Chapter 27: Reputation Damage

Ji Zhi’s attention was fixed on the phone screen in front of him. He froze for two seconds before snapping back to reality.

His pupils contracted sharply, and he snatched the phone back. “No need. I was just sending a message…”

What a joke. The WeChat contacts for his Top Fan on one platform and his Top Fan on another were still tied to this account. What if Fu Huixu saw them?

Wouldn’t that expose all his streaming on other platforms?

Fu Huixu’s calm words from moments ago still echoed in his ears. At that instant, Ji Zhi felt a soul-scattering terror, as if annihilation loomed in the next second.

To keep Fu Huixu from grabbing the phone again, Ji Zhi struck first. “I only used it earlier to message the guild about taking leave. But I’m streaming normally today—no leave needed. I just wanted to check if they’d sent any event notices. Nothing there.”

“I still need this phone for streaming…”

Ji Zhi hadn’t expected Fu Huixu to monitor his every move so closely. The man had even noticed him switching to his alt WeChat account. Clearly, he couldn’t send messages with Fu Huixu right there.

Better to wait until Fu Huixu left.

With that in mind, Ji Zhi glanced at him. “I’m about to go live. You…”

He remembered Fu Huixu saying he could wait downstairs during streams.

But Fu Huixu nitpicked the wording. “Baby, you haven’t changed clothes yet. How are you going to start streaming?”

Ji Zhi hesitated. “…Have I not?”

He only vaguely recalled Fu Huixu’s words, not the exact details. Right now, though, he just wanted to hurry Fu Huixu along. So he quickly got ready for the stream.

Ji Zhi dragged a special box of female outfits from under his bed. All the skirts he used for streaming were inside, along with plenty he hadn’t worn yet.

He quickly picked out his look for the day.

Fu Huixu soon noticed something. “Baby, you don’t need glasses for distance, yet you wear them. Was that to hide your identity from the start?”

Ji Zhi finally had a chance to clear up a misunderstanding. He declared righteously, “No, I’ve worn them since I was little. I’m used to it now—mainly because they’re so convenient…”

At first, it was because girls he liked in elementary school said they preferred boys who wore glasses. In his innocent crush, Ji Zhi had gotten a pair and worn them every day to show off in front of them. He didn’t realize until graduation that she liked him wearing the glasses—not boys with glasses in general.

Later, after his parents passed away, he wore them to hide his swollen, red eyes from classmates.

Even later, he discovered that with glasses on during class, he could sneak a nap without the teacher noticing. Their high school was strict; getting caught sleeping meant a demerit notice. But Ji Zhi’s glasses had saved him every time, much to the envy of classmates like Chen Xingwen, who kept getting dinged.

Ji Zhi had planned to ditch the glasses in college, but then he worried about being recognized from his streams across different platforms. So he kept wearing them as a disguise. Who knew those three would spot through it anyway?

Sighing inwardly at the thought, Ji Zhi slipped on a wig and did his simple makeup—just enough to make his already androgynous features lean more feminine.

He’d put real effort into learning it for a while, and with daily streams over summer vacation, practice had made him perfect. A few minutes, and he was done.

Fu Huixu watched Ji Zhi’s focused expression. On one hand, he chose to believe the explanation and didn’t press further. On the other, Ji Zhi was about to change clothes.

This time, Ji Zhi worked hard to treat Fu Huixu like he was invisible, hypnotizing himself that he’d changed in front of other guys before.

Fu Huixu was just another guy. A skirt was just clothes. No real difference!

The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Calmly, he shook out the skirt in his hands.

Fu Huixu’s wary gaze had already settled on Ji Zhi’s choice of outfit.

It did seem like he’d meant what he said before—the short skirt had been an experiment. This time, it was a knee-length mermaid skirt.

Ji Zhi swiftly stripped off his sleepwear and began changing into the mermaid skirt.

From Fu Huixu’s angle, he could see Ji Zhi’s jet-black hair cascade like a waterfall over his smooth, jade-like back. The silver-gray mermaid skirt clung to his hips and curved downward, but the back plunged open—a complex web of ties dangling loose.

Ji Zhi had bought it because it was cheap and stream-friendly. He hadn’t realized the ties were so intricate. But it was bought now; not wearing it would be a waste.

He knew they were tricky but figured he could just use the mirror to tie them up.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when Fu Huixu was suddenly at his side. The tall figure easily enveloped him.

Ji Zhi’s heart jolted. Fortunately, Fu Huixu did nothing else—he simply took hold of the tangled waist ties.

Ji Zhi couldn’t see behind him, only feel the ties starting from his tailbone and climbing upward. Slender silver ribbons wove through the valleys of his spine.

As fingertips brushed the silk, it whispered against his skin with a soft rustle—more intimate than breathing, amplified endlessly in the quiet room.

Ji Zhi found the sound oddly ambiguous. He considered breaking the tension with small talk, but Fu Huixu had already let go.

A mirror check showed the ties secured tightly, revealing only a hint of pale skin.

Ji Zhi blinked. “…”

Strange. Could they really be tied like that?

And was this how they were supposed to be worn? It looked so different from what he’d seen on others…

He didn’t love high skin exposure anyway. After a quick once-over to confirm it was fine, he turned to Fu Huixu with eager eyes. “Time to stream!”

But Fu Huixu didn’t respond right away as he usually would.

His gaze lingered on the small of Ji Zhi’s back.

This was the first time Ji Zhi had worn something so backless. While tying the ribbons earlier, Fu Huixu had noticed the two shallow dimples at his waist.

His fingertips had grazed them lightly. Ji Zhi had twitched in awareness but seemed to chalk it up to an accidental brush, relaxing soon after.

Fu Huixu’s eyes followed the ribbons’ path along his long fingers—how they bit into the slight ridges of Ji Zhi’s shoulder blades, finally halting below his butterfly bones in neat, intricate knots. In the rare gaps, the distinct bumps of his spine peeked through, like pearls hidden behind a veil.

It was the most exquisite instrument of torment, binding and tormenting his sanity inch by inch.

Fu Huixu’s gaze fixed on those subtle spinal ridges. He imagined grazing them with his teeth, feeling them quiver under Ji Zhi’s shivers, leaving a secret mark that belonged only to him.

He nearly reached out to undo the freshly tied ribbons, twisting them into reins he could grip tight—keeping Ji Zhi from pulling away.

Ji Zhi’s voice pulled him back, the young man tentatively waving a hand in front of his eyes.

His thoughts snapped into focus. Fu Huixu remembered Ji Zhi had a stream to do.

He didn’t like it, but since Ji Zhi enjoyed it, Fu Huixu ultimately lowered his gaze, hiding the deep desire in his eyes.

Once Fu Huixu had left, Ji Zhi grabbed his phone. He first put in leave requests on his other two streaming accounts, then switched to his alt WeChat. He renamed his Top Fan number two and Top Fan number three before messaging them.

Worried Fu Huixu might get suspicious if he dawdled, Ji Zhi hurriedly set up his phone stand and went live.

The stream went smoothly. Near the end, someone spewed malice, betting that donating to top the Zhi Zhi leaderboard would make him strip. But once they saw the real-time top donation amount, they unleashed a barrage of filth and stormed out.

Ji Zhi had seen types like that before in streams—more often when he was a small streamer. He was used to it by now. Before most viewers got tainted, he bid them farewell and shut down the broadcast.

Stream over and with Fu Huixu still gone, Ji Zhi switched to his alt WeChat to check replies from Duan Zhao and Jiang Yaolin.

It had happened so suddenly, with no time to think, that he couldn’t come up with a good excuse.

Claiming illness risked Duan Zhao calling his bluff like last time. So he blamed a sudden class, pulling a photo from his gallery to send along.

But before peeking at the messages, he sneaked a glance at the door—just in case.

To his shock, Fu Huixu’s figure was already there in the dorm doorway.

The moment he spotted him, Ji Zhi nearly fumbled his phone.

For an instant, he thought Fu Huixu had somehow spied remotely on his plan to message the Top Fans and come to catch him.

He forced himself to calm down. This was the real world—Fu Huixu had no superpowers.

But when Fu Huixu spoke up—”Give me the phone”—Ji Zhi started doubting that again. He probed cautiously, “What’s up?”

Fu Huixu frowned. “That guy who cursed you logged out too fast. I didn’t catch his ID.”

Ji Zhi suddenly understood.

His streamer backend tracked viewer counts and chat logs. That’s what Fu Huixu wanted.

Relief washed over him quietly. The abrupt move had startled him at first, but now Ji Zhi switched to the backend and showed Fu Huixu.

Fu Huixu glanced at the ID, committing it to memory, then handed the phone back.

Just then, Fu Huixu’s phone rang.

Ji Zhi couldn’t hear the butler’s voice, but Fu Huixu’s tone made it clear who it was.

Ji Zhi had originally hoped Fu Huixu would fetch the luggage himself, buying him some time to sneak a peek at the messages from the other two. But just like last time, Fu Huixu simply exchanged greetings with the housekeeper and the dorm supervisor before heading upstairs.

Ji Zhi wasn’t sure if the housekeeper knew his identity, but the man greeted him just as amicably as before and set about packing Fu Huixu’s things.

Fu Huixu glanced at the time. “Baby, what do you feel like eating?”

Only then did Ji Zhi remember he hadn’t eaten lunch. Whether it was due to the tension from earlier or not, he felt no hunger at all and had no idea what to suggest.

Seeing Ji Zhi lost in thought, Fu Huixu turned to the housekeeper.

The housekeeper promptly chimed in, recommending a few nearby restaurants. When Ji Zhi still couldn’t decide, the housekeeper suggested simply ordering from all of them.

It wasn’t until after they’d eaten and Fu Huixu had gone to the dorm bathroom to freshen up that Ji Zhi finally had a moment alone. He quickly pulled out his phone to check.

Both had replied. Jiang Yaolin immediately expressed understanding, though he lamented missing Ji Zhi’s stream this time.

Duan Zhao’s response was more ambiguous: 【This is your first time asking for leave, but studies do come first.】

Ji Zhi couldn’t tell if Duan Zhao truly believed him, but since there was no sign of suspicion, it probably…

Meant he bought it, right?

Unable to see Duan Zhao’s expression through the phone screen—and knowing he always seemed to say the wrong thing in person—Ji Zhi opted not to elaborate. He simply replied that he’d stream again when he found the time.

At that moment, Ji Zhi was still planning to sneak in a stream once Fu Huixu left the dorm.

But over the next few days, he quickly realized how difficult that would be.

Fu Huixu had already told him that once his family’s birthday banquet was over, things would quiet down. He’d planned to stay at his place near the company and only return to campus for classes. But now that he knew Ji Zhi’s identity, he spent most of his time on campus instead.

Whenever Ji Zhi was in the dorm, Fu Huixu was there too.

Ji Zhi’s only hope was to skip heading back after class and stream from a hotel instead.

But right after his next class, he found Fu Huixu waiting outside the classroom door. If Ji Zhi’s program hadn’t consisted of small classes that didn’t allow auditors from other majors, he had no doubt Fu Huixu would have sat in on the lectures with him.

That plan was dead in the water too.

After a few attempts, Ji Zhi gave up and put the streams on the other two platforms out of his mind for the time being.

As one of the school’s undisputed big shots, news of Fu Huixu sticking close to Ji Zhi spread like wildfire.

Ji Zhi first heard about it from Chen Xingwen.

The day after his identity came out, Chen Xingwen—still waiting for feedback on that supposed date—finally couldn’t hold back and came to the dorm for a face-to-face talk. He hadn’t expected to find not just Ji Zhi, but Fu Huixu there too.

Chen Xingwen: ?

To keep the loose-lipped Chen Xingwen from blurting out anything about the other platforms, Ji Zhi spoke first, introducing them. “Fu Huixu is the top fan I told you about—the one who’s always supported me on the platform.”

“And this is Chen Xingwen, my friend since childhood…”

Though he couldn’t piece together the full story, Chen Xingwen got the gist from Fu Huixu’s clingy proximity and Ji Zhi’s words. He managed a strained greeting before bolting to process it all.

Worried about slipping up in front of Fu Huixu, Chen Xingwen didn’t ask Ji Zhi directly. Instead, he fired off questions over WeChat, where he could choose his words carefully.

That’s how Ji Zhi learned that Fu Huixu had always been a campus celebrity. He rarely showed up before, but now he was constantly around—not to mention glued to Ji Zhi’s side—which had naturally sparked a lot of talk. Even Chen Xingwen’s roommates had pestered him with questions.

【Chen Xingwen: At first, people wondered if you two were relatives or just got close because you share a dorm.】

【Chen Xingwen: But then someone overheard Fu Huixu calling you Baby, so now some are guessing it’s that kind of relationship—guys and girls alike…】

The mention of girls made Ji Zhi’s rigid spine nearly snap. He hadn’t realized he’d unintentionally lost his dating prospects.

No wonder he’d recently felt some girls in his class staring at him. He’d thought it was his imagination, but it was real.

How was he supposed to face them from now on?!

【Chen Xingwen: I could help spread the word. Want me to say you lost a dare and ended up as father and son, or that Baby’s just your nickname and you’re only close because of the dorm?】

Ji Zhi: “…”

Was there no dignified way to clear this up?

The options felt like two sides of the same coin, but thinking of his image over the next four years of college, Ji Zhi gritted his teeth and picked the second one.

Fu Huixu happened to see the exchange and asked Ji Zhi, puzzled, why he needed to explain.

Ji Zhi faltered. “Because…”

“Because I’m a little shy…”

The excuse struck him like a sudden inspiration. He seized on it. “So please don’t wait for me at the classroom door anymore. It’s too eye-catching…”

Fu Huixu nodded. “I’ll wait for you downstairs in the teaching building.”

Ji Zhi: “…No need.”

That would only make the rumors spread farther. Right now, it was confined to a few majors and people who knew him. If Fu Huixu actually stood at the base of the building, Ji Zhi could kiss any chance of dating at school goodbye.

He gave up trying to reason with Fu Huixu.

Realizing the discussion was going nowhere, Ji Zhi opened his software to record the interpretation homework their professor had assigned. Fu Huixu, meanwhile, got up to wash up, giving Ji Zhi some quiet space.

Ji Zhi handled the assignment with ease and finished recording quickly.

Fu Huixu still wasn’t out, so Ji Zhi remembered he hadn’t checked his alt WeChat account that day. He switched over to see the latest from Jiang Yaolin and Duan Zhao.

His alone time had been severely curtailed lately, forcing him to reply in stolen moments. He had no idea if Duan Zhao or Jiang Yaolin were getting suspicious. Fu Huixu’s constant presence left no room to pore over their words and gauge their moods like before.

What worried him more was Fu Huixu finding out.

But the moment he logged into the alt account, it hit him like a bolt from the blue—

Duan Zhao: 【I’ll be on your campus this Saturday for something.】

【It’s been a while since we met. We can catch up, and there’s a new restaurant you’ll definitely like.】