Chapter 17 — “Don’t Act Like a Creepy Ex…”

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The food was served quickly.

Still, the two of them hardly spoke as they ate in silence. Fortunately, the old saying “Don’t talk while eating or sleeping” offered a polite excuse, so the atmosphere wasn’t as awkward as before.

One of the dishes on the table was boiled shrimp. The brightly colored shrimp were arranged in a circle on a beautiful plate, with a dipping sauce in the middle — not the usual garlic soy, but a special salad dressing mixed with finely chopped apple.

Que Wanshu remembered Wei Xun liked shrimp, yet although the dish had been on the table for ten minutes, he hadn’t touched it. She couldn’t help sneaking a few glances his way.

Wei Xun noticed and shot her a cold glance. He snorted, “Peel it yourself. Don’t expect me to do it for you.”

Que Wanshu: “…”

That’s not what she meant.

There was a plate of hot towels and an empty dish for shrimp shells on the table. Que Wanshu took a towel to wipe her hands, moved the empty plate closer, and slowly picked up a shrimp to peel.

She was clearly not good at it. Her movements were slow and clumsy, and she even accidentally pricked her finger.

“Ow,” she yelped, frowning as she examined her finger. Suddenly, a pair of chopsticks reached over and snatched the shrimp from her hands.

Wei Xun placed the shrimp on the empty plate and — using just the chopsticks — quickly and perfectly peeled it.

Then he returned the peeled shrimp to her bowl and said with a blank expression, “You can’t even peel shrimp? What, you just haven’t eaten any these past years? Not every restaurant peels them for you, you know.”

As he spoke, he picked up another shrimp, again deftly peeled it, and dropped it into her bowl.

His hands were graceful, but his words weren’t nearly as elegant:
“Or… were you pretending to be clumsy to make me do it for you?”

Que Wanshu: “…”

Does this guy have some kind of persecution complex? Who was trying to get him to do anything? He snatched the shrimp out of her hand!

Completely speechless — and annoyed by his sarcastic tone — she sulked and muttered while poking at the shrimp in her bowl:
“Who says I can’t eat shrimp? I don’t know how to peel them, but plenty of people can do it for me.”

The moment the words left her mouth, the atmosphere changed — sharp and strange.

“Who?”

Wei Xun’s voice was quiet, his tone calm and even, but Que Wanshu felt a chill crawl up her spine, cold and sticky, like something wet slithering from her tailbone upward.

Her back stiffened. She looked up in a daze — and met Wei Xun’s frosty gaze.

He didn’t even blink, just stared at her while continuing to skillfully peel shrimp. He removed the head and shell, placed the clean shrimp into an empty bowl, and in no time, had already filled half the bowl.

As he worked, he spoke slowly and clearly:
“The people… who peel shrimp for you.”

Another shrimp was added to the bowl.

Que Wanshu looked at the growing pile of shrimp. For a moment, she had a bizarre illusion — as if these shrimp were the corpses of those people he mentioned.

Nervously, she stammered, “I… my college roommate.”

Wei Xun narrowed his eyes. “Roommate? Male or female?”

Que Wanshu: “Female.”

She’d already said it was her college roommate — what, did he think she lived with a guy?

She had lived in a four-person dorm in university, and one of her roommates was practically everyone’s “mom.” That roommate and she had been close — and always treated Que Wanshu like a delicate little kitten to be cared for.

Que Wanshu was bad at peeling shrimp, but her roommate was a shrimp-peeling master. Every time they ate out, she took care of everyone’s shrimp like a pro.

As for her time in Yi’an, she had her mom, her aunt, her cousin, and even some neighbor ladies and kids — come to think of it, she really hadn’t peeled much shrimp in recent years. Other people always did it for her.

So she added, “Also my mom, my aunt, and my cousin… and others.”

Others?
Meaning — there were even more?

Wei Xun: “……………”

He hadn’t expected that even something like “peeling shrimp for Que Wanshu” would be a role he had to line up for.

After a three-second silence, Wei Xun sneered:
“Heh… you sure have a lot of shrimp assistants.”

Que Wanshu: “…”

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After dinner, the two of them left the restaurant together.

Que Wanshu looked up the location and saw that her apartment was only a few subway stops away. The nearest station was just ten minutes on foot.

She intended to take the subway home, but Wei Xun immediately rejected the idea:
“No. It’s a house rule — girls don’t go home alone.”

Que Wanshu: “…”

Que Wanshu: “Since when does your family have a rule like that?”

Wei Xun (serious as ever): “Since I said so.”

Seeing Que Wanshu’s twitching lips, as if she was about to argue, he side-eyed her and blocked her rebuttal with a single line:
“Who’s the Wei family member here, you or me?”

Que Wanshu: “…”

Fine. You win.

She gave in, obediently put on her helmet, and sat on the motorcycle behind him. Once she was settled, Wei Xun turned his head and asked,
“Where do you live?”

“Chongde Road, Lvyì Community,” she replied, pulling up the map and pointing in the direction. “It’s that way.”

It was about a fifteen-minute ride to her apartment. At the entrance, Wei Xun parked the bike by the curb. Que Wanshu carefully got off, steadying herself with his shoulder.

“Thanks for giving me a ride.” She removed the helmet and handed it back to him, preparing to say goodbye — but noticed he was surveying the neighborhood with a critical gaze.

Lvyì Community was clearly an older complex. The gray building walls bore the marks of age and weather. The entrance and security booth were plain, and the landscaping was nothing to brag about.

From Wei Xun’s point of view, any of his properties would be a thousand times better than this.

Que Wanshu didn’t know what he was thinking, but from the disdain in his expression, she could guess. She wasn’t offended. After all, he was born with a silver spoon and had never known financial hardship. It made sense he’d look down on this place.

She adjusted the strap of her bag. “Well then, I’ll head—”

“Is this place safe?” Wei Xun cut her off.

He glanced toward the lit-up guard booth and asked, “Do the guards know you? Recognize the other residents?”

Que Wanshu paused, then nodded. “Yes.”

Actually, one of the guards was her landlord — a retired teacher who owned several apartments in the community. He and his wife lived in one, and he rented out the others. Bored after retirement, he took up a side job as a community guard.

The other guards were also friendly and cautious. They always greeted residents and never let strangers in without checking.

Wei Xun continued: “How many units on your floor? What do your neighbors do? Anyone suspicious?”

Que Wanshu: “Five units per floor. Most are office workers, mostly women.”

The building was made up of small units, mostly single-occupant homes. She didn’t interact much with neighbors — just the occasional shared elevator ride.

At first, she thought he was just curious about her living situation. But he kept asking question after question — and answering them all, she suddenly felt like a migrant child being inspected by a helicopter parent.

Que Wanshu: “…”

Was he her dad now? Why did he have so many questions?

She sighed. “Do you have anything else to ask? If not, I’ll just—”

“Yes.”
Wei Xun suddenly held out his phone toward her, eyes fixed on hers.
“Give me your number.”

She looked at the pitch-black phone in his hand, the screen showing the dial pad, and her grip on her bag strap tightened slightly.

Wei Xun caught her hesitation and calmly explained:
“Don’t misunderstand. We’re technically a student’s parent and a teacher. Surely Teacher Que would exchange contact info with a student’s parent?”

Of course she would.

But he wasn’t just a student’s parent.

Wei Xun stared at her intently, pretending not to see her reluctant and awkward expression. He was never one to back down before reaching his goal. If she didn’t give him her number — he’d probably stand right there and wait all night.

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Que Wanshu naturally understood this point as well. So after a few seconds of hesitation, she still took his phone and entered her phone number.

Wei Xun, sitting on the motorcycle, watched her actions with a slight curve to his lips.

However, when she handed the phone back to him and he saw the string of digits displayed on the screen, his expression abruptly froze.

Because — this number was the very same one she had used before, the one he would recognize even if he were turned to ashes.

But why? Hadn’t she changed her number?

Wei Xun raised his head in confusion and suspicion. When he saw her lowered gaze and silent expression, he suddenly understood everything.

After a moment of silence, he let out a low laugh. “…Ha.”

After Que Wanshu unilaterally broke things off with him, Wei Xun had fixated on her for a long time. Back then, she had suddenly left Zicheng with her mother, and their whereabouts were tightly concealed. At first, he couldn’t find her at all and could only keep sending her messages. Later, even when he found out where she was, he still kept sending them. Even when she blocked him, he didn’t give up. If one number got blocked, he’d just switch to another.

He probably went through six different numbers. Eventually, she stopped blocking him — but she never responded either.

Until one day, he finally received a text from her number. But what it said was—

“Enough already, stop texting, dude. This number doesn’t belong to anyone named Que Wanshu.”

Wei Xun didn’t believe it. He immediately called the number — and a man answered. That man impatiently said he wasn’t Que Wanshu, that this was his new number, and told him to stop acting like some obsessive creep harassing his ex. “If you’re sick, go see a doctor,” he’d said.

At that time, it had already been nearly a year since they broke up. Wei Xun had never gotten any reply from her — and the only one he did get wasn’t even from her, but a stranger claiming to have taken over her old number.

That number had been the only remaining link between them — and even that, she had discarded.

It was only at that moment that Wei Xun finally understood: Que Wanshu had truly abandoned him.

Afterward, he didn’t look into it further. Whether she had really changed her number or not didn’t matter anymore — the result would be the same.

But what he hadn’t expected was this: Que Wanshu had lied to him all along.

A surge of emotion swept through him — a mix of anger, bitterness, resentment, and sadness. It flooded from his heart and spread through his limbs, causing his entire body to tremble slightly.

And yet, Wei Xun’s face became eerily calm. Clenching his fists, he stared at her without blinking and asked quietly:

“So… who was the guy that answered the phone?”

Que Wanshu lowered her head. After a while, she quietly replied:

“A neighbor’s younger brother.”

A neighbor’s younger brother?
How cozy.

Wei Xun’s eye twitched. He pressed further:

“Why did he reply to the message for you? Why was he answering your calls?”

When Que Wanshu still kept her head down and wouldn’t look at him, Wei Xun’s expression turned colder. Unable to hold back, he raised his voice:

“Que Wanshu, look at me!”

As his voice dropped, he saw her shoulders suddenly flinch — as if frightened. Seeing that, he instantly pressed his lips together, trying hard to control his expression.

He never meant to scare her. Damn it, she even colluded with someone else to deceive him — and he wasn’t even allowed to be angry?

“His mom helped my family a lot,” she finally said. “So I tutored him and his sister in return.”

At that, Que Wanshu finally looked up. She was trying hard to keep her expression neutral, but her eyes and the tip of her nose were slightly red, and her voice was hoarse:

“That day, he saw the text you sent and thought… you were a creepy ex who couldn’t move on. That’s why he replied for me. The calls afterward were the same.”

A creepy ex who couldn’t move on?

Ha. No wonder that guy had told him over the phone to stop acting like a stalker. So that’s how it was.

But what about her?

Is that also how she saw him?

Wei Xun wanted to ask: when that damn neighbor kid replied to the messages and answered the calls — was she right there? Was it all the kid’s idea, or had she told him to do it?

But then he realized — the question was pointless.

Because whether it was the kid’s idea or hers, she had still allowed it to happen.

Understanding that, Wei Xun laughed coldly and stared at her:

“Que Wanshu, you’re really something.”

“Why not just tell me to stop? Why get an NPC to act out some drama with you?”

Que Wanshu had nothing to say.

Bitterly, she thought: if she had really told him directly to stop, would he really have listened?

Of course not.

But for Wei Xun, the fact that she and someone else had conspired to deceive him — that was far more infuriating than her changing her number or even cursing him out.

What damn “neighbor’s little brother”? Right now, he felt like going back in time just to beat that guy up.

Seeing that Que Wanshu was still standing there silently, not even trying to defend herself, Wei Xun felt like if he stayed a second longer, he’d lose control completely.

With a stormy face, he put on his helmet, started his motorcycle, and drove off — leaving her in a cloud of exhaust.

After he left, Que Wanshu remained standing there for a while before slowly walking toward the entrance of her apartment complex.

As she passed the security booth, the guard on duty noticed something off about her expression and asked kindly:

“Miss, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Que Wanshu lifted her head and gave a small smile. “Thank you for your concern.”

She then turned away and continued toward her building under the guard’s worried gaze.

Only once she stepped into the elevator and saw her reflection in the mirror — her eyes bloodshot — did the tears finally fall uncontrollably.

She raised her hand to wipe them away while thinking to herself:

“What are you crying for, Que Wanshu? What right do you have to cry?”

But her willpower couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

Gradually, her silent weeping turned into soft, suppressed sobs — echoing in the sealed elevator.

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