Chapter 3
Meng Xin finally woke up after a solid three-hour nap, face covered in sleep creases.
He’d slept so well that it beat crashing in his dorm bed.
He pressed his face against the glass window, rubbing furiously in hopes of smoothing out the marks faster.
By the time they left the library, it was lunchtime. Meng Xin turned to Bian Ting, his voice full of concern:
“What do you want to eat?”
Bian Ting didn’t even hesitate:
“Rice noodle hot pot?”
Meng Xin broke into a wide grin the moment he heard those four words. He’d planned to let Bian Ting decide, but what were the odds? They wanted the same thing!
He tilted his body, bumping Bian Ting’s shoulder and lazily leaning on him.
“Of course, that sounds perfect.”
After the exhausting ordeal of sleeping all morning, a steaming bowl of noodles felt like a well-deserved reward. Meng Xin straightened up, cheering:
“It’s been forever since we ate in! I’m getting the deluxe version!”
“Alright.”
Meng Xin’s favorite rice noodle spot was in Dining Hall Four — the farthest cafeteria from their dorm, only convenient if they were already near the library.
And since Meng Xin only went to the library during exam season, he rarely had the chance to eat there.
But ever since he introduced the dish to Bian Ting, who took a liking to it, Meng Xin started receiving surprise rice noodle deliveries.
“Bian Ting, you’ve got great taste,” Meng Xin praised. “I told Huang Wenjie it’s amazing, and he just scoffed.”
“Mm,” Bian Ting agreed. “Rice noodles are delicious. He’s just wrong.”
“Right? So, even though it’s far, if I had a girlfriend, I’d definitely take her to eat rice noodles with me.”
He added the last part very intentionally.
“What do you think?”
Meng Xin was fishing for compliments — hoping to hear something like “you’re so thoughtful.”
Bian Ting glanced at him, voice steady:
“If I had one, I’d bring them rice noodles every day.”
Meng Xin’s eyes widened, shock turning to admiration.
Holy crap, you can do that?!
Bian Ting, library-regular, model student, casually handing out the perfect answer!
Unwilling to admit defeat, Meng Xin challenged him again like a struggling student nitpicking a top scorer’s paper:
“What if your girlfriend doesn’t like rice noodles?”
Bian Ting’s tone didn’t even waver:
“They will.”
“Come on, you can’t guarantee that! Rice noodles aren’t like cash — not everyone likes them.”
Without missing a beat, Bian Ting gave the ultimate solution:
“Then I wouldn’t date someone who doesn’t like rice noodles.”
Meng Xin was, once again, enlightened.
Holy crap, you can do that?!
Bian Ting, the king of root-cause problem-solving, striking at the source like a pro!
Feeling utterly convinced, Meng Xin nodded vigorously:
“You’re right. I should find someone who loves rice noodles too.”
Bian Ting: “…”
Zhang Yiming groggily woke up at 10:30 a.m., squinting at his phone.
He saw Bian Ting’s message sent at 7:49 a.m.:
“Why is he suddenly so clingy today?”
Messages like this, sent at ungodly hours, automatically went into the “friend losing their mind” category. Zhang Yiming barely thought before typing:
【Simple. You’re sleepwalking.】
Then he promptly passed out again.
When he woke up in the afternoon, there was another message from Bian Ting.
The content had shifted:
“Today, nine out of ten things he said started with ‘If I had a girlfriend…’”
Zhang Yiming stared at the screen, silently contemplating the situation for a full minute.
Thirty seconds of that time was spent quietly mourning Bian Ting’s fate.
If he’d known life could flip upside down this fast, maybe he would’ve responded more gently that morning.
Something like:
“Doesn’t matter if it’s a dream. Just enjoy it while it lasts, kid.”
Zhang Yiming: 【I just thought of a possibility.】
Zhang Yiming: 【But listen, it’s brutal. Promise me you won’t jump off a building after you hear it.】
Bian Ting: 【?】
Zhang Yiming: 【Someone’s about to start dating, and it’s not with you.】
In a desperate bid to prove he’d make a great boyfriend — and definitely not a clueless one — Meng Xin had been pulling out all the stops these past few days.
He broke his personal record of waking up early for five days straight. Every morning, he greeted Bian Ting, checked in on him, and clung to his side whenever they were free, radiating pure dedication and care.
By day five, though, he was so exhausted he practically wanted to drape himself over Bian Ting and beg to be carried around.
His conversation starters had even evolved.
From the classic “If I had a girlfriend…” to the far more intense:
“What if you were my girlfriend?”
They sat across from each other in the cafeteria, trays emptied, yet making no move to leave.
Meng Xin leaned in, ready to lead Bian Ting into another hypothetical daydream.
“Bian Ting, imagine if you were my girlfriend.”
“…”
“I can’t imagine that.”
“Come on! It’s easy.”
“…”
“Fine.”
Bian Ting muttered a reluctant “Fine” and then… fell completely silent.
Meng Xin waited, expecting a response — anything — but all he got was dead air.
Why isn’t he saying anything?
Meng Xin tilted his head, confused, and leaned in even closer. His face invaded Bian Ting’s space, unapologetically dominating his entire field of vision.
“What’s wrong?”
Bian Ting turned his head away, showing Meng Xin the back of his head.
“I’m pretending to be your girlfriend.”
Meng Xin blinked, utterly lost.
“Huh? Then why aren’t you talking?”
“I’m sulking.”
Meng Xin: “…?”
That escalated fast.
So what now? Do I need to coax him?
Bian Ting, library regular and problem-solving prodigy, had just hit him with a nightmare-level difficulty setting.
As Meng Xin scrambled for a response, Bian Ting turned back around to face him.
“Meng Xin.”
The sudden full-name call made Meng Xin straighten up.
“What’s up?”
Bian Ting paused, his dark eyes locking onto Meng Xin’s face like he wanted to capture every flicker of emotion.
“Do you like someone?”
He’d been holding that question in for five days. Finally, he let it out.
Bian Ting’s gaze was heavy, unreadable.
But Meng Xin, oblivious as ever, answered without a hint of hesitation:
“Nope.”
Bian Ting’s shoulders loosened just a fraction. His expression barely shifted, but the tension that had been clinging to him like a shadow eased slightly.
Still, Meng Xin, worried Bian Ting might silently mark him as “unfit boyfriend material,” rushed to add:
“I mean, I probably will someday. Just practicing in advance, y’know?”
Bian Ting echoed his words, voice low and thoughtful:
“Practicing… with me?”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Are you treating me as… a potential girlfriend?”
“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong!” Meng Xin waved his hands frantically, shaking his head like a drum. “I don’t see you as a girl… I just think maybe you’ve misunderstood me a little.”
Bian Ting tilted his head slightly. “What kind of misunderstanding?”
Meng Xin scratched his head, thinking hard. “Well… don’t you think I’m a bit too straight?”
“Aren’t you straight?”
“I am! But the keyword here is ‘too’!”
Recalling Bian Ting’s blunt assessment, Meng Xin drooped a little, looking pitiful.
“A lot of people don’t like guys who are too straight…”
In his mind, he silently added:
Like you — you clearly have issues with me.
“That’s not true.”
So that’s what Meng Xin had been brooding over — the idea that people wouldn’t like him.
Bian Ting’s voice softened. “A lot of people like you.”
Anyone who checked the campus confession wall could attest to that. Meng Xin really didn’t need to worry.
“What about you?” Meng Xin blurted out.
Bian Ting’s expression didn’t change. “I’m not a girl.”
Meng Xin waved his hand dismissively. “Of course I know you’re straight! But I’m saying, like, hypothetically!”
And just like that, Bian Ting went quiet again.
Meng Xin, sensing danger, was about to ask if he was pretending to be a girlfriend sulking again when Bian Ting finally spoke.
He lifted his eyes, gaze steady. “Are you asking if I like you?”
“…”
“…”
The air turned heavy — suffocatingly so.
The silence stretched, growing unbearably awkward.
Meng Xin, in a panic to cut through the weird tension, blurted out:
“N-No! I mean, I was asking if you think I’m too straight?”
Bian Ting let out a quiet “Oh” before adding:
“Does my opinion matter that much?”
Meng Xin nodded so hard his head might’ve fallen off. “Of course it does!”
Bian Ting stared at him, words resting on the tip of his tongue — just a heartbeat away from spilling out.
But Meng Xin, oblivious, smiled brightly.
“You’re my best friend. If you don’t think it’s a problem, then it’s not a problem for anyone else.”
(Besides, you’re the only one who seems to think I’m hopeless…)
And just like that, Bian Ting swallowed his words.
“You’re fine the way you are.” He lowered his gaze. “Really.”
“Really?”
Meng Xin leaned in, double-checking like he didn’t quite believe it. “You really think so?”
“Yeah.”
Meng Xin grinned and pushed further: “So you don’t have any issues with me anymore?”
“Mm.”
“Don’t just say ‘mm.’ Speak properly.”
“Okay.”
“‘Okay’ what? You need to say a full sentence.”
Bian Ting looked up at him and said helplessly, “Okay, I have no objections to you.”
Meng Xin was very satisfied.
Bian Ting was still quite understanding.
Before, Bian Ting just had a tiny misunderstanding about him — now that it was cleared up, everything was fine!
“Oh, by the way, I saw you reading a sports magazine earlier,” Meng Xin suddenly thought of something else he could use to show he cared about Bian Ting and eagerly asked, “When are you going swimming?”
Bian Ting shook his head. “I can’t swim.”
And honestly, he wasn’t that interested in swimming anyway. That magazine was something Zhang Yiming had grabbed randomly, and he hadn’t looked at it closely.
“You should learn. It’s really easy.” Meng Xin asked again, “Have you bought swim trunks yet?”
Bian Ting shook his head again. “I don’t like—”
“I can teach you!” Meng Xin rubbed his hands together, looking excited. “I’ve been able to swim since elementary school.”
This time, Bian Ting didn’t shake his head.
He just stared at Meng Xin and said, “You never mentioned that before.”
He didn’t know Meng Xin could swim.
“See? You still don’t know me well enough.” Meng Xin let out an exaggerated sigh. “You really need to get to know me better!”
Then he suddenly remembered he had interrupted Bian Ting earlier and said apologetically, “Oh, what were you about to say just now?”
“…Oh, I was talking about swim trunks.”
Bian Ting calmly changed his words: “I already bought them. The shipping is just slow, so they’re still on the way.”
—
Zhang Yiming received three messages from Bian Ting.
The first message said that someone wasn’t planning to date.
The second message said that someone was going to teach him how to swim.
The third message asked where to buy the same navy blue swim trunks the muscular guy was wearing in that magazine.
