Chapter 114: Dimension 21

Yan Jing looked utterly baffled, blurting out instinctively, “Huh? But why use an elevator as a metaphor? Can’t you pick a normal example I can actually understand? I can’t picture this at all.”

He was completely puzzled, racking his brain with no luck, while Yu Bai silently thought to himself that this was exactly the kind of unimaginable bewilderment he was going for.

Because the other person wasn’t human at all.

In fact, only that afternoon, while chatting with his manager Xiao Ming, had the elevator metaphor suddenly popped into his mind from out of nowhere—and it was the most fitting one.

Deep down, he simply couldn’t connect human-invented words like “love” or “like” with a distant, indifferent deity.

It was like two things completely separated by worlds, gazing at each other from afar, never to intersect.

A vast, uncrossable river lay between them.

Yu Bai’s expression grew subtly complicated, but he didn’t explain the reason. Instead, he bent down to right the innocent chair that had suffered in the chaos. “Don’t overthink it. I was just talking nonsense. Pretend you didn’t hear anything.”

Yan Jing had been wracking his brain, trying to figure out what it felt like to like an elevator, but at these words, he immediately snatched the chair back and raised his voice. “No way, I clearly heard you!”

At the same time, he suddenly latched onto the key point in that sentence, his face paling in shock. “You said ‘how could anyone like an elevator,’ not ‘how could you like me’—holy crap, you really do have someone you like?!”

“…” Yu Bai shot him a glare. “No! I said it’s impossible.”

For once, Yan Jing’s brain was firing on all cylinders, his curiosity overflowing. “But there’s a specific person in your mind, right? The moment I ask, you think of them—who is it? Who? Is it that guy who suddenly has all the secrets?”

Yu Bai thought for a moment and didn’t deny it. “Yeah, but I’m just curious… Maybe it’s because I’m not used to this kind of change.”

“Not used to it?”

“Yeah, like the silver-gray elevator you’ve gotten used to seeing in your apartment building suddenly turning bright gold one day. Of course you’d feel off about it and wonder why it changed color. It has nothing to do with liking it or not.”

Yan Jing nodded as if he half-understood.

He thought he got the feeling Little Bai was describing.

But…

Yan Jing’s confusion was genuine. “Do you have to use an elevator as a metaphor?”

Can’t you give a normal, lively example from the real world?!

“…” Yu Bai looked a bit embarrassed and averted his gaze. “Never mind. I want to.”

Yan Jing scrutinized his expression closely, his gaze turning profound. “Wait—you don’t mean—”

Yu Bai’s heart skipped a beat under that stare, and inexplicable tension gripped him.

“What?”

“—that you’re actually in love with an elevator?!”

Yan Jing’s eyes widened in shock as he cried out. “So you’re not asexual—you’re into objects!!”

Yu Bai: “…”

He really shouldn’t have expected anything sensible from this guy’s thought process.

“You’re the one into objects,” he grumbled irritably. “Keep it down and put the chair back properly.”

Hearing this familiar reaction, Yan Jing sighed in disappointment and obediently set the overturned chair right.

“Fine, looks like you’re not into elevators after all…”

His words trailed off softly, drifting out through the window cracks. The lights overhead cast crisscrossing shadows across the room, while on the kitchen window frame behind them, another hazy silhouette faintly reflected.

The house’s soundproofing wasn’t great, and outside was a quiet night.

When the dull thud of the chair toppling carried to the next door, the man sitting at the table—staring blankly at the laptop in front of him—paused slightly.

He glanced toward the window, hesitating for a moment. Just as the tip of his pen was about to resume inscribing mysterious characters on the ancient paper, muffled, excited male voices drifted over from next door.

He couldn’t make out the words, only that it was a man’s voice, sounding quite agitated.

The hovering pen tip left a deep blot of ink.

Then, he set the pen down.

The cold-faced man rose and headed to the kitchen, the closest spot to the noise.

Through the transparent glass of the neighboring kitchen window, he could glimpse a section of the living room wall. The view was limited, hiding the people inside, but two faint black shadows projected on the white wall moved leisurely, a clear distance between them.

It didn’t look like any kind of conflict.

His slightly curly black hair traced a quiet arc in the evening breeze as the man turned to leave the kitchen.

But then, as the distance closed abruptly, Yan Jing’s voice floated through the window crack.

“But seriously, what kind of person are you into, anyway?”

The volume wasn’t loud, diluted further by the air.

To senses as sharp as “his,” it came through crystal clear.

The tips of his night-black hair froze mid-sway in the breeze.

He halted.

The room inside was brightly lit.

“I don’t like any kind of person,” Yu Bai said.

He answered lightning-fast, leaving Yan Jing thoroughly unsatisfied. “Come on, can you answer properly for once!”

Yu Bai was baffled. “Why are you even asking?”

“Like you said—curiosity!” Yan Jing replied. “We’ve known each other for years, and you’ve always had a heart of stone, not interested in anyone.”

“Fine, no dating in middle or high school, but in college, after four years rooming together, Lao Zheng confessed to you, and you didn’t even waver. You even suspected he just wanted to borrow money…”

With a sly grin, Yan Jing gossiped, “I’m curious too—when will it happen, and what kind of person will make you suddenly turn into that shiny gold?”

“That day won’t come,” Yu Bai said. “I won’t fall for anyone.”

“…Why not?”

Yan Jing frowned, his mind flashing back to the possibility he’d just been shot down minutes ago. “Not liking anyone—don’t tell me you’re into obj—”

Yu Bai nearly laughed in exasperation.

He did laugh, cutting off his good friend’s nonsense with a light, casual tone.

“No, it’s because I’m incapable of love.”

Yan Jing blinked, sizing him up and down before reacting. “No way. Not a single teacher ever said that. They all praised how nice and friendly you are.”

“…” Yu Bai sighed. “I mean I don’t have the ability to love someone, not that I’m antisocial. How would a teacher notice?”

Yan Jing mulled it over hard but still wasn’t convinced. “But you’ve never even dated—how do you know you can’t?”

“I just know.”

Yu Bai fell silent for a beat. Seeing Yan Jing about to press further, he took the initiative. “You’ve probably imagined what kind of person you’d date in the future, maybe even marry and have kids with, right?”

Yan Jing didn’t hesitate. “Of course—who hasn’t?”

“I haven’t,” Yu Bai said.

“I’ve pictured myself going to a different college, having a different career, what kind of life that would be.” He continued, “But I’ve hardly ever imagined, much less yearned for, a future of loving someone, growing old together.”

Yan Jing froze, his tone softening unconsciously. “Why?”

“Because…” The question was earnest, so Yu Bai thought it through seriously. “Because it scares me, I guess.”

“Scared?”

“Yeah. Real love demands total devotion, intense and profound, with both sides giving everything. But I’m afraid of that kind of emotion. I can’t handle it, don’t want to shoulder that weight. And if it’s not like that, it’s not true love.”

“My life plan has always been set. An ideal family doesn’t need to be super harmonious—just no early breakups. Plenty of couples are like that, right? Marrying and having kids like checking off a task list. Not much love between them, but lots of other considerations keeping the marriage going, even if it’s bumpy and plain. I actually think that’s great. That’s the life I want.”

Yan Jing listened in a daze.

It was the first time Yu Bai had opened up to him like this.

In this illusory space where everything burned away upon expiration.

“B-But…”

A whirlwind of questions and arguments swirled on the tip of his tongue. Yan Jing stammered for a long while before blurting out blankly, “Why?”

Why reject that brilliant, precious true love?

Yu Bai pondered for a long time before answering. “Because I don’t want to be that irreplaceable, all-important ‘unique’ in anyone’s heart.”

Yan Jing shot back without hesitation. “But you already are to me—my most important friend!”

Yu Bai shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

“How’s it different?”

“We’re just friends. Beyond that, you have great parents, and in the future, someone you’ll spend your life with. Those bonds matter more than friendship.”

Yan Jing shook his head vigorously. “Nope, equally important.”

“Then let’s say they’re equal,” Yu Bai said with a smile. “Suppose one day, your parents force us to break off our friendship or they won’t go on living—how would you choose?”

“……” Yan Jing was caught off guard by the question, a flicker of guilt flashing through him for an instant. “Why’d you suddenly hit me with a loaded question like that!”

“You don’t have to answer. I already know.” Yu Bai smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s precisely because you’d choose your parents that I became friends with you.”

If Yan Jing had come from a deeply unhappy family, with a terrible relationship with his parents, and if the young boy who couldn’t yet grasp the concept of romantic love had only found warmth and redemption in friendships—well, Yu Bai wouldn’t have become such close friends with him.

He would have kept his distance, staying far, far away.

Yan Jing stared in stunned silence, unable to make sense of the logic. He even began to doubt his own ears. “Wait, did you say that wrong, or did I hear it wrong? Why does it sound like you’re actually pleased that I wouldn’t pick you…?”

“No mistake. I’m very pleased.” Yu Bai said earnestly. “In those crucial choices, I want to be the one who gets set aside. That way, I can feel at ease.”

His tone was light and unhurried, carrying a serene certainty.

Anyone listening would realize it was the unvarnished truth.

Yan Jing opened his mouth, eager to offer a rebuttal or correction, but a long-buried memory suddenly resurfaced. He swallowed his words and stopped foolishly asking why.

That recollection also brought to mind certain issues he’d never noticed before.

“…No wonder you’ve never really resisted all these years when Tian Ge and Uncle Li treat you well,” Yan Jing said, realization dawning late. “Is it because they have other things in their hearts that are just as important?”

The Criminal Investigation Captain was a workaholic, driven by unwavering noble ideals and a profound sense of responsibility toward countless people and causes.

The Black Boss, who had washed his hands of the underworld, placed righteousness above all else. He had a band of loyal brothers who had followed him for half their lives, and the futures of many rested on his shoulders.

As for the psychologist, she didn’t even need mentioning—not only did she have a career she truly loved, but she also enjoyed a happy, fulfilling family and an adorable daughter who would coquettishly beg her to braid her hair into pigtails.

“Yeah.” Yu Bai admitted candidly for once, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You’re suddenly so sharp. It’s throwing me off.”

“…I’m not used to it either.” Yan Jing sighed deeply, a wave of melancholy washing over him. “It’s better to be a bit dim. Knowing stuff like this just bums me out.”

Yu Bai chuckled. “It’s fine. The you in the real world won’t remember anyway. At most, you’ll carry a vague sense of sadness. Once it fades, you’ll be your happy-go-lucky self again.”

No one but him would remember this conversation.

Otherwise, he never would have said it aloud.

Outside the glass window, the night hung thick and still.

“Back to the original question.” Yu Bai continued. “I’ve never been in love, but I know that if you truly love someone, you have to choose them unwaveringly. You have to see them as your one and only, irreplaceable.”

Yet he wanted to be the one abandoned.

He didn’t want to be the survivor who was loved.

It was enough to be an important presence in someone’s heart.

Just not the most important one.

“I reject that kind of love. I can’t reciprocate it equally, and that would be unfair to them.” He concluded. “So, I won’t fall for anyone.”

Yu Bai watched the complex emotions play across his friend’s face and couldn’t help thinking that the time-space incineration rule had its benefits.

Whatever impressions and feelings this Yan Jing retained afterward would likely leave the real-world Yan Jing with a pang of empathy, quelling any further curiosity or probing.

This way, he could keep his secret while sparing his friend the torment of an unsolved mystery.

A win-win.

The summer night was quiet. Yan Jing brooded for a long while before arriving at the same thought. “You definitely won’t repeat any of this to the me in the real world, right?”

Yu Bai hummed affirmatively, utterly straightforward.

“Then, can you remind me of one thing?”

“What?”

“When I get married and have kids someday, don’t let me accept your red envelope.” Yan Jing said. “I have a feeling you might not be able to afford giving it back. Sigh.”

“…” Yu Bai offered a serene smile. “Sure. I wasn’t planning to give one anyway.”

“No, no, no. We’ve got to go through the motions, or I’m worried your future in-laws might take issue with you. Just make me firmly refuse it!”

“How the hell am I supposed to remind you to refuse? Why not you brainwash yourself to remember not to take my red envelope?”

“Cough, well, I don’t trust my brain much. Whatever, whatever—let’s eat first. I’m starving—damn! The fried chicken’s gone stone cold. Didn’t you say your place has a microwave?”

“It does. How long should I heat it for?”

The conversation lightened, drifting back to everyday trivialities.

Yu Bai carried the box of fried chicken toward the kitchen, his footsteps echoing faintly.

Click.

His pale fingertips flicked on the light switch, and bright light flooded the space in an instant.

Outside the window stretched the silent, endless night.

Yu Bai placed the fried chicken in the microwave and listened to its soft hum, a cool summer breeze brushing his ear.

Standing alone, he zoned out for a moment, then casually glanced toward the neighboring apartment.

What was Xie Wufang doing right now?

Was he working on that ad script by himself?

The adjacent kitchen was dark, only a sliver of light from the living room spilling out. A tall, slender shadow flickered indistinctly on the wall, dreamlike and illusory.

Moonlight flowed through the clear glass window.

Inside, the room looked as if no one had been there all night.