After Lian Xin’s body was taken away, Xu Yanghe continued to live in that mansion alone for many days.
Xu Jin remained at his mother’s house, and Xu Qian was unwilling to return.
Compared to the night of the incident, the only difference was that the servants had returned to clean.
Xu Yanghe’s memories of this period were blurred, all etched in sorrow; he cried every single day. He also seemed to go hungry often, finally understanding his mother’s experience when he hadn’t been there.
Life seemed destined to remain this hopeless and dark.
It wasn’t until the Lantern Festival that Zhou Lan’s mother, an old classmate of Xu Qian’s, brought Zhou Lan over for a visit.
Finally, his father wore a mandatory smile, and his elder brother returned.
When Zhou Lan’s mother met Xu Yanghe, she remarked politely that the child seemed precocious and very serious.
Xu Qian replied that he was withdrawn and had always been that way.
It was as if no one remembered why he was so sorrowful and in pain.
Only Zhou Lan, for some inexplicable reason, came to find him to play every day. While Xu Yanghe remained sullen, Zhou Lan always found something to talk about. At first, they just played video games in the room, then they dug for bugs in the garden; slowly, he even led Xu Yanghe out of the house to play.
Xu Yanghe once asked him why he kept coming to find him.
Zhou Lan said that’s just how making friends works.
Xu Yanghe felt himself gradually detaching from the pain. He would still shed tears when thinking of his late mother, but it was also a reflex to laugh when he saw Zhou Lan making funny faces.
Eventually, he stopped crying when he thought of her.
Time trickled by, and the death of his closest relative turned into an abstract memory, allowing Xu Yanghe to continue living a normal life.
This was all thanks to Zhou Lan.
It was all because of a friend.
Zhou Lan was his best friend.
“That’s the kind of relationship I have with Zhou Lan,” this was what Xu Yanghe truly wanted to tell Xie Chun. “Don’t misunderstand.”
“There’s no misunderstanding,” Xie Chun said. Xu Yanghe was stroking his hair, and it felt quite nice.
“He suddenly has to go abroad, and I’m very lonely,” Xu Yanghe said.
He didn’t know if Xie Chun, sitting beside him, would become a new source of solace.
…
One night, Xu Yanghe received a call from Yu Dashan, who was repeatedly screaming for help.
Then the phone was switched off, and they lost contact for ten minutes.
Xu Yanghe was just about to track his IP address when Yu Dashan suddenly called back. “I’m fine, hahaha, just a false alarm.”
After that, it became difficult for Xu Yanghe to reach him. Sometimes, for a simple message, Yu Dashan would take two or three days to reply.
After Zhou Lan went abroad, he vanished from social media for a few days, only to suddenly post an update on his Moments.
Xu Yanghe understood immediately and called him. “Who have you fallen for now?”
“I’m never telling you!” Zhou Lan hung up.
In the second week of the semester, K University forced all sophomores to add a public course: Literature Retrieval.
Xie Chun didn’t understand—was this actually something that required a class?
The first session of Literature Retrieval was scheduled in the computer lab on the top floor of the Fourth Teaching Building. Xie Chun rushed there after finishing his part-time job. By the time he entered the classroom, most students had already arrived.
The students were packed tightly into the back rows; it was clear everyone knew how “fluff” this course was.
Xie Chun entered through the back door. He looked around for a while until a girl on the right called out to him, “Xie Chun, there’s a seat here.”
It was Yao Xiaofeng and Yu Qin.
Xie Chun greeted them, sat in the empty seat next to them, and turned on the computer.
Yao Xiaofeng leaned over. “Got any new ‘resources’ lately?”
Xie Chun froze. “No.”
Ever since the last time Xu Yanghe caught him watching those videos and doing that, Xie Chun hadn’t dared to watch them for a while.
Yao Xiaofeng let out a lament of regret.
A moment later, she whispered again, “I heard Ethan and Davis broke up. I wanted to see who his partner would be for this week’s regular release.”
“They broke up?” Xie Chun was a bit excited. He immediately took out his phone to check online. “They finally broke up!”
“Weren’t you a fan of that couple?” Yao Xiaofeng asked.
Xie Chun shook his head. “Not at all. Davis and Ethan’s styles don’t match at all—Davis is too rough. My heart ached just thinking about Ethan dating him. Finally, they’re done.”
“You’re actually a toxic solo-stan,” Yao Xiaofeng said. “But even though they broke up, no one resigned, right? Sigh, why date a fellow actor in the same studio? It’s going to be so awkward now, having to do that kind of thing with an ex.”
Xie Chun said, “No, Ethan is a professional!”
“…” Yu Qin interjected, “Are you two going to talk about this for the entire class?”
Xie Chun’s computer was terrible. As soon as the teacher started lecturing and told them to open the software, his computer froze.
Xie Chun looked around for another empty seat. This spot was too far back, surrounded by people, and the few scattered empty seats were likely broken.
Yao Xiaofeng said, “Why don’t you ask the teacher to find you one? Otherwise, she’ll think you’re just slacking off.”
Xie Chun nodded, and Yao Xiaofeng called the teacher for him.
The teacher found a random computer near the front. Seeing it started up normally, she called out, “Student, come over here.”
Xie Chun walked over. Someone next to the seat let out a very deliberate “Tsk.”
Xie Chun looked; it was Lin He.
“Hi, Lin He.”
“Just my luck,” Lin He rolled his eyes and moved his chair away pointlessly.
In the front row directly ahead of Lin He sat Xu Yanghe. He waved and said to Xie Chun, “Come here.”
Xie Chun shook his head and didn’t move. He remembered what Yao Xiaofeng had just said—the teacher had found him a seat; if he moved again, it would look like he was causing trouble.
Being rejected by Xie Chun made Xu Yanghe feel a faint twinge of annoyance.
Since it was a fluff class, almost no students in the lab were listening seriously. However, there was a fundamental difference between quietly slacking off and whispering. Consequently, as the teacher lectured, she gradually stood further back, hoping to suppress the talking from the rear.
This left the front row in a “blind spot.”
Lin He kept muttering, “So unlucky, so unlucky…”
The student next to him wasn’t familiar with Xie Chun. “What’s with you? Why are you suddenly so irritable?”
Xu Yanghe, sitting in front, was even more irritable. He nudged Lin He’s computer desk with his elbow. “Put your books back!”
Lin He had a pen and his student ID tucked into his book. He pulled his book back a little, but before long, he unconsciously pushed it forward again.
Lin He gossiped with his classmate, “I’m only annoyed because that Xie Chun is sitting so close.”
Ah, Xie Chun looked on indifferently. Last time Lin He had initiated a greeting on the back street, Xie Chun thought they were on greeting terms.
“What’s wrong?” The classmate followed Lin He’s lead.
“You don’t know, he’s got issues,” Lin He pointed to his head. “Everyone in our dorm finds him annoying.”
Xu Yanghe nudged Lin He’s desk again. “The book!”
“And did you know he’s on work-study? Do you know where he works? The kind that sells booze in nightclubs,” Lin He said.
“Hah,” the classmate started a new round of a mobile game. “That’s actually pretty cool.”
Lin He pushed his hand, nearly making the guy mess up his game. “What are you doing?”
“Did you not hear me? I said he does that kind of work. Plus, he’s gay. Just imagine how messy his life is. He might even have diseases,” Lin He said.
The classmate, during a gap in his game, asked, “Are you homophobic?”
“Wow, you’re really missing the point,” Lin He said.
The classmate laughed. “Only fujoshis call everyone they see gay. Do you have proof?”
“Heh, of course I do. Our whole dorm knows,” Lin He said.
Xu Yanghe, in the front, was frantically gesturing to Xie Chun. “Come over to my side.”
Xie Chun looked up. “Yeah, I am gay.”
Xu Yanghe covered his face. Why are you talking to a person like that?
The two next to him stared, surprised that the seemingly submissive Xie Chun would speak up directly.
Xie Chun continued, “And my job is a waiter, not ‘messy promiscuity’.”
How can he explain his job nature so clearly at a time like this? Xu Yanghe pondered Xie Chun’s verbal response mechanism. He leaned back against his chair; the book behind him pushed out again, and he snatched away Lin He’s student ID.
Xie Chun landed a triple-hit on Lin He: “And aren’t you gay too?”
“Holy shit! It’s one thing for you to be filthy yourself, but don’t slander others.”
Xu Yanghe reached out to pull Xie Chun. “Come to me!”
“Aren’t you?” Xie Chun blinked.
Lin He was already on the edge of rage, looking like he was about to flip the table.
Xie Chun said, “Impossible! I’ve watched countless ‘films’; my gaydar is very accurate!”
“Shut up!” Xu Yanghe stood up abruptly, yanked Xie Chun behind him, and said coldly to Lin He, “What are you doing? You want to start a fight in the computer lab?”
The teacher, unable to take it anymore, pointed at them. “You guys in the front are certainly having a lively time!”
The noisy lab fell silent instinctively. The only sound was someone’s unmuted mobile game.
“Who’s playing games? What major? Who’s your counselor?” The teacher strode back to the podium and took out a notebook. “And you group, report your counselors’ names.”
Then, she stopped teaching altogether. On the spot, she called their counselors one by one to complain, then made “that group” report their names and student IDs—she was going to dock their participation points.
When it was Xie Chun’s turn, the teacher let out a surprised sound. “So you’re Xie Chun?”
Xie Chun nodded.
“Teacher Lin didn’t say you had this kind of personality,” the teacher muttered, skipping over Xie Chun.
For the rest of the class, no one slacked off. Everyone listened to the teacher complain.
“I know you’re all unhappy. What is there to talk about in Literature Retrieval? I’m sure many of you have written competition papers—this Xie Chun would know, right? Searching for literature is something anyone who can turn on a computer can do.”
“Do you think I’m just here to talk about that? I remember a few students from Information Security in this class; you all know me, right?”
“Did you know I was only notified yesterday that I had to teach this? You’re one class; tomorrow there are two more. That’s three extra classes a week until midterms, and they aren’t paying me extra for it, you know? I get paid the same whether I teach this or not; who would want to?”
“If you don’t want to listen, you can play on your phones, whisper, or even sleep—there’s someone sleeping over there. Can I? If I teach, I don’t get extra pay; if I don’t, they dock my salary.”
“Let’s just be considerate of each other, okay? Anyway, you only see me once a week.”