If you asked Meng Xin how he and Bian Ting became close, his answer would be completely different from Bian Ting’s.
Meng Xin didn’t have any particularly unique hobbies — he played basketball, listened to music, and when he went online, it was either to play games or watch absurd videos to share with friends.
He’d pick a bunch of people at once, send the video to everyone, and revel in the predictable responses: things like “you idiot” and “you’re insane.”
But one time, in between a string of “you’re insane” replies, there was a single question mark.
It was from Bian Ting.
This was right at the start of the school year. Meng Xin was baffled — why was Bian Ting suddenly messaging him? They weren’t even close.
He clicked the message and realized, to his horror, that he’d accidentally sent Bian Ting a video titled “How to Sue a Friend for Failing to Fulfill Their Duty of Support.”
Meng Xin scrambled to explain:
Meng Xin: Sorry, sent that to the wrong person!!
Bian Ting: It’s fine.
Meng Xin never expected it to happen again.
But it did.
Within three days.
He’d found a video of a horse eating durian, laughed himself to tears, and immediately shared it with his entire list of chaotic friends.
When no one responded after ten minutes, Meng Xin furiously sent another message:
Meng Xin: Why no reaction? Did you all quit being toxic???
Then he went off to play games and forgot all about it.
Until the afternoon, when he received a message from Bian Ting.
Bian Ting: I was in the lab this morning, didn’t check my phone.
That’s when Meng Xin realized he’d messed up again.
Meng Xin: Ahhh I sent it to the wrong person again, I’m so sorry.
Bian Ting: It’s fine.
They say the start of a great friendship is usually the phrase “I thought you were really cold at first.”
And that was exactly how Meng Xin felt.
At the beginning of the semester, he didn’t dare to talk to Bian Ting. He was terrified that one word out of his mouth would make it glaringly obvious that the only thing he’d ever read was dumb internet videos, not Shakespeare.
And Bian Ting totally seemed like the type of person who read Shakespeare.
(Although Meng Xin later realized that whole idea was just the result of his own ridiculous mental filter.)
Accidentally messaging the coldest guy in the dorm twice in a row? Even though Bian Ting said “It’s fine,” those perfectly punctuated texts made Meng Xin’s heart tremble.
Why did it have to be Bian Ting? He didn’t want Bian Ting to hate him!
After agonizing over it for a while, Meng Xin sent another message.
Meng Xin: I’m really sorry, please don’t think I’m annoying. I swear it wasn’t on purpose 😭😭
Bian Ting replied almost immediately.
Bian Ting: It’s okay if it was on purpose.
Meng Xin: Huh?
Meng Xin: You’re not mad?
Bian Ting: No?
Meng Xin let out a breath of relief.
Meng Xin: Ohhh, it’s just that you use periods, so I thought you were mad.
That’s when Bian Ting realized the real culprit behind his icy reputation: the automatic period.
Bian Ting: Fixed it.
Bian Ting: It was my keyboard settings. Just adjusted it.
Meng Xin: Ohhh, okay okay!
And then:
Meng Xin: By the way, wasn’t the video I sent hilarious? Hahahahahaha!
Bian Ting sent a single word:
Bian Ting: Yeah.
And then added:
Bian Ting: It was pretty funny.
Meng Xin: I have a whole collection!!!
Then, Meng Xin opened his favorites folder and sent every single ridiculous video he’d saved.
Bian Ting usually seemed pretty busy, but that day, for some reason, he actually watched all sixteen videos Meng Xin sent him.
One by one. And he replied to each one.
Unlike Meng Xin’s other chaotic friends, who only ever responded with a lazy “Damn, so stupid”, Bian Ting’s replies actually had substance.
He would talk about his reactions, point out exactly which parts he thought were funny, and even share his thoughts on the humor itself.
Meng Xin sent sixteen videos, and Bian Ting sent sixteen thoughtful responses.
Meng Xin had never seen Bian Ting send so many messages.
He spent his days scouring the internet for funny videos, only to get a couple of half-hearted insults in return — but with Bian Ting, he got a whole series of detailed reviews.
It was like discovering a soulmate.
Meng Xin was deeply moved and decided, from that moment on, that he and Bian Ting were going to be lifelong best friends.
From then on, whenever he found a funny video, he made sure to send it to Bian Ting.
Over time, he realized Bian Ting was actually pretty easy to get along with — at least, he wasn’t as distant as he first seemed.
So Meng Xin added him to his “Mount Liang Heroes” friend group.
That group had about a hundred people, all carefully curated. Only people in the group could see Meng Xin’s full, unfiltered feed.
It wasn’t that Meng Xin had anything to hide — he just treated his feed like a diary and could easily post hundreds of updates a day. He didn’t want to spam casual acquaintances.
Posts with photos or anything remotely serious were public, but all the nonsense rants and random thoughts were strictly for the “Heroes”.
That very night, Bian Ting noticed.
He didn’t have many WeChat friends, and even fewer who actively posted to their feeds — but that day, the little dot next to “Moments” stayed lit up all day, right next to Meng Xin’s profile picture.
When he opened the feed, he could basically relive Meng Xin’s entire day.
Meng Xin was a simple person — he posted whatever popped into his head, from deep philosophical musings to complaining about not finding a rental bike and having to walk twenty minutes to class.
The latter was more common, so it wasn’t hard to follow.
Although sometimes, there were posts that made no sense at all. Like one day, when Meng Xin suddenly spammed a long string of “Ahhhhhhhhhhh”.
When Meng Xin came back to the dorm, Bian Ting asked, “What happened to you just now?”
“Huh?” Meng Xin looked confused. “Nothing? Why?”
“I saw your post,” Bian Ting said. “You kept typing ‘Ah.’”
“Ohhh, someone stepped on my foot on the way back,” Meng Xin finally remembered. “They crushed my brand-new shoes! But whatever, every new pair of shoes has to go through something like this.”
Then he suddenly perked up, as if he’d discovered a whole new world:
“—Wait, Bian Ting, you actually look at your Moments feed?”
Even though Meng Xin had added Bian Ting to the “Mount Liang Heroes” group, he’d always suspected that Bian Ting never actually checked his feed.
“Sometimes.”
Although, to be more precise, it was more like “Recently.”
Because before, his Moments feed was pretty boring — nothing worth looking at.
Meng Xin made a sound of acknowledgment, then asked, “Then how come I’ve never seen your posts?”
“I’ve never posted anything,” Bian Ting explained.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know what to post.”
Meng Xin, a seasoned expert in posting to his feed, rattled off suggestions without missing a beat: “There’s plenty! Your mood, random encounters, places you go…”
Bian Ting chuckled. “If I posted those things, no one would care.”
Meng Xin, on the other hand, had plenty of people watching his posts — he had a knack for turning even the most ordinary days into something entertaining.
“That’s not true,” Meng Xin said. “I’d want to know what you’re doing every day! But you’re so mysterious, always leaving early and coming back late.”
“Okay,” Bian Ting said.
At the time, Meng Xin had no idea what that “Okay” meant.
The next morning, Meng Xin woke up, groggy and fumbling for his phone to check the time — and suddenly understood.
He had three unread messages.
From Bian Ting.
Meng Xin instantly perked up.
The first two were pictures: one of a bird he’d seen on the way to the library, and another of a window-side seat in the library itself.
Bian Ting: “At the library.”
Meng Xin was the most well-informed person in the dorm when it came to Bian Ting’s whereabouts.
Their dorm had four people from four different majors, with wildly different class schedules. The others weren’t as close to Bian Ting, so they had no clue what he did all day.
But Meng Xin was different.
Whenever Meng Xin went somewhere, he posted it to his feed — and whenever Bian Ting went somewhere, he told Meng Xin directly.
In a way, Meng Xin’s chat with Bian Ting had become a private, personalized version of a Moments feed.
For example, even while Meng Xin was stuck in class, he knew perfectly well that Bian Ting was eating lunch with Zhang Yiming.
Meanwhile, Meng Xin was suffering through a boring lecture.
He slumped over his desk and messaged Bian Ting:
Meng Xin: “Ahhhhhhh I wanna leave.”
Bian Ting (instant reply): “Then leave?”
Meng Xin: “Can’t.”
Meng Xin: “Came late and ended up in the front row — I can literally count every blade of grass on the professor’s receding hairline AHHHH.”
Bian Ting: “How many?”
Meng Xin: “Rough estimate? Less than fifty. I’ll count more carefully.”
Meng Xin: “Praying I finish counting right as class ends [/prayer emoji].”
Bian Ting: “You probably won’t finish counting by the time class ends.”
Meng Xin struggled to hold back his laughter in class.
He quickly changed the subject.
Meng Xin: “Aren’t you eating with Zhang Yiming? How are you replying so fast?”
Meng Xin: “Are you on your phone at the table?”
On the other side, Bian Ting glanced up from his phone at Zhang Yiming.
Zhang Yiming gave an understanding “OK” sign, stuffed a huge piece of meat into his mouth, and mumbled through his food: “It’s fine, it’s fine. You’re paying anyway — you do your thing, I’ll do mine.”
Bian Ting: “Nah, I’m done eating. He’s still going.”
Bian Ting: “Are you coming after class? I can order more.”
Meng Xin: “No need, I ate before class!”
Meng Xin: “What are you guys eating?”
Bian Ting: “Three-sauce braised pot at the school gate.”
Meng Xin: “Is it good?”
Bian Ting: “Terrible. That’s why I went with Zhang Yiming.”
Meng Xin burst out laughing. He already knew Zhang Yiming had a questionable track record when it came to picking restaurants — Bian Ting had mentioned it before.
Meng Xin: “Which place?”
Bian Ting: “The one next to the stationery store.”
Meng Xin: “Oh, yeah, that place is pretty mediocre. But edible, I guess.”
Meng Xin: “Next time, go to the one in the corner on the second floor — that place is amazing!!!”
Bian Ting: “Which one?”
Meng Xin: “Ah, it’s this tiny shop — hard to explain. I’ll take you next time!”
Meng Xin made it through the remaining 45 minutes of his boring class just by chatting with Bian Ting. Even though he hadn’t napped, he walked out of the classroom feeling completely refreshed.
Meng Xin: “I’m out of class!!”
Bian Ting: “Okay, I’m heading back too.”
Meng Xin: “See you at the dorm!!”
Bian Ting: “Okay.”
Meng Xin hadn’t expected their connection to be this strong — he literally ran into Bian Ting on his way back to the dorm.
“Who chats with their bro for forty-five straight minutes?” Zhang Yiming marveled. “It’s you, comrade Bian Ting — truly extraordinary!”
“…”
“Are you sure he’s emotionally clueless? At this point, I don’t even think it’s about being straight or not,” Zhang Yiming rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I feel like even if Snow White herself appeared in front of him, he’d still friend-zone her without hesitation.”
“…”
“That’s just how Meng Xin is,” Bian Ting chuckled, then shook his head helplessly. “He’s only good for being a friend, not a boyfriend.”
And that was the exact sentence Meng Xin overheard as he bumped into them on the way back to the dorm.
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