Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve: Ming Yang

“Zhen Lin, keep looking for the phone. Ignore him—he’s always so erratic, we can’t keep up. Let him think things through on his own, reflect a bit.”

Yi Zhen continued his usual sharp-tongued performance. Though he’d selectively muted him earlier, this time he caught a bit of the noise—but didn’t want to respond. Whenever Ming Yang slipped into this effeminate state, he mastered female tantrums to perfection. The more you reacted, the more he escalated. Better to finish this task quickly so he could go find something to eat.

The two hand-grab pancakes were nearly gone, yet his stomach still stubbornly protested, making it impossible to focus. Add Ming Yang’s constant noise, and it was truly irritating. He had to speak up—but after saying it, he decided to shut his mouth and keep eating. Still starving. No time to deal with people unless the phone turned up, which might finally explain why he’d fainted.

To be honest, he didn’t know when he’d started eating so well. Just moments ago, he’d eaten one pancake longer than these two combined—even though he’d gulped them down fast. Yet he couldn’t match the speed of devouring both at once. And his stomach felt no fullness at all. Had he become a bottomless pit?

But given his malnourished frame… he felt a flicker of worry, a touch of unease. Hope everything’s normal. Otherwise, he’d end up in the hospital for a painful gastric lavage, just as Zhen Lin said.

As he ate, leaning against the wall, Yi Zhen suddenly realized the gravity of this: it concerned his health. Best not to take it lightly.

Still, his body faithfully kept chewing—just a moment, and the last bite vanished. The “visual feast” was over. Luckily, Ming Yang was completely blocked by tall, muscular Zhen Lin; otherwise, he’d surely have questioned his own sanity.

The guy himself didn’t care. When starving, appearance meant nothing. If this got him full, he’d even thank it—though it was unrealistic. Who hasn’t fantasized about having the best things for themselves? Only after being struck down do you truly turn back…

“Yi Zhen, you!”

Hearing this, Ming Yang seethed. They told Zhen Lin to ignore him—and worse, acted like he didn’t care. It made him furious. Fine, he couldn’t see the feast, but now they treated him like dirt? Had all his concern been fed to a dog? And he’d suffered the pain of having his hair yanked out—pain, so much pain!

His heart felt like a thorn stuck deep—unseen, untouchable, impossible to pull out. It was unbearable. He ignored me? I’ll silently mark this down. Later, I’ll draw circles, stick pins in a doll, curse him: never have toilet paper when he poops, always face misfortune. Ugh…

At that moment, a scene seemed to form—except the woman had been replaced by Ming Yang, fingers curled like orchid petals, left hand wiping tears from his face. The dissonance was thick, yet oddly fitting.

“Tsk. Ming Yang, I’m not helping you this time. You keep suddenly turning into a woman. Why can’t you learn from me? Work out. Study. That’s better. Maybe for now, you just need to step out of our little family. Without change, we can’t connect. Like this womanly temper—you need to fix it.”

Zhen Lin naturally agreed with Yi Zhen’s words. But before that, he owed him some honest advice. Though Ming Yang was infuriating now, they’d lived together so long—he still wanted him to fit in. As someone whose emotions were often unstable,

Whether he listened or not didn’t matter. Just saying it was enough. If he truly wanted to cause trouble, then fine—let them part on bad terms.

He also knew the game-win threat had no effect. Better to be direct: either adjust and stay friends and classmates, or the dorm will isolate you.

Though Lao San’s stance was unclear, it didn’t matter. Worst case: two vs. two. Oddballs need special handling—not forced harmony. If you know you can’t fit in but force yourself anyway, you get nothing but targeted hostility—and a body full of bruises suits you fine.

So even if he got sabotaged later, he didn’t care. This wasn’t just play anymore—it was his attitude. If this kept up, how would he ever attract girls? How would he ever control his own romantic choices? All of it would be ruined by this boss. Relationships mattered too much. Since Yi Zhen started it, he’d follow. After all, Yi Zhen would take the brunt. He didn’t care if Yi Zhen could handle it—someone had to take the bullet. (Yi Zhen: You’re so polite *#&)

He lightly patted Ming Yang’s shoulders, then pinched a few bones for a simple massage and relaxation. When Ming Yang winced, he stopped. His words were said. Now it was time to seriously search for the phone. The call had gone unanswered for ages. Where had it fallen? Somewhere nearby, surely. It couldn’t run off on its own—phones weren’t that smart yet.

Even if there was a one-in-ten-thousand chance it had appeared, no student could afford it. Especially not Yi Zhen, a semi-poor student. That’d be cruel—he didn’t even own a laptop.

Maybe interacting with electronics really changes a person. But Yi Zhen was fine—he only played during breaks. Tomorrow, he’d be scribbling furiously again. That’s what Zhen Lin taught him: balance study and leisure to live better. Otherwise, you’d become a relic, out of step with the times.

“Get lost!”

Hearing this, Ming Yang erupted. He hated being lectured, especially now, in this altered state. He’d only harbor resentment, plotting revenge. Maybe that was just his nature—nobody could sway him.

Seeing he wouldn’t listen, Zhen Lin gave up. He let go, turned to Yi Zhen, and shrugged—whether he saw it or not. Then he went back to searching for the phone.

They’d already checked under the bed. Nothing found. Maybe they hadn’t looked closely enough. Re-examine. If still nothing, move to another spot.

Luckily, though Ming Yang looked furious, after Zhen Lin left, he made no further moves—just stared red-eyed at the wall, silent and still. It was oddly unsettling.

Fortunately, Yi Zhen and Zhen Lin’s stance was firm. They wouldn’t go fawning over him just because he was quiet and still. They weren’t desperate. Why care about his feelings? If he didn’t shape up, he’d never fit into their circle anyway.

Yi Zhen had maintained the same posture the whole time—just like Ming Yang. The only difference? One was naturally quiet; the other was plotting some bizarre scheme. As for reflection? That was just talk. If he could actually listen, none of this would’ve happened. Unless he returned to his old self, maybe then you could get a word in. Now? Only mischief could make him quiet.

“Phone, phone, where is it? Black phones are so hard to find—no reflection at all.”

Crouching, Zhen Lin peered into the dark space under the bed, eyes scanning. The call still wouldn’t go through. The notification said it was powered off—clearly dead. No way to use quick, simple methods to find it now.