“You like reading comics? I never heard you mention that before.” Jiang Youyi turned off her phone screen, picked up the last slice of meat, and ate it in one bite, asking in a muffled voice, “Besides Conan, do you read anything else?”
Yan Wei smiled: “Yes, I read both novels and comics. When I have time, I also follow anime series. I prefer mystery and detective genres, but horror is fine too.”
“Really?” Jiang Youyi was both surprised and intrigued, firing off questions one after another, “Which novels have you read? Sherlock Holmes? The Da Vinci Code? Do you read Keigo Higashino? What about Cai Jun?”
“I’ve read all of those you mentioned,” Yan Wei replied calmly. “Besides those, I’ve read famous detective works from both domestic and international authors. But my favorite writer is Agatha Christie—her works are so brilliant.”
Actually, she didn’t read these during her student years. Back then, she hadn’t been exposed to them, so she couldn’t even say whether she liked them or not. Even if she did, her parents wouldn’t have allowed her to read such “frivolous books.”
But Jiang Youyi liked them.
Yan Wei enjoyed reading and was good at it, but due to her strict parents, she rarely read novels or comics.
After graduating from high school and moving out, Yan Wei would visit bookstores or the school library whenever she had free time. Starting with Keigo Higashino, whom Jiang Youyi had mentioned in her diary, she caught up on the youth she had missed, gradually cultivating Jiang Youyi’s hobbies into her own—including the habit of keeping a diary.
In Jiang Youyi’s memory, Yan Wei’s free time was either spent solving problems or reading study materials. She had never seen Yan Wei buy extracurricular books, so she was genuinely surprised to learn that Yan Wei enjoyed mystery and detective stories.
They now had another common topic to talk about.
Jiang Youyi was both surprised and a little happy.
“Do you read short stories? What about magazines? Like these!” Jiang Youyi sat on the bed, leaned forward, pulled out the suitcase from under the bed, and retrieved the detective magazines she had just put away.
Seeing there was no space on the table, Jiang Youyi said, “Wait a moment,” and quickly packed up the empty lunch boxes before tossing them into the trash. While she was tidying up, Yan Wei took a wet wipe from her bedside and cleaned the table.
As she wiped the table, Yan Wei answered Jiang Youyi: “I rarely read magazines. Do you have any recommendations?”
By the time she started reading novels, magazines were already fading in popularity, with electronic platforms and virtual publications flooding the internet. The magazines Jiang Youyi liked had all ceased publication later on.
Jiang Youyi quickly pulled out a few issues from the messy pile of books: “If I had to recommend, it would be these. They mostly feature short stories, with fewer serials, but the quality of individual pieces is high. There are a few columns I really like—let me show you.”
With a rustle of pages, Jiang Youyi skillfully flipped to one of the columns and handed it to Yan Wei: “See if you like it. If you do, you can take all of these!”
“What do these marks on the table of contents mean?” After finishing one of the short stories, Yan Wei flipped back to the table of contents and noticed marks next to some titles. The shapes of the marks varied, but they seemed to follow a pattern rather than being randomly drawn.
Jiang Youyi opened a new book and replied without looking up: “Oh, those are my notes for reference. Some mark stories with excellent writing, while others highlight impressive structure and logic.”
“What are you marking these for?” Yan Wei asked curiously. “What kind of reference? Are you going to write a novel?”
Jiang Youyi put down the book. “What? Can’t I?” She raised her eyebrows, her expression fierce and her tone sharp, looking a bit angry and awkward.
But it also indirectly confirmed Yan Wei’s guess.
“Of course, you can. Writing novels is great.” This was the first time Yan Wei had learned about Jiang Youyi’s hidden hobby, and she immediately grew interested. “What kind of novels do you write? Mystery and detective stories? Can I take a look?”
“No!” Jiang Youyi skipped the first two questions and firmly refused Yan Wei.
Yan Wei let out a whine, slumping bonelessly onto the small desk, looking pitifully at Jiang Youyi. “Why not?”
Jiang Youyi kept a straight face. “No reason. No means no!” She covered Yan Wei’s face with the magazine in her hand, trying to hide her flushed ears.
Yan Wei pulled the book off her face, blinking her wide eyes as she stared at Jiang Youyi, her pleading and curiosity softly hidden in her gaze.
Under Yan Wei’s overly intense stare, the blush quickly spread from Jiang Youyi’s ears to her cheeks.
“I said no, so no. Don’t be like this.” Jiang Youyi’s tone softened, but her face remained stern as she frowned and turned away, pretending to flip through the magazine a couple of times.
Yan Wei smiled, her eyebrows curving as she deliberately teased her. “Like what?”
“…” Jiang Youyi buried her face in the pages of the book.
In the end, Yan Wei never got to see the novel Jiang Youyi was writing. On this point, Jiang Youyi was particularly firm, and Yan Wei couldn’t persuade her, so she had to surrender. “Alright, alright. But I want to know, has anyone else read your novel? Besides you.”
“No,” Jiang Youyi replied.
Yan Wei brightened up again. “So, am I the first to know you write novels?”
Jiang Youyi was speechless. What was there to be happy about?
She rolled her eyes dramatically and raised the magazine higher to cover her flushed face.
“Yes.”
Yan Wei grew excited, tugging at Jiang Youyi’s sleeve. “Then promise me, if you ever publish it, I want to be your first reader!”
Jiang Youyi fell silent for a few seconds.
Seeing her expression change, Yan Wei’s heart suddenly sank, thinking Jiang Youyi would refuse. But after a while, Jiang Youyi replied, “Okay.”
Yan Wei didn’t know which word in her sentence had triggered something, but Jiang Youyi’s mood seemed to have suddenly turned sour.
All her efforts to get closer by bringing meals had been in vain, and Yan Wei felt deeply regretful.
She climbed up from the desk, disheartened, and said helplessly, “I’m going back. Can I borrow these magazines?”
“Mhm.” Jiang Youyi kept her head down, her gaze fixed on some point between the lines, not turning the page for a long time.
Back in the dorm, Yan Wei climbed onto her bed, leaned against the wall with a pillow behind her back, and opened the magazines she had borrowed from Jiang Youyi. With mixed feelings, she immersed herself in the stories, quickly getting lost in them.
About half an hour later, the other roommates returned. Before they even entered the room, Yan Wei heard Zhou Xiaoxiao’s voice. “Huh? Who left milk tea here?”
A few seconds later, Zhou Xiaoxiao pushed open the dorm door, holding up a plastic bag as she called out to Yan Wei. “Someone left milk tea here! There’s a folded note with your name written on the back!”
“Could it be a love letter from some guy, delivered through a girl?” a roommate chimed in, teasing.
Zhou Xiaoxiao passionately complained, “Not even an envelope? If this really is a confession letter, it’s way too straightforward! How can someone with this level of game ever hope to chase our class flower?”
Laughter rippled through the dorm room.
Yan Wei set down the magazine in her hand and beckoned to Zhou Xiaoxiao. “Let me see the note.”
Zhou Xiaoxiao handed over the milk tea bag along with it. Yan Wei pulled out the note Zhou Xiaoxiao had mentioned from the side, unfolded it, and recognized the messy handwriting as oddly familiar.
What goes around comes around.
“Pfft.” Yan Wei couldn’t help but laugh. This girl was just as straightforward as any guy.
Zhou Xiaoxiao, who had been secretly observing, along with their two other roommates, all heard Yan Wei’s laughter. The dorm fell into an eerie silence for a couple of seconds.
Zhou Xiaoxiao’s eyes widened in shock before she let out an earth-shattering shriek. “Holy crap! There’s something going on! Spill it—who sent the milk tea?!”