If I Can’t Get the Male Lead, I’ll Just Be a Salted Fish Chapter 70

Qin Shu imagined the scene in his head. “Thanks, that really hit the spot.”

Everyone loves a face-slapping story. Chu Cheng chased after: “And then? And then?”

Lu Rulu shrugged. “There was no ‘then.’”

Qin Shu and Chu Cheng made identical disgusted faces. “Leaving things unfinished always brings retribution.”

Lu Rulu cursed with a laugh: “What, you think this is a novel? Talking about bad endings and all. If I have to say—originally that guy looked all impatient, like he was about to leave, but once he heard me ask her to pay me back, he didn’t leave anymore. Just sat there watching the show. My ex said she had no money now, but when she did she’d pay me back. Then she went on WeChat and scolded me for not being a man—said this little bit of money wasn’t even enough to buy a bag, and here I was, nitpicking with a girl.”

Qin Shu couldn’t help asking: “How did you even like her in the first place?”

Lu Rulu grinned: “And how did you end up liking Brother Lan? We’re all shallow for looks—who’s nobler than who?”

Qin Shu glanced at Xie Lanzhi, guilty. “I didn’t, I don’t—don’t talk nonsense.”

Chu Cheng, always ready to stir trouble, added: “You also liked his money, his grades, and that he could carry you in Honor of Kings.”

Qin Shu: “…” Enough! You unfilial child, would you only be happy if your two dads divorced?

Xie Lanzhi lazily said: “So who was that guy?”

Lu Rulu: “No idea. Didn’t ask, didn’t care.”

“Then how about you care about your course selection. One more minute.”

“Sh*t!”

All three instantly sobered up, focusing entirely on the course selection system. Lu Rulu rubbed his hands together like a fly. “Brothers, ready?”

Chu Cheng and Qin Shu stared at the screen with deadly seriousness, nodding in sync.

Xie Lanzhi calmly stroked Snowball’s fur. “Anyone watching would think you’re heading off to war.”

Lu Rulu launched into an impassioned pre-battle speech: “Our happiness next semester, even our graduation happiness—it all depends on this moment! Ten, nine, eight… three, two, one—charge!”

Qin Shu unleashed the hand speed of nineteen years of singledom, frantically clicking “Start Course Selection,” but the system wouldn’t respond. He howled: “F*ck, I’m stuck!”

A bead of sweat slid down Lu Rulu’s forehead. “Standard procedure. Sit down. Keep clicking.”

Lu Rulu was the first to get in. By junior spring, almost no required courses were left, just electives to fill credits. He immediately clicked on P.E., only to see the words “Swimming: Full.” He cursed: “Trash school, bound to go bankrupt!”

Qin Shu spent two minutes spamming before he got in. He first chose professors for required courses—managed one on his whitelist, but had to pick one from his blacklist too. Then he leisurely moved on to electives.

Faced with the huge list, Qin Shu’s indecisiveness flared. He turned to Xie Lanzhi: “Brother, what should I take?”

Xie Lanzhi walked over, bent down to look at his screen. “Depends on what you like. Say you like photography—you could try Fundamentals of Optics and Art Appreciation.”

“What I like…” Qin Shu darted a glance at Lu Rulu and Chu Cheng—seeing they were fully absorbed in their own screens—then whispered: “I like you.”

Xie Lanzhi chuckled low. “Thanks.”

“Is there a class called How to Make the School Grass Like Me More?”

“No. But—” Xie Lanzhi covered Qin Shu’s hand on the mouse, scrolled down a page, and stopped on one course. “You could try this.”

Qin Shu looked—Psychology of Love.

“Perfect! Take it!”

After finishing electives, Qin Shu finally got to P.E. Swimming, basketball, tennis, ping-pong—all long gone. Left were only odd ones: Orienteering, Aerobics, Tai Chi, Ballroom Dance, etc.

Must not pick Ballroom Dance. Must not pick Ballroom Dance. He repeated Lu Rulu’s warning silently. Naturally, the mouse drifted to Ballroom Dance and—clicked.

Qin Shu: “???”

A scream almost blew the roof off. Snowball puffed up in fright and shot under the sofa.

The humans were no better. Chu Cheng’s hand jerked, almost clicking Aerobics. Furious: “The h*ll’s wrong with you?!”

Lu Rulu dug his ear with his pinky. “Little Love Letter, honestly, it’s a waste if you don’t dub horror movies.”

Xie Lanzhi asked: “What happened?”

Qin Shu clutched his hand, trembling, eyes wet. “I—I accidentally clicked Ballroom Dance…”

Xie Lanzhi: “…”

The other two froze for a second, then exploded with laughter. Chu Cheng doubled over, one hand on his stomach, the other pointing at Qin Shu, his facial features enlarged from losing control. Lu Rulu kept a straighter face, but his laugh sounded no different from a rooster crowing.

Furious, Qin Shu tattled: “Brother, look at them! Lu Jingyun, stop laughing! If the neighbors hear, they’ll think you’re raising chickens at home!”

Xie Lanzhi pressed his brow.

Lu Rulu laughed even harder; Chu Cheng was rolling on the carpet.

Xie Lanzhi calmly took out his phone, snapped a few shots of the two blurry from laughter, “admired” them for a moment, then said: “Meme zone, time to get to work.”

Lu Rulu and Chu Cheng went stone-faced at once.

Lu Rulu: “Brother Lan, come on, I don’t even have a girlfriend yet. Why take photos like that?”

Xie Lanzhi: “For reaction memes.”

“But you don’t even use them much.”

Qin Shu raised both hands. “Give them to me! I love using memes! Brother, hurry, send them to me. I’ll help spread them far and wide!”

Chu Cheng ground his teeth. “Brother Yun, drop the idol baggage. With you, we’re all doomed!”

“Sh*t, easy for you to say now that you’re taken. Try saying that single. Doesn’t hurt when you’re not the one bleeding.” Lu Rulu leaned toward Qin Shu, fake-gentle: “Don’t worry, Little Love Letter. Just take Brother Lan to class with you—he’ll definitely dance the girl’s part for you.”

Qin Shu: “…”

Xie Lanzhi: “You’re teaching me how to behave now?”

“Oh? So Brother Lan’s unwilling. Then Little Love Letter, just invite a girl. You’re good-looking, they’ll say yes.”

Xie Lanzhi: “Get out.”

Life wasn’t easy. Qin Shu sighed. Lately it felt like bad luck was chasing him one thing after another. He even retweeted a few koi on Weibo, hoping for some good fortune.

With the last exam over, the semester ended, students trickling home for New Year. Qin Shu’s family planned to vacation by the sea, spend a warm springlike holiday. Qin Hua bought Qin Shu a ticket, flying out the day after his exam to reunite.

Qin Shu felt a pang of resistance. The past days he’d stayed at Xie Lanzhi’s, but most of his time had gone to cramming. Now exams were finally over—he could focus on his boyfriend. And boom, winter break hit.

As he absentmindedly packed, Xie Lanzhi glanced at the suitcase. “You’re bringing a down jacket to Sanya?”

“Oh.” Qin Shu pulled it out, stuffed in a coat instead.

Xie Lanzhi couldn’t stand it anymore. “Go play. I’ll pack for you.”

Qin Shu sat on the bed, watching him. “Brother, you staying in the city for New Year?”

“Mm.”

Qin Shu sighed. “Then we’ll be long-distance for a whole month.”

Xie Lanzhi paused. “That’s kind of long.”

Qin Shu flopped onto the bed. A whole month without seeing him—just thinking about it was suffocating. “Don’t forget me, okay?”

Xie Lanzhi: “Depends on your performance.”

Knowing he wasn’t serious, Qin Shu rolled around in the blankets, wrapping himself like a caterpillar. “Then I’ll leave more of my scent on your bed…”

“I don’t stay here during New Year. Leaving it on the bed’s useless.”

“Oh… okay.”

Struggling out of the cocoon, Qin Shu found himself caged by Xie Lanzhi’s arms braced on either side. “So, you have to leave it on me.”

Qin Shu laughed. “Then I’ll just mark you.”

“Another CP term?”

“Sort of.” Qin Shu leaned up, licking his lips. Xie Lanzhi caught the back of his head, deepening the kiss.

Qin Shu quickly lost control, body reacting. Like before, Xie Lanzhi reached down to help, but Qin Shu pushed his hand away, breathless: “Brother, this time—why don’t we… go all the way?”

Xie Lanzhi froze, then chuckled softly. “This time you’re ready?”

Qin Shu boldly nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Not scared? They say it hurts.” Xie Lanzhi remembered how Qin Shu had bawled when he burned himself.

Qin Shu wrapped his arms around his neck. “If it’s you… I can take it.” As long as he saw his face, he could take anything.

Xie Lanzhi shut his eyes. “Qin Shu, you really have a way with me.” He was already this wound up.

“Come on, Brother. If you don’t know how, I’ll teach you.”

Xie Lanzhi arched a brow. “You know how?”

“I don’t have practice, but I’ve got tons of theory.”

Xie Lanzhi smiled. “Fine, teach me.”

Qin Shu’s eyes lit up, ready to “lecture”—but then heard: “Next time, you can tell me what to do.”

Qin Shu blinked. “Next time?”

“You’re about to sit on a plane for hours. Not the best time to tire you out.”

Qin Shu was dumbstruck. He literally offered himself on a platter—and got turned down?!

He hesitated. “Brother… you’re not… impotent, are you?”

Xie Lanzhi laughed in fury. “Remember what you just said.”

Qin Shu pouted all the way to the car. Xie Lanzhi drove him to the airport; coincidentally, Hehe asked in the group chat if anyone was carpooling, so they brought her along.

Hehe thought she’d be drowning in sugar, but the air in the car was strangely tense. She worried like a mom. “What’s up with you two?”

Qin Shu, of course, wouldn’t say he was sexually frustrated. “We’re about to be long-distance. Not happy.” Which was the truth, and the root of his mood.

“That’s it?” Hehe exaggerated. “Do you even know how to write the word ‘content’? You shipped a CP into reality, got yourself a god-tier boyfriend, and you’re still not happy? Then I might as well jump out of the car.”

Xie Lanzhi: “Not in my car.”

“Don’t bring up CPs,” Qin Shu moaned. “I’ve already unfollowed.”

“Huh?” Hehe gaped. “Why?!”

Qin Shu waved her off, gazing sadly out the window. “Forget it. Life’s already hard enough. Some things are better left unsaid.”

“…Say half a sentence, get cursed for it.”

No matter how she pressed, Qin Shu wouldn’t say it. Reverse CP—those characters were forever taboo.

At the airport, Hehe finished check-in first. With Qin Shu away, she turned to Xie Lanzhi: “Didn’t his CP end in a HE? Why so depressed? Unless… it reversed?”

Xie Lanzhi: “Heh.”

Hehe, stunned. “No way?! Chu Cheng is the…? Holy sh*t, holy sh*t, holy sh*t!”

It took her a minute to process. Then, with sympathy: “Poor Qin Shu. Strong Qin Shu. If it were me, I’d have collapsed already.”

“He did collapse,” said Xie Lanzhi. “Took some effort to coax him back.”

As one of the few who could relate, Hehe sighed. “Truly heart-rending. I might have a way to help him get past it.”

Xie Lanzhi: “What way?”

“You’ll see.”

When Qin Shu came back, Hehe casually said: “Oh, I ran into Xu Ning and Chu Cheng while shopping yesterday.”

Qin Shu’s chest seized. “Hey—”

“They happened to be using one of those shared height-weight scales. Guess what—I found out Xu Ning’s actually one centimeter taller than Chu Cheng!”

Qin Shu: “!!!”

Holy sh*t—I live again!

Author’s Note: Which is worse: short seme or reversed CP?

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