We Can’t Go Back 61

Chapter 61

They stayed in City A for about half a month. Song Shuci would usually go out to work in the morning, then come back to find him at noon. They would have lunch together, then randomly pick a place on the map and go there, playing until dark before returning to the hotel.

Actually, Jian Wu wasn’t someone who slept a lot. Except for the first two days when he woke up late, he usually got up around nine o’clock. But he knew Song Shuci had work to do in the morning and didn’t want him to feel pressured, so he never told him, always pretending he had just woken up when he arrived.

Since Song Shuci wasn’t around, he had nothing to do in the morning. He didn’t want to go out and risk not being back in time for lunch, so he simply livestreamed himself playing video games in the hotel.

He had created this account when he first left City A. Because he had cut off contact with everyone, he didn’t have any acquaintances, and being alone for a long time without talking to anyone could be lonely, especially since Jian Wu was someone who needed social interaction. So he started livestreaming.

He loved playing video games and happened to be good at a popular MOBA game. When he first started livestreaming, there weren’t many viewers, so he would just talk to himself, explaining the game as he played. Later, as the number of viewers increased, he would also chat and sing during breaks.

He was currently helping the rebellious student who actually got a perfect score achieve a higher ranking in the game, so he livestreamed himself playing. Because he didn’t show his face and didn’t stream very often, he didn’t have many fans, but it was enough for him to chat with them.

Someone asked why he had been talking less during his livestreams recently. Jian Wu saw the comment while waiting for a match, lowered his head, smiled, and thought for a while before saying: “Maybe because I’ve been talking too much in real life recently.”

He had always been a lively person. In the past, no matter who he was with, he could always chat non-stop.

During university, he single-handedly gathered a group of esports enthusiasts, ran around applying for permits, and established the school’s first esports association. During his years as president, he built the club from scratch, expanding it to dozens of members, organized several school-wide competitions, and even led the team to compete off-campus.

His university life, although not academically outstanding, was definitely rich and colorful. His active social life, coupled with his singing talent, good temper, conversational skills, and good looks, meant he received confessions frequently, which he always handled with ease and composure.

Although because of Song Shuci’s jealousy, he didn’t develop any close friendships, even with those who didn’t have any romantic interest in him, as long as he was at school, there were always people talking to him.

After so many years, he had become much quieter.

He originally thought he had matured and become more reserved, less talkative, but recently he realized that perhaps it was just a self-preservation mechanism his brain developed in an unfavorable environment.

And now, this lock was about to be opened.

His last game dragged on for a long time. It was already past noon, and the game still wasn’t over, which was completely unexpected.

Song Shuci usually came to find him around noon. He estimated that in two or three minutes, Song Shuci would knock on his door. He could put down his phone now and pretend he had just woken up, but it was a 5v5 game, and they were about to win, it would be unfair to his teammates to quit now.

Just as he was struggling with this dilemma, a knock came at the door.

Song Shuci never liked him playing video games, thinking he had wasted too much time on them during university.

After thinking for half a second, Jian Wu still chose to continue playing while opening the door for Song Shuci.

“You’re up early today?” Song Shuci walked in, closed the door, and put the food he had brought on the table. Glancing at his phone, he asked: “What are you doing?”

“Shh—” Jian Wu was in the middle of an intense battle and didn’t have time to talk, especially since his livestream was still on and his microphone was unmuted. Although he wasn’t a famous streamer, he didn’t intend to reveal too much of his private life to his viewers.

Song Shuci obediently shut up, arranged the food he brought on the table, pulled a chair, sat down beside Jian Wu, and watched him play. Perhaps because the game was close, Jian Wu turned on his microphone and started giving commands.

Song Shuci suddenly remembered someone saying that a person’s true personality was most revealed when they played video games.

He rarely played games and hadn’t paid much attention to Jian Wu playing before. Because of his disapproval, Jian Wu usually played behind his back, so he didn’t really know what Jian Wu was like when playing games.

Driven by this sudden curiosity, he looked at Jian Wu. The young man’s gaze was focused, his brow slightly furrowed, but not with impatience, more with concentration.

Song Shuci didn’t understand the game he was playing, but he could tell Jian Wu’s commands were clear and his voice calm. He praised his good plays and comforted his teammates when they made mistakes.

He was no different from usual, or rather, more confident and assertive than usual.

Finally, this long and drawn-out battle, under Jian Wu’s command, turned into a hard-won victory. Jian Wu let out a long breath, said “Ending the stream,” quickly exited the livestream, then looked at Song Shuci, slightly guilty.

Song Shuci handed him a pair of chopsticks and asked casually: “You even do livestreams?”

Jian Wu thought he was about to start another lecture about the evils of livestreaming and prepared to argue, but Song Shuci spoke first: “What game are you playing? Can you teach me?”

“Ah?”

Jian Wu, holding a piece of rib in his mouth, looked at Song Shuci, stunned.

Song Shuci sighed helplessly and repeated: “I want to play with you.”

The rib fell back into his bowl. Jian Wu turned and looked out the window: “Did the sun rise from the west today?”

This wasn’t sarcasm, he was genuinely surprised.

As once the closest people to each other, Jian Wu had thought about asking Song Shuci to play games with him. But Song, the involution king, not only had little interest in such things, but also always told him not to waste too much time on them.

He didn’t like forcing people, so after inviting him a couple of times without any response, he stopped asking.

He vividly remembered one incident. During the second semester of his junior year, the school suddenly told him he couldn’t continue running the esports club, because the new school leader thought promoting video games had a negative influence, and a university shouldn’t be promoting esports.

He argued with the leader for a long time before the latter finally relented, saying if they could achieve a good ranking in the upcoming intercollegiate esports tournament, they could continue running the club.

At that time, his classmates who had helped him establish the club were all busy preparing for guaranteed postgraduate admission, and the freshmen and sophomores were too inexperienced, their teamwork not as smooth. Plus, several skilled players, hearing the school’s disapproval, were worried that participating would leave a bad impression on the leaders, affecting their future evaluations, so they refused to participate no matter how much he tried to persuade them.

In the end, Jian Wu barely managed to assemble a team before the competition, practicing late every night, and barely made it to the semifinals.

According to the school leader’s promise, achieving a top three ranking would save the club, so the semi-final that night was especially important. He was a little nervous and, for the first time, actively invited Song Shuci to watch his match.

But they lost badly.

They first lost the semi-final, then the third-place match. The competition started at five o’clock, and because they lost so quickly, it was over before seven.

When they lost the last match, Jian Wu looked at the audience, Song Shuci hadn’t arrived yet.

But the school leader was very enthusiastic and pulled him aside as soon as he left the stage: “Student Jian, you can give up now.”

One of his teammates had performed very poorly in that competition, whether because of nerves or deliberately, Jian Wu didn’t want to know.

He just felt a little regretful. He had personally established this club, but he couldn’t save it.

He sat in the audience for a long time, until the champion was decided, until the award ceremony ended, until the volunteers started cleaning up, then he finally saw Song Shuci, who had arrived late.

Song Shuci walked up to him and asked: “Is it over?”

He sat there, looked up, buried his face in Song Shuci’s abdomen, smelled the lingering scent of disinfectant on him, and nodded dejectedly: “It’s over.”

Since then, Jian Wu had never touched that game again, until two or three years later, when he returned to City A, failed the postgraduate entrance exam again, and, feeling extremely depressed, opened the game again on a whim.

But many people on his friends list no longer played.

He searched and searched, but couldn’t find anyone he knew to play with.

So, after many years, he asked Song Shuci again: “Can you play games with me for a bit?”

But Song Shuci, looking at his expectant eyes, just kissed his hair: “Sorry, baby, I’m really busy recently.”

In the hotel room, Jian Wu reached out and touched Song Shuci’s forehead.

After all, he couldn’t understand how someone who wouldn’t even play games with him during the passionate early twenties could suddenly want to play games with him now, approaching thirty.

Song Shuci held his hand, placed it on his leg, gently caressed it, and asked: “Is my forehead hot?”

“It seems fine…”

Song Shuci smiled: “I didn’t understand before, but seeing you play just now, it seemed quite fun, teach me.”

Jian Wu’s palm felt itchy from Song Shuci’s touch, and he felt a similar itch in his heart.

“Fine,” he finally said, “I’ll teach you.”

As it turned out, Jian Wu was a good teacher, and Song Shuci was a quick learner. In just one afternoon, Song Shuci’s gaming skills went from zero to hero.

The next day, when he livestreamed himself playing duo queue with Song Shuci, even his viewers were surprised at his newfound, incredibly well-coordinated gaming buddy.

Jian Wu initially thought Song Shuci was just on a whim, but later he discovered that what Song Shuci was poring over wasn’t research papers, but the game notes he had compiled.

And at night, Song Shuci even excitedly said he wanted to take him to watch a competition.

Jian Wu then learned that there was an intercollegiate esports tournament happening in City A.

He wasn’t very interested at first, but then he saw from Song Shuci’s message that the organizer was his alma mater.

So after he left, did their school’s esports club continue?

Driven by curiosity, Jian Wu went to the competition venue.

These intercollegiate competitions were mostly for fun, not very popular. Although there were audience seats, they weren’t very crowded, especially since it was during the holidays, there were very few spectators.

But the young players on stage were still playing seriously, even without a live audience.

Simply because of their passion and love for the game.

Hobbies were like that. You might put in a lot of effort without achieving any worldly success, but it didn’t mean this passion was worthless.

Just like he never regretted spending his most precious time building the club instead of focusing on his GPA.

To Jian Wu’s surprise, the students from his alma mater were exceptionally skilled, their movements smooth, their teamwork seamless, clearly having practiced together for a long time. And as they won one match after another, more and more spectators were drawn in, until their final victory, when thunderous applause erupted from the audience.

Jian Wu was among the most enthusiastic applauders. He realized for the first time that winning on your home turf and receiving cheers was such a joyful experience.

Unexpectedly, as he was cheering for the players on stage, a girl suddenly appeared before him and asked with surprise: “Senior Jian Wu?”

Jian Wu instinctively replied: “Yes.”

The girl, happy to have confirmed his identity, waved at her teammates on stage and shouted: “Come here, come here, Senior Jian Wu is here!”

Jian Wu looked at her for a long time, confused, unable to recall who she was. He had graduated six years ago, logically, there shouldn’t be anyone who still recognized him. He said apologetically: “Sorry, may I ask who you are?”

The girl shook his hand enthusiastically: “I’m the current president of A University of Technology’s esports association.”

Jian Wu looked at Song Shuci, then at the group of students approaching him, “You all… know me?”

“Of course! Senior, you’re the founder of our club!” They spoke excitedly, some even asking for his autograph.

And the president said to him directly: “Senior, do you want to visit our club room?”

The person holding the trophy also chimed in: “We’re just about to put the trophy there!”

“You guys… have your own club room?”

Jian Wu felt like he was in a dream.

He remembered that they couldn’t even get temporary access to a classroom before, having to practice on benches and stone tables around the campus, a truly makeshift operation. He hadn’t expected them to have their own dedicated room now.

He walked in and saw the cozy and beautifully decorated club room, filled with game posters and trophies they had won over the years, and many photos, some of which he had taken himself, no wonder they recognized him.

And in the center was a calligraphy scroll Jian Wu had written in his chuunibyou eighteen-year-old phase—”Until the last moment, I will still stand.”

He remembered these things had been tossed into a cardboard box when the club was disbanded, then seemingly taken away by someone in the chaos. He had thought they had ended up in a landfill, he hadn’t expected to see them here again, and he hadn’t expected anyone to still remember him.

The students wanted to play games with him, so he pulled Song Shuci along and played with them all night, then treated them to barbecue near the school. This unexpectedly wonderful night finally came to an end.

On the way back to the hotel, Jian Wu finally had the chance to ask Song Shuci: “Was this also part of your plan?”

“Yes and no…” Song Shuci leaned against his door, “I did come to A University of Technology to inquire about their esports club because of you, and I also told them I was bringing you here today.”

Song Shuci smiled at his slightly flushed face from the alcohol: “But everything you saw today wasn’t my doing, but the seeds you planted yourself.”

The warm lighting in the hotel corridor fell on Song Shuci’s well-defined face, like a scene from an old movie.

Jian Wu felt lightheaded, his face also slightly flushed from the alcohol. He wiped his face and, after a long time, said: “Song Shuci, you know? Today was the happiest day I’ve had in years.”

“Really… thank you.”

“I told you it wasn’t my doing,” Song Shuci said.

Jian Wu shook his head, suddenly wrapped his arms around his waist, took his room key card from his pocket, swiped it, and before Song Shuci could react, pushed open the door and pulled him inside.

The light was shut out, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Without even inserting the key card, Jian Wu stood on tiptoe, wrapped his arms around his neck, and kissed him.

Song Shuci’s heart skipped a beat. He instinctively wrapped his arms around Jian Wu’s waist, his back against the cold door, his front against a warm body.

Jian Wu’s kiss was light and soft.

Warm, lingering, making him reluctant to interrupt or break it.

He didn’t try to take the lead like he usually did, just silently responded in the darkness, letting himself be completely lost in the kiss.

Until they were both tired, and Jian Wu bit his Adam’s apple, panting and letting go. Only then did Song Shuci come to his senses and reach for the key card.

But Jian Wu grabbed his hand.

“Don’t turn on the lights,” he said, looking into his eyes in the silent darkness.

“Song Shuci… I want to make love to you.”

Perhaps it was an illusion.

In that moment, Song Shuci was certain he heard the sound of blood rushing through his veins, a slight tremor in his blood vessels.

Some things didn’t need much preamble for them.

He kissed him back. Jian Wu pulled at his clothes, moaning between his lips. He gripped Jian Wu’s thighs and lifted him up. Jian Wu instinctively wrapped his arms around his neck, steadying himself, then, as Song Shuci sat down, sat facing him on his lap.

The curtains in the hotel room were tightly drawn, the temperature gradually rising. With their vision blocked, their sense of touch, hearing, and smell were amplified.

Song Shuci held Jian Wu’s waist and kissed his neck. His body was hot, much hotter than usual, perhaps because the alcohol had dilated his blood vessels, the increased blood flow bringing more heat, making his lips instinctively follow, licking and sucking, until his slightly cool lips were also burning.

Jian Wu, scorched by the flames, instinctively tightened his grip on his waist and let out a soft moan. Song Shuci took a deep breath and looked up, eager to see his face.

The rich scent of alcohol filled the room. He couldn’t see clearly in the darkness, but he remembered Jian Wu’s face should be flushed, since he had also drunk a lot.

He had also drunk a lot…

He had also drunk a lot.

Song Shuci’s mind buzzed, his movements suddenly stiffening.

Jian Wu, clinging to his shoulders, noticed his momentary distraction, “What’s wrong?”

Song Shuci looked at the outline of his face in the darkness, a question suddenly popping into his mind—was the emphasis of “making love” on lust, or on love?

“Do you love me?” Song Shuci bit his earlobe and asked, like he used to.

Jian Wu seemed to hesitate for a moment, then suddenly reached down to unbuckle his belt.

The strong scent of alcohol suddenly intensified. Song Shuci’s eyelashes fluttered.

Alcohol was indeed a… “good” thing.

After a moment of silence, Song Shuci held his breath, blocking out the scent of alcohol, and, touching his head, kissed him again.

“It’s nothing.”