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: “…”
