Chapter 50 – “So… Have You Ever Liked Anyone?”

Qin Shi adjusts himself on the bay‑window seat and points to the room.
“Here,” he answers when Li Huan‑huan asks where she should sleep.

“You’re kidding, right?” She scans the minimalist master bedroom—one king‑size bed and a compact sofa hardly long enough for his casted leg.

“Guest room isn’t ready. You take the bed, I’ll manage on the sofa,” he says.

She balks—making an injured man curl up on a love‑seat? Impossible. She volunteers for the living‑room couch, but he shakes his head: “Too far. I can’t hear you breathe out there.”
Hear me breathe? She blinks.

After bargaining, she keeps the sofa, he the bed. Lights out. City glow slices the darkness; the arrangement feels surreal, but she reminds herself she’s just “on duty,” repaying debts owed.

Ten quiet minutes pass.

Qin: “Huan‑huan, are you asleep?”
Li: “Almost. Need something?”

He’s just lonely; he wants to talk. She sighs, agrees.

Qin starts a brisk résumé: 24 years old, 1.88 m, 65 kg, Scorpio, only child, parents loving and financially secure, elite pro‑gamer, generous salary, no exes, “emotionally and physically spotless.”
She finally bursts: “Why the love‑market data dump?”

“So you won’t misunderstand me,” he says innocently.

Then the interrogation flips:

Do you have a boyfriend? —No.
Still speed‑dating? —Not lately.
Ever dated? —Never.
But have you ever liked someone? —“…I have.”

He presses. She recalls a hazy college crush: a tall, brilliant senior everyone admired. As she sketches the idyllic memory, Qin’s silence turns sour.

“If I win Worlds next year,” he mutters, “would that make me ‘more outstanding’ than your senior?”

The competitive fire beneath his plaintive loneliness suddenly glints through—Qin Shi may fear the dark, but he’s still the protagonist who refuses to lose, even in matters of the heart.