It was hardly the first time he had realized this girl was far from simple.
“My ex-girlfriend gave it to me.”
‘His ex-girlfriend? Oh, Ling Yechen knew exactly who he was referring to.’
“I’m sorry, I brought up a painful memory for you.”
Ling Yechen had previously heard Jing Lan recount the story of his first love, which blossomed during his middle school years.
That girl had been diagnosed with cancer in her final year of middle school, and after a year-long struggle, she had ultimately passed away.
Not long after, Jing Lan’s mother also vanished, disappearing into a dark, deep cavern within the Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region.
“It’s alright. Thinking about it now doesn’t bring too much sadness anymore.”
Having lost two people he treasured so dearly in such quick succession, Jing Lan had indeed endured a prolonged period of profound grief.
Ling Yechen was actually quite familiar with the general circumstances surrounding the girl named Xu Miao, her story having left a deep impression on her.
High school students, especially those struggling with their mental state, often found solace in melancholic tales; if based on true events, they became all the more captivating.
Jing Lan, for his part, was willing to share this sorrowful chapter of his past with others, believing it would allow more hearts to ache for the unfortunate girl.
Whenever such topics arose, Ling Yechen found herself inadvertently forgetting her new identity.
Her direct apology, “I brought up a painful memory for you,” for instance, clearly revealed her prior knowledge of his past.
Upon closer reflection, however, it hardly mattered.
The story of Jing Lan losing his first love had, in fact, been publicly known.
He had even composed a song titled “Live for You” using FL Studio, releasing it on NetEase Cloud Music to commemorate the tragically departed Xu Miao, and briefly detailing her story on the single’s cover art.
Yet, enduring such immense sorrow had not, it seemed, paid him in creative inspiration.
The song itself was rather unremarkable, characterized by monotonous loops and somewhat bland, fragmented melodies.
Nevertheless, his most dedicated fans would undoubtedly have taken note of this particular creation.
There was, after all, a certain perverse pleasure to be found in savoring and lamenting the misfortunes of others.
This presented the perfect opportunity for her to inquire further.
Even if Jing Lan were to reiterate details she already knew, it would make her earlier, abrupt apology appear more natural.
Beginning with the question, “Would you be willing to share the story of Little Miao (Xu Miao’s alias)?” Ling Yechen settled in to hear Jing Lan’s tale of first love once more.
He recounted first seeing Little Miao during their middle school enrollment, feeling an uncanny sense of familiarity and suspecting she might have been a former primary school classmate, only to later discover that this was not the case at all.
Their friendship had blossomed over their shared love for *The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles*.
Jing Lan’s mother, a devoted fan of *The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles* novels, had often regaled him with its tales as bedtime stories during his childhood.
[Thankfully, she hadn’t also recounted the fan-created Boys’ Love interpretations to him,] Ling Yechen mused, [otherwise, he might have been “bent” since childhood.]
She wondered if Jing Lan’s seemingly fearless psychological state had been forged through such unconventional means.
She recalled an incident where a centipede had once scuttled into Jing Lan’s classroom, terrifying his classmates to no end, yet Jing Lan had merely bellowed, “It’s a wall-climber! It appeared in *The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles 4: Cloud Top Palace*!”
“Can it be used to deter grave robbers?”
Xu Miao was the only classmate who showed any interest in his enthusiastic outburst.
Thus, a conversation sparked between them, and Jing Lan began recounting the adventurous tales of Wu Xie and Men Youping, starting with *Seven Star Lu Palace*.
Both of them harbored a deep fondness for the character Men Youping.
“He always appears in times of crisis and protects you!”
Xu Miao, perhaps for the first time, was utterly smitten with a fictional character.
“But he also makes one feel a bit pitiful.”
“Why is that?” The young Jing Lan had asked, genuinely curious.
“He always has amnesia, always forgets who he really is.
But he vaguely feels some power remaining in his body driving him to complete some mission…”
Hearing this, Ling Yechen suddenly felt a jolt, though Jing Lan appeared oblivious to her reaction.
“So it’s no wonder some readers insist on interpreting this book in the BL direction.
Men Youping can’t find his true self, so he would be attracted to Wu Xie’s pure friendliness.
Even if it’s not written very explicitly in the original text, everyone is willing to associate in this direction.”
Jing Lan and Xu Miao had discussed this very topic countless times.
Ultimately, after Jing Lan had recounted all the stories from *The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles*—tales that culminated deep within the forests of Guangxi’s grand mountains, the very place where Jing Lan’s mother would vanish two years later—Xu Miao had chosen a rather circuitous way to reveal her true feelings.
“Can we become friends like Wu Xie and Men Youping?”
“We already are, aren’t we?”
“Then you’re Men Youping.”
“I’m not *that* reserved, am I?”
“But I always feel like you’re carrying something.”
“Of course not!”
Jing Lan responded nonchalantly, yet a sudden, unsettling feeling washed over him, as if her words had struck an unexpected truth.
****
A slight ache throbbed in his head.
Jing Lan suddenly suspected that his memories might be suffering from a slight disarray.
“Sorry, Xiao Ye, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Ling Yechen flinched, startled, as she initially assumed “Xiao Ye” referred to her own nickname, “Xiao Ye.”
‘How strange,’ Jing Lan thought.
‘It’s not the first time I’ve looked back on these past events.’
He had revisited the more brutal details countless times: Xu Miao’s final, severe illness, her hair loss, her parents’ despair, the crucifixes adorning every wall of their home (her family having temporarily embraced religion), her terribly swollen skin, the very moment she drafted her will before her passing.
Jing Lan had genuinely believed he could now confront these memories with equanimity.
“If it’s painful, don’t talk about it.
I’m sorry, senior, it was selfish of me to make such an unreasonable request.”
Ling Yechen, almost instinctively, addressed Jing Lan as “senior.”
He, however, seemed to pay it little mind.
After repeatedly cautioning herself internally, Ling Yechen found herself plagued by a nagging question: ‘Did she truly need to conceal her real identity?’
“It’s alright.
But, can you tell me your story?” Jing Lan murmured softly.
At last, the inevitable request had arrived.
Ling Yechen, being somewhat acquainted with the real Ye Xuening, then cobbled together a disjointed narrative, blending her own childhood with snippets of Ye Xuening’s experiences, presenting it like a jumbled “pot of porridge.”
Naturally, any details concerning family were carefully substituted with elements from the actual Ye Xuening’s background—a family that owned a restaurant.
“So your parents used to run a restaurant.
In Mengshan County?”
She certainly couldn’t answer “yes” to that.
Jing Lan, for all she knew, might be familiar with every single eatery in the county town.
“In Mingshui.
The snack street outside the airport.”
Mingshui, being a major tourist city, boasted a snack street outside its airport with four or five hundred constantly changing establishments; there was no way Jing Lan could remember them all.
“What delicious food do they sell?”
“Luzhu huoshao.”
Ye Xuening’s family, she claimed, specialized in *luzhu huoshao*.
“Oh my! Selling *luzhu huoshao* in the south!” Jing Lan’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“Does it sell?”
Internally, Ling Yechen fumed, chastising herself for such a rookie mistake.
She had simply blurted it out.
Who in their right mind would sell intensely flavored Northern snacks in a southern border city?
Yet, once a lie was told, there was no turning back.
“That’s right! It’s the only one in the whole city!
Northerners who come to support border construction, when they miss home, come to eat a bowl, oh my, it’s so authentic!”
Jing Lan gazed with a touch of melancholy at the darkened window across the room.
“Are there so many people coming to build the frontier?
That’s really good.
It’s a pity that everything has become like this now.
Speaking of which, do you like *luzhu huoshao*?”
“Me? No.
I don’t like to eat this stinky stuff.
I don’t like the sour bamboo shoots here either.”
It was at a wedding banquet in the small town, just recently, that Ling Yechen had tasted sour bamboo shoots for the very first time in her life.
“Just like him.
He also has a very light palate.”
Naturally, Jing Lan was referring to Ling Yechen, the boy who, by all accounts, should have been dead.
“You mean student Ling Yechen?
Ah, yes.
He usually only likes to eat some very light vegetables and a little chicken, duck, and fish.”
As Ling Yechen spoke, she was reminded that the real Ye Xuening had also been her makeup artist for cosplay.
“So I often tell him, a boy like you who is naturally accustomed to maintaining his figure is perfectly suited to be a cosplayer!
You’re a natural-born ‘pretty boy’ for cosplay.”
She had uttered these words, mimicking the true Ye Xuening.
The absurdity of the situation struck her the moment the words left her lips.
‘Good heavens,’ she thought, ‘am I truly making sharp remarks about myself?’
She herself had once playfully chided Ye Xuening, protesting, ‘I’m not some ‘pretty boy’! I only cosplay because I genuinely love the character.’
She admired characters like Homura Akemi, who would go to any lengths for their friends.
And now, she found herself forced to utter these same teasing remarks about herself.
Jing Lan, however, seemed disinclined to laugh.
He hesitated, pondering whether he should address the girl before him as “Xiao Ye.”
He couldn’t shake the feeling that doing so would be akin to stealing Ling Yechen’s name.
While he typically addressed Ling Yechen as “Yechen,” “Xiao Ye” was a nickname Keke occasionally used.
Jing Lan vocalized his hesitation to the white-haired girl.
“How would you feel about me calling you Xiao Ye from now on?” he asked.
Ling Yechen immediately grasped Jing Lan’s underlying concern.
“That’s fine, I’d actually be shy if others called me by my direct name.”
“Since you say so, then I’ll call you Xiao Ye from now on.”
[At least it’s not the same ‘ye’,] Jing Lan mused inwardly.
‘Yes, Xiao Ye.’
Ling Yechen, meanwhile, secretly swapped the homophonous character within that name in her mind.