Chapter 38

When Shen Li saw those two lines of text from Qian Xingzhi, his first reaction was bewilderment.

In the next instant, a flood of memories flashed through Shen Li’s mind.

Back when Qian Xingzhi was still a high school sophomore, he had already dabbled in tarot cards once before.

In those days, such things weren’t common. It was Qian Xingzhi’s cousin—a PhD student studying physics in the States—who had brought a deck of tarot cards home for the New Year holidays. She chattered on about how the end of science was metaphysics and secretly slipped him the deck along with a divination guidebook.

At the time, Qian Xingzhi hated studying but loved playing with everything else.

Afraid his parents would find out, he smuggled the deck straight to his school dorm.

One day he’d divine whether the cafeteria would serve braised pork; the next, whether math class would eat up gym period; the day after that, whether he’d pass the monthly exams…

Anything could be divined—even what color high heels his English teacher would wear.

Thanks to his surprisingly high accuracy rate, Qian Xingzhi became something of a big shot among his pack of rowdy friends, always the center of attention and full of youthful exuberance.

Until…

“—Shen Li.”

“Hm?”

“The tarot says you like me.”

Shen Li looked at him expressionlessly and let out a cold snort. “Oh? What else did it say?”

Qian Xingzhi’s eyes sparkled brightly. His fuzzy head suddenly leaned in close, his high-bridged nose bumping clumsily against Shen Li’s ear. The outgoing boy’s voice tightened with nerves as he whispered right by Shen Li’s ear, word by word:

“It also said that a year from now, you’ll definitely start dating me.”

Shen Li finally closed his eyes for a moment. “Did the tarot also say you’re about to get beat up?”

Qian Xingzhi: ?

…

Even now, twenty years later, Qian Xingzhi probably still had no idea who had snitched on him. Old Ban had stormed into the dorm in a rage, yanked a deck of tarot cards from under his pillowcase, and the next day, Qian Xingzhi’s parents were called in.

After that, Old Ban ruthlessly confiscated the deck and used it to prop up the wobbly leg of the ideology office’s desk for the whole school.

He called it an act of enlightenment: the faint glow of idealism could never match even a single brick or tile at the threshold of materialism.

Later on, Qian Xingzhi had to copy out an entire semester’s worth of materialist concepts:

1. Matter determines consciousness;

2. The origin of the world is matter;

3. In terms of epistemological validity, idealist systems cannot construct an explanatory framework comparable to materialist methodology—must strictly guard against infiltration by Western occultism!

To Shen Li’s delight, he never saw the man touch those Western divinatory arts again.

…Until now.

He’d switched systems.

For someone like Shen Li, who always kept his feet firmly on the ground and wove every thread of evidence into a solid chain of proof, people around him messing with these hazy, unverifiable things had never sat well.

For instance, a few years back, there was a case that stuck deeply in Shen Li’s memory. It had been reported as a homicide disguised as suicide: the victim’s parents thought their heartbroken daughter had died at her lover’s hands. But after exhaustive investigation, it turned out the young body curled in the center of that occult array had indeed sacrificed itself to some delusion called “love,” leaving her parents sobbing outside the autopsy room until their backs nearly broke.

The pain cut the loved ones deepest, while enemies gloated.

It was heartbreaking.

So Shen Li’s expression grew grave as he stared at those two lines on the screen. His knuckles hovered above the keyboard, unwilling to type, and his worry for Qian Xingzhi’s mental state deepened.

Qian Xingzhi’s past psychological issues…

Were they truly resolved, or not?

Shen Li had planned to wait for a better moment, but now it seemed…

He needed to have a thorough talk with Qian Xingzhi as soon as possible.

But with the cameras rolling…

It clearly wasn’t the right time.

Some private matters about his condition and sensitive topics weren’t suitable for the cabin’s chat interface—or for public discussion where viewers could overhear. Some things needed to be said face-to-face.

…

After a long pause, Shen Li messaged him to confirm.

[Shen Li]: [Have you been studying metaphysics again these years?]

[Qian Xingzhi]: [Sort of. In our circle, when folks have no work, a lot of them mess around with divination.]

[Shen Li]: [.]

[Qian Xingzhi]: [What’s up?]

[Shen Li]: [Change your avatar first.]

Ten seconds later.

Qian Xingzhi’s pitch-black avatar switched to the exact same big shaggy dog as his WeChat one.

Shen Li let out a small breath of relief and sent another message:

[Shen Li]: [Share a room tonight. I have things to ask you.]

Three seconds.

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

Shen Li was just starting to think Qian Xingzhi might refuse and was about to say he’d find someone else when Qian Xingzhi replied:

[Qian Xingzhi]: [Sure [head tilt]]

In front of his screen, Qian Xingzhi really did tilt his head, his long fingers swiping across it. He never could’ve predicted such a good turn.

He’d nearly finished the ledger—just 10% left—and had zero patience to continue.

So Qian Xingzhi snapped the ledger shut and glanced at the IV bag, now at ninety percent. He discreetly sped up the drip rate and was about to pull back when.

A moment later, someone lightly knocked on the open car door twice.

Assistant Xu’s high heels clicked-clacked as she approached from outside the medical van and stopped just beyond the camera’s view.

Looking at the stern-faced Qian Xingzhi, Assistant Xu felt a mix of amusement and exasperation—she’d worked for the boss for seven and a half years and knew exactly what kind of person he was.

“…Ahem, boss?” Assistant Xu said tactfully. “The program group wants to remind you that your messages and chats in the system might be accessed later. If you’re sending anything, it could end up in the bloopers.”

Her words were artfully put, really just a nudge to watch his personal privacy.

But Qian Xingzhi shot her a cold sidelong glance, turned his head indifferently, exposing the elegant line of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed. With decisive force, he said:

“Don’t send it. Might count as harmful content. I don’t want the authorities calling me in for tea.”

Qian Xingzhi meant “feudal superstition,” but modern netizens lumped anything they couldn’t see straight into…

Porn.

[These two bros are wild—daytime phoenix play and dirty talk?]

[In my mind, Shen Li’s this gorgeous, upright, quiet ice beauty [panther cat cries]]

[In my mind, Qian Xingzhi’s still that sexually cold iceberg, okay?!]

[Aaaah, what did they even send? Can’t see and it’s killing me [crash]]

[Wait for my loan to come through, I’ll buy the program group.]

[Forget it, I’m out. Afraid they’ll turn my phone into a condom.]

[But I heard Qian Xingzhi’s a three-minute man—what can he even do, just talk smack?]

[That dirt’s ancient lol. Back then, all those vicious sex rumors were hyped by the wcc side—malicious competition is shameful!]

[Face-con peeps are so naive. No smoke without fire. Hot guys usually ain’t all that.]

[0 secs to guess your gender, 0 secs to guess how ugly you are upstairs.]

[Holy shit, I’m done aaaah—Yang Zhiqi’s ugly mug on screen 7 popped up outta nowhere, scared the hell outta me, worse than a horror flick.]

[Why you looking at screen 7 for no reason? Serves you right!]

[Shen Catcat was fixing the fence and poof, gone. QAQ Now I’m screen-hopping like mad to find him QAQ]

[Whoa, Shen Catcat playing hide-and-seek, so cute. Sniff sniff pretty Little Li.]

[Quit searching—follow Qian Dog’s feed instead. He’s done with the IV!!!]

–

When Shen Li rose from his squat, his entire right leg ached to the point of numbness. After some awkward adjustments, he finally steadied himself and let out a soft breath.

It took a while longer to recover.

Shen Li gathered the weeds he’d pulled, stuffed them all into a large black plastic bag, and crammed that into his backpack. He planned to dump the “grass bundle” later when he passed the barren hill. He’d already mostly cleaned up the traces on the ground.

So as Shen Li tidied the site and sorted his thoughts, just as he was about to zip up the bag full of grass, he heard the distant fence gate creak. Urgent footsteps grew louder and approached.

Shen Li swiftly kicked the “suspicious bundle” to a less obvious spot on the ground, bent down to work on the half-finished fence, and gradually stepped into frame—every bit the unflappable seasoned adult.

Even when Qian Xingzhi called his name, Shen Li just responded once and kept at his task without meeting Qian Xingzhi’s eyes.

But the next second!

Shen Li felt his body suddenly lighten!

Someone’s arms circled him from behind, tightening abruptly—

Half-supporting, half-hugging, using a shoulder to lift him from the rear so his right leg bore no weight.

Shen Li’s whole body tensed in an instant! He instinctively turned to look at Qian Xingzhi—

Qian Xingzhi’s thin lips pressed tight, brows furrowed. His strikingly handsome face hovered close, his somewhat darkened gaze scrutinizing Shen Li’s right leg. After a moment, his cold-ridden husky voice said:

“I’ll handle it. You rest a bit.”

Shen Li’s brows snapped together as Qian Xingzhi’s chest pressed abruptly too close. An overwhelming strength seized him, practically scooping him off the ground and half-carrying him toward a rickety chair.

Shen Li’s vision nearly blacked out, a flush of discomfort rising to his pale cheeks—the position of being held from behind was far too familiar, far too humiliating. Like a startled cat, he instinctively resisted.

Off-camera, Shen Li dreaded losing control even more and didn’t want a fight to erupt, so he bit back his reaction, lips pressing into a straight line, jaw clenching as he gripped Qian Xingzhi’s arm hard.

Fortunately, the next second, Qian Xingzhi set him down steadily by the chair.

Shen Li’s chest heaved dramatically. He turned his face away, avoiding Qian Xingzhi’s eyes, his pallid features strikingly beautiful even in a scowl as he sat.

Ten minutes later.

[Holy crap, wtf are they doing aaaah I’m losing it]

[Qian Xingzhi’s being kinda overbearing haha—Little Li’s got more temper than I thought. Pouting after getting scooped up without asking! So cute, who knew two icebergs had this ship dynamic?!]

Seeing Qian Xingzhi move with surprising efficiency, finishing over half the remaining work without any guidance or help, Shen Li slowly rose from the chair. His throat bobbed at last, and he called to Qian Xingzhi’s busy back:

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Oh, alright.”

Qian Xingzhi stood up as well. He patted the dirt from his hands a couple of times, then cast a cold, critical glance over the section of fence he’d repaired. It was noticeably different from the part Shen Li had fixed. With that, he turned on his heel and hurried after Shen Li’s retreating figure.

“…What are you doing?”

“I’m coming too.”

In a few quick steps, Qian Xingzhi drew ahead of Shen Li.

Shen Li glanced back at the cameraman, who hadn’t followed them. Then he lifted his gaze to Qian Xingzhi’s familiar back.

The words he’d held back in front of the camera finally had their moment.

“…Xingzhi.”

Qian Xingzhi’s body went rigid in an instant. His entire spine tensed up on reflex.

His footsteps halted, and he took half a step closer to Shen Li.

“Are your legs hurting?”

The next moment, Shen Li’s calm gaze swept in an arc to the grass beside them.

“No, they’re not.”

“Then—”

“—don’t suddenly hug me in front of the camera.” A trace of chill entered Shen Li’s downcast eyes, his gaze darkening as he spelled it out more plainly, though his voice grew even gentler. “I know you’re worried it’s inconvenient for me, but I don’t like it much.”

Qian Xingzhi’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

Shen Li calmly added the rest. “…But that doesn’t mean I dislike you.”