Chapter 10 – No Coincidence

51

As early as when Xiang Lei called home before his exams to say he would be on break in two weeks, his father had already started cleaning his room. His mother told Xiang Lei that whenever the sun was out, his father would take his quilt outside to air it.

This was the first time Xiang Lei had traveled back from a distant place to celebrate the New Year at home. Along the way, he saw many people making the arduous journey, and his heart swelled with emotion. The train was filled with exhausted figures—someone’s children, parents, or siblings—curled up in every available corner, enduring the long trek home.

Once he got home, Xiang Lei almost immediately detached himself from the small circles and worlds he had either been entangled in or deeply immersed in before.

He enjoyed chatting about everyday life with his busy mother and sitting face-to-face with his father in the living room, discussing current affairs and society.

Before the New Year, Xiang Lei made several trips to the county town, visiting old friends from different stages of middle school in batches. After half a year of university life, Xiang Lei realized he had been feeling quite lonely all along. This loneliness made him cherish his old friends even more.

Pei Yong had been discharged from the military before New Year’s Day. Xiang Lei had thought they would have plenty of time to sit together and catch up, but Pei Yong was constantly assigned to do things his family deemed important. Pei Yong would call to arrange a meeting with Xiang Lei a few days later, only to notify him the day before that they had to reschedule. By the third time, Xiang Lei was a little annoyed. Pei Yong said helplessly that he had no choice.

After the New Year, Xiang Lei spent his days visiting relatives. His whole family left early and returned late, and Xiang Lei didn’t even have time to notice whether Pei Yong had called. In any case, it was now Xiang Lei who had no time.

The day before Xiang Lei returned to school, Pei Yong called again. When he learned that Xiang Lei was leaving for Beijing the next day, he exclaimed in surprise and quickly said he would borrow a car to take Xiang Lei to the station.

In reality, the next day, Pei Yong still couldn’t free himself.

Not being able to meet even once in over 20 days left Xiang Lei extremely frustrated. However, at the same time, Xiang Lei finally realized that his feelings toward Pei Yong seemed much simpler now—just the long-missed bond between brothers and buddies, the rare reunion and the anticipation of sharing drinks and stories. Perhaps this was just a natural sentiment.

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52

On the day Xiang Lei returned to school, Pei Yong called the dormitory, naturally to apologize. Then Pei Yong asked if Xiang Lei usually went online and if he had a QQ account. On a whim, they arranged to chat online.

The computer lab hadn’t opened yet, so Xiang Lei went to an internet café off-campus. When he logged into his QQ account after more than a month, the frenzied notifications instantly overwhelmed him.

“Give Me a Cigarette” requested to add you as a friend;

“Give Me a Cigarette” requested to add you as a friend;

“Give Me a Cigarette” requested to add you as a friend;

…

Dozens of requests on the day he was blocked, over a dozen the next day, and another dozen the day after.

After that, one request a day, without fail.

Until today.

“Lunatic!” Xiang Lei thought.

His hand trembled, and he even closed the last notification without reading it.

Immediately, something deep inside Xiang Lei was unceremoniously overturned.

Without meaning to, Xiang Lei bit his lip, and his nose tingled with emotion.

No need to keep standing on Wu Liang’s side anymore, right?

Feel it for himself—feel this lunatic…

Pei Yong sent a friend request. Xiang Lei snapped out of it and accepted.

Pei Yong: I miss you so much!

Xiang Lei’s heart twinged: We didn’t meet for over 20 days at home—what’s the point of saying this now?!

Pei Yong: I really had no choice. I had to sort out my job placement. You don’t want me to starve in the future, do you?

Xiang Lei: How did it go?

Pei Yong: Pretty much settled. I’ll soon be a people’s police officer.

Xiang Lei: You’ve got my back from now on!

Pei Yong: Duh! Who else would I back if not you? If I don’t have your back, who will?

Xiang Lei smiled: That said, if even you can worm your way into the police force, no wonder people have prejudices against cops these days!

Pei Yong: You itching for a beating, punk?

Xiang Lei: Perfect. Now we’ve got connections on both sides of the law.

Pei Yong: I really miss you!

Xiang Lei suddenly blurted out: Stop saying things like that. I can’t handle it.

Pei Yong: Why? What’s wrong with missing you?

Xiang Lei clenched his teeth: Because I like you—the same way a guy likes a girl!

Pei Yong: You running a fever or something?

Xiang Lei: No. These words have been bottled up inside me for years. I don’t believe you never noticed.

Pei Yong: You’re spouting nonsense and you say you’re not feverish? Go see a doctor!

Xiang Lei: This is who I am. Do you look down on me now?

Pei Yong: Stop talking!

Tears instantly flooded Xiang Lei’s eyes: Why make me pretend? No matter what, I just wanted to say it.

Pei Yong: I said stop fucking talking!

So Xiang Lei stared at the QQ chat window, wiping his tears on his own, not daring to say another word.

A minute later, Pei Yong said: If this is a joke, Xiang Lei, tell me now.

Xiang Lei’s tears fell even harder. He couldn’t wipe them fast enough with both hands, let alone reply.

Pei Yong: If you’re not joking, I’ll be honest—I’m fucking pissed!

Xiang Lei was nearly sobbing out loud. People around him kept glancing over.

Pei Yong: I’m pissed! I’ve always treated you like a real brother. I thought you felt the same. I never expected you to have these kinds of thoughts about me! What the hell is this? You fucking playing with me?

Through his blurred vision, Xiang Lei fumbled for the letters on the keyboard: I can’t control myself.

Pei Yong: You’re something else, Xiang Lei. You really are! If it weren’t for these thoughts, you probably wouldn’t have even treated me as a brother, right? Back then, I even thought—you’re a fucking top student, why would you look up to trash like me? How rare! So damn rare!

Xiang Lei’s insides churned as if all the sorrow of a lifetime were pouring out at once. Unable to hold back, he buried his head in his arms and cried his heart out.

He still remembered a similar scene. Pei Yong enlisting. The night before he left.

Pei Yong had left Xiang Lei in the bedroom while he went to the living room to say goodbye to his family. Heartbroken, Xiang Lei slumped over Pei Yong’s desk, burying his face in his arms.

Pei Yong came back in and asked what Xiang Lei was thinking about. Xiang Lei said it was nothing. Pei Yong said, “Let me see,” and tried to pull Xiang Lei’s arms away. Xiang Lei resisted, insisting it was really nothing. Pei Yong kept tugging, saying, “Then let me look.” Xiang Lei’s voice started shaking as he begged, “Pei Yong, don’t touch me.” So Pei Yong sat close beside Xiang Lei, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his face against Xiang Lei’s back.

Pei Yong said softly, “Xiang Lei, don’t be like this. It’ll make it harder for me to leave. It’s not like I’m marching into hell or never coming back. What are you crying for?” By then, Xiang Lei was already sobbing. Pei Yong continued, “Xiang Lei, don’t cry. If you make me cry, everyone here will probably start crying too. My mom will cry. What kind of scene would that be?”

Xiang Lei had once wondered: If this wasn’t love, then what was it?

Times had changed, and so had people. Those arms that once held him were now 860 kilometers away—no, maybe light-years apart, separated by an immeasurable chasm of time and space. The memories from moments ago might as well have been an illusion.

Xiang Lei, don’t cry! —Xiang Lei heard a voice say. But then he realized no one had actually spoken.

Xiang Lei, don’t be like this! —Xiang Lei heard the voice again.

Fine, then. Let it be, Xiang Lei! —Xiang Lei told himself.

Xiang Lei lifted his tear-streaked face, rubbed his eyes, and looked back at the screen.

Pei Yong: Xiang Lei, you’ve really let me down! Maybe I’m not calm right now. Let me cool off and think it over. After being brothers for so long, even if it was all one-sided on my part, cutting ties just like that would break my heart!

Pei Yong: Did you fail your exams because of this? Just thinking about it pisses me off! Did you really think I was just being polite with you? Honestly, I’ve felt closer to you than to my own brother. That little shit—when have I ever cared about him? But you just wouldn’t fucking appreciate it!

Pei Yong: What are you doing? Say something, or I’ll think you died of shame! I really feel like kicking your ass right now. I gave you everything, but you were always so hard to figure out. Why did you have to play these mind games behind my back? Never saying anything, but doing everything!

Pei Yong: Talk!

Pei Yong: What are you doing? Say something!

Xiang Lei weakly typed: Now that you know, just forget everything I said by tomorrow.

Pei Yong: I thought you really croaked!

Xiang Lei: I won’t delude myself. We’re still good brothers.

Pei Yong: Yeah, you better change.

Xiang Lei: Will you look down on me?

Pei Yong: Duh! What do you think? Don’t you fucking know what kind of person I am?

At that moment, Xiang Lei suddenly felt a sense of release. He found it strange himself—so many of his emotions seemed to surge out of nowhere. Before, he had suddenly fallen for Pei Yong. Now, he had suddenly let go.

Xiang Lei didn’t say much more, but Pei Yong rambled on for a while, probably talking himself into a sense of relief too. In just this short time, Pei Yong’s mood must have done a complete 180-degree turn.

After casually saying a few more things, Pei Yong went offline. Xiang Lei remained immersed in his earlier emotions for a long time, unable to snap out of it. Dazedly, he revisited Pei Yong’s words, then opened the forum he hadn’t checked in over a month.

In “Give Me a Cigarette’s” section, there was a pinned post titled Bittersweet Romance (Part 2). Xiang Lei clicked on it and saw several people asking why there was a Part 2 without a Part 1. “Give Me a Cigarette’s” last reply was: Those who want to read Part 2 already know Part 1. Why should I repost it? I’m only posting this for one person.

Then, the thread was locked.

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53

Xiao A and Xiao B went to the same high school, though Xiao A hadn’t gotten in through proper academic means. One particularly noteworthy thing was that Xiao B, under pressure from many sides, secretly gave up his chance to attend a prestigious high school because Xiao A had once offhandedly mentioned he couldn’t get into that school—and Xiao B remembered.

Xiao A and Xiao B were practically inseparable. They ate together, went to and from school together, played video games together, and… secretly watched adult films together. They even wrote love letters to prank a narcissistic girl. Xiao A used to think hanging out with those little delinquents was fun, but now, sticking with Xiao B every day made life feel truly fulfilling.

The entire first year of high school passed without incident—until Xiao A started dating a girl.

Xiao A’s perfectly natural puppy love unexpectedly disrupted the harmony between him and Xiao B. Xiao B would throw tantrums for no reason, even threatening to cut ties with Xiao A. Xiao A thought he must have been neglecting Xiao B, making him unhappy. So whenever he was with his girlfriend, Xiao A would always invite Xiao B along. He didn’t see any issue with it, and Xiao B never refused, always tagging along as the third wheel behind Xiao A and his girlfriend.

But every time, things would end up sour. Xiao A couldn’t figure out why, and gradually, he grew impatient.

Finally, Xiao A and Xiao B had a fight. Xiao A accused Xiao B of constantly acting crazy, while Xiao B gritted his teeth and said something that made Xiao A both furious and heartbroken.

Xiao B said, “From now on, we don’t know each other.”

Xiao A, enraged, snapped, “Fine!” But then, feeling indignant, he slapped Xiao B across the face before turning and storming off without another word.

“Why? Why the hell are you making such a fuss for no reason? How can you treat years of brotherhood like it’s nothing, just tossing it aside like trash? Why did you have to mess with my carefree heart and then stab it like this?”

The more Xiao A thought about it, the more his chest ached. He instinctively wiped at his eyes, thinking he might have shed tears, but there was nothing.

Xiao A started finding school unbearably dull. He began skipping classes left and right and hanging out with his old gang again. In a small rented room, he spent day and night fooling around with them and even lost his virginity to his girlfriend there.

Soon, though, life felt boring again. The only surprise was that Xiao A realized girls really liked him—he often faced various temptations. Quickly, he lost interest in his first girlfriend and started seeing different girls.

This lifestyle didn’t last long. The school administration, using both carrot and stick, expelled him. After that, Xiao A found himself reluctantly dragged into the petty underworld he had once found so dull.

Xiao A couldn’t stand a lot of people, and whenever he encountered someone he disliked, he’d immediately pick a fight—regardless of whether they were bigger or even trained in martial arts. He just wanted to throw hands.

One time, Xiao A got beaten black and blue before his friends finally dragged him away. His girlfriend cried hysterically on the sidelines, annoying him so much that left her there and went home alone.

Sitting at the entrance of the alley, Xiao A buried his head, wondering how to explain the bruises on his face to his mom. When he looked up again, he thought he saw Xiao B’s figure peeking from the other end of the alley.

Xiao A figured it must be his imagination. He rubbed his eyes and looked again—nothing.

But he wasn’t ready to give up. He sprinted to the end of the alley and looked around just in time to see Xiao B’s shadow disappearing around another corner.

Thrilled, Xiao A chased after him.

It’s really him!

Xiao A sped up, but Xiao B suddenly broke into a run too.

Seeing he couldn’t catch up, Xiao A shouted, “What the hell are you running for?!”

Xiao B finally stopped and turned slowly, looking at Xiao A with eyes full of embarrassment.

“Why’d you run?!” Xiao A walked up to him, complaining as if they had just been hanging out the day before—as if they had gone swimming yesterday, as if they had been play-fighting in the alleys by Houhai this morning.

Xiao B’s nose twitched, and suddenly, tears started streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It was my fault!” Xiao A panicked, reaching out to clumsily wipe away Xiao B’s tears, unsure what else to do.

“Hit me! Hit me back—hard, as hard as you want! Go on!” Xiao A urged.

“Your face is already swollen like a pig’s head. Where am I supposed to hit?” Xiao B laughed through his tears.

Xiao A finally relaxed. “Don’t worry about space. Hit wherever you want. If you don’t hit me back, I won’t feel right.” When Xiao B still didn’t move, Xiao A shoved his shoulder and kept pressing. “Come on, do it!”

Cornered, Xiao B reached out and lightly brushed Xiao A’s face before dropping his hand.

“That tickles!” Xiao A refused to let it go.

“Enough. This is stupid.” Xiao B sighed.

“If you came looking for me, why’d you run?”

“Who came looking for you?! I just happened to pass by!”

“Oh? Then why’d you cry?”

“Don’t push your luck! I went easy on you, and now you’re getting cocky!”

Xiao A grinned and immediately pulled Xiao B into a tight hug, thinking: “You’re not allowed to run away again. Never again.”

There was one more thing worth mentioning. Later, when Xiao A told Xiao B he had often gone back to school to see him, Xiao B admitted that he had walked around the alley near Xiao A’s house every day after school, hiding whenever he saw Xiao A before going home alone—until the day Xiao A caught him.

Xiao A asked why Xiao B hadn’t stayed mad after being slapped. Xiao B said, “If years of friendship were worth just one slap, then the past three years would’ve been a fucking joke. No matter how tough you are, how many three-year chunks of youth do you really get? Once you grow up, wanting to relive it is just delusional. Hell, forget growing up—just look at our old gang of seven. Only two of us are left now.”

Xiao A figured the earlier conflict had something to do with his first girlfriend. To avoid more drama, he quickly introduced his new girlfriend to Xiao B.

This time, Xiao B didn’t throw any tantrums. But a few days later, he hesitantly asked Xiao A if he could break up with her.

“Why?” Xiao A asked.

Xiao B suddenly looked agitated and heartbroken. “I don’t know. I just want you to break up!”

Without overthinking it, Xiao A dumped the girl the next day. He tried to butter Xiao B up: “See? You’re more important to me than any girlfriend! Don’t you dare say shit about cutting ties again!”

Xiao A assumed Xiao B just didn’t like that particular girl. So he soon got another girlfriend and immediately brought her to Xiao B for approval, privately asking what he thought of her.

Xiao B looked annoyed and didn’t answer. Xiao A quickly lost patience, sensing the old tension was about to flare up again.

It wasn’t that Xiao A valued his new girlfriend enough to get mad at Xiao B over her. He just couldn’t understand Xiao B’s attitude—why the sudden, unexplained moodiness when everything had been fine? And why refuse to talk about it?

Xiao A’s anger never erupted, though, because when Xiao B saw his expression, he immediately softened and said, “Brother… It’s not that there’s anything wrong with that girl or the last one. I just… I just don’t want you to have a girlfriend.”

Xiao A’s heart instantly melted. He figured Xiao B must be worried that having a girlfriend would distance them. This kid, always overthinking things!

So Xiao A decided to find Xiao B a girlfriend too—maybe that would balance things out. He went all out trying to set Xiao B up with a great girl. But when Xiao B realized what he was doing, he shut it down immediately.

“I’ll get a girlfriend. But not now.”

Only then did Xiao A remember Xiao B’s promising academic future. I should be stopping him from early dating, not encouraging it! What the hell was I thinking?

He decided that to accommodate Xiao B’s unpredictable moods, he’d hold off on dating too. They could both find girlfriends after Xiao B got into college. There’d be plenty of time.

A few days later, Xiao A stayed overnight at Xiao B’s place.

In the middle of the night, Xiao A woke up to strange sensations and was shocked to find Xiao B pressing his lips to his, his hand slowly moving downward from Xiao A’s stomach.

Alarmed, Xiao A grabbed Xiao B’s wrist. Not wanting to hurt his pride, he gently pushed him away and asked softly, “What the hell… are you doing?”

When Xiao B muttered the word like, Xiao A immediately lost his temper. He felt played—like a carefree guy who’d been tricked into baring his heart by some scheming bastard.

This was betrayal, plain and simple.

Furious and heartbroken, Xiao A thought: It’s over. I don’t even have “Xiao Er” anymore.

It was all a lie. I never had a “Xiao Er” to begin with.

With his last shred of rationality, Xiao A reminded himself that they were at Xiao B’s place—making a scene wouldn’t be appropriate. Then he cursed himself for even considering it. What’s the point? This is so fucking stupid.

He quickly dressed, pried Xiao B’s fingers off his shirt, and stormed out without hesitation.

Xiao B followed, sobbing uncontrollably.

Xiao A’s anger, disappointment, and heartache slowly crumbled under the sound of Xiao B’s desperate crying. As his complex emotions fell apart, all that was left was an overwhelming sadness that drained him of all strength, forcing him to slump onto a stone step.

In a daze, in the desolate midnight, he suddenly felt like… crying too.

A desolate midnight. Desperate sobs.

He remembered a similar scene from three years ago. Also midnight. Xiao A had almost died.

Back then, the sobs had been just as close, but their meaning had been different.

What’s there to forgive? What’s worth being this angry over?

Only sorrow. Sorrow that the bond he’d been willing to pay any price to maintain wasn’t as pure as he’d thought. Sorrow that what he’d treasured with all his heart had only ever been precious in his own eyes. Sorrow that the brother he’d planned to share life’s ups and downs with hadn’t seen him as a brother at all—but as something else.

Xiao B didn’t say a word. He just stood in front of Xiao A, crying helplessly, endlessly.

Why the hell aren’t you explaining yourself?

How the hell do you even have the face to cry?

You’re pulling this shit again?

I’m done! I’m… done.

Done? Then why does it feel like… something in my chest is shattering?

“What the hell are you crying for?” Xiao A snapped impatiently.

“You think you’re the victim here?” Xiao A muttered bitterly.

Plop—plop. Two tears landed on his chin, one after the other.

Fuck! This is so goddamn melodramatic! Like some cheesy novel, like a fucking Taiwanese soap opera!

They sat in silence for what felt like an hour or two.

“”I’m fucking exhausted,”” Xiao A finally said, standing up and brushing off his pants before heading straight back to Xiao B’s house. Xiao B followed quietly behind.

Not a word was spoken the whole way. Even their footsteps were silent.

Xiao B turned his back to Xiao A, carefully shifting to lie on the edge of the bed.

The distance between them: one body’s width.

Or perhaps… one light-year.

No one spoke. They slept in their clothes.

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—Bittersweet Romance (Part 2)

Edited by Xiang Lei

2002.03.09

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54

Bittersweet Romance (Part 2) ended abruptly, as if no conclusion was needed.

Across the vast expanse of time and space, there truly are no coincidences. If Xiang Lei hadn’t just experienced the anguish of having his one-sided love condemned as a betrayal of friendship, perhaps he wouldn’t have resonated so deeply with this half of Xu Menghu’s story.

Later, Xiang Lei asked him: “Do you think brotherly love is real love, but once it crosses a line, it no longer counts?”

Xu Menghu replied: “The feeling changes. It’s not pure anymore—it feels fake.”

At that moment, Xiang Lei experienced a strange illusion. In it, a part of himself was pulled away, acting out this thinly plotted story with Pei Yong, while the rest of him stood by, watching with a heavy heart. It was someone else’s story, yet it left him devastated and deeply moved. Pei Yong’s chat logs were like this; Xu Menghu’s Bittersweet Romance was like this too.

But with the passage of time, the story would eventually have nothing to do with him.

All the emotions he had experienced were likely just fleeting impressions… nothing more.

And so, naturally, Xiang Lei fell wholeheartedly in love with Xu Menghu. It was reckless, intoxicating, and filled with nervous excitement.

Let’s see, let’s see what comes next.

No matter how heartbreaking, he was willing to endure it. No matter how tangled, he was ready to bear it.

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55

After returning to the dorm, Xiang Lei received another call from Pei Yong.

The moment he heard Pei Yong’s voice, Xiang Lei felt the urge to cry again. He briefly considered that this didn’t necessarily mean he was weak or unmanly—he just never believed that men and tears had some necessary relationship. So he was used to expressing his most intense emotions this way.

Pei Yong didn’t mention a single word about their online conversation. Instead, he rambled on about trivial things, asking how Xiang Lei was settling back into school life. It was as if he was subconsciously worried that Xiang Lei might think their friendship was over, so he called to reassure him.

After hanging up, Xiang Lei felt hollow. Lost in thought, he returned to the internet café.

“Give Me a Cigarette” requested to add you as a friend.

Xiang Lei accepted, and the avatar of the guy in sunglasses soon blinked to life.

“Not mad anymore?”

“How long were you planning to keep adding me like this?”

“I don’t know. I’m going crazy.”

“I didn’t have much chance to go online while I was home.”

“I know. I got into the habit of adding you once a day. Logging into QQ just for that.”

“Do you treat all your brothers like this?”

“The others are just friends, buddies. I don’t use the word ‘brother’ lightly.”

“When do you use it?”

“When I think of him every day. When I do something for him, get scolded for it, but still want to please him anyway.”

“Do you still think you were right about the Wu Liang situation?”

“Maybe you were right. But the thought of you putting in so much effort only to get dumped by him—it drives me out of my mind.”

“Why not settle this today? If I start looking for someone else tomorrow, how would you feel?”

“I wouldn’t want you to! I’d rather you be lonely in peace than see you get hurt again.”

“What if I find someone who won’t hurt me? Why do you have to deny that possibility?”

“Then… I’d be jealous.”

“How ridiculous. Either I suffer, or you do.”

“Am I selfish? I can’t give you what you want, but I still want to be your only one.”

“You’d rather I end up like Xiao B, drowning in misery over Xiao A?”

“Xiao B wasn’t miserable! As long as he was with Xiao A, he wasn’t miserable!”

“But I’m not with Xiao A. I can only imagine what it’s like to be with you.”

“If you get a girlfriend, I’ll meet you. You can cling to me all you want.”

“Just cling?”

“If you want, you can have sexual fantasies about me anytime.”

Xiang Lei laughed dryly. He had never tried to figure out what kind of person Xu Menghu really was, yet here he was, hopelessly in love. The entire foundation of this was built on text exchanges—no eye contact, no expressions, no tone of voice, none of the elements that truly shape communication.

The childishness in Xu Menghu’s words right now was eerily similar to Liu Chong’s. Could it be that Xu Menghu was actually someone close to him hiding in the shadows? Someone who knows everything about Xiang Lei? If it really was Liu Chong, that would be easy—Xiang Lei could immediately withdraw all his feelings, treating it as just a game. As for the months of deception, he’d let it go, grateful to finally be free.

Xiang Lei hated online relationships!

“What happened to Xiao A and Xiao B in the end? Why no conclusion?”

“The ending is: Xiao B followed his mother and stepfather and moved abroad.”

At this, Xiang Lei suddenly ached for Xu Menghu.

What kind of bond was that? If it were Xiang Lei, he’d rather give up everything than choose to leave. Why? Why give up so easily and resign yourself to being worlds apart?

Xiang Lei would have preferred an ending like those in tragic gay novels—Xiao A and Xiao B ultimately facing death rather than separation. He’d have rather Xu Menghu said: The ending is, Xiao A went to heaven, leaving him alone in sorrow until he stumbled upon Xiang Lei as a replacement, demanding brotherly love while stubbornly refusing romance.

If Xiang Lei were Xiao A, this ending would feel like a betrayal of the entire story. Was this why Xu Menghu refused to provide an ending? In the end, it wasn’t perfect—in fact, it was deeply flawed.

Xiang Lei’s heart swelled with pity for Xu Menghu.

“Xiao B is in a foreign land now, unable to see Xiao A. Loving Xiao A must finally be causing him pain, right?”

“Stop. I’m logging off.”

Xu Menghu reverted to his old abrupt style, and the sunglasses avatar instantly grayed out.

Xiang Lei forgot to scold him. His pity only grew stronger.

Xu Menghu was like a child—a wounded child, a lost child, a wandering child, a willful child, and also… a child in need of protection.

Give to him, helplessly, and give more. The willful child takes it all without understanding what you’re offering.

How could he be made to understand?

Once that thing you gave him is taken far away, the distance will tear at you with pain.