Jiang Juan irritably tugged at the lace ribbon around his neck. He sat back on his gaming chair, pulled a sheet of white paper from a nearby drawer, and gripped a pen in his right hand. Frowning in thought for a moment, he impatiently tossed the pen aside.

No progress at all. Tomorrow couldn’t be like this. If the danmu appeared again, he’d risk exposure to extract information from them. Jiang Juan’s mind settled. He yanked off his wig and threw it onto the bed, then headed to the bathroom.

He peeled off the women’s clothes piece by piece, tossing them into the laundry basket. Naked, he stood under the showerhead. Eyes closed, he tilted his head up as cool water washed away his inner restlessness. His damp bangs clung like seaweed.

“Hiss.” Jiang Juan’s plain brows suddenly knotted. He clutched his chest, curling like a shrimp from the sharp pain.

“Huh… huh.” The agony lasted a minute. Barely standing, he slumped against the bathroom wall, slowly exhaling.

He turned off the shower. His already pale face was bloodless now, wet with a mix of water and cold sweat. The chest pain faded to a dull ache, but a tingling numbness spread from his bones—back, shoulders, hips—like endless needle pricks washing over him in waves.

Leaning against the wall for ten minutes, he finally opened his lake-blue eyes. The pain lingered, but he forced himself to endure it.

“Too much late-night gaming? I’ll visit the school clinic tomorrow,” he muttered. Drying off, he walked naked to the walk-in closet and changed into clean men’s clothes.

Grabbing a mug from his desk, he left the room. Moments later, he returned with instant coffee. Lips tight, he sat at his desk, pulled out textbooks, and began studying. Unlike usual, he paused often—frowning deeply, sipping coffee—before continuing.

…

Guyen stepped out of a black sedan, a straw dangling from his mouth, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Good mutts don’t block the road,” Zhang Ning called from inside the car.

“Loser. Barking again?” Guyen raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Hey, Zheng Hai’s team held me back!”

“Please. At your 1.75m height? I’d lend you stilts to reach my ball.”

“Bro Gu’s right,” said a round-faced girl with deer-like eyes and baby-fat cheeks, stepping from the front seat.

Zhang Ning climbed out, glancing back. “Yo, Zhuoyang, control your sister. Adults talking—kids shouldn’t butt in.”

“Only two years older. Drop the act,” Zhao Zhuoyu shot back, arms crossed.

“Admit it—you’re just eye-candy hunting. Real men? Look past the face,” Zhang Ning adjusted his collar. “Like me. Depth matters.”

“I’m a face lover. Bro Gu’s looks make me eat extra rice,” Zhuoyu retorted.

“Zhuoyang, your sister’s been sharp since childhood,” Guyen teased.

“You three should join a crosstalk act,” Zhao Zhuoyang shrugged, exiting the car.

Earlier, Guyen’s trio had met at the Zhao house. Bags dumped, they battled on the court till noon. Zhang Ning treated them to hot pot at Vitality City, then Zhao’s dad drove them back to school.

“You four, quit clowning. Stay safe on campus,” said Zhao’s father—a lawyer in his forties, gold-rimmed glasses glinting.

“Got it, Dad,” Zhuoyu chirped.

“Mm.”

“Later, Uncle Zhao!”

“Bye, Uncle Zhao!” Guyen, Zhang Ning, and Zhuoyang had known each other since Jiayuan Elementary. Their parents were close, so formality never stuck.

“Ugh, perfect holidays end too fast.”

“Stop whining. Back to dorms—let’s queue for PUBG.” Guyen tossed his straw into a bin.

“Bro Gu, squad me!”

“We three. No rookies.”

“Bro! Zhang Ning’s bullying me!”

“Quit yanking my backpack—it’ll snap!”

Bright sunlight bathed their faces. Carefree. Pure youth.