Xuye Cheng froze slightly, inexplicably sensing a familiar note in that voice. He glanced at the nearby bench where a woman sat hunched over, her head resting on her knees. Her slightly wavy long hair spilled onto her lap as soft sobs escaped her lips.
That silhouette was unmistakable. Xuye Cheng recognized her instantly—Ji Qingying.
Shock washed over him. Wasn’t she supposed to be singing with Zheng Wenxuan and the others?
He heard Ji Qingying sniffle, her voice hoarse and low.
A pang of pity struck him. Was He Xiaohan the reason for her tears?
Xuye Cheng hesitated, wondering whether to comfort her. But between them… they were strangers now.
He stood rooted, unable to just walk away.
Ji Qingying lifted her head a fraction. Xuye Cheng watched her wipe her tears, the image of her red-rimmed, tear-streaked eyes flashing in his mind.
He took a deep breath and exhaled. The next second, Ji Qingying looked up, her swollen eyes locking onto him. Xuye Cheng’s expression turned awkward instantly.
He instinctively turned to leave but froze at her call.
“Yecheng…”
Her raspy, tender voice made his resolve waver. He stopped.
Nervousness prickled through him. Hearing his name unleashed a torrent of tangled words he’d held back for so long.
He turned back. Tears streamed down Ji Qingying’s face, softening his heart further.
“What’s wrong?” Xuye Cheng hesitated, then asked.
That month with Ji Qingying was a memory he couldn’t let go.
Perhaps it was the routine—the days filled with purpose, not idleness—that he missed.
“Can you… stay with me for just a little while?” Ji Qingying pleaded, her voice thick with tears.
Xuye Cheng frowned, clearly torn.
Still, he walked over and sat beside her.
He knew if he left, he’d call himself heartless later in the dorm.
He couldn’t ignore her completely.
“What happened…” Xuye Cheng said, rubbing his temples.
As he sat down, Ji Qingying looked up at him, her eyes reddening again.
“Xuye Cheng, I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Xuye Cheng stiffened, surprised by her words.
A wave of bitterness surged inside him. He had so many questions—
Why had she jumped straight to He Xiaohan after their breakup?
But seeing her like this, he couldn’t voice them.
“I’m sorry…” Ji Qingying repeated.
Xuye Cheng felt puzzled.
“No need to apologize,” he said gently, though bitterness lingered. “What’s wrong? Weren’t you with them?”
Ji Qingying took a shaky breath, fighting to calm down. Xuye Cheng’s gaze lingered on her tear-streaked face, softening his heart again.
“He Xiaohan broke up with me,” Ji Qingying murmured.
Xuye Cheng sighed helplessly. After a long silence, he finally spoke.
“Why get involved with him at all?”
“I…” Ji Qingying wiped her tears, her expression dimming. “I acted on impulse and said yes.”
Her eyes darted away as she spoke.
Xuye Cheng stiffened. So He Xiaohan had made the first move…
“And then? What did he say just now? Did he dump you outright?” Xuye Cheng’s chest tightened, anger and hurt clogging his throat.
Ji Qingying hadn’t really done anything wrong.
He reminded himself she’d only started with He Xiaohan after their split.
“…Yeah,” Ji Qingying replied hesitantly. “Don’t mention that scumbag. Yecheng, thank you. Really.”
So he used her and tossed her aside?
The thought pressed down on Xuye Cheng, suffocating him.
Did He Xiaohan not care about Ji Qingying at all?
Fury flared in his chest.
“He never liked you,” Xuye Cheng said wearily.
Ji Qingying froze. Her eyes snapped to his face, swirling with complex emotions.
…
He Xiaohan pushed the door open. Zheng Wenxuan leaned sideways but saw no one behind him.
“Where’s Qingying?” Zheng Wenxuan asked, bewildered.
“She’s upset,” He Xiaohan said with a hint of resignation. “Just a tantrum. She’ll calm down.”
Zheng Wenxuan had been worried, but He Xiaohan’s confidence eased his mind.
“Don’t mess this up, Bro He. She’s the department’s belle,” Zheng Wenxuan clapped his shoulder. “Miss this chance, and it’s gone forever.”
He Xiaohan lit a cigarette, his expression oddly relieved. “Thanks for the advice, Brother Zheng.”
“Come on, song time! Bro He, grant my tiny birthday wish—sing one for me.” Zheng Wenxuan raised an eyebrow, handing him the mic.
The crowd immediately cheered, “Yeah! Sing, God He! Do it!”
He Xiaohan winced.
“I can’t sing,” he shrugged, smoke curling from the cigarette between his slender fingers.
Liu Xianlin chimed in, “Stop pretending. You have to sing—you can’t ruin the mood.”
A flicker of disgust crossed He Xiaohan’s eyes, but he smiled politely. “Alright, I’ll embarrass myself for you all.”
Liu Xianlin was already at the song selector. “What’ll you sing?”
He Xiaohan chose “Ten Years.” The melody flowed, tender and lingering, but his gaze stayed hollow.
“Ten years ago, I didn’t know you; you didn’t belong to me. We walked beside strangers down streets growing familiar.”
“Ten years later, we’re friends who still greet each other. But that tenderness? No reason left to hold me close. Lovers always end as friends.”
Applause erupted when he finished. He Xiaohan gave a wry smile, sat beside Zheng Wenxuan, and passed back the mic.
“Not bad!” Liu Xianlin said.
He Xiaohan shook his head. “Just didn’t go off-key.”
Zheng Wenxuan silently agreed.
He Xiaohan was honest—singing wasn’t his strength.
He’d barely stayed on pitch, stiff but passable. Yet Zheng Wenxuan thought his love life was far more dramatic.
