As soon as Dong Yin joined the team, she heard two female voices bickering back and forth. She had no idea what had started it—one would go,
“Tch,”
and the other would answer,
“Heh.”
By the time Dong Yin actually loaded into the game, the two finally quieted down.
Once the match started, Dong Yin still did what she was used to doing—rushed out to grab clothes. She came back dressed head to toe in pink in no time.
The teammates who were still looting clothes froze for a moment when they saw what she was wearing.
Burly male avatar. Pink camisole. Pink mini skirt.
Even without anyone typing, you could practically see the strings of question marks across the screen.
Xie Mingjun: [Didn’t I send you a few pink skins?]
The big pink bruiser seemed to sense all the stares. He took one step back, then quickly raised his gun, lay by the window, took aim and fired, switched windows and fired again, went up onto the platform and fired—bang bang bang—after a few shots, everyone hiding tightly downstairs turned into a bunch of obvious, miserable little loot crates.
When Dong Yin came down with her gun, she heard a series of “ahhh!” in her headphones—one of Xie Mingjun’s friends was screaming in excitement.
“So what if the pro has a thing for pink!”
“Gap moe! This is called cute! Where the hell did you dig this person up for us?”
Another friend spoke up next, her voice calmer.
“Quiet. You’re so loud I can’t hear footsteps.”
Before the match, Xie Mingjun had said both of them were her friends. The two of them had queued together first; both were terrible at the game, neither wanted to admit it, so they ended up arguing. Xie Mingjun had asked Dong Yin to kind of, sort of, carry them a bit.
And Dong Yin really did just that: “kind of” carried them.
She stole the best gear and wrapped the two of them up inside and out, then matched them with meds and guns. The two who’d been fighting went quiet without realizing it and calmly accepted reality.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault.
They were both just noobs.
Heh.
One match took about half an hour.
They pulled off a chicken dinner.
One was called “Red Candle Warms the North Wind,” the other “Road Chill Autumn.” “Red Candle Warms the North Wind” was the talkative one and kept chatting.
Red Candle Warms the North Wind: [Wanna grab food later? Road Chill Autumn’s treating, as thanks for you bringing the pro and letting us feel the joy of gaming.]
Xie Mingjun: [We’ll see.]
Red Candle Warms the North Wind: [Which classroom are you in?]
Xie Mingjun: [A3003]
Red Candle Warms the North Wind: [Pro, where are you from? My game shows we’re in the same region. Wanna meet up and eat together?]
Red Candle Warms the North Wind: [Pro, why aren’t you saying anything? I just sent a friend request to you on WeChat. Hope you’ll take us flying later. You added the pro on WeChat for us, right?]
Xie Mingjun: [He didn’t give it to me. Can’t add.]
Road Chill Autumn: [Probably logged off.]
Red Candle Warms the North Wind: [As expected of a pro, so cold.]
…
A few minutes later, the light at the edge of the last row in classroom A3003 was blocked. When Xie Mingjun lifted her head slightly, she saw Dong Yin clutching the strap of her backpack, and heard her whisper,
“What a coincidence, Xie Mingjun, you have class here too.”
The look in Xie Mingjun’s eyes held some confusion, like she couldn’t quite figure out why Dong Yin had suddenly appeared here. But she didn’t ask. She just lowered her head again and kept playing with her phone.
This wasn’t the kind of thing she’d overthink. University lectures were open; plenty of people would sit in on classes from other departments after finishing their own requirements.
Their gazes met for a moment. The pen on Xie Mingjun’s desk rolled off, wobbling across the floor until it hit Dong Yin’s foot.
Dong Yin bent down, picked it up, and placed it back on Xie Mingjun’s desk.
“Your pen, Xie Mingjun.”
The bell rang.
Xie Mingjun pulled her leg back.
Dong Yin walked past her to the other side and took the empty seat beside her.
She walked very carefully, not brushing against her at all.
During breaks in college classes, hardly anyone talked. It was quiet. Dong Yin quietly put her backpack into the desk drawer.
Xie Mingjun quietly played on her phone.
Softly, Dong Yin said,
“I cut class to come here.”
She didn’t have a habit of skipping. Even if she had already learned and understood everything in a class, she would never leave halfway—she’d stay until the very last minute. This was her first time cutting, and her heart had been pounding hard the whole way over.
Even after she sat down, her heartbeat was still going strong.
Xie Mingjun heard it, and finally glanced over at her.
Dong Yin pressed her lips together and smiled.
“I just ran into you when I was buying lemon water, and now I’m running into you in class too. We must really be fated.”
Xie Mingjun ignored her and put a Bluetooth earbud in her left ear.
Class time started. The professor on the podium began lecturing.
Finance—what Xie Mingjun studied. Different major, different track from Dong Yin.
Dong Yin took a notebook and pen out of her bag. Whatever the professor said, she wrote. She filled almost half the class with notes.
During that time, Xie Mingjun’s gaze slid over to her several times. The more Dong Yin felt those eyes, the faster she wrote, but the notes on her pages were still extremely neat.
When she finished copying down the last word on the board, Dong Yin rubbed her sore wrist, touched the little groove on her finger from the pen, then tilted her head slightly to glance at Xie Mingjun.
Under the desk, her leg brushed lightly against Xie Mingjun’s.
Today, Xie Mingjun was wearing jeans, which made her legs look straight and long. Dong Yin didn’t dare push too hard—she kept thinking her own pants looked too cheap. She gave a tiny brush. When Xie Mingjun didn’t react, she brushed a second time. The third time she tried, her leg was caught.
A palm landed on Dong Yin’s thigh and squeezed hard, then slowly pushed her leg away.
Dong Yin moved back over again.
Xie Mingjun pinned her leg in place.
It was a hot noon, and the heat of Xie Mingjun’s palm was intense. It felt like it was burning right through the cheap fabric, right onto Dong Yin’s thigh.
“Stop rubbing against me,” she said.
Dong Yin made a small sound of acknowledgement, lowered her head, and checked her phone—just in time to see a WeChat system notification:
[“Red Candle Warms the North Wind” has invited you to join the group chat “Pink Squad”]
She tapped it, and got pulled straight into the group.
What was going on?
How did she suddenly end up in Xie Mingjun’s friends’ group chat?
She was a bit lost, nervous inside, and it felt like the warmth on her leg had gotten even hotter.
Xie Mingjun still hadn’t taken her hand away, like she was afraid Dong Yin’s leg might bump into her again, maintaining that blocking posture.
Remembering why she’d tried to touch her leg in the first place, Dong Yin slid her notebook over to Xie Mingjun and murmured under her breath,
“The professor sounds like he’s covering something important. I wrote it all down. I can tear this page out for you.”
Xie Mingjun said,
“What I told you last time—you didn’t understand?”
Dong Yin pulled the notebook back and didn’t bother her again, only turning her head now and then to sneak glances at her.
Xie Mingjun was completely focused, one hand operating her phone.
Dong Yin tried to steal a look at her screen. It was too small; she only dared a quick peek before jerking her gaze away, afraid of getting caught. She saw enough to tell it was WeChat, not a game.
So Dong Yin picked up her own phone.
Before she came over, one of Xie Mingjun’s friends had sent her a WeChat friend request, saying it’d be easier to game later, and had greeted her once.
Before, Dong Yin had always gamed alone, occasionally dragged along by Zou Yuxi’s crowd just to fill a slot. Every time, she’d run into people who made fun of her, talked to her like crap, and loved blaming her for everything, saying she couldn’t play.
Dong Yin always wanted to say something back but never could. The words stuck in her chest, leaving her frustrated and tight. She would just press her lips together and stare at her phone screen. Back then it was like someone had stuck a strip of tape over her mouth—she was terrified that if she opened it, the others would get upset. She was overly sensitive, overly cautious.
Things that were simple for other people were really hard for her.
Dong Yin could spend a whole day picking at her own fingers, but a bit of socializing could scare her for a long time.
When “Red Candle Warms the North Wind” invited her, she was nervous, but there was some happiness there too. The group only had four people—it was obviously created just for gaming.
She checked the member list. They were probably using their real names. “Red Candle Warms the North Wind” was Chu Ning’an; “Road Chill Autumn” was exactly that, Lu Hanchiu.
The chat was already active. Dong Yin couldn’t keep up with the pace and had no idea how to jump in. She just watched them talk about where to go eat.
Chu Ning’an: [@Xie Mingjun @Lu Hanchiu everyone welcome, I dragged the pro in.]
Lu Hanchiu: [Welcome.]
Xie Mingjun: [Welcome.]
Dong Yin: [xiexie]
Chu Ning’an: [@Xie Mingjun, pro’s calling you.]
[Pro, if you don’t feel like talking, you don’t have to bother with us. Typing pinyin looks exhausting. Are you an international student or something, can’t use Chinese characters?]
Lu Hanchiu: [Talk less. Which line exactly do you want the pro to answer?]
Chu Ning’an: [Fair point.]
Right then, Dong Yin suddenly felt that acting cold was actually pretty nice.
If you don’t answer people, they don’t think there’s something wrong with you. They just think that’s normal.
She stayed quiet and watched them chat.
Chu Ning’an: [@Xie Mingjun So how are things between you and that person?]
Xie Mingjun: [Not much of anything.]
A few seconds later:
[She’s staring at me.]
Lu Hanchiu: [Generally speaking, if you’re not looking at someone, you wouldn’t know they’re looking at you.]
Xie Mingjun: [I’m ignoring her.]
Ignoring her, huh.
When she was very clearly touching her leg.
Dong Yin drew her leg back slightly. Instinctively, Xie Mingjun’s palm tightened like she wanted to pull her back.
When she couldn’t hold onto her leg, she withdrew her hand and rested both on the desk, fingers flying as she typed.
Cold as ever, as if nothing had happened.
Right then, Dong Yin stretched her leg out again and lightly brushed it against Xie Mingjun’s under the desk. She was so shy, so brazen by her standards that she couldn’t help glancing around, her face burning red. She quickly ducked her head, wanting to bury herself in her books.
Their legs stayed pressed together.
Dong Yin was a very sensitive person. She heard Xie Mingjun’s breathing hitch, just a little.
The chat in the group suddenly sped up.
Xie Mingjun: [She’s asking for trouble.]
Chu Ning’an: [Oh, please. If you were actually capable of “dealing with” her, would you still be dreaming about her every night?]
Dong Yin lifted her head a little.
She sent a message into the group:
[?]
But nobody noticed. Messages were pouring in too fast.
No one knew Dong Yin had already slipped into their inner circle, and the more they talked, the more open they got—anything and everything came out.
Chu Ning’an: [So what are you gonna do if you dream about her again tonight?]
Lu Hanchiu: [Yeah, you don’t just dream about her, she’s in there doing yoga.]
Chu Ning’an: [Mm, you really ought to reflect on that.]
Chu Ning’an: [Xie Mingjun, Xie Mingjun, where’d you go, say something!]
