From a young age, Li Ran had been educated to study hard every day and make progress. If he dared to date before adulthood, Bai Qingqing would absolutely grab a rolling pin and let him feel the full force of being beaten to death with “random sticks.”
When he was little and saw the male and female leads kissing on TV, Bai Qingqing would exclaim “Oh my!” in disgust, deeming it improper to watch. She would either hurriedly block Li Ran’s view or chase him away to buy a bottle of vinegar or a bag of salt.
Sometimes she didn’t even bother pretending and just made Li Ran stand outside the door for a bit.
Because she wouldn’t turn off the TV—she still wanted to watch it herself. She simply eliminated Li Ran, the source of the problem.
In his memory, Bai Qingqing particularly loved chasing idol dramas, the kind full of pink bubbles. She would watch until midnight, then grin foolishly at the mirror while brushing her teeth and washing her face in the morning. When she looked up during breakfast prepared by Li Ang and compared him to the domineering CEO, anyone could see the gap.
Bai Qingqing would grumble indignantly, “How did I end up marrying such an infuriating loser like you? You earn less than me, and the kid even has to take your surname Li. I really want to strangle you in the middle of the night.”
Li Ang would smile embarrassedly, his expression especially shy—only honest men smiled like that.
These petty complaints were just offhand remarks from Bai Qingqing. Li Ang knew his wife wasn’t really angry; even her barbs felt like compliments.
He cared about his wife the most.
Then he cheated.
Li Ran still remembered that year—he was twelve.
Bai Qingqing, who had just noticed her “loser husband” acting off for three days, instantly transformed into Sherlock Holmes on the spot. She secretly checked Li Ang’s phone but found no suspicious little vixens.
She tailed him for a week. If she hadn’t been unemployed at the time, with nothing but free time on her hands, she might not have even noticed Li Ang’s changes. But she still didn’t uncover anything conclusive.
Li Ran didn’t know the truth of this “affair-hunting” saga, but from his mother’s ashen face, he knew his father’s mistake was far more serious than most. His mother vomited for two days straight.
After that, Bai Qingqing became abnormally fixated on little Li Ran’s love life, constantly feeding him ideas that boyfriends and girlfriends were a no-go.
Her calm hysteria in those words was no better than a deranged woman in a mental hospital.
She never stopped to think what kind of beneficial emotional education a twelve-year-old could get from such “enlightenment.”
It wasn’t until she met a good man again that Bai Qingqing’s upended worldview slowly righted itself. She stopped forcing Li Ran to listen to her curse out Li Ang and refused to even mention him anymore.
Now seventeen, Li Ran knew what puppy love was, what dating was like, and that gay people existed in the world. But he didn’t know if he liked boys or girls.
He just felt repulsed and panicked by that kind of emotion toward men. The moment he let his mind wander, it was like going back a few years—Bai Qingqing’s torrent of insults from back then turned into boomerangs flying at him, riddling his heart with holes.
During that time, his mom smoked and drank, retching in disgust. The hole rotting in Li Ran’s heart was filled with that image of his mother.
When Chi Mo asked him, “Do you like boys or girls?” even a honest kid like Li Ran felt offended by the echo of Bai Qingqing’s past lion roars in his ears and brain—he couldn’t help but get a little upset.
But on the way back from the airport, afraid of getting lost, Li Ran still clutched Chi Mo’s clothes hem tightly, following close behind his heels with his head down, not daring to let go.
Of course, Chi Mo was afraid he’d get lost too. He reached back, naturally grasped Li Ran’s wrist, and led him forward without even turning his head. Li Ran let him lead.
Chi Mo’s question held no malice.
Li Ran didn’t see any problem with it.
He had gone abroad in a daze and returned in a daze. When asked what he’d seen, he couldn’t even come up with any impressions.
Chi Mo made him write an essay—a reflection on the trip—and hand it in before the team-building event.
Li Ran protested on the spot: “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone abroad…”
But he was dealing with jet lag at the time.
On the way there, Li Ran hadn’t even considered jet lag. Subconsciously, he thought it was just like going to another province, as if Britain was part of China. After flying there and back, his internal body clock was thrown into chaos. He was so sleepy during the day he could barely keep his eyes open, but at night he was wired like a cat.
Chi Mo flew back and forth often and had adapted since childhood, with two sets of body clocks.
The first night Li Ran couldn’t sleep, Chi Mo sat in his room working to keep him company and wear him out. When daytime came and Li Ran wanted to sleep, Chi Mo dragged him to work, making him the mascot and continuing the torment.
By the next evening, this little cat finally couldn’t hold out and crashed into bed, sleeping like the dead. Of course, Chi Mo couldn’t hold out either—staying up at night, working during the day, and more torment at night. Exhaustion hit, and he slept soundly for the first time in years.
In the last two days before team-building, Li Ran’s blood was pumping—he couldn’t sit still. He eagerly awaited the day, like one of the elementary school kids back in school days when the whole school was notified for a spring outing. Shy but excited to play, terrified it might get canceled by some emergency.
“Bro, we’re not skipping team-building, right? It won’t suddenly get canceled, will it? We’re going, right, Bro? Bro…”
Chi Mo replied patiently, over and over: “Mm.”
“Mm.”
“Mm.”
Finally: “Rain or shine, thunder or wind, we’re going.”
Li Ran relaxed and got happy.
In his excitement, he completely forgot the trip reflection Chi Mo had assigned him. On departure day, when Chi Mo reached out for the essay, Li Ran had nothing to give and stood there dumbfounded for a while.
Finally, he went to Chi Mo’s drawer, took out his stashed wallet, and guiltily pulled out 200 yuan to slap into Chi Mo’s palm.
Bribing the boss.
Fortunately, the bribe worked.
The team-building lasted three days. The employees had already set off ahead, while Chi Mo and Li Ran went together, with Uncle Shen driving up front.
The main event that day was at night: pool and banquet.
The organizer had sent Li Ran the schedule. He was a landlubber, but he’d bought swim trunks and goggles.
Uncle Shen asked, “Graduated smoothly?”
Chi Mo replied coolly, “Didn’t run into anyone out to take your life.”
Uncle Shen tsked: “Who asked you?”
“The dog, probably.”
“Fuck.” Uncle Shen flipped him the bird.
The conversation was coded; Li Ran didn’t understand. He curiously glanced at Chi Mo beside him, then at Uncle Shen in the driver’s seat.
Uncle Shen was a strange guy. He never spoke to strangers—not because he was introverted; he was outgoing enough to treat all introverts like dogs. He eyed strangers with hostility, whether man or woman. If someone approached him first, he’d size them up with a gaze that was both wary and terrifying, as if confirming their intentions.
Only when he initiated conversation could he rein in that murderous aura. Uncle Shen wasn’t particularly burly—standard 180cm male model build.
But no matter who caused trouble or how imposing they looked, Uncle Shen wouldn’t give them the time of day. He could subdue them with one hand.
Uncle Shen played games every day at work, but not Parallel World. Still, he had an account. Once when Li Ran came to work, one of the screens on the lobby’s glass curtain wall happened to show Uncle Shen’s face.
He was killing someone.
The good kid had never seen such a scene; Li Ran’s little face paled, and he panicked, immediately reporting it.
Anyone who didn’t know would think Uncle Shen had actually knifed someone in real life.
After Li Ran breathlessly reported in the tone of “There’s a murderer in the company, wanted nationwide,” Chi Mo first reassured him, telling him not to be scared.
Then he said, “The Parallel Lives shown in the lobby are real people, randomly selected by the system for game progress. With thousands packed in densely, no one looks closely—so Li Ran, how did you spot Uncle Shen at a glance?”
His tone back then was like someone had touched his reverse scale—he was clearly displeased but held back his anger, asking slowly and deliberately to see if it’d reach the boiling point.
Li Ran felt a wave of “danger” tension.
He smartly praised Chi Mo’s game as perfect, almost indistinguishably real.
It wasn’t flattery—Li Ran genuinely thought Chi Mo was amazing and was often interested in the game. But he was afraid to dive too deep into such topics with Chi Mo, lest he not understand and suffer the blow of being intellectually crushed.
…He had his pride.
The team-building venue was at a manor with hotel-style rooms that Chi Mo had booked out. Prime location, easy access, mountains and water nearby—perfect for anything.
Li Ran didn’t count the hotel’s floors; his eyes were dazzled by the surrounding scenery. Without Chi Mo, he’d probably never visit such a high-end place in his life.
Even service staff wouldn’t hire him.
They set off in the afternoon, had a light meal to tide them over upon arrival, and soon night fell. The manor suddenly lit up with countless lights.
There was a pool downstairs, the water blue and clear.
Food and flowers surrounded the pool.
The faint moonlight hadn’t yet outshone the lamps, hanging in the deep blue-black night sky, making everything feel serene. Despite the manor buzzing with voices.
Li Ran sensed a touch of decadent luxury. If his language skills were up to par, he’d write Chi Mo a flowery essay full of ornate descriptions.
But all he could manage was plain talk like “Ah—it’s really beautiful,” wasting the visual feast.
Later, Li Ran attended a few real banquets with Chi Mo and saw true decadence and debauchery, but none stuck with him like this simple team-building event.
For someone long confined to the slums, no need for a king’s palace—just a meal at an upper-class home was already paradise.
“Bro, they’re swimming! I want to go too. Aren’t we going downstairs?” Li Ran pressed his face to the room window, nearly sticking to the glass, wanting to drag Chi Mo down with him.
Without Chi Mo, Li Ran lacked a sense of security. Though he’d gotten familiar with the brothers and sisters, Chi Mo going would be better.
“Do you know how to swim?” Chi Mo asked.
Li Ran admitted shamefacedly, “No.”
Chi Mo: “Then what are you going for?”
“I can learn…” Li Ran mumbled softly.
“You’re going in that?” Chi Mo picked up a pair of tight swim trunks from Li Ran’s open suitcase and asked.
They were both men, both swimming—can’t swim in clothes, right? But Chi Mo’s tone implied disdain, like “You’re bold to wear just that.” Li Ran didn’t know why his face heated up, afraid of being mocked. He rushed over and snatched the trunks back.
“I’ll go by myself…” Li Ran said.
Chi Mo: “Try it and see.”
Li Ran’s steps toward the door turned right back.
“Want to learn swimming?” Chi Mo asked.
Li Ran perked up: “Mm-hmm!”
Chi Mo said, “Change clothes. There’s a pool here too. We’ll go there.”
Neither fitting in himself nor letting Li Ran: “Just you and me.”
Li Ran had never systematically learned to swim as a child.
His dad was a landlubber, couldn’t teach him.
Li Ang grew up in the countryside with lots of ponds. While other kids were forbidden by parents from sneaking in to catch fish, they’d already learned backstroke, breaststroke, and doggy paddle bare-assed.
But tell Li Ang once, “You’re sensible, don’t learn from bad kids,” and he’d obediently sit by the pond doing homework.
Quirky in the extreme.
Bai Qingqing was a landlubber too. Couldn’t teach Li Ran.
But she was competitive—other kids could do it, so Li Ran had to as well.
At six or seven, Bai Qingqing dragged Li Ran to the swimming hall. Mother and son went light and easy, freeloading a lesson from the coach.
The coach was a beast on land, with prominent upper-body muscles, but in water, he was a butterfly. Water was his breath.
Seeing him swim so effortlessly, Bai Qingqing’s confidence exploded. She thought she’d nail it too and insisted on teaching Li Ran herself as his mom.
After choking on water and flailing like a wing-clipped goose, nearly drowning herself, the coach fished her out. Her pride took a massive hit.
