Jiaojiang City nestled between mountains and sea, with the Jiao River running east-west through it. Though separated by just one river, the development on the north and south banks differed greatly. More than a decade ago, “North Shore Ningren” was practically synonymous with country bumpkins.
Before Lu Ping enrolled, Jiaojiang No. 1 Middle School hadn’t seen a North Shore student in years.
Lu Ping himself didn’t know what stroke of luck had struck during his high school entrance exam. His grades had always been average, yet he scraped by into this provincial key high school. His parents gritted their teeth and threw an enrollment banquet. They’d saved that money for a long time, originally planning to buy a shopfront and turn their street stall into a proper breakfast spot. But their son had done so well this time—they had to celebrate properly.
That day, Lu Ping’s parents finally held their heads high. Lu Ping followed them from table to table, toasting and greeting people. Relatives who had never given them a proper glance now smiled warmly, vying to praise him, as if a pack of jackals had turned into obedient house dogs.
“Pingping, study hard and get into a top university someday!”
“Lu Ping, once you’re over there, don’t bring shame to us North Shore folks!”
“Little Ping, you’re doing so well—remember to tutor your sister. Then the family will have two college students!”
Lu Ping’s little sister was Lu An, still in elementary school. The little girl sported two sheep-horn braids and spoke in a crisp, lively voice—unlike her brother, who was as quiet as a gourd. When the relatives mentioned her, she slurped her orange juice nearby and giggled.
Lu Ping knew everyone in the family favored his sister. He wasn’t jealous, just envious. After she was born, their family situation improved a bit, and his parents sent her to kindergarten. Kids needed to socialize with peers, and soon she could dance, recite nursery rhymes, and even picked up standard Mandarin with a childish lilt from her teacher.
He, on the other hand, had never gone to kindergarten. While his parents manned the stall selling glutinous cakes, he—barely tall enough to reach the cart—had stood on a stool collecting money. Customers buying glutinous cakes would tease him, saying he had the look of a little boss.
Lu Ping wasn’t one for grand ambitions. He thought being a small boss was fine, and plodding through school was fine too.
Still, if he really made it to university, he wanted to see the world outside. He’d heard there were no glutinous cakes beyond Jiaojiang.
That way—no one would chuckle and call him the “North Shore Glutinous Cake Prince” anymore.
…
“Glutinous Cake Prince! Kick the ball over!” A grubby soccer ball rolled to Lu Ping’s feet. He was reading under the shade of a tree on the sports field and looked up at the dozen or so boys playing soccer on the lawn.
This was PE class, with three classes combined. Once free activity time hit, the boys went wild. The liberal arts class didn’t have many boys, but they all knew each other by now. They’d greet each other on sight, and the rowdier ones gave each other nicknames.
“North Shore Glutinous Cake Prince” (sometimes shortened to “North Shore Prince” or just “Glutinous Cake Prince”) became a label Lu Ping couldn’t shake throughout high school.
He couldn’t tell how much goodwill or malice was behind it. He’d asked a few times for people to just call him by name, but no one listened.
More precisely, it was as if they couldn’t hear Lu Ping or see him.
Lu Ping was invisible at school—he wasn’t athletic, average-looking, middling grades, no special talents, and not outgoing enough to bond with the other boys. So, naturally, everyone overlooked him.
No one called him by name seriously, just as no one invited him to play soccer during PE.
Except when the ball went out of bounds.
Lu Ping stood, awkwardly kicked it back, and got no thanks.
But he didn’t mind. He sat back down under the tree with his book. Nearby, a few girls on their periods rested in the shade too. They called it resting, but they were swapping gossip. They didn’t bother keeping their voices down—probably because they didn’t care that Lu Ping was there.
He was ordinary, plain, honest—like his name.
Lu Ping rather liked hanging around the girls. He could eavesdrop openly on the gossip while doing his own thing.
He lowered his head to his book—or more accurately, the phone hidden inside it.
Jiaojiang No. 1 Middle School forbade phones, but Lu Ping had sneaked one in. Like others, he’d hollowed out an old useless textbook and tucked the phone inside. Most kids used theirs for games online, but Lu Ping’s was too old for that. His parents trusted him with it so they could stay in touch during his commute to and from school.
Parents didn’t realize that even without games, an internet-capable phone offered endless fun for a teen.
Over summer break, Lu Ping downloaded the hottest social app, “partner.” It let you post short videos, photos, and moods—the must-have friend-making app for high schoolers.
He’d signed up hoping to find common ground with classmates. But once registered, he discovered a world of diverse peers. He didn’t need to limit himself to south or north bank, or butter up Jiaojiang No. 1 Middle School kids.
He got hooked on a self-made game: He’d tap a trending post, pick a random commenter, check their friends list, then friends of friends, jumping links randomly until he landed on a total stranger’s life.
This way, he saw foreign exchange students’ $8 buffets, Northeast high schoolers trudging through knee-deep snow, even Myanmar border students commuting across countries.
He dove into new worlds, peeking into lives utterly unlike his own.
Among these “life snippets,” one was his favorite.
Lu Ping couldn’t recall how he’d found that peer boy’s account. Location: Capital. ID: wonderland, translating to Dream Island.
And wonderland’s life was indeed dreamlike.
Few friends, infrequent updates. Posts were casual life logs: accompanying Mom to a concert, backstage photo with the lead violinist; standing in for Dad at a charity auction, donating century-old calligraphy; reading an original foreign book, margins dense with notes; or visiting the horse ranch to see his beloved horse.
Yes, wonderland even had a horse!
Not the rural workhorses, but an imported purebred warmblood—glossy chestnut coat, sleek muscles, majestic build. The boy in full riding gear held the reins, gaze aloof toward the camera.
Tall and straight-shouldered, he straddled the line between youth and adult. His features were strikingly handsome—elegant eyes and brows, radiant like a clear breeze and moon. His existence proved how biased the heavens could be.
Even sharing the same gender, Lu Ping had to admit the Capital boy was perfection itself.
A strange feeling ignited in Lu Ping’s heart.
He envied him deeply, yearned to become him, even fantasized about meeting him one day. But Lu Ping knew this envy and longing were baseless. He was a speck in little Jiaojiang City; at seventeen, his farthest trip was the provincial capital. Mere luck made him think he could touch that distant Capital teen.
Lu Ping saved all of wonderland’s photos.
Flipped through them now and then.
Occasionally recalled him amid life’s breaths.
Staring blankly at Five-Three in class, Lu Ping wondered if wonderland did these workbooks—with his background, he’d study abroad, maybe practicing oral English with a foreign tutor.
At five a.m., helping load steamed glutinous rice dough onto the cart, he wondered if wonderland had tried glutinous cakes—would he like the sticky mega-dumplings stuffed with potato shreds, mung bean sprouts, fried cruller bits, and braised pork?
Of course, Lu Ping thought of wonderland most when called “North Shore Glutinous Cake Prince” yet again. wonderland wouldn’t be ignored; he’d be the center of attention. One cool glance, and others would hush. He rode horses, so he was athletic—basketball, soccer, every boy would want him on their team.
…
Whenever he had a moment, Lu Ping checked wonderland’s account.
Today was no different.
But something unexpected happened—the system said wonderland didn’t exist!
Lu Ping’s heart skipped. At first, he thought he’d mistyped, checking the letters over and over.
Why didn’t wonderland exist?!
Under the tree, Lu Ping shot to his feet, face ashen. Nearby gossiping girls jumped, then pursed their lips in annoyance at the class loner staring at his phone. They ignored him.
Lu Ping had no time for them.
Risking teacher discovery, he frantically called the app’s customer service, asking why wonderland’s account was gone.
The rep’s tone was curt and cold: “Thank you for calling. If an account shows as nonexistent, the user has deleted their profile.”
Deleted… his profile?
wonderland deleted his account?
One click erased all traces online. Photos, thoughts, life snippets—gone.
Lu Ping’s connection to him—gone.
Dizzy, Lu Ping shivered despite the bright sun.
Only now did he realize how fragile his envy, longing, peeking, fantasies were.
So easily shattered.
wonderland was gone, but Lu Ping couldn’t accept it.
He slumped back to the ground, staring dumbly at the screen.
Idle too long, the app backed out to his own profile.
His ID: fake diamond—picked while listening to the song during signup.
Lu Ping followed no classmates, just posted sunsets, seascapes, roadside strays. Boring, ordinary stuff—no fans.
Gazing at his bland page, a bold idea bubbled up.
His fingers moved on their own, opening the gallery, uploading a photo—
In the photo, a handsome boy in knight’s riding gear led a chestnut steed, expression distant, gaze toward someone beyond the screen.
A few seconds later, the photo uploaded successfully.
Gazing at the image now displayed on his homepage, countless specks of light seemed to flash before Lu Ping’s eyes.
He heaved a heavy breath.
From that day forward, Lu Ping was no longer just Lu Ping.
He was fake diamond.
