It was late, but Gu Xingyan still couldn’t sleep. He lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The past few days of rain had taken their toll on the neglected building, water seeping through cracks in the walls, leaving a damp, snaking trail across the plaster.
A sharp notification chime cut through the silence. Gu Xingyan sat up, his heart skipping a beat, and unlocked his phone. A message from Ruan Zhao.
[Goodnight.]
His fingers tightened around the device. The knot of tension that had held him captive all night loosened, just a fraction. He instinctively reached to reply, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, then paused. Would a message now disturb Ruan Zhao’s sleep?
But…
Gu Xingyan’s gaze fell to the screen. That solitary, one-word message, for some reason, made his chest ache. He felt an urge to send something back, just to break the silence. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided against it. Instead, he scrolled up and re-read their previous conversations. Mostly, they were initiated by Ruan Zhao.
Most of Ruan Zhao’s messages were either prodding him to finish his homework—no slacking—often punctuated with a bunny emoji brandishing a knife, or demanding Gu Xingyan bring him snacks from the street vendors outside the school gates.
Gu Xingyan’s replies were typically brief.
“Mm.” “Okay.”
At most, he’d say, “Got it.”
Occasionally, they’d have more casual exchanges.
For example…
Gu Xingyan scrolled back.
He found a conversation from a few days prior.
[The fried skewers today weren’t as good as yesterday’s. Did you go to the wrong stall?]
[Aren’t they all the same?]
[How could they be the same? I’ve told you countless times—you have to get them from the stall at the far end. The one run by the nice old lady.]
[Then buy them yourself.]
[No way. If the driver sees me, he’ll tell my mom. She doesn’t let me eat junk food.]
[Then maybe you should listen to her.]
[That’s none of your business. You don’t need to tell me what to do.]
Just reading the message, Gu Xingyan could picture Ruan Zhao’s expression—brows furrowed, lips pressed together, a mix of offense and smugness. Because, ultimately, Gu Xingyan always did what Ruan Zhao wanted. He knew it, and he took full advantage of it.
[Remember what I said! Don’t screw it up tomorrow!!!]
The three exclamation marks clearly showed how seriously he took this matter.
And then, right on cue, Gu Xingyan would receive a transfer notification from Alipay. Since Alipay transactions went straight to the bank, there was no option to refund it.
It was hard to tell whether Ruan Zhao had no concept of money or if he was doing it on purpose, but every time he transferred funds to Gu Xingyan, the amount was always far more than what was actually needed.
……
Since they saw each other almost daily, their WeChat conversations weren’t particularly active. Sometimes, a whole week would pass without a single message exchanged. Yet, it took Gu Xingyan nearly half an hour to sift through their chat history.
Because every sentence Ruan Zhao had sent, every single word, he had to reread meticulously—sometimes more than once. Even when Ruan Zhao replied with a dismissive “.”, he found it oddly endearing.
Deep down, he knew something had shifted. His feelings for Ruan Zhao were no longer simply platonic. But what, then, were they?
The memory of that unspoken, dreamlike moment resurfaced, a flicker of understanding dawning, only to leave him more bewildered. Because, in terms of both social standing and gender, they were worlds apart.
Besides…
He had no clue how Ruan Zhao felt.
Tomorrow was another early morning. He couldn’t afford to dwell on this.
Closing his eyes, Gu Xingyan willed himself to sleep.
Then, his phone lit up with a notification. Not from Ruan Zhao this time, but from the gaming client he’d worked for previously. They’d sent the remaining balance and were offering another commission.
But now that his last debt was cleared, money wasn’t such a pressing concern. So, using his studies as an excuse, he turned down the offer.
Boss: [Alright, whenever you’ve got time, we’ll chat.]
The boss couldn’t resist a little grumble: [Finding reliable boosters these days is a nightmare. They either vanish or try to rip you off.]
……
Gu Xingyan had a hazy recollection of this boss. Beyond the frequent material and achievement grinding gigs—always paid on time—what stood out was his social media. His feed was a constant parade of outings with different women—shopping, dining, movies… He projected the image of someone with considerable dating experience.
Gu Xingyan paused, then politely inquired: [Can I ask you a relationship question?]
The boss immediately felt validated. Gu Xingyan clearly recognized his expertise.
Boss: [You’ve come to the right place! When it comes to this stuff, I’m top dog. No one else even comes close.]
A minute later, Gu Xingyan sent a lengthy message.
[What if someone’s friendly with everyone but you? They’re all smiles with others, but the moment they turn to you, their expression drops—like you’re the only person they dislike…]
Reading this, the boss broke out in a cold sweat. It sounded like this girl couldn’t stand the poor booster. But telling him that outright would bruise his ego and hurt his feelings. And if the guy got embarrassed and refused future gigs, where would he find another reliable booster?
Just as the boss was struggling for a tactful response, Gu Xingyan sent another message.
[…But they’re not outright mean. They just lose their temper only with you and only ask you for favors.]
[Sometimes, though, they get really clingy. Like they can’t be without you. They’ll call late at night, saying they can’t sleep, and ask you to tell them stories. They’ll hand you half-eaten food, saying they can’t finish it…]
The boss let out a relieved sigh and started typing furiously.
Boss: [They’re into you.]
Boss: [No doubt about it, man. She definitely likes you.]
It was clear the boss had assumed Ruan Zhao was a girl, but Gu Xingyan didn’t bother to correct him.
Boss: [Girls are always like this. The more they like someone, the more they tease them. And the more they cling to them, too.]
Boss: [They’re polite to others, but comfortable around you.]
The boss continued.
Boss: [She’s nice to everyone else, but loses her temper only with you, showing you her worst moods. If that doesn’t prove something, what does? You’re definitely the most special person to her!]
The boss was ready to stake his reputation on it.
Boss: [Trust me. Solid as a rock.]
Gu Xingyan: [I’ll take your order.]
The boss’s face lit up.
Boss: [Thanks, bro! Wishing you and your girl a happy ending. If things work out, don’t forget to send me some wedding sweets!]
The boss lit a cigarette, watching the white smoke curl upwards as he let out a weary sigh. Who would’ve thought this cool, aloof booster would get tangled up in feelings? Late at night, no less—so tangled up he had to ask someone else what the other person thought of him.
Really… A gaming god, but a total newbie when it came to love. No one could escape it.
……
Gu Xingyan sat there for a long time, his phone resting in his hand. His mind was a tangled mess, like a ball of yarn after a cat’s playful assault—no clear thread to follow.
So… Ruan Zhao likes me.
Gu Xingyan tried to maintain a neutral expression, to appear indifferent. But a faint, almost imperceptible blush crept up from the tips of his ears. His eyes shimmered, as if tiny stars had taken residence within them.
Feeling the warmth spreading across his cheeks, he pressed the cool back of his hand against his face, hoping to quell the heat. It was a futile effort. Now, his palm was warm too.
It felt as if his blood had suddenly turned to a simmering current, sending an unfamiliar restlessness through him. Even his breathing had become uneven.
But this time, it wasn’t the fever of illness. It was… something else entirely.
Gu Xingyan reached for the glass of water on his desk, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drained it in one gulp. Then, a thought surfaced, making his fingertips tremble slightly.
So that means… we like each other.
……
Ruan Zhao overslept. Even after his alarm went off three times, he didn’t wake up. It wasn’t until the sun was high, its light streaming through the gap in his curtains from the night before, that he finally stirred.
Last night, he’d endured a string of nightmares—ghosts chasing him, a car crash, blood everywhere. A restless night, with barely any sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were testament to that.
It took Ruan Zhao a considerable effort to coax himself out of bed. Sluggishly, he dressed, washed, and grabbed a quick breakfast. Predictably, he was late.
By the time he rushed into school, his classmates had finished their second period. He dropped his bag at his desk, glancing at the empty seat beside him. For a fleeting moment, he paused. But then, he carried on as if nothing was amiss, quietly unpacking his things and pulling out the books and worksheets for the next class.
One of the books wasn’t his—it belonged to Gu Xingyan. A small, pale-yellow sticky note adorned the cover, the name written in rounded, deliberate strokes. It was his own handwriting.
Since they kept accidentally swapping belongings, Ruan Zhao had started labeling them, hoping to prevent mix-ups. Turns out, it hadn’t made much difference. What was destined to go wrong still did.
He placed Gu Xingyan’s book back on the desk, then searched for his own. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find it. It wasn’t difficult to deduce—Gu Xingyan must have taken it.
A flash of irritation sparked in Ruan Zhao’s chest. His name was clearly labeled, in plain sight. He’d even used a different colored sticky note to avoid confusion, yet Gu Xingyan had still managed to grab the wrong book. Did he even bother looking?
Then, it dawned on him—he’d made the same mistake before. They were equally careless. Neither had any right to complain.
Pressing his lips together, he snapped a quick photo and sent it to Gu Xingyan.
[Is my book with you?]
He waited, but there was no reply. Not that he was surprised. Gu Xingyan had already been picked up by the Xiang family. He was probably at some high-end facility getting a paternity test—he wouldn’t have time to check his messages.
A mix of emotions churned within Ruan Zhao. On one hand, he was happy for him. On the other, a strange, lingering frustration gnawed at him, one he couldn’t quite articulate.
Maybe it was because… from now on, there wouldn’t be anyone like Gu Xingyan—someone who’d simply go along with whatever he said, letting him push him around. Or maybe he’d just grown too accustomed to having Gu Xingyan by his side. Now that he was gone, the void felt too jarring. He’d need time to adjust.
Lowering his gaze, Ruan Zhao shoved his phone into the compartment under his desk. From now on, he wouldn’t involve himself in Gu Xingyan’s affairs anymore. They’d walk their separate paths—no more crossing lines, no more blurred boundaries.
And that was fine. It had to be.
Right now, just the fact that Gu Xingyan wasn’t responding as quickly as before was enough to make him restless. If, someday, Gu Xingyan decided to retaliate for everything he’d put him through, what then? Would he simply crumble in despair?
…How ridiculous. He wasn’t here to make friends. This wasn’t part of the mission. He needed to get his head straight.
But just as he was convincing himself of that—his phone screen lit up.
Ruan Zhao froze for a second, then quickly grabbed his phone and unlocked the screen.
Gu Xingyan: [Yeah, I have it.]
He really was busy—so busy that it took him ages to send a brief reply.
Gu Xingyan: [I have something to take care of today, so I won’t be able to come to school. I’ll give it back to you tomorrow.]
Ruan Zhao knew exactly what he was going through. And yet, for some reason, he still asked: [What are you busy with?]
As if, by prolonging the conversation, he could keep it from ending.
Several more minutes ticked by before Gu Xingyan finally responded.
[It’s hard to explain over text. I’ll tell you in person when we meet.]
……
But the next day, Gu Xingyan didn’t show up. Nor the day after. The messages Ruan Zhao sent him vanished into silence, as if they’d sunk to the ocean floor, never to resurface.
…Liar.
Ruan Zhao turned to the system. [Is he planning to stay in Beijing and never come back?]
It wouldn’t be surprising. His parents and family were all there. This city held nothing but painful memories for him—nothing worth holding onto. He could walk away, leave everything behind, and start anew.
The system hesitated before cautiously replying: [That possibility cannot be ruled out.]
Ruan Zhao scoffed. [So what about me, the designated villain? What, I don’t even get to be humiliated by the protagonist anymore?]
The system stammered, [M-Maybe it’s because we interfered with the storyline, and the butterfly effect… uh, erased this part of the plot?]
Ruan Zhao didn’t feel like talking anymore.
Just then, Chen Feng leaned over. He had a handful of sunflower seeds—who knew where he’d gotten them—and generously shared half with Ruan Zhao. As he cracked the shells, he started chatting.
“Where’s Gu Xingyan? Haven’t seen him at school the past few days. Did he drop out?”
Who the hell would drop out right before the college entrance exams? The thought alone was ridiculous.
Ruan Zhao casually picked up a sunflower seed, cracked it open with his nails, and replied indifferently, “No idea.”
Chen Feng gave him a skeptical look. “Come on, you’re the closest to him in our class. You really don’t know where he went?”
Ruan Zhao hesitated for a second before shaking his head. Then he added, “He might not be coming back.”
Sensing a shift in Ruan Zhao’s mood, Chen Feng wisely changed the subject. Instead, he kept cracking seeds—acting exactly like the gossiping old ladies who sat around in the village, swapping rumors. Clearly, the real reason he’d come over wasn’t small talk.
“You know Xiang Zhijian, right? The guy you drenched in wine the other day—his face was so sour after that. Well, he’s in big trouble.”
Ruan Zhao raised an eyebrow. “What kind of trouble?”
Chen Feng scooted his chair closer, lowering his voice as if he was about to divulge top-secret information. “Something huge just happened in the Xiang family. Word is—Xiang Zhijian isn’t actually their real son. The real eldest young master is someone else entirely.”
Ruan Zhao’s expression remained unchanged. “Oh? Is that so?”
Previous Chapter | TOC | Next Chapter
Axolotl Translations 
Leave a comment