Chapter 40
Shang Che rode his mountain bike at a flying speed. As his clothes billowed in the wind, he cast a backward glance at the balcony outside his room, double-checking as if he couldn’t quite set his mind at ease.
In the bedroom, the cotton doll was watching the cartoon with rapt attention—the Mickey Mouse wearing red pants and white gloves was introducing its friends.
Having watched several episodes in a row, the cotton doll finally memorized the names and characteristics of these characters.
The one that looked pretty and elegant, wearing a purple dress with a purple bow, was Daisy.
The one that always wore a pink dress with a massive bow on its head and spoke in a very gentle voice was Minnie.
The cotton doll couldn’t help marveling in envy: If only its keeper could be as gentle to it every single day as Minnie was~
There was also Donald Duck in a sailor suit, which made the cotton doll let out a “woah~” the moment it appeared, staring at the outfit with envious, expectant eyes.
And Goofy, who made the cotton doll endlessly envious—tall, skinny, yet clumsy and prone to falling over.
Every time Goofy fell down, the cotton doll would let out an “oops” along with it, and once it climbed back up, it would giggle “hee-hee” right along with it.
“Goofy doesn’t know how to walk properly either~” it muttered in a small voice, yet its tone was filled with pure affection.
Of course, it also remembered the dog named Pluto—although the cotton doll didn’t quite understand why all the other characters could speak while only this dog couldn’t, that didn’t stop it from thinking Pluto was super cute.
“Woof, woof!” On the screen, Pluto barked on the grass, chasing its own tail in circles.
Amused by the scene, the cotton doll’s cat-like mouth split open into a grin, its tuft of ahoge hair trembling along with it: “Hee-hee, doggy is so silly~”
It laughed so hard its tiny body tilted to the side, almost sliding off the pillow “backrest.” It quickly used its two small round hands to prop itself up on the bedsheet, adjusting its posture back upright, and then continued staring unblinkingly at the projector screen.
Naturally, the most important character was this Mickey Mouse wearing red pants and white gloves—Mickey.
The cotton doll felt it was so smart, occasionally a bit mischievous, and possessed so many wonderful, quirky ideas…
This is simply just like Cotton!
The corners of its mouth curved up subtly, putting on a slightly proud little expression.
Cotton is smart and cute!
Time trickled away bit by bit.
The scenes on the projector screen changed again and again. Mickey’s Clubhouse transformed multiple times; day turned to night, and night turned back to day.
The cotton doll didn’t know how much time had passed. It only knew that every time Mickey and its friends stood in a row, waving goodbye to it, the cotton doll would also respond to them in a small voice: “Goodbye.”
And then, amid a familiar chime of bird calls and introductory scenes, it would see them once more.
…If only seeing the human after saying ‘goodbye’ could be just as fast.
Although it had cartoons to watch, Cotton still missed the human very much. It wondered if the human missed Cotton…
Probably not.
The human had never said he would miss Cotton…
The cotton doll’s cat-like mouth pouted slightly.
Shang Che seemed somewhat absentminded all day long.
His seat was in the very last row of the classroom, offering an excellent view. The sunlight outside the window was exceptionally bright, casting glaring spots of light onto his textbook.
Although he had learned the material taught by the teacher long ago—often listening while grinding practice problems during class—the English teacher’s voice still drifted intermittently into his ears from the podium.
In truth, their curriculum had concluded last semester. Aside from explaining exercise sets, the teachers had no new content to teach. Thus, regarding the students’ behavior of grinding practice problems while listening during class, teachers of all subjects turned a blind eye.
For instance, right now, a math workbook lay spread open on Shang Che’s desk, his pen tip resting on a solid geometry proof problem.
The lines and shapes of the triangular pyramid swayed back and forth before his eyes. Shang Che stared at it for a long while, yet that scene from this morning kept popping into his mind—
The cotton doll sitting obediently on the bed, its small round hands folded in front of it, its golden eyes staring straight at the projector screen, not even hearing him say “I’m off,” its heart and eyes entirely consumed by that cartoon.
He had felt a bit displeased at the time, even thinking he was quite childish for… fussing over such a trivial matter.
Yet, thinking back on it now, he still cared quite a bit.
…What on earth?
Why did he care about something like this.
Shaking his head, Shang Che pulled his thoughts back, attempting to focus his attention on the problem.
He read the problem statement carefully, marked a few crucial conditions, and just as he was about to draw an auxiliary line, another scene drifted into his mind—
The cotton doll acting like a woodpecker this morning, its two small round hands tapping “tap-tap-tap” against his phone screen, only for nothing to happen after tapping for a long while, turning its head toward him in a huff to lodge a complaint…
The corners of his mouth curved up unconsciously.
A few little birds perched on the trees outside the classroom window, chirping from time to time.
Shang Che’s gaze drifted over, yet his thoughts were—what was that little creature doing right now? Was it still watching cartoons? Was it bored? Did it… miss him?
…Miss him?
Shang Che froze for a second, then immediately dismissed the thought in his mind.
With cartoons to watch, that little Cotton wouldn’t miss him.
When he left this morning, that little rascal hadn’t even turned its head, its eyes glued to the cartoon the entire time.
All that talk about “Cotton will miss human forever~” and “Cotton misses human so much~”… were merely words to coax humans.
Shang Che lowered his head, attempting to continue solving the problem, but those numbers and symbols seemed to come alive, jumping restlessly across the paper, making it impossible for him to digest a single line.
Tsk.
Cotton doll—distracting a human from studying.
After class, Lu Zeming walked over. Crossing his arms, he looked at his spaced-out friend with probing eyes. After a good while, he tapped on Shang Che’s desk.
Tap, tap… two sounds.
Shang Che snapped back to reality instantly. Stunned for a second, his throat moved: “…Mm?”
“What’s with you today?” Lu Zeming pushed up his glasses. “You’re completely out of it.”
Shang Che raised his eyes to look at him: “Nothing.”
“No… thing?” Lu Zeming’s tone held a trace of playful mockery. “You’ve been spacing out extraordinarily often today—dozing off in Chinese class, ordering the wrong dish at lunch, and staring blankly while doing math problems in English class…”
“You call this ‘nothing’?” He looked at Shang Che with a face that read ‘I’m all ears.’
“…”
Was Lu Zeming out of his mind?
Shang Che pressed his temples: “Instead of paying attention in class, why are you observing me all the time?”
“Curiosity, of course,” Lu Zeming paused meaningfully.
Shang Che raised his eyes, making silent eye contact with him.
Lu Zeming clearly already knew his home harbored a “living cotton doll,” yet today he still acted like someone who knew nothing at all.
To be precise—not asking directly, but probing and investigating with roundabout curiosity.
Shang Che narrowed his eyes, his brows furrowing slightly—the fact that Lu Zeming was able to bring the cotton doll home yesterday proved he knew from the start that the cotton doll belonged to him.
But when did Lu Zeming find out?
Shang Che rubbed his fingers, his face expressionless: “…Back in the stairwell?”
Lu Zeming grasped what he was referring to in an instant, nodding his head: “It was a guess.”
Shang Che asked: “When did you confirm it?”
Lu Zeming: “Yesterday.”
“That’s slower than I thought.”
“One always needs to see it with their own eyes to believe it.” Lu Zeming spread his hands.
Shang Che crossed his arms, his chest heaving heavily as he exhaled a breath: “You certainly accepted it well.”
Light flashed behind Lu Zeming’s lenses. He admitted candidly: “The world is vast; nothing is too strange.”
Shang Che fell silent for a moment: “…That isn’t a reason for you to be curious about everything.”
Lu Zeming shrugged helplessly.
The corner of Shang Che’s mouth twitched slightly: “Congratulations to you then. After all these years, you’re still constantly refreshing my understanding.”
“Of what?”
Shang Che: “Your capacity for accepting new things.”
Lu Zeming was extraordinarily adept at inferring a person’s mental journey from a single sentence. Suddenly, using a playful tone, he intentionally said: “A certain someone didn’t want to throw ‘it’ out the very first time they saw it, did they?”
“Tsk tsk, that little guy must have been heartbroken.”
Shang Che was left speechless.
“You have no idea how terrified it was yesterday when it realized it was me who picked it up, thinking you didn’t want it anymore,” Lu Zeming continued. “It was only because I spoke so many good words on your behalf that it was salvaged.”
“…Stop.” Shang Che put an end to the topic in time. Right after, tilting his chin, he asked: “What did you say?”
The awkwardness shifted onto Lu Zeming in an instant. Pushing up his glasses, he thought: What did I say? Far too much.
“Just told it not to tell you that I already knew the secret.” After a moment’s consideration, he picked and chose, realizing only a single sentence could be spoken aloud. “Though the very first sentence out of your mouth let me know that little guy of yours betrayed me.”
What did he mean by his little Cotton “betraying him”?
He hadn’t even settled scores regarding this guy teaching his little Cotton to lie.
Shang Che let out a cold sneer as he looked at Lu Zeming.
Lu Zeming kept an unruffled face, refusing to admit he had said anything else even if it killed him.
Forget it.
Shang Che said flatly: “It’s very silly; it didn’t remember a word of what you said.”
“Oh, well that’s just fantastic.” Lu Zeming offered a thoroughly deadpan exclamation.
After a moment of silence, Shang Che asked: “Does your house have security cameras?”
Lu Zeming didn’t react to such a leap in topics for a second: “Security cameras? What kind?”
“The kind… where you can monitor the situation at home.” Shang Che’s voice sounded somewhat unnatural. He coughed twice. “The kind installed in a room that you can check on your phone.”
Lu Zeming looked at him, a flicker of knowing clarity flashing in the eyes behind his lenses.
“I do,” he said. “You want one?”
Shang Che didn’t speak, but tacitly acquiesced.
Lu Zeming let out a subtle laugh, pulling his phone out from his pocket. Swiping through it a few times, he handed it over: “The latest products—one is an indoor/outdoor dual-purpose, portable vertical camera, and the other is a mobile small monitoring robot. Both have ultra-HD lenses, night vision, motion tracking, 360-degree rotation control, and voice intercom support.”
“Oh, right, there’s also a playback feature. If anything gets lost in the future, it’s convenient for tracking it down.”
Shang Che treated the sarcastic final line as if he hadn’t heard it at all, nodding his head: “Set up a pair for my bedroom and living room each.”
“What do you want this for?” Lu Zeming asked in a teasing tone of asking despite knowing the answer, “Scared of thieves breaking into your house?”
Shang Che shot him a sideways glance.
Lu Zeming chuckled: “I’ll throw in a few extra sets for you, consider it a gift.”
It wasn’t a holiday, nor was it a birthday; where did the occasion for giving gifts come from?
Shang Che asked in confusion: “What gift?”
Lu Zeming didn’t answer, merely looking at him, the curve at the corners of his mouth deepening further, his eyes holding a look akin to a “benevolent parent watching a child grow up.”
“A-Che,” he spoke suddenly.
“Mm?” Shang Che responded.
“Do you know,” Lu Zeming paused, his tone carrying emotion, “you look much more human now than you used to.”
Shang Che shot back: “Don’t make it sound like I used to be a corpse, thanks.”
“The old you,” Lu Zeming continued, “didn’t care about anything. Staying alone was fine, staying in a crowd was fine, but now you’ve begun to have…”
…To have attachments.
He let out a subtle laugh, choosing not to finish the sentence.
Yet Shang Che understood Lu Zeming’s unsaid words. Turning his face away awkwardly, he spoke stubbornly: “I’m just afraid it’ll cause a riot at home.”
Lu Zeming teased: “If a cotton doll can ‘stir up trouble,’ that’s quite impressive.”
You bet—that little Cotton is the Cotton King after all.
Seeing Shang Che suddenly let out a subtle smile, as if recalling something that brought him joy, Lu Zeming seized the opportunity to make a request with casual ease: “Once installed, let me know and share access with me. I also want to see what that little creature of yours does at home all day.”
Shang Che’s smile vanished in a split second. Raising his eyes, he looked at him expressionlessly, and then offered a cold, single-word response:
“Scram.”
