Chapter 2: Two-Dimensional 2/2

Octopus Teacher himself seemed to dislike this kind of teasing, so he later removed that letter.

In fact, Song Fuzhi felt that whether that letter was removed or not, it wouldn’t affect Octopus’s powerful presence.

After tidying up the bathroom, Song Fuzhi came out in a bathrobe, water droplets not wiped away, sliding down along the abdominal muscles.

Whether it was the few pages of manga that the students read or because of the time in the bathroom, Song Fuzhi had already explored and enjoyed Octopus Teacher’s pictures thoroughly in his mind.

The satisfaction was unparalleled.

He thought that if those domineering anime characters could really tear out of the manga and come to his side, they must have borrowed Octopus Teacher’s body.

Song Fuzhi couldn’t distinguish whether the person satisfying his fantasies was those 2D paper characters or the coser who gave them a 3D image—he was too lazy to figure it out. Anyway, keeping it in his heart wouldn’t hurt anyone.

—

Song Fuzhi doesn’t pay much attention to what Octopus Teacher looks like; he just likes the cosplay vibe and the excellent male physique.

At times like these, Song Fuzhi is grateful for modern technology.

Although it lacks a bit of soul and warmth, it has always satisfied Song Fuzhi functionally.

More importantly, they are 100% safe and 100% controllable.

In the progressive era, finding a casual encounter is no longer a difficult topic.

But not for Song Fuzhi; he can’t do it.

He has never tried to put himself in someone else’s hands; he lacks trust in people and has strong boundaries.

In his view, for two people to engage in such matters, they need to understand and trust each other enough.

However, in his thirty-plus years, he hasn’t encountered anyone who has moved him.

Except for his best friend, he has never opened up to anyone else, let alone spent the night together.

Song Fuzhi doesn’t mind; he thinks people in reality are just like that.

Men are better off on paper.

He is the only one at home, but he still maintains order.

The sheets are neatly arranged and not very dirty.

Song Fuzhi rested for a while, turned over, opened the bedside table, took out a pack of cigarettes, and used the other hand to scroll through Weibo aimlessly.

The metal lighter just flamed up, and Weibo refreshed with a “ding.” Song Fuzhi paused, loosened his fingers, and the lighter’s lid clicked back.

Octopus Teacher posted a cosplay photo, specifically of the scenes where the combat power ceiling was damaged, making the little girls’ wishes come true.

The damaged version of the character has damn tension; the scars make him even sexier. He is injured, but he is still a king that people willingly bow to.

The background is very realistic, and the battle scenes are reproduced. Muscles are bulging due to exertion, and the veins on the neck are prominent, making it seem like one can feel his pulsating heat, carrying a strong smell of blood and hormones.

Song Fuzhi squinted, found a comfortable position on the pillow, and sat up to look at the set of pictures.

The Weibo comment section quickly filled with comments; the little fans were excited, shouting incessantly.

Nowadays, young people dare to say anything; they shout “ah ah ah” in large numbers, various funny or straightforward cheesy love words.

Many people also shout “husband,” and it’s unclear whether they’re referring to Octopus Teacher or the character, but the meaning is the same—praising Octopus Teacher for being handsome and expressing the character’s dominance.

Song Fuzhi glanced at the comment section and returned to the Weibo main text.

He is not the type to express emotions; he never comments, and he has long passed the age of getting excited when meeting like-minded people. He just quietly looks at the pictures.

Well, he’s not just quietly looking at the pictures.

This time, the sheets were a bit wrinkled.

The phone dropped by the pillow, the screen was on, and the bloodstain on the combat power ceiling’s abdominal muscles was magnified, facing the screen.

Song Fuzhi slowly reached out, picked up a cigarette, lit it, and sparks flickered between his slender fingers.

He’s not addicted to smoking, only indulging in a cigarette like this once a month.

As the smoke dispersed, the phone suddenly rang in the quiet night.

It was Qiao Xuyang.

Song Fuzhi looked down for a while, answered the call, but remained silent.

On the other side, Qiao Xuyang seemed a bit drunk, his voice softer and smoother than usual, calling him “Brother Fuzhi.”

“Brother Fuzhi, I asked you if you wanted to go to the exhibition together before. Why didn’t you reply? Did you see that message?” Qiao Xuyang drew out his voice, sounding a bit like a spoiled teenager.

Song Fuzhi felt he had already made his refusal clear, and he had directly rejected him several times. He didn’t understand why Qiao Xuyang was so persistent.

Qiao Xuyang was already twenty-six years old and should be familiar with the give and take between adults, especially since Song Fuzhi made it clear.

Song Fuzhi remained silent for a long time, unsure of what to say. He took a deep drag of the cigarette and exhaled a light gray mist.

Qiao Xuyang didn’t give up; he mentioned the name of a bar, asking if Song Fuzhi wanted to go. He claimed to be alone and couldn’t finish all the drinks.

“Not going.” There was almost no hesitation; Song Fuzhi spoke.

His voice was low and husky, with a granular quality like smoke. He was very lazy.

A man having such a voice in the late night stunned Qiao Xuyang.

There was a long silence on the phone. When Qiao Xuyang spoke again, his voice was a bit intermittent. “Brother Fuzhi, are you… with someone right now?”

Song Fuzhi gently flicked off the ash, paused for a moment, and said, “Yeah.”

He glanced at the still-lit screen and slowly repeated, “Someone’s here.”