After posting that comment, Chi Zhiyue tapped his finger lightly on his phone screen, fully aware that the original poster would be unable to reply.

He didn’t know if the person had seen it, or if the comment had long been swallowed up by the dense sea of replies, lost forever like a stone sinking into the ocean.

None of it mattered. Chi Zhiyue hadn’t left that message expecting anything in return; he simply felt the other person was worth it.

Chi Zhiyue had a habit—one he hadn’t even noticed himself: he always subconsciously gave his absolute all to the people and things he liked, even when he knew full well there might be no result in the end.

Xu Menghua called it a defect, one Chi Zhiyue had carried with him ever since he left the orphanage.

“When we were kids, Mom and Dad bought us matching things—I forget what it was. Back then I was in my rebellious middle-school phase and insisted I wanted two, and you actually gave yours to me,” Xu Menghua recalled, taking a sip of soup.

Chi Zhiyue’s hand holding the chopsticks paused slightly. “It wasn’t something essential to me anyway. If you wanted it, of course I could give it to you.”

Xu Menghua’s eyes instantly lit up. She pointed at the blacked-out phone screen on the table and said, “Then how about giving your phone to me?”

Chi Zhiyue glanced up at her. “Then what will I use?”

Xu Menghua: “Get a new one! Hey, what about your old phone then? The old phone should obviously be put—”

Chi Zhiyue: “Turn back around.”

Xu Menghua pouted, but obediently turned back around to eat.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Xu Youkang scolded his daughter with narrowed eyes. “You just bully your brother because he has a good temper.”

“His temper isn’t even that good…” Xu Menghua muttered under her breath. Catching a glimpse of Chi Zhiyue smiling, she quickly lowered her head and buried her face in her bowl of soup.

After dinner, Chi Zhiyue went out for his usual evening stroll, unexpected to find Xu Menghua bouncing along right behind him.

Chi Zhiyue couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re not even walking a dog, did you come out just to freeze in the cold wind?”

“I’m being your bodyguard in case you suddenly pass out on the street.” Xu Menghua quickly slipped into her snow boots, snapped upright, and declared, “Let’s go~”

As the two walked onto the main road, a Popsicle mysteriously appeared in Xu Menghua’s hand.

Having mysteriously paid for it, Chi Zhiyue stuffed his hands into the pockets of his heavy coat, his fingertips rubbing against the hand warmer his mother had shoved into his pocket before he left the house.

“Did you come out just to eat snacks?” Chi Zhiyue turned his head to look at Xu Menghua.

“Aiya, I really do care about you! Haven’t you been having headaches again lately?” Xu Menghua licked the icy Popsicle. “Last time at home, you suddenly couldn’t hold your cup steady—it gave me such a fright.”

Ever since that “miracle cure” person had left, Chi Zhiyue’s headaches seemed to show signs of returning. Last time at home, he had suddenly lost his grip on a cup, scaring her half to death.

According to Chi Zhiyue, it felt as though someone in the shadows was repeatedly hammering at his brain, leaving behind a dull, persistent ache he couldn’t shake off.

The doctor explained that this happened because Chi Zhiyue had encountered things from his past, triggering a surge of long-buried memories—most of which were painful—causing his instincts to subconsciously fight back against them.

Xu Menghua had never experienced amnesia or a severe illness; at most, she only got headaches from cramming exam prep questions. Every time she saw Chi Zhiyue in pain, her heart ached for him too.

Just then, the slant of a streetlight cast a soft glow over Chi Zhiyue’s flawless face, which carried a gentle smile that looked as though his warmth was entirely innate.

She felt exhausted on his behalf instead.

Even when he was sick, this guy insisted on acting as if nothing was wrong.

Xu Menghua brushed her fingers against the snow accumulated on the roadside bushes and asked softly, “So what if you can’t see him? Are you going to go back to the way you were before?”

Chi Zhiyue gave a helpless smile, his tone tinged with seriousness. “Why do you guys always treat him like my medicine? He can see me if he wants to, and it’s completely normal if he doesn’t—he’s an independent person.”

“Then what about you saying you wanted his contact info…” Xu Menghua asked.

“If I want to see him, it’s not because of my headaches. I just really want to see him, that’s all,” Chi Zhiyue said, his voice softening.

Even though what Chi Zhiyue said made total sense, hearing this lecture-like explanation made Xu Menghua pout anyway. “Yes, yes, yes, you’re a perfect gentleman, I misspoke, alright?”

“I know, so thank you too,” Chi Zhiyue glanced sideways at Xu Menghua, coaxing her like a child. “Is one ice cream enough?”

Xu Menghua didn’t answer. Rubbing her heavy down jacket, she muttered in a low voice, “Do you remember when we were kids? That kid next door bullied me, and you just smiled like that while kicking him right into the fountain.”

Chi Zhiyue remembered, but he didn’t know why Xu Menghua had suddenly brought it up. There were neither kids nor fountains anywhere nearby.

He raised an eyebrow slightly and asked softly, “So?”

“So I was just thinking,” Xu Menghua stopped in her tracks and looked at Chi Zhiyue earnestly, “Brother, if I didn’t know your real personality, I’d really fall for your act easily. Thank goodness you’re not dating.”

Chi Zhiyue: “…”

Xu Menghua: “Consider this a public service.”

Chi Zhiyue: “That doesn’t count at all, okay?”

“How come you’re back to calling me single again? Didn’t you just ask me a couple of days ago when I’d bring home a sister-in-law for you?” Chi Zhiyue poked Xu Menghua lightly on the forehead.

A couple of days ago, Xu Menghua had watched some drama or comic and insisted she wanted to attend a wedding banquet. Just because of that line, their parents had started nagging him to get married and have kids.

If it weren’t to avoid clashing with his plans, Chi Zhiyue would have loved to say right then: Children are out of the question.

Your son is gay.

Xu Menghua pouted, twirling her finger in circles. “People change, you know.”

Chi Zhiyue chuckled and pressed on, “How many days is this change going to last this time?”

“One day, because I still really want a sister-in-law,” Xu Menghua pressed her hands together, closed her eyes, and made a pious wish. “I can only pray that my future sister-in-law keeps her eyes sharp and gets fooled a few less times.”

No matter how many times Luo Ye rubbed his eyes, he still couldn’t believe this whole table of barbecue cost only two hundred yuan.

This entire spread of skewers—for just two hundred yuan. Beef skewers for one yuan each, lamb skewers for one yuan each, and grilled cauliflower for thirty cents a stick. On top of that, it actually tasted great.

He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the towering pile of skewers.

He casually asked Lan Ju, who was shoving three skewers into his mouth at once: “Are these really the prices of our city?”

Lan Ju polished off the skewers in his mouth within seconds. With his cheeks puffed out, he replied indistinctly, “Delicious, right? I searched for a long time before I found this place.”

As expected of a veteran foodie—to be able to find such a remote shop. When Luo Ye first arrived, he thought he was about to walk out of the province.

It hadn’t been easy for them to find a place to talk business. Luo Ye first had to coax Luo Peng into doing his homework, and then hike through mountains and rivers to reach this shop.

“How has this shop not gone out of business because of your appetite?” Luo Ye tapped his finger on the edge of the table, genuinely curious. The shop wasn’t large, with only a few seats inside, but business was booming, and the outdoor tables were completely packed too.

“Am I that kind of person?” Lan Ju protested, shoving his empty wooden stick into the bucket on the side. “Confronted with such a conscientious boss, I am very merciful! Stop blabbering and let’s quickly talk about your stuff…”

Luo Ye unwrapped the scarf from his neck, folded it neatly, and placed it on the empty chair beside him, reviewing the afternoon’s events: “Ju-ge, you cried way too hard while eating this afternoon. Haven’t you written scripts like this before? How could you still cry?”

“Scripts are fake, but you’re my real friend! When a real friend is about to die, am I not allowed to feel sad?” Lan Ju snorted, reached out to pick up a skewer of chicken cartilage, and chewed on it slowly.

Luo Ye had no way to refute those words. He nodded, picked up a skewer of grilled beef from the table, and spun the stick between his fingertips.

“Actually, there’s not much left to talk about here. Everything over there has been handled. Pengpeng knows the bank card details and password, as well as some of my things—he’s the one who put them away. I’ve also signed my will; everything goes to Pengpeng. By the way, help me keep an eye out for Langlang to see if he tries to contact me. If you find him, remember to reply on my behalf. There’s also a separate card with money for you, and I’m entrusting Pengpeng to your care.”

Every word out of his mouth was about Pengpeng, Langlang, or a separate bank card. His entire farewell was filled with other people from beginning to end—with not a single mention of himself.

How can this guy be like this… Lan Ju felt a sharp, suffocating ache in his chest, his nose stingingly sore as he let out a heavy sigh. “Sigh, what about the funeral?”

“The funeral will probably have to be handled by you. I don’t really have any relatives anyway. When the time comes, just take my urn to some place and sing karaoke.” Luo Ye took a bite of his beef skewer.

Lan Ju didn’t even know where to begin roasting him. …This was way too classic Luo Ye style.

Singing karaoke—why not just say go clubbing after singing?

As if reading his thoughts, Luo Ye’s eyes curved slightly as he added another line, “If you like, you can even bring me along to eat a seafood feast.”

“Like hell I can!” Lan Ju couldn’t hold it in any longer. His eyes turned even redder than they had been during his crying fit this afternoon, his voice instantly choking up. “How can you be so nonchalant about this?! You went outside once and figured everything out just like that?”

Luo Ye fell silent.

Lan Ju sobbed, his voice trembling uncontrollably as he asked again, “Then… then which cemetery will your ashes ultimately be buried in?”

Seeing him like this, Luo Ye subconsciously turned his head away to avoid his gaze, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible: “Cemeteries are a bit expensive. Just buy a tree and scatter them under it.”

“You really… sigh…” Lan Ju wanted to say something comforting, but only three words came out before tears started falling. “Do you still remember when we first met in college?”

“I should remember.” Luo Ye took a sip of Sprite.

He wasn’t sure if the air conditioning in the shop was set too high, but Luo Ye felt an intense tightness in his chest.

It felt as though a lump of thick fog was stuck in his throat, suffocating him to the point where he couldn’t inhale or exhale properly, making even the Sprite taste sour.

It tasted terrible.

“When I first saw you, I thought you were hard to get along with. But in reality, you were the first person to speak up for me.” Lan Ju lowered his head, pulling out two tissues and gripping them tightly, his fingers crumpling the paper into wrinkles. “I’ve been called short and had comments made about me since I was little. I thought I was used to it, and when people made fun of me back then, I originally just wanted to laugh it off and let it pass. But you spoke up for me.”

Less than a week after starting college, he had already heard of Luo Ye’s reputation—that the directing department had a handsome, cold-faced troublemaker.

The first time he saw Luo Ye in the dorm, his immediate impression was: This guy is indeed handsome.

Flashy hair color, flashy eye color.

A few strands of soft hair scattered across his forehead, a face that looked noble and striking, a tall, clean posture, and even long, bony fingers.

When he smiled, he looked charmingly rogue; when he didn’t, his entire being exuded a cold sense of distance. He often wore hooded sweatshirts, bundling himself up inside the hoodie as if deliberately trying not to be noticed.

But how could that be possible?

In the university’s secondhand trading group, whenever a model photo of a jacket appeared, Luo Ye’s name was bound to be mentioned. People praised his OOTD on one side while speculating about his private life on the other.

So Lan Ju initially had no intention of becoming close friends with him at all. First, because he was of the hamster beastkin strain, and cats and hamsters really didn’t mix; second, he felt a person like that wouldn’t have any intersection with an ordinary guy like himself.

Until one time, a guy from the same department made an inappropriate joke about Lan Ju’s body again. The atmosphere became suffocatingly awkward, making Lan Ju feel sick to his stomach.

Yet at that exact moment, a tall, black-clad back stepped in front of him.

Luo Ye stood between them and said in an extremely calm yet cold tone: “If you guys want to look at a joke, why don’t you just find a mirror and look at yourselves? Height is given by your parents, but having a foul mouth is something you learned yourself. Looking like a joke is your own special talent too.”

After saying that, without looking back at the stunned guys, he turned around and led Lan Ju out of the classroom.

From that moment on, Lan Ju’s perspective on Luo Ye completely changed. Ninety percent of the rumors floating around about him outside were false—he was an exceptionally good person.

At the thought of those rumors smearing Luo Ye, Lan Ju felt a surge of annoyance. Slamming his hand on the table to vent, he picked up the Sprite on the table and took a massive gulp before quickly filling his glass back up.

“Bro, let’s clink glasses!”

Luo Ye looked at him, silently picked up his own cup, and clinked it against his.

Lan Ju swirled his Sprite, his gaze dazed. “You said you only have a hundred-plus hours left—doesn’t that mean New Year’s Eve?”

Luo Ye nodded. “Yeah, I plan to go wait in that abandoned house in North City. That way, I won’t disturb anyone.”

Thousands of lights lit up in every home, everyone waiting for the new atmosphere of the New Year, wishing for peace and smooth sailing in the year to come. Yet he had to welcome his own death on a day like that.

Luo Ye smiled inwardly. How ironic.

After Luo Ye finished speaking, before a few seconds of silence could pass, the person opposite him said, “I’m going too.”

Luo Ye froze. “Why are you following me there?”

“Someone has to help clean up your body, right?” Lan Ju bit his lower lip, his face crumpling into a knot as if making an extremely tragic decision, his voice carrying a sob. “It’s snowing outside right now. How cold will it be for you lying in the snow all by yourself?”

Luo Ye had thought he could endure until the very end, but upon hearing those words, all his indifference collapsed in an instant.

A sharp sting hit his nose, and his vision instantly blurred with moisture. The agony he had bottled up day after day could no longer be contained at this moment, pouring out from his eyes.

Before he could even raise his hand to wipe them away, teardrops the size of beans crashed down his cheeks, merging with the grease stains on the table.

Luo Ye quickly grabbed a paper napkin to cover his eyes, his voice choking up beyond recognition as he stammered brokenly, “Ju-ge… you, you’re a real man.”

Lan Ju was also sobbing so hard he was gasping: “Luo-ge, wuhuhu…”

“Ju-ge!”

“Luo-ge!”

…

The two of them just sat there crying at each other. After a while, the waiter walked over holding a fresh plate of newly grilled skewers.

The waiter was actually quite calm—it was common for people to get emotional when drunk, and hearing them talk about leaving and saying goodbyes sounded like parting with old friends, making it even easier to cry.

Until he saw the green bottle of Sprite on the table.

Waiter: “…?”

How did they get this drunk off that?

The two of them cried for a full five minutes, until even the boss was brought over by the waiter, asking them with a face full of concern if they needed help.

The boss was a middle-aged man in his forties with dark skin and rough features. Deep wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, making him look kind and approachable as he said, “If you two don’t have money, you don’t have to pay. Don’t worry about it too much.”

The boss was genuinely kind-hearted, causing Luo Ye and Lan Ju to choke back their tears and quickly explain that they were fine and would definitely pay.

Boss: “It’s alright, uncle has been through it too. I understand the pressure on young people. You’re both still so young—what obstacle can’t be overcome? As long as you’re alive, there’s hope.”

The two of them: “…”

They were almost feeling better, but hearing this comforting speech made them feel like they were about to break down again.

Lan Ju wiped his tears, forcing a smile as he said, “Thank you, uncle. We’ll eat and drink well.”

In the end, the boss patted their shoulders, left them an encouraging look, and walked away.

Since they were both adults after all, they managed to compose themselves after taking a moment to calm down, successfully finishing their late-night meal.

Before leaving, Luo Ye specifically went to the restroom to check his condition. Fortunately, his cheeks were only a little red, and the tear tracks weren’t too noticeable. Otherwise, if Luo Peng noticed, he would definitely face a barrage of questions.

On the way back, the snow began to fall harder. With a red nose, Luo Ye opened his phone and flipped through the comments on the barbecue photo he had posted earlier.

Quite a few people had replied, among whom was an unexpected Chi Zhiyue.

[Chi Zhiyue]: Looks delicious

Accompanying it was a smiling emoji.

Luo Ye had no expression. If he hadn’t overheard their conversation that day, he would have almost replied politely again.

This guy was something else—they weren’t even seeing each other anymore, so why was he still acting so seriously? What was he after? Just to find his reaction funny?

Luo Ye stared at that smiling yellow face emoji, when suddenly his mind cleared, as if a thought had exploded inside his head. He slapped his own thigh.

He had the time for his confession now—it would be set on the thirty-first!

The more Luo Ye thought about it, the more he felt he was a genius, a sly, mischievous smile curling on his lips. It looked so eerie that Lan Ju took a step to the side.

Completely oblivious, Luo Ye stroked Chi Zhiyue’s profile picture on his phone screen, murmuring like a villain, “Just you wait, you’ll find it real hilarious when the time comes, hahahaha…”

The very next second, his fingertip slipped, accidentally tapping on the profile picture.

[I patted “Chi Zhiyue”‘s head and said “Good boy!”]

[Chi Zhiyue]: Hm?

Luo Ye: “…”

Holy shit!