Chapter 22 – Do you feel scared sleeping alone at night?

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.