Category: His Character Isn’t Quite Right (Page 1 of 3)

“What song does everyone want to hear today?” Da Fei even turned on a voice changer during the live broadcast. The sugary tone made Gu Lizhou shudder.

Rows of comments flew by rapidly on the screen:

一So beautiful today!

一Goddess, Goddess, Goddess!

Da Fei looked at the comments and smiled more bashfully than Meng Jingshi from next door.

Gu Lizhou felt as if his throat was being choked and couldn’t utter a word.

His three world views collapsed.

一Da Fei, you’re even prettier today!

一Why are you so late today?

Da Fei explained, “The shop was busy. I worked overtime until after 10 p.m., then came home, took a shower, and changed into fresh clothes.”

一Get some rest, baby.

一Take care of your voice. You’re a little hoarse.

“What does he do for a living ah?” Gu Lizhou asked.

“En? I haven’t mentioned it?” Zhong Weishi said. “Da Fei is the Chief Stylist at ‘Legendary Hair Salon’ on Yueshan Street.”

Zhong Weishi pointed to his own hair. “See this? He cut it for me. A wash, cut, and blow-dry—all for just 15 yuan. Not much different from the 3,600 you spent on yours, right? Da Fei graduated from a professional hairdressing academy and has unlimited potential. Next time, just mention his name—Fly, that’s Da Fei. He’ll definitely give you a discount.”

Zhong Weishi’s hair wasn’t permed or dyed, just a simple cut, barely considered a style. But this unremarkable hairstyle, paired with his outstandingly handsome face, would easily make him the most handsome guy on campus.

Gu Lizhou was slightly tempted. He thought that getting the same campus-heartthrob haircut might take years off his age. So he asked, “How much extra for care treatments?”

“Ca-care treatments?” Zhong Weishi, whose vocabulary didn’t even include those two words, scratched his cheek and asked, “What exactly do you want to take care of?”

Gu Lizhou: “… Forget it.”

Just then, a user with the ID “The Strongest on Earth” sent a virtual airplane, worth 999 yuan.

At the top of the screen, a dazzling special effect of a fighter jet flying across appeared.

[The Strongest on Earth]: How about a song <Romance in the Rain>.

The boldness, the tone, the song request—it perfectly embodied the image of a deep love and domineering CEO.

Da Fei clasped his hands together in front of the camera, smiling so hard he looked like a blooming flower. “Thank you, The Strongest on Earth, for the airplane. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

The joy of the harvest rushed out of the screen.

Gu Lizhou, having never watched a live broadcast before, didn’t understand how much these gifts were worth. But judging from the repeated “thank yous” and the anchor’s radiant smile, he could tell it was a big deal—completely different from the lukewarm reaction earlier when someone with an “F” in their name sent a gift.

Soon after, another user named “Oops, That’s That What It Feels Like” sent an aircraft carrier.

The aircraft carrier was the most expensive gift on the platform, worth 1,314 RMB. Its special effect featured Grandpa Mao falling and colorful fireworks that lasted for several seconds.

Just the special effect alone had to be worth at least ten yuan!

Gu Lizhou clicked his tongue twice. He felt that for the first time, he was out of touch with modern trends. He couldn’t understand what young people these days were thinking—staying up late watching stuff like this. What was the appeal?

“fvck! Da Fei’s hit the jackpot ah! He’s got die-hard fans now!” Zhong Weishi exclaimed, slapping his thigh.

Gu Lizhou was startled by his sudden movement, “How much can he even make from singing all night? Enough to buy a bowl of noodles?”

Zhong Weishi’s eyes widened like little brass bells. Once again, he felt the enormous generational gap between himself and the elderly.

‘The Strongest on Earth’ sent an aircraft carrier.

‘Oops, That’s That What It Feels Like’ sent out two aircraft carriers.

‘The Strongest on Earth’ sent three aircraft carriers.

‘Oops, That’s That What It Feels Like’ sent four aircraft carriers.

…

Zhong Weishi was completely dumbfounded.

Not only was he stunned, but Da Fei was also at a loss for words.

The Strongest on Earth was actually Qiangzi’s alternate account. Many of the IDs in the live broadcast room were people Qiangzi had invited as plants to create an illusion of popularity and success—like how a small roadside stall crowded with people draws curious bystanders to stop and check it out.

With tens of thousands of yuan coming in, the amount was staggering. However, the platform would take a 50% cut from the anchor’s tips as a handling fee.

This wave of operation is a bit hard to understand.

Da Fei, worried that Qiangzi wouldn’t be able to handle the hefty handling fees, was so anxious that his Taiwanese accent slipped out. “Stop sending gifts already, okay lah!”

In Zhong Weishi’s memory, ‘Oops, That’s That What It Feels Like’ had been to the livestream several times before. It was evident that this user now viewed ‘The Strongest on Earth’ as a love rival, furiously competing by sending more gifts.

And Qiangzi, that idiot, was actually willing to splurge despite the exorbitant fees. Was this what they meant by “you can’t catch the wolf without risking the child”?

The user who sent the most gifts would earn the glorious right to request a song.

[Oops, That’s That What It Feels Like]: I want to hear you sing <Love You>.

[The Strongest on Earth]: <Lull Me to Sleep> <Lull Me to Sleep> <Lull Me to Sleep>!!!

Both of them wanted to win the heart of the ‘beauty’, turning the whole scene into a dog blood show. Gu Lizhou was watching, utterly dumbstruck.

“Does that guy spamming gifts know that Da Fei is a man?”

“Know ah. Da Fei’s whole gimmick is cross-dressing for his live broadcast.”

“Then why is he still…” Gu Lizhou trailed off, unsure how to even comment.

“You don’t get it! They’re into this kind of thing,” Zhong Weishi said, pointing at the leaderboard. “See here? There’s a fan ranking. You can see how much each person has tipped. It’s all about gaining favor.”

Gu Lizhou really didn’t understand.

He didn’t get the taste of today’s younger generation, nor could he grasp the point of climbing a leaderboard.

Was it to get the anchor’s attention?

But at the end of the day, he was still a man ah! What was the point of gaining his favor ah! To date him!

Mobile Hotspot felt tired, he pulled the blanket over himself and closed his eyes.

Zhong Weishi put on his headphones and continued watching the live broadcast.

Recently, Da Fei’s talent shows had become increasingly diverse, even including square dancing, and the live broadcast room was in a frenzy.

This was a happy time that belonged to the otakus.

“Hey, do you think if I streamed myself doing fancy flips, will anyone watch?” Zhong Weishi asked.

“Aside from me, your captive audience, probably no one,” Gu Lizhou replied, his voice muffled and hoarse from beneath the blanket.

Zhong Weishi gave him a look. “Tch.”

Half an hour later, Gu Lizhou’s phone died and shut off automatically.

With no mobile hotspot to rely on, Zhong Weishi had no choice but to exit the live broadcast. He rolled over, pulled up his little blanket, and fell fast asleep within five minutes.

The old man beside him, who had spent over half an hour trying and failing to fall asleep, listened to the faint snoring and sank once again into deep contemplation about life and society.

Is the live broadcast platform considered a profitable industry? What kind of operations team would it take to develop such an app? Could such a team be used for money laundering?

What about minors using their parents’ phones to send tips? Should the platform bear some responsibility?

When Da Fei meets viewers in person, would he wear men’s or women’s clothing?

Is ‘Oops, That’s That What It Feels Like’ male or female?

What’s the purpose of exchanging WeChat? To chat? Meet up? Hook up? Or start a relationship?

And what if Da Fei encounters an organ-harvesting maniac? Would he have time to call for help?

Police receive a report of a body discovered in an old apartment building. During the autopsy, the coroner finds that the female victim is actually a man!

Following this sudden spark of inspiration, Gu Lizhou began constructing character profiles, frameworks, main plotlines, subplots, and foreshadowing, weaving in elements of friendship, family, love, justice, betrayal, and the complexity of human nature…

It could be a dark revenge drama. The protagonist could be a serial killer burdened by national and personal grievances, targeting the son of a corrupt government official who once caused him to lose his comrades. This could unravel a massive drug trafficking case…

Or, taking another perspective, if the protagonist were an undercover agent.. it could be a suspenseful detective story about justice and brotherhood.

The more he thought about it, the more hyperactive he became; and the harder it was to fall asleep.

In the latter half of the night, Zhong Weishi was still dreaming. Half-asleep, he felt a bit chilly, so he turned over, curling up like a little puppy in a hurry to drink milk. He burrowed toward the nearest warm spot.

After his forehead hit something, he quieted down and continued to dream.

Gu Li Zhou’s eyes widened in the darkness.

When he felt Zhong Weishi start to roll over, he instinctively backed away, pressing his back completely against the wall. But now, his chest was met with a warm, fuzzy head, exhaling hot breath against him. He felt like the filling in a sandwich.

“Ugh.” Gu Lizhou rolled his eyes at the ceiling..

The rag Zhong Weishi had tossed to him was flimsy, with a wide neckline. Any slight movement caused soft strands of hair to brush against his skin.

The sensation of touching the same thing with your palm versus your chest was completely different.

His weathered palms could only register softness, but his chest felt itchy and tingly, like a jolt of electricity.

Especially when Zhong Weishi raised his arm and dr4p3d it over his thigh—Gu Lizhou almost jumped straight out of bed.

What’s wrong with this guy!

What are you doing on a hot day like this!

Dreaming of being a koala!

The room was so quiet that the only sound was the steady rhythm of a certain someone’s breathing.

Gu Lizhou initially tried to endure it, hoping Zhong Weishi would eventually roll over on his own. But he didn’t. Instead, the warm breath on Gu Lizhou’s chest only made the itchiness and discomfort worse.

A sticky feeling.

How could anyone sleep like this?

Gu Lizhou grabbed Zhong Weishi’s arm with one hand, pressed his shoulder with the other, and gave him a firm push forward.

Zhong Weishi rolled half a turn.

Gu Lizhou was certain this move would wake him up, so he immediately closed his eyes and pretended to be dead.

Unexpectedly, not only did Zhong Weishi not wake up, but he lay in 大 shape for less than half a minute before soft snores started up again.

Gu Lizhou: “…”

One of Gu Lizhou’s legs swung over Zhong Weishi as he reached for the phone on the nightstand.

Zhong Weishi hadn’t changed his password, so after unlocking the phone, Gu Lizhou prepared to record the snores as a ringtone.

The faint light from the phone screen outlined a shallow silhouette in the dark.

Because he didn’t sleep in the right position on the pillow, Zhong Weishi’s head was slightly tilted back, his mouth half-open.

A childish, defenseless sleeper.

Gu Lizhou stared for a moment, then couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Click.” The sound of a shutter echoed, accompanied by the flash, lighting up the quiet room like a bolt of lightning. Gu Lizhou froze, his hair standing on end. He hurriedly clutched his phone and shoved it under the blanket.

The same brat who had repeatedly warned before bed, “I’m a light sleeper, don’t toss and turn, or you’ll wake me up,” hadn’t stopped snoring for a second.

What kind of sleep state was this!

Gu Lizhou felt genuine envy deep in his heart.

It was 3:30 a.m.

Mobile hotspot still couldn’t sleep.

The air conditioner in the room was old and lacked a thermostat function. When it was on, it felt too cold; when it was off, it became too hot. Occasionally, the sound of passing cars could be heard from outside.

For someone with chronic insomnia, even breathing sounds could be a disturbance, let alone someone fidgeting nearby.

Normally, Gu Lizhou would wear earplugs or listen to sleep-aid music. But tonight, neither option was available, so he lay still, letting his thoughts wander aimlessly.

At some point, the blanket Zhong Weishi had wrapped himself in slid to the floor. Combined with his tossing and turning, his stomach was now exposed.

Gu Lizhou glanced over, adjusted the air conditioner two degrees warmer, pulled his own blanket over Zhong Weishi’s flat stomach, and gave it a gentle pat.

Gu Lizhou was stunned for a few seconds before pounding the edge of the bed twice in a frenzy, letting out a crazed roar. He then unleashed another barrage of punches on the bed, his grin wicked and unrestrained. It was the kind of smile someone might have after being cheated on by his girlfriend, only to win the lottery jackpot and have their ex-girlfriend crawling back—a chaotic mix of emotions erupting into uncontainable joy.

There was only one word for his feelings: Ecstatic!

To others, though, he looked completely insane.

Zhong Weishi immediately realized this wasn’t good—he’d overdone it and driven the guy to madness. What could be done now?

Hurriedly, he tried to console Gu Lizhou as he stammered, “B-b-but! But maybe he’s just some nasty man—yes, exactly, a foot-scratching big man. God is fair. No way he’d give someone both talent and looks…”

“Hahahahahahahahahaha-”¹I went and counted it lmao. He erupted into maniacal laughter.

Seeing Gu Lizhou spiraling further into madness, Zhong Weishi felt his heart clench in fear. In desperation, he even threw away his pride and made himself the example. “Look at me for example. I’m handsome, young, full of life—but not exactly bright…”

Gu Lizhou threw his head back and laughed recklessly, far more unrestrained than on that day at the square dance.

He had a belly full of emotions he wanted to vent.

He wanted Zhong Weishi to know that the stubborn piece of scrap metal in his eyes was actually his long-cherished white moonlight. He wanted to see Zhong Weishi kneeling under his boxers with a face full of adoration. But rationality told him this wasn’t the time—something even more entertaining lay ahead.

It took quite a while before he managed to calm down. Gu Lizhou’s heart was racing, and he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from lifting. No matter how he looked at the little bastard in front of him, he found him utterly adorable.

He couldn’t even help but raise his hand and ruffle this silly ass’ head.

Zhong Weishi’s words had struck right at the core of his confidence.

There was only one Wan Lizhou in the world. So even if he disappeared for five years, fifteen, or fifty years, someone would still remember him.

He had to admit—the little thing had good taste.

“What are you doing ah?” Zhong Weishi’s hair was already thick, and now it exploded from all the ruffling.

Unexpectedly, Gu Lizhou tousled his hair even more aggressively and even flicked his nose, calling him a little bastard.

“Aiya-” Zhong Weishi batted Gu Lizhou’s arm away with a disgusted face. “What’s wrong with you? One minute you’re upset, the next you’re overjoyed. Split personality ah?”

“En.” Gu Lizhou was in the middle of his excitement, completely unable to hear what he was saying. He stared at Zhong Weishi like he was a priceless treasure. “Tell me more about that great god.”

When Zhong Weishi came to know about the author Wan Lizhou, it was already after he had ceased writing. He had only skimmed the author’s profile, followed his Weibo, and remained oblivious to the disputes between him and Jiu Mangxing, as well as the much-publicized incident involving the harassment of a female fan back in the day.

“He said until we meet again, but it’s been more than five years with no news at all. Guess he’s probably done writing for good,” Zhong Weishi sighed softly.

The excited and exuberant smile on Gu Lizhou’s face gradually faded.

“What a pity. I’ve read lots of books in that genre, but it’s rare to find an author whose every work resonates with you. His writing style is so unique, something many people can’t imitate. Those explorations of humanity, interests, fate, and emotions all carry faint traces of real life. The plots might be fantastical, yet they make people feel so authentic. Opening one of his books is like stepping into a flawlessly constructed illusion, and you hesitate to leave. Reading his work gives you strength, the kind that says even when life has you beaten down, you must never give up. I imagine the author must be just as dynamic and resilient as his protagonists—confident, optimistic, and broad-minded!”

Hearing these words warmed Gu Lizhou’s heart. He pursed his lips and humbly muttered, “He’s not as great as you’re making him out to be.”

“Shut up! You’re not allowed to insult my idol.” Zhong Weishi glared at him. “You didn’t even read it to know shit.”

“…” Gu Lizhou wanted to laugh but didn’t dare to.

“In short, I think he must be super carefree and charismatic,” Zhong Weishi exclaimed. “Let me show you his handwriting! They say handwriting reflects the person. I just know he’s as dashing as the way he writes.”

“But didn’t you just call him a foot-scratching big man?” Gu Lizhou teased.

“You believe that kind of lie?” Zhong Weishi clicked on Weibo and handed over one of Wan Lizhou’s rare handwritten notes. “Look at this!”

After five years, Gu Lizhou only felt that the words he left behind long ago were sour and embarrassingly sappy, like revisiting the melodramatic entries from his student days QQ Space account.

So much so that he wanted to delete his Weibo!!!

The die-hard fan even read the words aloud with deep emotion: “I believe in destiny, and I also believe that destiny is something you carve out for yourself step by step. Listen to that! Such profound yet incomprehensible wisdom—absolutely iconic!”

“What the hell.” Gu Lizhou smiled so hard his eyes curved into crescents. “So, if you ever get the chance to meet him in person, what would you say to him?”

“Meet him in person ah…”

Regardless of gender, people’s eyes always sparkled like a sea of tiny stars when they spoke about their idols.

Zhong Weishi rested his chin on his hand, daydreaming like a lovestruck teenager. “I’m sure I’d shake his hand to get some good luck ah! Then, I’d ask for an autograph!”

Gu Li Zhou raised an eyebrow, “That’s it?”

Zhong Weishi’s eyes rolled. “Well, if it’s just the two of us, I might ask for a hug, too. So we can get more luck.”

“…” So, this guy’s been plotting all day to leech off his good luck?

Is this how humans behave?

Gu Lizhou struck a pose like a drunk imperial concubine, staring at him. “Don’t you have anything you actually want to say to him?”

Zhong Weishi hugged a pillow, giggling foolishly. “Wan Lizhou-ge, I’m your fan. Can I add you on WeChat ah…”

Gu Li Zhou: “How about a swimming fitness to understand?

“Ugh!” Zhong Weishi rolled his eyes.

“Look at you with your low ambitions,” Gu Lizhou smiled. Then he asked, “Okay, let’s say you add him. What then?”

“Go through his Moments ah! See what the god is up to on a daily basis, maybe even sell some of his insider news for a quick buck.” Zhong Weishi slapped his thigh. “Wait, let me redo my answer ah. One autograph isn’t enough—I’ll demand a thousand! No, no, no, ten thousand!”

Gu Li Zhou: “…” This is not a fan, but a vampire.

Zhong Weishi casually scrolled through the latest comments under Wan Lizhou’s Weibo. Almost all were begging for his return to writing.

“If he makes a comeback, the entire Xinghe Century would be shaken to its core.”

Gu Li Zhou craned his neck full of pride.

That’s how you talk!

Worthy of being his fan!

“Aren’t you going to ask him why he stopped writing?”

“Why else ah,” Zhong Weishi shrugged, ”he’s too old to write.”

Gu Li Zhou’s throat tightened.

His emotions felt just like the plot twists in his novels—full of bizarre ups and downs.

Up, down, up, down, and then plummeting straight down…

He clutched the bedsheet and blanket beneath him tightly, gritting his teeth, barely suppressing the urge to punt Zhong Weishi from the 3rd floor all the way to the 18th underground level.

“Ah, ah, ah. It’s over, it’s over, it’s over. It’s all your fault.” Zhong Weishi slapped the mattress several times in a row, ”I’m going to miss the live broadcast.”

Gu Lizhou froze, “What live broadcast?”

“Da Fei’s live broadcast ah! I’ve gotta hop on and give him some clout!” Zhong Weishi said, clicking into an app.

Gu Li Zhou raised his hand and looked at his watch.

A quarter past twelve.

A look of contempt, “At this hour, is it a proper live broadcast?”

–

“Thank you, ‘A Single Red Apricot Leans Over The Wall,’ for the Rainbow Candy gift… ah, and thanks to ‘This Is Not a Ride To The Grove’’ for the Lucky Bell gift.”

Da Fei’s “sweet” voice came out from the phone.

Gu Li Zhou’s handsome features became distorted due to the impactful image and explicit barrage on the screen.

The screen showed a “little girl” with meticulously applied makeup, sporting air bangs, twin pigtails, and a blue-and-white sailor outfit adorned with a delicate bow at the center of the top.

Perched on their head was a pair of fluffy pink-and-white bunny ears. Judging from the background, the live broadcast was taking place in a bedroom filled with stuffed animals, complete with lace-trimmed bed covers.

In short, the scene embodied two words: dreamy and provocative.

Big Fei, after hearing about Er’Gou dropping 300,000 yuan on a streamer, was struck by inspiration. Particularly memorable was the police officer’s statement: “Little girl, did they bully you just now? If they did, you can tell us.” He was greatly inspired.

He felt that this aspect of the male market could be properly developed to make a little money.

So in the dead of night, he did a live broadcast.

“It’s a proper livestream. Absolutely decent. He never takes his clothes off during the stream,” Zhong Weishi assured while typing in a comment.

Gu Lizhou: “…”

Upstairs, the Wi-Fi was frustratingly slow, buffering every two seconds and freezing for a full minute. The comment wouldn’t even send.

Zhong Weishi elbowed the person next to him. “Got any mobile data? Share it with me; the upstairs internet’s too slow.”

Gu Lizhou’s eyes widened. “What do you take me for ah?”

“Mobile hotspot.” Zhong Weishi didn’t think twice.

“…” Gu Lizhou didn’t hold back, either. “No way. Why don’t you use your own data?”

Zhong Weishi, the poster child of modern-day poverty, had less than 10 yuan in phone credit. Even in the era of 4G, he worries about running out of data every month.

“If I use any more, I’ll go over my limit! Just lend me enough for 50 cents’ worth of data. There’s ice cream in the fridge; I’ll let you have it. Go grab it yourself,” Zhong Weishi said.

“I don’t eat sweet stuff this late at night,” Gu Lizhou said.

“Then save it for tomorrow,” Zhong Weishi said while grabbing Gu Lizhou’s thumb and forcibly using it to unlock his phone with fingerprint recognition. “We’re brothers—no need to stand on ceremony. Just remember to check the production date. Some batches are from the year before last.”

“…”

Gu Lizhou suddenly felt that it was a fvcking miracle this little punk was still alive—a miracle more astounding than his own rise to the rich list back in the day.

After connecting to the hotspot, the livestream still lagged, making it clear that the real problem was Zhong Weishi’s phone.

Gu Lizhou wrinkled his eyebrows. “Your crappy phone should’ve been replaced with a stainless steel basin.”

Zhong Weishi: “…”

At this point, the number of people in the live broadcast room was already approaching four digits.

It was an absolutely baffling phenomenon for an old person like Gu Lizhou, who had long retired from the modern world.

It was true what they said—the forest is vast, and it harbors all kinds of birds.

Zhong Weishi’s username looked like someone had smashed a keyboard to create it.

[fapgnapg]: Baby Fei, love you muah muah! Jiayou oh! This outfit today is the third color between snow and moonlight, the absolute color!

Gu Lizhou gagged audibly.

Pop-up: “fapgnapg” gifted a chocolate ball.

Gu Lizhou swept him a glance, “A single yuan, is this what you call showing support?”

Zhong Weishi : “You know nothing! A yuan isn’t money to you ah! Do you have any idea what that one yuan means to me!”

Gu Li Zhou was full of contempt: “What?”

Zhong Weishi exclaimed dramatically, “It means tomorrow’s pancake will be missing the spicy strips! You can’t just look at what I give; you need to consider what I have! Someone like you, born with a silver spoon in your mouth, could never understand the pain of us poor folk! Do you have any idea what it feels like not to eat spicy strips…”

Gu Lizhou casually sent him a WeChat red packet. “A year’s supply of spicy strips.”

“Thank you, boss!” Zhong Weishi immediately kowtowed to him.

Meanwhile, Da Fei grinned at the camera. “Thank you to that viewer with the ‘f’ name for gifting a chocolate ball.”

Gu Lizhou was puzzled. “Why does he have to read out what everyone gives?”

“Hm…” Zhong Weishi paused thoughtfully. “It’s probably like a little ritual to show appreciation. When you hear your name mentioned, you feel kind of proud.”

Gu Lizhou: “Sounds like a beggar.”

“Can you shut up.” Zhong Weishi snapped, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Gu Lizhou stiffened, pointing at Da Fei on the screen with a mix of shock and awkwardness. “H-he, he can hear us talking right now?”

Zhong Weishi: “…” He felt that Gu Lizhou was lying about his age being 32 years old. This guy’s clearly living in his grandparents’ era, right?

Translator’s notes: Sorry for the delays in update. I was quite busy during the holidays. Happy new year to everyone! ❤️

Coincidentally, the room Zhong Weishi was staying in happened to be the one Gu Lizhou had slept in as a child. Even the Ultraman stickers on the nightstand hadn’t been peeled off.

Gu Lizhou collapsed onto the bed with his limbs spread out, letting out a satisfied sigh. “So comfortable.” The nostalgia of childhood washed over him.

Zhong Weishi thought to himself that this guy really had no limits when it came to finding excuses to stay. Even such an outright lie could roll off his tongue.

This bed was a hard plank left behind by the landlord. It was stiff, old, and narrow, having weathered who-knows-how-many years of wear and tear. Every time someone turned over, the noise was deafening. Even with a blanket thrown on top, it was barely a step above sleeping at a subway station. “Comfortable” wasn’t even in the same galaxy as this bed.

What was this—some rich second generation kid’s way of experiencing life?

Did eating too much bird’s nest and shark fin soup make him crave scraps and wilted greens?

“You’re not performing any rituals?” Zhong Weishi chuckled softly.

Gu Lizhou turned onto his side in a pose reminiscent of a drunk imperial concubine. “I’m exorcising ghosts with sheer willpower.”

“Let me remind you ah.” Zhong Weishi pulled a T-shirt from the wardrobe. “This bed makes a racket every time you move so much. If you keep tossing and turning and wake me up in the middle of the night, or stop me from falling asleep, I’m keeping your money.”

“I won’t sleep until you’re asleep,” Gu Lizhou replied, grabbing the T-shirt. But after one glance, he flipped his eyes and tossed it back. “What the hell is this, a rag?”

“Then go naked,” Zhong Weishi said.

Gu Lizhou caught sight of a neatly folded shirt on top of the pile. He asked, “Is that white one new? Let me see.”

Zhong Weishi threw it to him.

Gu Lizhou inspected the shirt from every angle. It looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before—until he heard Zhong Weishi say, “The one you bought for me last time ah.”

“Ah…” Gu Lizhou held the T-shirt up, noticing the tag was still attached. “Why haven’t you worn it yet ah?”

Zhong Weishi’s wardrobe was mostly filled with rags bought for 19.9 yuan with free shipping—faded, pilled, and mismatched. Pairing them with something that cost 898 yuan would probably make it look like a knockoff from a street stall.

Besides, his daily routine involved filming outside, rolling around in action scenes, and getting into mock fights. Clothes wouldn’t last more than three days before looking worn out.

He couldn’t bring himself to wear it.

Of course, the excuse he gave was: “It’s for warding off bad vibes.”

Gu Lizhou rolled his eyes and picked up the original ragged shirt. “Fine, let it keep warding off whatever it’s supposed to.”

Zhong Weishi was surprised at how familiar this old scoundrel was with his apartment. Not only did Gu Lizhou immediately find the bathroom, but he also turned on the bathroom heater with practiced ease, as if it were his own home.

He even knew where the water heater’s socket was.

Scary!

Leaning against the doorframe, Zhong Weishi got straight to the point. “Be honest, were you a pickpocket before ah?”

Gu Li Zhou was stunned, “Huh?”

Zhong Weishi figured it was possible Gu Lizhou had secretly “visited” 301, only to leave disappointed when he realized its owner was even poorer than he was.

He decided to word it more tactfully. “I mean, like one of those noble thieves who rob the rich to help the poor. And now you’ve decided to retire and go straight.” The more he said it, the more it seemed plausible! It fit perfectly with Gu Lizhou’s profile—a wealthy man with “a reputation,” now wanting to reform and start fresh.

“It’s a shame you don’t publish books,” Gu Lizhou said, slamming the door behind him as he began undressing.

Zhong Weishi instinctively pushed the door open again, then froze in place and quickly shut it.

His mind was suddenly filled with the image of those two pale pink dots and Gu Lizhou’s bewildered expression.

Forget it.

He lay down on the bed.

If Gu Lizhou was a thief, then he must have been a damn good one.

Gu Lizhou’s bewilderment lasted for quite a while. He had searched every corner of the bathroom, but there wasn’t a trace of body wash—only a bar of soap.

Soap was soap; he could be nostalgic for a moment. But the key issue was that the soap had three bold characters stamped on it: Shu Jia Jia.

To top it off, before he started scrubbing his clothes with laundry detergent, he decided to double-check. Sure enough, the label read “Lan Ri Liang”¹Blue Sunshine.—those three words shone brighter than the moon outside tonight.

Setting his dirty clothes aside to take home and wash the next morning, Gu Lizhou returned to the bedroom and commented, “That laundry detergent of yours is fake, isn’t it? What the hell is Lan Ri Liang?”

“Ah,” Zhong Weishi replied, lying face down on the bed without lifting his head. “Bought it from that crappy supermarket downstairs. Didn’t really pay attention when I got it, but it smells pretty nice after washing.”

Gu Lizhou picked up his collar and sniffed. “Fart, it stinks.”

Zhong Weishi let out an ‘en, ‘ “Yeah, it’s probably because I just farted.”

Gu Lizhou kicked him on the butt.

Tight and flexible.

The odd sensation made him pause for a moment.

Zhong Weishi glanced back at him. Somehow, Gu Lizhou had managed to wear that nearly see-through, washed-out rag of a shirt with the poise of a runway model rocking high-fashion homeless chic. Meanwhile, his lower half was clad only in a new pair of underwear.

It was jarring.

Zhong Weishi tossed a small blanket at him. “Cover yourself up already. You look ridiculous. My eyes are burning.”

Gu Lizhou chuckled. “So, what wouldn’t burn your eyes ah?”

Zhong Weishi didn’t think twice, “My kind.”

Gu Lizhou didn’t say anything, still laughing.

Zhong Weishi caught a faint hint of mockery and raised his middle finger to him “Definitely bigger than yours.”

Gu Lizhou didn’t bother to bullshit him and climbed into bed, tilting his head slightly toward Zhong Weishi. “What are you reading?”

“A novel.” Zhong Weishi wiggled his toes. “<Enchanting Jin’an>. Heard of it? It’s Jiu Mangxing’s new work—absolutely brilliant.”

Of all authors, it had to be his nemesis.

Gu Lizhou rolled his eyes so hard they could’ve outshone pearls. “Not interested. What’s so great about it?”

Zhong Weishi finished the last bite of his red bean popsicle. As he chewed on the stick, he began promoting it enthusiastically: “It’s really good. Just read a few chapters, and you’ll get it. It’s a suspense mystery. I thought it was pretty average at first, but it keeps getting better the deeper you go. Each twist connects perfectly to the next. The author’s seriously NB. They’re even adapting it into a TV series soon. Though, I’m not sure if they can pull off the supernatural effects…”

Zhong Weishi rambled on endlessly. The chatter grated on Gu Lizhou’s nerves until he couldn’t hold back anymore and interrupted, “Why the hell would I care? I don’t want to know anything about him.”

Though Zhong Weishi usually came across as carefree, he was actually quite perceptive when it came to the key moment. Sensing something off about Gu Lizhou, he put down his phone and asked, “What’s wrong ah? Are you upset?”

Gu Lizhou realized his tone earlier had been a bit harsh and muttered softly, “Nothing. I just don’t really like that author.”

“Then let’s not talk about him.” Zhong Weishi grinned and said, “Let’s talk to you about my idol.”

Because of the earlier topic, Gu Lizhou wasn’t particularly interested. “Takeshi Kaneshiro, Daniel Wu, or Louis Koo?”

“None of them.” Zhong Weishi shook his head smugly. “My idol’s a writer too. His name is Wan Lizhou. Have you heard of him? He wrote a famous novel called <Souls of the Dead>… It’s a fantasy story. The main character starts off with just the ability to see people’s lifespans…”

Every fan, when talking about their idol, has eyes that light up and words that flow endlessly, as if hoping the whole world could join in their admiration.

Zhong Weishi was no different.

Gu Lizhou’s entire being was frozen as if someone had pressed the pause button.

He had never imagined that one day, in such an unexpected place and in such an unbelievable way, he would hear someone else casually mention the names of the characters from his own books.

It was an overwhelming rush of nostalgia, mixed with… pure euphoria!

The air conditioning blew, lifting the hair on top of Zhong Weishi’s head, making it stick up.

Gu Lizhou suddenly found himself thinking that this little rascal was looking more and more pleasing to the eye.

“Actually, I only started reading his books a few years ago. Back then, Wei-ge recommended <The Sovereign of Another World> to me. Once I started, I couldn’t stop—I went back and read everything he’d ever written. I can’t even imagine how someone in their 20s could write something like that. It’s terrifying. That’s the difference between a genius and us mere mortals ah…” Zhong Weishi’s wave of rainbow farts blew loud and long.

Gu Li Zhou first had a burst of passion and his heart raced with excitement, then he shamelessly encouraged Zhong Weishi to say more.

After all, who wouldn’t be curious about how others perceived them?

Even the great god writer was certainly no exception.

Sure, he had seen countless comments online like “This author is amazing,” “Their writing is brilliant and epic,” and “They bring every character to life.” But hearing it said to his face by a real reader? That was a uniquely surreal and embarrassing experience.

Especially that sentence: “I really love him.”

Gu Lizhou felt like his cheeks were about to cramp from holding back his grin. “Is he really that good?”

“Of course!” Zhong Weishi raised his eyebrows and said rather proudly. “No one has ever surpassed him in my heart—not even Jiu Mangxing. Wan Lizhou will always be my white moonlight!”

Zhong Weishi watched in real-time as the person before him went from looking like he’d just eaten shit to blushing like a shy teenager spotting their crush.

The whole transformation took less than two minutes.

He even smiled a little lewdly.

“You’ve definitely read his work before, right? He’s probably from your generation ah,” Zhong Weishi said.

Your. Generation.

Every word hit Gu Lizhou’s chest like an 80-kilogram sledgehammer, pounding relentlessly against his metaphorical white moonlight.

Gu Lizhou felt like coughing up blood, but he gritted his teeth as he shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

Not only had he not read Wan Lizhou’s work—he hadn’t even heard of him. This was a devastating blow to the diehard fan sitting before him.

This is the generation gap between the young and the old ah!

Zhong Weishi snorted derisively, clearly unimpressed. He twisted the knife further: “See, this is the difference. Look at Wan Lizhou—he debuted before he even turned 20, writing novels. In just a few years, he created legendary works with billions of clicks. He’s an SSS-level diamond-tier author in the Xinghe Century rankings, with a net worth in the hundreds of millions. He even made it onto that, what was it? The Starlight Authors’ Rankings. His works are still classics after all these years. Now, look at yourself.”

Zhong Weishi gave Gu Lizhou a once-over, his eyes filled with disdain. “Hmm? A stubborn piece of scrap metal.”

Gu Lizhou: “…”

At 10:30 PM, the area outside the Lanshan Apartments was so dark that one couldn’t see their fingers. In the living room, the lightbulb flickered on and off, creating an atmosphere that was automatically set to the creepiest level.

Gu Lizhou, being a master storyteller who could churn out tens of thousands of words daily and dominate the rankings, effortlessly spun a chilling midnight ghost story. Paired with the eerie ambiance of the old apartment building, Zhong Weishi found himself utterly captivated, almost believing every word.

“The girl was wearing a striking red cheongsam before she died. Her hair was disheveled, and her body wasn’t discovered until several days after she hanged herself. During the autopsy, they found that one of her high heels was missing…”

Hugging a small cushion tightly, Zhong Weishi shrunk into a ball, “Where did it go?”

“No one knows ah. Later, the residents here started feeling a heavy pressure on their shoulders and necks, they went to the hospital but they couldn’t find anything wrong. An old neighbor’s granny advised one of them to consult a Taoist priest. At that time, that priest brought out a Bagua mirror…”

Zhong Weishi listened intently, his mouth slightly agape.

Gu Lizhou, mastering the pacing of his story, suddenly raised his voice at the climax, “And in the Bagua mirror, a shadow appeared! She was hanging right where you’re sitting now!!”

“fvck!” Zhong Weishi felt something tap his shoulder and leapt up instantly. “You-you-you-you, stop talking about this… in the middle of the night!”

Gu Lizhou retracted his arm and leaned back, revealing a triumphant smirk. “Can you still sleep?”

“Why can’t I sleep.”

Though slightly spooked, Zhong Weishi retained his rationality. He knew that ghosts and monsters only existed in novels and TV.

He pulled out his phone and played a song, intending to take it to the bathroom for his shower. “It’s not like I killed her. If she’s looking for someone, it should be her scumbag ex-boyfriend.”

Gu Lizhou was about to make up something even more terrifying when Zhong Weishi cut him off with a look of driving ducks into the water,¹Chinese idiom which typically implies someone forcing or ruching another to do something, often with little choice or patience involved. Just like how one might drive ducks into water without their full cooperation. “Why are you still here? Go to bed. I’m going to shower. Or do you want to stay and watch?”

“Go ahead and shower. I’ll just sit here a bit longer,” Gu Lizhou crossed his legs and sat down on the sofa. He was ready to perform a live demonstration of falling asleep right there. After all, it was hot, and crashing on the couch for the night didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“Tsk, tsk. You feel the yin energy here is too strong? My yang energy is abundant. Let me balance it out for you so you don’t get possessed.”

Zhong Weishi felt his nonsense was becoming more and more ridiculous. Suspicious, he asked, “You’re not scared to go back, are you?”

“Ha!” Gu Lizhou let out a cold laugh. “As if. You go shower first, and I’ll leave when you’re done.”

“To be my protector ah? So kind?” Zhong Weishi laughed.

Gu Li Zhou: “When did I treat you badly?”

Just then, Zhong Weishi’s phone chimed.

[Cao Zhiheng]: Little guy, my girlfriend is staying over tonight, so I don’t have an extra room. At this hour, it’s hard to get a ride, so could you let Old Gu stay at your place for the night?

Realization dawned on Zhong Weishi. He replied with a “Sure.”

[Cao Zhiheng]: Sorry to bother you!

[Cao Zhiheng]: He’s mostly fine, just really grumpy when he wakes up. Don’t talk to him in the morning. I’ll treat you to a meal sometime!

After replying, Zhong Weishi turned his head to glance at the one who was now sitting cross-legged on the sofa, looking like he was meditating. He couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

God damn balancing yin and yang.

How had he not noticed before that this guy was full of crap?

“What are you laughing at?” Gu Lizhou frowned, “Why don’t you hurry up and take a shower?”

His tone was so brusque, it was as if he were the master of the house.

“Oh,” Zhong Weishi didn’t say anything. He held his clothes and headed into the bathroom.

Gu Lizhou looked around at his family’s old house.

The landlord likely bought this apartment just to rent it out. They had simply repainted the walls and added some new appliances, but most of the furnishings remained unchanged, only moved around slightly.

The tables, chairs, and stools were the same ones Gu Lizhou had used as a child, even the sofa beneath him now.

The solid wood furniture was incredibly durable; decades later, it had only a bit of surface wear and tear. The armrest still bore the circular burn mark left by his grandfather’s cigarette.

Curled up on the sofa, Gu Lizhou glanced at the TV, which was replaying a legal program. The host’s deep, resonant voice was as familiar as ever.

It was as if time had traveled back to the summer of more than twenty years ago.

“Hey, old man, where did you pick up this little kitten ah?”

“Got it from the factory. Old Li’s family’s cat had a whole litter of kittens, and they’re all so beautifully colored. Zhou Zhou, come out and see what I brought back for you!”

“Kittens!”

“Like it?”

“Like it!”

The little kitten sniffed around on the floor, occasionally tripping over its own feet as if performing a comedy act.

“Why did you suddenly think of getting a cat?”

“Zhou Zhou spends weekends at home alone—it’s boring for him. A kitten will keep him company.”

…

“Zhou Zhou, eat more so you can grow taller. Look at Old Cao’s son. He never likes eating and is always drinking soda, which is why he’s so scrawny—just a skinny little bamboo stick. You need to eat your greens.”

“Ai–I don’t want to grow taller. I want braised pork.”

“Eat the vegetables first and then eat the meat.”

“But Grandpa didn’t eat any vegetables! He’s already eaten two pieces of meat!”

“Hahaha… you little rascal.”

The little boy, barely over a meter tall, hugged the kitten tightly as he curled up on the sofa. His grandmother’s palm-leaf fan would wave gently, lulling him through a lazy summer afternoon.

The warm smiles and gentle voices of his grandparents seemed to reappear vividly before his eyes. Gu Lizhou chuckled softly at the memory, but soon found the tip of his nose stinging with a hint of sadness.

He laughed because their lives had been filled with love and care for him. But the pain came from how they had passed away—neither peacefully.

Grandpa had terminal stomach cancer, and grandma, overwhelmed by depression, followed him shortly after.

The day his grandfather passed, Gu Lizhou was still at school, unable to make it back in time to see him one last time—a regret that lingered with him to this day.

Zhong Weishi secretly cracked the bathroom door open to sneak a glance. He saw Gu Lizhou stretch lazily before flopping down onto the sofa in a perfectly shameless move.

This wave of rogue operation was quite skillful ah!

When Zhong Weishi finished his shower and came out, Gu Lizhou was still lying in the same position, curled up on the sofa, hugging a small cushion.

A 32-year-old man cuddling a pillow adorned with a cartoon puppy—it was such an absurd yet oddly endearing sight.

The air conditioner in the living room was broken, and the small oscillating fan blew rhythmic puffs of air, causing Gu Lizhou’s T-shirt to billow slightly, revealing a small section of his waist. The gentle curve of his torso, combined with the way his side-lying posture highlighted his collarbones peeking from under his neckline, gave an unexpectedly striking impression.

Even Gu Lizhou’s hair was meticulously styled with hair spray, maintaining a handsome look even as he lounged.

In Zhong Weishi’s eyes, this man was simply flirty as hell.

He hadn’t planned to wake Gu Lizhou, but seeing how his long legs had no place to stretch out, awkwardly curled up on the narrow sofa, made him look a little pitiful.

The two-seater sofa was clearly too small to accommodate the man. If he stayed like this until morning, he was bound to wake up with a stiff back, sore waist, and cramping legs.

Letting Gu Lizhou crash for a night wasn’t a big deal at all, especially since he had covered two months of rent in advance. Honestly, if he wanted to stay here, Zhong Weishi wouldn’t have minded. What he didn’t understand was why Gu Lizhou needed to come up with such a ridiculous excuse to stay.

Bending down, Zhong Weishi poked Gu Lizhou’s arm, silently guessing that the man would play dead.

Sure enough, Gu Lizhou didn’t disappoint. He even added an extra flourish by letting out a rhythmic, believable snore.

The sound wasn’t exaggerated but naturally deep and steady.

“Hey, rich man,” Zhong Weishi muttered, curling a finger and flicking Gu Lizhou’s beauty peak. “Wake up, the moon’s shining on your ass already.”

Gu Lizhou’s eyebrows twitched slightly, but he simply rolled over to face the back of the sofa, pressing his forehead against the gap. A low, hoarse grunt escaped his throat.

The general meaning was: I’m already asleep, leave me alone.

His calm and composed performance was so convincing that even Zhong Weishi had to admit defeat.

Pushing lightly on Gu Lizhou’s shoulder, Zhong Weishi whispered, “You’re really not going to shower ah? Is this how rich people live, just roughing it like this?”

Gu Lizhou’s eyebrows twitched and didn’t move.

Leaning in closer, Zhong Weishi blew a soft puff of air near his ear. “Hey, did you hear me ah? The spot you’re lying on is where the ghost hanged herself ah. Don’t you feel a little heavy on your shoulders?”

When he got close, he could smell a faint tobacco odor on the other person.

It was enough to stir up Zhong Weishi’s cravings for a cigarette.

“I just heard something strange in the bathroom. It was kind of creepy…” Zhong Weishi propped his hands on his knees as he leaned in to whisper near Gu Lizhou’s ear. “How about you move to my room instead, huh?”

Internally, Gu Lizhou celebrated with a triumphant ‘Yes’ but afraid that waking up too suddenly would seem fake. He let out a few groggy grunts for a long time, then finally furrowed his brows and put on an expression that screamed ‘Oh, when did you get here?’ Before asking groggily, “You’re done showering?”

“Ah,” Zhong Weishi nodded. “I’ve finished. So, are you heading back now?”

WTF!?

That’s not what you said earlier!

Gu Li Zhou’s heart roared.

“En?” Zhong Weishi raised an eyebrow, looking smug.

Clearing his throat, Gu Lizhou rubbed his ears dramatically. “Uh, did I hear something move? I didn’t catch it clearly; I must’ve been asleep.”

Zhong Weishi chuckled, too lazy to call him out. “Go shower, then come to my room to keep balancing the energy. My place has heavy yin energy—I keep hearing marbles dropping on the floor.”

“Oh!? Really?” Gu Lizhou jumped at the opportunity. “Didn’t know you were so timid. Well, in that case, I suppose I have no choice but to reluctantly help you analyze the situation.”

Zhong Weishi: “…”

Gu Lizhou said he was going back to grab a change of clothes, but after about ten minutes with no sign of him returning, Zhong Weishi’s curiosity got the better of him. Peeking out, he spotted Gu Lizhou crouching in an odd posture outside apartment 303.

No key?

“What are you do…” The rest of the sentence never made it out of his mouth. Zhong Weishi was abruptly spun around, one arm locking tightly across his chest while the other clamped firmly over his mouth.

He tried to push the arm away but couldn’t budge it.

“Shh!—” Gu Lizhou’s voice, along with the heat of his breath, tickled Zhong Weishi’s ear.

Zhong Weishi could feel it—the warmth of Gu Lizhou’s breathing, his fingertips, his entire body. The heat from their skin-to-skin contact spread a sticky, oppressive warmth.

“Mmph! Mmph!” (Let me go!)

“Don’t say anything.”

Zhong Weishi nodded, following Gu Lizhou’s gaze which happened to be the couch in the living room of 303.

There were no lights on in the house.

The faint glow of the TV screen flickered intermittently, outlining two indistinct human figures on the couch. That long-lost couple, reunited at last, was currently engaged in a not suitable for children, overly romantic French-style pastime.

Zhong Weishi let out an ‘ugh’ and muttered in distaste. “You’re such a pervert, spying on other people kissing.”

Gu Lizhou lowered his voice as well. “You think I want to? I just didn’t feel like barging in and interrupting them.”

Zhong Weishi didn’t buy his excuse, “then you’re still watching.”

“I’m waiting for a moment when walking in wouldn’t be awkward,” Gu Lizhou explained seriously. “I thought they’d finish quickly, but I didn’t expect it to be so long-lasting.”

The two of them crouched side by side by the windowsill, resembling a pair of mischievous cats about to steal fish, with only their eyes peeking out.

Cao Zhiheng, with one arm around his girlfriend’s neck, seemed utterly lost in the moment. The more he kissed, the more fervent it became, showing no signs of stopping.

Zhong Weishi’s legs were starting to go numb from squatting. He muttered in a small voice, “I just don’t get it. Why do couples like eating each other’s spit so much? They’ve been at it forever—aren’t their mouths sore yet?”

“..” Gu Lizhou was speechless. Such a romantic act, yet Zhong Weishi somehow managed to make it sound completely unappealing.

As Cao Zhiheng kissed, pinned his girlfriend onto the couch and shifted his kisses to her neck. Zhong Weishi’s eyes widened as if he’d just discovered a new world. He stared intently, practically leaning forward to get a closer look, all while excitedly making wow wow wow noises.

Gu Lizhou hurriedly covered his eyes and mouth, “Go, go, go, children shouldn’t be watching this.”

Zhong Weishi pried Gu Lizhou’s hands off. “I’m an adult!”

“Even if you’re an adult, you still can’t watch.” Gu Lizhou tried to yank him away but failed. He resorted to hooking both arms under Zhong Weishi’s armpits like he was hauling a corpse and dragged him back to 301.

“Why are you like this?” Zhong Weishi planted his hands on his hips. “So it’s okay for the officials to enjoy the show, but the commoners can’t watch?”

“Adult matters. What’s a little brat like you doing getting involved?” Gu Lizhou spread his hands, and said “Where are those imported underwear you were bragging about? Let me take a look.”

Zhong Weishi tossed the bag at him. “A thousand for a pair.”

“Didn’t you say you’d give them to me?”

“That was back when we were friendly neighbors. Now it’s debtor and creditor—totally different dynamic,” Zhong Weishi said.

“Fine, I’ll rent one. Based on a lifespan of three years per pair, it’s a note a day.” Gu Lizhou fished a five-yuan note out of his pocket and slapped it onto the table with a flourish. “Five yuan, keep the change.”

Zhong Weishi laughed so hard his stomach hurt. “Who the hell wears one pair of underwear for three years? Why don’t you calculate based on 30 years? Uncle Cao wasn’t wrong about you—you really are an old beast.”

Gu Lizhou retaliated by chucking a pillow at his forehead. “You little beast!”

A few minutes later, Gu Lizhou heard Zhong Weishi shout from the room, “Do you want to borrow my clothes?”

“Does it cost money?” Gu Lizhou asked. A laugh came from inside.

“You’re allowed to rent it for a day!”

Gu Lizhou laughed and went inside.

Gu Lizhou thought that if he had to use something from this world to describe Zhong Weishi, it would be the wind.

Breeze, gust, whirlwind, storm, tornado…

All sorts of things, changing rapidly.

One moment, he’d be hanging his head in despair; the next, he’d be grinning and cursing up a storm.

“When I was a kid, I wasn’t ugly. I was just skinny. And I liked to play around, so I was several shades darker than other kids,” Zhong Weishi said while logging into his QQ space.

Gu Lizhou sat down with a cushion in his arms.

The album was filled with dozens of photos, almost all taken by a phone camera aimed at printed photos, making the images rather blurry.

In the first photo, two rows of children stood in the center, flanked by two elderly women with gray hair and warm smiles, looking vibrant. There were also two younger caregivers each holding a child.

In the background was a huge acacia tree.

But on closer inspection, one would notice that several of the children had visible physical defects.

One girl was particularly beautiful, but sadly had only one eye. The boy on the far right was grinning brightly, but he was missing an arm…

“That’s me,” Zhong Weishi pointed to one of the children being held.

Gu Lizhou gave a candid evaluation, “En, you do look kinda ugly.”

“I wasn’t even grown up then!” Zhong Weishi shot him a glare.

Gu Lizhou: “I was handsome even before I grew up.”

Zhong Weishi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. No pictures, no proof.”

“So young, yet already talking trash.”

“No pictures, no proof my ass.”

“…”

The next few photos showed Zhong Weishi growing up. His looks had improved quite a bit, but he was still far too skinny, with arms as thin as twigs, looking like a frail, sickly child.

Who would have thought that twenty years later, he’d be as lively as a firecracker?

“Every time a child was brought into the orphanage or adopted, the director would take a group photo to commemorate it. She has several albums of them,” Zhong Weishi said.

“Ai? Isn’t this Qiangzi?” Gu Lizhou zoomed in on the photo, pointing to a boy with a buzz cut.

“Yeah, you can actually recognize him,” Zhong Weishi said. “I remember he was sent in when he was about three or four. He only has three toes on his right foot.”

“That’s so ah…” Gu Lizhou furrowed his brows.

Seeing these photos made his heart feel as if it were weighed down by a heavy stone, leaving him deeply uncomfortable.

“But he’s luckier than me,” Zhong Weishi said. “His real mom got him back.”

““Oh?” Gu Lizhou was surprised. “Did she regret it?”

“No,” Zhong Weishi shook his head. “It’s said that his Dad racked up a lot of debt from gambling and had a violent streak. His Mom couldn’t support him, so she had no choice but to send him to the orphanage. Later, his Dad went to prison, and his Mom took him back. A few years ago, he came to Yucheng with me.”

Gu Lizhou found it hard to reconcile such a complicated family background with the Huangfu Qiang he knew.

Likewise, it was hard to imagine that the cheerful and carefree Zhong Weishi had gone through so much.

Perhaps that’s exactly why they turned out like wild grass—just a little rain and a bit of sunshine were enough to nourish their growth.

They were easily content and easily found happiness.

“Do you recognize which one is me?” Zhong Weishi asked.

“This one.” Gu Lizhou pointed to a boy holding a bear.

Zhong Weishi: “Awesome, you can even recognize this.”

Gu Lizhou: “It’s just way too ugly.”

Zhong Weishi let out a “fvck” and slapped his thigh. “No more looking!”

Laughing, Gu Lizhou grabbed his wrist and tugged him closer. “Don’t ah, let me see some more. I’m starting to think you just kept getting more handsome.”

“I think so too.” Zhong Weishi grinned, rubbing his nose as he handed over the phone. “But too bad I wasn’t lucky. If I’d been good-looking as a kid, maybe someone would’ve picked me up long ago. Who knows, I might’ve been forced to inherit a billion-dollar family business by now.”

“You think beautifully.” Gu Lizhou flipped through several more pages, noticing that the further he went, the fewer people appeared in the photos. By then, only the two elderly women were left taking care of the children.

In the last photo, an elderly woman with a weathered face sat in a wheelchair, her smile looking a bit weary.

Zhong Weishi pointed at the grandmother in the wheelchair. “This is the director of our Kaixin Orphanage. She was nearly 90 at the time and needed care herself.”

These photos seemed to unlock memories of his childhood, with each one telling a story.

For the first time, Gu Lizhou listened to Zhong Weishi ramble on about his childhood—there were moments of bitterness and sweetness, hardships and joys.

“Maybe not being adopted was your stroke of luck. It left your life open to endless possibilities,” Gu Lizhou said, exiting the app and handing the phone back.

“Ai—” Zhong Weishi slumped back on the couch. “That’s easy to say, but I really think I’m just plain unlucky. I never seem to land any serious roles.”

“You really want to be famous that much?” Gu Lizhou asked.

“Well, duh. What actor doesn’t want to be famous?” Zhong Weishi said, staring at the ceiling.

Gu Lizhou had expected him to give a shallow yet honest answer—like wanting to make money.

But this time, the answer was more unexpected.

“I want to know if they’ll regret throwing me away.”

Gu Lizhou was silent for a couple of seconds before realizing that the “they” Zhong Weishi referred to must have been his biological parents, not those who chose not to adopt him.

The fan blew the strands of hair on Zhong Weishi’s forehead, making them flutter slightly.

Gu Lizhou recalled an article he’d read on psychology that emphasized how closely one’s mental health is tied to childhood experiences.

Children who are abandoned often struggle to develop a sense of security. That deep-seated fear can alter their personality in various ways.

Turning grief and indignation into strength can be a good thing, but taken too far, it might do more harm than good.

Gu Lizhou lifted his hand and patted Zhong Weishi’s shoulder. “People live for themselves.”

Zhong Weishi paused, turning to look at him.

In fact, he had shared this reason for wanting to become famous with many friends, and everyone would always respond, “You’ve got to make big money, achieve great success, get angry at them and make them regret it.”

Today was the first time someone told him, “People live for themselves”.

Picking at a tear in his jeans, Zhong Weishi’s emotions were complicated. “I really like shooting movies. Even if I never find them, I won’t regret stepping into this industry.”

Gu Lizhou let out an ‘en’. “I can see that.”

Zhong Weishi raised an index finger. “I once set a goal for myself—if I don’t land any decent roles by the time I’m 28, I’ll quit and find a job that can actually support me.”

“Why 28 not 30?” Gu Lizhou asked.

“30 is too old; jobs are harder to find.” The words slipped out of Zhong Weishi’s mouth before he realized the implications, and in a panic, he tried to backpedal. Unfortunately, his tongue couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. “I-I-I… I didn’t mean that you’re old ah! It’s just, just, just… you get what I mean, right? I mean in the acting industry, 30 is considered… no, no, that’s not… ai…”

Gu Lizhou snorted coldly.

“How to say it, men in their 30s have their own kind of charm. Like you—you’re very charming. They say men are in their prime at 40; right now, you’re just a budding flower!”

“Heh.”

“Alright,” Zhong Weishi pouted, “then I’ll adjust my goal to 30 okay!”

“Didn’t you just say men only bloom at forty?”

“…”

The two bantered on this topic for quite a while until Zhong Weishi suddenly remembered the issue of his rent. He hurriedly grabbed his phone to call Qiangzi to borrow money.

Gu Lizhou stopped him, “I’ve already paid it all for you.”

Zhong Weishi was so shocked he nearly jumped off the couch. “So good? Aren’t you afraid I’ll suddenly run away?”

“If you run away, then you run away,” Gu Lizhou shrugged. “Consider it money well spent to see a person’s true character.”

Hearing this, Zhong Weishi felt a bit uncomfortable. “I won’t run. At least not until I’ve paid off what I owe.”

Gu Lizhou smirked. “Two months’ rent plus utilities comes to a total of 4,506. I’ll cut you some slack and round it down—just pay me back 4,500.”

Zhong Weishi snapped his fingers, then bent over and dragged out a metal box from under the bed. It was filled to the brim with one-yuan and fifty-cent coins, heavy as a rock.

“There should be five hundred in here. Take it back, count it, and we’ll settle up if it’s off.” He then pulled out four pairs of underwear from a bag. “These are imported. Since we’re buddies, I’ll cut you a deal—just a thousand each.”

Gu Lizhou gritted his teeth, “Are you even human?”

Zhong Weishi grinned, baring his teeth. “Aren’t you supposed to be loaded?”

Around ten, Cao Zhiheng sent a message: “Where are you?”

[Useless Yet Awake]: 301. Did your girlfriend leave?

[Cao Zhiheng]: No, my girlfriend’s staying over tonight, so I’m planning to sleep in your room later.

[Useless Yet Awake]: She’s already staying over, and you’re still sleeping in separate rooms? Are you even capable ah?

[Cao Zhiheng]: What do you know! We’re not married yet, so how can we do that? I have to maintain my image as the traditional good guy in her eyes. Besides, dating should have a sense of ceremony. I plan to give her my most precious chromosomes on our wedding night.

“…”

Gu Lizhou was quite shocked at Cao Zhiheng’s mindset.

The person was already at your place, and you’re thinking about sleeping in separate rooms?!

How the hell did this dog man get a girlfriend?

[Cao Zhiheng]: No point being jealous! If you don’t mind my snoring, you can bunk with me. If you do mind, try negotiating with the kid and squeeze in with him.

While Zhong Weishi was busy counting coins beside him, Gu Lizhou rubbed his temples, unsure how to respond.

Cao Zhiheng’s snoring was like a tractor revving up. Even with a wall in between, it was audible. Sharing a bed would mean a sleepless night.

As for this one next to him…

“288，290，292，294……”

“288, 290, 292, 294…”

“That…”

“En? 296, 298…”

Gu Lizhou watched him for a moment, then hesitated before asking, “Do you feel scared sleeping alone at night?”

“En?” Zhong Weishi turned to look at him. “Scared of what?—Ah ya, fvck! Where was I in the count?!”

Gu Lizhou hooked an arm around Zhong Weishi’s shoulder, using his other hand to casually push aside the pile of coins. Glancing around the room with an expression of exaggerated fear, he lowered his voice and asked cautiously, “Don’t you know this place used to be haunted?”

“What?!” Zhong Weishi’s fingers froze, his eyes widening in shock.

“So the landlord didn’t tell you about it ah…” Gu Lizhou said with a sinister grin, his voice dripping with mischief.