Chapter 51: The Ex-Boyfriend Is a Fairy
"Drip—"
In the damp, shadowy basement, darkness was absolute; you couldn’t see your own hand in front of your face. Not a single sliver of light seeped in, only the steady drip of blackened water echoing through the gloom.
A boy sat quietly in the corner, his face pale and delicately handsome, like an abandoned statue carved from white jade, letting the creeping black water rise to his ankles.
“Have you learned your lesson?” Someone stepped through the filthy water, stopping before him with a smile.
The boy gave no answer, eyes closed in silence.
It wasn’t until the door creaked open that he slowly opened his eyes. He scrambled from the floor, trying to make a run for it.
A torrent of black water surged from all sides, knocking his small body back to the ground.
Around him, strange, mocking laughter echoed—a scorn for his overestimation of himself.
His outstretched hand grasped at nothing, tears dissolving into the black water as he watched his young body slowly swallowed by the dark tide—
...
“No!”
Shen Jixing jolted awake, his eyes flying open.
A suffocating tightness still gripped his throat; he gasped for air, coughing hoarsely.
“What’s wrong?” The balcony door slid open with a sharp sound.
Zhou Yili strode over, phone still in hand, tossing it aside as he sat, his warm palm sliding along Shen Jixing’s back. “Did you choke?”
Meeting Zhou Yili’s confused, slightly worried gaze, Shen Jixing took a couple of seconds to steady himself. “Yeah.”
“Choke on what?” Zhou Yili asked.
The lingering sense of suffocation still clung to Shen Jixing; he replied offhandedly, “Saliva.”
“Don’t pin it on me,” Zhou Yili said.
At this, both paused for a moment.
Zhou Yili’s mind was full of righteous indignation—he’d shown remarkable self-control that morning. Even when Shen Jixing clung to him like syrup, he’d been the picture of restraint, a proper young gentleman. That saliva certainly wasn’t his fault.
...
Shen Jixing had meant to say, What does it have to do with you?
But fragments flashed through his mind—
“Do you think I’m good-looking?”
With a faint smile, he’d rubbed his nose against Zhou Yili, finally voicing the words he’d always used to describe him in his heart.
“You’re good-looking too, little lion.”
...
In the end, they both fell silent.
In their hearts, they blamed it all on that bottle of red wine, each maintaining an outward calm as they went their separate ways.
Zhou Yili marveled at the strange powers of red wine—on other days, a few bottles of baijiu would leave him untouched, but half a bottle of red had him chasing after Shen Jixing like a madman.
...
He rolled over, reaching for his phone, and noticed a length of white fabric on the bed.
Zhou Yili paused for a couple of seconds, then looked at the calm, barefoot figure heading out. “Your pants—” he started to say.
Before he could finish, Shen Jixing slammed the door.
Still wearing only a thin white shirt that barely covered his thighs, Shen Jixing walked into the guest room, climbed into bed without a word, and buried himself under the covers.
He wanted to die.
In the master bedroom, Zhou Yili thought, Well, if you won’t wear them, so be it.
He picked up the soft white trousers as if they were scalding hot, folded them, and placed them on the sofa.
But he couldn’t shake the image of those long, cold, jade-like legs.
Damn, my ex is a siren, he thought.
Zhou Yili had a shoot that day. He asked Aunt Zhang to bring up breakfast, planning to head to the office afterward.
Aunt Zhang hadn’t seen Teacher Shen in some time and missed him. “Is Teacher Shen upstairs? Should I call him down for breakfast?”
“He’s sleeping, don’t go up,” Zhou Yili said, not in the mood to show off his gourmet breakfast. He bit into a fried dough stick, sipped soybean milk, and glanced upstairs.
“He’ll come down when he’s hungry.”
Right now, Shen Jixing probably didn’t want to see anyone; his skin was thinner than paper.
That pants-less look was only for the nighttime.
Not during the day.
Aunt Zhang giggled, “Alright.”
Once the apartment was quiet again, Shen Jixing finally came downstairs, dressed, ears still tinged red as he slowly ate breakfast.
That was when Pei Ming called again.
“Something happened!!!”
Shen Jixing was immune to those three words by now; his voice was cool and detached. “I haven’t lost my memory. I already found out last night.”
“No, that’s not it,” Pei Ming said, though his tone held a trace of delight. “Last night it was Fang Siqian who was in trouble—today, it’s you.”
Shen Jixing: “...”
That mattered even less.
He’d never cared much for trending searches—nothing seemed to ruffle him. Until Pei Ming added, “Netizens are amazing. They actually found the girl from your photograph.”
Shen Jixing’s hand, still holding the soybean milk, paused in midair.
Perhaps it was the holidays, but the netizens were more bored than ever, digging up every last detail on Fang Siqian.
Fang Siqian, always cultivating the image of a devoted, single, fan-loving man, was in fact maintaining a secret relationship and cheating on several up-and-coming female celebrities and super-fans at the same time, all to keep his popularity high and manipulate his female fans.
At first, Ruan Jia wasn’t anyone’s fan, just a gifted newcomer with a love for photography. Fang Siqian had lured her in, step by step, with sugar coated in poison, making her his exclusive photographer.
“No wonder he managed to break into the A-list looking like that.”
“You have to admire his persistence—if he put that energy elsewhere, he’d be unstoppable.”
“In summary: Without women, Fang Siqian can’t take a single step.”
By chance, Ruan Jia had taken that famous photo of Shen Jixing saving a fan.
When she turned, she saw Fang Siqian.
He stared at the photo, a strange light flickering in his eyes. “Jiajia, do you want me to get better and better?”
The girl looked at him, puzzled but sincere. “Of course I do.”
Fang Siqian’s lips curled in a smile—like a demon, jaws opening wide behind him.
“This scene is so touching. I think the world should see it.”
“In my name.”
“Damn, let me curse him for Shen Jixing first.”
“So he’s been stepping on Shen Jixing all the way up, and now he’s biting the hand that fed him??? Seriously???”
“What a nose for news—like a dog.”
“Dog: If you keep dumping all this on me, you’ll crush me to death.”
“I’ll say it again—if he put that effort anywhere else, he’d be a success.”
“Guys, stop the insults—a reporter has found the girl in Shen Jixing’s photo! She’s truly... well, sorry, no offense meant.”
Shen Jixing calmly clicked on the interview.
A blind girl sat at the edge of a watermelon stall, gripping her cane, a little nervous.
The reporter was gentle. “It’s alright. If you don’t want to be interviewed, we won’t film you.”
The blind girl shook her head. “No, I want to do the interview.”
“I’ve always been curious about this, because the scene everyone describes sounds exactly like what I experienced—but I can’t see the photo, so I didn’t dare to jump to conclusions.”
“Until yesterday, when I found out it was Shen Jixing, I finally knew that I was really the person in the story.”
“That person who descended like a god was just Shen Jixing.”
It had been a subconscious act.
Not some marketing scheme to craft a public persona.
The reporter, moved, said, “Shen Jixing held an umbrella for you, and you spoke up for him—it seems like a truly mutual fan relationship.”
But the blind girl looked a little confused. “Huh? I’m not Shen Jixing’s fan.”
Reporter: “?”
The whole internet: “?”
The blind girl smiled. “I’m a fan of Zhou Yili. Actually, that day, I went to Zhou Yili’s concert... I just happened to run into Shen Jixing by chance.”
“It seemed... he was also going to the concert.”
—
Star: I’ve had enough of Earth, I’m off to Planet Joy :-D