The apartment Zixuan Jiang rented sat on the 17th floor of a building at the edge of Weiyaers—two bedrooms, one living room, one bathroom, one kitchen. The balcony was spacious with warm natural light, angled almost directly toward two universities. From there, you could overlook both campuses in full view.
After setting all the groceries on the living room sofa, Zixuan stepped onto the balcony. He turned toward Yuxin Shu inside, sweeping his right arm sideways. Sunlight streamed from behind him, slightly blurring his features. Yuxin couldn’t see his face clearly—but she knew he was smiling.
“My dear consort, behold! This is the empire I’ve conquered for you.”
Yuxin snatched a tube of toothpaste and hurled it at him.
He caught it deftly, grinning smugly. “So… what do you think of the place?”
“It’s okay.” Yuxin settled onto the sofa, tilting her head slightly as she scanned the space. “Feels a lot like the apartment we shared back in high school.”
The decor was simple but never dull—radiating a cozy, lived-in warmth. Like… home. And it wasn’t just poetic fluff. A house might be inanimate, yet in its own way, it holds a soul. Luxury hotel suites could be dripping in gold and silk, but you’d never feel belonging there. They weren’t built for staying. As the old saying goes: no matter how gilded other nests may be, nothing beats your own humble doghouse. To Yuxin, it was the difference between a casual fling and a wife.
Clearly, this place belonged to the latter.
Zixuan had already explained the backstory on the way over. A family used to live here, but the husband got transferred out of province for work and wouldn’t return often. After talking it over, they moved out, tidied the place up, and decided to rent it to nearby students. Not professional landlords, not desperate for cash—the owner set rent at just 2,000 yuan a month. For this layout? A steal. And since Zixuan paid a full year upfront, the owner even “rounded down,” charging only 20,000 yuan total.
Yuxin thought that “rounding” was awfully generous.
By some coincidence, the floor plan mirrored their high school rental almost exactly—only the decor differed slightly. Sitting there, Yuxin kept slipping into the illusion she was still sixteen.
Not resistance. Just nostalgia.
“Hey,” Yuxin murmured after staring blankly at the wall-mounted LCD TV, “why rent a two-bedroom? Planning to share with someone?”
Zixuan sat beside her and switched on the TV. “Nah. Just felt spacious. Seemed right.”
“So you’ll leave the other room empty?”
He smiled. “Not necessarily. Could find a roommate.”
“Ah… oh.” Yuxin pursed her lips. A faint unease stirred in her chest.
Nanhu College’s dorms ranked top-tier among Minghai City’s second-tier universities—but still, just dorms. Nothing compared to an off-campus apartment. If she could, Yuxin would’ve moved out in a heartbeat. But reality bit hard: even splitting rent, 10,000 yuan a year was pure luxury. Too much.
Just imagining her best friend laughing with some new roommate in this very space… a tiny, sharp pang of jealousy flickered.
“Hey? You listening?”
Zixuan’s voice pulled her back. “Hm?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Bathroom.” She shook her head and stood.
Not an escape tactic—she’d genuinely chugged five bottles of lemon Vitamin Tea at lunch. Zixuan had joked she was full of liquid, not food.
She closed the bathroom door behind her, leaned against it, and let out a slow breath.
Weird. He was her best friend. Him making new friends later? None of her business. Yet… discomfort lingered. Like someone was stealing her treasure.
Possessiveness between close friends? Universal. Only the expression differed.
Yuxin almost laughed at herself.
*What’s with this sentimental crap? Acting all girly.*
The urge grew urgent. With a soft sigh, she undid her pants, sliding them to her knees in seconds. Only the large band-aid remained. Without hesitation, her fingers pinched its edge.
In the living room, the TV played Zixuan’s unfinished drama—but his mind was elsewhere.
He wasn’t emotionally dense. After four years, he could read Yuxin’s moods like open text. This co-renting thing? She wasn’t the only one tangled up.
The perfect roommate candidate was literally in his bathroom: his best friend, now undeniably stunning. Only an idiot would say no.
But he knew her situation. Five thousand yuan? Probably out of reach. Truth was, Zixuan came from money—a genuine rich second gen who’d never want for anything. Ten thousand meant nothing to him. Yet money couldn’t fix everything. Covering the full 20,000? Even if she stayed quiet, time might sour their friendship. That wouldn’t be co-renting. It’d feel like keeping her.
So he searched for a way to make her stay feel earned. Natural.
Just as a solution flickered in his mind—a choked, distorted scream tore from the bathroom.
“AAAHHH—!”
Zixuan’s face paled. He bolted toward the door. “Yuxin?! What happened?!”
Silence. He twisted the knob, then pounded urgently. “Yuxin?! Talk to me! What’s wrong?!”
No answer.
Panic tightened his throat. “Yuxin! I’m counting to three! No answer—I’m breaking it down!”
“Three!”
“Wait! Wow!” Her voice burst through, oddly lively. “Don’t break it! I’m fine!”
His racing heart eased. “Then what was that scream?”
“I… said I’m fine! Go away! Leave me alone!” she yelled.
He hesitated, then stepped back slowly. “Okay, okay. I’m in the living room. Call if you need anything.”
“I said I’m fine…”
Two seconds of quiet. Then—another blood-curdling shriek.
“AAAAHHH—! WAH-YAH-EEE—! … AAAHHH—!”
Zixuan stood frozen, his expression shifting faster than a Peking opera face-change act.
*Thank god this building’s soundproofed,* he thought. *Or the cops would’ve tackled me by now.*
