Transmigrated as the Campus Heartthrob’s Cannon Fodder Ex-Boyfriend Chapter 44

Shoutout to Kari for the commission!

“No,” Le Cheng’s thoughts were in complete chaos. “It’s…”

“Why?” Zhou Shirui interrupted him directly. The flickering fireworks illuminated his profile, yet seemed unable to reach his eyes. “Give me a reason.”

“It’s just… I…” The unexpected reaction and unfamiliar intensity of emotion made Le Cheng’s brain begin to shut down. “I, I don’t want us to have this kind of relationship anymore…”

“What kind of relationship?” Zhou Shirui asked. “A romantic relationship?”

Le Cheng felt that something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. Chaotic thoughts nearly filled his entire head. A soft “Mm” was practically squeezed out of his throat. “I don’t want… I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to stay in contact…”

But without any warning, Zhou Shirui gave a soft laugh.

Le Cheng immediately fell silent. He stared at Zhou Shirui’s face without even moving his eyes.

“What a terrible excuse.” Zhou Shirui stared expressionlessly at his face. “Le Cheng. What a terrible excuse.”

Even harsher words lingered on Zhou Shirui’s lips, impossible to swallow and impossible to say. They were like a ball of fire, burning his throat and his heart, making his rationality nearly boil over.

Perhaps he should have realized it long ago, when he saw Le Cheng inexplicably begin distancing himself, when Le Cheng stopped him from holding his hand, when he jokingly mentioned breaking up after getting drunk, when he deleted every video and post related to him.

Perhaps there had been signs all along.

But he hadn’t wanted to, or perhaps he had been afraid to, think too deeply about it. Something seemed to grip his heart, making him unable to speak. Or perhaps, even in a situation like this, he still didn’t want to see tears in Le Cheng’s eyes.

“Le Cheng.” Zhou Shirui’s expression was blank. “I don’t want to be friends with you.”

Le Cheng almost blurted out, “Why?”

Why not? Why was he reacting like this? Where had things gone wrong? Was it because his attitude hadn’t been good enough? Had he made Zhou Shirui misunderstand?

Zhou Shirui abruptly curled his lips, but there was no hint of a smile in his eyes. “Because I won’t be friends with you.”

He said, “Le Cheng, you don’t know how to lie at all.”

Then he added, “I’m sick of hearing this excuse.”

The questions Le Cheng wanted to ask were like cotton stuffing, clogging his throat. The moment he was about to speak, Zhou Shirui had already decisively picked up his keys and pushed the door open.

Everything was too chaotic. Le Cheng instinctively stood up to stop him, grabbing his arm. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Zhou Shirui, that’s not what I mean…”

Zhou Shirui lowered his eyes. Explosive emotions engulfed him, nearly bursting out of his chest and squeezing what little remained of his rationality into nothing. He knew perfectly well that if he didn’t leave as soon as possible, everything that happened next would be beyond his control.

A familiar, rotten emotion hidden deep within his soul crossed through time and space, spanning the years, and once again wrapped itself tightly around him. It felt as though he couldn’t breathe, leaving him only able to struggle helplessly. His chest rose and fell violently, his expression frighteningly cold. In the very second that Le Cheng stopped him, for one brief moment, an uncontrollable urge rose within him, to lock Le Cheng tightly in his arms, never go anywhere, never let him leave, make him completely merge into his very flesh and bones, so that he could never escape.

Zhou Shirui took a deep breath and forcibly reined in those dark thoughts. His black eyes lowered as he pried Le Cheng’s fingers off his arm one by one, restraining his tone as he said, “Le Cheng, let go.”

Le Cheng watched his movements, his entire mind in complete disarray, utterly lost. He tried to find some answer in Zhou Shirui’s face, but Zhou Shirui didn’t give him the chance. The door opened, then shut firmly behind him.

The fireworks outside hadn’t changed. There was even still warmth in the wine glasses. Everything remained exactly as it had been, but Le Cheng seemed to hear something quietly, quietly breaking apart.

He was clearly the one who had suggested breaking up, yet Le Cheng now seemed like the one who didn’t understand what was happening, as though he and Zhou Shirui had really broken up.

No, the word “breakup” was too heavy.

Their romantic relationship had already existed in name only. Put another way, it should be called cutting off all contact.

Such a childish term, yet Zhou Shirui’s behavior made it seem as though he wanted to cut ties with him.

Le Cheng’s mind was a complete mess. There was a thread in his thoughts pulsing wildly, but he couldn’t grasp it. His entire attention was focused on the problem right in front of him.

He even wanted to chase after Zhou Shirui and ask which part of what he had said was wrong.

Or maybe Zhou Shirui had some strange quirk, maybe he simply couldn’t stand hearing someone mention breaking up, and the moment they did, he had some kind of extreme reaction.

Or perhaps…

Le Cheng recalled the details of their conversation just now. Maybe Zhou Shirui hadn’t actually understood. Maybe he thought that saying they could still be friends after breaking up was merely an excuse to brush him off, because Zhou Shirui had said, I’m sick of hearing this excuse.

That must be it.

Le Cheng immediately made a decision and began composing a message to Zhou Shirui.

[Zhou Shirui, what I said just now about being friends was real. It wasn’t fake. I’m not trying to deceive you, and I’m definitely not trying to mess with you. I sincerely want to be friends with you. You have to believe me.]

The message was sent, but it was like a stone sinking into the sea. Le Cheng stared at his phone screen for five minutes, until his eyes began to ache. His long eyelashes trembled, and an intense sense of frustration welled up inside him, making him feel miserable.

He had messed it up.

He didn’t understand. He couldn’t figure it out.

He had clearly tried so hard. He had clearly imagined it over and over again. He had clearly been so confident and yet, he had still messed it up.

He seemed to know Zhou Shirui so well. Even when Zhou Shirui said nothing, he knew his past, knew his personality, knew the course of his entire life.

When it came to Zhou Shirui, he clearly had a god’s-eye view.

Yet at the same time, he seemed not to know Zhou Shirui at all. He didn’t understand Zhou Shirui’s heart. He didn’t understand Zhou Shirui’s intense emotions. He didn’t understand those dark eyes when Zhou Shirui looked at him. He didn’t understand why Zhou Shirui was acting this way.

It seemed that he really didn’t know him that well.

The quiet part of the city had fallen into night. The temperature inside the car was low, but Zhou Shirui seemed completely unaware of it. It was as though, the moment he stepped out the door, his soul had already left his body, automatically bound within that tiny space filled entirely with Le Cheng.

At first, his heart had felt as though a hand had suddenly squeezed it tightly, bringing an intense sense of suffocation. But now, it felt as though someone had poked a hole through it, allowing countless streams of coldness to pour inside. Even his blood felt cold. Though a gentle breeze blew, it felt as though he were standing in the depths of winter.

He hadn’t returned to the dormitory. He hadn’t even realized what destination he had given the driver. Before he could react, he had already arrived home.

Home.

His home.

At the thought of that word, Zhou Shirui unexpectedly wanted to laugh, even though he couldn’t laugh at all right now.

Could an empty house even be called a home?

His temples throbbed. His phone rang several times in succession. Zhou Shirui had never been a cowardly person, but at this moment, he had absolutely no courage to look. He was afraid of seeing something that would hurt him even more. But he was also afraid that there would be nothing hurtful at all. Something gripped his heart, leaving him unable to breathe, like a fish about to drown.

He casually tossed his keys somewhere without caring where. Sitting on the sofa, he said nothing as he slowly buried his face in his palms, feeling somewhat dazed.

He felt unbearably empty but it wasn’t simply a physical emptiness. Or perhaps it was physical, too.

Not long ago, Le Cheng had still been in his arms.

But now, there was nothing.

That suffocating feeling of being tightly wrapped up came again. It was so powerless that he could barely move. The fragments of information in his mind were scattered, and one scene after another emerged once more from the corners of his memory.

It was as though he had returned to his childhood again. A room where he was alone. No one to speak to him. No one who remembered him. As though he had been abandoned. As though he had always been abandoned.

He hadn’t seen his mother for a month and a half. He hadn’t seen anyone. Afraid that he might run away, his mother had locked him inside the room. Then one day, she suddenly came back. She touched his head, her voice so gentle, yet she was telling him to leave.

She was no longer in a state to raise a child by herself, nor was she able to bear the weight of another life. Perhaps going back was, in her opinion, the best place for him.

He was silent, but then he had asked why. His mother said that life was a journey made up of different stages. No one was meant to stay with anyone forever. “Baby, you need to see reality clearly, just like how no one is obligated to love you.”

He hadn’t understood those words when he was young. He only knew that he was cold, his body was cold, and so was his heart. As he grew older, he gradually came to agree with her. If a person spent their entire life chasing love, trying to make up for what they had lacked in childhood, then how powerless and futile that would be. It would make a person sink deeper into the mire, becoming increasingly empty. He would not do that, so he didn’t pursue such unnecessary, or perhaps somewhat self-indulgent, things.

Because he already possessed enough, more than enough, even, compared to the average person.

But people were truly greedy. Once they had tasted something beautiful, they were unwilling to let go. So after having Le Cheng, he found it impossible to let go anymore.

It was too warm, like an endless source of energy radiating outward, filling whatever part of his soul might have been incomplete.

But why give it to him, only to take it away again?

Having been lovers, how could he be willing to step down and become friends?

Zhou Shirui clenched his fingers tightly. The faint pain stimulated his nerves. He remained still for a while before suddenly standing up almost frantically. His steps were quick, even somewhat uncoordinated. He hurried to the bedroom and pulled open a drawer, seeing the ceramic dolls Le Cheng had made lying quietly inside.

Two little chibi figures, their heads pressed together like two puppies keeping each other warm, nuzzling against one another. Zhou Shirui picked them up and placed them in his palm, quietly looking at them for a while. Then, suddenly, he felt that this house wasn’t actually completely empty.

He took a deep breath, put the dolls back, then pulled out his phone. At the very top of his messages was one from a contact saved as [Chengcheng].

Zhou Shirui stared at the message. It felt as though another knife had been plunged into his heart and twisted. His fingers trembled as he wanted to delete it, but in the end, he couldn’t bear to.

He might actually be crazy. Otherwise, how could he fantasize that Le Cheng would message him, or come to him, tap the tip of his nose with a finger, and say to him in a playful tone, “What breakup? I was just kidding!”

Just like a few days ago, on this very bed.

Just like that.

Like boiling water poured into oil, sending up a thousand clamorous bursts, dark thoughts continuously gnawed away at his rationality. After remaining calm for a brief while, Zhou Shirui tilted his head back and stared at the empty ceiling, unconsciously wondering why he hadn’t kissed Le Cheng just now, why he hadn’t tightly locked his arms around his waist and swallowed him whole, so that he couldn’t speak, so that he would never say such things again.

He wouldn’t agree.

***

By the time Le Cheng returned to the dormitory, an hour had already passed.

He had taken a taxi back. When he pushed open the dormitory door, He Ziqing wasn’t there. Tan Xiaobai was playing a game, the volume turned up very high. Hearing the noise, he turned his head to look at Le Cheng and hesitantly took off his headphones. “Le Cheng, what’s wrong? Why are you back so late?”

“And…” Tan Xiaobai frowned. “Y-You, why do you look like this?”

“Hm?” Le Cheng walked over to the desk. His mind was completely dazed at the moment. With trembling fingers, he poured himself a glass of water. “Like what?”

What did he look like right now?

Tan Xiaobai stood up and picked up a small mirror from the side. “Look at yourself… You look really… uh, sad?”

Yes, sad.

Le Cheng hadn’t cried, and even the area around his eyes looked completely normal, but Tan Xiaobai still felt like there was sadness in his eyes.

“Oh, right.” Tan Xiaobai said, “Zhou Shirui called me ten minutes ago and asked if you’d come back. I thought his tone sounded kind of strange…”

Tan Xiaobai cautiously asked, “Did you two have a fight?”

Le Cheng shook his head, then nodded. He raised his eyes and said, looking incredibly sad, “We… we broke up.”

“What?! You broke up?” Tan Xiaobai’s eyes immediately widened. “Then you, you’re this sad… F*ck, Zhou Shirui dumped you?! Why?? Is he crazy?!”

Although Tan Xiaobai was furious, Le Cheng sniffed, sat down in the chair beside him, and shook his head even more sadly. “No…”

He said miserably, “It was me. I was the one who asked to break up…”

“…………” Tan Xiaobai seemed to have suddenly had his mouth grabbed shut. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke. “Huh? Y-You were the one who asked to break up?”

“No, why would you suddenly ask to break up for no reason?” Tan Xiaobai really wanted to ask him outright, but when he saw Le Cheng’s watery eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to. “You asked to break up… so, so why are you this sad?”

“Because…” Le Cheng pouted, staring at him wide-eyed. Then he suddenly said aggrievedly, “Because I never actually wanted to break up with him…!”

“I wanted… I wanted to start over with him…” Le Cheng stammered. “I wanted to be friends with him.”

“You wanted to break up with him. And then you wanted to be friends with him after breaking up.” Tan Xiaobai accurately extracted the information. “No… he definitely wouldn’t agree, right?”

“Why not?”

“Why would he? You can’t be friends with someone you really loved, right?” Tan Xiaobai said. “Besides, you were the one who asked to break up. How would you know whether he doesn’t like you anymore? You suddenly asked to break up, basically out of nowhere. It’s already pretty good that he didn’t completely lose it, right?”

Le Cheng felt that Tan Xiaobai’s words made some sense, but also not quite enough sense, because he sadly realized that his and Zhou Shirui’s situation couldn’t be viewed like a normal couple breaking up. Because Zhou Shirui didn’t like him at all.

“He…” Le Cheng didn’t know how to explain. “He doesn’t like me.”

“Huh? I didn’t hear that wrong, did I?” Tan Xiaobai said. “He treats you so well. You two are dating, and he doesn’t like you?”

Yes, that was true. Zhou Shirui treated him very well but did treating him well mean he liked him? He treated Zhou Shirui well too, didn’t he? Did he like Zhou Shirui?

A thread in his mind suddenly twitched, as though it were drawing infinitely close to the truth.

Le Cheng suddenly froze.

It was as though a voice inside him was questioning him, interrogating everything that had happened today, interrogating his own heart.

“Hey, okay, okay.” Tan Xiaobai couldn’t bear to see him like this. “You’re broken up, so you’re broken up. There are plenty of men in this world. I know a few high-quality handsome guys myself. Don’t be sad. I’ll introduce you to them later, okay?”

“Not really.” Le Cheng answered honestly.

This wasn’t a matter of whether he should be introduced to someone else. It wasn’t a matter of whether the guy was handsome. It was a matter of why Zhou Shirui was acting like this.

“You said just now that he called you?” Le Cheng suddenly remembered something.

“Yeah.” Tan Xiaobai nodded. “I was wondering why you two didn’t come back together. Turns out it was… um, yeah, that’s what happened.” He was afraid that saying the word “breakup” would upset Le Cheng even more.

“He even called you.” Le Cheng asked sadly, “So why isn’t he replying to my messages?”

“What did you send him?”

Le Cheng took out his phone and showed him.

“F*ck… You sent this, and you’re still asking to break up with him, aren’t you? What could he possibly reply to that?” Tan Xiaobai was stunned.

“But that’s exactly what I meant.” Le Cheng was both troubled and confused. “Do you think he didn’t understand what I meant? Does he think I was just brushing him off? Does he think I was only trying to get rid of him?”

“And…” Le Cheng suddenly remembered something. “He drank today, and his alcohol tolerance is so bad. Could it be that his brain got stupid from drinking and he just couldn’t process it?”

Tan Xiaobai thought about it. “…Possible. Alcohol does make people slower to react.”

“Then he’s way too stupid.” Le Cheng asked desperately, “Would it still work if I explain it to him again tomorrow?”

“It might work.” Tan Xiaobai comforted him.

Le Cheng could only believe that explanation for the time being. After an exhausting day, he was completely drained both physically and mentally. He washed up and climbed into bed, but he didn’t sleep well that night either. He tossed and turned, and the next day he went to school with huge dark circles under his eyes.

He even waited around for a while, but Zhou Shirui never showed up.

During that time, he sent Zhou Shirui another message, sincerely inviting him once again to be friends, but Zhou Shirui still hadn’t replied.

It wasn’t until evening that his phone suddenly rang. He lowered his head, and the moment he saw the contact name, he immediately answered, almost thinking that Zhou Shirui had changed his mind. “…Hello?”

“Le Cheng.” After a moment, a slightly hoarse, low voice came from the other end, sounding deeply exhausted. “Your computer is still with me.”

Le Cheng clenched his palm. “Oh… Are you going to return it to me?”

“Mm.” Zhou Shirui’s voice was somewhat indistinct. “I’ll be at the school in an hour.”

“Okay.”

The call ended.

Zhou Shirui hung up hurriedly. He likewise expressionlessly dug his fingers into his palm, desperately trying to control his emotions.

His breathing was rapid. He couldn’t deny it: in just one night and one day, the pain of losing him had nearly drowned him. He desperately wanted to see Le Cheng, wanted to touch his soft cheeks, wanted to kiss his full lips, wanted to see his smile, wanted to hear his voice, wanted to hold him, wanted to…

But he didn’t want to be friends with Le Cheng.

After Le Cheng sent him a second message, he finally realized that perhaps Le Cheng hadn’t been lying to him. Le Cheng was always particularly kind and soft-hearted in certain ways, so perhaps, just to comfort him, he really did want to be friends after breaking up.

But he didn’t want to be friends with Le Cheng.

Then let him be despicable just this once. As long as he could see Le Cheng one more time, he would let go.

Zhou Shirui thought expressionlessly as he returned to the study. Le Cheng’s computer was there. He had already repaired it.

It was a silver-gray laptop. Zhou Shirui lowered his eyes and stared at it for a while. As if taking care of things one last time, he reached out and opened the computer.

It started up quickly. Zhou Shirui sat at the desk as he usually did. He had installed a little game he had made on Le Cheng’s computer, one that corresponded with an Easter egg in the game he had released. Originally, he had planned to wait until Le Cheng completed it before telling him the answer, but now there was no need.

He clicked uninstall and stared at the progress bar until it completely disappeared. His heart suddenly felt as though a piece had been hollowed out.

There were very few files on Le Cheng’s computer. Zhou Shirui had never paid attention to this before, but now, he suddenly noticed a folder.

He had opened that folder before. Inside was another subfolder named《Records》.

Records. What could Le Cheng have recorded?

Last time, he hadn’t touched it. But perhaps the pain of impending loss was tempting him. That impulse boiled through his blood, making him urgently, almost unconsciously, click open the subfolder.

Then he opened a document named The Drama Queen Plan.

How to Be a Good Drama Queen:

Have a terrible temper and a sharp mouth— You have to stay with me today!
Make all kinds of unreasonable demands— Can I touch your pecs? Can I see your abs?
Be super clingy— I want to check in on you, I want to check in on you!
Challenge a straight man’s boundaries— Can we hold hands? Can we hug? Can we kiss?

Zhou Shirui’s gaze paused. He didn’t quite understand, but his heartbeat began inexplicably accelerating.

Because underneath it, he saw a casually typed line of text:

Aaaaaah, being a drama queen is so exhausting!! It’s so hard!!! Why hasn’t Zhou Shirui broken up with me yet QAQ!!! I can’t hold on anymore!!!!

A buzzing suddenly seemed to erupt in his ears. The overwhelming amount of information pinned him directly in place. He was an exceptionally intelligent person. Even amid such a tangled mess of thoughts, he could quickly sort out the reason behind everything.

Rather than calling this a drama-queen plan, it was more like a breakup plan.

Judging from the earliest dates, it was clear that this had been written around the time they had just started dating. Combined with all of Le Cheng’s behavior and the annotations on the plan…

It was as though a red warning light suddenly lit up in his mind, right at the edge of going out of control.

Zhou Shirui abruptly felt like laughing. In the end, he really did let out a soft laugh, but there wasn’t the slightest trace of amusement in his eyes. He lightly tapped the screen twice, his finger landing on that “QAQ.”

Fine.

Great.

Zhou Shirui thought.

He thought this was good.

F*cking wonderful.