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! ❤️