The person Bian Ting liked was an absolute bastard.
Meng Xin spent the whole night brooding over this before reaching that conclusion.
Bian Ting drinking and coming back late seriously worried him.
As Bian Ting’s best friend, he didn’t want to interfere with his love life.
But if liking someone had already become this painful, Meng Xin felt it should end.
He had never been in love, but he knew one thing—happiness shouldn’t mean crying all the time.
He suddenly recalled something he had overheard in class the other day. A girl sitting in the back row had been venting about her love-struck best friend, her exasperated voice still vivid in Meng Xin’s mind:
“I’m so pissed off! I told her a million times that guy is trash, and you know what she said? She said, ‘But he treats me so well.’ Like, how?! He didn’t even show up on her birthday! Instead, he sent her a ten-pound box of fruit—with EIGHT POUNDS of packing grass!”
“I mean, if she’s gonna cry every day, why even bother dating? If she likes charity so much, she should go volunteer. If she likes suffering, she might as well go to jail! I’m gonna lose my mind!”
At the time, Meng Xin hadn’t thought much of it.
But now, he felt that girl had spoken the absolute truth.
If a relationship kept making someone miserable, it was better to cut it off early—better short-term pain than long-term agony.
Bian Ting was his best friend. He didn’t want to see him hurt.
That morning, Bian Ting, for once, didn’t wake up early.
Fortunately, Bian Ting didn’t have any early classes today, so sleeping in a bit didn’t matter.
After washing up, he saw Meng Xin standing by his seat, holding a cup and waiting for him.
Bian Ting suddenly remembered something. “Did the dorm supervisor write your name down yesterday?”
“Oh, it’s fine. Let them write it down. Worst case, I’ll just get scolded by the counselor at the next grade meeting.” Meng Xin waved it off casually. “My skin is thick, and my ears are bad. I’ll just sit in the back and pretend I can’t hear anything.”
“Forget about that. How are you feeling?”
“A bit better,” Bian Ting said. “Thanks.”
“No big deal.” Meng Xin handed him the cup. “We’re out of milk, so drink this. It should help warm your stomach.”
Bian Ting took the cup. “What is it?”
“I borrowed some brown sugar ginger tea from the dorm next door.”
Bian Ting was confused. “Next door?”
“Yeah, one of the guys bought it for his girlfriend’s period cramps. I had to fight tooth and nail to get two packets from him. Just made you a cup—if you like it, I can make another one later.”
He didn’t mention that he had to sign a humiliating, nation-disgracing treaty in exchange—agreeing to do that guy’s daily jogging check-ins for the school.
Thinking about it, Meng Xin added, “Try it. If girls drink it, it shouldn’t taste too bad, right?”
Bian Ting obediently took a sip.
Meng Xin pulled over a chair and sat beside him. “How is it?”
“It’s okay.”
“No, say it’s good,” Meng Xin insisted. “I made it myself.”
Bian Ting went along with him. “It’s good.”
Meng Xin’s eyes curved in satisfaction as he lifted the bottom of the cup slightly. “Then drink some more. Alcohol is terrible for your stomach.”
“Alright.”
Watching Bian Ting drink more than half the cup, Meng Xin suddenly called his name.
“Bian Ting.”
His voice was quiet, unreadable. “You promised me—you wouldn’t fall for a scumbag.”
Bian Ting said, “He’s not.”
“Then tell me who ‘he’ is.” Meng Xin had thought about this all night and still couldn’t stand it. “I’ll throw a sack over his head, knock him out, and deliver him to your bed. How about that?”
“…”
Bian Ting held his cup and sighed in defeat.
“What are you sighing for? I’m serious.” Meng Xin stretched out his hand, showing off his solid fist. “So what if he’s a straight guy? I’ll just go challenge him to a fight.”
“Hurry up. Name and major.”
He was determined to get justice for his best friend!
He had already planned out his strategy: reason first, fists second.
First, he’d talk some sense into that shameless straight guy. If words didn’t work, and this guy kept stringing Bian Ting along without making things clear, then Meng Xin would make sure he learned that his fists weren’t just for show.
No one messes with Meng Xin’s best friend!
Bian Ting shook his head.
“Why not?” Meng Xin didn’t understand.
Was Bian Ting afraid the guy would actually get beaten up? Was he really this protective?
That jerk had already treated him so badly, and Bian Ting was still defending him? Meng Xin felt suffocated just thinking about it.
“Fine,” Meng Xin backed down a little. “I promise I won’t—”
“What about you?” Bian Ting suddenly interrupted.
He tightened his grip on his cup, pretending to be calm as he countered, “Who’s the person you like?”
“Oh, that.” Bian Ting bringing it up reminded him—he had almost forgotten.
Meng Xin tilted his head, thought for a second, and then announced casually, “Don’t like them anymore.”
—
Bian Ting didn’t seem interested in who he liked anyway, so Meng Xin didn’t even bother keeping up the act.
Besides, making up an imaginary online crush was kind of a hassle. He wasn’t some novelist with an endless imagination. And he had blurted it out on a whim without thinking, which led to a disaster two days ago when Huang Wenjie got nosy and asked for the name of the person he liked.
Without thinking, Meng Xin had reflexively said, “Ting.”
All because of Fan Da!
If Fan Da hadn’t sent that stupid picture of a pink-bowed digital dog, saying Meng Xin should buy one and name it “Ting Ting,” his first instinct wouldn’t have been that name.
Luckily, Huang Wenjie was as clueless as any straight guy could be. When he heard “Ting,” his brain filled in the blanks all on its own.
He immediately cackled and started hyping it up:
“Oh! Oh! You mean the one with the ‘女’ radical? Ting—ohhh! Tingting? Little Ting? Or is it Tinger?”
Then he kept going, “Oh oh oh,” like he was about to crow at sunrise.
Thank god Bian Ting wasn’t there. Meng Xin swiftly kicked Huang Wenjie. “Quit clucking like a damn chicken. Have some self-respect.”
Huang Wenjie shut up.
For about thirty seconds.
Then he suddenly spoke again, dragging out, “Ohhh! Tiiiing—”
Meng Xin slapped a hand over his mouth.
“You better shut up. If those two find out, I’ll kill you.”
Gao Yinghang wouldn’t care, but if Bian Ting heard… That would be a bit awkward.
I mean, the random fake crush he made up had a name that sounded just like Bian Ting’s. That wasn’t weird at all, right?
“Relax, I got you,” Huang Wenjie wiggled his eyebrows and pushed Meng Xin’s hand away. “A little secret between brothers. I won’t tell them.”
Then, Huang Wenjie deliberately pinched his voice and added in a teasing tone, “Ting—”
As fate would have it, just at that moment, Gao Yinghang and Bian Ting walked in from outside.
Gao Yinghang stepped into the room and asked, “What were you guys talking about? I think I just heard you calling Bian Ting’s name.”
Bian Ting also looked over, clearly having heard it too. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, really,” Meng Xin’s brain worked fast in the critical moment. “Huang Wenjie was just being annoying again. I was telling him to stop.”
Huang Wenjie chuckled twice and said, “Yeah, yeah, he was calling me. Ting—”
Meng Xin shot him a glare.
Huang Wenjie quickly made an “OK” gesture and immediately dropped his weird phrasing, obediently changing his words. “Alright, alright. Ting, Ting, can’t I just Ting? Ting it is. I’ve Ting-ed. It’s all Ting-ed now. Really Ting-ed.”
—
Bian Ting had just lifted his cup when he set it back down. He hesitated for a moment before asking, “Why don’t you like her anymore?”
Meng Xin casually made up an excuse, “She’s terrible at gaming. She couldn’t even beat me in the arena. I got bored and lost interest.”
“But you haven’t won a single match in the past seven days,” Bian Ting pointed out. “I saw your record—you’ve lost 16 times in a row.”
“…”
“…”
A faint awkwardness filled the space between them.
Meng Xin’s lie had been exposed on the spot, and his ears grew hot. “Damn, when did you log in?”
He had been so distracted lately that he really hadn’t won a single match.
But he never saw Bian Ting online—he must have been in stealth mode.
Bian Ting answered honestly, “I played a little two nights ago when I couldn’t sleep.”
“So why don’t you like her anymore?” He pressed on.
“…” Meng Xin really didn’t want to say.
But Bian Ting was determined to get an answer today. He asked again, “Why don’t you like her anymore?”
“…”
Meng Xin scratched his face awkwardly. “Why are you so curious about this…?”
When he had said he liked someone, Bian Ting wasn’t curious at all. But now that he said he didn’t like her anymore, Bian Ting was suddenly very interested.
Bian Ting lowered his eyes, his voice sounding a little muffled. “Can’t you tell me?”
“Alright, alright.” Meng Xin, being the typical straight guy, couldn’t handle this kind of emotional weight. He had no choice but to surrender and spill the truth. “I made it up… That person doesn’t exist.”
Bian Ting frowned and repeated, “She doesn’t exist?”
“She doesn’t exist…”
Once the words sank in, an uncontrollable surge of joy rose inside him, like waves crashing against the shore. Bian Ting tried his best to keep the corners of his lips from lifting. He lifted his cup, pretending to drink tea.
Once he had composed himself, he raised his head and asked as calmly as possible, “Why?”
“…”
Meng Xin hesitated for a long time before awkwardly admitting, “Uh… I just didn’t want to seem like a completely inexperienced, clueless straight guy.”
“You see, straight guys are vain like that.” Meng Xin didn’t hesitate to call himself out. He had no choice—if it helped Bian Ting get over his troubles, he was willing to do anything.
He continued his analysis with great conviction. “That straight guy you like might be just like this—keeping you hanging, making you sad, refusing to be upfront—because having someone as amazing as you like him satisfies his ego.”
At that moment, Meng Xin glanced at Bian Ting and was baffled. “…Why are you smiling again?”
The corners of Bian Ting’s lips had completely lifted.
The red sugar ginger tea in his cup, now down to a quarter, trembled slightly as he tried to hold back his laughter.
Meng Xin didn’t quite get it, but at least Bian Ting was smiling.
At least he wasn’t like yesterday—leaning on his shoulder, saying how much it hurt.
“Well, what do you think? You’ve realized that straight guys aren’t all that great, right?”
Seeing Bian Ting smile, Meng Xin thought his brilliant analysis had finally enlightened him, that he had moved on and wouldn’t be fooled by some horrible straight guy anymore.
Meng Xin let out a relieved breath, smiling along as he said, “You don’t like him anymore, right?”
Bian Ting shook his head, still smiling. “I still like him.”
