The winter wind blew bitingly. Squatting under a somewhat dilapidated wall was a tiny figure, fluffy ears shivering uncontrollably in the icy chill.

Lan Ju pulled a paper napkin from his pocket, wiped away his tears, and tossed it into the trash can beside him. One after another, two whole packs of tissues were emptied by his crying in no time.

He had been sobbing ever since the midnight countdown struck, crying so hard that he couldn’t even stand up now, forced to curl up into a ball against the base of the wall.

“Luo Ye just abandoned us like this, waaah… The one who deserved to die was clearly someone else, why did it have to be you…”

“And it just had to be such a cold winter… Aren’t you, aren’t you super sensitive to the cold? sob…”

“Am… am I going to have to burn joss paper for you later? I’ll go buy some camera-shaped paper money for you…”

Just as Lan Ju was muttering to himself and debating whether to go buy ghost money, a familiar, clear-cold voice suddenly echoed behind him.

“Lan Ju.”

Lan Ju’s entire body froze, and he whipped his head around.

Luo Ye—who was supposed to be dead—was currently standing behind him with a dark expression, snowflakes stacking up on his head like a little halo.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!

“AAAAAAHHH!”

Lan Ju was scared out of his wits. Scrambling on all fours, he threw himself against the wall, burying his face tightly in the crook of his arm while babbling incessantly: “Aaah, so it’s true that the underworld energy is strongest at midnight! Oh, I get it, you can’t cross over because you have unresolved business, right? I can help you, but please don’t turn into an evil ghost and eat me! I haven’t eaten a late-night snack yet, I’m super hungry right now, and I used up all my strength crying so I can’t run! Can you give me a three-minute head start? I know you were so kind when you were alive, so you must still be kind after dying, you haven’t been dead for long so you still have your consciousness, right, you…”

It had begun: Lan Ju’s long-winded run-on sentence auto-defense mechanism.

Luo Ye stood there, watching Lan Ju—who looked even more like a bound earth-spirit than an actual ghost—inch his way to the left while glued to the wall.

The corner of Luo Ye’s mouth twitched. Letting out a helpless sigh, he raised his voice: “First of all, I’m not dead.”

“So you’re not…” Lan Ju’s voice cut off abruptly as he slowly turned toward the “ghost.” “Huh??”

Luo Ye spread his arms, spun around in place, and repeated word by word: “I. Am. Not. Dead. We both had it completely wrong. That thing wasn’t a death countdown at all—it was a New Year’s countdown.”

Half-believing and half-doubting, Lan Ju stared at him timidly and whispered, “Don’t move. Let me check.”

“Fine.” Luo Ye stood stock-still.

Enduring the terror in his heart, Lan Ju reached out a finger and lightly poked the “ghost’s” cheek.

Cold, but soft—and there was even breath coming from his nose.

“WAHHH—” Lan Ju instantly went limp, collapsing onto the snowy ground as his eyes turned red again. “You scared me to death!! I really thought you turned into a ghost!”

“Who’s scaring whom? I walked out and saw a dark blob wriggling around here, scaring the daylights out of me,” Luo Ye squatted down, his gaze landing on Lan Ju’s pocket. “I called you, but you didn’t answer.”

Only then did Lan Ju open his phone. Sure enough, there were several missed calls. He had been so busy crying earlier that he hadn’t even felt the phone vibrating.

Lan Ju scratched his chin awkwardly, bursting into a tearful laugh: “Hehe, saved money on funeral costs!”

Lan Ju’s hair and shoulders were covered in snowflakes, and his face was a mess of snot and tears.

Looking at him like this, Luo Ye couldn’t help but laugh softly. He patted Lan Ju’s shoulder: “Happy New Year. I’m back.”

Luo Ye reached out and pulled Lan Ju up, and the two went to the intersection to hail a taxi. The phone showed the cab was still five minutes away, so they sat at the bus stop checking their phones.

Lan Ju desperately wanted to share this joy of surviving a near-death experience with others, but since only the two of them knew about the system, telling anyone else would just make them laugh and think he had been writing too many scripts.

But he was just so happy—what else could he do?!

Lan Ju had no choice but to drag Luo Ye along, enthusiastically recapping the entire event with a smile: “So when you heard that sound back then, were you so scared that you fell flat on your butt?”

As he spoke, he turned his head and noticed Luo Ye had his brows furrowed, his expression heavy and gloomy.

Curious, Lan Ju leaned in and asked, “You don’t have to die anymore, so why are you unhappy?”

Luo Ye fell silent for a few seconds before saying, “…Because right now, my mood is complicated.”

“Why?” Lan Ju asked.

Why else could it be?

Because ten minutes ago, he had gained a “boyfriend.”

Luo Ye stared blankly at the chat records on his phone.

He still hadn’t replied to the date invitation Chi Zhiyue sent over, because his brain had crashed a bit. Not knowing how to answer, he had only sent back a string of ellipses.

[Chi Zhiyue]: Where are we going for our date tomorrow?

[Luo Ye]: …

[Chi Zhiyue]: [Sticker of a smiling face holding up a heart]

Looking at that sticker, Luo Ye covered his eyes in agony: “…I messed up.”

He had messed up big time.

No, why wasn’t Chi Zhiyue following the script?

Shouldn’t Chi Zhiyue feel disgusted, block him, and leave behind a string of red exclamation marks? How did it turn into sending him a date invitation instead?

Could everything before have been a misunderstanding? Did Chi Zhiyue actually not hate him? Maybe those previous glances weren’t provoking him, but simply observing him?

If Chi Zhiyue really liked him, wouldn’t that make him a scumbag who toyed with people’s feelings?

Just then, the taxi arrived. After getting in, Luo Ye’s expression remained stern, his fingers repeatedly rubbing the screen.

Struggling for a long time between “clearing things up” and “going along with the mistake,” he ultimately decided to lay everything bare.

Pouting his bottom lip, he sent a message.

[Luo Ye]: Let’s meet up tomorrow first.

[Luo Ye]: At Fei Ni Bu Ke (Not Thirsty Without You Cafe).

[Chi Zhiyue]: Sure.

[Chi Zhiyue]: Is there anything specific you like to drink?

[Luo Ye]: Flat White.

[Chi Zhiyue]: Got it [Smiling Face Sticker]

He even went out of his way to ask what he wanted to drink…

Looking at the soft smiling face on the screen, Luo Ye’s sense of guilt multiplied. His cat ears flattened back in guilt, gradually folding into a pair of drooping airplane ears.

He really wanted to slam his head into the phone and die.

Lan Ju watched his friend’s ear tips flush red and his body go stiff one second, only to glower and bared his teeth at the phone the next—his emotions fluctuating like a rollercoaster. Unable to resist, Lan Ju pulled out his own phone and secretly searched: [My friend almost died but survived, now he has mood swings. What’s going on? Is it an illness?]

The first search result was the municipal Mental Health Center’s website, along with an article titled: [Treatment Methods for Hysteria].

Lan Ju: “…”

The second result was an answer from a user: [When people encounter a massive shock, their mental state can become a bit abnormal. It’s understandable. All you need to do at this time is offer comfort.]

Realization dawned upon Lan Ju as he looked at Luo Ye. Finally, he patted Luo Ye’s shoulder: “Don’t worry, no matter what happens, I’ll silently support you from behind. Just do what you have to do, don’t carry any emotional burden.”

Luo Ye looked totally bewildered: “Huh?”

Lan Ju: “You must really want to roar in anger right now, don’t bottle it up. Venting a bit is good for you, I’m listening.”

Luo Ye: “…I was thinking about where I should sleep tonight.”

The light in Lan Ju’s eyes dimmed, and he let out a tsk: “Oh, just that?”

Luo Ye: “?”

Since Luo Ye had told Luo Peng he was going on a trip out of town, he couldn’t go back home just yet. After discussing it, the two decided to make do on Lan Ju’s big sofa for the night and switch to a hotel tomorrow.

Lan Ju was completely exhausted from crying earlier; after a quick wash-up, he crashed into bed and fell fast asleep.

Luo Ye didn’t sleep.

Lying on the sofa, he scrolled back and forth through his chat logs with Chi Zhiyue.

He rehearsed what he was going to say tomorrow in his head, trying to make it as tactful as possible—something that could explain his original intention behind the confession without hurting Chi Zhiyue too deeply.

Tossing and turning like this all night, Luo Ye woke up just as dawn was breaking, with faint dark circles under his eyes.

When Lan Ju came out, he saw Luo Ye sitting at the dining table, chewing on a steamed bun absentmindedly.

Dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, a silver chain outlined his slender waist. The low ponytail he had lazily tied was slightly messy, with two stray tufts of hair drooping near the top of his head, making him look both handsome and obedient.

The multicolored tail behind him brushed against the back of the chair from time to time, revealing his intense anxiety.

Lan Ju walked over, looked at the more than twenty steamed buns on the table, and smiled: “Isn’t everything resolved? Why do you still look so anxious?”

Luo Ye gave a perfunctory response, his fingers mindlessly fiddling with his phone screen as he frowned: “Because I’m thinking about how to report my location to Pengpeng.”

In truth, he was currently troubled by two things—Chi Zhiyue being one, and Luo Peng being the other. But Luo Ye had no intention of telling Lan Ju about Chi Zhiyue.

How could he even say it? Tried to prank a coworker, but accidentally turned myself gay?

Sitting opposite him, Lan Ju picked up a bun, tore it open, took a bite of the vermicelli and pork filling, and said casually, “Can’t you just take a random photo of some scenery and make up a place name?”

Luo Ye suddenly froze, slowly lifting his head to look at Lan Ju: “Do you know about those videos online where people can track down where someone is staying just from a single scenery photo?”

Lan Ju nodded, looking amazed: “Yeah! I came across a video like that last time, it was insane. Just two utility poles, a mountain, and the direction of the sunrise, and they could find the general location.”

“Actually, there’s a world-class competitive tournament for that called GeoGuessr,” Luo Ye rubbed his face, letting out a heavy sigh. “Pengpeng… is currently ranked 10th in the world.”

Lan Ju: “Is he… trying to become a local deity of geography?”

Luo Ye: “…”

“So just taking a random photo definitely won’t work, and stock internet photos won’t work either,” Luo Ye pondered with a furrowed brow. “Do you have any photos you haven’t published—ones only you’ve taken?”

“Yeah, took some when I went to Wuhan before. I’ll send them to you.”

Lan Ju sent over two photos he had taken of the Han River view. Luo Ye forwarded them directly to Luo Peng without even typing a word yet, but Luo Peng replied instantly.

[Pengpeng]: Are you in Wuhan right now?

Luo Ye showed his phone screen to Lan Ju.

Lan Ju: “?? Holy shit, this guy is a god.”

Goosebumps broke out all over Lan Ju’s arms. He hurriedly checked his own Moments feed: “Holy shit, am I under surveillance?!”

Luo Ye shrugged, comforting him calmly: “I think he has zero interest in you.”

Thinking about it, Lan Ju realized that was true—this brother-con only had Luo Ye in his brain. He instantly breathed a sigh of relief: “If my account got hacked one day, he wouldn’t even know.”

Luo Ye went along with his banter: “That depends on whether you scammed him out of money. If you scammed him, he’d probably call the police directly.”

Lan Ju burst out laughing, looking at Luo Ye happily: “So when do you plan to go back? You can’t stay in a hotel forever, right?”

“I’ll go back before the parent-teacher conference. I’ll just say the business got wrapped up faster than expected,” Luo Ye said.

Lan Ju nodded, polishing off the bun in his hand in three quick bites before grabbing another mustard greens-flavored one, asking, “What are your plans for today? Staying home or going out?”

“I have to go out this afternoon.” Luo Ye tightened his grip on his phone.

Just the thought of meeting Chi Zhiyue this afternoon made his head buzz, a sharp headache throbbing in his skull.

Lan Ju was feeling envious, stretching his arms: “Must be nice. I still have to stay home and write scripts… Ah, I want to quit my job so bad too.”

Luo Ye smiled, taking a sip of the warm soy milk: “Quit then. We can travel together when the time comes.”

Lan Ju hummed twice in agreement, and the two continued eating breakfast.

Luo Ye had no work to do right now. After breakfast, he leaned against the sofa watching his previously posted videos, then played video games for the entire morning.

Before leaving for his appointment in the afternoon, Luo Ye specifically took a walk downstairs.

The snow that fell last night had stopped, wrapping the entire city in a coat of silver and white. Trees, bus stops, and rooftops were all covered with a thin layer of accumulated snow.

A few little kids were squatting at the entrance of a shop, noisily building a snowman.

Even though the countdown was a false alarm, Luo Ye still experienced the feeling of what the hospital called a “miracle happening.”

Going from “having little time left” to “gaining a new lease on life” made him treasure life even more. Before, he preferred trashy, thrilling horror movies, but now he adored peaceful, gentle scenes of daily life like this.

Luo Ye stood to the side watching for a long time. When several children spotted him, they enthusiastically invited him to join. Luo Ye didn’t refuse either, helping them build the snowman while listening to these elementary schoolers share funny stories from school.

Before they knew it, everyone’s hands were cold and red, and a snowman as tall as Luo Ye’s waist was finally born.

Its two eyes were blueberries from the fruit shop, its hair was a wig salvaged from the hair salon, and its mouth was a leftover fish bone from a restaurant.

The kids were wildly excited, and shop owners gathered around happily to take photos of their children.

Taking advantage of this atmosphere, Luo Ye stood up and said, “Let me take a group photo for you guys.”

And so, another photo of strangers who didn’t know each other was added to Luo Ye’s phone.

Thanks to this photo, Luo Ye was in quite a good mood when he stepped out of the subway station.

He hadn’t been near DFG Company in a long time. Looking up at the familiar skyscrapers before him and thinking about his colleagues back at the office editing videos with all their might, he felt a momentary illusion that he had suddenly played hooky halfway through his workday.

“Sigh—”

Luo Ye let out a final sigh toward the countdown in the sky, walking into “Fei Ni Bu Ke” with the suppressed dread of a convict heading to the execution grounds.

[Luo Ye]: I’ve arrived.

[Chi Zhiyue]: By the window.

Actually, there was no need to send his location; Luo Ye spotted Chi Zhiyue sitting by the window looking at his phone in a single glance.

Chi Zhiyue was dressed in a light camel-colored long wool coat with a smooth, soft drape, over a cream-colored turtleneck knit sweater. He looked mature and refined, sitting there with his back straight.

His eyes were slightly downturned, the gaze he used to look at his phone extremely gentle.

It would be one thing if Chi Zhiyue were dressed casually like usual, but today he had clearly groomed himself with extra care—his hair styled with a bit of mousse, cleanly revealing half of his forehead.

Looking at Chi Zhiyue’s meticulously put-together appearance, Luo Ye’s sense of guilt shot up by another fifty points.

Luo Ye bit the bullet, walked over, and sat opposite him.

Seeing him, Chi Zhiyue showed no surprise at all, breaking into a soft smile and speaking in a tender tone: “You’re here. I just placed the order; it should be served shortly.”

“Um… I actually have something to ask you,” Luo Ye got straight to the point.

“What is it? Go ahead,” Chi Zhiyue set down his phone, folding his hands on the table as he listened intently.

Guilt +10. Luo Ye complained inwardly—if Chi Zhiyue’s attitude were even a tiny bit worse, he wouldn’t be struggling like this.

Luo Ye didn’t dare look into Chi Zhiyue’s eyes. Simply dropping his gaze, he stared at the patterns on the tabletop and asked, “Why do you like me?”

The person opposite answered immediately without a second of hesitation: “Because you’re a really wonderful person—sensible, responsible, and very kind.”

“That’s it? That’s actually pretty ordinary,” Luo Ye said modestly, though the corners of his mouth uncontrollably curled into a checkmark.

Just then, the server brought over the coffee, placing the cups in front of them—one Flat White, one Hazelnut Latte.

Chi Zhiyue smiled, slowly stirring his Hazelnut Latte, his tone soft.

“If you don’t think that’s a good reason, then let’s just attribute it all to love at first sight.”

Luo Ye listened as the tips of his ears gradually turned red. Good thing his tail wasn’t showing, or it would definitely be curled like a hook.

Previously, he had only seen confession scenes like this in editing suites; this was the first time in real life he had heard someone say such things to him.

Who doesn’t love hearing someone praise them with absolute sincerity?

Irrespective of gender, even if the person sitting opposite wasn’t Chi Zhiyue but some total stranger, he would still be thrilled.

The only flaw was that the background music in the cafe was too dry, completely lacking atmosphere.

If he were editing this, he would pair it with a soft instrumental piece at a slower tempo, layer in some ambient sounds, and start with a crane shot for a sweeping wide angle…

Wait, professional habit acting up again.

Luo Ye quickly pinched his leg, forcing his thoughts back. Even his voice when talking to Chi Zhiyue softened: “Then why were you talking about me in the restroom back then?”

Chi Zhiyue tilted his head slightly: “Talking about you?”

Luo Ye bit his lower lip and said, “The time at the wrap party, what you said to Xiao Zhao.”

Chi Zhiyue clearly remembered. Realization dawned on him as he said, “Ah. That time I was chatting with him about our supervisor. I bumped into him when changing subway lines.”

Luo Ye was stunned: “It wasn’t about me?”

Chi Zhiyue: “Why would I talk about you like that?”

Luo Ye: “…”

Right, according to Chi Zhiyue’s version of events, why would he talk badly about the person he liked?

Guilt plus another ten.

Luo Ye gripped the cup handle tightly and asked again, “Then another time before that, you saw me and refused to get on the elevator.”

“That time I had a cold. I didn’t want to pass it to you,” Chi Zhiyue took an elegant sip of his coffee, setting it down as his gaze swept over Luo Ye’s face. “Speaking of colds, I left cold medicine on your desk that day. Did you take it?”

Luo Ye took another heavy blow. His eyes widened, his speech stumbling: “You left that?!”

Chi Zhiyue: “Yeah, didn’t you know? I thought someone would have told you if they saw it.”

Luo Ye: “…?”

Told him my foot… His department was the most enthusiastic about meal times; if they could step out of the office, they would never stay behind.

Luo Ye’s guilt score had now breached the hundred mark.

He desperately wanted to go back to a few seconds before his confession and cover his own mouth.

“What about you? Why did you suddenly think of confessing?” Chi Zhiyue asked.

Luo Ye mindlessly stirred his coffee, taking a deep breath as he prepared to reveal the truth: “I actually wanted to address that exact thing. The truth is…”

Before Luo Ye could finish his sentence, a ringtone suddenly blared from Chi Zhiyue’s pocket. Immediately after, Luo Ye heard an agonizingly familiar voice.

“Actually, I’ve liked you for a really long time.”

“Actually, I’ve liked you for a really long time.”

“Actually, I’ve liked you for a really long time.”

Luo Ye: “???”

Luo Ye didn’t even dare recognize it at first, until the sentence repeated for the third time before he realized the severity of the situation.

Holy shit? Not only did this guy record it, but he also set it as his ringtone?!

Luo Ye stared at the perpetrator in sheer shock, while the perpetrator calmly pulled out his phone, saying offhandedly, “Oh, they’re looking for me in the group chat. I’ll reply to a message.”

“No,” Luo Ye’s brain stalled for a few seconds, “what the heck is that ringtone?”

Chi Zhiyue showed zero embarrassment, maintaining total composure: “Because I liked that sentence so much, I set it as my ringtone.”

Luo Ye: “Shouldn’t there be a notification telling me it’s recording when you record a call?”

Chi Zhiyue: “I screen-recorded it.”

Luo Ye: “…”

Chi Zhiyue added, “When I played it for Wan Qing, Wan Qing also said this part sounded nice.”

Luo Ye: “?!”

Wait? Who said it sounded nice?!

Luo Ye exploded instantly: “You even told Wan Qing?!”

“I didn’t tell him at first. I took a call, he asked, so I said it,” Chi Zhiyue’s voice was gentle, his eyes looking at him innocently. “I can tell him, right? After all, you’ve resigned now, so it doesn’t count as an office romance. Besides, he’s your friend too—it’s not like you’re the type to hide relationships or play with people’s feelings, right?”

Luo Ye, who had intended to explain everything, swallowed his words right back down upon seeing Chi Zhiyue’s expectant gaze and hearing his final sentence.

The words at the tip of his tongue were forcibly swapped for an awkward agreement: “Heh, heh, of course not. I’m very responsible.”

“That’s good,” Chi Zhiyue said with a smile. “So, what were you about to say?”

Since Luo Ye had already put his words out there, he could only bite the bullet and express his thoughts indirectly through a roundabout way.

Fiddling with his fingers, he explained with a guilty conscience: “I… I wanted to say, since you’re the first guy I’ve ever dated, I’m still not quite used to it, and you don’t know me well enough either. How about we try dating for a trial period first to see if we’re compatible? If it doesn’t work out, we can part on good terms.”

If Luo Ye could display his ears right now, they would definitely be flattened into extremely low airplane ears.

He didn’t dare look at Chi Zhiyue, unsure of what expression the other man had—suspicion? Or confusion?

Fortunately, Chi Zhiyue said, “Makes sense. How long of a trial period do you think is appropriate?”

Luo Ye looked up, holding up a single finger: “A week?”

Chi Zhiyue shook his head with a smile: “No, a week is a bit too short.”

Luo Ye: “Then you say it.”

Chi Zhiyue: “About a year.”

Luo Ye: “?” Where is that anywhere close to “about”?!

What happened to the twelve months in between? Were they completely skipped over?!

Luo Ye gritted his teeth, making one last push: “How about a few months then?”

Chi Zhiyue: “Twelve months?”

Luo Ye: “…Are you abusing a system bug?”

Luo Ye thought it over for a moment, finally settling on a number: “Two months. Two months is plenty of time for us to get to know each other.”

With a slightly regretful expression, Chi Zhiyue took a sip of his coffee and nodded: “Alright then. During these two months, will we interact like a normal couple?”

Luo Ye nodded: “Mhm.”

Chi Zhiyue beamed again. In the very next second, he stood up.

Luo Ye looked at him, startled: “Ah? Where are you going?”

“I’ll go pay the bill, then we can head out after sitting for a bit longer,” Chi Zhiyue wrapped the coffee-brown scarf from behind his chair around his neck.

“So fast?” Luo Ye hadn’t reacted yet.

Chi Zhiyue walked over to his side, stopped in his tracks, and offered him a warm smile.

“After all, today is our first day of dating. Of course we can’t just waste it sitting here—we have to go on a proper date.”

__

[Author’s Note]

Everyone’s morning:

Luo: Playing games.

Chi: Spent the entire morning figuring out how to extract audio to set as a ringtone.

——

At this moment, Luo Ye doesn’t realize that the countdown to his butt getting blasted open has begun.