Chapter 83: Destruction Before Renewal
After hearing those words, Xia Chun’s mind went blank for several seconds.
Only after a while did fragments of memory slowly reconnect.
He remembered the scene from that day when he happened to pass by the swimming pool.
Through the glass window, he saw the figure who had been sitting high on the diving platform lean forward and fall. If it had been a scene in a movie, it would probably have been a long, slow shot under a gray filter, gradually coming into focus.
The falling body smashed into the calm surface of the water, stirring up huge waves.
The splashing water hit the window, forming wet ripples before slowly sliding downward.
The sound from that instant roared in his mind, sending a chill down his spine. Even though the weather had been gloomy, the scene before his eyes felt dazzling, like stabbing light.
What had he been thinking at the time?
The gloom knotted inside his heart felt as though it had been smashed apart by a massive rock, releasing a strange, scalp-tingling thrill from deep within.
What exactly was wrong with him?
Something he had always wanted to do but never managed to do suddenly unfolded before his eyes. In a daze, he almost felt as if he had inserted himself into that moment, and the sense of empathy made his limbs go numb.
“I remember there was a scholarship student who caused a scene on the rooftop before, threatening to jump,” Xia Chun said casually. “They barely managed to talk him down, but afterward another person also tried to jump.”
“I heard someone from our class offended the young master of the Gu family and bullied him to the point of jumping.”
“At the time I thought Ding Ziyu wasn’t that blind,” he added, adjusting his hair as if to cover something up. “Turns out you have a hobby of jumping off buildings with people?”
The incident Xia Chun mentioned had already become blurry in Gu Yang’s memory.
“Oh? You care about my business that much?”
“Not really. It was such a big incident that everyone around was talking about it. I just overheard a few things.”
That was what Xia Chun said.
But whenever he heard anything related, he would instinctively associate it with himself. With a mixture of fear and resistance, he still couldn’t stop paying attention.
“The most important thing for you right now is to see a psychologist,” Xia Chun sincerely suggested.
“I’ve seen plenty. But they all say the same things. I can practically recite it by heart.”
Xia Chun choked. He hadn’t expected Gu Yang to be so open about seeking medical help.
He suddenly asked, “Do you have someone you like now?”
Gu Yang, who had looked relaxed a moment ago, suddenly froze. A suspicious flush rose to his ears in the night, and Xia Chun caught the subtle pause.
“What, you do?” Even in such a terrible situation, Xia Chun couldn’t help gossiping a little. “Can I ask who?”
Gu Yang pulled a long face and didn’t want to talk. His mind was filled with Song Yinxing’s inexplicable words.
…Kiss my ass.
The moment Xia Chun asked that question, he realized he had spoken out of turn, but there was no way to take it back.
Afraid Gu Yang might say a name that would make things awkward, he hurriedly changed the subject.
“Since you already have someone you like, there’s no need to stay here and die with me, right?”
Gu Yang didn’t stay silent this time. He turned his head away.
“I… don’t want to become like her.”
This time it was Xia Chun who fell silent.
Everyone had their own knots in their heart—things others couldn’t untangle.
He slowly exhaled, pressing his palm against the stone slab beneath him before standing up.
So high.
The height hadn’t changed much, but once he stood, the view below became even more terrifying. He even wondered if his legs were trembling.
“I don’t have to jump. So can you come down too?” Gu Yang said softly.
His voice remained calm, unchanged by the situation.
Xia Chun had already shifted his gaze away from him, but hearing that, he still couldn’t help curling his lips.
“Do you know the story of Nezha?”
“….”
“When I was little, I turned on the TV once and it was playing that scene.”
“I watched the character kill himself—returning his bones to his father and his flesh to his mother. I didn’t even know the backstory, but I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. My whole body went numb.”
He covered his mouth, trying desperately to stop himself from sobbing. But that was unnecessary—through the door, his mother was laughing loudly with guests in the living room, their laughter completely drowning out his cries.
For a moment, he even thought he might suffocate.
He couldn’t help imagining what expression his mother would have if he actually died there.
Would she hug his body and cry loudly? Would she feel guilty—guilty that she had punished him to stay in his room and reflect over a trivial argument in front of so many people?
Whenever he imagined that face showing pain and regret, a strange numbness would spread through his heart.
Nezha returned his physical body and became free from the bonds of blood.
What about him?
The night wind howled through time, strengthening his resolve.
After all these years, he had made no progress at all. All he wanted was to abandon everything and leave behind a cold corpse.
That was the greatest revenge he could think of.
“Even now, I still wonder what expression she’d have if I died,” Xia Chun murmured with his eyes closed.
He hadn’t expected a reply, but Gu Yang spoke.
“After you jumped, the school notified your family immediately.”
Xia Chun’s eyes flew open in shock.
“When Feng Xiaochun was trying to get you the scholarship slot, she got angry at He Yihong’s cold attitude. In a fit of spite, she said she only wanted that one spot and would never step foot in Guanli Middle School again.”
“But when she heard the news, she dropped everything and ran to the school. Then she realized you had already been sent to the hospital and rushed there instead.”
“….”
That did sound like something she would do.
Xia Chun forced a smile. “Why are you suddenly making up stories? I’m not a kid who needs bedtime stories to fall asleep.”
“It’s not a story,” Gu Yang said. The wind lifted the strands of hair from his forehead, revealing clear brows and eyes. Those eyes lacked warmth, and his tone was a flat statement. “It’s something that will really happen.”
“Except in the original plot, the place you jumped from was the school rooftop.”
Xia Chun’s heart skipped.
That had indeed been his original plan.
“So I told him in advance to lock all the rooftop doors in the school so no one could get up there.” Gu Yang paused slightly, remembering how Class Eleven had secretly listened to his thoughts.
The “him” he mentioned was obvious.
Xia Chun didn’t want to continue the topic.
He had been too self-absorbed, focused only on revenge—revenge against his mother, and even resentment toward the father he barely knew. He had almost forgotten whether his actions might leave scars on someone else again.
“…Nice story,” Xia Chun said slowly, looking down at Gu Yang from above. “Sounds pretty believable.”
“You also wrote a suicide note,” Gu Yang continued.
Xia Chun froze completely.
“You wrote three sentences to three different people. You said—”
“Don’t say it!” Xia Chun interrupted abruptly, his eyes dazed. “How do you know all this?”
“I don’t just know yours. I know many people’s stories. Like Lu Ran’s, Nie Ying’s… Oh right, that’s why when I jumped into the pool I framed him.”
Xia Chun’s expression wavered, but he had no strength left to question where Gu Yang learned these things.
“…Then what?” he asked tremblingly.
“Then you didn’t survive the rescue. Your mother lost you—her last support. Overwhelmed by guilt, she became absent-minded and lost the will to live.”
The beginning was true. Gu Yang had altered the rest slightly.
After Xia Chun’s death, Feng Xiaochun did sink into depression for a long time, crying whenever she saw anything related to her son.
But with time she gradually recovered, began doing charity work at orphanages, and eventually met Xie Kai. Two people who had both lost someone important warmed each other’s lives.
But Gu Yang felt that if he told the whole truth, Xia Chun might really leave without hesitation.
Sure enough, Xia Chun’s eyes trembled violently when he heard that outcome.
This had been the revenge he wanted. Yet hearing it now, he still felt unbearable pain.
“…I see.”
Whenever harsh words were thrown at him or a slap landed on his face, he would hate her and vow never to treat her kindly again. But the moment she showed the slightest concern, he couldn’t help softening.
Gu Yang watched silently. He couldn’t understand such complicated feelings—his own connection with his mother had always been faint—so he simply waited for Xia Chun to process his emotions.
“But what should I do?” Xia Chun asked in a trembling voice. The crack in his emotions finally burst open, the numbness gone. “Things are already like this—what am I supposed to do?”
“My cross-dressing has been exposed. Everyone knows I’m a liar who deceived so many people. In this situation, how am I supposed to atone?”
“…Write a handwritten apology letter?”
Xia Chun: “……”
His emotions were abruptly interrupted.
“Besides, so what if you deceived people? It’s not that big a deal,” Gu Yang said, puzzled.
“Online and in the entertainment industry there are scandals every day. When they’re exposed, some people clear their names, some kneel and apologize. They write apology letters or record videos, and after a while they’re active again.”
Xia Chun clenched his hands. He understood the logic—but couldn’t cross the barrier in his own heart.
“It’s different. Even lying about gender… I might be the first ever. Everyone must think I’m disgusting.”
“Not necessarily. Some people might actually like that,” Gu Yang replied calmly, drawing on his internet-honed instincts.
Xia Chun nearly choked on his breath.
He had realized that talking to Gu Yang required a very unusual train of thought.
“And it’s not just you. There’s a female blogger in the senior-citizen category on Douyin called ‘Most Beautiful Sunset Glow.’ Actually a man cross-dressing. In his fifties. Works out and plucks his leg hair just to wear short skirts and charm the old men in his livestream. Isn’t that inspiring?”
Xia Chun: “…?”
His silence was deafening.
“I don’t think I’ve seen that…”
“It hasn’t been exposed yet, but the top donor already collected evidence and plans to sue for emotional damages.”
“How do you know that?”
“That top donor is my great-uncle.”
“….”
“Oh right,” Gu Yang suddenly clapped his hands. “We could use that scandal to divert attention from yours.”
“N-no need.”
“You’re welcome to use it. It’s my uncle’s money anyway.”
Xia Chun couldn’t help laughing.
It was absurd.
Completely absurd.
How had the world become this ridiculous?
He laughed until he bent over, gripping the railing behind him—purely by instinct. When he realized it, his smile paused, then slowly spread again.
He really couldn’t stand himself.
In that moment of emptiness, his eyes searched for something to anchor onto.
“When things calm down, just change your look and start a new life somewhere else,” Gu Yang continued lightly. “If someone recognizes you, just say, ‘Ah, people say that a lot. Guess we really do look alike.’”
Xia Chun tried imagining that scene.
It sounded so casual, like a play ending—the lead actor stepping off stage after removing his costume, joking when the audience recognized him.
“Only by breaking can you rebuild. This incident could be the start of a new life, couldn’t it?”
Xia Chun followed the voice and looked back at Gu Yang.
Moonlight fell on Gu Yang’s eyelashes like a layer of gentle frost, casting faint shadows.
Like light itself.
Holding the railing, Xia Chun slowly walked along the rooftop edge until he stood directly above Gu Yang.
He looked straight at him and finally smiled—a helpless yet relieved smile.
“Alright. I think I’m a little tempted.”
“…By what you just said.”
“I’ll try again. This time for myself. Let’s change the place I jump from.”
The wind whipped through his hair as he smiled.
“Can you catch me, Gu Yang?”
His body tilted forward—
“I can’t,” Gu Yang said firmly.
Xia Chun immediately jerked his foot back, almost falling.
“….”
“The mood’s already here. Can’t you cooperate a little?”
“I’m not very interested in dying by being crushed to death. Can’t you just climb down?” Gu Yang replied coolly.
“Come on, this is an unfinished building. The rooftop door was already broken, so I jammed it shut. I never planned on coming back down.”
“But even if you refuse, you still have to take responsibility for talking me down.”
Before he finished speaking, he jumped.
But instead of landing on Gu Yang, he landed on the ground in front of him. The height made the landing unstable. As he staggered forward, he crashed into Gu Yang and knocked them both to the ground.
With a heavy thud, Gu Yang’s only thought was that his newly bought clothes were now intimately acquainted with dust.
Xia Chun fell on top of him, barely managing to protect the back of Gu Yang’s head.
Looking at Gu Yang’s slightly pale face, he raised an eyebrow.
“Am I that heavy? I’m pretty average.”
“…How tall are you?”
“Barefoot, 179 cm. But I usually say 180. Keep that secret for me.”
“Then at least have some awareness of your weight…”
Seeing Gu Yang wasn’t exaggerating, Xia Chun rolled aside and lay next to him in the dust.
“What a clear moon.”
He sighed meaninglessly.
“If I’d really jumped, I’d probably have fallen headfirst and never seen a moon like this.”
Gu Yang stared blankly at the sky. He wasn’t particularly interested in the moon, but once he lay down he rarely bothered to get up without external force.
After admiring the moon, Xia Chun noticed the dust floating in the light. He stood up, brushed off his sleeves, and pulled Gu Yang up as well.
“By the way, it’s been so long and no one else has come here.”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” Gu Yang said, looking disgustedly at the dirt on his clothes and taking off his jacket.
Xia Chun finally sighed in relief.
“Thanks. You really helped me a lot.”
“Must’ve been hard coming all the way to a place like this,” he added, noticing Gu Yang looked like a pampered young master.
“It’s nothing. It was He Ming’an’s request anyway.”
Xia Chun blinked.
“…You just casually mentioned a name that’s a big deal to me.”
“But forget it,” he said. “Why would you go this far for him?”
“So the person you like—is it him?” Xia Chun probed.
That old incident had left scars on both of them. Xia Chun had once worried that person might avoid intimacy forever.
He hoped he could be happy.
After confusing Xia Chun repeatedly earlier, it was finally Gu Yang’s turn to be puzzled.
“What? It’s not?”
Xia Chun muttered, “Then who could it be…”
Suddenly, a blurry figure in his mind became clear.
He remembered—he’d seen it several times already.
But he didn’t guess further.
“It’s getting late,” Xia Chun said, glancing toward the door leading outside. “This place could attract troublemakers at night. We should leave.”
As he looked toward the doorway, he suddenly narrowed his eyes.
A vague figure stood behind the wall.
Steel bars were scattered nearby—he had wondered earlier why something had fallen.
“Who’s there?” he shouted coldly, stepping in front of Gu Yang.
The figure slowly walked into the moonlight.
Xia Chun’s eyes widened.
It was someone completely unexpected.
Gu Yang spoke first.
“Why are you here?”
Under the moonlight, Song Yinxing’s face became clearly visible.
