was the moment summer became something Lijie looked forward to every year. Yechan always waited for their promised summers together. Each time Lijie came back, he was a little older, looked a little different. Still, they fell into their rhythm as if a year hadn’t passed while Lijie was away. The summers blended together; Lijie couldn’t always remember which year, on which day, at what age a memory with Yechan occurred. Yechan always looked the same in them, after all.

“It’s cold!” Lijie complained loudly. Sitting on the edge of a wooden dock, he had slipped one foot into the water below. All across the lake, swathes of bright-faced littles covered its surface.

Yechan was sitting cross-legged beside him. “You’re weird,” he said. “Of course the water’s cold. It’s a lake.”

“But it’s so freaking hot outside…”

“Well, water is cool, isn’t it?”

Lijie groaned. “Heat heats up water, dumbass.”

“Does it?”

“I mean, like, how else would we get hot springs? Or ramen?”

“ …What’s rah-men?”

A soft splash. Yechan looked over to see that Lijie had almost fallen into the water. He stared at him with a look of utter shock. “Dude…” said Lijie slowly. “Forget how physics works, or whatever. We need to teach you the important stuff.”

“Important stuff being…?” asked Yechan skeptically.

“Ramen. And processed food And, like—” Lijie thrust one hand out, causing his knees to slip deeper into the water, "basically all the joys life has to offer. It’s a crime that you haven’t tasted spicy konjac strips.”

“Is that what you do while you’re away?” Yechan scoffed. “Eat strange things all day?”

“Hey—” Lijie scooted closer to him. “I’m like a bottomless well, okay? Everything I eat just disappears down there, and then I get taller.”

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Yechan didn’t respond. It took Lijie a moment to realise he was sulking, a pout likely behind his mask.

“You’re almost gonna be taller than me,” he lamented.

“Almost?” said Lijie incredulously. “Gege, I’ve been taller than you since last summer.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh,” Lijie said, feet rising from the water with a splash. “Look, stand up with me right now. Let’s check.”

Yechan hesitated, clearly aware that it would be game over if he agreed. “I don’t feel like it,” he said lamely.

“Come on, why’re you being like this?” Lijie reached out to tug on his sleeve, then pulled his hand away at the last moment. “Stop being in denial, Gege. You’re acting like a girl.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“It’s too hot to stand up.”

“You said the water felt cold,” Lijie pointed out.

“Well…” Yechan hesitated, thinking of what to say. At last: “Actually, it’s become ramen from the heat now.”

The way Yechan said the word, unwieldy and stiff on his tongue, suggested that he was using it for the first time. There was a heartbeat of silence as Lijie registered what he said. Then, with a half-shriek, mostly cackle of delight, Lijie threw his head back and laughed.

“It—” he wheezed, “it’s become ramen? The lake, ramen?”

Realising his mistake, Yechan sat silently, stewing. As he laughed, Lijie lost his grip on the side of the dock and began slipping into the water. His long, lanky legs disappeared. Water sprayed into the air. Startled by the splash, Yechan threw one hand out.

“Stupid! You’re gonna fall in!”

Practically submerged up to his waist, Lijie managed to keep himself above water by pressing his palms to the dock. His arms shook. Still, even in his precarious position, he turned to Yechan with a smile.

“If I’m falling into ramen, then I guess it’s not so bad.”

During that same adolescent summer of ramen lakes, Lijie met another spirit while walking with Yechan in the forest. By then, all the paths had become like the veins on the back of his hand. The days of getting lost were long gone. Still, he insisted that Yechan guide him, citing that he’d lose his way. If Yechan knew he was lying, he never said anything.

Either they had finished playing by the river, or had been walking for a while, because Lijie remembered his limbs feeling heavy. Cicadas droned on in the background. He didn’t notice the shadows of the trees above them morphing until it was too late.

With the sound of leaves and twisting branches, a large, trunk-like hand reached out from the canopy towards Yechan.

Lijie froze. The hand was massive, able to fit a full fridge in its palm. Its fingers were surprisingly elegant and slim considering it looked to be made out of wood. Leaves fell as it grew closer and closer. Its fingers wrapped around Yechan’s shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. Then, in a resonant, chilling voice:

“Yechan, my dear.”

It seemed whatever the hand belonged to was much, much bigger than what they were seeing. Lijie’s blood ran cold.

Despite being quite literally in the clutches of this creature, for some reason, Yechan didn’t look disturbed. In fact, he had paused upon it touching him, opting to wait nice and docile between its fingers.

“Oh, hey,” he said offhandedly.

“It’s dangerous, Yechan,” the entity continued. Lijie could now make out that it had a male-adjacent timbre. “He… the human boy. If he touches you… you will disappear.”

“Thanks,” Yechan said, though sounding not at all thankful. “I’m fine though, Sanghyeok. Don’t worry about me.”

Slowly, the hand released Yechan and began pulling away. Before it could rescind past his face, however, the hand stretched its fingers out to caress the side of Yechan’s face. Lijie saw it give the top of his head a gentle stroke.

“I have seen you two together for many years. It makes me very worried.”

“Don’t be, really,” Yechan murmured, allowing the hand to lightly muss his hair.

“Does the human boy know about us spirits? About the forest?”

Yechan hesitated. “Mostly. At least, he’s better than the townspeople.”

“I see.”

At that moment, Lijie heard a small crack. Then—it seemed as if the entire forest were being uprooted around him. Leaves hissed and fell in large torrents. The ground beneath him became a churning, solid sea, rolling and pitching, causing him to lose balance. There was a momentous rush of rumbling and sound as what felt like an earthquake bore down on the forest. And finally, just when Lijie’s chest was on the verge of exploding, he saw something.

Amidst the trees, where he had thought only more trees laid, emerged a face. Connected to it was its body, mostly hidden by the foliage. It had risen from the ground as if roused from slumber: thousands of times bigger than what Lijie could comprehend. In fact, the being’s body probably was the mountain itself.

Its face was the size of a small house and wondrously beautiful. The being’s skin looked impossibly smooth, made not out of flesh nor wood but some pristine material Lijie didn’t have a name for. It had high cheekbones and sculpted, feline lips. Peering out from its ancient face were two glowing eyes, eyes which held the light of a gentle sun. Lijie stared in awe at the two towering, twisted oak horns which extended from its forehead. Long, moss-black locks fell above its eyes, resembling a curtain of bangs.

“Come closer,” said the being. “I want to see you better.”

“Hyung,” Yechan groaned, as if he were embarrassed. He looked sheepishly back at Lijie. “Can’t we do this later? He’s standing right behind us.”

“I don’t see the harm in introducing your companion to me.”

“Fine,” sighed Yechan. He turned to face Lijie and gestured at the large-than-life deity behind him. “This is Sanghyeok,” he said to Lijie. “He’s the guardian of these woods, or the mountain god, as you townspeople call him. Sorry for the, er—scare.”

Lijie blinked once. As soon as his mind came to: “I-It’s nice to meet you, my lord!” he stammered, voice growing shrill. He dropped into a steep ninety-degree bow.

“There is no need for that, dear human. I am no god. If you wish, you may call me Sanghyeok.”

Lijie straightened up, nearly falling forwards in the process. “Ah, okay!” he squeaked. “Erm, nice to meet you, Sanghyeok…sir.”

“He’s very unique, Yechan. I think I like him.”

“Yeah.” Yechan rubbed the back of his neck. Lijie couldn’t see his expression while he was facing away, then realised he wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. “He’s pretty—unique.”

“Are you two—?” Lijie stopped himself, wondering if it was worth risking angering the mountain god. “Is Sanghyeok your, um…dad?”

“My dad?” Yechan turned to him and snorted. “I don’t think that’s the right word. Anyway, while you humans have all those things, we spirits don’t.”

“Yechan is my child, but I am not his father,” Sanghyeok explained.

“Ah, I understand…” Lijie nodded his head vigorously, despite not understanding a lick of what they were saying. “That’s cool. Totally cool.”

“Sanghyeok,” Yechan repeated, exasperated, turning to face him. “Why’d you choose now? Can’t you see we’re a little…?”

“Am I not allowed to say hello?”

“You nearly scared him to death!”

A pause. Lijie wondered, briefly, if he was about to be smited.

“Apologies, then. I merely wanted to speak to you.” At that, Sanghyeok turned his attention to Lijie, and Lijie felt himself stiffen. The two glowing eyes focused on him. They were kind—infinitely kind, and it was for that reason that Lijie listened to him.

“Please, don’t ever touch him.” Sanghyeok’s lips moved with the weight of shifting mountains. “I would hate to see him gone after all this time.”

There was a degree of emotion to his voice in spite of its inhuman rumble. Suddenly, Lijie felt a strain on his heart.

“I understand,” he said, bowing his head. “I’ll be careful. I plan to take care of him.”

Hearing this, Yechan stiffened. His shoulders rose a touch. Lijie didn’t notice. He was busy bowing to Sanghyeok. There was a brief pause as, for the first time in eons, Sanghyeok was seemingly caught off guard. Finally—

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you, Lijie.” He turned to Yechan. “Well, dear, it seems I’m not needed here anymore. Have fun now, you two.”

And with that, the ground began to rumble again. A few sticks fell, leaves whipped and howled. The quaking was noticeably quieter. Soon, Sanghyeok vanished into the Earth, melding into the mountain with the weight of boulders. For a second, neither Yechan nor Lijie moved a muscle. Lijie was still recovering from shock—trying to register what had just happened.

“Chan-ge…” he began slowly. “Is—is Sanghyeok always listening?”

“Not always.” Yechan turned to face him. “He’s part of the mountain, or basically the mountain itself. He’s aware of everything that happens here. Just not the specifics.”

This made absolutely no sense to Lijie, but he nodded anyway. Wordlessly, Yechan set off down the path again. For some reason, he could sense the spirit was embarrassed. By what? he wondered. Have I said something wrong?

His thoughts soon turned to a different direction. So the spirits can touch him, Lijie noted, recalling how Sanghyeok had caressed the top of Yechan’s head. Admittedly, ever since seeing Yechan’s face without his mask, Lijie’s mind had gone many places—some where he fantasised about things like throwing his arm around Yechan’s shoulder, or wrestling with him like he did with his friends back home.

Or maybe touching his hand, or his cheek… he thought, before immediately waving it away.

Yechan was only a pace away from him. It would be so easy to reach out and put a hand on his waist, or grab his wrist. Yet Sanghyeok’s words echoed in his head. Lijie knew he was someone who kept their promises. Usually.

Swallowing, Lijie shoved his hands in his pockets and followed a step behind Yechan.

Two summers passed, then three, then enough that Lijie lost count. Instead of numbers, he measured the passage of time with the changes in his own body. Each time he returned to Yechan, it seemed he returned as a new person.

“Lijie!” Yechan called out, walking slowly beneath the trees. He glanced to his right. “Where are you, Lijie?” No response. A little frustrated: “Lijie!” he shouted. “Where are—?”

“Rahh!”

Stumbling backwards, Yechan narrowly lost his balance. He straightened up with a hiss. Glancing up, he saw two long, spindly arms dangling towards the ground. Lijie hung from a tree branch by his knees, his hair falling to reveal his forehead, precariously high up. His limbs had grown like the grasses which climbed up trees, willowy and a little awkward. Still he had yet to find his stride. At times, Lijie, with his newfound height, was reminiscent of a young giraffe.

Lijie hung from the branch, grinning. His glasses slipped down his nose and threatened to fall off his face. Despite being many metres off the ground, he was so tall his fingertips reached well past the centre of the trunk.

Yechan froze and stared at him for a moment. The little sun that made it through the canopy danced across Lijie’s cheeks.

Then, courtesy of gravity, Lijie’s shirtfront fell abruptly down his chest, riding down his ribs and covering his face. For a moment Lijie hung there with his shirt down. Soft stomach pudge appeared. Once the embarrassment registered, though—

“Wahh!” yelped Lijie, nearly falling out of the tree as he scrambled to pull his hem back up. His knobby knees, peppered with dozens of bruises, struggled to hold onto the branch.

Yechan paused before speaking. “What are you doing?” he asked. Unconsciously, he stuck one hand out, as if he would catch him.

Lijie didn’t respond as he twisted around. He hauled himself upright atop the branch, causing little bits of bark and leaves to fall to the grass. It was only after he was comfortably seated that Lijie turned to Yechan and smiled again, embarrassed.

“I wanted to see your startled face,” he said, “but…”

“Hm?” Yechan crossed his arms over his chest.

Upon realising what he just said, Lijie blinked, frowned, and made a face in-between frustration and shyness. “When I’m around, d’you think you could take off your mask every once in a while?” he asked. He tried to hide the edge of anticipation in his voice.

“That’s fine,” said Yechan, reaching up to his face. Lijie’s heart quickened. “But is there a reason?”

Not any reason I can tell you.

“Nope,” was what Lijie said instead. “But like, if you’re gonna take off your mask now—”

At that moment, he felt the branch beneath him sink lower. Then, in an instant, it snapped. With a sickening thwap, Lijie was left plummeting to the ground.

“Watch out!”

Somewhere far away, Lijie heard Yechan call out for him. He squeezed his eyes shut. Time slowed as leaves fell around him, the only thing that mattered being the seconds before impact. In the back of his mind, Lijie expected a pair of arms to catch him. After all, Yechan was standing beneath him, a safety net for him to fall into—

As Lijie fell, branches barreling down around him, Yechan ran towards him with his arms open. It seemed Lijie wasn’t the only one who had forgotten. For a split second, Lijie opened his eyes and saw Yechan’s waiting arms. His mind blanked.

Then, right as he neared the end of his fall, Yechan stopped dead in his tracks and—with a sharp inhale—dropped his hands.

Lijie’s left shoulder hit the ground before the rest of him did. His neck ached, and he subsequently toppled onto his back, heels hitting the base of the trunk. The impact paralysed him. Lijie couldn’t breathe; his thoughts buzzed in his head, searching uselessly for a neurone to connect with. He wondered for a terrible moment if he had broken something. Nearby, the branch he had broken settled in the grass.

“God, that was close,” Yechan said.

Lijie wondered if he’d heard him correctly. He was just about to feel wronged when he realised Yechan was right. What could he have done? Catch him? Forcing a laugh, Lijie agreed. He couldn’t move his neck, so he hit his heel against the tree instead. “Yeah,” he said. “Close call.” His laugh sounded like a weak wheeze, since the air had been knocked from his lungs.

“I’m sorry,” said Yechan, gazing down at Lijie, who was still half-sprawed upside down against the trunk. “Are you alright?”

Still, Lijie couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of hurt. The image of Yechan dropping his arms right before he hit the ground was seared into his mind. So instead of responding, Lijie allowed himself to fall forwards, doing a half-roll off the trunk and onto his butt. He choked out another laugh. It was a while before he spoke.

“Thank goodness…” Lijie sat up on his knees. His hair fell over his eyes, obscuring his face. “Hey, Chan-ge?”

Yechan stepped forward and crouched in front of him. They were still more than an arm’s length away. He balanced atop his sandals with inhuman lightness, completely silent.

“No matter what happens—” Lijie looked up and smiled. “Remember never to touch me. Okay?”

Cicadas sang through the silence between them. Lijie stared at the mask before him. The mask stared back. He gazed at the two slits carved there, at their unchanging shape.

And then he began to cry.

“Okay?” Lijie repeated, voice growing scratchier, squeakier as tears choked his vision. He was still smiling. His glasses, askew yet somehow intact from his fall, clouded up. Finally his smile broke and he began to truly cry—tears creeping down his cheeks, along his dirt-smudged jaw, eyes squeezed shut and biting on his lower lip. Shoving his fist beneath his glasses, Lijie rubbed his left eye roughly, massaging vigorously, as if he could somehow knead his tears out. He did so with his right eye as well.

Yechan watched from behind his mask as Lijie’s glasses rode up his nose, at how his scraped knuckles covered his eyes. He stayed silent.

Lijie snivelled. “No matter what—” A hiccup. “Don’t…”

That evening Lijie hung his head, crying into his fingers, while Yechan stooped before him. No matter how long he took, Yechan said nothing. It felt good to cry. Lijie wondered what Yechan was thinking—what his expression looked like behind that mask. Sometimes, it was hard to imagine he had a face at all.

The summer after, and the summer after that, Lijie visited the forest without fail. One evening, upon arriving, he was particularly excited to see Yechan. Pulling his new school uniform over his head—which he’d brought despite not needing to wear it over break—Lijie hurried out the door, only stopping to put on a pair of sandals.

“See ya!” he called out to his uncle as he rushed past. His uncle, sitting on a low plastic stool while clipping his nails, looked up. He saw Lijie stumble as he ran down the front driveway, narrowly catching himself on a nearby clothesline.

“That boy…” he muttered, “how did he manage to find a girlfriend out here?”

“Chan-ge! Look who’s here!”

Standing in front of the shrine gate steps, Lijie flexed one arm, showing off his non-existent biceps. He patted his uniform, which was a blue and white tracksuit jacket sporting his school’s logo, as well as a pair of baggy pants that went whush-whush as he walked. “Ta-da!” he said. “It’s my uniform. You get a new one when you’re a first year in high school.”

Yechan stared at him from the top of the stairs. Unlike Lijie, his clothes remained the same: white and red robes from a bygone era.

“Somehow, you’re starting to look like an actual man,” Yechan said slowly.

“I am a man,” Lijie replied in a flat voice. He dropped his eyelids at him.

Yechan stood up with a flourish of fabric. “Can we go now?

As he turned around and began walking away from the shrine gate, Lijie thought he saw Yechan’s ears. They were glowing red. Biting back a smile, Lijie nodded. “Mhm,” he said, dashing up the stairs after him. “Sure.”

Moments later, the two were walking side by side past a lake. Yechan’s hands were in his robes’ pockets. Lijie kept stealing glances in his direction. Yechan pretended not to notice, until the boy said “Oh,” in which he turned to look at him.

“Huh?” asked Yechan. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lijie shook his head. “Even though I’m in high school now, a lot of my friends from middle school are still in the same class. It doesn’t feel like anything’s really changed.” He scampered a few steps ahead of Yechan and turned to look at him.

“We’re starting to get closer in age,” he added after a moment.

“Are we?” said Yechan absently.

Lijie stared. It was clear now that he dwarfed Yechan in height. The boy he once thought as older, as someone who he only went up to his waist, was now a full head shorter than him.

“Though, as time passes, I think we’ll only get further apart in height,” Lijie remarked snidely, grinning.

“Go away,” said Yechan. “You don’t have to rub it in, you know. Big giraffe.”

“Giraffe?”

“Yeah. Long legs, skinny like a twig.” Yechan put two fingers up on the sides of his head. “All you need are those weird antlers.”

“Hey, what’s with the mean names?” Lijie groaned. “At first, Chan-ge called me shorty—and now this?”

“Well, I can’t call you that now, can I?”

Lijie’s grin widened. “So you admit that I’m taller now.”

Yechan faltered, falling silent. Eventually: “Giraffes are supposed to be tall,” he grumbled. “They aren’t supposed to talk. Now be quiet.”

Lijie laughed instead.

Yechan’s moniker proved embarrassingly true. Often, when Lijie tried balancing on a fallen log, he found he couldn’t do it as easily anymore. The log seemed to spin beneath him, and as he put one foot in front of the other, arms out at his sides, his legs inevitably betrayed him. Like a calf, he’d bumble off the log and fall onto the soft grass blow.

Walking, as well as running, wasn’t always as difficult. One afternoon, Lijie brought a small paper kite he’d acquired from his uncle to the forest.

“Like this?” Yechan asked, holding the paper kite above his head. Its thin ribbon tail fluttered in the wind. They were standing in the meadow. Above, fat, white clouds milled lazily in their blue pastures.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lijie called out from a metre away. He was holding a spool of string connected to the kite. “So when I start running, you let go of it, okay?”

“You better not start running out of nowhere,” Yechan replied.

Lijie took this as a yes. “Here I go!” he shouted, turning around. And so he began to sprint. With an eagerness that betrayed his excitement, Yechan jumped a little and let go of the kite. The wind picked up. Yechan watched as the kite rose gradually into the air, and as Lijie grew further away, the soles of his sandals flew out behind him.

Once the kite caught the breeze and was flying steadily in the air, Lijie petered to a stop. He turned to look behind him, out of breath. The kite danced with clouds at its back. The slightest tug of the string sent it into a series of somersaults. Soon, Yechan rejoined Lijie at his side, where Lijie glanced at him several times, noticing how he watched the kite intently. Finally:

“Here,” Lijie said, holding out the string to him. He smiled broadly. “You try.”

Cautiously, Yechan gripped the string between his forefinger and thumb. The wing picked up, causing the kite to rise higher and higher. Yechan let out a small gasp. In no time he was yanking the string this way and that, delighted by how its ribbon of a tail fluttered against the sky.

“This… is fun,” he admitted breathlessly. “What a strange thing.”

“Heck yeah!” Lijie pointed up at the kite. “Look! It’s so far away now!”

The two watched as the kite drifted further away, until it was only a speck of white amidst a blue sea.

As the years went by, while Lijie got older—Yechan stayed the exact same as the day they had met. Lijie was reminded of this fact that same evening as the sun set, holding the kite at his side. The sky blushed as the sun grew yolk-yellow behind the mountains. While walking, he felt Yechan stop abruptly at his side. Lijie turned around.

Yechan was standing with his head tilted slightly towards the sky. A small, yellow firefly had landed on the tip of his mask’s snout. Hands in his robe pockets, framed by the pink-purple sky, he let it linger there. Then, he brought a hand up to his face.

Lijie watched as he tilted his mask up. The firefly roused gently and fluttered around Yechan’s head. Lijie was too enraptured to notice, but two more fireflies, equally as white and delicate, flitted past his own face.

Yechan let his mask hang at his side as he lifted his head. His eyes were closed. From his tranquil expression, he seemed to be savouring the evening breeze, breathing in as it caressed his face. Lijie couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t blink, running his gaze along the planes of Yechan’s face, of those eyes which he remembered even as a small child. Yechan’s lips were the colour of a flower that bloomed only in the night. His hair fell lightly over his eyes. Fireflies flitted around him, likely out due to the cool air.

That face, his profile with all the sunlight trapped around it, later swam before Lijie’s eyes as he stared up at the ceiling. He was lying on the floor of his uncle's house. Below his chin, he held a small fan decorated with pandas, waving it lazily. It generated no relevant breeze.

It was hot like nothing else, but the evening was slow and sleepy, so Lijie didn’t mind. He laid next to a crack in the sliding door. Sunlight poured through it and warmed his bare stomach; he didn’t have the energy to pull his shirt down.

Lijie counted the beams on the ceiling, lips parted. His eyes were half-open.

“Someday, I’ll be older than Chan-ge, won’t I…?” he whispered. The top of the fan brushed his lips.

He opened his eyes fully. In the distance a windchime sang in the breeze, its sound soft and sweet. There was a small pond outside next to the doors, so Lijie could see a rippling pattern of light on the ceiling as light reflected off the water. Lijie watched in a daze as the pattern undulated lazily. The windchime rang again.

Then, with a soft groan, he covered his face with the fan.

He laid there for a while, listening to the windchime and cicadas. The floor was warm. He imagined himself in three separate pieces, partitioned by the light pouring through the opening in the screen doors. Legs, stomach, and upper body. Only his stomach felt hot.

Just then, he heard footsteps trampling down the porch on the other side of the doors.

“Oh, Xiao Jie. There you are.” His uncle’s voice permeated the silence. “I cut some watermelon. Let’s eat.”

After a short pause: “Okay,” Lijie mumbled from beneath the fan.

Moments later, the two sat on the porch overlooking the pond while spearing watermelon with chopsticks. His uncle had cut the fruit in one thick layer and into small checkerboard pieces. Lijie went for the centremost pieces first. He could still taste the vague flavour of whatever his uncle had been cutting moments before.

“Where’s Ma at?” he asked between bites.

His uncle slurped loudly. “She went out shopping with your aunt. They went to buy a gift for your grandma back home.” Another slurp. “What time are you getting on the train tomorrow?”

“I don’t know but—” Lijie swallowed, “they said something about a delay.”

“Is that so?”

Lijie watched as, in expert fashion, his uncle spat out the watermelon seeds he’d been keeping in his cheek onto the grass. They flew from his lips in a machine-gun fashion. While a little gross, secretly, Lijie wanted to learn how to do that too. “We had some good weather this summer,” his uncle remarked absently. “It really made the watermelon sweet. If it keeps up like this, the winter will be freezing,” he added.

“Is it really like that?” Lijie garbled through a mouthful.

“Yes, yes.” His uncle sighed. “Since we live between two mountains and the ocean’s far away, the difference between the summer and winter is huge. Super cold weather follows an especially hot summer.” He chuckled. “It could probably freeze the mountain god himself.”

While Lijie knew his uncle was joking, this information still troubled him deeply. He imagined snow falling profusely from the sky. How deep would it get? Would it cover the steps to the shrine gate? His expression grew blank. Finally—

“Um, uncle?”

His uncle looked over. “What is it, haizi?”

“Could I ask for a favour…?”

“A scarf?”

Yechan held the plastic parcel in both hands, as if unsure of what to do with it.

“Yep.” Lijie nodded vigorously. “Make sure to use it in the winter, okay?”

Bringing the scarf up to his face, Yechan scrutinised it. He sniffed it. Then, seemingly satisfied, he crossed his arms and held the parcel to his chest.

“I’ve really got to go now,” Lijie said. “My train leaves soon. And like, my mom’s totally gonna kill me for not packing. So that means…uh, bye. Chan-ge.”

He turned around and began walking. Yechan glanced down at the scarf, then back up at him.

“Er—okay,” said Yechan.

“See you next summer!”

“See you.”

“Stay warm!”

“Just hurry up and go already!” cried Yechan, exasperated. “You’re gonna miss your train!”

Glancing one more time over his shoulder, Lijie finally turned around and began running down the pathway, partially tripping along the way. Yechan watched as he went, waving. He continued to wave even as Lijie disappeared from view, even though he knew Lijie couldn’t see him anymore.

Walking down the steps, as if in a trance, Yechan waved until he knew no one except himself was left.

****

Long after summer ended, in his new high school classroom, Lijie stared out the window in a trance. He could see his reflection overlaid with the school courtyard. Outside, kids called out to each other and kicked a soccer ball over yellowed grass. He wondered if Yechan found the scarf comfortable; it was getting colder, and the daylight hours were growing shorter. He didn’t blink. Behind him, one of his classmates noticed his staring as she retrieved a book from her desk.

“Hey,” the girl called. “Zhao Lijie. Aren’t you supposed to be headed to gym class right now?”

“Eh?” Startled, Lijie blinked rapidly and turned towards her. “Oh—crap, you’re right! When did everyone already leave…?”

“See you later,” said the girl, waving at him. Lijie watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and hurried away.

“Thanks,” he called out after a pause. He was unsure if she had actually heard him.

Later, as Lijie walked home, he wondered if Yechan was cold. He wondered as he ate dinner with his family in the parlour room. His mother had turned on the TV in the background, and he listened as it played one of the weather news stations.

We had a cold front pull through this morning, folks, the newscaster said. A few clouds, a few sprinkles, but nothing else. It’ll get colder as the week progresses…

Setting down his chopsticks, Lijie swallowed and rose from the table. “I’m full now,” he announced.

“Ah? You’re done eating?” His mother gestured at his half-full bowl of rice. “Zhao Lijie—did you eat something before dinner? If you eat too much, you’ll start gaining weight, you know.”

“Ma!” groaned Lijie, more agitated than normal. “I didn’t eat anything, alright? Geez! I’m gonna go take a bath.” And with that, he stormed down the hall to his bedroom.

Hours later, once he’d showered and blown off some steam with video games, Lijie laid under the covers staring up at his ceiling. It was a much different ceiling than the one at his uncle’s—smooth, pale drywall instead of the traditional wooden boards. Occasionally, the light from the street appeared on his ceiling as cars zipped by.

Lijie pulled the covers up over his nose. He could feel his eyelids growing heavy. Does Chan-ge have a quilt like this? he wondered. I’ve seen him sleeping in the meadow. When it snows, does he still lie there on the ground?

The thought troubled him enough that, for the rest of the night, Lijie felt cold in the pit of his stomach as he struggled to sleep.

The following morning, Lijie found the weather to be even colder. He’d stolen his mother’s scarf and wore it high over his chin. Whenever he exhaled, his breath escaped in a thin, translucent cloud.

“Lijie,” a voice called out behind him. But Lijie didn’t hear it, too absorbed in his own thoughts. “Zhao Lijie,” the voice said again, this time a little louder.

“Huh? Glancing to his left, Lijie saw the same classmate from yesterday walking beside him. “Oh,” he said lamely. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” the girl said. “Watch out for the ground, by the way,” she added. “It’s totally frozen.”

Lijie paused and looked down. Sure enough, the asphalt beneath his feet had become a thin sheet of ice. He hesitated. His left foot had already begun losing traction.

“If you aren’t careful, you’ll slip,” said the girl. Then, in a lower voice: “I bet that’s inevitable for a ditz like you, y’know.”

“You’re probably right,” Lijie laughed, still staring at his feet. Silence. When he looked to his right again, he saw that the girl had extended a hand towards him. It was a pretty hand, with a slim palm and painted blue acrylic nails.

“Ah, thank you,” Lijie said, not thinking twice before stretching out his own. In no time, the girl clasped his wrist, and with an air of awkwardness, began leading him down the patch of ice. Lijie followed behind her, staring at the back of her head. He felt grateful that he didn’t have to scoot his way across on his ass—which he likely would have resorted to.

“It’s pretty cold out,” the girl commented. Lijie couldn’t see it, but her face was pink, pinker than a usual chilly flush.

“Mm,” Lijie said.

“I haven’t seen you around very much. Every time I do, you seem pretty distracted…”

Lijie thought back to how he often stared at the classroom window. He couldn’t help it. Every time he saw the sky turning prematurely dark, his mind hurried to Yechan and the mountain. As his breath fogged in the air, he wondered how cold it must’ve been in the forest, where the sea was far away.

I hope he uses my scarf. Man, I should’ve gotten him a coat, too.

“If you need anything, I’m here for you,” the girl continued. Her voice sounded far away.

Lijie imagined a thick blanket of snow covering the forest: the shrine gate steps, the ancient trees, forming mounds atop the shrubs. Sprinkled across the mountains, the snow must’ve looked like powdered sugar.

Deep in the trees, where the snow was particularly deep, Yechan sat on the steps to the shrine gate, exactly where Lijie had left him. At his feet, the bright red flowers which once covered the ground peeked out from their white quilt. His robes stood out, carefully tucked beneath him, with the red of his pleated trousers now dotted with specks of white.

He was wearing the scarf Lijie had gifted him. Shoulders straightened, with his arms folded neatly in his lap, Yechan gazed into the distance. Snow fluttered onto his hair, over his shoulders.

Slowly, Yechan brought a hand to his face and removed his mask. He breathed in deep, then exhaled, eyes closed. Snowflakes kissed his thin lashes. His breath rose toward the sky in opaque wisps of warmth.

It was in the midst of his imagination that Lijie had a burning thought:

I want… to see Yechan.

At long last, the train pulled into the station, snapping Lijie out of his thoughts. He’d spent the whole train ride thinking about Yechan. Realising this, Lijie felt a little embarrassed.

“Man, why am I like this?” he muttered under his breath as he rose out of his seat. “I’ll be seeing him in an hour, anyway…!”

“Please collect all your belongings,” a stewardess standing by the train doors said. Trying to avoid other passengers’ feet, Lijie remembered to grab his bag from the overhead compartments and stepped out the train. He was immediately greeted by the countryside heat. Rural cicadas, more brash than those in the suburbs, rang confidently in the air.

It was right as he passed through the station gates that Lijie shouldered his bag and—breaking into a secret smile—began sprinting in the direction of the mountains.

“Is that your new uniform?”

Leaning against one of the pillars of the shrine gate, Yechan gazed down at him. Lijie stared up the steps. He was still a little breathless. Pushing his glasses further up his nose, he laughed.

“Nah,” Lijie said, shaking his head. “It’s just the summer version of our uniform. You don’t get new drip as an upperclassman, believe it or not.”

The uniform in question was a white cotton shirt with a navy collar and sleeves. Lijie had chosen it because he thought he looked better in it than their usual uniform. Yechan regarded him for a moment. “Huh,” Yechan said after a moment. “Well, it looks cooler than your other one.”

It took Lijie a moment to realise he meant cooler in the temperature sense—in which his flushed neck cooled down a degree.

“What are we waiting for?” asked Lijie. “C’mon. It’ll only get hotter in the evening.” And with that, he leapt up the stairs towards Yechan, where the two joined and walked together beneath the gate.

Somewhere up the stone path, Yechan let out a small sigh. “Time really flies, doesn’t it?” he remarked.

Lijie paused. He was unsure what to say. “Yep,” he finally replied. “Sure does.”

“I used to think you’d stay that size forever. You know, at my waist.”

“Really?”

“Well—how was I supposed to know you’d grow into a tree?” Yechan snorted.

Lijie giggled in the back of his throat. “Would you have liked it if I stayed that size?”

“I mean, you were totally cuter back then,” Yechan huffed. He paused. “But… I guess being tall isn’t too bad, either.”

Upon hearing this, Lijie hoped Yechan’s mask obscured his peripheral vision, because he couldn’t help but break into a stupid, shy smile.

Later that afternoon, the two sat by the edge of the lake with lily pads. The grass dug into Lijie’s palms. He was surprised to find the lake smaller than he remembered—had it shrunken over the winter, or had he simply misremembered it?

Yechan sat with his ropes folded primly in his lap, legs clamped together. Lijie, in contrast, lounged with his legs wide open, leaning all the way back so that he was nearly reclined. The tip of his sandal nearly reached where Yechan sat.

The two watched as sunlight rippled over the pond surface. Lijie was content to sit in silence and soak up the warmth. He couldn’t tell what Yechan was thinking—as per usual—but hoped he was feeling equally at ease.

“You don’t come running at me these days anymore,” Yechan said mildly.

“What, like when I wanted to hug you?” Lijie let out a snort. “I learned my lesson from those beatings, alright? Just so you know, when you conked me with that stick—it really hurt.”

“Whoopsies.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“I mean, it got the point across, didn’t it?”

“Do you want me to charge at you again?”

Yechan laughed through his nose and shook his head. Grinning, Lijie felt the sun warm his bunched up cheeks. The two turned back towards the pond. If you sat still enough, Lijie found, you could actually see the movement of the clouds. They moved surprisingly quickly. Lijie tried to pin their position down, but without him realising it, increment by increment, they drifted away. Right before his eyes, they hurried slowly past.

“I’m looking forward to it, you know,” Lijie began. “Next summer, when I graduate high school, I plan on looking for a job here. Then I can be with you more.”

Turning towards him, Yechan regarded him as he spoke. Lijie opened his hand and stretched his fingers out.

“In autumn, winter, spring…” Behind them, a breeze whispered through the tall grass and leaves, drawing invisible patterns within the blades. “I can be with you always,” Lijie finished softly. “Right?”

He turned to look at Yechan, only to find that he had been looking at him all along. There was a moment of silence. Finally:

“Lijie,” Yechan said. “Let me tell you something.” He sat up straighter. “To be honest… I’m not actually a spirit. But—” his voice grew serious, “I am no longer a human.”

Lijie stared, unblinking. Yechan continued.

“It seems like I once was one, but when I was a baby, I was abandoned in the forest.”

At that, Lijie imagined a small basket amidst the bushes, with something small crying inside it.

“Of course, I didn’t know anything. I was alone and scared. So I cried helplessly—as if trying to call for the parents that left me…”

One by one, hearing the cries of a baby, spirits began emerging from behind the trees. They poked their heads out cautiously. Some had the heads of animals, or multiple heads, or no head at all. The crying was unable to be ignored. Soon, a small congregation had formed around the basket.

“What’s this?” a black blob, Jaehyuk, turned into his houndlike form and advanced on the basket. He peered inside. “This… loud little thing?”

A larger-than-life serpent with a horn on its forehead spoke up next to his shoulder. “I believe that’s called a human, hyung.”

“Surely not! I’ve never seen one so small.”

“It is young,” said a one-eyed creature holding a red umbrella. “Very young. That is why it cries.”

At that, the huddle fell silent, unsure of what to do.

“They say I didn’t stop crying for a long time. When I did, I went completely still. Then the mountain god appeared and cast a spell that allowed me to keep existing.”

“Dohyeon, get Sanghyeok-hyung,” Jaehuyk commanded from above the basket. “Maybe he’ll know what to do.”

“You do not need to fetch me. I have a solution.”

Letting out a high-pitched yelp, Jaehyuk whipped around, only to see a large, oak-weathered hand extending from the canopy above. The huddle parted. Reaching out, Sanghyeok’s fingers stopped just short of the basket.

“Has it stopped crying?” he asked.

“Erm, yes…” Jaehyuk said. “We’ve watched it for nearly two days. It just went quiet now.”

“I see. Now is the time, then. We cannot touch those of the living—it is only now that I may help.”

The hand rescinded. When it reappeared, clasped delicately between Sanghyeok’s fingers was a fox-shaped mask.

“Here, Jaehyuk. Place this down on the little one. Be gentle now.”

Sitting up on his hind legs, Jaehyuk craned his neck and took the mask between his teeth. He lowered his head over the basket. For a moment, he hesitated, as if afraid of touching the baby’s skin. Then, he placed the mask over its face.

The mask laid there for a moment. Dead silence. Not a leaf stirred from its branch.

Then, suddenly, like water springing forth from parched land—the sound of burbling laughter could be heard from behind the mask.

“Sanghyeok!” Jaehyuk cried, leaping back onto his paws. His back rump wagged excitedly. “Listen! It’s making noise again!”

“Hush, speak softly.” Then, sounding pleased: “I’m glad it worked. You may remove the mask now.”

When Jaehyuk lifted it, he and the rest of the forest saw the baby staring up at them: eyes wide, bright and curious. It moved its head. Seeing Jaehyuk, it began to laugh, tiny lips forming a smile.

“Man…” Jaehyuk breathed, at a loss for words. He placed the mask over the baby’s face again, then removed it. Laughter, louder this time. The circle of spirits were delighted. Despite complaining that he had been worried sick, Jaehyuk began to wag his tail-less ass again.

“So now, I’ll never move on,” Yechan finished. “I’m like a ghost.”

He lowered his voice, quiet yet firm.

“Lijie—It’s okay if you forget about me.”

Lijie couldn’t speak. All he could do was watch as Yechan opened his palm and gazed down at it.

“A body that’s maintained by magic is very weak,” he sighed. “If it touches a human, the spell will break and the body will disappear. It’s such a fragile thing.” His voice shook. “Tell me, how long can you—”

“Something that disappears when touched… It’s just like snow, isn’t it?”

Yechan glanced at Lijie, only to see him staring out across the water.

“Chan-ge, I thought of you during the winter. Even in the autumn. And the spring.” Slowly, he met Yechan’s eyes. Yechan saw a slight, tranquil smile playing on his lips.

“Chan-ge,” Lijie repeated. “You remember the kind of person I am, don’t you? Don’t forget—that I’ll never forget about you. Never, until the day I die.

The wind blew past and ruffled through their hair. Lijie’s bangs fell softly over his brow. The grass around him rippled; the trees behind him sighed.

“Time may separate us someday. But even still, let’s stay together until then. Okay?”

Yechan gazed back at him. And for the first time, Lijie knew he didn’t need him to answer.

“A spirit festival?”

“No, no,” Yechan groaned. “A summer festival held by the spirits.” He was sitting atop a rock jutting out from the lake, only a few leaps away from the shore. Next to him, Lijie perched on his knees holding a bamboo rod with string tied to its end in his hands, which claimed was his ‘fishing pole’—despite never catching any fish.

“That’s not much of a difference.”

“Nuh-uh. The nuance is completely different.”

Lijie made a strange, acquiescing noise through his nose and cast his “fishing pole” out again. The stick he’d tied to the end hit the water with a splash.

“When you were younger, I didn’t invite you,” Yechan continued. “I thought you might get scared.”

Pausing, Lijie glanced to his left. The spot Yechan sat was slightly higher, meaning he could see the faintest sliver of his jaw beneath his mask. He had propped his hand against the side of his face and was staring out across the water.

“But well, tonight… Can you sneak out of your house?” Yechan’s voice grew quieter. “I’ve wanted to go with you for a long time.”

For a second, Lijie froze. Then—

“Aw, well heck yeah!” he cried, shooting up from where he sat. His sad excuse of a fishing pole rolled to a stop just shy of the water. In his excitement, Lijie momentarily lost his balance, and he flung one arm out to keep himself from falling in. “Wo–ah!” he yelped.

“Watch it, giraffe,” Yechan said scoldingly. “If you fall in, then you’ll have even less of a chance of catching fish.”

Straightening up, Lijie rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, if I end up finding one in my pants or something…”

“Meet me at eight at our usual place,” Yechan said, ignoring his nonsense. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Got it.” Then, after a pause: “But wait, a festival filled with spirits sounds a little creepy…” Lijie cupped his chin, frowning. “And on top of that, it’s at night, too.”

Sensing his reluctance, Yechan lifted his mask halfway off his face. Suddenly, his lips, nose, and left eye were visible.

“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling slightly at Lijie. “It’s not all that different from a human festival. It’s supposed to mimic human festivals, after all.” He turned back to the water, still holding his mask. Lijie watched, enraptured, at his lips moving as he spoke. He’d forgotten that Yechan had a face beneath his mask—and a terribly beautiful one, at that.

“Anyway, I’ll protect you,” Yechan finished.

He had said the last part normally, as if stating a simple truth. Still, it made something in Lijie’s chest clench dangerously.

“When you say things like that, it really makes me wanna hug you,” Lijie replied with a laugh. He tried and failed to bite back a smitten, stupid smile.

But Yechan didn’t see. He had lowered his mask back down and was staring across the water.

“Do it,” he said.

Lijie paused.

“Seriously,” Yechan murmured. “You heard me. If you want to, do it.”

Gazing down at him from where he stood atop the rock, Lije didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

Later that night, beneath the plump, round moon, the mountainside was lit with blue flames and the distant glow of festival lights. Stretching from the very start of the shrine gates, a long, winding row of disembodied flames lit the way. Their light bobbed and flickered around the festival grounds. Occasionally, some of them got a little too excited and collided with a few tents, causing a brief ruckus before the flame hastily collected itself.

Lijie stared in awe at the scene before him. Bathed in orange, the festival grounds were both familiar and delightfully whimsical. There were the usual stalls—food, games, some displaying colourful windmills on little sticks, others with stuffed prizes lining their walls. However, next to the normalcy was maybe ribbon decoration that floated by itself, or little straw umbrellas that whizzed around, offering themselves to passersby. Impossibly tall posts decked out with rows of paper lanterns stretched into the night sky.

The decorations weren’t the only unordinary thing, either. Lijie tried not to gawk at the patrons: a squat, bipedal pig wearing a kimono, a man with waist-length hair and a long horse tail. Some resembled humans more than others. A few were indistinguishable except for a marking on their forehead, or a paper sheet taped over their face.

Everyone wore the traditional garb for a festival. Children of all ages ran through the streets, tails wagging and wooden sandals clopping by. Lijie noticed how some wore masks similar to Yechan, except with different traits: a long nose, or a red-ink drawing of a tree on their forehead.

Walking next to Yechan through the stalls, he spotted a large basin filled with goldfish. A huddle of children were bent over it with plastic rings covered with a sheet of paper. He smiled as one of the children, upon losing a particularly fat goldfish, groaned in frustration and beat the chicken-like wings between his shoulderblades.

“You’re right,” Lijie murmured, holding a fan up to Yechan’s ear. “It’s just like a human festival. Are they all disguised as humans?”

“That’s right.” Yechan noted. Having swapped out his usual robes, he was dressed in a dove grey yukata whose sleeves reached his waist. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he said, suddenly sounding smug. “I’ve heard that sometimes, humans accidentally mix in.”

“Heh, is that so?” Lijie covered his mouth with the fan. “So like Kaikai and her friends,” he noted, “like how uncle said…”

“Who?” asked Yechan.

But Lijie simply smiled and continued walking. Unlike Yechan, he’d opted for a more festive yukata, with slim branches whose small, white flowers stood out against its blue fabric. Yechan didn’t let him get very far by himself before calling out to him.

“Lijie,” he said. Lijie turned around. He saw Yechan was holding a white cloth. “Tie this around your wrist,” Yechan ordered. “That way, you won’t get lost.”

Moments later, Lijie was securing one end of the cloth to his wrist while Yechan tied the other end to his own. As he worked, Lijie smiled to himself. “You know,” he commented, “this is pretty cute. Dressing up and basically holding hands. It’s like we’re going on a date.”

Yechan looked away. The back of his neck was pink. He spoke just loud enough that Lijie could hear him.

“This is a date, stupid.”

Lijie paused and looked up at him, eyes widening. He felt the worst blush in his entire life spread across his cheeks. Before Lijie could say anything to humiliate himself, however, Yechan spoke first.

“Should we uh, go?”

“Um, yeah.” Lijie looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling dizzy. “It’s, er—go time. Mhm.”

And so the two walked through the festival together, holding hands the only way they could, with Lijie following slightly behind. Neither of them could make eye contact. Soon, however, the awkwardness faded as Lijie grew enamoured by their surroundings. They passed by bright stalls whose vendors were just as mystifying as the prizes they offered. Lijie and Yechan stood side by side and watched as fireworks climbed into the night sky, exploding in the world’s most beautiful flaming blooms. Red, gold, green and orange scattered through the dark and fell right on top of them.

Lijie’s heart swelled each time one of the fireworks lit up. Their light danced over Yechan’s mask. He tried to focus on the show, but occasionally found himself glancing at Yechan instead.

They visited a large wall of paper windmills, each with their own compartment. Taking a deep breath in, Lijie stepped up and blew hard. Three windmills began to spin rapidly. As they spun, their patterns became dazzling. Lijie clapped his hands together

“Awesome!” He turned to Yechan. “You try it, too.”

Leaning towards the wall, wordlessly, Yechan lifted his mask just enough that his lips emerged. Lijie stared as he inhaled and blew softly on the nearest windmill. It began to spin.

“It’s pretty,” Yechan commented, lowering his mask.

“Yeah.” Lijie continued to stare at his face. “Pretty.”

Not all surprises delighted him though. At a nearby stall, Lijie accepted a large stick of cotton candy handed to him by one of the vendors. Just before he could take a bite, however, the fluffy candy sprang to life and puffed right off the stick into the air. Lijie watched, aghast, as the little candy cloud took to the air.

The kindly vendor smiled at him. “Oho!” he chuckled. “Looks like you got a feisty one.”

“A feisty one…?” murmured Lijie.

“Look,” Yechan said, pointing at the sky. Lijie did as he suggested. There, framed by the indigo sky, were dozens of other little puffs floating upwards: adorably white and dead set on reaching the stars. Blinking, Lijie wondered if they still counted as food. It seemed that others had received a stick of cotton candy as well.

When they passed by the goldfish again, Lijie spotted a kid who had a golden-brown, wagging tail. He immediately smiled.

“Hey, that kid has a tail!” he whispered excitedly to Yechan.

Yechan glanced at the kids. “I could’ve had a tail, too…” he replied sullenly.

Lijie laughed. “It’s fine,” he said. “Even without a tail, I think you’re still pretty great.” And then they both laughed, a little nervous yet happier than anything.

Past the goldfish, the two stumbled upon another wall. This time, it was covered in traditional painted masks—some of ogre-like creatures, others of smiling faces with bulbous noses, or squinting eyes. Lijie pointed to each one, commenting on their craftsmanship and how they looked ‘totally crazy.’

He ran his fingers along each mask as he walked. Reaching the end of the wall, Lijie paused to place his hand on a particularly realistic looking mask of a bald man with a Pinocchio nose.

“Mhmph?” said the mask, glancing up at him. Immediately, Lijie realised he hadn’t touched a mask—but the vendor who sold said masks.

“Gah!” he yelped, stumbling backwards. “Holy shit—I’m so, so sorry!”

And with that, he made a hasty retreat, dragging a cackling Yechan along the whole way.

At the very end of the festival, in some tradition Lijie didn’t understand, the spirits lit a towering mass of sticks in the centre of the festival on fire. The bundle was at least the height of a small building. Breathless, Lijie watched as the whole thing was engulfed in flame, sparks climbing high into the night. At the very top of the sticks was a white talisman. No matter how ferociously the fire burned, or how hot it got, the talisman stayed unscathed.

Gazing up at the fire, Lijie felt an unrivalled warmth surge through him.

The night eventually came to a close. With the glow of the fire still at their backs, Lijie and Yechan walked down the mountain path that led out of the forest. To their right, the familiar lily-pad pond looked tranquil. Their hands were still tied together. Lijie didn’t point this out in fear of Yechan untying them.

“Wow!” Lijie panted, “that was freaking awesome! Everyone went all out with their disguises, didn’t they? I could hardly tell some of them weren’t human!” He paused to catch his breath. “It was like a mimicking competition… Say, is it like that every year?”

“Yeah,” Yechan replied. “Every time summer comes around.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment. Crickets in the distance lamented about the few short days of summer left.

“Lijie,” Yechan began suddenly. “I can’t stand waiting for summer to come around anymore.”

Lijie’s chest tightened.

“Ah?” he murmured.

“When I’m waiting for you to return, even though I can’t be around humans, I want…” Yechan swallowed.

“... To go see you.”

All of a sudden, Lijie was devastatingly aware of the distance between their hands. How, despite being connected by a cloth, their hands would never be able to intertwine with one another. How it would be so easy to simply reach out and slip Yechan’s warm, slim fingers between his own, and how suppressing that urge was so hard.

And just when Lijie began to agonise over this, Yechan stopped. He lifted the mask from his face and reached up, placing it on Lijie’s face instead.

Then, standing on his tip-toes—Yechan leaned in and kissed Lijie on the cheek.

He could feel the warmth of his lips through the mask. He could feel Yechan’s breath on his skin, could smell both the sweat and fragrant scent of the clothes he wore. For a heartbeat of a pause, neither of them moved. Yechan’s lips lingered.

Then, as if reluctant to go, Yechan pulled away. He left the mask on Lijie’s face. Additionally, he left Lijie himself standing there, shocked and stupid, unable to register anything except the agonising, aching joy in his chest.

Lijie could now see Yechan’s full face through the eye holes of the mask. Yechan was smiling at him. It was a happy smile, a little embarrassed and all too knowing.

“That mask…” murmured Yechan. “Keep it.”

This time, it was Lije’s turn to stare silently, rendered expressionless. He was glad. Had Yechan been able to see his face, he would have seen how Lijie was on the verge of passing out.

They resumed walking, this time closer than before. Slowly, the initial euphoria of their kiss wore off.

He probably won’t be there next summer, Lijie thought. The image of the shrine gates, empty and bright popped into his mind.

This… is definitely our last one together.

At that moment, Lijie was startled from his thoughts as two children ran in front of them from the direction of the festival. One of the children wore a mask similar to those of the spirits.

“Hey, wait!” a young boy cried out, who was chasing the child with the mask. As he sprinted past, he tripped on the path, stumbling forwards.

“Watch out!” cried Yechan. Instinctively, his hand shot out, and he grabbed the boy by the wrist. He managed to pull him upright just in time. The three of them stopped in the middle of the path.

“Hey kid,” Lijie said, crouching down to the boy’s eye level. “You okay?”

“Mhm, yeah.” The boy nodded vigorously. “Thank you, Gege.”

“Be careful!” Lijie called after him as the boy and his friend waved good-bye. Soon, the two disappeared into the trees, likely headed towards the town. Lijie watched them go, waving. He was smiling. Smiling from the day’s warmth, the kid’s distant laughter, and the person standing an arm’s length away.

He was smiling until he noticed a soft glow from beside him.

Lijie turned to Yechan and saw that his fingertips were glowing a beautiful turquoise light. They were glowing, or no—

Dissolving.

Yechan stared at his hand, stretched in front of him, stunned. He watched as the tips of his fingernails disappeared in fragments of light.

“Chan-ge…?” Lijie began. Then: realisation struck. Lijie’s stomach dropped.

“Yechan! Was that boy a human?”

Bringing his hand closer to his face, Yechan watched as the light engulfed his fingertips. His lips were parted, eyes wide. Strangely enough, however, he didn’t seem to be afraid. Steadily, he turned to look at Lijie. As he did, the light grew more intense, and more turquoise shards began fading into the night.

“Yechan…” Lijie choked, feeling as if he were suffocating. “Chan-ge.”

Then, Yechan opened his arms wide.

“Come here,” he said, smiling. His voice was overcome with emotion. “I can finally hug you, stupid.”

And so, as Yechan disappeared into fragments of light right before his very eyes—Lijie ran towards him and wrapped his arms around his chest, burying his face in the crook of his neck. The mask fell to the ground, forgotten.

Lijie broke into a wide smile. Yechan smiled back. He pulled Yechan into a hug and felt his arms holding him back, tight and trembling, so real, so solid. He held Yechan and rocked back and forth, back and forth. The light began to whirl around them. Shards drifted past his face into the air, slipping through his fingers, out of his arms.

For a moment, with Yechan against his chest, Lijie really had everything he wanted.

The light vanished as quickly as it came. Lijie’s eyes were closed. The firmness of Yechan’s body disappeared, leaving him clutching only his yukata, clinging on to his lingering scent. Lijie refused to open his eyes.

He didn’t need to. All he knew was that Yechan was gone.

Gently, Lijie fell forwards to the grass, face buried in Yechan’s clothing. He pressed it tightly to his body, his face, his tears, his ragged breaths, all hidden within the folds of its fabric. The world around him filled with soft, emerald-white light. Crickets hummed.

Lijie clutched the last remaining piece of Yechan and sobbed. His body shuddered and heaved.

Like a soft intake of breath, a couple fireflies rose and flitted around him.

I love you, Lijie.

The memory of holding a branch between them, walking side by side, faded to white.

I love you too, Chan-ge. A harsh sob. Always and forever.

Fireflies, at first a dozen, then fifty, then hundreds—flickered to life out of seemingly nowhere. They filled the air, dancing over the surface of the lake, their glow the same shade Yechan’s body had disappeared in. They moved silently, gently. Their small, individual lights weaved around the forest’s trees. By the time Lijie stopped crying, there had to have been at least a thousand fireflies surrounding him.

The next moment Lijie’s eyes were open, he saw the fox mask lying on the ground. Slowly, he picked it up. He gazed down at its worn material. He counted the stripes painted on its cheeks, three, like it had always been, like there would always be.

He closed his eyes and hugged it to his chest.

Far, far away, in the forest of the mountain god where spirits lived, Lijie vowed that he would never forget.

Why do you look so sad? The story’s not over.

Oh, stop it. Don’t make that face, kid. There’s one detail I haven’t mentioned yet—

You know how the little fox spirit turned into a thousand fireflies? Well, it’s said that if each of those fireflies finds its way back to you, then someday, you’ll be reunited with the person you lost.

What, you think it’s impossible? You may be right. I don’t know how every one of them would manage to survive, or how they’d find their way back. A thousand fireflies is a long time to wait.

You’d have to worry if the fireflies lost their way. You’d have to worry about them dying during the winter. There’s a lot of things that could go wrong. It would take forever, basically.

Gosh, it’s getting late. I hope you liked my story. I’ve got to go now, though.

Why? Well—

You could say I’ve got a date of sorts. Tonight, my lover and I are going to a festival in the woods.