"Guyen, how did you piss off Wang Hao?" Zheng Hai stood at the dorm door with a few guys, grinning at Guyen. "Yesterday’s meeting—he called you out repeatedly. Might as well have said he’s targeting you."
"Don’t mention it. Undeserved trouble," Guyen sighed, slumped against his chair back.
"Whoa, Bro Yang, you nailed it. Wang Hao’s got such a petty heart," Zhang Ning said, hopping off his bed to join Zheng Hai.
"Hey, traitor. Long time no see."
"Li Peng, log this: Zhang Ning was ‘generating power’ in the dorm without tissues. Made a total mess."
"Bro Zheng, nonsense! Tomorrow—tomorrow at basketball, I’ll be your loyal dog," Zhang Ning joked, slinging an arm over Zheng Hai’s shoulder.
"Get off. You’re sweaty," Zheng Hai laughed, shoving him away.
"Bro Gu, rumors say you forced Lin Qingya to abort. She refused. You two cut ties on the sports field. True?" Li Peng asked, curious.
"Holy shit. No wonder everyone stared at me in the cafeteria today. It’s spread to this version?" Guyen’s mouth twitched. He finally got those classroom stares.
"Haven’t you checked WeChat Moments? Every version’s floating around," Zheng Hai cut in.
"Damn. They probably blocked me from seeing it."
"Ah! The hottest rumor: you fell for Jiang Juan, threatened Lin Qingya to break up. But she’s pregnant and won’t let go. They even used that photo—you throwing her a wet wipe," Zhang Ning added.
"Why Jiang Juan?" Guyen asked, half-amused.
"To make you switch affections? Must be prettier than Lin Qingya," Zhao Zhuoyang analyzed calmly.
"Fake. All fake. I’ve got zero ties to Lin Qingya."
"So your feud with Jiang Juan—fire and water—is fake too?" Zheng Hai pressed, gossiping.
"That part’s true. Enough. Get out. Planning to stay and ‘serve’ me tonight?" Guyen snapped.
"Only seven o’clock. Rushing to bed already?"
"You don’t get it. He’s obsessed with a streamer lately—slim waist, long legs," Zhang Ning teased.
"Oh, Guyen. Eat more eggs. Drink more milk."
"Piss off."
...
Jiang Juan’s outfit today was sweet collegiate style: a creamy green V-neck button-up over a mid-length white shirt, high-waisted white skirt, and versatile white sneakers. A cute peek of ankle socks showed above them.
"Wife’s off her game today."
"Not talking? Acting aloof?"
"Girls have those days every month. Cut her slack."
Jiang Juan was killed again by the enemy jungler in the jungle. His brows furrowed. Lips pressed into a thin line. His right hand gripped the mouse, nails deathly pale.
A wave of pain washed over him. His chest felt stuffy, sharp pain stabbing through.
"Wife, say something?"
Jiang Juan suddenly stood, tilting the camera right. Pale-faced, he ignored the stream setup. Silent, he turned to the backdrop, pulled it aside to reveal a walk-in closet, and walked out.
"What’s wrong with the streamer?"
"Wife, don’t scare me."
"What happened?"
Chat messages flooded nonstop.
"This bedroom doesn’t match Mao Mao’s vibe."
"Kinda minimalist."
"Wait—that tracksuit in the closet? Clearly a guy’s. Michael Jordan’s face printed on it."
"Is the streamer living with her boyfriend?"
Jiang Juan returned quickly, closing the backdrop. "Sorry. Not feeling well. Stream’s over. See you tomorrow."
Chat kept scrolling. The screen cut to black: streamer temporarily away.
"Stop it, Guyen. The bed can’t take it," Zhang Ning said, gaming at his desk. He felt the neighboring bed shake, stood, and rapped on Guyen’s frame.
Guyen ignored him. He stifled a cough with his hand, eyes locked on a stream replay on his phone.
"Holy shit. That’s my MJ! How’d you end up at Juan’er Mao’s bedside?"
