After a satisfying meal, Liu Qing watched TV for a while at Xiao Feng’s place before he gently but firmly ushered her out.

Xiao Feng didn’t want her around to cut into his gaming time.

If you asked him right now—games or a pretty girl—which mattered more?

Xiao Feng would pick gaming without a single hesitation.

After all, a beautiful girl was just easy on the eyes—nothing more.

But games? Totally different. In-game, you could do whatever you wanted. Just go for it! Let’s go!

Though Liu Qing didn’t want to leave so soon, Xiao Feng’s firm insistence left her no choice but to head back reluctantly.

Once she was gone, Xiao Feng tidied up the post-meal mess, fired up his computer, and dove straight into gaming.

Only then, settled at his desk, did he finally check his phone—and spotted Qin Bingbing’s message and video sent over an hour ago.

After watching her self-recorded clip, Xiao Feng felt exactly like Liu Qing had: Qin Bingbing was genuinely pure and lovely.

He’d already planned to help her, but seeing her face made him even more willing.

Cuteness and beauty naturally spark a guy’s first impression—that was just human nature.

Xiao Feng was no sage above such things. He liked cute, pretty girls—and he owned that.

“Wanna game?”

He shot Qin Bingbing a message, then geared up for a quick PUBG match.

A few minutes later, she replied:

“What game?”

Xiao Feng typed back:

“PUBG. Join?”

Inside Qin Bingbing’s room—

She read his message, replied “Okay,” then sent her in-game ID and asked him to add her.

Qin Bingbing spent most days holed up at home. She dreaded facing strangers outdoors, yet humans were wired to connect.

Gaming became her tiny pocket of fulfillment.

Deep down, she felt profoundly lonely—but she’d never confide in anyone real. Not even her father, Qin Lan.

She knew he was swamped: rarely home, and when he was, only for half a day or a few hours.

She refused to add to his worries.

Qin Lan knew his daughter was introverted and struggled with severe social anxiety. He’d taken her to top psychologists in Beijing—no improvement. If anything, she grew more withdrawn over time.

She’d even started drifting from him. He suspected it stemmed from losing her mother, but at his level, stepping back wasn’t an option. He was now a key figure steering national economic strategy. All he could do was carve out time each week to be the father she needed.

*** Section Break ***

While gaming, Xiao Feng kept gently steering conversation toward her—asking about small daily things, funny social moments—anything to keep her talking.

He genuinely wanted to help this pure, lovely girl slowly open up to real-world connection.

He knew prolonged isolation could trigger depression anytime—and once it took hold, recovery was brutally hard.

Back in high school, a classmate had died by suicide from depression. Xiao Feng knew how crushing it was: constant, haunting thoughts of escape.

He couldn’t bear the thought of Qin Bingbing suffering that way. Depression was a silent, unpredictable storm.

Qin Bingbing already liked Xiao Feng—and felt safe talking to him.

In-game chats felt virtual, easing that strange fear she usually felt around people.

Xiao Feng had sensed her innocence earlier that afternoon.

Once she relaxed, she’d lower her guard and share what weighed on her heart.

That release was exactly why he kept reaching out.

What he didn’t know? She’d never opened up like this to anyone else online.

With others, she strictly followed “silence is golden.”

She could talk to Xiao Feng because his gentle warmth reminded her of “Little Fengfeng”—the boy who once protected her.

But she knew it was just a personality echo. Xiao Feng couldn’t *be* him. Even the shared “Feng” in their names? Pure coincidence.

Truth was, she’d even forgotten Little Fengfeng’s surname. She’d always called him that—so the nickname was all that remained.

After all, nicknames stick. Real names fade. Especially after more than ten years.