The round trip to the administration building took less than an hour, but Xie Lan could clearly feel that Dou Sheng’s mood had improved.

On the way back, Dou Sheng casually picked up a few plane tree (sycamore) leaves and crumpled them in his hand. When they reached the dorm hallway, he handed Xie Lan a little ball made of leaves, about the size of a broad bean.

Xie Lan pinched the soft little ball. “What is this?”

“A Wutong Dou (Plane Tree Bean).” Dou Sheng stood outside the dorm door and looked back, blinking gently at him, his eyelashes masking the smile in his eyes.

The sound-activated lights in the hallway had gone out, leaving only the soft moonlight filtering in from a window at the end.

Xie Lan asked softly, “What is a Wutong Dou for?”

“A small token of my feelings.”

Xie Lan suspected he had just heard a newly invented idiom, but before he could press for details, Dou Sheng had already pushed the door open.

The room was pitch black. Dai You and Wang Gou were breathing evenly and deeply in their sleep. Xie Lan had to drop the subject and carefully crawled back under his blankets.

Dou Sheng lay down too, seemingly without any intention of explaining further.

After a long while, Xie Lan opened their chat box. After spending ages drafting his words, he sent what he hoped looked like a casual question.

Has-Disease: By the way, what’s that celebrity’s name?

Soon, a light flickered above him; Dou Sheng had checked his phone.

Xie Lan pulled the quilt up a bit, tucking his phone inside so the light wouldn’t leak out and so Dou Sheng couldn’t see his expression.

Five minutes passed before the phone vibrated in the blankets.

Xie Lan felt inexplicably nervous. His fingertip hovered over the screen for a long moment before he clicked the message.

Doctor-Dou: Her name is MboYjf.

?

Has-Disease: Is that even a human name?

Doctor-Dou: Yeah. Look it up.

With a face full of confusion, Xie Lan copied the string of English letters into a search engine.

The vast, wondrous internet returned—miraculously—not a single piece of related information.

The phone vibrated again.

Doctor-Dou: Can’t find it, right?

Doctor-Dou: I told you, she’s a very niche celebrity.

Doctor-Dou: /wink

“…”

Xie Lan simply lifted his head from the pillow and whispered, “I only have one question: how do you pronounce this name?”

Dou Sheng also looked up, meeting his eyes. He parted his lips elegantly and let out a string of bizarre syllables.

It sounded like a Russian witch casting a “Stupidity Curse” on him.

Xie Lan was numb.

He lay back down expressionlessly and rolled over in annoyance.

Dou Sheng was a big fat liar. That girl he liked definitely wasn’t a celebrity; he just didn’t want to reveal her identity and had been using fake intel to brush him off from the start.

That stifling feeling rose again. Irritated, Xie Lan exited WeChat and tapped on Twitter.

The chat with QZFXR was at the top of his DMs as usual. Previously, this person would check in on Xie Lan’s situation every few days, but lately, he had been posting more about his own trivial affairs, using Xie Lan as a “tree hole” to vent into.

• The weather is nice today
• My driver is way too aggressive
• Had an exam recently, slept through several of them
• It’s always raining and getting colder, sigh
• I have two cats; I hoped one would keep watch for the other, but it doesn’t seem to work

Xie Lan skimmed through. Just as he was about to close the app, a new message popped up.

QZFXR: I’ve recently started liking someone, but I’m a bit conflicted.

Even a random internet stranger has someone they like?

What is this, the season of love?

Xie Lan was stunned for two seconds before instinctively asking: Conflicted about what?

The other party replied after a few minutes: I have a tiny feeling that he might like me too, but then it feels like the probability is extremely low, very ethereal.

He?

Xie Lan was dazed again. He instinctively clicked on QZFXR’s profile and confirmed the gender was set to “Male.”

Somehow, an indescribable sense of kinship rose in his heart. To put it in beautiful Chinese terms, it was like two small animals in the same predicament finding resonance—the “Simian Sympathy” (mutual attraction between similar beings).

The other party sent another casual sentence: How do you think I should test the other person’s heart?

Xie Lan replied without thinking: Physical contact.

The bed frame suddenly shook; Dou Sheng had rolled over forcefully.

QZFXR: How so?

Xie Lan felt inexplicably guilty and didn’t want Dou Sheng to glimpse his phone, so he shrank further into the depths of his blankets.

Xie Lan: Physical contact might make someone who already potentially likes you fall for you faster.

Xie Lan: But remember to be polite—don’t break the line.

Xie Lan: It’s late, I’m logging off.

He sent three messages in a row before turning off his phone. He instinctively looked up, only to see a faint glow still coming from Dou Sheng’s blankets.

Xie Lan hesitated for a moment before whispering, “I’m sleeping.”

Dou Sheng immediately poked his head out. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

---

Perhaps because he had things on his mind, Xie Lan didn’t sleep well. When he woke up in the morning, his head felt groggy. He came back from washing up in the water room to find Dou Sheng looking like someone had skipped out on a debt to him, climbing down from his bed with a massive yawn.

Wang Gou asked curiously, “Did you stay up all night editing videos again?”

Dou Sheng shook his head sleepily. “Didn’t edit videos. I just simply couldn’t sleep.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” Xie Lan returned to his desk to pack his bag and asked casually, “Why?”

Dou Sheng shuffled over in his slippers and, with a lift of his hand, draped his arm over Xie Lan’s shoulder in his old habit.

Xie Lan stiffened. He paused, then jerked his shoulder to try and shake him off, saying crossly, “Are you sick? Your foot has been healed for ages, why are you still leaning on people?”

“My foot is fine, but I have insomnia.” Dou Sheng buried his head against the back of Xie Lan’s shoulder, mumbling in a low voice, “I’m still not in a good mood. Can your ‘care package’ be extended for two more days? Can you care for me for two more days?”

Dou Sheng’s warm breath hit Xie Lan’s shoulder as he spoke. Through the thin fabric, it felt almost ambiguously moist.

Xie Lan felt like he was going to explode. He wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t turn down the reason “not in a good mood.”

Finally, he let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. Just don’t overdo it.”

Heaven knows what happened during that night of insomnia to make Dou Sheng lose all dignity as a Homo sapien.

From the dorm to the cafeteria, and from the cafeteria to the classroom, he was practically grown onto Xie Lan. One hand was in his pocket while the other gripped Xie Lan’s shoulder. He could walk upright, but as soon as they paused, he would immediately rest his forehead against Xie Lan’s shoulder.

Xie Lan was incredibly restless. He had to overcome the shivers of his hair standing on end while enduring the bizarre stares of passing classmates.

---

At noon, when the violin from the brand arrived, Xie Lan wasted no time unboxing it and slinging it across his back. He thought Dou Sheng might take the hint, but the guy didn’t mind the cramped space at all. His arm rested stubbornly against the violin case, still hooked around Xie Lan’s shoulder. Even Hu Xiujie frowned when she saw them.

Both were busy that week. Xie Lan went to the administration building roof for three consecutive nights to test out Butterfly. The brand requested two versions, so he recorded both the original high-energy version and the lyrical version that had come to him that night. Dou Sheng was in charge of filming throughout, and during the day, he squeezed in every spare moment to draw the video illustrations. They were both run off their feet.

When the two rough cuts were submitted, Xie Lan waited for feedback. That afternoon, Wu Cheng replied with an “OK.”

“It’s much better than we imagined, and the product display is very comprehensive. After discussion, we’d like to use the lyrical version for the release. No changes needed for the performance. We just need to adjust some wording on the final hand-drawn info page; I’ll organize it and send it to you. Hard work, you two.”

Dou Sheng winked at Xie Lan. “Am I amazing or what?”

Xie Lan nodded seriously. “I was prepared to record a B-copy. I didn’t think we’d get it in one go.”

“Where was the ‘one go’? First the weather was bad, then the audio was bad… you fussed over it several times.” Dou Sheng sighed, scrolled through Bilibili, and added, “By the way, that guy ‘A-Ze’ posted a new video this morning. Also an anime cover. The stats are quite good.”

Xie Lan leaned in to look at the phone, sharing an earbud.

A-Ze’s performance level was quite good. This piece was a fairy-tale-like anime insert song; he had changed a few chords to make the style more light and nimble, which suited the current weather. The video was submitted to the #Heart-Stirring Music activity, benefitting from official traffic support. Combined with A-Ze’s large fan base, it had over 800,000 views in less than a day.

Dou Sheng took off the earbud. “Looking at the bullet comments and the comment section, he didn’t use his usual violin for this piece. He chose one recommended for beginners—and it’s not even a sponsored post. I suspect he’s trying to intercept the heat from your sponsored video this week.”

Xie Lan sighed. “Is there anything I can do to stop it?”

“You don’t. This is actually a very common competitive tactic. Let’s just say Little Xie Lan is too excellent. He’s a top-tier Music Zone Uploader with nearly ten times your followers, yet he’s wary of you to this extent.” Dou Sheng laughed, spinning his phone between two fingers before resting his arm on Xie Lan’s shoulder again.

“…”

Xie Lan’s eyes flicked to the arm; he forgot whatever he was about to say.

He truly suspected Dou Sheng possessed some kind of “Chinese Mysticism”—as soon as he got close, he could seal Xie Lan’s IQ.

With one arm pressing on him, Dou Sheng used his other hand to scroll rapidly through A-Ze’s homepage. Suddenly, he paused.

Slowly, he retracted his hand from Xie Lan’s shoulder.

“Holy crap.”

Xie Lan turned. “What?”

“This guy is…” Dou Sheng swallowed the rest of his words, then frowned seriously. “This guy also played a version of HBlood very similar to your arrangement. Posted half a year ago.”

Xie Lan was instantly interested and grabbed the phone to play the video.

The video title was very frank: [Violin Arrangement] HBlood | Tribute to Idol SilentWaves.

The arrangement was indeed the version that had made Xie Lan famous on YouTube. The “dialogue-style” bowing in the climax was highly difficult; most imitators abroad would show clunkiness in that section. However, A-Ze’s skill was solid, and he remained smooth from start to finish. He even used a projection format for the video—it was a 70-80% faithful recreation of Xie Lan’s style.

It was just that almost no one in China knew Xie Lan. The bullet comments and reviews were all praising A-Ze; very few even asked who “SilentWaves” was. Dou Sheng cleared his throat and asked tentatively, “Do you know this ‘SilentWaves’?”

Xie Lan paused. “I do. The version I played in my livestream before was modified based on his arrangement.”

“Oh.” Dou Sheng smiled. “So A-Ze is a fan of that person.”

“Fan?” Xie Lan’s face fell. He tossed the phone back to Dou Sheng and said coldly, “Doesn’t count.”

He himself had played it so many times on Bilibili, and the guy couldn’t even tell? That’s not a serious fan.

Xie Lan lowered his head to organize materials for the next class. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dou Sheng’s lips curving upward. Humming a song, Dou Sheng opened his iPad to continue editing the draft.

Xie Lan asked, puzzled, “Your mood is better again?”

Dou Sheng hummed. “My mood suddenly became very beautiful.”

“Mood beautiful?” Xie Lan froze, then quickly swapped to his Chinese vocabulary notebook. “That adjective pairing is so clever. I need to note it down.”

---

The final editing of the video took two days, with the release set for Saturday morning.

The last weekend before May Day required a shift in the schedule; Saturday followed the Monday timetable, which happened to have a PE class in the afternoon.

The temperature had soared this week, the sunlight thick and stinging. While Dou Sheng played ball on the small playground, Xie Lan sat on the concrete slope at the cafeteria entrance, shrinking himself into the only patch of shade beneath a tree.

Beside him sat a grape ice drink Dou Sheng had run to buy before the game. It was in a water bottle, waiting to melt into a slushy.

Xie Lan watched the game for a while before remembering the video should have passed review and been released. Glancing around to ensure no teachers were lurking, he opened his phone.

He hadn’t even seen the final version himself. Dou Sheng had a habit of adding “a hundred million points” of detail at the last minute, so Xie Lan usually couldn’t stay up for the final review and had to wait for the release like a regular fan.

The cicadas in the plane tree overhead chirped lazily. Xie Lan put on his headphones and clicked the video.

The night sky that day had been a deep, clear blue. Two cameras—one close-up and one from the rooftop of another tall building nearby. The video opened with a wide shot: a boy in a white shirt standing on a rooftop under the night sky, placing the violin against his neck and beginning to play with a gentle stroke of the bow. The moonlight cast a soft glow over half his body. The camera slowly zoomed in, and the boy’s gentle features became clear and vivid in the night.

When the first note played, the “nostalgia-seekers” in the bullet comments began flooding the screen. As the melody unfolded, Dou Sheng’s hand-drawn Digimon hopped onto the screen. Each Digimon was drawn with minimalist white outlines; they strolled and leaped around Xie Lan in time with the notes. Wizardmon held Gatomon’s hand, while the Myotismon that killed it in the anime lurked in the background. When Xie Lan pushed the melody to a climax, Myotismon fired an arrow through Wizardmon’s back. However, Wizardmon only looked down briefly, and Gatomon pulled the arrow out and led him onward.

In the latter half of the piece, Dou Sheng traced Xie Lan’s silhouette with moonlight outlines. The lines bounced and jumped, making Xie Lan look like a 2D boy from a manga. As the final note faded, the camera pulled back again, slowly returning to the other tall building, watching the boy’s small silhouette lower his bow, pick up his violin, and bow gently under the moon.

The final hand-written page for the violin advertisement was completely obscured by bullet comments.

• Crying while listening, crying while watching
• Storytelling sense is GOAT
• I will love Xie Lan forever
• Did Dou-zi run to the roof of another building to film this?
• This school is so beautiful
• I want to know what it feels like to stand behind that camera
• I am frantically heart-stirring for Lan-zai
• Dou-zi’s camera movement is incredible
• Only Dou-zi can film such a perfect Lan-zai
• Dou-zi & Lan-zai are a perfect match

Xie Lan’s heart skipped a beat when he saw that last comment. He hurriedly pressed pause, looked up at Dou Sheng running on the basketball court, took an inconspicuous screenshot to save it, and then continued watching.

• This arrangement is so beautiful
• Kudos to this arrangement idea, seriously amazing
• The arrangement omits the battle and death, leaving only the emotion
• Matches the modified plot in the hand-drawn video so well
• Lan-zai is also part of the hand-drawn video
• DMEM joint creation, bound to be a masterpiece!

It wasn’t just the bullet comments. The video had only been out for half a day, yet other creators in the Music Zone had already posted under the keyword—some were covers, and there were two analysis videos by Arrangement Uploaders. Since time was tight, those videos weren’t even edited; they were just people talking into their phones for a minute or two, specifically analyzing the texture and structure of Xie Lan’s anime arrangement.

Xie Lan clicked on one analysis. The speaker talked too fast with an accent, and Xie Lan couldn’t quite follow the Chinese technical terms for arrangement, so he closed it.

After browsing comments for a bit, he received a private message from someone he followed: @MR.X_Who_Loves_to_Eat, who hadn’t reached out in a while.

MR.X: Bro, you’re incredible. New video hit the hot list in four hours. Haven’t seen you for a few days—you have over 400,000 fans now?

MR.X: I have a friend here who’s a professional. He says your arrangement is brilliant. Your fan count shouldn’t stop here.

MR.X: The future is the sea of stars. Keep developing on Bilibili. As the first Uploader you followed, I’m so honored.

MR.X: Hello?? Reply??

Xie Lan was a bit speechless. He didn’t want to engage with someone who had helped Dou Sheng lie to him, but looking back at the messages, he felt it would be truly impolite. He gave a perfunctory reply: Hm.

MR.X: ‘Hm’ again???

MR.X: I’m freaking done.

MR.X: Anyway, my friend says you can try applying through this link. A-Ze applied too.

Xie Lan had no interest in competing with peers. Back when he posted on YouTube, he had been targeted by big vloggers too, but in the end, everyone developed based on their own merits.

He casually tapped the link MR.X sent. It was for a domestic anime featuring a violin-playing youth. They were recruiting for the theme song’s arrangement and performance; not only was the pay substantial, but there was also an opportunity to collaborate with master-level folk music teachers.

The recruitment notice specifically stated they welcomed young creators, especially Bilibili Uploaders; popularity and strength were both key criteria.

Almost every notable violin player in the Bilibili Music Zone had applied. A-Ze led the pack, followed by a long line of others. Xie Lan glanced at their public fan counts, then at his own figure which had just broken 400,000, and silently clicked the ‘X’.

The weather was hot, and the grape ice had mostly melted. Xie Lan picked up the cup and took a sip of the slushy.

The cold, sweet liquid slid down his throat, refreshing his whole body. He squinted under the sun. On the distant court, the halftime break had just ended. Dou Sheng, holding the ball, let his gaze meet Xie Lan’s from afar through the crowd, and he winked with a smile.

From the first moment they met at the airport, Xie Lan had felt that sunny days and Dou Sheng were a perfect match. Those dark eyes full of light were so frank and handsome when he smiled.

Xie Lan lay back on the concrete slope. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Even though he had just had a cold drink, he suddenly felt even more restless.

He picked up his phone to continue scrolling through comments, hoping to ease that restlessness.

When he refreshed the page, the top comment had suddenly changed.

@XXY: You are the clear frost descending into the valley.

The first reply in the thread came from @World_Famous_Handsome_Dou_dm, one minute ago:

…surpassing countless wonders of the mortal world.

The day was hot and the cicadas loud. Xie Lan stared at those six short words for a long, long time.

Then, he unintentionally tapped on Dou Sheng’s name to enter his homepage.

He wasn’t sure if it was just a midsummer afternoon hallucination.

He felt as if the light pink background behind the bean in Dou Sheng’s profile picture… seemed slightly deeper than before.