Chapter 25: That’s What You Like

The connection between his eyes and the world was unobstructed now. Cheers erupted from the audience below, shaking the night sky.

The microphone spun in Zhou Shubei’s hand. Just when everyone thought the performance was over, the konghou let out a long and resonant note. A series of high-pitched, undulating sounds poured from Zhou Shubei’s voice. He stood center stage, light and shadow falling all around him. As the crowd below nearly screamed themselves hoarse, he stepped back two paces, smiling with unrestrained charm, bowing slightly at the waist, left hand over his chest in a gesture of thanks.

Unbridled and noble like a gentleman.

Someone in the crowd shouted, “Zhou Shubei, don’t be too handsome!”

As they exited the stage, the audience was still reluctant to let go. Their performance had predictably won first place. The award ceremony was simple: each person received a certificate, plus tickets to Ice River and a hotel stay.

Jian Li and Tan Xueying went to change clothes, while Zhou Shubei and Song Lang waited outside.

Song Lang, looking down at his phone, nudged Zhou Shubei. “Jian Li looks badass without her glasses. No wonder half the forum’s trying to get her contact info.”

Zhou Shubei paused mid-bottle twist, glancing at Song Lang’s screen.

The post was titled: “Anyone know Jian Li from Year 1, Robotics Engineering? Introduce me!”

There were over 300 replies, including a video clip.

They had stood side by side on stage. During the chorus, he had stepped back slightly, letting the spotlight follow Jian Li instead. Her light-blue dress reached her ankles, asymmetrically cut—longer on one side. Her fair skin glowed under the lights. The wind lifted the hem slightly, revealing slender calves. She raised her head gracefully.

Her movement was crisp and elegant.

The light blurred softly around her like a noble swan breaking free from a cage.

As the key modulated higher and higher, she remained composed, yet her voice burst forth with fierce, penetrating power.

When they bowed at the end, she gave a small smile to the audience, the corners of her eyes lifting.

Zhou Shubei felt a squeeze in his chest—gentle, fast, fleeting before he could grasp it.

“Seriously though,” Song Lang said, “Jian Li looked amazing today. Take the glasses off and it’s like she’s a different person. Even I’m a little smitten.”

Zhou Shubei frowned, his voice faint. “She wouldn’t be into you.”

“Why not? I’m good-looking too, okay? Plus, I’ve got proximity on my side—opportunities and all—” Song Lang paused, arms crossed. “Wait a sec. Something’s off. You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”

Zhou Shubei lazily lifted his gaze. “Does telling the truth count as having a thing?”

“Don’t change the subject!” Song Lang said. “Come clean—do you like Jian Li too?”

Too?

“I knew it,” Song Lang continued. “Remember those salespeople that couldn’t get you to sign up for anything? Jian Li just looked at you, and you signed up right away. And that time I ran into the guys from the next dorm—they said you asked one of them to deliver a bag to the girls’ dorm. That girl had black-rimmed glasses—same dorm building as Jian Li. Not to mention rehearsal day…”

He listed examples, growing more convinced with each one. “You totally like Jian Li.”

Zhou Shubei let out a soft laugh. “I’m just helpful. Is that a crime?”

“Helpful enough to carry a giant woven bag two miles personally? To participate in a duet even though you hate group events?” Song Lang said. “I saw you two exchange WeChat. Don’t tell me it was just to talk about rehearsal—Tan Xueying didn’t get added.”

“I owe her a favor,” Zhou Shubei replied calmly.

He hadn’t returned the joke she made yet.

“Sure, deny it all you want,” Song Lang said with a smug expression. “But let me give you some advice, bro: if you like her, go for it. Take her back from that clueless guy on Route 52.”

Ridiculous.

Zhou Shubei couldn’t hold back a curse. “Are you sick? Is she some object I need to take back?”

“Fine, fine.” Song Lang zipped his lips. “But don’t come crying to me later.”

Zhou Shubei only chuckled, saying nothing.

Jian Li and Tan Xueying came out in fresh clothes. From a distance, they saw the boys waiting by the door.

When the spotlight fades, Cinderella’s carriage vanishes on time. Her glamorous gown replaced, she turned back into her ordinary self.

At the sound of voices, Zhou Shubei and Song Lang looked up.

A figure approached. A boy in a black down jacket stepped forward from the group.

“Can I add your WeChat? I’m from the music department. Maybe we can sing together sometime?” the boy asked.

Jian Li didn’t even bother with a polite smile. “No, thank you.”

The boy walked off, embarrassed.

After he left, Song Lang commented, “Your tone… If I hadn’t heard the voice, I’d think it was Zhou.”

Jian Li instinctively looked over—Zhou Shubei was watching her, eyes dark and unreadable.

Her hand clenched at her side, but she forced a calm smile.

“It’s freezing. Let’s get moving,” Tan Xueying said. “Didn’t we say we’d leave tonight? Traffic will be a nightmare tomorrow.”

They were going skating the next day. Knowing traffic would be bad in the morning, Song Lang suggested they head out tonight.

It was a two-hour drive. Song Lang and Zhou Shubei would switch off driving and grab a late-night snack when they arrived.

Since they needed to pack, the four agreed to meet in 30 minutes at the intersection.

Jian Li needed to pick up some incense, so she asked Tan Xueying to take her luggage.

She rushed off but was stopped by Zhou Shubei, who had just returned with water. “Where are you going?”

“To grab something,” Jian Li said.

Seeing how anxious she was, Zhou Shubei frowned. “Is it important?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He let her go. “Where is it? I’ll drive you.”

She wanted to refuse, but he had already unlocked the car. Not wanting to waste time, she got into the passenger seat.

“You’re not packing?” she asked after buckling in.

Zhou Shubei glanced at her buckling up, lips curving slightly. “Nothing much to pack.”

Winter night smog hung in the air. The car’s warm air blew away the cold. Shops glowed festively for the New Year, trees wrapped in colorful lights. In the distance, LED screens warned about holiday safety. A fire truck passed, sirens wailing, as they drove through the lively city.

Jingnan Hospital wasn’t far. Zhou Shubei parked by the road, lowering the window a bit and watching her from two meters away as she spoke to the shop owner.

The owner handed her a long gray box, teasing her with a smile. Jian Li laughed softly, cradling the box protectively as she returned, afraid it might get bumped.

Zhou Shubei sipped his soda, the cold trailing from throat to stomach. He turned up the heater.

When they picked up Song Lang and Tan Xueying, Jian Li tried to switch to the back, but Song Lang had already climbed in. “No need. I know my place.”

Zhou Shubei gave him a cold glare. Song Lang put on his eye mask and leaned back. “Let me know if you get tired, I’ll drive.”

Tan Xueying closed the door, placing her and Jian Li’s things in the middle.

Jian Li shared some trip info in the group chat. “Here are nearby attractions and food spots. Take a look.”

“So detailed,” Song Lang said, eye mask pushed up. “Jian Li, you’re too talented. Traveling with you is the best—I don’t need to think, just pay.”

Jian Li gave a soft smile, sneaking a glance at the person beside her.

Zhou Shubei focused on driving, seemingly unaware of their conversation.

“There’s roast lamb and BBQ. We could have a bonfire night and play Werewolf. But four people is too few,” Song Lang said.

Tan Xueying looked at her phone. “Chu Yue and the others might join us. Or we’ll see if others want to play too. With Jian Li and Zhou Shubei, we’ll definitely get enough people.”

“True. What do you two think?” Song Lang asked.

Jian Li clutched the box. “Sure. But I’m not very good at it.”

She had played once, back in senior year on the final self-study night. The teacher let them relax and organized a Werewolf game.

She got the Seer role but didn’t know the strategy. She blurted everything she found and was eliminated the second night.

“Just for fun,” Zhou Shubei said.

“Play some music,” Song Lang suggested.

Jian Li hit play—the track resumed from where it last stopped.

A soft Huangmei opera tune played.

Song Lang burst out laughing. “Zhou, didn’t expect you to be into opera. You really sound like a future CEO with eccentric taste.”

Zhou Shubei tossed him a bun. “Want me to stop and open the door for you?”

“No need, no need.” Song Lang unwrapped it. “Tastes pretty good.”

Zhou Shubei switched to recommended tracks.

The warm air made them sleepy. At first, everyone chatted, but gradually the car fell quiet.

Zhou Shubei glanced at her. “Not sleeping?”

Jian Li shook her head. “Not tired.”

He noticed her misty eyes but said nothing.

The highway had no scenery. The car behind them had bright headlights, glaring in the mirror. Jian Li felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, as if something were twisting hard inside her.

A bad feeling rose. She checked her phone’s calendar—ten days early.

Her cycle was irregular, sometimes early, sometimes late. She always carried pads, but now the seat was likely stained.

“What’s wrong?” Zhou Shubei saw her holding her stomach, sweating. He guessed, “Period?”

She nodded weakly. “Can you stop at the next rest area?”

Without a word, he signaled, checked for cars, and moved to the left lane, accelerating.

He pulled into the service area. Jian Li got out immediately. Under the lights, she saw the Pikachu seat cover was indeed stained. Her scalp went numb. She flipped the cushion, grabbed her bag, and hurried to the restroom.

Her pants were also stained, and she only had an outer layer to change into—soon to be ruined too.

Embarrassing.

That was the only word for it.

She messaged Tan Xueying to buy her two pairs of pants nearby. The reply came quickly, asking for her size.

In the restroom, the warmth of the car gone, she was trembling from the cold. The pain was worse than usual—was it the skirt from earlier? Cold exposure?

And the stained seat cover—it was his favorite. The material would be hard to clean.

Jian Li searched for a replacement online. Nothing matched.

She felt deflated.

Something he liked—ruined by her. She could already picture Zhou Shubei’s face. Her grip on her phone tightened painfully.

As a child, she had borrowed her stepbrother Jian Yunjie’s new eraser, accidentally leaving a black mark on one corner. He cried until her father slapped her and threw the eraser at her, demanding she repay him.

She picked it up silently. “I don’t have money.”

“Then figure it out. Why’d you take your brother’s if you didn’t have one yourself?!” her father roared.

She wanted to explain—she had used up the eraser attached to her pencil—but seeing his angry face and raised hand, she swallowed her words.

Jian Yunjie ran after her. “Sis, don’t buy it. I don’t want it anymore.”

She looked down at him, then pulled her hand away. “I’ll buy the same one and repay you.”

The eraser wasn’t hard to find. But she had no money. She offered to work at a shop in exchange. The owner refused.

“Your dad’s loaded, and you want to owe me five cents?” he scoffed. “Take it. Just give me a discount next time I buy books.”

Her dad owned the biggest bookstore in town. Everyone knew him. They all offered her a free eraser.

She didn’t take any of them.

Out of pride. Out of determination. She wandered until dusk with the eraser in hand, unsure where to go.

Home? Without it, she’d get hit again.

But where else?

“Jian Li?”

A gentle voice startled her. It was her teacher, Ms. Wang.

Ms. Wang saw her swollen face. “You were hit?”

She hadn’t cried all afternoon—not even when slapped—but at the teacher’s concern, she broke down.

“I came to buy an eraser… but I didn’t have money.”

Ms. Wang wiped her tears. “What kind?”

She showed her. The teacher took her to a shop, bought one, and handed it to her.

“Here you go.”

“I don’t have money to pay you back,” she hesitated.

“Then get first place next term,” Ms. Wang said kindly.

She nodded. As she walked away, she overheard the shopkeeper say, “Getting hit is normal for kids. She must’ve been naughty.”

Yeah, naughty.

If she behaved, they wouldn’t hit her.

But she never knew what “good” meant—not enough to be loved like Jian Yunjie.

At home, she returned the new eraser.

Her stepmother scolded, “Where’d you get the money? Did you steal it?! I’ll break your legs if you did.”

“No stealing, no robbing,” she said quietly. “I’m going to do my homework.”

Jian Yunjie followed her in, putting an MP3 player on her desk. “Here, listen to this.”

She wanted to push it away, but didn’t dare.

“I don’t want it. Take it back.”

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

She didn’t look at him, didn’t answer.

She knew he hadn’t meant to—but she also knew what it felt like to have something you liked be ruined.

And she couldn’t help but resent it all: her parents’ favoritism, how he never had to try to be loved, and even herself—why had she borrowed that eraser in the first place?