Chapter 9
Xiao Yao indeed had this irritating habit.
When he was in a bad mood, he either practiced calligraphy—writing the character for “trouble” repeatedly on an entire sheet of rice paper and then crumpling it up—or he would randomly pick someone from his friend list and like everything on their Moments.
Most of the time, Xiao Yao would opt for practicing calligraphy to calm himself down, and the second scenario happened very rarely.
But there were always exceptions.
In the past, his good friends had suffered the brunt of this behavior. However, years ago, Xiao Yao had already thoroughly polluted their Moments, leaving no new victims for his “likes.”
His computer happened to be open to a webcomic series by the author Da A-Choo, and coincidentally, the two main characters in the comic were eating. Unable to resist, he rushed to the author’s Weibo account and caused quite a stir with his dramatic reaction.
Later, as he tossed and turned in bed, he felt guilty for possibly startling the author. After all, his behavior had been impulsive and a bit rude.
So, in the middle of the night, Xiao Yao crawled out of bed, tipped the author Da A-Choo, and left an apologetic message:
“Sorry for the impulsive outburst last night. I hope it didn’t disrupt your life. I genuinely love your work—please keep it up!”
His overly refined and formal comment stood out among a sea of comments like “Take the car to the edge of the city,” “F*** him up,” and “Eating is ridiculously sweet.” The author, Ti Xiao, immediately noticed the peculiar tone.
When Ti Xiao checked the backend for tips, he was greeted with several zeros.
The tip was from a user named “pass by.”
Well, well, this person really wanted to grab my attention, huh?
“Thank you, my generous sugar daddy,” Ti Xiao replied before returning to his squabble with his editor.
The editor, Guapi, had just signed a new comic artist. Previously an illustrator, the new artist’s skills were solid, but it was their first attempt at a serialized comic.
Since they were a new author with low visibility, the series wasn’t gaining much traction. Guapi was wondering if Ti Xiao could share it on his Weibo to help attract some attention. After all, Ti Xiao was a veteran with a sizable fan base and published works.
Editor Guapi: “Here’s their QQ number. Their ID is ‘Desperate Duck Neck.’ Have a chat with them, please. Thanks!”
Ti Xiao’s QQ avatar was the same as his Weibo profile picture: a quirky, spiked hairstyle he’d used for ages.
He expected the other person’s avatar to be something random, but it turned out to be a pink kitten. Their chat style was also filled with cutesy emojis and an overly bubbly tone, giving off major “adorable little girl” vibes.
Desperate Duck Neck: “Omg, A-Choo-sensei, mwah mwah mwah! [Rolling cat emoji]”
“I’ve been reading your comics since I was little. I’m basically your superfan! [Heart gesture emoji]”
These two sentences alone killed Ti Xiao’s polite “Hello” before it even made it to the keyboard.
“Sensei” was typically used to refer to female comic artists in the community, but Ti Xiao was male. Moreover, he hadn’t started serializing comics until his junior year of college, so where did this “since childhood” narrative come from?
After grumbling to himself, Ti Xiao still managed to type out the “Hello” and sent it.
They exchanged a few pleasantries before Ti Xiao noticed it was almost noon. Since Tian Nanyi wasn’t coming over today, he decided to take a stroll to the convenience store and grab something for lunch.
Desperate Duck Neck: “Oh, is Sensei going to have lunch? What are you eating? I want some too! [Drooling emoji]”
Initially, Ti Xiao had planned to end the conversation when lunch was brought up, but Duck Neck kept pestering him with endless questions. Even as Ti Xiao bought his food and queued up to pay, Duck Neck’s messages grew increasingly off-topic, testing even his good-natured patience. Eventually, he resorted to replying with only a couple of words now and then.
Desperate Duck Neck: “Sensei, I have a question, but you have to promise not to hit me. Are you really a male author? [Kitten begging emoji]”
Ti Xiao rolled his eyes in exasperation. Well, at least she knows her question might make me want to hit her.
In their circle, most comic artists were women, primarily fujoshi. Male authors were as rare as pandas.
He ignored her, but she persisted.
Desperate Duck Neck: “Then let me ask one more question, and you still can’t hit me, okay? [Cute emoji]”
If you keep asking, I might just let you experience what despair tastes like firsthand.
Unaware that Ti Xiao was mentally twisting her neck into a giant Tianjin dough twist, she kept going:
Desperate Duck Neck: “So… are you male and into men?”
Ti Xiao’s eyebrows twitched. Who asks such invasive questions? How has she managed to make it this far in life without getting in trouble? Even Tian Nanyi was less annoying than her.
He was just about to send a snarky reply like “Excuse me? Take a lemon and calm down,” when an unfamiliar scent, crisp like freshly fallen snow, brushed close to him, making him instinctively turn his head.
What he saw was Xiao Yao’s magnified, strikingly handsome face, just five centimeters away. He could see the fine fuzz on his skin and raven-like eyelashes—so close that leaning in slightly would result in a kiss.
Warm breaths grazed his face, tickling him.
To be precise, Xiao Yao was 188 cm tall. On days when he felt like it, he’d wear thick-soled Doc Martens, pushing him close to 190 cm.
As luck would have it, today was one of those days. Long legs were wrapped in black skinny jeans, a white turtleneck sweater covered his elegant neck, and a black trench coat, worn open, completed his look. A pair of black-framed glasses perched on his nose, making him a walking red-card offense for distracting everyone in sight.
Standing next to 173 cm Ti Xiao, Xiao Yao had to lean down slightly, making it appear from behind as if his head was resting on Ti Xiao’s shoulder—like an intimate couple in a tender moment.
But only they knew how awkward the situation really was.
Ti Xiao froze for a moment, suddenly remembering that he’d washed his hair yesterday.
When Ti Xiao turned his head, Xiao Yao’s mind blanked for a second.
He swore he hadn’t meant to peek at someone else’s phone screen. He’d just happened to come to the convenience store for some groceries, spotted Ti Xiao in line, and decided to say hello and perhaps discuss lunch plans.
But his height and the glasses he wore today caused trouble.
The spiked little avatar on Ti Xiao’s phone screen caught his eye.
It looked oddly familiar, like something he’d seen before. Instinctively, he leaned closer to confirm his suspicion.
But just as he squinted to get a better look, the “spike-head” turned around, catching him red-handed. Luckily, Xiao Yao braked just in time, stopping short of accidentally kissing Ti Xiao.
Still, the little spiky-haired guy’s skin looked so fair and soft up close.
He wanted to pinch it.
Fingers twitched slightly, making a subtle pinching motion.
“Small world,” Xiao Yao broke the awkward silence first, stepping back politely to stand upright, managing a greeting that was both composed and courteous.
Ti Xiao, wide-eyed, nodded stiffly, his fluffy hair bobbing along. The jet-black strands, as rich as ebony, contrasted starkly with his milky-white skin under the convenience store lights.
Now he wanted to pinch it even more.
Meanwhile, Ti Xiao’s phone buzzed again—Duck Neck had sent another message—but he couldn’t care less at the moment.
Because Xiao Yao’s hand was now reaching toward his face. His thumb and forefinger extended slightly, knuckles bent, and the other three fingers curled inward, as if preparing to do something to his cheek.
But instead of touching his face, the hand shifted past his cheek and landed squarely on his shoulder with a firm pat.