Chapter 72 – Crybaby Typing

After feeding Master Yin, Wei Lai kicked Chu Yin’s calf and said, “Go pack your luggage.”

Once full, Chu Yin became lazy and didn’t want to move. He sprawled limply on the sofa, hiding his feet, and picked up his phone to type, “Wait a minute.”

Wei Lai said, “Hurry up, don’t drag it out. We have a flight to catch.”

Chu Yin replied, “Isn’t it an afternoon flight?”

Wei Lai said, “We should leave early just in case. What if we get stuck in traffic? What if your stomach suddenly hurts? What if halfway there, we realize we left something at the hotel? Better safe than sorry—always leave room to handle unexpected situations.”

Chu Yin’s inspiration was completely drained by Wei Lai’s nagging. Covering his ears, he reluctantly went into the room, then dragged his suitcase out with a grumble. His eyes swept around aimlessly as his hands grabbed whatever they touched, stuffing everything haphazardly into the suitcase.

Wei Lai watched, feeling suffocated. He took a deep breath, silently restraining himself from stepping in to pack for Chu Yin.

In less than a minute, Chu Yin was done. The suitcase was piled high like a small mountain. Though Chu Yin saw the mess clearly, he didn’t care about such details and decisively closed the lid, struggling to zip it up while gripping the zipper pull.

His aggressive yet chaotic operation was a nightmare for anyone with OCD. Wei Lai gulped down some honey water, gripping the cup so tightly his nails turned white. He silently encouraged himself—Hold it together, Wei Lai. You can do this.

As expected, Chu Yin’s zipping efforts got stuck in the last dozen centimeters. The suitcase was so overstuffed that the zipper gap bulged like an overripe pea, looking ready to burst at any moment.

Wei Lai felt like he was trapped in a pressure cooker, nearing his limit, struggling to breathe. The entire world narrowed down to that stubborn zipper pull in Chu Yin’s hand—moving forward a bit only to be pushed back again, stabbing Wei Lai’s heart with each failed attempt.

Chu Yin, visibly impatient, plopped his ass onto the suitcase. The suitcase let out a squashed groan as Chu Yin managed to pull the zipper forward a little more.

Just as Wei Lai was about to sigh in relief, the two zipper pulls got stuck yet again just before meeting. Chu Yin spread his legs, straddling the suitcase, and yanked the zipper a few times before giving up. “That’s good enough,” he said, standing up casually.

Wei Lai’s breath hitched. “It’s just a little bit left! Chu Yin!”

“It’s fine, nothing will fall out.”

Wei Lai exploded. Rolling up his sleeves, he shoved Chu Yin aside and crouched down aggressively, reorganizing Chu Yin’s luggage while grumbling and cursing under his breath.

“The suitcase only has so much space. If you just ball up all your clothes and shove them in, of course it won’t close! Did your brain go on clearance during Double 11¹China’s largest annual online shopping festival, also known as Singles’ Day, which takes place on November 11th, similar to Black Friday.? You didn’t put any thought into packing!”

Chu Yin: “…”

“Fold your clothes properly before putting them in! Otherwise, I’ll have to iron them when you take them out. One or two pieces is fine, but hundreds? You think I’m some kind of stay-at-home housewife?!”

“Look, put your cosmetics in small bags first, then organize the bags by label into small boxes. Hey—the furball! Don’t shove the furball into your pants pocket—keep it separate!” Wei Lai picked up the furball, examined it carefully, flicked it with his finger to confirm it was round, fluffy, and soft. “Hang it in a bigger box so it doesn’t get squashed… Chu Yin, you should pack your own things. How did you even survive before? You weren’t this helpless before, were you?”

A sudden realization struck Wei Lai. The more he spoke, the more convinced he became of the truth. “You must be doing this on purpose—packing messily so I can’t stand it and end up organizing it for you, right? Right?! Yeah, that’s exactly it! Damn it, you scheming little bitch! Tell me the truth, is that what you—”

Chu Yin silently crouched behind Wei Lai, spreading his long legs out, draping his arms over Wei Lai’s shoulders, and pressing himself stickily against Wei Lai’s back.

“No.”

Wei Lai’s hands, which had been swiftly folding clothes, froze mid-air. He slowly shrugged his shoulders and said to Chu Yin, “Alright, fine, I’ll take your word for it. If you won’t pack yourself, at least don’t get in my way… Move.”

Chu Yin clung to Wei Lai without letting go. “But… I was doing it on purpose.”

Wei Lai exploded again. “Chu Yin! I knew it! How can you be so damn annoying, using all your cleverness just to mess with me?!”

Chu Yin: “Madam Wei, you’re being mean to me.”

Wei Lai scoffed. “Ohhhh, so I can’t even scold you now?! I’ve been serving you like an emperor—can’t I even say a few words?!”

Chu Yin nuzzled Wei Lai’s ear with his face. “… Whimper.”

Even the most iron-willed straight man wouldn’t be able to resist Chu Yin’s nuzzling and whining, let alone Wei Lai, who had been thoroughly corrupted by fanfics. Wei Lai immediately softened. “Go sit on the sofa.”

Chu Yin pouted pitifully. “I don’t want you to pack. I don’t want to go to work.”

Wei Lai: “Then what do you want?”

Chu Yin: “I just don’t want to go. We’re filming in the Greater Khingan Mountains—it’s cold. I want to go home. Big Orange probably doesn’t even recognize me anymore.”

Chu Yin spent all year traveling—either on a plane or in a hotel. He never used to think it was hard; in fact, he liked it. Being busy meant less time to overthink, and he didn’t want to see Chen Meixian anyway.

But now, things were different—he had a cat! Because neither he nor Wei Lai were ever home, Big Orange had been sent to Zero. On the first day there, the cat became the mascot, gaining a legion of devoted servants. What if Big Orange forgot about him? Owning a cat was a sign of adulthood—once you had one, you had to take responsibility as its owner. At this rate, Big Orange would soon become the cat of the Tony stylists!

Wei Lai said, “Hang in there. Even Qian Tianyi managed to stand up and film—so can you.”

Chu Yin: “Don’t compare me to him. Qian Tianyi usually acts like a useless wreck… but when filming, he goes all out like a madman.”

Wei Lai: “I’ll rearrange your schedule. After this movie, I’ll squeeze in a month-long break for you. You can stay home and rot however you like. As an actor, you’ve never had the chance to work on a truly good project—first action films, then idol dramas, and now even BL bait. Fans may eat it up, but the reputation of your works is… questionable. That’s one thing, but it also means your roles are getting typecast, making it harder to branch out later.”

The movie Chu Yin was about to film was, in Wei Lai’s opinion, a great opportunity to break out of that mold—Chu Yin was playing a yandere villain. The role wasn’t big enough to exhaust him, but the character was brilliantly written.

Wei Lai thought for a moment, then said, “I heard from the director that Qian Tianyi recommended you. Since when did you two get so close?”

Chu Yin pondered briefly. “Probably because I helped him fight a kangaroo.”

Wei Lai: “…”

Wei Lai thought to himself that this would likely spawn another wave of CP edits pairing Chu Yin and Qian Tianyi, which would piss Chu Yin off again.

After finishing the packing, Wei Lai secretly went on Bilibili and searched Chu Yin’s name.

Good-looking people tend to get shipped with anyone and everyone, and someone as breathtakingly handsome as Chu Yin was the ultimate versatile tool—plugged into any CP that needed a pretty face. Wei Lai scrolled down rapidly, finding Chu Yin paired with all sorts of bizarre partners, some not even human—Voldemort, an Australian devil-muscle kangaroo… Wei Lai scrolled for a long time before finding the “ChuLai” (Chu Yin x Wei Lai) CP edits. There weren’t many, and the highest view count barely broke 200K—far fewer than the tragic, three-lifetimes-spanning love story between Chu Yin and the Australian devil-muscle kangaroo, which ended with Chu Yin punching the kangaroo into the sky.

Wei Lai watched the most-viewed video—”[Wei Lai x Chu Yin] ChuLai: The Thousand-Layered Tricks of Love”—three times in disbelief. Afterward, he sat dazedly on the toilet, overwhelmed by an indescribable mix of emotions. First, he was furious that the uploader had reversed their roles, making him the top. Second, he felt a pang of loneliness—Fine, reversed is reversed, but at least it’s still a CP. For the first time, Wei Lai understood what it felt like to be in a cold fandom.

Refusing to give up, Wei Lai kept searching, but Chu Yin started scratching at the door outside. “Madam Wei, are you done yet? Haven’t you read that sitting on the toilet and playing with your phone gives you hemorrhoids?”

Wei Lai turned and roared, “I’m not taking a shit! Why do you care so much?!”

“You’ve been in there for half an hour!” Chu Yin scratched the door. “If you’re not shitting, are you eating in there?! We have to get to the airport!”

Wei Lai: “…Got it. Be right out.”

Wei Lai had only been hiding in the bathroom to watch videos, but to cover his tracks, he flushed the toilet for appearances’ sake.

The moment he stepped out, he was met with Chu Yin’s disapproving gaze. Chu Yin rhymed, “So you were shitting. Madam Wei, playing on the phone while you shit, hemorrhoids will fly with you—remember that.”

Wei Lai lifted his perky butt and said, “My chrysanthemum is just fine, shut up.”

Chu Yin: “Hmph! We’ll see about that.”

Chu Yin and Wei Lai arrived at the airport on time, but the flight was delayed. Chu Yin, long accustomed to such delays, took out his phone and began typing rapidly. His fingers flew across the screen with astonishing speed, pausing rarely, as agile as Orunju chasing a cat teaser.

Wei Lai: “…What are you doing?”

Chu Yin didn’t look up, lying effortlessly with perfect composure. “Working on lyrics for a new song. Don’t ask me—you’ll scare away my inspiration.”

“Oh.”

Wei Lai’s heart raced. He’s definitely writing smutty fanfiction again.

Testing the waters, Wei Lai pulled up a CP edit of Chu Yin and the kangaroo and handed his phone over. “Look at this. Three lifetimes of epic romance between you and a kangaroo.”

Chu Yin didn’t like being disturbed when he was working, but he still humored Wei Lai, leaning over to watch the video on Wei Lai’s phone. Halfway through, he suddenly laughed. “So cute. In the second life, I was a kitten, and the kangaroo was a groundhog. Adorable.”

Wei Lai: “???”

“You’re not mad?”

Chu Yin finished watching, retreated, and resumed typing diligently. “Why would I be? There are so many videos of me—good and bad. If I got mad at every single one, I’d have died from rage long ago.”

Wei Lai: “…You being this chill all of a sudden is kinda scary. Hey, check this one out—you and Tom Cat. It’s hilarious too.”

Chu Yin typed like the wind. “Not watching. Wei Lai, don’t talk to me.”

Wei Lai: “…”

Chu Yin was like Orunju—when she wanted food (or attention), she’d meow and nuzzle, but when she didn’t, she’d coldly climb up the cat tree, not even bothering to dangle her tail. Wei Lai was used to it and stopped trying to chat, quietly scrolling through videos instead. The more he thought about it, the more aggrieved he felt—he could not tolerate the low view counts on his and Chu Yin’s CP edits. He considered secretly boosting a few high-quality videos to the front page for exposure but felt none of them truly captured the essence of their relationship or had polished enough visuals. Even if the views went up, it wouldn’t mean much.

Why don’t I just edit one myself? Buy headlines, hit the front page, hire promoters—if it doesn’t go viral, I’ll change my surname!

The moment this thought crossed his mind, Wei Lai startled himself. He suddenly realized—why do I care so much about the popularity of ‘ChuLai’ edits?!

Even Wei Lai didn’t understand where this resentment came from. Losing to popular male stars, female stars, or even Voldemort was one thing—but he had lost to a kangaroo!

Him—Wei Lai, the campus heartthrob of X University, a peerless beauty (bottom)—had lost to a devil-muscle rodent! The zipper in Wei Lai’s heart could no longer close—he wanted to spit blood at the heavens!

Once on the plane, Chu Yin fastened his seatbelt and glanced furtively at Wei Lai.

Wei Lai stared blankly ahead, still stunned by reality’s brutal strike, unable to snap out of it. Chu Yin took out his phone, logged into his alt Weibo account, posted, and logged out—smooth as if he’d only checked the time. A flawless covert operation.

Having met today’s quota, Chu Yin was satisfied. He put on his sleep mask and earplugs, peacefully dozing off.

Just then, Wei Lai’s phone vibrated—his alt account’s only special notification went off.

—”[ChuLai] Punishment for Cheating at Cards.”

Wei Lai: “?” What? Chu Yin rarely won at cards—was his skill so bad that even cheating didn’t help?

Eagerly, Wei Lai clicked in to read.

Turns out, this chapter was about Chu Yin cheating at cards, Wei Lai catching him and spanking him over the card table, then kissing him tenderly before teaching him how to play properly.

The only part that had actually happened was Wei Lai teaching Chu Yin to play cards—the rest was pure smut from Chu Yin’s filthy imagination. If Wei Lai had known Chu Yin was up to his usual perverted antics, he never would have opened it on the plane. Wei Lai’s face burned as he read, and his lower body betrayed him by perking up.

Damn it, this is hot!

Wei Lai hastily draped his scarf over his lap, took a deep breath, and pressed a hand to his racing heart. Like a rot addict, he reread every word carefully.

As the plane took off, Wei Lai felt like he was about to take off too.

• 1
  China’s largest annual online shopping festival, also known as Singles’ Day, which takes place on November 11th, similar to Black Friday.