Xie Ruan nearly tripped over his own feet, stumbling as a surge of irritation overwhelmed his previous urge to save him. “Stop talking nonsense—I’m not!”
He took a breath, then stressed, “And Shen Xingyun is not my boyfriend.”
The fact that even Bo Jin knew about his and Shen Xingyun’s awkward history only made him curse the author who had put him in this situation.
This time, it was Bo Jin’s turn to look surprised.
The sunlight on the rooftop was blinding, and he squinted slightly, observing Xie Ruan carefully before asking, “Aren’t you Xie Ruan?”
Xie Ruan stepped forward, positioning himself between Bo Jin and the edge of the rooftop, blocking his path. “I am.”
Bo Jin slipped his phone into his pocket and flicked off the ash from his cigarette, his tone neutral. “Oh, so you got dumped and came up here to sulk.”
Who was sulking?
He was here for serious matters!
Xie Ruan burst out, “I’m the one who broke up with him! I don’t like him at all!”
It was the “original” Xie Ruan, the one the author wrote, who was hung up on Shen Xingyun. He, the newly self-aware Xie Ruan, had nothing to do with that.
“Got it,” Bo Jin said with a mocking nod. “You did his laundry, got him food, and chased him so hard the whole school knew about it, but you don’t like him.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that saying? Right, ‘socialist brotherly love’? You two just share a pure, socialist bond.”
Xie Ruan: “…”
What was this guy made of to be so naturally sarcastic?
Feeling his dignity under siege, Xie Ruan grumbled, “You’re a model student—you wouldn’t get it. I was just trying to fit in.”
Bo Jin had no interest in involving himself with anyone connected to Shen Xingyun. His opening remark was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Now, he had half a mind to finish his cigarette and leave, but hearing this piqued his interest a bit. “Go on.”
Taking advantage of the fact that they weren’t in the same class, Xie Ruan improvised, “In my class, hardly anyone’s single. You can’t even talk to people if you’re not dating.”
Bo Jin looked at him, faint amusement in his eyes. “Then why’d you pick Shen Xingyun?”
Xie Ruan’s mouth quirked up. “A real man has to tackle challenging tasks.”
He delivered this with such earnestness that it was strangely endearing.
“Sure, a real man,” Bo Jin laughed lightly, his irritation toward him from earlier fading. Leaning back against the wall, he took another drag from his cigarette and asked idly, “Your class has gym this period?”
Xie Ruan looked surprised. “How’d you know?”
“I saw your class schedule in the office once.”
So that’s how. But to remember it in detail, that was more than just a quick glance, right? Xie Ruan wanted to ask further but decided against it, sensing their lack of closeness. Instead, he asked, “Do you come here often?”
Bo Jin, cigarette in hand, looked effortlessly stylish, his appearance hard to look away from. “Not really—just occasionally.”
Occasionally. In other words, not the first time.
This was bad news. The rooftop was too dangerous; what if he came here often and someday decided it was a good place to jump?
Xie Ruan thought for a moment and then said in a casual tone, “Don’t you think this place isn’t a good spot?”
Bo Jin was a bit taken aback. “Hm?”
Xie Ruan thought of every flaw he could about the rooftop. “It’s windy, dusty, you breathe in nothing but particles, and if you stay here long enough, you might end up with lung issues.”
In the original story, Bo Jin’s reason for suicide wasn’t specified, nor was the location. All that was known was that he jumped from a tall building.
So now, Xie Ruan was set on nipping any possible danger in the bud.
“And there’s no guardrail,” he pointed to the rooftop edge. “One slip, and there’s nothing to stop you.” He paused, carefully watching Bo Jin’s reaction as he strongly hinted, “Also, being up here alone in the cold wind looks pretty dumb, wouldn’t you say?”
Bo Jin watched him list each rooftop flaw, even using reverse psychology, clearly broadcasting a message not to come up here again. Amused, he joked, “What, afraid I’ll jump?”
He had only spoken casually, but when he caught a glimpse of Xie Ruan’s expression out of the corner of his eye, he had a sudden realization.
He was genuinely afraid that he might jump.
A flicker of absurdity passed through Bo Jin’s eyes as he tried not to laugh, now wondering what he might have done to give that impression.
Exactly! Xie Ruan studied Bo Jin’s expression, relieved to see he wasn’t fazed at all when mentioning jumping, as if it had never crossed his mind. The tension in Xie Ruan’s nerves finally eased.
As long as he didn’t have that idea.
Now that Bo Jin was no longer a worry, Xie Ruan’s repressed emotions began to surface. No matter how calm he tried to seem, he was still just an eighteen-year-old boy.
Facing something that upended his entire world couldn’t be processed in an instant. The only reason he had appeared unaffected earlier was because there was something more urgent at hand.
Xie Ruan glanced up and saw Bo Jin smoking, seemingly unaware of him. After a brief hesitation, he walked slowly to the edge of the rooftop.
Shijia High School was a private institution with high tuition fees, and its teaching facilities were top-tier in the city, reflecting the school’s wealth. The teaching building was beautifully constructed, as if the school wanted parents to see just how deep their pockets were.
The cement rooftop was smooth and polished to a shine. For aesthetics, there were no metal railings like in older buildings; instead, a flower bed served as a barrier.
It looked nice but was a serious safety hazard and wouldn’t stop anyone who really wanted to jump.
This was the place where he was supposed to die in the story.
Xie Ruan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and steeled himself before placing his hand on the flower bed’s edge and looking down.
The teaching building was only five stories high, and Xie Ruan wasn’t afraid of heights, so he thought it would be fine. But when he opened his eyes, he was immediately dizzy, his legs going weak. Scenes from the book describing his death flashed in his mind, amplifying his fear.
Pale-faced, he steadied himself against the flower bed, taking a moment to recover before dragging himself back to Bo Jin’s side, standing close to him.
This was an instinctual reaction, seeking the safety of someone else when afraid.
Bo Jin, unused to strangers being so close, frowned and turned, pausing when he saw Xie Ruan’s pale face.
Was he… afraid of heights?
Comparing their initial distance on the rooftop with where Xie Ruan stood now, Bo Jin confirmed his guess. He turned away without saying anything further.
The rooftop fell silent.
The autumn wind swept up bits of sand, which rattled against the wall with a faint, whispering sound.
After a while, Xie Ruan finally calmed down and began sneaking glances at Bo Jin.
In the story, Bo Jin’s ending was the same as his—suicide.
He did it for Shen Xingyun, but what about Bo Jin? Why would he do it?
He couldn’t understand why someone as handsome and talented as Bo Jin would have any troubles at all.
Could it be depression?
The thought flashed through his mind, suddenly making everything clear.
Yes, it must be depression. Xie Ruan didn’t know much about the illness and had never met anyone with it, but with the internet being so prevalent these days, he had read a thing or two.
There were often news stories about celebrities committing suicide because of depression, and Xie Ruan had once checked their social media profiles. They seemed just like anyone else, working, eating, having fun, without any signs of suffering.
He recalled hearing that people with depression often appeared more optimistic than usual, only showing their true feelings when alone. This was why people around them often didn’t realize they were suffering until it was too late.
Was Bo Jin like that?
Xie Ruan felt complicated. Despite Bo Jin’s sharp tongue, he was smart and talented; his future was undoubtedly bright. If he put in some effort, he might even make great contributions to the country.
It would be such a waste if he were gone.
Xie Ruan had already taken the first step to change his fate—what about Bo Jin? What could he do to change his ending?
His gaze lingered on Bo Jin, too long for it to go unnoticed.
Bo Jin lifted his eyes. “Good-looking?”
“Who’s looking at you?” Xie Ruan, caught staring, felt a bit awkward. “I was just wondering why you’re here.”
Bo Jin casually stubbed out his cigarette, saying, “Take a guess.”
Xie Ruan ventured, “You skipped class?”
“Smart.”
Even after seeing this other side of him, Xie Ruan still felt shocked.
The teachers’ golden boy, the top student who aced every exam, Bo Jin really was skipping class like the rest of them slackers.
“What,” Bo Jin, noticing Xie Ruan’s expression, gave him a sidelong glance, “are you going to report me to the teacher?”
Bo Jin had almond-shaped eyes with narrow, sharp double lids, framed by long, dark lashes that curved beautifully. His gaze, although calm and collected, held a hint of humor mixed with a faint detachment.
Their eyes met, and Xie Ruan looked away first. “Don’t overthink. I don’t have that much free time.”
Bo Jin didn’t respond, leaving his thoughts unreadable. Just as Xie Ruan was about to reassure him again, a familiar shout came from behind, “Bo Jin!”
Xie Ruan froze, slowly turning around to face the stern, extended face of Director Zhao Caiming.
Zhao Caiming had just turned forty, with a naturally stern face and a personality as unyielding as a stubborn stone in a latrine. He had a penchant for disciplining students and was the nightmare of every class.
There was a rumor that a few students had once snuck out to play video games at night, only to be caught by Director Zhao at the internet café. Whatever tactics he had used, those students returned their phones obediently and were so traumatized by games that, years after graduating, one of them would still shiver at the sight of a café sign on the street.
Director Zhao’s brutal reputation was immediately clear.
Instinctively, Xie Ruan straightened his back, and in a flash, he had only one thought: he had to cover for Bo Jin.
People with depression are often sensitive and vulnerable, and every little setback in life can become the final straw.
If Bo Jin got caught cutting class, with Zhao Caiming’s personality, he’d definitely make Bo Jin a prime example.
A written self-reflection and a month-long disciplinary notice on the school bulletin board might be tolerable. But the real fear was Director Zhao forcing Bo Jin to publicly apologize under the national flag in front of the entire school.
An average person might just tough it out, maybe even brag about it to friends later. But Bo Jin might have a mental illness.
Being openly criticized could be devastating for someone with depression.
Xie Ruan and Bo Jin weren’t close—in fact, he often found Bo Jin’s snark irritating. But he was the only person in this world who knew Bo Jin’s fate, and he couldn’t just stand by and watch him walk toward it.
What’s more, Bo Jin’s character in the book was flawless; there was never a scene where he got caught skipping class.
What if this situation was a “butterfly effect” brought on by his interference?
From every angle, he had to do something.
Seeing Zhao Caiming approach with a frown, clearly ready to lecture, Xie Ruan swiftly snatched the cigarette from Bo Jin’s fingers, clenched it in his hand, and stepped forward, calling out, “Teacher!”
Without waiting for a response, he launched into a hastily prepared confession: “This has nothing to do with Bo Jin. I was the one who called him out. I’m sorry for taking up class time, Teacher. I realize I was wrong and won’t do it again!”
A silence fell over the scene.
After a moment, Zhao Caiming rubbed his ears, still ringing from the sudden outburst. Turning to Bo Jin, he deadpanned, “Out here relaxing again? I knew I’d find you here.”
Xie Ruan: “???”
Xie Ruan: “!!!”
What did that mean?! The teacher knew he was out here? It wasn’t cutting class? It was approved free time?!
D*mn it!
Bo Jin watched as Xie Ruan’s face went through a rainbow of colors, gave a slight nod, and let a smile form at the corner of his eyes.
Zhao Caiming continued, “Good, good. Balancing work and relaxation is the right way to study… What class do you have now?”
Holding back laughter, Bo Jin replied, “Physics.”
“Ah, Old Feng’s class. With midterms coming up, one should be focusing more,” Zhao Caiming began, launching into a tirade, “It’s the city-wide exam this time, one standardized paper for all schools. He’d better not drop the ball.”
After this, he advised Bo Jin, “Just make sure to stay on top. We can’t let students from other schools get the upper hand, alright?”
Bo Jin’s attention was still on Xie Ruan, so he only nodded absentmindedly.
“As long as you know what you’re doing, I won’t nag.” Zhao Caiming said, before turning to Xie Ruan. His face turned stern once again. “Now, let’s talk about you. Which class are you in? What’s your name? Quite the helpful one, aren’t you?”
Xie Ruan: “…”
Could he vanish right now?!
