SBAB Chapter 30

After Lin Xin was forced to face reality, every step he took felt unbearably heavy. It was as though he were a prisoner, dragging a perfectly weighted 15-pound iron ball chained to his ankle.

Right now, Lin Xin wished he could run around the track, lap after lap, shedding this suddenly gained fat behind him. However, he pitied the innocent kids diligently exercising nearby—what did they do to deserve the burden of his “discarded fat”?

Unfortunately, Lin Xin was still wearing pajamas, and flip-flops, and carrying a toiletry bag that looked like a grocery basket. This outfit was not conducive to exercise. Moreover, curfew was rapidly approaching, and any further hesitation might leave him locked outside the dorm by the dorm supervisor—a no-nonsense matron who followed school rules to the letter. Lin Xin would then become a stray wandering the campus for the night.

With no choice, Lin Xin postponed his grand weight-loss mission to the next day. For now, he decided to get a good night’s sleep. Of course, he had a quick chat planned with Cheng Shiyin before bed, as they had agreed during the exercises.

As he walked back to the dorm, Lin Xin dialed Cheng Shiyin’s number. The phone barely rang three times before her sweet voice answered, “Done for the day?”

“Yeah.” Lin Xin, who had been sulking over his weight, immediately brightened upon hearing her voice. His gloomy thoughts evaporated, and the imaginary shackles around his ankles vanished. His steps became light and cheerful, his earlier sadness nowhere to be seen. One might think he had just won the lottery, judging by his jubilant demeanor.

“You must be exhausted,” Cheng Shiyin said casually, affirming Lin Xin’s day of effort. Lin Xin modestly replied, “Not at all, not at all,” even waving dismissively at the air as if they were chatting face-to-face.

The two continued their lighthearted conversation, exchanging random topics all the way until Lin Xin reached his dorm. The call ended with Cheng Shiyin saying goodnight.

“Goodnight,” Lin Xin replied, suppressing the urge to add a playful “mwah” at the end.

Cheng Shiyin hung up, her mind replaying the simple “goodnight” Lin Xin had just said. She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d heard it somewhere before, even though this was their first time saying goodnight to each other.

Unaware of her curiosity, Lin Xin drifted into a blissful sleep, satisfied with her goodnight. Perhaps, he thought, they’d meet again in his dreams.

Though that didn’t happen, Lin Xin still had a great night’s rest.

The next morning at 6:00 a.m., Lin Xin was jolted awake by his newly set alarm. After a quick face wash, he went to the supermarket and bought a piece of bread to serve as his entire day’s meal.

Knowing his frail body wouldn’t last beyond two laps, Lin Xin didn’t concern himself with issues like post-meal exercise affecting his digestion. After two bites, he stuffed the bread back into his pocket and began sprinting around the track.

Oddly enough, despite the weight gain, Lin Xin felt unusually light on his feet, like a bird soaring effortlessly. Compared to his dismal performance in the 800-meter physical fitness test, this was a vast improvement. It wasn’t the kind of speed expected from a girl who disliked sports, but for a not-too-heavy boy, it was just about right.

Zhang Yun, a regular morning runner, was half a lap into her routine when she saw Lin Xin sprint past her at a respectable speed. Shocked, she decided to head back to bed, muttering, “This has to be a dream.”

Morning runs, classes, afternoon exercises, and night runs.

This became Lin Xin’s routine for about two weeks until the student council interrupted his monotony with a splash of color—acrylic paint, to be precise.

“@Everyone”

“Meet in Room D404 at 7:30 p.m. today.”

After the disastrous performance at the school festival, the publicity department’s group chat finally came alive again. This time, Minister Ying Lun announced a new task: creating a promotional board for the upcoming broadcast gymnastics competition.

Seeing Ying Lun flood the chat with images of high-difficulty moves from Olympic gymnastics, Lin Xin couldn’t help but laugh. “Does he realize school broadcast gymnastics and Olympic gymnastics are two completely different things?”

But a minister was still a minister—especially one as nitpicky and petty as Ying Lun. Lin Xin only dared to complain in his heart and kept his mouth shut, determined to stay on Ying Lun’s good side this time. His strategy for the event was simple: follow orders, keep his head down, and avoid giving Ying Lun any reason to target him again.

Lin Xin diligently followed the deputy minister’s instructions. He scraped off old posters from the wooden boards, glued fresh white paper onto them, turned on fans to speed up the drying process, and carefully sketched outlines based on the deputy’s guidance.

Sketching, coloring—every step was flawless. Even if Ying Lun had the sharp eyes of a woodpecker, he wouldn’t find a single “worm” in Lin Xin’s work.

Despite Lin Xin’s meticulous effort, Ying Lun’s sharp gaze remained fixed on him. To irk Lin Xin further, Ying Lun even wore non-prescription black-rimmed glasses, just so he could adjust them with his middle finger, silently mocking Lin Xin.

Completely oblivious to Ying Lun’s petty gestures, Lin Xin chalked it up to Ying Lun not being used to his new glasses. “He’s probably not even looking at me,” Lin Xin reassured himself. “I’ve been so well-behaved. He should be focusing on those slackers who went out for a smoke and never came back.”

But let’s flip back a few pages and learn from history: nothing Lin Xin ever imagined came true. Heaven always made sure to rudely awaken him, and this time was no exception.

Ying Lun found Lin Xin in the publicity department’s group chat and sent him a private message.

When Lin Xin noticed the notification, he opened it. It contained two movie screenshots—so vivid that they might as well have been videos.

Immediately, the voice of the stonefish character popped into Lin Xin’s mind, saying, “They’re a perfect match—talented and beautiful. Who are you, a monster, to object?”

Beneath the screenshots were several pictures of monsters, including the Spirit Inspiration King from Journey to the West and the toad-like Five Venomous Creatures from Pigsy’s Spring Romance. Lin Xin didn’t recognize the rest, but each was uglier than the last.

However, the final image refused to load. The screen stayed pitch black, showing nothing at all. Curious, Lin Xin tapped on the image to see if it had made any progress loading. There was no spinning loading icon, but the reflection of his face in the black screen startled him instead.

From this unflattering angle, with his double chin on full display, Lin Xin realized something horrifying: the “image” wasn’t stuck—it was just a completely black picture. Ying Lun’s message was crystal clear: he was calling Lin Xin as ugly as those monsters.

Forgiving Gu Nian’s cheating and hookups was one thing, but Ying Lun’s passive-aggressive antics? Intolerable!

Did he need a scolding? Or a beating?

Lin Xin glanced up at Ying Lun and saw his smug expression as if avenging Gu Nian had filled him with pride. Checking the time, Lin Xin estimated that most of the work was done, meaning he could leave. Internally, he reflected on Ying Lun’s petty schemes and concluded: Ying Lun’s mental age couldn’t be older than three.

Without wasting more words, Lin Xin simply replied to Ying Lun with “Back at you,” and then turned and left.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Lin Xin heard a furious stomping sound from inside the classroom, far louder than the noise his mom made chopping chili peppers. Sure enough, Ying Lun was livid, unable to come up with a retort to Lin Xin’s childish comeback. No matter what Ying Lun said, Lin Xin could just respond with “Back at you,” leaving him helpless.

Originally, Lin Xin had no intention of mentioning Gu Nian or Ying Lun to Cheng Shiyin again. But this incident was just too funny not to share, so he made a quick decision: before Ying Lun’s tantrum ended, he dialed Cheng Shiyin’s number.

“What’s wrong?” Cheng Shiyin asked, concerned. Lin Xin always checked if she was free before calling, but this time, he’d called directly. Was Gu Nian trying to get revenge? If so, Cheng Shiyin was ready to have Lin Xin post the evidence on the school forum and see who’d come out worse.

“Shh, just listen,” Lin Xin said, not allowing her to speak. Cheng Shiyin didn’t complain and stayed quiet, listening carefully.

“Argh! This is infuriating! $*%!”

“Bang! Thud! Smash!”

Through the phone, all Cheng Shiyin could hear was Ying Lun’s furious cursing and the sound of objects being thrown around. Meanwhile, Lin Xin’s barely restrained laughter leaked out in quiet “hehe”s.

After a while, Lin Xin stepped away from the commotion and recounted the whole story to Cheng Shiyin. While she found Ying Lun’s childishness and antics amusing, she still felt uneasy and reminded Lin Xin, “Stay away from Ying Lun and Gu Nian. Don’t let yourself get hurt in the crossfire.”

Lin Xin felt a warm sense of care from her words but couldn’t help boasting, “Don’t worry, I’m not that weak!” Even though Cheng Shiyin couldn’t see him, Lin Xin flexed his arms, trying to show off his biceps… Wait—why did they feel so firm?

He couldn’t resist striking a few bodybuilder poses: biceps, triceps, lats, traps—even his chest seemed slightly bulkier. Lin Xin suddenly felt power coursing through him, but instead of feeling happy, he grew anxious. Bigger muscles likely meant more weight gain.

After hanging up with Cheng Shiyin, Lin Xin took another shower and weighed himself again.

Covering the scale’s display with his hand, he channeled Liu Qian’s famous line: “The moment of magic is here.”

—Ten more pounds. This weight-gain magic was something.

Staring at the cold, three-digit number on the scale, Lin Xin felt a chill down his spine. The breeze that hit his exposed ankles stung, reminding him just how heavy his body had become.