Chapter 78: A-Yang, Can You Help Me?
The influencer cici, who stood at the center of this controversy, was considered one of the earlier people to rise among the self-media crowd.
Their initial burst of popularity came from a set of photos posted on social media—wearing a junior high school uniform. The standard loose blue-and-white school uniform, common across the country, formed a sharp contrast with their delicate styling and cold, world-weary facial features.
Although they hadn’t managed to become a top-tier influencer during that wave of traffic, over the years they had gradually built a stable audience. From time to time they posted photos on social media, took on promotional collaborations to earn money, and privately worked part-time as a print model.
However, the spread of public opinion was far more intense than expected.
An influencer scandal, cross-dressing, elite school…
One eye-catching keyword after another stacked together, and the waves they stirred up far exceeded the influence Xia Chun himself could possibly have had.
“So disgusting. Isn’t this basically a pervert?”
“Please ban him @xxxofficial. Someone like this sets a terrible example for teenagers!”
“Isn’t Guanli High’s tuition really expensive? Being an influencer makes that much money? Damn. Shouldn’t someone investigate? @xxxofficial”
“I’m a student at Guanli. That influencer is in our grade, but I heard he was a special-admissions student. So it’s probably not about being rich or not—he got in with good grades and tuition exemption.”
That comment had probably been meant kindly, but it quickly pushed public opinion in another direction.
“Someone dug up cici’s high school entrance exam scores. His city ranking was almost 3000, but Guanli High’s website says special admissions require top 500 in the city or outstanding talent. So how did he get that slot…?”
“Ah, so he’s a privilege kid. Nice.”
“Well, not necessarily. Maybe he really does have some special talent (yellow dog-face emoji).”
“What kind of talent? Please elaborate (husky rolling-eyes emoji).”
“Isn’t it disgusting to even start spreading sexual rumors…”
“Look at the person above empathizing with a creepy man. When he dressed as a woman and entered girls’ bathrooms and locker rooms, he didn’t show such high moral standards.”
“Exactly. The girls in that school are too pitiful.”
Some internet users who loved stirring up trouble not only tagged officials demanding action but also flooded Guanli High School’s official account asking for an explanation.
The most recent post on the account was still a peaceful promotional video for the school. A few hundred scattered alumni replies beneath it were suddenly overwhelmed by thousands of comments from outsiders.
The student responsible for running the account behind the scenes started sweating profusely and hurried to ask the supervising teacher what to do. In the end, they only received a vague instruction:
Ignore it for now.
Because the decision from above was to let the matter cool down quietly.
Xia Chun returned from the wet market with groceries.
These past few days he hadn’t gone to school. Aside from necessary errands, he mostly stayed at home.
And staying home didn’t give him much to do. He simply scrolled through his phone to pass the time.
He saw all those malicious comments online.
Actually, he really wanted to respond to a few points.
For example, he had never shared a changing room with other girls, nor had he used the girls’ restroom at school.
But those things didn’t seem very important.
Just like the spark that ignited this wave of public opinion—the whistleblower who exposed that he dressed as a girl. In reality, that person hadn’t provided any decisive evidence.
Under that post, someone claiming to be his classmate listed all sorts of his strange and unsociable behaviors, using the result to retroactively justify the accusation. A small number of people—probably his fans—kept tagging him again and again, trying to get a response.
A response?
What could he possibly respond with?
To gloss over something that was fundamentally true—wouldn’t that be shameless?
He had always been self-aware.
He was nothing more than a freak who didn’t belong among the crowd.
Because of one immature compromise, an old wound had been created—one that could neither be revealed nor healed.
Now that wound had been torn open.
The numb nerves came alive again.
It was like when he was little and burned himself while cooking noodles because he couldn’t hold the pot properly. When he applied ointment to the burn himself, he would imagine that the stinging pain meant the wound was being repaired and healed little by little.
Because of that, he could silently endure the pain.
He could even feel a twisted sense of satisfaction from the self-inflicted suffering.
When he got home, he saw a pair of women’s shoes by the door.
Before the door had even fully closed, hurried footsteps sounded from inside.
Feng Xiaochun came rushing out. Her condition was clearly poor.
She hadn’t carefully done her makeup as usual. Without lipstick, her lips looked pale.
“You’re back?” Xia Chun changed into slippers and placed the groceries on the table.
“What exactly is going on? Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Feng Xiaochun asked impatiently. “All the women I play mahjong with are asking me about it in the group chat. I’m so embarrassed I don’t even dare reply.”
“That Aunt Li—you know her, she’s always had it out for me. She even called to ask about it. I didn’t even want to talk to her!”
Xia Chun couldn’t get a word in. He could only listen silently as she vented nonstop.
“You’re such a troublesome child. Didn’t I tell you before—be careful at school, don’t tell people everything. You’re already this old and still don’t know how to be cautious…”
“I never told anyone.”
Finally finding a gap, Xia Chun said quietly, “All these years, I haven’t even had a close friend.”
“Then who could it be?” Feng Xiaochun looked suspicious, then suddenly had a realization. “Is it that son of the He family trying to mess with you—”
“Why are you bringing him up?” Xia Chun closed his eyes, his voice already irritated. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Then who else could it be? If you insist you never told anyone, then only those few people would know about it.”
Xia Chun took a deep breath, barely steadying his voice. He turned his face away coldly, unwilling to look at her.
“Can you stop bringing that up?”
“What’s that look on your face?” Feng Xiaochun’s expression instantly changed, her voice rising. “Are you blaming me now? If I hadn’t gone to make a scene back then, we wouldn’t even have gotten money for that apartment!”
“When I was with him, I didn’t know he was already married! If I had known, would I have gotten involved in that mess?”
“It was all because of you!”
As she spoke, Feng Xiaochun slapped Xia Chun’s shoulder.
“I lost all my dignity going to his house to cause trouble just to raise you. And you useless thing stood there like a mute, not even saying a word!”
“You weren’t good at studying either. Your scores were terrible. I even had to shamelessly go back to beg that He guy to get you a special admission slot. I only hoped you could attend a better high school, get into a good university. Then my life would feel worthwhile.”
As she spoke, tears streamed down her face.
“How did I give birth to such a useless child?”
“If I hadn’t had you, I’d already be living freely.”
The blows landing on him weren’t strong at all.
Xia Chun stood there blankly and endured them, until Feng Xiaochun had vented so much she couldn’t even shout anymore. She collapsed weakly onto a nearby chair.
Step by step, Xia Chun walked back to his room.
He practically leaned against the doorknob just to close the door.
Then he slid down and collapsed onto the floor.
He didn’t know how long had passed when he heard the front door open and close again outside.
He sat there quietly for quite a while longer before finally gathering enough strength to get up and go check.
The living room was empty.
Only a bowl of noodles remained on the table, already losing most of its warmth.
Xia Chun walked over and stared at the bowl for a long time before his awareness slowly returned to his body.
From his heart spread a dull, overwhelming ache.
“A-Yang… it seems like I can’t hear anything.”
He Ming’an remained silent for a long time before finally giving up helplessly.
“Huh?” Gu Yang narrowed his eyes in displeasure and leaned closer to scrutinize him. “Now you’re pretending to be confused?”
“Weren’t you enjoying listening before?” Gu Yang questioned expressionlessly. “I heard you even made a private group chat for it.”
“What am I, some kind of exhibit?”
He Ming’an hadn’t shown such weakness in a long time, but he still didn’t know how to explain himself.
Looking into those gray eyes staring directly at him, he could only raise his hands in surrender.
“I never thought of it that way. But I really didn’t lie to you.”
“Before, I could occasionally hear a few things,” he said. “But today it’s especially quiet. Maybe it’s because you know about it now, so I can’t hear it anymore.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Gu Yang said coolly. “So this is somehow my fault?”
He Ming’an choked slightly. “That’s not what I meant.”
The driver, who had been driving the car, tactfully pulled over to the side of the road. After getting He Ming’an’s permission, he slipped away under the pretense of using the restroom.
Gu Yang held a pillow in his hands, sulking.
After learning that his inner thoughts had been leaking out, he had initially felt extremely uncomfortable.
The shell he used to shield himself from the outside world had shattered piece by piece, exposing the soft interior beneath. Even the air touching it felt irritating.
But He Ming’an was different.
It wasn’t about whether their relationship was intimate or not. Gu Yang had always instinctively distanced himself from crowds and couldn’t stand someone being nearby when he was alone.
Yet when He Ming’an stayed beside him—even if they didn’t speak—he didn’t feel uncomfortable.
It was something that had gradually formed after long companionship.
“I want to see your group chat,” Gu Yang said, holding out his hand.
He Ming’an took out his phone, unlocked it, and handed it over.
Gu Yang opened the chat in front of him.
The newest message was from He Yihong.
Telling He Ming’an to stop meddling in other people’s business.
Gu Yang paused, then opened the pinned group chat named “GY Observation Base.” After selecting a date, he started scrolling down from the very top.
There were an enormous number of messages.
Every time he thought something in his mind, the group chat would explode with hundreds of messages.
It really felt… creepy.
When he reached a certain message, his finger paused.
“Why would Gu Yang suddenly want to commit suicide?”
“No idea… how did it come to this…”
“From now on we should all pay more attention. If there’s a chance, we should try to talk to him and comfort him. He’s really worrying.”
“Yeah!”
“By the way, next time I go play basketball I’ll bring him along. Exercise helps with mood!”
“I could take him to pray at a temple. Having faith might help him see things more clearly (???)”
“Maybe that’s a bit too much…”
Had he really thought about something like that before?
Gu Yang couldn’t quite remember.
But since that was originally how his story was supposed to end, it wasn’t strange that someone might have found out after hearing his thoughts.
He suddenly remembered the time Xie Wu had dragged him to play basketball.
He had thought the guy’s brain had short-circuited.
An indescribable awkwardness filled him as he kept scrolling randomly.
The discussion gradually shifted—from what he had been thinking about, to him as a person.
Why had he slept the whole day again? Someone should drag him outside to get some sunlight and drive away the mold.
Why didn’t he come today? Did he catch a cold, or did something happen?
When he went home in the afternoon, did the Gu family driver pick him up? Hopefully he didn’t get cornered by hooligans again.
…
Gu Yang expressionlessly scrolled through message after message.
Before reaching the end, he suddenly didn’t feel like reading anymore.
It wasn’t interesting at all.
With so much juicy gossip available, he had thought there would be more entertaining discussions.
He Ming’an sat quietly to the side, observing Gu Yang’s expression.
“Actually, at the beginning everyone did have their own thoughts,” he explained carefully. “At first it was Shen Mingjun. Since he wasn’t sure if it was real, everyone mostly treated it like entertainment.”
“Later, a lot of things happened. Everyone got closer and started trusting each other more. But the situation was still too unbelievable, so no one knew how to bring it up.”
Gu Yang lowered his head. His hair fell over his eyes, making his expression hard to read.
“Although we should all apologize to you… before that, we should probably thank you first.”
“Really?” Gu Yang turned off the phone and tossed it back to him. “What’s there to thank me for…”
“Everyone’s future changed,” He Ming’an said with a smile, his tone light. “That’s practically life-saving kindness.”
Gu Yang looked up at the smile on He Ming’an’s face and suddenly asked,
“What about you? Did your future change too?”
He Ming’an froze.
He was already used to Gu Yang abruptly changing topics without warning, but when the blade suddenly pointed directly at the core, he still lost his composure.
The mask of that smile almost slipped off.
“Me…”
He heard his own voice speaking slowly, still carrying a smile, trying hard to maintain the same demeanor as usual.
“It seems like… there’s nothing about my future that needs changing.”
