The two of them had been playing for just over an hour when Li Xingchuan became so unbearably sleepy that his controls gradually began to fall apart.
The fact that he had managed to stay focused on the game for so long while fighting the effects of the alcohol was already a remarkable display of willpower. Nevertheless, no matter how strong a person’s willpower was, sleepiness was not something that could simply be defeated through sheer determination.
In less than ten minutes, he once again made a series of horribly clumsy moves, so ugly that they were almost painful to watch. Feeling rather dejected, he put down the controller and let his thoughts wander.
When was the last time he had played a game together with Ji Wangcheng?
Sometime in July or August, during last year’s summer vacation.
Every summer seemed to come with the same familiar set of keywords.
The oppressive heat, the monotonous and uneventful days, the crowded swimming pools, the supplementary classes he had to attend under the blazing sun, and Ji Wangcheng returning from the capital.
Compared with all the other things associated with summer vacation, Xiao Ji seemed particularly endearing.
During the first year after Ji Wangcheng transferred schools, Li Xingchuan had worried about all sorts of things. For instance, he had feared that his friend might eventually decide to stay in the capital permanently and never return to Yucheng again, leaving them unable to see each other for the rest of their lives.
For an elementary school student, such a possibility was practically a disaster on the same scale as the sky collapsing over his head.
Back then, Li Xingchuan had solemnly told Ji Wangcheng that he had to come back to Yucheng during the summer vacation so they could play together. Ji Wangcheng had agreed, and he had never once broken his promise.
Without either of them realizing it, nearly ten years had already passed.
Every time they parted, they would spend an entire year apart. Yet, whenever Li Xingchuan saw Ji Wangcheng again the following summer, it always felt as though nothing had changed at all.
Li Xingchuan stared blankly at the paused game screen for a few seconds before suddenly turning his head to look at Ji Wangcheng.
Most of the childishness had long since disappeared from Ji Wangcheng’s appearance. His features had become more defined and pronounced, and the lines running from his brow bone down to the bridge of his nose resembled the contours of a mountain range, rising and falling in a smooth, continuous sweep that shaped an almost flawless profile.
From the perspective of his physical appearance alone, Ji Wangcheng had, in fact, changed quite a lot.
Ji Wangcheng looked back at him. “What’s wrong?”
Li Xingchuan hadn’t expected to get caught staring with just that one glance. An awkward feeling immediately crept over him, and before his brain could catch up, his mouth had already started moving, hastily coming up with a random excuse. “Oh, I was thinking of adding you on WeChat. We’ll be in university soon, and we’ll probably use it more often from now on.”
Ji Wangcheng: “…”
Seeing the faint confusion beneath Ji Wangcheng’s otherwise composed expression, Li Xingchuan immediately understood. He asked, “You don’t have WeChat yet?”
Ji Wangcheng replied, “No.”
“Hand it over. I’ll register an account for you.”
Ji Wangcheng reached into his pocket, took out his phone, and obediently handed it over without the slightest objection.
Li Xingchuan pressed the power button.
There was no password. Both the lock screen and the wallpaper were still set to their default settings, and the phone was filled with the preinstalled iOS apps that came with a newly purchased device. Every single one had the same clean, minimalist interface, making the little penguin icon on the screen look like a husky that had somehow wandered into a pack of wolves.
Ji Wangcheng’s parents had never restricted his use of electronic devices. If anything, they were quite supportive of it. The latest tablets, mobile phones, and gaming consoles were all readily available to him. As long as he wanted something, he could have it without much effort.
It was genuinely difficult to believe that someone with access to such an abundance of technology could somehow manage to remain so disconnected from the internet in practically every possible way.
Li Xingchuan couldn’t help sighing once again. “You really don’t rely on the internet at all to pass the time, do you?”
Ji Wangcheng replied indifferently, “It’s not very interesting.”
Li Xingchuan asked, “Then what do you usually do when you’re bored?”
Ji Wangcheng gave the same answer as before. “Sleep.”
Some people were perhaps born needing more sleep than others. Li Xingchuan’s deskmate from the first year of high school had been a human sloth in every sense of the word. He always justified his sleeping habits with the claim that he needed to rest properly to have enough energy to study. Sleeping twelve or thirteen hours a day was apparently still not enough for him.
Li Xingchuan asked, “How long do you sleep every day?”
Ji Wangcheng replied, “An entire day.”
Li Xingchuan assumed he was making a deadpan joke and decided to be a good audience. Raising his voice, he began singing to the tune of Happy Breakup, improvising a completely different set of lyrics. “As long as you pick the right date, can you celebrate hibernation day every single day?”
Ji Wangcheng didn’t say anything. He simply propped his chin on one hand and watched him.
The line running from the back of his hand to his shoulder was lean and graceful, like the slender branches of willow trees stretching out in spring.
The ceiling light in the living room cast a soft, pale-yellow glow. The light fell into his eyes, revealing not the slightest ripple of emotion, yet somehow making them appear remarkably clear.
Most people would have been deceived by the coldness of his appearance, assuming that Ji Wangcheng was someone with unfathomable depths and a mind full of complicated calculations. But in a certain sense, he was actually a very simple person, so simple that it seemed as though he had never really grown up.
Just like now, Ji Wangcheng was maintaining his inscrutable silence. The most likely explanation was that… he simply hadn’t understood the joke.
“You’re so boring.” Li Xingchuan couldn’t help laughing. “Fine, I’ll stop teasing you.”
By the time their casual conversation came to an end, WeChat had finished downloading. Li Xingchuan skillfully registered an account for Ji Wangcheng and added his own account to the new contact list.
“Do you want to add some of your high school classmates, too?” he asked.
Ji Wangcheng answered, “There’s no need.”
Li Xingchuan was speechless. “…Then I’ll change your profile status to your WeChat ID.”
Ji Wangcheng agreed.
Li Xingchuan switched over to the penguin app. Ji Wangcheng’s chat list contained only one living, breathing person: [Shanshan]. Everything else consisted of miscellaneous notification accounts and promotional messages, which had piled up to 99+ unread messages without him ever bothering to clear them.
This internet nonconformist was committed to maintaining his cold and aloof persona to the very end. Every little detail about him reflected the same attitude: he simply couldn’t care less about anything happening online.
Li Xingchuan quickly changed Ji Wangcheng’s profile status as promised. Just then, he noticed a red notification bubble appear beside the [Contacts] tab. Feeling inexplicably uncomfortable at the sight, he instinctively tapped it open.
[Friend Request Message]: Big brother, I’m so lonely tonight~
The sender was using a profile picture of a girl covering her mouth with her sleeve. Her listed gender was female, and her age was set to seventeen.
Li Xingchuan had seen countless scam messages like this, in which scammers indiscriminately sent flirtatious friend requests to male users of the penguin app. He was entirely unfazed. The moment he saw the message, he immediately blocked the account, saving a certain internet hermit from being foolishly swindled.
Then, almost naturally, he noticed something else.
Ji Wangcheng’s friend list contained only two people.
Li Xingchuan: “…”
So much for changing his profile status for the world to see.
During one of their summer vacations a few years earlier, Li Xingchuan had accidentally discovered that Ji Wangcheng’s friend list contained no one but him. He had been so shocked at the time that he made a big deal out of it and urged Ji Wangcheng to add more friends, expand his social circle, and develop normal friendships with people his own age.
Ji Wangcheng had agreed back then. Yet, when the following summer arrived, he still hadn’t mentioned making any new friends or told Li Xingchuan about the people he had been spending time with. Apparently, he had treated Li Xingchuan’s advice as nothing more than words passing in one ear and out the other.
Consequently, Li Xingchuan wasn’t particularly surprised by what he saw now. Instead, he felt a strange, subtle sense of satisfaction.
He’s made progress, hasn’t he? At least there’s one more person on his friend list than there was last time.
Unfortunately, the other person who had somehow earned the honor of being selected by Ji Wangcheng hadn’t even received a proper contact nickname. Judging by the circumstances, the two of them probably hadn’t even communicated.
Li Xingchuan thought about it again and again, finding himself genuinely perplexed. “I keep wondering whether you actually spend every day sleeping at home and barely go to school at all.”
Here was a high school graduate who had completed nine years of compulsory education, yet barely used the penguin app, didn’t use WeChat, and had social media interfaces cleaner than his own face.
No wonder Ji Wangcheng always avoided answering whenever Li Xingchuan asked him about school or his classmates. It seemed that he had never really integrated into any social group in the first place.
“Maybe I’ve still been too conservative in my assumptions.” Hugging a cushion, Li Xingchuan let his imagination run wild, coming up with increasingly ridiculous theories as he continued. “For all I know, you might actually fall asleep for an entire year at a time. You’d go to sleep when the semester started, sleep all the way through until the following summer, and then come back to Yucheng to find me. Otherwise, how come you’ve never been able to tell me what there is to do in the capital, even after all these years?”
The air suddenly fell silent.
Ji Wangcheng: “…………”
He lowered his eyelids and began putting away the cables connecting the game console to the television. His fingers were long and slender, and his movements were leisurely and unhurried. He looked entirely absorbed in the task of tidying everything up, as though nothing else in the world deserved his attention.
Li Xingchuan was so sleepy that his eyelids were practically fighting to stay open. Since Ji Wangcheng had his back turned toward him, he naturally failed to notice the fleeting hint of awkwardness that the other man concealed with remarkable skill.
Half a second later, Ji Wangcheng finally answered in a voice as faint and clear as water that had been filtered through countless layers.
“Shanshan, you’re overthinking it.”
Author’s Note:
But he accidentally stumbled upon the truth without even realizing it. (°~°)