Embedded Files
Psst! We're moving!
As for Jiang Xu’s behavior, Zhou Yi’s mood could no longer be summed up with a simple curse.
Watching the man casually splash tens of thousands of yuan on gifts for an unknown female livestreamer without batting an eye made Zhou Yi wish he weren’t born male.
And what was even more baffling? This livestreamer hadn’t even turned on her camera.
“I say—” After holding back for so long, he couldn’t resist anymore. “What’s wrong with you? Mr. Jiang, Teacher Jiang, Boss Jiang—I want 100 gifts of 1,314 yuan too!”
Boss Jiang didn’t even bother to look at him, his voice icy cold: “Stay away from me.”
Zhou Yi, as his longtime agent and friend, was already immune to this attitude. He shamelessly leaned closer, peering intently at the screen: “Who is this female livestreamer anyway? What makes you toss around money like this just to make her smile? You’re like a barren tree that suddenly blooms—not one flower but two! What about your little assistant? Have you fallen out of love with her and moved on? Let me tell you, this isn’t right. How can you justify this—”
He abruptly stopped mid-sentence.
With a mysterious expression, he stared deeply at Jiang Xu.
Jiang Xu lazily flicked his eyelids, sparing him a glance.
Zhou Yi squinted at him: “Could it be…?”
“Hmm?” Jiang Xu let out a low hum through his nose.
Zhou Yi’s expression grew more certain: “Are you telling me you slept with your little assistant and then realized you’re still into female livestreamers instead?”
“…”
Jiang Xu’s brow twitched.
“This shouldn’t be the case,” Zhou Yi prattled on in his ear. “Didn’t you used to treasure her so much? Weren’t you obsessed with her, even more addicted than playing games? Didn’t you set alarms every day to wake up and sneakily stare at her like some creepy old man on set? Jiang Xu, this is beyond messed up. You’re such a hypocrite. Doesn’t your conscience hurt?”
Jiang Xu kept his eyes glued to the computer screen, letting out a couple of dismissive grunts: “I’d rather she thought I was a hypocrite.”
“What?” Zhou Yi froze for two seconds. “I’m talking about your little assistant. Why are you bringing up this livestreamer?”
The moment the words left his mouth, he suddenly realized.
The livestreamer on the computer was still talking, her voice somehow familiar.
Familiar.
And then there was the man on the bed, entranced as if under a spell.
Zhou Yi understood. Pointing at the screen, his voice trembling, he asked: “Is this livestreamer the same person as your little assistant?”
Jiang Xu didn’t respond, which was as good as confirmation.
Zhou Yi cursed again, glaring at him: “You really like her, huh?”
This time, the man didn’t remain silent. He gave a nonchalant “Mm.”
“She doesn’t know it’s you, right?”
Jiang Xu ignored him, as if silence would make him realize how stupid the question was.
Zhou Yi did catch on, quickly switching topics: “Then explain this—what’s with your username? A fan of ‘Si Yu’? Fan? Girl?”
Jiang Xu leaned back against the headboard, watching the girl play a game: “This way, she might think I’m a woman and won’t guess it’s me.”
Zhou Yi: “….”
Even if you didn’t pretend to be a woman, she wouldn’t have guessed it was you!
Shaking his head, Zhou Yi clicked his tongue twice: “I think it’s time to call your dad and let him know. I bet he’ll cry tears of joy.”
The man on the bed paused: “Don’t.” He finally tore his gaze away from the laptop screen, looking seriously at Zhou Yi as he said in a low voice, “Right now, my persona is that of a poor soul with strained family ties. Don’t stir up trouble for me.”
Zhou Yi was utterly confused: “What persona? What strained family ties?”
“It’s just…” Jiang Xu spoke slowly, “During the Mid-Autumn Festival, I mentioned that I haven’t been home in years.”
Zhou Yi: “….”
Jiang Xu: “Then, she assumed I had a bad relationship with my family.”
Zhou Yi: “….”
Jiang Xu: “Then, I went to her house.”
Zhou Yi: “….”
Damn.
“So, you didn’t say a word about your parents settling abroad years ago, huh?” Zhou Yi stared at him, expressionless.
Jiang Xu raised an eyebrow: “I haven’t been home in years—that’s true. I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t lie,” Zhou Yi sneered, “but you sure don’t have any shame.”
“What use is shame?” The man showed no remorse whatsoever. “Can shame get me a girlfriend?”
Zhou Yi: “….”
Such a valid point. No counterarguments.
…
Idle days at home always seemed to pass faster than school days. By the time Wen Siyu realized it, it was already time to return to school.
The end of the National Day holiday marked the peak of students returning to campus. Thinking about the terrifying scenes at the train station, Wen Siyu decisively turned to Wen Siyuan for help.
Before she could figure out how to persuade him, Wen Siyuan had already taken the initiative.
The man nibbled on a pear, speaking casually: “Going back to school?”
Wen Siyu hummed an affirmation.
“Alright.” Wen Siyuan nodded. “When are you leaving? I’ll take you back.”
Wen Siyu was shocked: “Why are you offering to take me? You’ve always been too lazy.”
“Things change. Right now, I don’t feel comfortable letting you go alone.”
Wen Siyu: “….”
Though she didn’t understand what exactly he was worried about, she was happy not to deal with the train chaos herself.
Once back at school, life became hectic again. Her short film was already two-thirds complete, and after breaking through a creative bottleneck with Jiang Xu’s advice, the rest of the filming went smoothly.
The directing department was notoriously demanding, and the heavy workload left Wen Siyu with less and less time to livestream. Meanwhile, someone who had been trying to steal glimpses of her during breaks on set began to grow restless when even his sole method of peeking disappeared.
One night, while Wen Siyu was watching a movie, her phone suddenly rang.
She ignored it at first. An hour later, after finishing the movie, she picked up her phone to check.
It was WeChat.
A friend request.
The profile picture was a white background with a large black “X.”
The name was unmistakable: Jiang Xu.
Wen Siyu nearly fell off her chair.
Her hands trembled as she held the phone, staring at the screen for a long while before realizing the friend request had come in an hour ago.
Wen Siyu panicked.
She had left her idol hanging for an entire hour!!!
This sin was surely unforgivable.
Biting her lip, her finger hovered over the screen. She wanted to accept it but didn’t dare.
What if Jiang Xu immediately blocked her once she accepted?
After all, it had been an hour…
Just as she was hesitating, her roommate came over, slapping her shoulder and calling her name.
Startled, Wen Siyu’s hand slipped, and she accidentally tapped the screen.
Looking down, she saw she had accepted the request.
“…”
Wen Siyu looked up, her face deathly pale as she stared at her roommate.
The roommate was startled by her bloodless complexion, shrinking back timidly and whispering, “I just wanted to ask what you wanted to eat…”
Wen Siyu closed her eyes in despair.
“He’s going to block me.”
Roommate: “…?”
“I’m dead. I don’t want to open my eyes. If I do, I’ll probably see that I’ve been blocked.”
Roommate: “….”
Taking a deep breath, Wen Siyu exhaled, then reopened her eyes and lifted her phone again.
Amidst her anxiety, a small, secret thrill slowly crept into her heart.
Jiang Xu’s WeChat.
The WeChat account she had longed to add but never dared to.
Wen Siyu had never expected him to initiate a friend request.
Cautiously opening their chat window, she hesitated for a moment, then exited.
She opened it again, then backed out.
Just like two months ago, when she first saw his WeChat, she found herself stuck in a loop of indecision, opening and closing the chat several times. Still, she didn’t dare send a message.
After some thought, she clicked on his profile picture and scrolled through his Moments.
She remembered how, after seeing the iceberg on Jiang Xu’s cover photo, she had secretly changed her own Moments cover to an ocean. She even pretentiously changed her bio to “Love separated by mountains and seas; mountains and seas cannot be bridged,” immersing herself in melancholy for a while.
But now, upon opening his Moments, she found the cover photo had changed. It was no longer the rugged snow-capped mountain but… a hand-drawn sketch?
On a blank sheet of paper, a clumsily drawn boat was sketched in black pencil. The lines were crooked, and faint traces of erased pencil marks remained. On the boat’s sail was a crudely drawn figure that Wen Siyu struggled to recognize as a rabbit due to its long ears.
It seemed the man had tried his best to make the rabbit look cute, awkwardly adding a pink bowtie around its neck with colored pencils.
Below the boat, written in pencil, was a line of text. From afar, the handwriting appeared bold and elegant, with strong strokes. But it was written so small that Wen Siyu had to bring her phone closer to examine it. Even then, she couldn’t quite make out what it said.
At this moment, her phone rang again—a new message notification.
Wen Siyu exited the Moments page. On Jiang Xu’s chat window, a small red “1” appeared.
He had initiated a conversation with her.
Even though they could now converse naturally in person, switching to WeChat suddenly made Wen Siyu feel an ambiguous tension.
She opened the chat window, and a single line of text immediately caught her eye:
—”The sea has boats to cross, and the mountains have paths to tread.”
Wen Siyu froze, her heart trembling slightly.
She stared blankly at the words, then recalled the clumsily drawn boat from earlier—the one with the rabbit wearing a bowtie on its sail. Her fingertips tingled as she tapped on the message.
Her mind was a chaotic mess, like it was stuffed with cotton candy—soft, fluffy, and a little sweet.
And there was something else—an indescribable, uncontrollable sense of anticipation and longing that quietly crept into her heart, like ivy winding its way up a trellis inch by inch.
He had changed his Moments cover photo and even sent her this specific message. Could she afford to indulge in a little self-delusion?
…
Fortunately, Wen Siyu had been genuinely busy these past few days.
The filming of the short film was nearing its end, and everyone was ecstatic, pouring their energy into the project with enthusiasm. Moreover, Yuan Zhen’s acting was exceptional; his talent matched his striking appearance.
Finally, on the day the short film wrapped, the entire team erupted in celebration.
From the moment students entered the Beijing Film Academy, they were required to form teams and produce one short film after another for assignments. Most of these were just a few minutes long, but this particular microfilm—though still much shorter than a standard feature-length movie—was a labor of love, a culmination of everyone’s hard work and dedication.
A celebratory dinner was inevitable. A lively group of overly enthusiastic young men and women spilled out of the school gates and into a restaurant. The contrast between them was stark: while Louis was boisterous and over-the-top, Yuan Zhen beside him remained calm, composed, and radiant.
Wen Siyu, who had grown close to the group, couldn’t resist teasing Louis: “Can you tone it down a bit, Louis? You’re bouncing off the walls. Take a lesson from our senior, Yuan Zhen. A man should be calm and collected, keeping his emotions in check.”
Louis frowned: “Director Wen, I think you’re biased against me. Why do I get called ‘Louis’ while he’s ‘Senior Yuan’?” He leaned in with a grin. “Come on, call me ‘senior’ too. Let me hear it.”
Before Wen Siyu could respond, Yuan Zhen slapped Louis’s approaching face, smiling serenely.
Louis shuddered at the sight of that smile and retreated, sighing dramatically: “Our Senior Yuan is perfect in every way, except for that smile of his. Whether he’s happy, sad, angry, or warning someone, he always smiles—it’s terrifying.” Then, unable to help himself, he sidled closer to Wen Siyu again. “Do you have a boyfriend, Miss Wen?”
Wen Siyu knew what was coming next. After nearly two months of knowing him, Louis would seize any opportunity to steer the conversation toward this topic—even creating one if none existed.
So she simply smiled and waited. Sure enough, Louis continued: “You don’t, right? Our Senior Yuan doesn’t have a girlfriend either.”
Wen Siyu chuckled: “Who said I don’t have a boyfriend?”
Louis froze.
Beside them, Yuan Zhen paused mid-step.
“My boyfriend is Jiang Xu,” Wen Siyu said slowly. “His fangirl.”
Louis visibly relaxed, nudging her: “Miss Wen, don’t scare people like that. While my heart can handle it, others might not. By the way, let me spill some tea.” He leaned close to her ear, whispering loudly enough for those nearby to hear: “Back during that mixer, when you were arguing with Xiang Ge over Werewolf, he was practically leaning over your table, eyes glued to you the whole time. Later, he went out of his way to ‘accidentally’ bump into you. It took him two years to finally get this chance.”
After a pause, Louis concluded: “Our Senior Yuan is adorable.”
Wen Siyu was momentarily stunned.
Instinctively, she glanced at the man beside her.
Yuan Zhen still wore that same gentle smile, but his actions were far less restrained as he mercilessly swatted Louis’s handsome face again: “Are you the only one who talks too much?”
Louis clutched his nose, wailing about disfigurement, but Yuan Zhen paid him no mind.
Turning back to the wide-eyed girl, he offered an explanation for Louis’s matchmaking attempt: “I was dragged along by classmates that day and saw you dominating the game. I thought it was fascinating.”
Wen Siyu, a former gaming streamer known for her dramatic flair, felt oddly guilty hearing her bragging skills described so casually. Still, since he explained, it meant he didn’t want her to overthink things—it proved that he truly—
Before her thoughts could finish, the man continued speaking.
“At that moment, I really wanted to get to know this girl.”
This time, Wen Siyu was utterly dumbfounded.
From the sidelines, Louis let out an odd noise.
Yuan Zhen’s voice was soft and warm, just like his demeanor, giving off a comfortable and relaxing vibe. Yet his words carried an undeniable intensity that kept her on edge: “Now that I’ve gotten to know her, I find her even more adorable than I imagined.”
At this point, even Xiang Ge, who had been silently tapping away on his phone, looked up and smirked, clicking his tongue twice.
The meaning behind his words was crystal clear. If Wen Siyu didn’t understand now, she’d have to be a fool.
But she still didn’t know how to respond.
The girl stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Seeing this, Yuan Zhen smiled: “I’m not trying to pressure you, so don’t overthink it.” He reached out and ruffled her hair. “It’s just that Siyu is too cute. If I don’t say something soon, I’m afraid someone else will snatch her away.”
Wen Siyu’s face instantly flushed red.
Seeing her reaction, Yuan Zhen refrained from saying anything further for the rest of the evening. The group chose a hot pot restaurant and ordered drinks.
After a few glasses, those who were usually reserved loosened up, while those already outgoing became downright wild. Louis, drunk and exhilarated, perched on a chair with a piece of shrimp paste dangling from his mouth, belting out, “Come back to me~ I can’t handle this alone~~” Wen Siyu wouldn’t have been surprised if he jumped onto the table for a hula dance after a couple more drinks.
Afterward, the group headed to a karaoke bar. With a few drinks in her system, Wen Siyu started feeling lightheaded. She picked a song called “Above the Moon,” grabbed the mic, and announced brightly: “Hello everyone! I’m MC Siyu! Here’s a fiery performance dedicated to all of you!”
Throughout the night, Yuan Zhen sat below, munching on fruit and watching her with a smile. Unlike the others, he remained perfectly composed, pure as a snow lotus from the Tian Mountains.
In the end, he was humorously crowned “Fruit Plate Assassin” by the group.
Though she remained busy after finishing the short film, her schedule had noticeably eased up.
With idle moments came the resurgence of things she had deliberately ignored. Wen Siyu absentmindedly held her phone, staring at WeChat, and poked into the group chat for Never Look Back . She found the chat buzzing with excitement.
Calculating the timeline, Never Look Back should be wrapping up production around this time.
He was finishing up, huh…
Wen Siyu slumped back into her chair, tilting her head back and letting out a long sigh.
Her roommate, Qu Xiawan, who slept on the opposite bunk, leaned over with a mysterious look: “You look lovesick.”
The bookworm from the neighboring bunk chimed in: “Siyu being lovesick seems unlikely. All her passion probably goes into her livestreaming career.”
Qu Xiawan stared at them blankly: “Don’t you guys browse forums or scroll Weibo?”
Bookworm: “Nope.”
Wen Siyu blinked: “I do.”
“You haven’t checked in the past two days?”
Another blink: “Nope.”—Too busy staring at the WeChat interface.
“That explains why you’re so calm,” Qu Xiawan quickly pulled out her phone, scrolling as she spoke. “I knew something was up when you left to shoot that short film. You’ve been distracted for the past two days because of this, right?” She smirked knowingly and handed over her phone.
Wen Siyu took the phone and glanced down. A photo blinded her with its brilliance.
In the picture, a tall man stood with a profile straddling the line between youth and maturity—both naive and refined. His gentle smile made him appear incredibly tender. Before him, a girl gazed up at him with wide eyes, looking a bit dazed. From the side, her lashes were long, and her cheeks bore a faint blush.
The man’s large hand rested gently atop the girl’s head, the gesture as tender as he was.
The caption read: “Beijing Film Academy’s Campus Prince Yuan Zhen’s Romance Exposed: A Short Film Sparks Love.”
Scrolling down, Wen Siyu found more photos—seven or eight in total—all featuring her and Yuan Zhen. There was one of him holding a bottle of water for her, another of her sitting on a desk leaning over to discuss the script with someone seated, and even one of her laughing with her roommate while Yuan Zhen watched from afar.
The original poster claimed to be a casual observer who stumbled upon the campus prince gazing lovingly at a certain girl and decided to dig deeper. And sure enough, there was plenty to uncover.
After skimming through everything, Wen Siyu felt dizzy.
She looked up at her two roommates, stunned.
Qu Xiawan took the phone back, opened Weibo, and handed it to her again, raising an eyebrow: “Take another look.”
Wen Siyu lowered her gaze. Among the eight photos was a meme titled “Want My Little Heart.jpg,” with the caption: “Beijing Film Academy’s Cutest Director and Campus Prince—Highest Beauty Standards Couple!”
It had even trended.
No wonder she had felt extra stares on her way to class yesterday. She had thought she suddenly became prettier overnight…
Wen Siyu returned the phone and sank into her seat.
Under the sharp gazes of her two roommates, she pouted: “I’m innocent.”
Bookworm twirled her pen: “Pure as water?”
Wen Siyu raised both hands in a solemn vow: “Purer than mineral water—no minerals at all.”
Bookworm snickered: “Raising both hands means surrender. Who would believe you?”
Wen Siyu: “….”
That night, Wen Siyu took her camera outside to capture a few final night scenes.
The campus was bustling with activity. Couples cuddled, groups of boys played basketball, and girls chatted in clusters. After waiting patiently, Wen Siyu finally found a quieter moment and raised her DSLR to start shooting.
After taking several shots, she peered through the viewfinder with one eye closed. Suddenly, a black hoodie entered the frame.
The hoodie grew larger and larger until it filled the entire viewfinder. Wen Siyu could even see the folds in the fabric through the lens.
Perplexed, she lowered the camera and looked up.
It was past 9 PM, and the campus lights were dim. Nearby, the sound of boys shouting and laughing echoed from the basketball court.
Jiang Xu stood silently before her. This time, he wasn’t wearing a cap, only a mask. His messy bangs cast shadows over his eyes, and his deep brown irises appeared dark under the low light, with a hint of redness at the corners.
His voice was low and slightly hoarse, muffled by the mask.
“You ignored me. You didn’t reply to my messages.”
He spoke calmly, without inflection.
Yet there was an unmistakable trace of hurt in his tone.
Google Sites
Report abuse