Chapter 58: Chapter Fifty-Eight: You Must Be Happy

The time for the new semester had arrived.

Wang Yan and Fang Yin were both students at Huaqing, and Lin Jiamao and Zhao Ye were also nearby, not far off, so their start dates were nearly the same.

Wang Yan had chosen a computer-related major; he was already LV2 and wanted to push himself further. Aside from his pile of life skills, his other upgrades were too slow—he wanted to see just how far the system could take him.

As for Fang Yin and Lin Jiamao’s choice of major, Wang Yan simply said: choose whatever you like, and then he left them to it. He wasn’t counting on them to earn money—better to study something you enjoy, it gives you motivation.

Happiness, after all, must bring joy.

Wang Yan had already wandered through campus twice in reality; compared to twenty years later, it hadn’t changed much, so he didn’t bother gawking around.

The three arrived on campus, registered, picked up their supplies—Wang Yan helped Fang Yin with everything.

Fang Yin and Lin Jiamao both agreed they didn’t want to live on campus, but Wang Yan refused.

If you’re going to school, go to school properly—just go home for a couple days now and then. Life is long; even if you don’t get along, sharing a dorm is still a rare memory.

Besides, they’re still a bit immature. No matter how well-mannered Wang Yan was, he couldn’t tolerate endless nonsense.

Since they arrived early, Wang Yan saw only one of Fang Yin’s roommates—a simple, unassuming girl who had already cleaned the entire dorm by the time they got there.

After greeting the girl, Wang Yan took the two girls to his own dorm.

No one else had arrived in Wang Yan’s dorm yet; together with the two girls, they busied themselves making beds and cleaning up.

They bought some daily necessities, and the whole afternoon passed like that.

That evening, the three had a hearty dinner—it would be their last meal together for a while, since the new student military training would last a long time.

The next day, the three went together to Lin Jiamao’s school and helped her settle in.

Back at Huaqing, Wang Yan dropped Fang Yin off at her dorm building and returned to his own.

The other three roommates had already arrived; they all smiled and greeted him as he walked in.

“Hello.”

“Hi, I’m Wang Yan—the ‘yan’ from ‘zi yue.’ What should I call you guys?”

They briefly introduced themselves: one from Shanghai named Li Xiang, one from Suzhou named Zhang Ping, and one from Chang’an named Zhou Jiye.

Through interaction, Wang Yan learned their families were all well-off. But they were so serious about studying, they’d become a bit rigid and hadn’t adjusted yet. Add to that their shyness, and none of them were talkative.

Back when he was in school, Wang Yan had always thought studying was pointless. Worse—he thought the top students were fools. How ridiculous.

“Have any of you been to Beijing before?”

“No.” “Once.”

Zhang Ping and Zhou Jiye had never been; Li Xiang was the one who answered.

“Li Xiang, have you been to all the Beijing attractions?” Wang Yan asked.

Li Xiang waved his hand. “Years ago—I don’t remember much.”

“Alright, after military training, I’ll take you around.”

The three nodded in agreement—they wanted to see this vast capital properly.

“Alright, now we all know each other. If you need anything here, just come to me.”

Wang Yan politely ended the conversation.

They weren’t talkative, and Wang Yan was fine with that—he was two full generations older. If they were girls, maybe he’d tolerate it. But these three? No thanks—he’d already played life coach enough.

That night, Fang Yin invited Wang Yan to dinner.

Wang Yan immediately invited his three roommates along—he’d introduce them, maybe one of them would fall for a green bean.

“Got any plans tonight?” Wang Yan asked.

“Nope, why?” the three replied in unison, confused.

“Then get ready—I’m taking you to meet my girlfriend and her roommates.”

“Sure.” They had no objections.

Li Xiang asked after agreeing: “Wang Yan, when did you start dating your girlfriend?”

“High school—we were in the same class.”

“Damn, you moved fast,” Zhou Jiye said.

Wang Yan smiled slightly. “Alright, hurry up and get ready—Zhang Ping’s almost done.”

They were all men; they’d all had secret thoughts watching classmates flirt.

When they received their Huaqing acceptance letters during the holiday, dreaming of the future, it felt incomplete without a beautiful girl by their side.

Over dinner, casual conversation revealed everything Wang Yan needed to know about Fang Yin’s roommates.

Overall, they were fine—still innocent. After all, anyone who got into Huaqing, aside from geniuses, had worked hard to get there and hadn’t been exposed to much nonsense.

What happens later? Who can say.

The meal passed with idle chatter.

The next day, mandatory military training began.

Wang Yan had nowhere else to go, so he just wandered along.

But to his surprise, he spotted Chen Xun and Qiao Ran in Fang Yin’s training squad.

Fang Yin hadn’t told him—maybe they hadn’t arrived yet?

Wang Yan was impressed—they were this stubborn?

How did they even know what major Fang Yin picked? Didn’t care if they liked it or if it had a future? Just signed up?

Coming to Huaqing might’ve been for Fang Yin—but they didn’t just come, they enrolled in the exact same major.

Before, it was just speculation. Now, it was confirmed.

Fang Yin was secondary—this was all about targeting ME.

Since there was nothing else to do, Wang Yan, feeling mischievous, took advantage of free time to find Fang Yin.

Seeing Wang Yan, Fang Yin quickly pulled him over, blushing: “Let me introduce you—this is my boyfriend, Wang Yan.”

She paused, then added, as if the first line wasn’t enough: “We’ve already met the parents.”

This time, Fang Yin’s personality was much better than in the original plot—more proactive. So she got along well with her classmates and had some popularity.

The surrounding students, hearing this, let out a knowing, teasing “Ooooh.”

Fang Yin’s face turned even redder, but she stubbornly refused to look down.

Wang Yan smiled warmly and greeted them: “Hello everyone.” He chatted and laughed with the group of girls.

Sitting nearby, Chen Xun and Qiao Ran exchanged a glance, lowered their heads, and clenched their fists tightly.

After the laughter died down, as Wang Yan left, he casually glanced at Chen Xun and Qiao Ran. Seeing their helpless expressions, he smirked slightly—amusing himself by teasing these naive boys.

That night, Chen Xun seemed to have forgotten his earlier helplessness. He picked up his guitar, just as in the original story, and began to sing.

I have to admit that this appearance is indeed useful.

Chen Xun sang in the center, the girls below chimed in, stirring countless hearts.

Clearly, without Shen Xiaotang, there’d be Zhang Xiaotang, Li Xiaotang.

Whether Chen Xun remains the same Chen Xun? We’ll see.

After military training and the freshman ceremony, university life began.

Wang Yan, Fang Yin, and Lin Jiamao, who hadn’t seen each other in a long time, returned to their home.

“I missed you so much, Wang Yan—did you miss me?” Lin Jiamao immediately clung to him.

Wang Yan had indeed neglected Lin Jiamao. Fang Yin was easy—he saw her nearly every day. Lin Jiamao was at a different school; during military training, they’d only talked on the phone, never met in person.

“Of course I missed you,” Wang Yan said, pulling her into his arms. “So, to show how much I missed you, I’ve decided to reward you properly.”

“How are you going to reward me?” Lin Jiamao pouted cutely.

Wang Yan wasn’t going to indulge her: “Don’t you know?” He picked her up and walked toward the master bedroom.

Fang Yin had special circumstances today, so Wang Yan didn’t bring her along.

Lin Jiamao knew full well what Fang Yin’s situation was—they were close allies. She grinned triumphantly on Wang Yan’s shoulder and stuck out her tongue at Fang Yin.

Fang Yin ignored her—out of sight, out of mind—rolled her eyes and went to the kitchen to prep vegetables.

Neither she nor Lin Jiamao could cook, so they just prepared ingredients while waiting for Wang the Chef to take over.

After a long while, Fang Yin grew restless. It had been nearly an hour—she’d finished cleaning the vegetables, yet they weren’t done yet.

Impatient, she walked to the bedroom and, from a distance, heard Lin Jiamao’s shameless cries. She knocked on the door irritably: “Hurry up! I’m hungry!”

Inside, Lin Jiamao shouted indignantly: “Fang Yin, you—ah!”

Fang Yin walked off humming Wang Yan’s original song, “Fly Higher.”

Soon after, Wang Yan stepped out of the shower, gave Fang Yin a slightly resentful look, and went to the kitchen to wield the ladle.

Fang Yin didn’t even look at him—she hummed a tune, sat on the stone bench in the yard, and swung one leg lazily.

When Wang Yan finished cooking, Lin Jiamao had recovered enough. It was late summer, cool at night; the three ate outside at the stone table.

Lin Jiamao viciously gnawed on the pork rib in front of Fang Yin.

Fang Yin carried on as usual, silently eating.

Wang Yan cleared his throat to get their attention: “I need to criticize Miss Fang Yin for today’s behavior. I expect you to reflect deeply and conduct a self-examination.”

“Yes, definitely criticize, definitely examine,” Lin Jiamao nodded fiercely.

Fang Yin wasn’t the least bit afraid—she even winked at Lin Jiamao.

“Wang Yan, look at her!” Lin Jiamao pouted.

“Alright, alright—I’ll punish her in a couple days. She won’t be able to get out of bed for three days.”

Hearing this, Fang Yin imagined something terrible and shuddered. She knew exactly what a “big beast” was like—she truly couldn’t handle it.

“Fine, fine, I’m wrong, I’ll examine myself.”

“Say it—what did you do wrong?” Lin Jiamao pressed on.

The three of them finished dinner with laughter and cleared the dishes together.

That night, Fang Yin slept alone...

The next day, Wang Yan told the two women to go home first; he bought some gifts and visited households one by one, enduring cold stares. He couldn’t handle this thing, but he still had to go—he couldn’t afford to be more unwelcome.

After visiting two families, Wang Yan went to the welfare home to see the elderly and children.

During this time, one elderly person had passed away; the children didn’t understand much, but the elders felt it differently.

The atmosphere at the welfare home was heavy, somber. No one could truly transcend life and death—even these elders, who had long lost the will to live.

Already in poor health, their spirits sank further; another two might not last long. Wang Yan stayed with them, entertained them, and tried to lift their spirits.

It was not a pleasant day, but classes officially began.

Wang Yan studied computer-related fields, which required massive practice. Besides, it was still 2001—copying code was still the norm.

He directly registered a holding company with Fang Yin and Lin Jiamu each owning half. Under it, he registered numerous subsidiaries—whether they’d actually operate or not didn’t matter; the names were secured. He didn’t forget his beloved logistics company either, opening another one as usual.

He hadn’t made much money these past two years, and couldn’t expand quickly—he’d just keep tinkering slowly.

I have to say, Huaqing was truly excellent—extremely talented and made things easier.

The day before National Day, Zhao Ye called Wang Yan, asking about his plans. When Wang Yan said he had nothing planned, Zhao Ye explained: he wanted to introduce him to his dorm mates and take them around Beijing.

No need to guess—Zhao Ye had surely bragged to his roommates about Wang Yan’s exploits. That was normal.

Wang Yan didn’t refuse; he also needed to take his own roommates out. Fang Yin and Lin Jiamu’s situations were similar—might as well go together. Many were kids from other provinces, come to Beijing, the capital of virtue—they ought to see it.

On October 1st, everyone gathered at Huaqing’s gate. With the roommates bringing more people, over twenty of them set off in a lively group.

To avoid causing discomfort to Fang Yin and Lin Jiamu, Wang Yan skillfully avoided any mention of their relationship; Zhao Ye, who knew the truth, kept quiet.

They toured for three full days before finishing. Too many people were on holiday; their enthusiasm had worn thin. The rest they could explore on their own time.

On campus, Wang Yan kept a low profile—every day he wrote code, honed his skills, and occasionally went out with Fang Yin and Lin Jiamu.

Chen Xun initially harassed Fang Yin together with Qiao Ran, but later he couldn’t anymore.

In the end, the dazzling world confused his eyes; Chen Xun grew erratic.

Chen Xun remained Chen Xun, only burdened now with unrelieved regrets and unavenged grudges.

In comparison, Qiao Ran was more steadfast—he wouldn’t let go of Fang Yin.

Wang Yan suspected even Qiao Ran didn’t know why he was so obsessed anymore; he’d lost the ability to tell.

Qiao Ran’s persistence left Fang Yin helpless, but she did give him a little warmth. Wang Yan knew all this and said nothing—if he lacked even this much confidence, what was he even doing? Chen Xun and Qiao Ran had always been irrelevant.

In the blink of an eye, time reached the second half of senior year, nearing graduation.

That day, afterward.

Wang Yan sat propped against the headboard, holding Fang Yin and Lin Jiamu.

“Wang Yan, I want a child,” Fang Yin suddenly said.

Wang Yan said nothing; he was deeply cautious about children.

After long thought, Wang Yan gritted his teeth: “Have it.”

Lin Jiamu beside him protested: “I want a child too—a girl.”

“Aren’t you going to be an actress?” Fang Yin asked.

“I’ll become one after giving birth—doesn’t that make sense?” Lin Jiamu clung to Wang Yan’s arm, pouting.

Wang Yan said firmly: “Then have both.”

One month later, both women became pregnant.

Upon learning both were pregnant, both sets of parents said nothing more—they simply moved into their home to care for the two “emperors.” Originally, only Lin Jiamu’s mother was coming, but Wang Yan decided: the rooms weren’t lacking, so let them all come.

Over the past several years, aside from their disapproval of Wang Yan, the two families got along remarkably well—no messy disputes.

Another month passed; everyone graduated, and the two women stayed home to rest and nurture their pregnancies.

Wang Yan rarely came home except to sleep—he was constantly busy with company affairs. Simply put, he found it unbearable to stay home.

The next year, April—within days of each other, both women gave birth.

Lin Jiamu, who had longed for a daughter, gave birth to a boy as the firstborn; Fang Yin gave birth to a girl as the younger sister.

Lin Jiamu was heartbroken for a while, but later thought better of it—after all, they were both her children, the same.

At first, newborns left no room for the father—Wang Yan couldn’t even help. The grandparents doted on them obsessively.

Only when it came time to name them did Wang Yan finally get to speak.

It was his first time being a real father—he racked his brain, trying to sound scholarly.

After much thought, he still couldn’t decide—finally, he named the son Wang Hui and the daughter Wang Jia.

Though both sets of parents weren’t fully satisfied, Fang Yin and Lin Jiamu liked the names, so it was settled.

Once the two women finished their postpartum recovery and were fully stable, the parents finally left.

Wang Yan stayed with Fang Yin and Lin Jiamu, helping them recover and care for the babies.

After recovery, when the children were one and a half and weaned, the women who had once begged for children couldn’t bear the constant childcare. Truthfully, they weren’t mature enough—they left Wang Yan as the full-time stay-at-home dad and went back to work.

Fang Yin joined the company; Lin Jiamu worked at a film studio Wang Yan had previously acquired.

Wang Yan didn’t care what they did—he just adored the children more and more. His only regret was that his father and mother couldn’t witness this scene.

Life returned to quietude: the two women went to work, filmed movies; Wang Yan stayed home, raised children, wrote code, and occasionally practiced calligraphy.

From childhood to now, Wang Yan had watched his two children grow from tiny specks into energetic, jumping bundles. Though their baby voices asking why they had two mothers were occasionally annoying, at all other times, Wang Yan adored them deeply.

As for the welfare home, some of the children had grown up, others had died; most of the elderly were gone. The former director fell seriously ill and never recovered, passing away in 2013. As he died, he gripped Wang Yan’s hand tightly. Wang Yan understood—he still couldn’t let go of the cause he’d devoted his life to.

In his final moments, he raised his arm, just as he remembered, and with his last strength, rubbed Wang Yan’s head.

It was the first time Wang Yan had cried since receiving the system.

There were inevitably disturbances: as Fang Yin’s company grew stronger and more influential, and as Lin Jiamu thrived in the entertainment industry, they attracted persistent surveillance and investigation by opportunists.

After endless digging, they finally unearthed Wang Yan’s story. For such celebrity gossip, the public adored it. Wang Yan’s response was simple: yes, the internet has memory—but it’s also forgetful. The usual trick? Create another scandal to bury it.

In the future, when people mentioned it, they’d treat it as no big deal—just a bit of gossip to laugh about.

July 27, 2014, an auspicious day, suitable for marriage.

That day was Zhao Ye’s wedding.

Over the years, Zhao Ye had done well by following Wang Yan. In college, he excelled in the Student Union, joined the Beijing Basketball Club. Later, for various reasons, he retired and followed Wang Yan’s lead, living a comfortable life.

When Wang Yan’s family arrived, they saw Zhao Ye and his bride greeting guests at the door.

Since Zhao Ye had some media value, reporters had been waiting. Seeing Wang Yan’s family appear, they erupted. It was Wang Yan’s first time under the spotlight—he, used to operating behind the scenes, found it unpleasant.

He ignored them—Zhao Ye had already come over with his bride.

“Big Brother Yan, you finally came!” Zhao Ye warmly embraced Wang Yan and the two women.

Wang Yan nodded to Zhao Ye’s wife and said: “Cut the nonsense—you’ve heard this from me how many times?”

“Be more composed,” Zhao Ye and Wang Yan said in unison.

They exchanged glances and burst into laughter.

Wang Yan poked Zhao Ye: “You little rascal.”

“Let’s go inside,” Zhao Ye glanced at the frenzied reporters.

“Let’s go,” Wang Yan said, but Wang Jia behind him objected.

“Uncle Zhao, you haven’t greeted me or my brother yet.”

“Oh! Little Hui and Little Jia! I was so busy talking to your dad I didn’t even see you! Let Uncle hold you—I’ve missed you so much!” Zhao Ye patted Wang Jia’s head and scooped her up.

“Let’s go!” Amid Wang Jia’s bright giggles, Zhao Ye carried her away.

Fang Yin, about to scold the child—she was nine, too immature—Wang Yan stopped her. He knew Zhao Ye truly loved these children. If Wang Hui had been a girl, he’d have picked her up first.

Looking at the festive decorations, Fang Yin and Lin Jiamu felt a little sad. They couldn’t hold a grand ceremony—it would draw too much attention. They’d only taken wedding photos in gowns and invited close friends for a simple meal, announcing it quietly.

Not being able to legally register their marriage with Wang Yan was a small regret for them. But with a husband like him, they were content.

The banquet hall was already full—guests were classmates and friends from years past, all eager to catch up.

Zhao Ye led Wang Yan toward the front tables, but Wang Yan stopped him: “Let’s sit with our high school classmates—we haven’t seen them in ages.”

“Alright, come on—they’re over there.” Zhao Ye walked while mocking classmates: “This one got fat, that one went bald...”

“Oh, by the way, Chen Xun and Qiao Ran are here too—they’re over there.” Zhao Ye pointed.

Wang Yan and the two women looked over. Sensing it, the two men turned from their conversation and stared.

Wang Yan nodded to them and walked over.

The old classmates all stood up excitedly when they saw Wang Yan—partly because of his past intimidation, partly because of his current status.

“Class president!” “Class president!” They called out in unison, as if by habit.

Wang Yan nodded, calling out several names: “How’s everyone doing?”

“Great!” came the thunderous reply. Other guests turned to look—they recognized Wang Yan’s group, but none dared approach; they knew their place.

“Sit down, everyone. Today is Zhao Ye’s wedding—the biggest gathering we’ve had in years. Let’s drink until we’re drunk.”

“Hahaha, good! Drink until we’re drunk!” The classmates sat down, chattering.

They didn’t mention Fang Yin or Lin Jiamu—after all these years, they’d discussed it enough.

Wang Yan brought the two women and the children to sit at Chen Xun and Qiao Ran’s table.

They hadn’t expected Wang Yan to come—they stood up, nervous under his shadow.

“Why so tense? Sit down,” Wang Yan pulled out chairs, gestured for Fang Yin and Lin Jiamu to sit and tend to the children.

Wang Yan sat, looked at the two uneasy men across from him: “How have you been these years?”

“Fine.”

“Still single?”

Both instinctively glanced at Fang Yin, met her gaze, and quickly looked away: “Still single.”

You’re not getting any younger; it’s time to get married.

Chen Xun said, “Let me see a bit more. Just a bit more.”

Qiao Ran stared at Wang Jia beside Fang Yin without speaking.

Seeing Qiao Ran’s gaze, Wang Yan signaled to Fang Yin. Fang Yin said, “Xiao Jia, go greet the two uncles.”

Wang Jia walked politely to the two men: “Uncles, hello. My name is Wang Jia.”

“Hello, hello,” Qiao Ran murmured, rubbing Wang Jia’s head, his voice trembling. He had so much to say, but not a word would come out.

Chen Xun looked at Wang Jia, then at Fang Yin. He thought that after all these years, he could stop thinking, stop longing.

But now that they’d met, why did it hurt so much?

Wang Yan patted both their shoulders, picked up the child, and led the two women away.

Chen Xun watched the silhouette of the family of five walking away and sighed deeply. He turned to Qiao Ran beside him, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face.

Qiao Ran felt as if he had been thrown back to high school, as if the slender white-clad figure who once napped in the sunlight, wiping sweat beneath its glow, stood right before him.

Pushed by Chen Xun beside him, Qiao Ran snapped back to reality, felt his tear-soaked eyes, and quickly wiped them. I haven’t even drunk yet—how did I get drunk?

He looked at Chen Xun and saw tears in his eyes too. He punched him lightly; just like in the old days, they mocked each other’s red eyes.

That day, all the classmates got drunk.

They remembered every moment from back then, as if it had all happened just yesterday.

They spoke of the happy, the sad, the shared memories of the past.

Chen Xun and Qiao Ran’s minds were filled with nothing but that white-clad figure; they drank themselves into oblivion, begging to stay drunk forever, trapped in that moment. “Fang Yin, you must be happy.”

Zhao Ye saw off the guests, returned, stayed half the night, then collapsed.

On the new wedding bed, Zhao Ye’s young wife wiped his face with a towel.

Zhao Ye suddenly grabbed her hand and whispered, “Lin Jiamo, you must be happy.”

“You must be happy.”

Zhao Ye’s wife paused, silent tears falling. She knew his story, their story, their story—she knew them all.

Late at night, in a house by the North Sea.

Wang Yan kissed each of Fang Yin and Lin Jiamo on the forehead as they slept.

Then he went to the children’s room, tucking each blanket snugly; their sleeping postures mirrored their mothers’.

Wang Yan moved from room to room, watching them all, determined to remember them all, etching them into the deepest corners of his memory.

At some point, a blue light flashed...