Time Has Grown Dim, And Evening Has Already Fallen - Chapter 18

Chapter 18

It was just that Liang Ziyan’s messaging frequency was exceptionally high today.

Lu Xingshu’s phone had originally been sitting on the desk, but because the vibration from the WeChat notifications was a bit too loud, he ended up tucking it into his side pocket.

The initial buzzing had actually woken Cheng Xun up. Conveniently, he’d had enough sleep anyway. He lifted his head and looked at Lu Xingshu with a dazed expression; his short hair was a messy nest sticking up at the front, making him look rather silly.

The two of them sat side-by-side in the very last row on the far left of the classroom, though the seat to Lu Xingshu’s right had remained vacant.

“Your WeChat is so noisy,” Cheng Xun whispered a complaint. The atmosphere for self-study in the classroom was actually quite poor, with hushed conversations happening in every corner, but he still instinctively lowered his voice. “Hurry up and reply.”

Lu Xingshu looked down at his phone, keeping it tucked under the desk to be more discreet.

“It’s a classmate,” he explained softly. “From my old school.”

Cheng Xun gave a lazy “Oh” and slumped back down, resting his cheek on his arm. His round eyes were half-closed as he peeked at Lu Xingshu, his face pressing against his arm just enough to squish a bit of cheek fat out.

Lu Xingshu scrolled through the messages from Liang Ziyan. It turned out the Provincial Experimental School had also just finished their midterms, and Liang Ziyan had bombed them. His father hadn’t spoken to him since the parent-teacher conference, subjecting him to a relentless cold shoulder.

Liang Ziyan had sent walls of text, perfectly showcasing his miserable psychological journey. Halfway through, Cheng Xun’s curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned over to sneak a look.

His medium-short black hair brushed right against Lu Xingshu’s ear.

It tickled.

Lu Xingshu instinctively reached up to scratch his ear, and his fingertips brushed upward against Cheng Xun’s cheek. Fortunately, his nails were trimmed neat and clean; Cheng Xun only felt a slight, cool touch on his face.

“?” Cheng Xun looked up at him, his cat-like round eyes full of innocence—though it was clearly a fake act. “I wasn’t peeking.”

Lu Xingshu: “…?” The ultimate “guilty person giving himself away” move?

“It’s fine if you look,” Lu Xingshu said, looking down. “It’s all just about studies anyway.”

Cheng Xun said with difficulty: “…What is with you top students? Do your private chats only consist of schoolwork?”

The corners of Lu Xingshu’s mouth twitched slightly as he began typing a reply.

He sent brief phrases like: Try harder next time. Don’t let it get to you.

“You’re being way too insincere,” Cheng Xun couldn’t help but criticize. “What’s the difference between this and just replying ‘oh’?”

Lu Xingshu’s finger paused over the ‘Enter’ key, but he sent the message anyway.

“He’s used to it,” he thought for a second before adding, “It’s like this every time he fails.”

Cheng Xun blinked, thinking to himself that Lu Xingshu’s friend seemed to be a “high-volatility” top student.

Perhaps because his expressions were too easy to read, Lu Xingshu seemed to see right through him.

“My friend’s exam performance depends heavily on his mood.”

Cheng Xun nodded and gave a simple smile. “Understood.”

“But I think your friend’s dad has a huge problem. Giving your son the cold shoulder just for one bad exam? That’s a bit much.”

Lu Xingshu recalled the parent-teacher conferences from freshman and sophomore year. He didn’t have a deep impression of Liang Ziyan’s father, only remembering him as a stern middle-aged man.

He narrowed his eyes slightly and gave an “Mm,” agreeing with Cheng Xun’s view.

When they got home after the parent-teacher conference, Grandma was grinning from ear to ear.

Lu Xingshu’s grades were impressive enough to make her proud, but she was even more heartened by Cheng Xun’s progress. You have to understand—her Xiao Xun was good at everything except school. Now that he was improving there too, how could she not be happy?

Cheng Xun didn’t really need a reward, so when Grandma asked what he wanted, he just laughed and said he’d be happy if she made them some late-night snacks.

Lu Xingshu echoed the sentiment.

Grandma briskly set out to cook two bowls of noodles. Surprisingly, she used instant noodles—normally, even if they ate noodles at home, she only allowed the healthy, dried wheat variety.

The older generation’s hatred for instant noodles is deep-seated—”carcinogenic,” “unhealthy,” and so on. Even though Cheng Xun had tried to explain that the noodle cake itself isn’t harmful, Grandma never believed him.

Eating spicy ramen on a cold night was pure bliss, especially with soft-boiled eggs and ham added in…

A late-night snack was a sinful yet joyful experience.

Time seemed to pass especially quickly once winter hit.

Actually, No. 9 Middle School had a fairly colorful array of extracurricular activities and clubs. However, high school clubs didn’t grant credits, so participation was purely based on personal interest.

Back when the clubs were recruiting, Cheng Xun hadn’t even bothered to look, and Lu Xingshu seemed equally uninterested.

But after hearing Lu Xingshu sing at the KTV, Cheng Xun felt it was a bit of a waste that he didn’t join the Music Club.

Then again, thinking of the state of their school’s Music Club, he decided it was better he stayed away.

Originally, the Music Club—strongly supported by the teachers—was the largest club at school and even had its own special name. Unfortunately, the previous president had embezzled the club funds to wine and dine his girlfriend. The members knew, but no one dared to speak up until the president graduated. Only then did someone anonymously vent on the school BBS.

The “anonymous” post was decoded by everyone in the know, and soon a mob joined in the roast. Eventually, the school found out and tightened regulations on all clubs.

Later on, they got broadband installed at home. Lu Xingshu’s laptop didn’t have a password, and he let Cheng Xun use it whenever he wanted.

Cheng Xun had no desire to pry into anyone’s privacy, so he never intentionally looked through Lu Xingshu’s hard drive. It’s safe to say that 90% of high school boys have things on their hard drives that shouldn’t see the light of day.

Like Xie Qiubai…

Cheng Xun and Xie Qiubai had known each other long before they were seatmates—it was destiny. They’d been in the same schools since preschool, just never in the same class.

In middle school, because of academic stress, Cheng Xun started frequenting the internet cafe owned by Xie Qiubai’s father. Xie Qiubai, recognizing him, struck up a conversation. One chatterbox met another, and they became close. By sophomore year, Cheng Xun had visited Xie’s house several times and used his computer.

It wasn’t that he looked on purpose; Xie Qiubai was just excessively careless. His folder names weren’t even disguised…

Lu Xingshu’s laptop only had two partitions: the C drive for system files and a D drive that held everything else.

He did play games—his computer had most of the current hits—but he wasn’t addicted. He’d only play a round or two on weekends. Cheng Xun had seen these games at the internet cafe but had no interest in them. Since Lu Xingshu started lending him the laptop, he occasionally played on Lu Xingshu’s account.

With Lu Xingshu’s permission, of course.

Unfortunately, Cheng Xun seemed to have zero gaming talent. He was a complete “noob.” In competitive e-sports, he was a total “noob” who got slaughtered. Even with Lu Xingshu guiding him from the side, he lost so badly he almost lost his shirt…

After several crushing defeats, he even dragged Lu Xingshu’s rank down an entire tier.

Feeling embarrassed and not wanting to be a burden, Cheng Xun stayed far away from that game from then on.

Eventually, Cheng Xun found a game that suited him—a casual MMORPG, the “lazy person’s gospel.”

However, when he logged into Lu Xingshu’s account, he was stunned by the guy’s aesthetic.

This guy actually played a female character…

And she was gorgeous—carrying glowing weapons, wearing elegant costumes, even her face had been meticulously customized to look beautiful.

Cheng Xun immediately attacked: “Lu Xingshu, you’re actually playing a ‘trap’ character in a game!?”

“?” Lu Xingshu gave him a look of genuine confusion and offered a righteous rebuttal: “Why would I want to look at a man’s back while playing a game?”

Cheng Xun: “…”

He has a point. The adult female characters in this game really did look much better than the males.

Cheng Xun’s resolve began to waver.

Ultimately, Lu Xingshu taught him how to register an account and create a character. Cheng Xun chose the same server, but when it came to character creation, his indecision flared up.

He picked and chose until he finally settled on the “cutest” class—an even more extreme choice than Lu Xingshu: a bouncy, energetic young girl…

He just used a free face template he found on Baidu, but she was quite cute.

Once he entered the game, however, he realized the starter outfit was painfully plain…

Cheng Xun’s enthusiasm always faded quickly, especially when faced with the long grind of leveling up. He only played casually on weekends, and after two weeks, he hadn’t gained many levels. Instead, he preferred playing on Lu Xingshu’s account.

Because it was so pretty—Lu Xingshu must have spent quite a bit of money on it.

He actually asked Lu Xingshu about it.

“How much money have you spent on this game?” Very direct.

“I don’t remember,” Lu Xingshu answered honestly. “I didn’t think it was much back then.”

Thinking about it now, it was probably a lot.

“Well, it’s virtual property,” Cheng Xun smiled, his dimples appearing. “If you’re ever penniless in the future, you can sell this account and become a rich man again.”

Cheng Xun had checked; the game had an official trading platform. As long as the game was popular, accounts that had money poured into them would always retain some value.

Hearing this, Lu Xingshu seemed to realize something. Had he been overlooking a shortcut to getting rich?

But since Cheng Xun seemed to enjoy playing, there was no need to sell it. If he liquidated his other game accounts, he really could make quite a bit of money.

Feeling a strange sense of “living off second-hand sales,” Lu Xingshu glanced at Cheng Xun’s profile. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave a very faint smile.