He seemed off ever since the day they broke up.

Not that he regretted it or anything.

He wasn’t lying—after leaving her, he truly felt lighter.

He’d known Su Xiaoyue over six years, dated her one. Yun Mingxin wasn’t some dense anime protagonist.

Could he really miss her strangeness?

He sensed it: she saw him as a benefactor.

A giver of emotions, teaching her what feelings things should spark.

She was ill—truly devoid of emotions.

Not her fault; no one chooses such a flaw. It was innate.

Yun Mingxin considered himself selfish. He couldn’t bear this impurity tainting his lifelong dream of love.

He was a dreamer.

As they say, wild imagination often yields unexpected rewards.

Since childhood, after meeting Su Xiaoyue, he’d fantasized about becoming friends, then confidants, then best friends.

As he matured, "best friends" shifted to "lover," then "bride."

Distance and time either eroded feelings or fueled them fiercer.

Later, Su Xiaoyue became a dreamlike girl.

But together, the dream shattered.

Every tender gesture left her unmoved.

After half a year, he even nursed a despicable thought:

Confess to another girl first, gain experience, then return to Su Xiaoyue.

Unbelievable, right?

How a person could twist into such a terrifying idea.

Before that, he’d rejected Zhan Mengxi’s subtle confession.

A year later, on their anniversary, a surge of blood flooded his brain.

He proposed the breakup.

So much had happened—too much to forget.

But he wanted to forget.

He remembered sad things too long, hated that about himself.

Since childhood, he’d worried about aging, or dying young.

In short, an overthinker.

Thankfully, even long memories faded.

He’d searched online for psychologists, hoping to change.

Their answer?

"It’s your grown personality. No mental illness.

Forcing treatment would pathologize you.

That could break your psyche."

No solution.

But Yun Mingxin learned a trick: focus intensely on one thing.

Anything to stay busy—troubles lessened.

Thus, he became a famous hardcore uploader.

His novels grew hyper-detailed.

So his phone and computer stayed open near him.

"Ah."

He sighed.

Yun Mingxin hated sighing.

He’d heard a story: life is a giant tree, leaves marking remaining time.

Each sigh withered a leaf—three minutes lost.

So he stayed cheerful in everything.

Writing assertive protagonists, even serializing secretly on Bilibili—wasn’t it for the joy?

Snapping back, the sky darkened outside.

His time again.

Nights made people most sentimental.

Writers found inspiration easiest then.

Since he’d join this contest—for the figure, or to bid his past self goodbye—

he had to write this novel.

Grabbing his phone, he checked the screen.

Three missed voice calls.

All from Bai Ziyi.

Yun Mingxin was baffled—as baffled as if Master Saitama claimed he had hair.

Silent mode hid the calls earlier.

Speak of the devil—the phone rang again.

He’d never met such an impatient girl.

"Hello?"

Yun Mingxin answered.

"Um, is this Great God Xinhuo?"

"It’s me. But don’t call me ‘Great God’—it makes me so embarrassed I could dig a house into the ground."

He was speechless. Why keep calling him that?

Was he really that reliable?

He was dangerous, after all.

"Oh, okay."

Her voice was unique—soft, sweet, velvety like rich lilac blossoms.

Since connecting, she’d used a tone that lulled ears to sleep.

Phones transmit via signals, losing voice nuances normally.

But Bai Ziyi erased flaws, even enhancing it.

Rare talent, advanced skill.

Yet beautiful voices tired the listener.

"Why talk like that? Aren’t you exhausted?"

Yun Mingxin’s tone held slight annoyance.

He knew this from researching a singer heroine.

Hearing her like this made him cringe for her.

Bai Ziyi missed his disdain; she sounded happy.

Didn’t she realize he worried?

"It’s fine."

"Alright, what’s so urgent you kept calling?"

Persuasion failed—he cut to the chase, hoping to end the call so she’d rest.

"Well, I want you as the prototype for my novel’s male lead."

"Huh?"

Yun Mingxin was confused.

"Why?"

His face was handsome, but novels could craft sky-high beauty.

"Actually, I write to fulfill a wish. Someone’s been with me years—I’m willful, he’s tolerant.

He’s amazing at romance novels.

Bored once, I wrote terribly. He guided me step by step.

He spent days holding my hand, pointing out every flaw. This novel declares my feelings."

Yun Mingxin was dumbfounded.

So she had a crush already.

Someone this pretty needed to pine?

He’d just fallen for life’s three great illusions—*she likes me*.

Thank goodness he hadn’t spoken it aloud. Mortifying.

Rubbing his temples, he sighed. "Then why not ask him?"

"For certain reasons, he can’t."

"Find someone else!"

Yun Mingxin pushed back desperately.

"But... you’re the only guy I know!"

"......"