Since childhood, Qin Shu never lacked food or clothing. By college, living off his parents’ inheritance plus his own manuscript fees and scholarships, he still just lived at a normal spending level—agonizing for half a day over whether to buy a limited-time game skin.
And now his allowance had jumped twenty-five times over—from 2,000 to 50,000 a month.
Fifty thousand. Fifty thousand! Do you know what it means to get fifty thousand a month for doing nothing? Qin Shu opened his calculator, frantically doing the math. That meant he could spend 1,666 every single day. If all on food, that was over 500 a meal. And that wasn’t even counting his 500,000+ in savings!
Qin Shu clutched his poor heart—he felt like he had changed. From this moment on, he was no longer that boy who hesitated endlessly over buying a game skin. He would buy the entire skin set, the limited-edition heroes, without a second thought. He would order ten pounds of crayfish as midnight snack. He would rotate durian, cherries, and strawberries every single day!
A scornful voice rang in his mind: Look at you, so pathetic. With a 50k allowance, the first things you think of are skins, crayfish, and fruit?
Yes indeed, yours truly is that pathetic. I’ve never once eaten my fill of crayfish.
Cursing himself while opening his game, Qin Shu was shocked to find the account already had every hero and every skin unlocked. He then opened Weibo, Bilibili, and other video apps, and—unsurprisingly—found himself a Supreme VIP on every single one. Tears streamed down his face: those days of borrowing classmates’ accounts to binge dramas… are gone forever.
Smiling as he wiped away his tears, Qin Shu opened a food delivery app, found a barbecue shop, and tapped away furiously. But when it came time to pay, he hesitated.
Even though he was “Qin Shu” now, he still felt like he was secretly spending someone else’s money. It just didn’t sit right.
After much internal struggle, Qin Shu closed the food delivery app and instead recharged his campus card with two hundred yuan. Better to wait a month. If, after a month, he was still in this body, then he’d happily go on a spending spree.
Just as he finished, a WeChat notification popped up. It was from someone saved under the remark “24-Year-Old Virgin.”
[24-Year-Old Virgin: Did you get the living expenses Mom and Dad sent you? Is it enough?]
Qin Shu stared at the message, trying to deduce who this “Virgin” actually was from the wording.
[24-Year-Old Virgin: I transferred 50,000 to you.]
Qin Shu sucked in a sharp breath. That fifty thousand yuan made an already rich family even more ridiculously rich.
[Tyrant: Brother?]
…What a dumb*ss WeChat name.
[24-Year-Old Virgin: ???]
[Tyrant: Never mind. Good night, brother.]
[24-Year-Old Virgin: shocked_cat.jpg]
Qin Shu immediately changed “24-Year-Old Virgin” to “Big Brother,” and renamed himself “Uncle Qin.” Finally, he scrolled to Chu Cheng’s WeChat, changing his remark from “Dog B*stard” to “Baby~.”
Then Qin Shu went through Baby’s Moments, saved a bunch of photos, and finally fell asleep with a heart full of fatherly love.
***
The next morning, Qin Shu woke up staring blankly at the unfamiliar room. It took him a while to remember he’d transmigrated into a book. He rubbed his eyes, sat up, and gave himself a pep talk—today was another day of working hard to make the Cheng-Ning CP come true!
After washing up, Qin Shu didn’t even eat breakfast. He immediately started packing, eager to move back into the dorm to live side by side with his “baby.” Just then, a WeChat call came in. The remark was [Class Rep].
Qin Shu answered, “Hello?”
A crisp female voice came through: “Qin Shu, why didn’t you come to the analog circuits lab today?”
Qin Shu: “…What circuits?”
“Hurry up and get here, the teacher’s about to take attendance.”
Hanging up, Qin Shu opened the campus app and checked his schedule. Sure enough—he had a lab session this morning.
Even if his main purpose here was to ship CPs, he couldn’t forget the primary duty of a student. Qin Shu hurriedly fished out a few books with the word “electric” in their titles from the messy pile, stuffed them into his bag, and dashed out like the wind.
The university the original host attended also existed in reality, and was one Qin Shu had never even dared to dream of—a top-tier school. On the way, he worried whether his ordinary 985 background would let him survive here.
By the time he arrived at the lab, class had already been going for ten minutes. The teacher wasn’t pleased about his tardiness and told him sternly to sit down and not make a habit of it.
The only empty seats were in the last row. Qin Shu slid into one, glanced around, but didn’t see Chu Cheng anywhere.
Sigh. Baby skipping class? So irresponsible.
Qin Shu shook his head in disappointment, then looked at the equipment in front of him, then at the PPT on the screen. Suddenly, he froze.
Wait a d*mn minute. He was a Chinese Lit student—what the h*ll was he doing in the Computer Science department?!
On the podium, the lab instructor droned on. Qin Shu could understand every single word, but put together, they were pure gibberish. Finally, the teacher asked: “Does everyone understand the principle of single-supply op-amps?”
The class responded in a messy chorus: “Got it.”
The teacher nodded approvingly. “Good. Then start the experiment. I’ll check your results ten minutes before the end.”
Qin Shu raised his mental Erkang hands: No—I don’t get it! I don’t get a d*mn thing! Could you maybe start from high school physics?
Around him, students began setting up their experiments. Qin Shu felt like a bare-assed baboon in a crowd. No way—he’d always been a straight-A student; he couldn’t take this humiliation! He secretly observed his neighbors’ operations and cautiously flicked on the machine’s power switch.
Nice. Step one complete. Next… should he turn on the other machine too?
The teacher strolled around the room, occasionally stopping to correct someone. He was getting closer, and Qin Shu was sweating buckets, already weighing whether to fake a stomachache.
Thankfully, a late-arriving Chu Cheng diverted the teacher’s attention.
“Do you know how late you are?” the teacher scolded.
Chu Cheng, to his credit, behaved properly, offering a straightforward apology.
“This will count as half an absence. Go do your experiment.”
Scanning the room, the only available seat was beside Qin Shu. Reluctantly, Chu Cheng walked over, dumped his books on the desk, and the pile slid until it bumped into Qin Shu’s panicky little hand.
Seeing his baby arrive, a desperate Qin Shu grasped at hope: “Ba—Chu Cheng, do you know how to do this experiment?”
Chu Cheng glanced at the PPT and scowled. “Just follow the circuit diagram, duh.”
Qin Shu was so moved he nearly cried. “Teach me!” Then, realizing his own hopeless level, he quickly added, “Or… just do it for me.”
Chu Cheng sniffed the air suspiciously. Something smelled fishy. Was this guy trying to use circuits to stage an “accident” and kill him? But… these experiments only used a few volts. Still—definitely no good intentions.
Coldly, Chu Cheng spat out two words: “Not helping.”
Qin Shu refused to give up. “Then… can I at least watch you do it?”
Chu Cheng looked at Qin Shu’s sparkly puppy eyes, then decisively shifted his chair aside, turning his body to block Qin Shu’s view, and began working on the experiment alone.
Qin Shu: “…” Ungrateful brat! Dad wrote so many fics for you and Ning Ning, drove so many d*mn CP trucks, and this is how you repay me?!
When the teacher came around to check results before the end of class, Qin Shu had no choice but to scribble down random numbers. The teacher checked Chu Cheng’s data with a straight face and gave a subtle nod. But when he got to Qin Shu’s, his expression immediately turned complicated.
“…These are really your results?”
“…Mm.” For the first time in his life, Qin Shu experienced what it felt like to be a lousy student, and all he wanted was to find a hole in the ground and crawl into it.
The teacher didn’t press further, just drew a stroke on the class roster, looking very much like writing a “0.” At the side, Chu Cheng laughed with obvious schadenfreude.
When the dismissal bell rang, students started leaving one after another. Qin Shu slumped in his seat, thumping his own head with a rolled-up book.
“I’m asking you, what’s up with you lately? Got possessed or something?”
Qin Shu jerked his head up. “How did you know?”
Chu Cheng swore, “F*ck,” and decided he’d better stay away from this lunatic.
Seeing him about to leave, Qin Shu hurriedly packed up and chased after him. Right now he was frustrated and miserable—he wanted to die—and only a dose of Cheng-Ning CP sugar could save him.
“Where are you going?” Qin Shu asked, trailing behind.
“The cafeteria,” Chu Cheng said impatiently.
“To eat in the cafeteria?”
“What else? Eat sh*t? I’m not you.”
“I want to invite Ning Ning to have a meal together.”
The instant Chu Cheng froze in his tracks, Qin Shu’s rotten mood completely vanished. No matter what he said, Chu Cheng always looked like he couldn’t care less—but the moment Xu Ning was mentioned, this silly kid reacted.
Bingo—he dug up Cheng-Ning CP sugar!
Chu Cheng turned around. “Not allowed.”
“Why not?”
“What do you mean why. Not allowed means not allowed.”
Patiently, Qin Shu coaxed, “Why don’t you want me to invite Ning Ning? …Don’t you like it?”
Chu Cheng frowned in thought, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, as though he himself didn’t understand why.
Qin Shu pressed on. “Yesterday I came back from the library with Ning Ning, and you saw it—you got really mad. Have you thought about why you’d react like that?”
Chu Cheng scowled. “Stop calling him ‘Ning Ning,’ isn’t that disgusting?”
“What if I insist on calling him that?”
“Then get lost! Gays are the most disgusting, blegh—” After spitting this out, Chu Cheng stormed off angrily.
Qin Shu stared at his back, mouth slightly open, and couldn’t help wondering if it was still too late to cash out and invest in another ship.
At the cafeteria, he had a ten-yuan lunch while recalling the exhilarating “face-slap” scenes in the book, when Chu Cheng eventually realized the truth and changed his tune. That quickly killed his impulse to switch ships.
Throughout his years of reading, he had always been the backbone of the Cheng-Ning CP fanbase. Even though supporters of Lan-Ning CP outnumbered them ten to one, he never flinched. If Lan-Ning fans wrote one fanfic, he’d write two. If they biked, he drove a Rolls-Royce Phantom. If they commissioned artists for fanart, he gritted his teeth and spent his own manuscript fees to get Cheng-Ning art drawn. Lan-Ning fans hated him so much their teeth ached, but they couldn’t do anything about it—and Qin Shu absolutely loved how much that drove them crazy.
Having written so much fanfiction, the CP of Chu Cheng and Xu Ning was already etched deep into his bones. At his most obsessed, he even dreamed of the two of them rolling around in bed together. To ask him to switch ships now, to imagine Xu Ning with someone else—that was like ripping flesh from his body. This subject cannot, simply cannot, obey!
Recognizing this truth, Qin Shu became even more resolute about his mission. Before Xu Ning could be stolen away by some other “stock,” he had to hammer Chu Cheng awake, make him see his own heart, and seize the initiative first.
After enduring two more incomprehensible classes that afternoon, a dizzy Qin Shu returned to his apartment, packed up his things, and dragged his suitcase back to Dorm 419.
Chu Cheng wasn’t back yet. Qin Shu gave the dorm a good cleaning, spread his bedding, and neatly arranged all his daily necessities. September weather was still hot; by the time he finished, he was drenched in sweat. Stripping down, he grabbed a towel and clean clothes and headed into the bathroom.
But just when he was enjoying his shower, the water suddenly cut off. He had just started washing his hair, foam still all over, and no matter how hard he slapped the showerhead, not a single drop came out. Desperate, he wrapped himself in a towel, came out foamy-headed, and sent Chu Cheng a WeChat.
[Uncle Qin: The shower’s broken! (crying.jpg)]
[Baby~: You really moved back?]
[Uncle Qin: Yeah. I hadn’t even rinsed my hair when the water just stopped. Did you register for repairs with the dorm manager?]
[Baby~: No.]
[Uncle Qin: Then what am I supposed to do?!]
[Baby~: How’s that my problem.]
[Uncle Qin: Hello? Do you even hear yourself? Is that human speech?]
Qin Shu was furious at Chu Cheng’s attitude. He changed Chu Cheng’s WeChat remark from “Baby~” to “Bad Baby~,” then, struggling into his clothes while still foamy-headed, went out of the dorm and knocked on the door across the hall.
Soap suds were dripping down from his hair, so to keep them from getting into his eyes, Qin Shu squinted with one eye shut, waiting for the door to open.
When it did, he sighed in relief. “Classmate, could I borrow your—” His closed eye flew open, and he stared dumbfounded at the boy in the doorway as he finished his words, “…bathroom?”
The boy was unrealistically handsome—delicate features without being feminine, a cool aura tinged with laziness, dressed in a loose black T-shirt. Against the ordinary backdrop of a boys’ dorm, he stood out completely. Just one glance made Qin Shu feel a little dizzy.
If Chu Cheng’s face could make him eat two bowls of rice, and Xu Ning’s face four bowls, then this face—he could eat five bowls!
The boy looked at the foam on Qin Shu’s head and said, “Close your eyes.”
“Huh?”
“The foam. It’s about to get in your eyes.”
