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Chapter 23
Shen Junxing, like him, was an orphan.
It was precisely because of this that, over the years, their relationship was less like friends and more like family.
Tang Yu knew Shen Junxing wasn’t lying—deep down, Shen Junxing was a cold person.
There were almost no people he ever truly opened his heart to.
Shen Junxing’s “hint” was practically a direct confession, yet Tang Yu found it hard to reject him outright.
He wasn’t stupid—he actually knew one of the reasons Shen Junxing hadn’t celebrated his birthday for years was because that day coincided with the death anniversary of Tang Yu’s parents.
“…Where do you plan to hold your birthday dinner?” Tang Yu asked.
“At home.”
From the earpiece came Shen Junxing’s gentle voice:
“Xiaoyu, will you come?”
Outside the headset, the “player” in front of him spoke up excitedly:
“What birthday party? Can I go too?”
Tang Yu widened his eyes—the player had suddenly appeared in front of him.
Eavesdropping, which should have been an immoral act, didn’t seem to cause this player the slightest embarrassment. She flashed a bright grin showing eight white teeth and, after openly listening to his call, she openly flipped through Tang Yu’s study notes on the desk.
“These ones with question marks—you didn’t understand them, right? Want me to explain?”
Tang Yu: “?”
Tang Yu stared blankly at the “Intelligence: 8” shown above her nameplate.
Although several players had impressive stats in certain areas, their behavior was often so deranged that Tang Yu had a hard time associating any of them with actual intelligence.
Wait—no, how did you actually understand this course? Aren’t you supposed to be here playing a game?
“If Xiaoyu’s classmates want to come, they’re all welcome,” Shen Junxing’s smiling voice came through the earphones.
“For example, this classmate who’s helping Xiaoyu study.”
The player couldn’t hear Shen Junxing’s voice and just continued lecturing Tang Yu energetically—honestly explaining better than the actual course professor.
Tang Yu glanced at her ID: “Lecturer Who Masters Human Nature.”
“In that case, I’ll finally have the chance to thank in person all the classmates who’ve taken care of Xiaoyu,” Shen Junxing said softly.
“How about this—I’ll give Xiaoyu a few invitations, and he can invite whomever he wants.”
Shen Junxing’s version of “gratitude.”
The players’ version of “care.”
Tang Yu blinked slowly.
After an entire day of classes, by afternoon the housing agent texted him, asking whether Tang Yu still wanted to see apartments today.
Tang Yu thought for a moment, then replied that he wouldn’t be looking for a while.
He decided to wait until Li Sheng finished making the spirit house and paper figures before considering running away again.
After a simple meal, Tang Yu headed back to the dorm.
Ever since rejecting the agent’s message, his phone had been dinging nonstop. He didn’t check it right away—just quietly walked through the crowd, watching the status panels floating over each passerby’s head. Based on their attributes, he imagined what kind of life they lived.
That was one of his favorite daydreams.
When he reached the dorm building, the message alerts were still coming in. Tang Yu finally looked at his phone—most of the messages were from Shen Junxing:
“I found a nice apartment near your school—one bedroom, one living room, one bath. 2,000 yuan a month. It’s near the shopping district, close to the subway, very convenient.”
“Xiaoyu, want to come take a look? Living off-campus is definitely more comfortable than staying in the dorms.”
“Living room (photo)”
“Bedroom (photo)”
“Bathroom (photo)”
“Neighborhood environment (photo)”
Tang Yu skimmed through and replied simply:
“No need, I’m fine living in the dorm.”
Above the chat box, Shen Junxing’s “typing…” indicator appeared several times.
Shen Junxing: “Xiaoyu, do you really think living with Li Sheng is better than living with me?”
Tang Yu replied seriously:
“Yes.”
And he truly meant it.
No matter how many flaws Li Sheng had, compared to Shen Junxing, at least Li Sheng was normal.
And his paper-crafting work had a real purpose.
Shen Junxing: “Good. Very good.”
Shen Junxing: “Happy puppy.jpg”
Shen Junxing: “If I were Li Sheng, I don’t know how happy I’d be to hear you say that.”
Tang Yu stared at the cute emoji and the words that followed—it was as if he could see Shen Junxing’s smiling face through the text…
That smile—so bright, it almost looked distorted.
Shen Junxing: “Xiaoyu, do you really know what Li Sheng does to you every night?”
Tang Yu froze. He stared at the message, then typed:
“Are you spying on me?”
Shen Junxing: “Xiaoyu, don’t misunderstand me.”
Tang Yu’s face went cold.
“Then how do you know?”
Shen Junxing didn’t reply again.
Tang Yu didn’t want to look at his phone anymore. He was too frustrated to keep dealing with Shen Junxing’s obsessive behavior.
If Shen Junxing had installed cameras, that was bad enough—but if not, then he was just slandering Li Sheng.
Either way, Tang Yu found it unacceptable.
Ding-dong!
He shoved his phone into his pocket and climbed up to the sixth floor. By the time he reached his door, he was panting—he couldn’t even tell if it was from anger or exhaustion.
At Room 623, he took out his key and opened the door.
A wave of cold, rich fragrance washed over him.
The curtains on the balcony were drawn tightly shut, and a small candle flickered in the dim room.
Two silhouettes appeared on the white curtain.
Maybe it was just his imagination—but they looked too real.
Like two actual people standing there.
The images from last night’s nightmare suddenly flooded back, and Tang Yu’s heart began to race.
He blurted out instinctively, “Senior?”
“What is it?”
Li Sheng’s cold voice came from inside.
“…Nothing. I just noticed our room smells really nice.”
Tang Yu sniffed the air again. He’d never had a roommate who loved perfume this much, but admittedly, the scent wasn’t unpleasant.
Li Sheng didn’t respond.
Tang Yu sat down at his desk.
Even without opening it, he saw new messages flash across his phone screen:
“I heard Li Sheng has a lot of secrets on the school forum.”
Forum again.
Tang Yu’s right eyelid twitched.
He couldn’t help but think of that student from the laundry room earlier that morning.
That guy might’ve overreacted to some pointless gossip on the forum—but Shen Junxing was not that kind of person.
A strange, creeping dread slowly enveloped Tang Yu—like smoke seeping into his clothes and skin. The cold fragrance in the air seemed to soak into him.
He opened the school forum and searched for “Li Sheng” and “623.”
Only one result came up—the same old rumor post about a love affair he’d already seen before.
He clicked it again and reread it carefully this time.
Since Shen Junxing wasn’t the type to joke about such things, Tang Yu forced himself to scroll through every line seriously.
But… there really was nothing special.
Just random gossip.
So that’s the “secret” Shen Junxing was talking about?
He frowned and tapped open a collapsed thread.
The dorm’s internet lagged, and an error popped up: 404.
He hit refresh.
The page froze for a second—then suddenly jumped back to the forum’s search bar.
Tang Yu’s breath caught in his throat.
This time, what appeared on the search page wasn’t that gossip thread anymore—
but countless densely packed posts he had never seen before.
All of them had the same title:
#Li Sheng Is Dead#
And the post dates—
Were all from three years ago.
Post #19
[Topic]: #Li Sheng Is Dead#
[Main Post]:
Li Sheng is dead.
[1st Reply]
? Who’s Li Sheng?
[Original Poster]
Li Sheng is dead.
[3rd Reply]
Who? How did he die?
[Original Poster]
Li Sheng is dead.
[5th Reply]
OP’s brain must be dead. Can’t you speak properly?
[Original Poster]
“Abu, what’s wrong?”
Hu Jiumei reached out, hands feeling for her anxious guide dog.
“Do you hate the sound of the renovation work?”
Abu was a guide dog—three years old, a gentle Labrador.
Hu Jiumei had never seen Abu this restless before, pacing anxiously around her.
It had started right after that sharp, grating construction noise.
Normally, a trained guide dog wouldn’t react like this to ordinary noise.
But today, Abu seemed especially agitated—repulsed, even—by that harsh, metallic sound.
“Abu, don’t be scared. I’ll call the property manager right now.”
Hu Jiumei’s fingers brushed across her phone screen. The voice assistant read out the text she touched, helping her navigate to her chat app.
She found the property manager’s contact and dictated a message:
“Hello, manager. It’s noon right now, but someone seems to be doing renovation work in our building. Could you please check?”
The manager’s reply came through the same emotionless, mechanical voice of her phone’s assistant:
“Many residents have been renovating lately. Please be understanding if you hear constant noise.”
Hu Jiumei’s hand froze midair.
Something felt wrong.
The property manager had always called her “Jiumei” before—always asked how Abu was doing, clearly fond of the dog.
But today… this didn’t sound like the same person at all.
Hu Jiumei typed back politely:
“Okay, sorry to trouble you.”
