Xiao An seemed to have caught a cold since the night he got drunk, and he’d been in a daze ever since.
By Friday, when he couldn’t bear the fever anymore, he went to the hospital, with He Xinyang tagging along.
Unlike most universities, the medical school didn’t have a dedicated campus clinic. Instead, the affiliated hospital was conveniently located just across the street.
The hospital had been renovated in recent years, boasting modern infrastructure and a sprawling campus. It was the go-to place for students seeking treatment.
With the seasonal shift, the emergency room was crowded with students suffering from colds and fevers. A small line had formed at the registration window.
“Oh, even doctors get colds,” He Xinyang remarked, holding their number as they sat in the corridor.
“Aren’t doctors human?” Xiao An replied, his voice muffled by the mask covering his flushed, feverish face.
Still new to campus life, He Xinyang had a naive perception of medical professionals, believing they were immune to sickness due to their knowledge and training.
The two sat side by side—Xiao An resting his eyes while occasionally checking his temperature, and He Xinyang absorbed in a mobile game.
When Xiao An’s number was called, He Xinyang was surprised. “So quick? Must be because everyone has the same cold; the diagnosis goes faster.”
Xiao An ignored the comment, taking his medical record book and heading to the clinic.
Inside, the doctor smiled at him. “Oh, Xiao An is sick too.”
Though the doctor wasn’t one of Xiao An’s professors, his face was familiar, as many faculty members worked shifts at the hospital.
The professor turned to the doctor at the next desk, explaining, “This is Xiao Guangming’s grandson. His family owns Brown General Hospital. His brother is at Harvard Med doing a master’s. They’re a true medical dynasty.”
The other doctor, busy with a throat scan, commented casually, “Then why’s he even here?”
Xiao An, used to such remarks, remained silent as he sat down.
Meanwhile, He Xinyang, overhearing the conversation, nudged Xiao An lightly, looking awkward on his behalf.
“What are your symptoms?” The professor asked with a knowing smile.
“Cold and fever,” Xiao An replied, handing over his thermometer.
“It’s not serious,” the professor said, jotting a few notes. “Why don’t you diagnose yourself? Decide if you need an injection and write the prescription.”
“Ah?” He Xinyang’s jaw dropped.
Unbothered, Xiao An took the pen and began writing in the medical record. Having spent his childhood in hospitals, he had picked up more than enough to handle such tasks. His family, strict as they were, had insisted on it.
The professor reviewed Xiao An’s notes and nodded approvingly before finishing up with a prescription. “Not bad. You’re ready to be a doctor.”
Feeling like a kid playing make-believe, Xiao An took the prescription without comment and headed to the injection department.
—
By Friday night, almost all the mentors and apprentices participating in the V-site’s “mutual help” activity were eagerly waiting for the announcement of the first assessment task.
The competition, hosted by the website, gave participants one week to prepare a video to be uploaded the following Friday.
While spontaneous contests between creators had happened before, this was the first official event organized by the platform. Speculation on the forums was wild. Given the site’s eccentric tendencies, the task was expected to be quirky or outright strange.
He Yuan, however, wasn’t glued to the updates. He was buried in mid-term homework, working on a residential planning project. Even though there weren’t any exams, every subject required heavy assignments that left no room for slacking.
At 8:30 p.m., he saved his progress and logged into his social apps to relax.
As expected, the Big White Goose was ranting loudly in the chat.
Big White Goose: Grass…!!
Big White Goose: Does the website discriminate against singles???
Big White Goose: I give up. You take the recommended spot. [Flips table.jpg]
Curious, He Yuan opened the screenshot the Big White Goose had sent.
The image showed the details of the food competition announced by the website.
The website had a variety of prompts for the competition. He Yuan glanced at them and saw examples like: “Ten-fold tonic soup,” “Ugly but delicious food,” “Three-minute meal,” “Let the picky eater eat the food made by grandpa,” “A meal for the ex,” and “A midnight snack that will get you beaten up by parents if they find out.”
At first glance, the questions seemed eccentric, but upon closer examination, the website’s intention was clear: they were encouraging creators to be bold and innovative.
Food videos weren’t just about cooking—they could carry stories within them. Audiences might not only be drawn to the delicious food but could also resonate with the emotions and narratives behind each dish.
Scrolling further, He Yuan noticed a list of participating creators. The Big White Goose had helpfully circled some key names for him:
“What Is Xixizi Eating Today” versus “Ye Miao Eating Alone”. The competition theme? Lunchboxes for an outing with your partner.
He Yuan let out a small sigh of relief—this topic wasn’t too outlandish.
Big White Goose: Ye Miao just told me she knows your apprentice.
Big White Goose: How about the four of us form a group to discuss how to outshine the competition?
Big White Goose: I’ll make the group; you add Xixizi.
He Yuan was taken aback. He hadn’t expected everyone to be connected.
He privately messaged Xixizi, waited over ten minutes with no reply, and then simply added him to the group chat himself.
Big White Goose: Is everyone here?
Wall: He doesn’t seem to be.
Ye Miao Eating Alone: I told you there was no need to make a group.
Ye Miao Eating Alone: He’s probably embarrassed.
Big White Goose: …Embarrassed about what? [Suddenly felt pressure.jpg]
Ye Miao Eating Alone: Nothing. Just that Brother Xi and I had an online romance and even met once.
Big White Goose: ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
He Yuan was equally baffled. His first reaction was to question whether his previous assumption—that Xixizi was gay—was wrong.
But Xixizi had a girlfriend. Even if it was an online relationship, they’d met in person.
Ye Miao Eating Alone: It’s been two years since we broke up. Let’s just draw lots and “reward the ex with a meal.” [Smile]
Ye Miao Eating Alone: @What Is Xixizi Eating Today? If you feel embarrassed, just give me the recommendation position.
Ye Miao Eating Alone: Or else I’ll send everyone ugly photos from our face-to-face meeting.
Xixizi didn’t respond. She probably wasn’t there.
Meanwhile, the two mentors—Big White Goose and He Yuan—were left completely confused and simultaneously shuddering.
Online dating is risky. Be cautious when meeting in person.
===
… Besides, the person had been missing for so many days, and He Yuan couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him. Clicking on the video, it automatically started playing, the style consistent as ever—text overlayed on video with relaxing background music.
He Yuan scrolled down to the comment section. Since the video had just been uploaded, there weren’t many comments yet.
The first hot comment read: “I’m crazy, the uploader’s voice is so good!!!” [Marmot scream.jpg]
Comment 1: The voice is so good! Why didn’t you speak up earlier? I always thought the uploader’s Mandarin was plastic and never dared to speak QAQ
Comment 2: 555 Why did I start this in the middle of the night? Now I’m stuck replaying that part ten or twenty times [covering mouth and crying.jpg]
Comment 3: Although I’m guessing it was an editing error, I really hope the uploader considers changing their recording method. They’d definitely gain way more fans! [Come on with a fist.jpg]
Comment 4: Am I the only one who thinks the lines are awful? [Slanting smile.jpg]
The progress bar hadn’t yet reached the part referenced in the comments when the dormitory’s internet disconnected. Along with it, the lights went out automatically.
He Yuan shut off his computer and climbed into bed with his phone. Still curious, he logged into the V site using his mobile data, clicked on the video again, and put on his headphones. Using the timestamps from the comment section, he slowly dragged the progress bar backward.
A few days ago, he had sent Xixizi several video editing tutorials. Each time, the other had responded, “Okay, brother, I’ll definitely learn it well,” adding an excited little yellow bird emoji afterward.
But judging by how choppy this video was, it was clear Xixizi hadn’t learned anything. Internet scammer.
The video was only five minutes long. There was a soundtrack that wasn’t edited properly, with background music that didn’t cover everything. Even the recording noise hadn’t been removed, leaving bits of random muttering while cooking.
Xixizi’s voice in the video had a heavy nasal tone, as if he had a cold—or had just been crying. The voice felt oddly familiar. Listening through headphones, it had a magnetic quality that stirred the ears and made one’s heart burn.
The boy sniffled, then spoke in a low, hoarse voice:
“…I’m so tired. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Just seven words, so short it didn’t even last a second.
He Yuan rewound the video and listened to the sentence again.
It felt strangely pitiful, yet also quite amusing.
He Yuan kept dragging the progress bar back and forth, unable to figure out why the voice sounded familiar, but a thought gradually emerged—
He felt that, if Xixizi was willing, he could try opening a microphone and becoming a host.
