The consequence of Rong Ting tossing and turning all night like a pancake on a griddle was waking up with dark circles under her eyes.
Having fallen asleep too late, Rong Ting didn’t wake until after 10 a.m. She hastily tidied her bedding, checked her phone, and saw she still had two hours before her first afternoon class. After folding her quilt, she left her bedroom and was startled to see Ran Jiu’s bedroom door unusually open.
She approached and stood outside. The curtains were drawn open, and the entire room was bathed in a deep blue hue, enveloped in a hazy, mist-like light. The computer screen was off, with a tangled mess of cables still beneath it. The microphone wasn’t on its stand, and the headphones were casually tossed on the desk—clear evidence of the owner’s careless habits.
But there was no one in the room.
Rong Ting snapped back to reality and noticed the yogurt and jackfruit left untouched on the coffee table.
Her heart sank for a moment, but she went about her usual routine—washing her face, brushing her teeth, packing all her materials and laptop—and headed to school for class.
This was an educational practicum class, and the professor was quite eccentric. The course stipulated that 80% of the usual grade depended entirely on students voluntarily taking the stage for presentations—the more presentations, the higher the accumulated score.
There was an even more bizarre rule: if other students could effectively refute the presenter’s arguments, the points deducted from the presenter would be added to the refuter’s score.
As a result, this class had been criticized from the beginning to the end of the semester. Yet, even as everyone grumbled, they still competed fiercely. Some had already been forced to present three times, making even the most laid-back students restless.
Rong Ting had no fondness for such a class and hadn’t taken the stage even once so far. However, for the sake of her final grade, she carefully reviewed the previously covered material and settled on a relatively appropriate topic.
After she finished her presentation, the professor, as usual, asked the students, “Who would like to offer a rebuttal?”
As expected, Wan Sang raised her hand.
Rong Ting sneered inwardly, never expecting Wan Sang to provide any valuable criticism. Sure enough, Wan Sang fixated on individual words in the presentation, nitpicking endlessly and distorting their meanings to an extreme degree.
Under normal circumstances, Rong Ting might have let it slide to avoid conflict. But this time, for some reason, the pent-up frustration and resentment within her reached a boiling point, and her words took on a distinctly provocative tone.
“I don’t believe Wan Sang truly understands the meaning I’ve explained. I suggest you read it a few more times before questioning it.”
Wan Sang bristled. “Who do you think you’re looking down on? I’ve already read it! If you’re so sensitive, don’t force an explanation. Your arguments are clearly full of problems.”
Rong Ting scoffed. “I’ve never really believed you could grasp my points. So, if you insist on twisting them, please start by defining my definitions first.”
The entire class fell silent instantly, and the professor’s pen clattered onto the desk.
What followed spiraled out of everyone’s control. Before the teaching assistant could intervene, the two of them were already arguing.
Wan Sang’s face flushed red. “Sophistry! That’s pure sophistry!”
Rong Ting shot her a cold glance. “I understand human speech, but I can’t comprehend nonsense.”
Wan Sang’s obstinacy reached its peak. “To be frank with everyone, Rong Ting’s meticulously prepared content is just a patchwork of several academic papers. No wonder it sounds so familiar. Calling you a ‘paper tailor’ would be too generous.”
Rong Ting was even more amused by the anger. “You can misinterpret even what you’re familiar with? Then please provide footnotes for the paper I supposedly plagiarized. Otherwise, I won’t even know which one I copied.”
Amidst the sarcastic, tension-filled exchange between the two, the spectators below could hardly keep up. Finally, a crack appeared on the professor’s face as he angrily snapped, “If you don’t want to attend class, both of you get out!”
There was still an hour left before class ended. Standing outside the teaching building, Rong Ting looked up at the clear blue sky and thought it wasn’t so bad—she could head to her tutoring job early.
That afternoon, the two children she tutored had gotten out of school early and were in an excited, hyper state. Despite Rong Ting’s efforts to calm them down, they continued to shout and bounce around.
Her expression darkened. Children are clever—seeing her displeasure, they immediately settled down and obediently sat to study.
After finishing several hours of tutoring, the children’s mother returned and transferred the payment as usual. Rong Ting thanked her and stayed behind to pack her things.
Outside, there were faint rustling footsteps, and then the little girl handed her a piece of rum-filled chocolate, her small face filled with unease. “Mom said we weren’t well-behaved today and told us to apologize to you.”
The chocolate was a German brand, wrapped in simple yet elegant foil, likely quite expensive.
Rong Ting was taken aback.
This was yet another act of kindness she had received in this unfamiliar city.
And the last time had been from Ran Jiu.
She suddenly smiled in relief. Just for this, she had to learn to be grateful.
The children’s mother stood at the doorway, watching them, and deliberately scolded the two kids, “Exactly, you should be a bit more sensible and not always upset your teacher.”
The little girl hesitantly took Rong Ting’s hand. “Teacher, I’m sorry. We made you unhappy.”
Rong Ting wasn’t about to let the children take the blame and explained that it wasn’t their fault.
“Then why were you unhappy?” the little girl asked, dragging out the word “why” in her sweet, childish voice. Rong Ting couldn’t help but laugh. “Because it seems like the teacher had a disagreement with a good friend. Also, the teacher’s scholarship might be in jeopardy.”
The little boy beside her chimed in, thinking himself clever, “So you lost both your wife and your money?”
The little girl corrected him. “Mom taught us it’s ‘lose both your wife and your troops.'”
The little boy protested, “Isn’t it the same thing?”
As the two argued over the correct phrasing, they didn’t notice Rong Ting’s slightly awkward expression. She sighed and patted both children’s heads.
The little boy declared boldly, “Let Mom give the teacher a raise! She earns a lot!”
The little girl nodded in agreement. “Yes! Give the teacher a raise!” She turned to Rong Ting, her innocent eyes wide open. “Teacher, don’t be sad. I’ll ask Mom to give you the scholarship. As for good friends… we can’t help with that. You still need to coax them properly.”
Rong Ting didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The gloom in her heart gradually dissipated, leaving only regret and guilt.
How should she explain things to Ran Jiu?
And how would she face her when she returned?
By the time she left the tutoring house, it was already past 7 p.m. The bus was sparsely populated, and Rong Ting easily found a seat by the window, still indifferent to the scenery outside.
As lush trees flashed by, her heart gradually grew calm.
Returning to her usual routine—going home to study and do homework, continuing to be good roommates with Ran Jiu—was actually quite nice. She had already gained so much and no longer yearned for more.
However, upon returning home, she discovered that the jackfruit on the coffee table had been opened, clearly missing half, and one of the two cartons of yogurt she had bought was gone.
Her slightly calmed heart began to stir again, like a bewildered deer crashing into the woods.
Ran Jiu’s room had the door open and the lights on. Without even changing her shoes, Rong Ting hurried over: “Ran—”
Only to find the other sitting in a chair, singing into a microphone. Ran Jiu seemed to know she was behind her, pressing her index and middle fingers together in a downward gesture, signaling her to wait.
Rong Ting fell silent just in time, watching the barrage of comments flying across the large screen. Ran Jiu hadn’t turned on the camera, keeping her face hidden as she sang a song.
It was Angesi’s “Dancin.”
Her slender figure sank slightly into the computer chair, the oversized headphones covering her ears completely. From the side, only the delicate contours of her profile were visible, her lips parting and closing lazily as she hummed the lyrics.
All the time my baby you on my mind
And I don’t know why yeah but the feeling is fine
Can’t you see honey you are for me
Oh we were meant to be
…
It was a song with a nightclub vibe, many of the lyrics deliberately slurred, carrying a seductive charm.
Leaning back in her chair with the headphones on, Ran Jiu glanced at the lyrics on the side screen, effortlessly singing with a lazy, flirtatious tone—like a lover soothing with sweet nothings, a dangerous sugar-coated bullet, an immersive drug.
Several jackfruit seeds lay on a white sheet of paper on the table, next to an opened yogurt carton. Rong Ting’s heart settled back into place.
She thought, perhaps this was just fine.
Ran Jiu was clearly free-spirited and carefree—aloof and solitary, yet she would tease her with harmless jokes, glance at her a few more times, say a few extra words, and occasionally rely on her. But none of these actions necessarily meant anything.
She was vibrant, grand, as if nothing ever weighed on her heart, growing resiliently like sturdy grass and trees.
Nothing could ever hold her down.
Ran Jiu continued singing.
Every time when I look in your eyes
I smile with pride happy that you’re mine
Joy in love your love is true I know
You are the best thing that has happened to me
…
The song ended with a smooth, final note. Fans were still frantically flooding the screen, begging for another song.
Ran Jiu leaned forward, picked up the half-finished yogurt, tore off the lid, and licked the yogurt residue clinging to it. A bit of foam stuck to the corner of her mouth, and she suddenly flicked out her tongue, deftly catching it back.
Rong Ting’s heart gave another abrupt thump.
She was grateful the fans hadn’t seen it.
Because a tongue like that… really did seem suited for kissing…
Ran Jiu had probably been live-streaming for quite some time before Rong Ting returned. Her voice was no longer as clear and bright as before, a bit hoarse now, its texture like slightly sparkling fruit wine.
The screen was flooded with requests for her to sing again. She just smiled, and that light, doting tone immediately carried through the microphone.
Then, the screen was instantly covered with a dense barrage of comments.
【Don’t use that doting voice! Don’t!】
【That gasp before sister laughed really hit me right in the feels.】
【Don’t listen to the ones above, laugh more, okay?】
【But boss’s voice is so hoarse, it has a unique quality to it.】
【Jiu-chan, have you been secretly staying up late again? Careful, mommy will spank you.】
【What’s wrong, Jiu? You haven’t streamed lately, miss you so much!】
Ran Jiu looked at the screen and answered the questions: “Sang too many love songs, hurts the body and the heart, can’t sleep well at night.”
“Ah, just drank some cold medicine, a bit bitter. Caught a cold recently.”
“What? Drinking sesame oil helps with a hoarse throat? I’ll try that next time.”
Only Rong Ting saw that while she spoke as if it were all true, her face remained completely expressionless.
A little imp who lies with practiced ease.
The fans over there, however, bought it.
【Big sis, remember to stream again next time, at least three songs.】
Ran Jiu said “okay,” essentially agreeing.
At that moment, a comment floated by: 【Is Jiu-da in the recording studio? How come I heard a soft, girly voice just now?】
Ran Jiu only answered the first part: “Not in the recording studio. I was sick for a while, so I’ve been resting at home. Just as my throat got a little better, I started streaming.”
Rong Ting thought to herself, well, that part wasn’t a lie.
The fans expressed their concern, telling her to drink more water and take care of her voice.
Someone persistently asked: 【Is that soft, girly voice a roommate?】
This time, Ran Jiu didn’t keep hiding it: “Mm, she’s living with me now.”
The screen erupted in a flurry of pink bubbles.
【Can roommate-sister say hello?】
【I raise my hand in agreement! Xiao Jiu is great, the roommate must be even cuter.】
【Since you’re here, don’t leave. How about both of you taking a bow together?】
Rong Ting thought Ran Jiu would brush it off, but instead, she smiled again: “Then I’ll ask her.”
As Ran Jiu turned towards her, Rong Ting was already frantically waving her hands in panic, a look of agony on her face.
No, no, no, no, no—
Seriously, with her voice, could she even go on mic? Being able to lecture students was impressive enough.
And what would she even say on mic? Have them all recite a text in unison?
Ran Jiu mouthed to her: “How about just saying hello? I didn’t turn the camera on.”
This time, Rong Ting couldn’t dodge it. She shot Ran Jiu a cool, resigned glance and walked over, accepting her fate.
Seemingly hearing her footsteps, a wave of comments flooded the screen, mostly urging her to speak.
Rong Ting took a deep breath: “Hello everyone, I’m your Jiu-da’s roommate.”
The screen nearly exploded.
【Hahaha so cute, so formal?】
【Little sister’s voice sounds so young, are you even an adult?】
【Damn, Jiu-da’s roommate calls her Jiu-da too, so is Jiu-da really ‘da’ (big) or not?】
【Hey, don’t make inappropriate jokes up there, careful of getting banned. But this voice is really soft and girly, wow, don’t know who to envy.】
Since you call her Jiu-da, can the soft girl act cute and act coquettishly?】
The messages that followed were even more practical: “Please help take care of our little drunkard, roommate! Our girl loves to drink, can’t have milk, refuses to wear pants when it’s cold, and hates taking medicine when she’s sick. Roommate, please make sure she drinks less, forces her to put on thermal pants, and takes her medicine on time. Please take good care of this little one! Thank you!”
Rong Ting forgot that the other person couldn’t see her and nodded awkwardly, “Yes, I will.” She heard movement beside her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the person lying on the table, laughing so hard that her shoulders trembled, her butterfly bones even protruding slightly.
Ran Jiu laughed for a long time before calmly sitting up, saying goodbye to her fans, and logging off. She even had the energy to tidy up a few scripts on the table, then winked at Rong Ting. “Remember what you just said? You have to keep your word.”
Today, she was dressed rather innocently—a loose dark blue T-shirt—yet it still couldn’t quite cover her collarbones. Two black straps crossed right over her collarbones and tied behind her neck. When she smiled, there was a mix of charm and mischief in her expression. “Seriously, do you want to try voice acting? If you do, I can mentor you!”
Rong Ting refused simply and decisively, “No.”
The air seemed to freeze with that response, stretching the moment into an uncomfortable silence.
In the quiet, some invisible barrier seemed to quietly break.
The smile on Ran Jiu’s face gradually faded as she asked with a hint of seriousness, “Why were you angry yesterday?”