Chapter 10

"Hurry up! If he's fine afterward, I'm gonna beat him senseless to vent my rage—I haven't forgotten that hair-pulling insult, but I'm giving you face for now, hmph!" Mingyang kept muttering about his earlier humiliation, yet for the sake of brotherhood, he'd let Zhenlin handle it first—classic face-saving behavior.

He'd done childish things like this before, but back then he'd settled the score immediately; now, with Zhenlin standing in the way, he couldn't act. Sigh—why did he end up with such a useless teammate? Yi Zhen was just hungry, right? Why not just fetch him food and be done with it? Why the endless dragging? Acting like a girl! He dramatically flicked his pinky finger, then returned to normal, placing his hand under his chin in the classic spectator pose, ready to quietly watch Zhenlin's move. Since he was bored anyway, why not enjoy Yi Zhen's feast as an audience?

He still remembered how Yi Zhen used to eat—slow, deliberate, serene—making all the guys in their dorm hungry just watching. Too bad he hadn't seen it in ages; he actually missed it…

Huh? Isn't Zhenlin holding two portions?

Mingyang spun around to check the bed where he'd left the food—damn, it was completely empty, not a crumb left. What the hell was he gonna do when he got hungry later?

Whatever, better not to see it. Their dorm's food supply was already wiped clean; if he got hungry again, it'd be Bai Da anyway. To avoid dying of craving, turning away was the best choice. Sure, the chewing sounds were tempting, but not seeing it was still better—he could barely resist.

Zhenlin would never guess that Mingyang, who'd just moments ago looked skeptical and curious, had already forgotten their simple promise. Now he stood with his back turned, no mirror raised—after all, he never liked sneaky, underhanded stuff, so there was no way he'd use mirror reflection to spy on them.

Everything was normal, just waiting for word that the eating was done—then he could finally reach out his claws and teach Yi Zhen a lesson. Just thinking about it felt good. Of course, sneaking an attack while he ate? Impossible—he was a gentleman. When would he ever get a girlfriend? That'd at least satisfy his mom's constant nagging about marriage.

Ugh, I'm only seventeen! Sure, I'm the oldest in the dorm, but why's everyone treating me like I'm ancient? I've only been in school for two semesters—I'm still in high school! Why the rush? Aren't pinky fingers and bow ties cute anymore? Isn't cosplay cool enough? I just want one girl to pretend with me—just a simple act, no real marriage ever. I haven't even had fun yet.

Pfft, better stop daydreaming. Worst case, I'll just free myself—I've got ways to make money. As a dorm supervisor, I've got privileges, limited but still profitable; I won't starve. If anyone's anxious, it should be my family, not me. Why am I overthinking? Probably just bored. Maybe count sheep—relaxes me and distracts me. Perfect two-for-one.

……

Mingyang slipped into his own imagined world, muttering silently—no effect on the outside world at all. Except standing there like an idiot, no one would notice anything odd.

Honestly, none of them in this dorm were normal.

One effeminate guy, who got promoted to dorm leader because of his age and his mouth—then dragged into being dorm supervisor after being too active in organizing events. He hated it at first, now he loves showing off.

One guy with a brilliant mind but limbs too simple—no clear opinions when things happen, practically brainless—but he's a real academic genius.

You couldn't really argue with that.

One game noob who didn't care if he won or lost, still cheerful, had a bit of opinion but not much, weak judgment—otherwise he wouldn't have needed three tries just to meet the minimum standard. Polite term: cautious. Unpolite term: stubborn as a mule. Only gets it when someone spells it out for him—total hardhead.

The last one, their dorm's third brother, ranked fourth in looks but the biggest vacation addict. Every holiday, he vanished the moment he got back to the dorm—you never knew when he left, and worse, he never came back on time. Sometimes he didn't return until noon the day after the deadline. The homeroom teacher had long given up; knew nagging was useless, so just approved him every time. What could you do? Report him for truancy? Please, that affects performance metrics—who'd turn down money? As long as he didn't exceed his own promised time, it was barely acceptable.

The Four Greats are all accounted for—total collection of weirdos, perfect number for mahjong. Too bad the school strictly forbids it; otherwise, we could play till the world turned upside down. And Third Brother's speed? Everyone's seen it—no need to even imagine such a scenario.

"Hey, Yi Zhen, if you can finish it all, it's yours. Don't overeat. Remember that story I told you before? Stomach pumping is agony—better not try it."

Zhenlin still had some psychological scars. After walking to the bed, he placed the food directly in Yi Zhen's line of sight, then slowly stepped back, reminding him of that past incident as he spoke.

If it hadn't been so vivid, he'd have forgotten long ago. But that memory still haunted him. His tone grew somber, but he quickly pulled himself together—he didn't want to spread bad vibes. From the perspective of a roommate and good friend, he just hoped Yi Zhen would be okay, wouldn't end up in the hospital over this—it wasn't worth it. Beneath his rough exterior, he probably had a simple heart.

Back then, his father suddenly fell gravely ill. His mother couldn't leave to care for him. If Zhenlin hadn't happened to return home on break, his father's spine might have collapsed forever…

Fortunately, though his father lay in bed, he smiled. That moment was unforgettable—he slept peacefully, content.

But good times never lasted. While Zhenlin was in the restroom, the door closed. Only two patients were there; he could hear faint voices from outside—the doctor and nurse who'd treated his father. He didn't understand the condition, and panic rose. He dared not burst in. His hand lifted again and again, then dropped each time—repeating endlessly.

Though surrounded by stares, he paid no attention—his whole focus was on that door. But he lacked the courage to face it, because it was the very thing he feared most…

Doctor: This patient's condition is serious!

Nurse: What do we do now? We can't keep him lying here forever—his belly will rupture.

Doctor: Of course we can't delay, but to clear his throat, we need tools. None are ready—we can't start yet.

Nurse: Got it. I'll get them right away. Dr. Hu, take the patient out first. I'll come find you later.

'Squeak!'

The closed door swung open. Zhenlin, tear-streaked, collided with the nurse. He quickly wiped his face and dashed inside—he had to know the situation immediately. At least he wouldn't have failed as a son.

"Hey, kid, wait a second!"

Even though her stomach hurt from the collision, the nurse didn't care—seeing the small figure bolt away after bumping her, her reflex kicked in to stop him.

Too bad adults aren't as agile as chubby kids. In seconds, he was face-to-face with two wide-open eyes inside. He realized it had just been a false alarm—he relaxed, then stepped forward again toward his father. He wanted to stare longer—please let his dad get better soon. Otherwise, he'd be heartbroken. After all, this was the first time he'd seen his father so weak. It was impossible not to be moved.