Yan Xiu subconsciously averted his gaze. In the lower part of his vision was the boy’s slender, pale wrist, a red string peeking out from the edge of his long sleeve, revealing the golden trim of a longevity lock.
He stared at that gold trim and froze for a moment, seemingly startled, making his subsequent calmness seem somewhat forced.
“I saw it,” Yu Sui repeated.
He knew Yan Xiu didn’t believe him.
Perhaps Yan Xiu even thought he was bluffing.
Because that message was sent in the dead of night, when everything was silent. It should have been buried in the quiet darkness, perhaps remembered by someone in the daylight, mentioned casually—”Hey, didn’t you retract a message late night?”—and then left at that.
Why couldn’t it be taken seriously?
Yu Sui didn’t stay standing. He picked up his cup of water, leaned back against the railing of the ladder, with his head slightly lowered and a small smile crept onto his lips.
“Did you hear me?” Yu Sui said, now wishing he could repeat every word twice. “What I said yesterday, did you hear it? Hmm?”
Yan Xiu’s gaze abruptly shifted from the longevity lock to Yu Sui. He was still standing by the table, his back to the mess of the boys’ dormitory. Steam from the kettle rose in hazy, white wisps, bubbling beside him like it was a little violation.
His fingers, hanging by his side, curled slightly. Still holding a thermometer, his shoulders tensed slightly.
Yu Sui was waiting too. He had already slept through two classes, and his mind was gradually returning. Until he saw Yan Xiu nod, saw this man restrain himself from looking away, the thing that had been swirling in his mind suddenly crashed through a dead end and, as expected, exploded into a dazzling display.
If you see it enough, you start to believe it.
Why couldn’t it be taken seriously?
They pressed against the transparent glass wall, until finally their foreheads bumped into each other, leaving their faces flushed.
“Is it what I think it means?” Yu Sui asked.
Yan Xiu turned to look at him, his gaze deep and intense, as if trying to imprint the man’s image into his eyes. Only after a long moment did the eye flickered faintly. It seemed like he was struggling, a pendulum swinging wildly between two extremes, wobbling uncertainly between them.
But as he looked at Yu Sui, a corner of his restrained rationality crumbled, shattering into countless fragments. For a moment, his focus etched Yu Sui’s image into his mind: the man standing in the morning light, doing nothing but move his lips slightly, already crossing a line.
Yu Sui lightly pinched his neck, pursing his lips in anticipation. Finally, he heard Yan Xiu’s muffled soft “Hmm.”
So many people were watching them. So many people have created alternate universes where they are side by side or kissing passionately. They were entangled with each other, indulging in countless intimacy, and even spreading ambiguity around them, attracting the attention of those with ulterior motives.
Yu Sui suddenly covered his eyes, turned around, and pressed his forehead against the cold iron railing, falling silent.
He was too clever for his own good; he instantly saw through the message sent in the middle of the night, focusing his thoughts on that message.
Unfortunately, Young Master Yu might be bold, but his skin couldn’t keep up with his resilient soul.
An abrupt silence settled over the dormitory in the morning light. The crowded desks and chairs, along with the scattered shoes, were softened by a gentle glow, making everything appear more earnest and ambiguous.
Yan Xiu seemed to have finally grown tired of holding the thermometer and wordlessly placed it on the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, resting his elbows on the desk. For a moment, his gaze drifted to the little peacock perched against the iron railing, its feathers tucked in, before shifting to the bubbling kettle.
He remembered the first half of the night, silently counting down the two minutes to the last second before retracting the message.
He should have asked why he said it.
Beneath Yu Sui’s well-behaved appearance lay a slippery soul. He always left himself plenty of room to maneuver, even when occasionally muttering under his breath, never forgetting to secure a safe retreat for himself. As a result, everything became ambiguous and elusive.
So Yan Xiu followed his example, quietly discarding his own mutterings when no one was watching.
The one leaning against the railing closed his eyes, listening to the bubbling sounds and spoke in a hoarse voice, “…Yan Xiu, the water’s been boiling for a long time.”
“…”
A moment later, the chair was pushed back. With a soft beep, Yan Xiu picked up the kettle and placed it on the table. He walked behind Yu Sui and took the water cup.
Footsteps rose and fell, from the table to the sink, then back to the table, to Yu Sui’s side. The sound of pouring water was crisp and clear. The cup, filled with water, was then handed to Yu Sui.
Yu Sui’s complexion matched the water cup perfectly—his skin was fair with a hint of pink, and his fingertips were particularly adorable.
Yan Xiu’s clear voice carried a faint misty tone: “… Couldn’t sleep again?”
Otherwise, why would he be up in the middle of the night checking messages?
Yu Sui cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and smiled casually. “No. I didn’t close the window last night. The wind woke me up, and I woke up cold. But I was too sleepy at the time. I only remembered seeing that message, but when I got up, it wasn’t there. So I was wondering if it had been withdrawn, or if I was just thinking about it so much that I made up a lie in my dream.”
He was no longer sulking, but he still managed to slip in a pitiful complaint.
Yan Xiu slipped his hand into his pocket and silently pulled out a piece of candy, offering it to Yu Sui as if in a wordless gesture of appeasement.
But Yu Sui, now feeling his worth had risen significantly, lightly tapped his nose and glanced at the polka-dotted square candy. “Which girl gave this to you again?”
Yan Xiu’s hand paused, frozen in place for a moment, unsure whether to retract it back or not. His face was blank; he seemed unable to recall why there was a piece of candy in his pocket.
He looked at Yu Sui with a faintly troubled gaze, forcing himself to explain calmly: “It probably wasn’t from a girl.”
“You forgetting about a girl is normal—there are so many of them,” Yu Sui said.
“…It really wasn’t,” Yan Xiu curled his fingers, frowning as he tried to remember.
It wasn’t a matter of remembering or forgetting. As the head of the disciplinary committee, aside from the student council and his own department members, few people dared to approach him without hesitation.
The only person who could slip something into Yan Xiu’s pocket unnoticed, aside from supernatural beings, was Yu Sui—his deskmate and the first suspect.
After thinking for a moment, Yan Xiu remembered. He tightened his grip on the candy, tucking it into his palm, and let out a soft sigh. “This is the ‘loot’ you left me last time you tried to use connections.”
He looked at Yu Sui and added, “No girls.”
Counting it up, Yu Sui had actually used connections far too many times. When a pretty young man played the rogue, few could resist. Minister Yan tallied it up and found memories of turning a blind eye flooding in—too many to count.
Now Yu Sui remembered too. He opened his mouth, then closed it, letting out a dry “oh.” Under Yan Xiu’s gaze, he struggled to hold back, finally tilting his head back to drink the water in his cup, his neck arching into a striking line.
Yan Xiu’s eyes swept over that line. When he first started learning to draw, his teacher told him that the world was made up of points, lines, and planes. As he drew, he realized he could see points and lines everywhere. But they didn’t always look. The world was rich and colorful precisely because it was elusive. If all you saw were monotonous principles, the world wouldn’t be the world anymore.
Yan Xiu often looked at Yu Sui—partly because of the boy’s innate good looks, partly because of his heart that yearned for the Arctic Ocean. He never truly lingered on those points, lines, and planes; they were dynamic, and every frame was a picture he loved.
He remembered the boy’s pale neck in the lecture hall. The youthful Adam’s apple felt like a soft, icy rice cake. He remembered the unconscious humming that escaped Yu Sui’s throat at that moment.
A cup suddenly clinked against the table, then gently pushed to the side. Yu Sui lightly scratched the unopened large box twice.
Yan Xiu paused, withdrawing his gaze entirely.
During class, the few sounds in the dormitory building matched those in the teaching building. A class bell echoed from outside the corridor, drifting leisurely through the empty hallway before being abruptly shut off by the dorm supervisor.
Yu Sui was awake, not sick.
Yan Xiu had finished his visit.
They should have left, but the school bell had long since rung, neither moved toward the door. It was as if whoever unlocked that door first would break the balance standing between them.
Yan Xiu’s gaze followed Yu Sui’s fingertips, deigning to land on the unopened cardboard box. Inside, the contents were probably wrapped in a layer of bubble wrap, and those contents were likely another thing.
He hadn’t forgotten that Yu Sui had snuck out for this very thing yesterday. “What is it?”
“A gift.” The conversation flowed quickly, and Yu Sui didn’t hide it. He glanced at Yan Xiu, “A birthday present for you. You’ll like it.”
Somehow, they had ended up standing side by side. Another hand appeared beside Yu Sui’s on the table—Yan Xiu seemed to want to reach for the box but was stopped midway by Yu Sui. “Hey,” Yu Sui said. “I’d love it if you open it now, but you can’t. It’s not time yet. Wait until your birthday.”
As he held his deskmate’s hand, Yu Sui thought that even someone with Yan Xiu’s cold body could feel warm sometimes.
“Alright.” Since Yu Sui wouldn’t let him look, Yan Xiu wouldn’t. Yan Xiu’s wrist moved slightly, and Yu Sui released his hand, only to have it caught again by Yan Xiu. It was just a light hold, their hands resting on the desk, wrists pressed against each others.
Yu Sui tilted his head, his gaze settling on their hands: “…You still haven’t said what you want. Haven’t you thought about it yet?”
He stared at Yan Xiu’s wrist bone, contemplating tying a red string around it as well. Yan Xiu seemed lost in thought, and Yu Sui didn’t want to disturb him.
After a moment, he finally heard Yan Xiu say, “I’ve thought it through.”
The next sentence was low, almost a whisper: “I’ve thought it through for a long time.”
He noticed Yan Xiu shifted slightly to his side, a slight leaning motion.
Yu Sui looked up, his throat tightening again.
“This isn’t good,” the young master thought to himself.
He had never looked so closely at Yan Xiu’s eyes and brows before, and suddenly realized that Yan Xiu’s eyelashes were also long, fine, and slightly straight at the ends, which gave people the mistaken impression that he was indifferent.
Yu Sui’s gaze lingered on them for a long time before he lowered his eyes, looking down to Yan Xiu’s nose. He hesitated between “how long ago” and “what,” cautiously asking, “… Can I afford it?”
Yan Xiu looked at him, his gaze losing focus as it drew closer, appearing somewhat aimless.
Sensing the other’s caution, Yan Xiu slightly raised the hand resting on the table and grasped Yu Sui’s wrist. “What do you think?”
He tossed the question back but didn’t give Yu Sui a chance to answer.
Looking back, no one really remembered who moved closer first. They only remembered the distance becoming impossibly close—so close that eyelashes seemed to fan out a breeze, and breaths felt like they could prick the skin.
All they remember was the soft, scorching touch, and the cautiousness.
Large clouds parted, and the morning light gradually illuminated the dormitory. It wasn’t that it intentionally ignored this area—it was that they intentionally ignored it.
In the distance, it was unclear whether it was the sound of a bell, a chime, or the faint but persistent whistle from the sports field. Birds chirped and flowers bloomed across the campus, but as they kissed, the world around them fell into silence, leaving only the sound of their heartbeats.
It wasn’t until the bell rang for the end of the third class that someone saw Yu Sui and Yan Xiu appear in the building, one after the other.
Yang Feiwen had already considered calling the school doctor, but he changed his mind after hearing that Yu Sui had gone upstairs. He waited for him to come up, then gently wrapped his arm around Yu Sui’s arm, abruptly withdrawing his hand: “So hot?”
“Too hot,” Yu Sui said, glancing to the side.
He was a little curious about Yan Xiu’s temperature, reaching out to grab his wrist; it was cool to the touch.
“Am I just too flustered?” The young master reflected.
But the warmth lingered for a long time, refusing to fade. The flustered one was like a malfunctioning machine that heated up at random moments, drawing frequent glances from the others performing on the same stage.
Too preoccupied with their thoughts, the young master wandered to the restroom, splashing a handful of water on his face, and returned with his face still wet.
Yan Xiu handed him a tissue, his gaze lingering on his face for a moment.
Yu Sui took it, then slumped onto the table, motionless.
His phone, hidden under the table, vibrated slightly. Yu Sui picked it up and glanced at the person who had just touched it.
He looked down at his phone.
[Human Wood has withdrawn a message.]
Human Wood: [Then, let’s take it seriously.]
Yu Sui abruptly turned his head.
Noticing his gaze, Yan Xiu explained softly, “I was just adding something… Once a message is withdrawn, sending it again isn’t the same as the original.”
“…You’re really something, Yan Xiu.” Yu Sui stared at him for a long time, then recited the message, “Is it what I think it means?”
Yan Xiu looked at him back: “What do you think?”
It was just a casual question, but after he finished speaking, they both paused. Someone carrying books walked past them, and Yu Sui cleared his throat: “I think so.”
He thought for a moment: “Then from now on, I’ll have to use a different identity to pull strings.”
Author’s Note: –
It’s a long story. On the morning of the 11th, I took public transportation and shared with my seatmate a long, long, long time ago when I had a regular sleep schedule, probably when I was only a little tall… Back then, when I was doing math homework, I would fall asleep while doing it, lying on my workbook, sleeping soundly, and even finishing all my homework in my dreams. Perhaps because I really miss that time, history repeated itself last night. With the moon as my witness, this author really didn’t fall asleep on purpose; this author was just reviewing history. This author isn’t making excuses, um.
Translator’s Note: Please consider donating to my KoFi! It will go to my fund for my research and support for the original author ^o^.
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152