Chapter 94: Side Story Four · Zhongse and Tu Hexiangchu

Zhongse had noticed Tu Hexiangchu very early on and had always harbored a twisted, deformed affection toward him.

Their acquaintance dated back to their middle school days.

At that time, they were neighbors, living together in dilapidated alleyways.

The alleyways were rundown, damp, and covered in moss, just like their shattered lives.

Zhongse came from a very typical background: a gambling father, a cowardly mother, a scoundrel of a brother, and a broken him.

Tu Hexiangchu had it rough too. He was an orphan with no father or mother—more precisely, the parents who gave birth to him had jumped to their deaths after their company went bankrupt and they were crushed by debt. With no parents to rely on, he had been raised by his scavenging grandmother all the way through high school.

Both families were a complete mess, but from similarly wretched environments grew two utterly different people.

Zhongse saw himself as dark and twisted in personality, like a sewer rat, hating this unfair world that treated them so poorly.

But Tu Hexiangchu was his complete opposite—intelligent and precocious, diligent and filial, like the favored child of heaven from a novel, upright and noble.

With the college entrance exams approaching, Tu Hexiangchu took first place in the city once again in a mock exam. People in the alleyways praised his family, saying a good shoot had come from bad bamboo.

Zhongse was used to hearing these people praise his peer Tu Hexiangchu. Since they attended the same high school, he was inevitably compared to him.

But such comparisons didn’t disgust Zhongse. Instead, being mentioned alongside Tu Hexiangchu’s name brought an unimaginable pleasure.

Though they were at the same school, they weren’t in the same class. Still, Tu Hexiangchu was a school celebrity, and news about him could be heard everywhere.

“Oh ya, our class flower is writing a letter to someone? To whom?” The class prankster snatched the letter from the girl who was writing it.

The girl stood up from her seat, embarrassed and shy, trying to grab the letter back. She heard the prankster chuckle, “Turns out it’s a love letter… Let’s see who it’s for.”

He opened the envelope and saw the recipient. Losing interest, he handed the letter back. “It’s for that Tu Hexiangchu from the next class again.”

At the mention of Tu Hexiangchu’s name, Zhongse lifted his head and glanced over. His overly long bangs hid his gloomy eyes, but the prankster still noticed.

After teasing the girl, he smirked slyly. “Our little rat seems pretty interested in that Tu Hexiangchu from next door. Don’t tell me you like him too and secretly write him love letters?”

He cracked himself up with that, giggling nonstop.

Zhongse didn’t refute. He just lowered his head again.

The guy had accidentally hit the nail on the head.

He had written love letters to Tu Hexiangchu—many of them, exactly 183.

But he hadn’t sent a single one, nor had he let Tu Hexiangchu glimpse even a hint of his feelings.

Perhaps in Tu Hexiangchu’s eyes, he was just that unfamiliar neighbor from next door.

Or worse, he hadn’t even remembered him.

On the way home that evening, by sheer coincidence, Tu Hexiangchu brushed past him.

Tu Hexiangchu carried his backpack, wore his neat school uniform—washed clean and spotless—and as he passed, Zhongse faintly caught the scent of soap pods.

Zhongse inhaled lightly through his nose, his long bangs concealing the obsession in his eyes.

“What’s so great about that Tu Hexiangchu? Didn’t expect even the School Flower to chase him… The worst part is, that kid actually rejected her. What an ingrate!” A passing boy grumbled bitterly.

“Exactly. If you ask me, Brother Li, you’re way better than him. Better personality, better looking, and you’ve got money… I heard Tu Hexiangchu’s family is super poor. Any girl who likes him must’ve been cursed for eight lifetimes.”

“No need to hear it. Look at his poor loser vibe—you can tell at a glance.”

“I also heard his family picks through trash. Ugh, disgusting. Just interacting with someone like that makes me afraid I’ll catch the poor stink.”

“Tu Hexiangchu is trash. He can’t even compare to Brother Li…”

One of the lackeys chiming in was cut off—literally, physically.

The underling clutched his kicked leg and glared furiously at Zhongse. “Damn, little rat, you’ve got some guts to hit me!”

Zhongse’s eyes were hidden under his long bangs, making his expression unreadable, but his voice sounded exceptionally sinister. “Don’t mention him.”

Brother Li eyed the dusty Zhongse and seemed to recall something, suddenly realizing. “I remember you and Tu Hexiangchu both live in that slum area. No wonder you’re in cahoots, standing up for him.”

Zhongse repeated the same phrase. “Don’t mention him.”

Brother Li had always had it easy growing up and had never been challenged. Furious, and with three guys on his side, he snarled viciously, “Little rat, today I’ll show you the price of messing with me!”

The three closed in to attack, but Zhongse wasn’t nervous. He touched his pocket, where a switchblade lay.

Those who slandered him would pay the price.

A ruthless glint flashed in his gloomy eyes beneath the bangs.

“Stop.”

Everyone turned to look. Tu Hexiangchu, who had already walked far ahead, had returned for some reason.

His expression was cold as he regarded the four of them. “Are you fighting?”

Brother Li, who had been so arrogant, deflated instantly at the sight of Tu Hexiangchu.

No matter how thuggish he was, he was still a student. At most, he’d trash-talk Tu Hexiangchu for kicks.

But Tu Hexiangchu was now the school’s star, the top candidate for provincial top scorer. Even the principal and teachers fawned over him.

If Tu Hexiangchu reported him for fighting, he’d be in real trouble.

The wise choose the path of least resistance. Brother Li waved it off and signaled his lackeys with a look. “Nah, we were just messing around with this classmate.”

Tu Hexiangchu ignored him and looked at Zhongse.

In the end, Brother Li made his own excuse and slunk away with his crew.

Zhongse hadn’t expected Tu Hexiangchu to come back and witness this embarrassing scene of his.

But at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling relieved that he hadn’t pulled out his switchblade yet. Otherwise, he dreaded how Tu Hexiangchu would view him.

Would he think he was just like Brother Li—a bully, a good-for-nothing delinquent?

As these thoughts swirled, he looked up to see Tu Hexiangchu already turning toward home. Zhongse hurried after him in a jog.

He actually caught up, walking side by side with Tu Hexiangchu. Panting, his heart raced.

Up close, the soap pod scent wafted over, making his head fuzzy.

In his dazed state, he thought: He really smells nice.

Dazed like that, he heard Tu Hexiangchu say coolly, “You don’t need to do that again.”

Zhongse snapped out of it like from a sweet dream, stunned for a second, not understanding.

Tu Hexiangchu repeated, “No need to clash with those idle fools.”

Zhongse mumbled blankly, “Ah?”

Was Tu Hexiangchu talking to him?

Tu Hexiangchu gave him a speechless look. “Dumb goose.”

Then, as if unwilling to bother further, he quickened his pace, leaving Zhongse behind.

This was the only interaction Zhongse had with him during high school.

They met again in university.

Zhongse spent money to find out which university Tu Hexiangchu had applied to and applied to the same one.

But fate didn’t cooperate; he failed the exam.

Harboring resentment, he repeated a year and finally got into the same school as Tu Hexiangchu, becoming his underclassman.

In university, Zhongse still lived a damp, gloomy life. He poured all meaning into Tu Hexiangchu.

The more he learned about Tu Hexiangchu, the less he felt he understood him.

In high school, Tu Hexiangchu had been proud and aloof, scorning company. He was lonely, friendless—like Zhongse.

But in university, Tu Hexiangchu became socially adept, able to befriend anyone, calling them brothers with ease.

If there had once been people badmouthing him, now there were none. Everyone spoke of him with praise and admiration.

More people liked Tu Hexiangchu, and more confessed to him.

Zhongse silently added this year’s 196th confessor to his assassination list.

Among the confessors were some excellent people, but Tu Hexiangchu never entered a relationship with anyone. His excuse was a perfunctory “busy with studies, no time for romance.”

Zhongse was the only one who saw through the real reason Tu Hexiangchu avoided romance.

It wasn’t unwillingness to date; it was unwillingness to form stable bonds with anyone.

He was ultimately influenced by his family, distrusting the outside world—like someone under a glass dome. He seemed approachable, but a thick glass barrier separated him from everyone.

Zhongse observed him from afar like this until university graduation, never speaking to him again.

After graduation, Tu Hexiangchu passed exams and entered a key government department.

Zhongse wanted to follow in his footsteps, doing the same work to watch him up close.

But every time, Zhongse realized anew: Tu Hexiangchu was a genius, while he was merely a slightly clever mortal.

Tu Hexiangchu could achieve anything he wanted effortlessly, but mortals couldn’t.

After a year of serious preparation, Zhongse didn’t even pass the written exam and was swept off the single-plank bridge amid thousands of competitors.

He found an ordinary job at a private company—nine-to-seven grind, utterly mundane, like most people.

But being like most people meant he’d never see Tu Hexiangchu again.

He refused to accept it, unwilling to waste away. He kept preparing for exams, and in the fourth year, he finally entered a grassroots department.

But he didn’t see Tu Hexiangchu, who had already risen rapidly through exceptional abilities beyond mortal reach, transferred to a higher level, far from the grassroots.

He and Tu Hexiangchu always seemed just a step short of fate.

That sliver of fate, rare in prosperous times, came to be in the chaotic apocalypse of the Weird.

In the thirteenth year of his infatuation with Tu Hexiangchu, the end times arrived.

He had thought he’d never intersect with Tu Hexiangchu again, only hearing his name in colleagues’ chatter. He never imagined they’d be trapped in the same city.

While the whole city cursed the Dragon Girl’s descent, he was perhaps the only one grateful.

He could see Tu Hexiangchu again.

As time passed, more people died, Safe Zones dwindled, until finally, he and Tu Hexiangchu ended up in the same one.

Like a traveler long parched finally tasting rain, when he saw Tu Hexiangchu again, he wanted to devour him with his gaze.

He wanted to approach him, touch him.

To forge an inseparable bond.

Zhongse suppressed his dangerous impulses and ultimately didn’t approach Tu Hexiangchu. He just watched him on the high platform, eyes full of infatuation and madness.

As a government official, Tu Hexiangchu naturally stood with the higher-ups to devise plans against the Dragon Girl.

In the end, Tu Hexiangchu proposed the “Coexistence Plan.”

Steal the Dragon Girl’s spine bone and flesh, transplant them into a human body.

Insignificant mortals dared seize the power of a Weird god for a slim chance at survival.

Tu Hexiangchu’s idea was shocking and outrageous. Many opposed it on the spot, but shrewder ones stayed neutral.

They keenly realized it required only a few sacrifices to save everyone.

So despite heavy opposition, the vote ultimately passed the plan.

Executing the plan was difficult, but deciding who would do it was harder.

Seizing the Dragon Girl’s bone and flesh was dangerous, but transplanting it was even more so—the latter’s horror far exceeded the former.

Failure in seizure meant death, but transplant failure could turn one into a monstrous half-human abomination.

People could imagine dying heroically, but not bearing infamy, cloaked in monster skin, living on forever.

In the internal government meeting, many volunteered to die heroically for the masses.

But not one volunteered to transplant the monster’s bone and flesh.

An old-timer chuckled and said, “Whoever proposed this plan should naturally lead by example and set a good precedent for everyone.”

Tu Hexiangchu fell silent for a moment and was about to speak when someone said, “I’m willing to transplant the Dragon Girl Bone.”

No one had expected that the first volunteer would be a low-level worker who had no say in the matter.

He sat in the farthest corner, huddled up, wearing a gray shirt that made him look like a dusty little mouse.

Tu Hexiangchu recognized the man and frowned, but in the end, he said nothing.

Ultimately, Tu Hexiangchu stepped forward, declaring his willingness to be the first subject for the transplant, which encouraged others to join voluntarily.

After the meeting ended, Tu Hexiangchu found Zhongse. “Why did you step forward?”

Zhongse hadn’t expected the object of his adoration to come looking for him. His mind went blank again, and he could only respond on instinct. “I didn’t want to put you in a difficult position.”

He didn’t want to see the perfect Tu Hexiangchu cornered on a high platform, forced to play the role of a sacrificial Jesus.

Those clear, limpid eyes would surely well up with tears if entangled by this group.

He wanted to clear away all obstacles for him.

But in reality, even after he stepped forward, it barely helped Tu Hexiangchu at all. The man still had to yield to the pressure from those old fogeys and make the sacrifice.

Zhongse truly wanted to kill off every single one of those old bastards.

Never before had Zhongse hated his own incompetence as much as he did in that moment. If only he were a bit stronger, perhaps he could protect the things he cherished.

His talent and abilities seemed predetermined from birth.

His ceiling was right there—he was destined to be nothing more than a slightly smarter ordinary person.

If human effort couldn’t change that, then what could help him?

The power of ghosts and gods.

Only the power of ghosts and gods could alter his mediocre life. Even if just for a fleeting moment, he had to obtain it.

With a strange mix of emotions, he began to anticipate the Dragon Girl Bone transplant.

The transplant went relatively smoothly for him.

It was as if all his luck had been concentrated in that moment. Ninety percent of recipients died in agony from bodily rejection, but his body accepted it well. He burned with fever for three days and completed the process.

Tu Hexiangchu also successfully completed his transplant.

Later, the Dragon Girl died, and he became a lofty S-Rank Spiritual Ability User.

He now possessed power—even power on par with Tu Hexiangchu’s.

He had changed, no longer the dusty little mouse skulking in the shadows of the gutters. Now he could stand proudly before Tu Hexiangchu in broad daylight.

He changed his style and outfit, cut his bangs to reveal those gloomy eyes, and disguised his true personality to become the arrogant and domineering director of the Degeneration Abstinence Institute in others’ eyes. It was as if this could discard his former self and make that man glance at him one more time.

Power, strength, the submission of others—these were now all within easy reach.

But none of it brought him joy, because Tu Hexiangchu treated him the same as everyone else, as if he held no special place in the man’s eyes.

He hated how Tu Hexiangchu saw him merely as an ordinary colleague. He wanted to go further, to forge an inseparable bond with him!

He wanted to drag the moon from the sky into the mud, to touch him, to kiss him intimately, to hold his waist and defile his pure innocence—thoughts that drove him nearly mad.

But it was all just fantasy. Zhongse didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to harm that moon.

Before, he couldn’t have him, so he didn’t dare dream. Now the moon was within reach, yet still untouchable. The feeling was driving Zhongse insane.

Just then, the Dragon Girl Bone began to reject him.

Zhongse was, after all, just an ordinary person. The fact that his body hadn’t rejected it immediately was already a stroke of immense luck.

But now, that luck had run out.

The Dragon Girl Bone tormented him day and night, flaring up at midnight and leaving him in excruciating pain.

His mental state grew increasingly deranged, manifesting outwardly as ever more arrogant and domineering behavior—like a madman with unpredictable moods.

Because of his madness, though many feared him, they still gossiped about him behind his back.

Zhongse didn’t care about their opinions. As the Dragon Girl Bone invaded, his mind gradually crumbled, his consciousness blurring. Soon, he might mutate into a monster.

He wasn’t afraid of becoming a monster. He just feared that, in the end, he wouldn’t even remember Tu Hexiangchu.

It was at that moment that people from Strategy God Heavens came looking for him.

After that, he committed a grave mistake—so severe that Tu Hexiangchu personally delivered him to the Judgment Court, sentencing him to lifelong imprisonment for crimes against humanity.

When the verdict came down, Tu Hexiangchu stood not far away, watching him with a complicated expression. Those who despised Zhongse couldn’t help but applaud, but Zhongse himself smiled.

Everyone wondered what he was smiling about. Had he finally lost his mind completely?

Soon, the murmurs were cut off outside. Behind the prison door, only Zhongse knew what was in his heart:

This was for the best. He would never have to see him again.

Out of sight, out of mind.

(End)