His voice was not loud, yet it fell like a heavy stone, landing with a hard thud directly on Lan Ju’s heart.

The orange in Lan Ju’s hand slipped instantly, landing into the water-filled basin with a heavy splash, sending up fine droplets of water.

“What?” Lan Ju’s eyes were already round and big, but now they stretched even wider, taking up nearly half his face.

“I said I’m going to die,” Luo Ye repeated without batting an eye, walking back over to the sink. “Not lying to you.”

Lan Ju believed most of it. Luo Ye had never joked about things like this—with an expression so serious, it was eighty to ninety percent real.

A pair of hamster ears that couldn’t be contained slowly popped out, twitching fuzzily as his eyes locked tightly onto Luo Ye, trying to spot any sign of a flaw.

Yet the person before him was still tall, sturdy, and as full of energy as usual. There was none of the listlessness typical of a sick person between his brows; no matter how one looked at it, he didn’t look like someone whose life was about to end.

Or do people with cancer just not show any reaction at the beginning?

Lan Ju leaned in cautiously and asked softly: “Did you… go to the hospital for a checkup?”

“No.”

“No? Holy crap,” Lan Ju was completely stunned. “Then how do you know you’re going to die?”

“I can see my own time of death,” Luo Ye said.

When Luo Ye brought this up, he was fully prepared for Lan Ju to be shocked, disbelieving, or even to demand answers aggressively.

Instead, Lan Ju turned off the tap, placed both hands on his shoulders, and spoke with a tone that was half helpless and half amused: “Old Luo, I know you’re loyal, but I’ve already come up with my new content. I don’t need you to supply me with material.”

Luo Ye: “…”

Treating it completely like I’m making up a story, huh.

Luo Ye let out a chuckle, taking the hands off his shoulders: “I really do know my time of death. There’s a countdown up in the sky.”

Lan Ju pulled open the kitchen blinds and craned his neck outward. Luo Ye raised his head to look outside; the countdown remained suspended in the center as always, birds occasionally flying past it.

Lan Ju tilted his head and asked: “Nothing changed though?”

Luo Ye chuckled: “You’re not dying, so how could you possibly see it?”

Seeing Luo Ye looking so confident and composed, Lan Ju grew half-suspicious and half-believing: “Then tell me, how many minutes are left on that countdown right now?”

Luo Ye looked up at the countdown and blurted out: “One hundred and ten hours, twenty minutes, and fifty-four seconds.”

Lan Ju froze completely. Seizing the opportunity, Luo Ye added: “You can check your phone’s timer to see if my second-counting is accurate.”

Lan Ju opened the timer on his phone, while Luo Ye read the numbers aloud beside him.

“Forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight…”

40, 39, 38…

As Luo Ye accurately counted down second by second, Lan Ju grew quieter and quieter. The corners of his mouth, which had originally curved upward, flattened out, faded away, and finally drew into a tight, straight line.

Luo Ye’s countdown was in absolute synchronization with the time on the phone. Lan Ju’s hand holding the phone tightened unconsciously, forced to accept this absurd reality—his friend could actually see a countdown.

But why?

Why did it have to be Luo Ye? Why did a law-abiding, decent person have to face an outcome like this? This life was far too young—so young that just as a beautiful future was beginning, he had to leave.

Why him? Shouldn’t the one who deserved to die be someone else?

Lan Ju raised his head in utter desolation.

Luo Ye still wore that calm, indifferent expression. Sensing his gaze, he even offered him a gentle smile, the two small moles beneath his eyes shifting slightly with the smile, though blurring gradually.

Lan Ju couldn’t hold back a sniffle, wiping his eye corners messily with the back of his hand.

The silence in the kitchen was unnerving. Luo Ye glanced at Lan Ju, turned the tap back on, and lowered the water flow to wash the fruit.

“Does Pengpeng know about this?” Lan Ju’s voice was very quiet.

“He doesn’t,” Luo Ye answered.

“You didn’t tell him?” Lan Ju stared at him.

“I didn’t want him to start suffering so early. See, I only told you when it came down to the last few days. As for you, I just didn’t want you sending me off in total confusion.” Luo Ye didn’t bat an eye, as if speaking of something perfectly ordinary.

Yet how could Lan Ju not understand the pain behind it?

Luo Ye had always been like this—ever since their university days. Everyone called him carefree and casual, but only the guys in their dorm knew how thoughtful he really was. He was always thinking about taking care of others first, only to make a clean, prompt exit at the very end.

He would rather Luo Ye weren’t so breezy, and he didn’t want to see him talk about his own end so calmly and casually.

Lan Ju’s heart felt like an unripened persimmon, terribly sour and tight. The moment he spoke, his eyes turned red again: “You mean you discovered it on the day you resigned?”

“As expected of my Brother Ju, so smart.” Luo Ye gave a thumbs-up, washing the last dragon fruit.

Lan Ju: “Saying you were sick was for this too.”

Luo Ye: “Right.”

Lan Ju: “Going traveling outside was for this too.”

Luo Ye: “Right.”

Lan Ju: “And losing several games in a row on a losing streak later was for this too.”

Luo Ye: “Uh, that one has nothing to do with the countdown.”

Lan Ju nodded: “Got it. Purely bad at the game.”

Luo Ye: “? …How many times do I have to tell you, it was bad controls!”

“Oh right, bad controls every single match,” Lan Ju said, breaking into a sudden chuckle.

Luo Ye looked at him and smiled as well.

Perhaps having stayed in the production crew for too long and seeing too many forced sensationalized moments, neither of them liked ending things with tragic, tearful sobbing.

At least before leaving, he wanted the people around him to be a little happier and enjoy every present moment to the fullest.

Lan Ju saw through his intention too, sniffing hard and holding back his tears.

Luo Ye pulled a kitchen paper towel over to hand him, his voice softening: “For now, that’s all we can say. Let’s talk about the details tonight.”

“Mm.”

With implicit tacit understanding, the two smoothly swept that heavy topic aside.

Luo Ye picked up the knife while Lan Ju set up the plates. Together, they quickly finished chopping the fruit, carrying the platters out toward the living room.

In the living room, Luo Peng was sitting right in the middle of the couch, earnestly clearing a game level for Lan Ju.

Luo Peng was thoroughly engrossed in helping Lan Ju clear the stage, his controls buttery smooth and seamless. The character on screen dodged obstacles and defeated enemies like flowing water, without a single hitch.

The two adults sat on his left and right—one feeding him snacks, the other cheering him on loudly. The atmosphere was as relaxed as any ordinary afternoon.

Luo Peng’s full attention was on the game, oblivious to the expressions on their faces.

They carried on noisily like this until evening. By dinner time, the red veins in Lan Ju’s eyes had gradually faded away, making it impossible to tell anything had happened.

Fearing he might blow up the kitchen if he got too sad, Lan Ju ordered takeout stir-fries from a few local places for dinner, specifically ordering Luo Ye’s favorite braised pomfret.

When Luo Ye bit into the fish, he was completely won over by its delicate, fresh flavor, exclaiming from the bottom of his heart: “My god, this is delicious!”

The very next second, Luo Peng stopped his chopsticks, asking with a cold face: “Brother, I have a question.”

Luo Ye’s heart thudded hard, instantly leaping into his throat—had his secret been found out?

Feeling uneasy, he quickly swallowed the fish in his mouth and put on his usual coaxing smile: “What’s wrong, Pengpeng?”

Luo Peng stared at the dish of fish and said: “Does my cooking taste better, or does this taste better?”

Lan Ju: “…What a top-tier brother-complex.”

Luo Ye: “…”

Luo Ye inexplicably empathized with the fish on the plate, truly experiencing the relief of a fish struggling near death on land suddenly being dropped back into the ocean.

He had even come up with an excuse, only for him to pull a move like this.

He hurriedly picked a piece of meat with his chopsticks and put it into Luo Peng’s bowl, coaxing him: “Yours is delicious, yours is delicious! Eat more meat so you can grow taller.”

“Mm-hmm.” Luo Peng was instant happy, the tip of his tail curling up high as he obediently ate the food his brother served him.

On Lan Ju’s end, thinking that this might be the last time Luo Ye would accompany him for dinner, his heart tightened. He couldn’t help but pile fish into Luo Ye’s bowl: “Come, come, come, Old Ye, eat some fish.”

“Brother Ju, you eat some meat too.” After serving his brother, Luo Ye quickly served Lan Ju as well. “You bought it, so eat more, hahaha!”

The three of them served food to one another and added rice to each other’s bowls, their arms crossing into a weird semicircle—a scene that was profoundly bizarre.

…Why does this feel like some kind of cult’s pre-meal ritual?

Luo Ye went through three rounds before realizing something was off. Just as the other two’s chopsticks were reaching toward his bowl again, he covered the top of his bowl with his hand.

“Stop! Nobody serve anyone else. Are we going to eat or what?” Luo Ye called out.

“Oh.” Luo Peng obediently pulled his chopsticks back, quietly bowing his head to shovel rice into his mouth.

Lan Ju stopped serving too, focusing on eating his white rice.

Speaking of this meal, it was quite interesting: Luo Ye and Luo Peng ate until they were stuffed, while Lan Ju alone didn’t get enough. He went to cook a separate bowl of instant noodles to go with the leftover spicy chicken.

Luo Ye and Luo Peng didn’t leave, sitting right beside him to keep him company.

The sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows had long changed; the setting sun sank slowly in the west, dying the edge of the sky a warm orange.

Only a single warm yellow light was turned on inside, casting a particularly cozy glow over the entire room.

Luo Ye relaxed completely, exposing his fluffy ears and tail, half-slumped in his chair while scrolling on his phone.

His tail swayed gently, casting fine shadows on the floor that rose and fell slightly with his movements.

Glancing at Lan Ju, who had only half a bowl of noodles left, he reminded Luo Peng, who was peeling an orange: “Pengpeng, learn from your Brother Ju. Being able to eat is a blessing; eating more helps you grow.”

“Learn from him?” Luo Peng let out a soft laugh, picking up the un-discarded takeout receipt on the table. “One bowl of rice is two yuan. The two of us ate six yuan worth, but the total paid was twenty yuan.”

The two turned simultaneously to look at the completely oblivious Lan Ju, who was taking another massive slurp of noodles.

Luo Peng: “Plus another portion of noodles.”

Luo Ye: “…Never mind, don’t learn from him.” An ordinary person couldn’t copy this anyway.

Just as Luo Ye finished speaking, his phone screen happened to jump back to the homepage.

He casually tapped open his video. Upon seeing the view count below, his eyes widened dramatically, and he sat up straight.

“How did it break one million views already?! So sudden?!”

Although Luo Ye had produced million-view videos before, they had always fermented slowly. The speed this time was absurdly fast.

Luo Peng leaned over to glance at the phone screen, saying with a calm face: “Someone probably bought promotion for you.”

Luo Ye scrolled down. Looking at the screen filled with wishing barrage comments, a wave of warmth welled up in his heart. Touched, he said: “The viewers are really so kindhearted. I thought no one would care about a small creator like me.”

Lan Ju swallowed his noodles and couldn’t help but chime in: “Three hundred thousand followers is ‘small’? Was it your top supporter on the battery charging rank who bought the promotion for you? I feel like he’s under every single video.”

Luo Ye opened the latest battery support list. The familiar name “Yizhichun,” sat firmly at number one again.

Last year, the top supporter hadn’t been him. Starting from June this year, this “Yizhichun,” had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, claiming the top spot on six of his videos in a row.

He never joined fan groups, nor did he ever claim any gifts Luo Ye sent out—quiet as a ghost.

“Looks like this person…” Luo Ye narrowed his eyes and suddenly laughed. “…really loves watching vlogs.”

At that moment, Luo Peng knitted his brows, leaning close to Luo Ye to whisper: “When I’m able to earn money, I’ll be your top supporter and recharge a lot of money for you.”

Looking at Luo Peng’s serious expression, Luo Ye remained silent for a short moment.

Seeing him not responding, Luo Peng turned his head to look at him, his tone carrying displeasure: “You don’t believe me?”

Of course I believe you.

It was just that Luo Ye had a thousand emotions right now, unsure of how to put them into words. Your future is very long, but gradually, I won’t be in it anymore.

At this moment, he couldn’t give any promises.

Luo Ye finally let out a soft sigh, reaching out to pat Luo Peng’s hair. With a light smile, he said: “I believe you. Our Pengpeng is so smart, you’ll definitely earn big money in the future. But you can keep that money for yourself—no need to give it specifically to me.”

Just as Luo Peng was about to argue back, a wave of sobbing suddenly came from across the table.

“Sob… sob sob…”

The two turned their heads. Lan Ju had his mouth packed full of noodles, tears dripping drip-drop straight into the noodle soup, crying with a face full of distress.

Luo Peng looked at Lan Ju with total confusion, asking: “Brother Ju, what are you doing?”

“Chili… too much chili added, it’s too spicy,” Lan Ju wiped his bright red eyes with his sleeve. “Don’t mind me, you two chat more, otherwise…”

Before he could finish his words, tears fell uncontrollably again.

Luo Peng was completely baffled, feeling that something was off and wanting to ask further. Luo Ye hurriedly changed the subject, telling Luo Peng to check if his phone had any new homework to do, successfully redirecting Luo Peng’s attention back.

Luo Ye looked at the name on the battery support list, his ears twitching comfortably a couple of times, though a bit of regret welled up in his heart.

At least I should thank these viewers before I leave, right?

“How about running a targeted raffle?”

The moment this thought popped into Luo Ye’s mind, he immediately put it into action, putting ten thousand yuan into the raffle pool and setting it so that only people who had recharged battery support for this video could participate.

【Hello, the uploader you follow has launched a targeted raffle. Come and claim it!】

Chi Zhiyue had just picked up his chopsticks to eat when he saw this message pop up on his phone screen beside him. He set down his chopsticks right away and tapped it open.

Beside him, Xu Menghua, wearing a nightgown, was biting into a chicken leg. Catching sight of the gentle smile on her brother’s face, she asked curiously: “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. A creator I like sent out red envelopes.” Chi Zhiyue smiled as he clicked open the red envelope—it was exactly three hundred yuan.

He turned around and recharged five hundred yuan for the creator. This time, he added a message visible only to the creator.

After double-checking it, he clicked send.

【@Yizhichun,: Thank you for the red envelope. Just like what you said to others in the video, I would like to offer those words back to you. I hope you, Qingqing, have peace and joy, smooth sailing in everything you do, that the things you desire manifest before your eyes immediately, and that every hardship you encounter turns out to be merely a false alarm.】

__

[Author’s Note]

When they were young, Luo Ye took Luo Peng out.

Classmate: Yo, Luo Ye, brought a little follower! (Reaches out to pat Luo Peng’s head)

Luo Peng dodges: Only my brother can pat my head!

When they grew up, during the late stage of dating:

Luo Ye starts acting up: My head~ can only~ be patted~ by my brother~

Luo Peng: … (Slammed the door shut in anger)

Luo Ye tried talking to him all afternoon without success, so he asked Chi Zhiyue for help. Chi Zhiyue went in for a few minutes, and Luo Peng came out.

Luo Ye: Alright, I won’t pat your head anymore in the future, you’ve grown up too.

Luo Peng: No! (And then got angry again)

Luo Ye: ? …

Younger brother’s heart is truly hard to guess.

—

Wishing all my reader babies peace and joy, smooth sailing in everything, that the things you desire manifest immediately, and that every hardship you encounter is merely a false alarm!