Zhang Yiming: “I heard someone’s hanging out with a gay guy — and it’s not you?”
Bian Ting was already in a bad mood since Meng Xin hadn’t come back to the dorm yet. Seeing Zhang Yiming’s message made it even worse.
He didn’t like the way Zhang Yiming worded that.
Bian Ting: “?”
Bian Ting: “Don’t say gross stuff like that.”
Bian Ting: “They’re just friends.”
Zhang Yiming: “Alright, alright, poor thing.”
Zhang Yiming: “But I mean, Meng Xin seems pretty chill about the whole gay thing. Maybe you should give it a shot?”
Zhang Yiming: “Actually, the more I think about it, a straight guy like him probably won’t get subtle hints. Why don’t you just tell him outright?”
Zhang Yiming: “Like, just pick a random moment, close your eyes, open your mouth, and yell ‘I’m gay!’”
Bian Ting replied with six dots.
Right then, the door creaked open.
Bian Ting immediately looked up.
Meng Xin walked in but didn’t say a word.
He didn’t even glance at Bian Ting, brushing past him like he didn’t exist.
Bian Ting frowned and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Meng Xin gave him a one-word answer:
“Tired.”
Physically tired. Mentally exhausted.
He rushed through his nighttime routine, climbed into bed, yanked the curtain shut, and muttered, “I need to rethink my life.”
Meng Xin was thinking about how to cut ties with Bian Ting.
The last time he ended a friendship was back in elementary school.
The other kid had stubbornly argued that Ultraman Zero was stronger than Ultraman Tiga, and Meng Xin got so mad he stayed up all night writing a breakup letter.
The next day, they held a formal “friendship termination ceremony” during recess.
The class president acted as the witness and read the oath aloud.
They each used a red pen to color their thumbs, signed and stamped the letter with their fingerprints, and solemnly swore:
“If I ever play with [Name] again, I’m a dog.”
But they were in college now.
He couldn’t actually write Bian Ting a breakup letter… right?
Why not?
Ten minutes later, a freshly written breakup letter was ready.
Meng Xin folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of the clothes he planned to wear the next day.
The next noon, he checked the time, took a deep breath, and marched out of the dorm with unwavering determination.
He chose noon for a reason.
He wasn’t a morning person, and lack of sleep would make him lose momentum.
But noon? Right before lunch? That was prime energy time — when he’d be at his peak, radiating unstoppable confidence.
Meng Xin arrived at the library entrance, feeling like a warrior about to claim victory.
Before cutting ties, he decided to confront Bian Ting face-to-face.
Meng Xin: “I’m at the library entrance. You have ten minutes to show up, or I’m kicking your ass!!!”
The tone was intentional.
He used a commanding voice, deliberately forceful, so Bian Ting would immediately realize:
He had changed.
He was no longer the soft, easygoing Meng Xin of the past.
Less than a minute later, Bian Ting walked out of the library.
He spotted Meng Xin standing there, hands on his hips, waiting like he was about to fight someone.
Bian Ting blinked, confused.
He couldn’t think of any recent “good deeds” he’d done.
Why was Meng Xin standing there looking so… cute?
He didn’t know that this stance was calculated.
According to psychology, standing with hands on hips exudes confidence and a readiness to attack, subtly warning the opponent that the person in front of them means business.
Time, location, mental state — everything was perfectly aligned.
Meng Xin felt like victory was within reach.
The only thing he didn’t expect was Bian Ting… smiling.
What the hell?
Bian Ting actually had the audacity to smile?!
Meng Xin snapped, “What are you smiling at?!”
Not knowing what game Meng Xin was playing this time, Bian Ting tried to wipe the smile off his face. He coughed lightly and said, “Wasn’t smiling. What’s up? Why’d you come find me?”
Meng Xin lifted his chin arrogantly.
“Bian Ting, we need to talk.”
Bian Ting agreed immediately. “Okay. About what?”
“Something very serious.”
Meng Xin didn’t want to start a fight in front of the quiet library.
He pointed to a nearby pavilion. “Let’s talk over there.”
Bian Ting checked the time on his phone. It was already 11:30.
He asked, “Wanna grab lunch? We can talk while we eat.”
Meng Xin wavered for a split second.
But then he remembered his mission.
He hardened his heart and refused, voice full of righteous conviction:
“No. We need to talk. Seriously.”
Eating made people let their guard down — he’d learned that from 20 years of life experience.
If he agreed to lunch, what if Bian Ting ambushed him and caught him off guard?
All his meticulous planning would go to waste!
“Fourth Hall is doing a milk tea promo. Second cup’s half off,” Bian Ting pointed behind him.
“We can grab a rice noodle bowl too. You’re already here.”
Ah, the most lethal phrase in Chinese culture:
“You’re already here.”
Meng Xin was already at the library.
Not stopping by Fourth Hall for noodles would be a loss.
“…Fine,” Meng Xin relented.
“We’ll talk after we eat.”
Eating is when a person’s guard is at its lowest.
Meng Xin had learned this truth through two decades of life.
The moment the rice noodle pot hit the table, most of Meng Xin’s anger dissipated.
— Bian Ting placed the order: deluxe version, extra spicy, extra cilantro.
The second the milk tea landed in his hand, Meng Xin nearly forgave the entire world.
— Also Bian Ting’s order: brown sugar boba with fresh milk, regular sweetness, light ice, with extra mochi.
Bian Ting knew Meng Xin’s preferences like the back of his hand, ordering everything with practiced ease.
Meng Xin always felt that eating with Bian Ting was pure happiness.
His other meal buddies didn’t even remember what he liked.
But then he remembered why he was mad in the first place, and the grievance crept back in.
If only Bian Ting didn’t badmouth him behind his back — he’d be the perfect friend!
And yet, right when Meng Xin was stuffing a mouthful of noodles in frustration, Bian Ting asked, “Why aren’t you hanging out with Fan Da today?”
Meng Xin thought: Heh. You’ve got the nerve to ask?
Just hearing Fan Da’s name reminded him of Bian Ting talking behind his back.
Bian Ting’s voice even had a slight lilt to it, like he was amused.
Was he happy he successfully trashed me?
Meng Xin angrily chewed on his boba, looking like a little squirrel gnawing on a nut.
After they left the cafeteria, Meng Xin dragged Bian Ting to a secluded spot.
Facing each other like adversaries in court, Meng Xin took a deep breath and sternly laid out the facts:
“Bian Ting, I overheard you telling someone I’m not boyfriend material.”
Then, in one dramatic motion, he whipped the breakup letter from his pocket and unfolded it in front of Bian Ting’s face.
“I’m cutting ties with you!”
“We’re such close friends, but I never thought you’d think that way about me… and not just once!”
Bian Ting tilted his head slightly, glancing at the breakup letter.
Finally, he understood what Meng Xin was upset about.
Meng Xin demanded, “What makes you think I’m not boyfriend material?!”
Bian Ting just stared at him, silent.
The intense eye contact made Meng Xin weirdly nervous.
Why am I the one feeling guilty? I’m the victim here!
After a long pause, Bian Ting suddenly asked, “Are you gay?”
Meng Xin didn’t know where that came from, but he blurted out his answer without hesitation:
“Of course not!”
Bian Ting: “Then why are you so hung up on whether you’d make a good boyfriend?”
The atmosphere froze.
Meng Xin’s mind went blank.
Then he started turning over Bian Ting’s words carefully.
Wait, he has a point.
We’re both guys. It’s not like we’re gay. So why does it even matter what Bian Ting said?
But the more he thought about it, the more something felt off.
Hold on.
Bian Ting is a guy. What right does he have to judge whether I’d make a good boyfriend? It’s not like he’s ever dated me.
Realizing this, Meng Xin reignited the fight.
Meng Xin: “Have you ever dated me? No? Then how would you know?”
Bian Ting: “Do you want to date me? Otherwise, why do you care?”
Silence. Again.
Meng Xin couldn’t take it anymore.
He flipped Bian Ting’s words right back at him:
“Wow. Are you gay or something?”
Bian Ting nodded.
“Yeah.”
He even repeated it, enunciating every word carefully, just in case Meng Xin hadn’t caught it the first time:
“I’m gay.”
Meng Xin’s eyes went wide as saucers:
“…!!!”
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