It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 90

“Bang!”

A gunshot shattered the silence of Fisherman’s Wharf. On the street, pedestrians screamed and scattered in chaos, some diving down for cover.

“Ah!”

Ye Wanjia shrieked, instinctively crouching down. But Pei Suye grabbed her and yanked her up, pulling her behind a roadside mailbox for cover.

That mailbox, left from ten years ago when people still mailed letters, had long been abandoned. It stood there now as nothing more than a piece of street decoration—yet in this moment, it served as their shield.

Yes, gunfire. Again.

As someone born and raised in China, Ye Wanjia had spent the first 23 years of her life seeing guns only on TV. But after coming to America—first that night’s mugging, and now today’s chase—she had heard gunshots twice.

And this time, it wasn’t just one shot.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three more deafening shots rang out, accompanied by the sound of rapid footsteps, echoing from the street corner to the west. It was like a warzone, like shells exploding in a country torn by conflict. Panic-stricken civilians scattered like rats, crouching low, covering their heads, with no idea where the next bullet might land.

“Ah—ah—ah!”

Screams kept erupting all around. Men shouted in terror, women cried, children sobbed. People were knocked over, stumbling and trampling in their frantic escape.

It took quite a while before the gunfire and footsteps finally faded away into the distance. Slowly, people dared to stand back up.

But behind that dark green mailbox, the two young women remained huddled together, tightly entwined.

To be precise—Pei Suye was the one refusing to let go of Ye Wanjia.

Her arms were wrapped around the girl, one arm across her shoulders, the other shielding her head. Her eyes glared fiercely toward the street corner, arms holding so tightly it was as though Ye Wanjia’s neck might snap.

“Senior?”

Ye Wanjia tried to twist her neck, cautiously lifting her gaze—only to see a sight she would never forget.

Pei Suye sat rigidly on the ground, eyes fixed in the direction the gunfire had gone. Her brows were locked tight, her beautiful eyes wide open, glassy and cracked like a web of fractured glass. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her usually gentle face bristled with sharpness.

It was the same expression she’d worn that night when the vagrant’s gun was aimed right at them—the same raw, terrifying, overwhelming effort to overcome fear and shield her behind her own body.

“Senior.”

The first soft call hadn’t broken through, so Ye Wanjia tried again.

This time, Pei Suye trembled and came back to herself. She slowly released the girl from her crushing hold—though even as her stiff arms let go, they still carried that lingering numbness.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder—PTSD.

In that instant, Pei Suye was fragile. Her whole body was like an overinflated balloon, stretched so taut that even a single grain of sand could make it burst.

Ye Wanjia saw it all. Her heart felt as though a blade had been driven through it, slicing the softest flesh into ribbons—bloody, raw, and torn apart.

Shifting from a crouch into a half-kneel, she carefully reached for Pei Suye’s wrist, guiding her arms back around her own waist, crossing them at her back. Then, leaning in gently, she wrapped her own arms around Pei Suye, deepening the embrace.

“It’s fireworks.”

She whispered.

Pei Suye didn’t respond—still trapped in the grip of her terror, her body ice-cold. It took a long time before Ye Wanjia’s words pierced the fog.

“Hm?”

Her stiff vocal cords scraped out a hoarse sound. Her lifeless eyes shifted slightly, focusing again, slowly making sense of the street before her.

“It’s fireworks.”

Ye Wanjia repeated softly, her words slow, patient, tender. Just like how Pei Suye had once comforted her in moments of fear—with gentleness, with love.

“Not gunfire. Just fireworks blossoming in the sky. Today is my birthday. They’re celebrating with me in their own way. It’s something to be happy about, nothing to be afraid of.”

Most people, if their birthday coincided with a shooting, would be furious, cursing their luck. But Ye Wanjia was different. Even when sinking in the mire, her eyes still carried the light of stars. She was like a firefly glowing faintly in the forest—small, but bright enough to push back the darkness.

Her soft words brushed like feathers, strands of light falling across Pei Suye’s long hair, draping her in the warmth of spring sunlight.

And in that moment—the glacier melted, blood returned to her limbs.

Resting her head on Ye Wanjia’s shoulder, eyes cast down at those curling locks, Pei Suye’s heart swelled with tenderness, overwhelmed with emotion.

This once-naïve, unstable little girl had grown into someone with a strong, steady core. Even faced with sudden danger, she could meet it calmly—and even soothe her, gently, tenderly.

“Xiao Yezi, I love you.”

That night ended with the two of them going shopping in Chinatown. They bought a big jar of chili sauce and piles of Chinese snacks, happily bringing them home.

As for the birthday gift—it was a thin little card.

“This is an editor from a Taiwanese publishing house. You can talk to them, maybe get your novel published.”

Pei Suye handed her the card.

“Novel?”

Ye Wanjia was stunned. She had never told Pei Suye about her writing. Even Wei Xiaoxiao didn’t know her pen name—only that she made a bit of money every month from writing stories online.

“What novel?”

Her first reaction after her real-life identity was exposed—play dumb.

Pei Suye was about to head into the kitchen, but at those words she stopped, turned back, lips curving into a half-smile:

“The one you write on Jinjiang.”

Ye Wanjia froze like she’d been struck by lightning. She swallowed hard. “Which one?”

Still pretending.

Pei Suye narrowed her eyes, raised a brow, and said deliberately:

“‘Miss Pei and Miss Ye.’ Isn’t that yours?”

Boom—

The sky itself seemed to split. Ye Wanjia stood dumbstruck, as though hit square in the head—helpless, exposed, utterly undone.

There was no point hiding now. She confessed:

“How… how did you know I write novels?”

Pei Suye chuckled. “You’re always typing at your computer. Every time I come close, you switch the screen. Hard not to notice.”

“I could’ve been doing other things! Like… like being a keyboard warrior, arguing online!”

“You’re not the type to waste time on meaningless things.”

Defeated, Ye Wanjia puffed her cheeks in protest. Then, still unwilling, she asked:

“But how did you know it was that one? Even Xiaoxiao doesn’t know.”

That was the biggest mystery—how the real-life person she had based the story on had ended up reading it.

“By chance.”

Pei Suye’s answer was simple—and yet utterly real.

“Sometimes, when I’m tired, I’ll read novels to relax. That day, I saw one on the rankings called Miss Pei and Miss Ye. I thought it was funny that the names matched ours, so I clicked it.”

Her gaze caught the flicker of panic in Ye Wanjia’s eyes. She stepped closer, leaned to her ear, and murmured:

“And then, I saw someone had written out every detail of how we met, how we got to know each other, how we fell in love. Even split into two parts. In the second part, the two of them go to America—end up in Davis, in the veterinary medicine lab. Tell me, isn’t that a little too much of a coincidence?”

“Ugh, you!”

Ye Wanjia squealed, retreating in embarrassment. She clamped her hand over those infuriating lips. “Shut up, don’t say it, not another word!”

Her cover had been blown so abruptly, and the worst part was how calmly, almost teasingly, Pei Suye described the whole discovery.

But very quickly, Ye Wanjia realized—covering her mouth wasn’t enough.

Those steady eyes were locked right on her, brimming with emotions and pride, glimmering like starlight.

No need to guess—she knew exactly what Pei Suye was thinking:

“So Xiao Yezi can write novels.”
“She remembers every detail between us so clearly.”
“Her writing is beautiful—capturing our story in words is more romantic than any photo.”

Flustered, Ye Wanjia turned away and slapped her hands over Pei Suye’s eyes, cutting off the gaze entirely.

What a humiliating birthday!

Fine—your birthday’s coming up soon. Just you wait.

In her heart, Ye Wanjia swore revenge.

Support