Chapter 15: A Wicked Assignment

Ming Ying’s eyes widened. He nearly forgot how to read.

Gaze fixed on that line of text, he felt inexplicably parched.

Holy crap. Was he being flirted with in return now?

…This was so thrilling.

“Ming?” Marty called out to him.

Snapping back to reality, Ming Ying fumbled to put his phone away, coughed guiltily, and forced a smile. “Sorry, Marty. I was just reading a message from my advisor.”

Alan raised an eyebrow and pulled out his own phone. “Did Professor Thomas send an email? What’s it about?”

“It wasn’t Thomas!” Ming Ying rubbed his nose. “It was another professor.”

Marty smiled and asked, “Was it something urgent?”

Ming Ying coughed again. “Not… really. Ah, anyway, let’s get inside first!”

The auditorium dance was about to begin. Amid the soft symphonic music, Alan gave Ming Ying an unreadable look.

However, at that moment, Ming Ying’s mind was completely filled with XI’s almost blatantly flirtatious message. How could he notice anything else? It was only when his eyes accidentally met Alan’s during his daydreaming that Ming Ying finally registered the stare and touched his face. “Is there something on my face?”

Alan shook his head.

Ming Ying: “…”

Alan: “I suspect there’s nothing in your head.”

Ming Ying was practically used to Alan’s meanness by now. He hardly cared anymore.

“Go ahead, man. Whatever you say.”

Alan: “…”

Alan fixed him with that same look for another second before quickening his stride into the dance venue.

Inside, lights sparkled brilliantly. People of all hair colors gathered, laughter and chatter ebbing and flowing with the piano symphony.

Standing to the side, Ming Ying scanned the dancing couples and groups, but couldn’t discern anything.

Resigned, he lowered his head and took out his phone.

Mingo: I’m in the hall. Where are you?

After sending it, Ming Ying felt his heart clench with nervousness. Seeing the message was unread and unanswered, he added another line.

Mingo: May I ask what the punishment is [Shy]

Actually, Ming Ying had considered that since they’d chatted to this level, he might as well just call directly. But he could vaguely sense that precisely because they had reached this point, this ambiguous, hazy, almost pornographic level of conversation, its flavor could only be truly expressed through the mystique of text.

Most importantly, he felt XI was enjoying it quite a bit.

Two piano pieces came and went on the stage. Finally, the phone in his hand buzzed.

Ming Ying pursed his lips and swiped the screen open.

XI: Have a business trip.

Huh?

Wait, why had the topic jumped so abruptly?

Business trip… Ming Ying frowned. XI had gone on a business trip with their advisor? Then she definitely wasn’t here…

The hope that had risen in Ming Ying’s heart instantly collapsed.

Just as he realized he felt somewhat disappointed, Ming Ying jolted back to his senses. What was he feeling disappointed about? That the other party hadn’t given him a “punishment”?

Oh, heavens. Ming Ying was amused by his own train of thought.

This wouldn’t do.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get back to normal.

Just then, buzz! His phone sounded again, another message popping up.

XI: Ming, you really like taking photos, don’t you?

The counter-question caught Ming Ying completely off guard. Of course, it also sparked a tiny thrill.

He looked up instinctively, scanning the area. Seeing that no one around was paying him any attention, he quickened his pace, half-jogging to the auditorium restroom. Once inside a stall, door locked, Ming Ying finally sighed and truly relaxed.

Opening his phone, he saw XI had actually sent another message half a minute ago. And it quoted his earlier ab photo!

XI: The lighting is too bright, the muscles too shallow. Estimated body fat percentage is substandard.

Holy shit!

Was XI critiquing his abs and his photography skills?

Sitting on the toilet lid, Ming Ying gnawed on his fingertip.

XI: Can’t see clearly.

This time, it was just three words. The comment referred to one of his photos in suit trousers.

Ming Ying frowned and opened it. In the photo, enhanced by the lighting and the gleaming reflective floor, his thigh line, wrapped in the black suit pants, unexpectedly possessed a tight, solid-flesh look…

Ming Ying looked down, his gaze shifting to his own thighs.

Right then, his phone buzzed again. Ming Ying’s heart trembled along with it. He looked up.

Two lines of English had appeared on the screen.

XI: Visual and artistic effect analysis of pornographic selfies.

XI: When will it be submitted?

Ming Ying’s eyes flew wide open. Wait, what the hell?! WTF!

He was all too familiar with this assignment format!

His computer was currently filled with countless essays titled “Visual and Artistic Effect Analysis of XX Architecture”…

Ming Ying couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This was the punishment XI mentioned? Writing some sleazy academic paper?!

It was deliberate. It had to be. How was he ever supposed to read academic literature in the future?!

And to actually write this paper, wouldn’t that mean he’d have to take hundreds of pornographic selfies?… Then analyze each one individually… and after analyzing, he’d still have to give feedback and present his defense to XI…

Imagining the scene of XI studying his pornographic selfies with the intense focus usually reserved for research literature…

Ming Ying’s face instantly flushed as red as a boiled crab.

Wait, why was he already assuming he was going to write it?

Holy crap. Ming Ying sighed in wonder. This other party was truly a female hooligan even more brazen than himself.

He quickly scrambled to play the pity card. And even threw in a bit of role-play while he was at it.

Mingo: Professor… please let me off…

Mingo: Can’t write it… I just can’t write it… T-T

Mingo: [Puppy dog eyes]

A few minutes later, the message was read.

XI: Where are you?

The topic shifts always left Ming Ying dizzy and grasping. He was long used to it.

Mingo: I’m in a bathroom stall.

Mingo: [Puppy burying its face in the corner.jpg]

After sending that, a sudden bad premonition washed over him.

The next second, buzz—the phone vibrated.

XI: Take it now.

Ming Ying: “…”

What was going on? Why did it feel like XI had turned into a completely different person?

Ming Ying dawdled. Very soon, another message popped up.

XI: Ming, are you a good, obedient student?

Ming Ying: “…”

Fuck. This was a case of hoisting himself on his own petard.

Throwing caution to the wind, Ming Ying wiped his face. Hah, it’s just taking some photos. He was a man; it wasn’t like he’d be at a disadvantage.

With that thought, Ming Ying took a deep breath.

Then, he randomly snapped another picture and sent it off.

XI: Unqualified.

XI: Shoot again.

Ming Ying: …

Ming Ying had no choice. He lifted his shirt, bent over, and by the light filtering in from outside, found a suitable angle and clicked another selfie.

Because he hadn’t silenced the shutter, the click sounded especially loud, startling him with a guilty pang.

But when he looked down, he was startled once more by the photo on his phone.

In the picture, although the camera had focused on the rows of his abdominal muscles, the angle and lighting meant that extending down from his prominent hip bone, one could faintly, vaguely glimpse the bare, pale-white left base of the young man’s thigh.

Clenching his jaw, Ming Ying sent it.

Two minutes later. Buzz.

XI: Mm. Good.

XI: Continue.

Ming Ying: …

Mingo: Professor, I was wrong!

Mingo: T-T