Little Strawberry?
He Siheng frowned in confusion, hesitated for a few seconds, and tentatively approved the friend request.
The other person messaged first.
Little Strawberry: Hi! (^.^)/
Little Strawberry: Did you join the group because you admire the president too? (^ω^)
The other guy seemed like a lively, self-familiar type, tossing in an emoticon with every sentence, and the question was pretty baffling.
He Siheng hadn’t planned to respond, but then he thought about it—he’d just rejected the random task from the admin a few days ago. What if the admin had spotted an infiltrator slacking off in the group and sent this guy to fish for enforcement?
To avoid blowing his cover, He Siheng thought it over and drafted a reply: Sort of.
He deleted those words and changed it to something more convincing: Yeah, I’m a big fan of his.
Little Strawberry replied instantly: What do you like about the president? (／v＼)
Yup, definitely investigating. The questions matched the ones from the group entry review.
He Siheng was too lazy to whip up another round of rainbow farts and blurted out: Did you see my title? I like how he’s big and good in action.
Upstairs in the living room at the tea bar counter, Tan Jing choked on his coffee and coughed violently.
He shouldn’t have been drinking coffee while scrolling on his phone.
Tan Jing was equal parts annoyed and amused.
This guy had just angrily reminded him to watch his boundaries, and now he was chatting about his size with a stranger.
He Siheng checked his phone before stepping out of the elevator. Little Strawberry hadn’t replied—probably too thin-skinned, embarrassed by his bluntness and not wanting to continue.
He Siheng smugly curled his lips. As expected, with skin thick enough, fishing expeditions like this were a breeze to dodge.
Learning a bit of Tan Jing’s shamelessness had really paid off.
He Siheng was about to pocket his phone when it buzzed twice.
Little Strawberry: You have great taste! (/ω＼)
Little Strawberry: Can you elaborate? o(////v////)q
He Siheng: “…”
Miscalculation.
This Little Strawberry had even thicker skin than him!
No wonder he was Tan Jing’s fan…
He Siheng’s mouth twitched as he forced out a reply: Next time, check it out yourself. If I say more here, I might get banned.
Little Strawberry: You’re not jealous? _(：з”∠)_
He Siheng: Why would I be? If you don’t look, someone else will. There are dozens of Dingdang Family members in the group.
Little Strawberry: ……
After sending those ellipses, Little Strawberry went silent. He Siheng figured the guy hadn’t pegged him as a spy and had moved on to fish for the next one.
The low fever was making him uncomfortable anyway, so he didn’t dwell on it. He hopped in a taxi and headed home to sleep.
Not long after He Siheng left, Shu Yichen wiped his tears and told Tan Jing he wanted to go home too.
He said being alone under the same roof as an S-Rank Alpha was too much pressure, even though Tan Jing hadn’t been harsh with him—instincts from his genes couldn’t be changed.
Tan Jing didn’t force him to stay. He called a Beta ride-share driver to take him straight home, watching until he went inside to make sure he didn’t slip away again.
On Monday morning, as soon as He Siheng sat down in the classroom, Zhou Yu rushed over, anxiously asking, “Heng Bro, did you check the group these past couple days?”
“What group?”
He Siheng’s voice was hoarse like it’d been sanded down. Zhou Yu jumped at the sound. “Heng Bro, what happened to your throat?”
He Siheng replied weakly, “Caught a cold.”
He’d slept it off at home Saturday, felt clearer-headed, and thought he was fine. But he woke up parched and impulsively ate an ice cream.
By Sunday, the coughing started, and after a full day, his voice was shot.
He Siheng sniffed. “Just a little cold, I’m fine. Go on, what group?”
Zhou Yu said, “A big shot showed up in the Class Monitor’s Fan Support Group. Joined a couple days ago and uploaded a ton of the Class Monitor’s old photos—shot straight up to admin.”
He Siheng shrugged it off. “What’s so impressive about that?”
Zhou Yu looked deadly serious. “Those photos go back to elementary and middle school. What does that tell you?”
He Siheng thought for a moment. “The guy’s a stalker?”
Zhou Yu: “…”
“It means this person’s been following the Class Monitor since elementary school!” Zhou Yu felt like he was talking to a brick wall. “Whatever, just check out the photos yourself.”
He Siheng skeptically pulled out his phone and opened the Fan Support Group album.
The uploader was that Little Strawberry who’d chatted him up a couple days ago. Just like Zhou Yu said, he’d dumped over a dozen photos of Tan Jing from various ages all at once.
Stalker-level? Nah, none were private scenes.
Like an elementary school grad photo, getting a medal at a middle school sports event, performing on stage at a talent show—some where Tan Jing looked at the camera, some not.
The shots said it all. It was obvious the photographer really liked Tan Jing, and Tan Jing knew the person existed. Those direct gazes meant they were at least on speaking terms.
Those dozen photos spanned exactly the four years He Siheng had been on the outs with Tan Jing.
He Siheng flipped through them one by one, like peering into those four years of Tan Jing’s life through someone else’s eyes.
The photographer had been there; he was just a latecomer.
He Siheng ground his teeth. What was with this inexplicable irritation?
“So?” Zhou Yu asked. “Feels like the Class Monitor and Little Strawberry have something going on, right?”
“Whatever legs he’s got, it has nothing to do with me.”
He Siheng shut off his phone and tossed it in his desk.
Zhou Yu wanted to say more, but he caught sight of the man in question entering the classroom. He shut up and returned to his seat.
Tan Jing arrived late today; the morning self-study bell rang right as he pulled out his chair and sat. He greeted He Siheng, “Morning.”
He Siheng glanced at him, inwardly griping that he was nearly late—where was the “morning” about it?
He ignored him, turned away, and buried himself in his book for review. His eyes scanned the text, but nothing stuck. He couldn’t stop thinking about those group photos.
So Little Strawberry wasn’t fishing for spies—he really was a Tan Jing fanboy.
From the photos, Tan Jing clearly knew he existed; in some shots, they were making eye contact.
But He’d never heard Tan Jing mention anyone like that.
Wang Yizhou or Song Lin?
He’d added those two—no way Little Strawberry was them.
Maybe a side account like his?
But they had no reason to, and Little Strawberry’s bubbly, sweet style didn’t match either.
So who the hell was this guy?
He Siheng racked his brain with no answers, and his head started throbbing.
From morning self-study through the two morning classes, his head grew fuzzier and heavier. Just before it could smack the desk, a hand reached over and caught his forehead.
Tan Jing’s hand was usually toasty warm, but today it was cool, soothing against his burning skin like a timely rain.
He Siheng didn’t sit up right away. Propped like that, he felt like closing his eyes and sleeping.
Tan Jing frowned at the scorching heat. “How’d you burn up this bad?”
He Siheng’s foggy brain snapped alert at “fever”—like a startled cat, he shoved the hand away. “I’m not feverish.”
