The Savior’s Unconventional Friend

Zhuo found himself in a strangely agitated state. He was acutely aware of it and, paradoxically, deeply troubled by the feeling.

Having found his very first friend in life, Zhuo yearned to cling to Yuan Anqing at all times. However, he worried that Yuan Anqing might grow annoyed by his clinginess, recognizing that a sense of “personal space” was supposedly crucial in human interactions.

Yuan Anqing had never explicitly resisted any of Zhuo’s invasive actions. Yet, Zhuo couldn’t help but overthink things.

This melancholic feeling left the monster both distressed and joyful.

“Why does he keep staring at you?” Chen Jiao asked, pointing her chopsticks at Zhuo.

“That’s just Zhuo’s habit,” Yuan Anqing replied, following Chen Jiao’s finger to where Zhuo was sulking.

Zhuo was not clinging to Yuan Anqing at that moment; his reason for keeping his distance was clearly Chen Jiao’s presence.

Chen Jiao’s brutal psychological interrogation of the Breeding Body had concluded, and now she was eating takeout with Yuan Anqing in what was originally Zhuo’s suite. Zhuo himself had aggressively refused to join them at the table.

“Is he not coming over because he dislikes me?” Chen Jiao inquired.

Zhuo nodded from across the room. “Dislike.”

Yuan Anqing interjected on Zhuo’s behalf. “He doesn’t dislike you. He’s just a little afraid of the ‘teacher’ role.”

Earlier, before Chen Jiao had entered the interrogation room, the two Saviors had chatted for a while. Chen Jiao, perhaps seeking conversation, had asked Zhuo about his relationship with Yuan Anqing, then automatically inquired about Zhuo’s education and work history like a concerned homeroom teacher.

Yuan Anqing had, of course, answered truthfully, emphasizing Zhuo’s unique, unschooled nature.

Despite this, Zhuo still refused to get too close to Chen Jiao, sitting on the sofa and holding his rice bowl far away from the dining table.

“Your bodyguard is quite innocent,” Chen Jiao remarked, noticing Yuan Anqing’s clear concern for his monster. She refrained from calling Zhuo childish, as she genuinely couldn’t fathom what a two-meter-tall chimera was so afraid of.

She changed the subject. “It seems you’re doing quite well with your Savior work.”

“I don’t know what ‘doing well’ means,” Yuan Anqing admitted. After all, there was no KPI benchmark for this job; he was the first to undertake such missions.

“Don’t you feel sad?” Chen Jiao asked him. “To simply abandon everything from your old world?”

Yuan Anqing answered without hesitation. “No. There was nothing much in my old world.”

He was different from Chen Jiao; he had no friends. His corporate work also lacked the sense of accomplishment her teaching did. He had simply been existing. Yuan Anqing disliked his job, yet he truly had no ‘life’ outside of it. Or perhaps, his work was his life.

Yuan Anqing vaguely recalled experiencing certain beautiful things in his childhood, like the cool breeze of an early morning or the joy of discovering the changing seasons. Now, when he thought back to that past, he felt a profound sense of detachment. He couldn’t understand his younger self, attributing those memories to a child’s short life, having seen nothing, and thus being interested in everything.

After bidding farewell to that world, Yuan Anqing genuinely couldn’t say he felt any reluctance. He had merely existed there.

Chen Jiao understood Yuan Anqing’s meaning. She let out a deep sigh. “You’re unluckier than I am.”

“I think I’m doing alright. I haven’t even tried to commit suicide,” Yuan Anqing said, not believing his life was particularly miserable. He just wasn’t very comfortable.

Chen Jiao’s expression immediately turned melancholic upon hearing this. “Logically, when I jumped, I went headfirst. I should have died!” She had indeed been severely injured, but the concrete floor had clearly sustained even worse damage from her enhanced durability.

Chen Jiao still had attachments in her old world. While she wasn’t as close to her friends as before, they hadn’t cut ties. Moreover, she had been involved in the upbringing of her godson and goddaughter; her friends’ children all had excellent math scores.

Yuan Anqing now understood Chen Jiao’s melancholy. “Do you drink?”

“A little,” Chen Jiao nodded.

Beside them, Zhuo, cradling his rice bowl, scooped rice into his mouth while intently observing their interaction. He intended to deduce a sophisticated method of making friends from them, digest it with his exceptionally clever mind, and apply it skillfully so Yuan Anqing would see him as a reliable friend who could never leave him.

He watched them drink glass after glass of liquor, clinking cups repeatedly, without uttering a single word. They would simply exchange exhausted glances, raise an eyebrow, and then clink their glasses.

What does this mean? Zhuo couldn’t understand.

After several rounds of drinks, Chen Jiao and Yuan Anqing’s faces began to flush. It was then that Chen Jiao finally spoke. “Your job is really tough. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Yuan Anqing drained his small cup of liquor. “How so?”

“Teaching students is stressful; they’re rowdy, and the parents are even worse,” Chen Jiao said, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have majored in education back then.”

“It’s tough,” Yuan Anqing agreed, pouring more wine and clinking glasses with her.

“What about you?” Chen Jiao asked him.

“Me? I never had much ambition in this life, just followed the crowd. Competent but not favored by superiors, so I was stuck in my position,” Yuan Anqing shrugged. “Promotion is hard.”

Chen Jiao scoffed. “The ones who get promoted in companies are usually those smooth-talking dilettantes. You’re definitely at a disadvantage.”

Yuan Anqing shook his head. “As long as the salary increases, it’s fine.”

Chen Jiao fell silent, then let out a long, shuddering sigh. “My student jumped off the teaching building.”

Zhuo’s breath hitched. The conversation had suddenly become incredibly heavy.

It was unavoidable.

They sank deeper into the melancholy, not dissecting the reasons in those people’s hearts, but merely sighing, making the feeling all the more tragic.

Zhuo disliked such helpless and desolate stories. Moreover, he felt that these two individuals were inherently not optimistic, and drinking together would only influence them to become worse! Yuan Anqing should talk less with Chen Jiao.

Finally, Zhuo couldn’t hold back. He interrupted the two.

“It’s not that bad,” Chen Jiao waved a hand dismissively at him. “We’re actually doing quite well.” Her words were already starting to slur.

Yuan Anqing nodded. “At least we’re both still alive.”

Chen Jiao added, “Although this kind of living goes against my personal wishes, that’s just the myriad forms of life, isn’t it?”

“Where did your joys in these ‘myriad forms of life’ go?!” Zhuo retorted angrily. He didn’t believe this was the myriad forms of life; he thought it was a deformed, castrated existence devoid of joy and happiness.

Yuan Anqing and Chen Jiao remained silent.

Zhuo put down his rice bowl and stomped out to find a staff member to get hangover soup. He couldn’t let these two depressed introverts continue like this. The government building was secure enough; he didn’t need to worry about Yuan Anqing being attacked while he was gone.

After Zhuo left, Chen Jiao asked Yuan Anqing, “How did you manage to get along with him?” She felt that a child with such a volatile temperament would be difficult to handle.

“You just don’t understand him well enough,” Yuan Anqing argued softly. He believed Zhuo was simply naive, not a difficult or demanding individual. “He’s been quite excited recently because he and I became friends.”

“Friends? You act more like his exhausted parent.” Zhuo directly expressed his dislike for strangers, and Yuan Anqing had to constantly make excuses for him.

“No one is perfect. Everyone has areas they’re not good at—like social interaction, for instance,” Yuan Anqing continued to explain defensively.

Chen Jiao drew a conclusion. “You’re a doting parent, then.”

Yuan Anqing was speechless.

“So you do have someone you care about now, don’t you?” Chen Jiao remarked, a small smile returning. “Even if you only think of yourselves as friends.” If Yuan Anqing didn’t care, given his cold personality, he wouldn’t bother defending Zhuo’s impolite behavior.

Did he care? Yuan Anqing couldn’t quite say, but he genuinely liked—even enjoyed—Zhuo’s proactive, clumsy attempts to get close to him.

Just then, Zhuo arrived, carrying two bowls of hangover soup. He placed Chen Jiao’s bowl on the table, then freed a massive hand to support the back of Yuan Anqing’s head, intending to hold the bowl himself and feed the soup to Yuan Anqing little by little.

Chen Jiao: “…”

This scene was so strange. Should she thank the monster for bringing her a bowl of soup first, or should she complain about his invasive feeding method?

Yuan Anqing’s hands were perfectly free, capable of grasping and lifting.

Indeed, Yuan Anqing used his hands to grip the soup bowl. “I’ll do it myself.”

“No, you’re drunk. You’ll spill it on yourself. I’ll help you,” Zhuo insisted, refusing to let go. He was determined to make Yuan Anqing utterly dependent on him.

“I just get a little flushed,” Yuan Anqing retorted, refusing to back down. This baby-bird method of feeding gave him goosebumps.

“Drunk people always think they’re not drunk,” Zhuo argued. He dared not use too much force, as his strength was on a different level than Yuan Anqing’s, and excessive pulling might injure him.

Zhuo had an idea: he would use his tail to pin Yuan Anqing’s arm down.

Yuan Anqing saw the tail coming and tried to dodge, but the force he was using to hold the bowl became unbalanced, and the warm hangover soup splashed directly onto his chest.

“Hiss!” Yuan Anqing quickly pulled his wet shirt fabric away from his skin. Fortunately, the soup had been cooled enough to be drinkable.

Yuan Anqing quickly steadied Zhuo to stop him from panicking, then turned to Chen Jiao. “I think this gathering should end here.”

Chen Jiao nodded in understanding. She also reminded him, “Oh, and don’t look for me if you have nothing to do next time.” She needed some quiet time to rest.

“I can’t guarantee that,” Yuan Anqing replied. Chen Jiao had to share the workload; he couldn’t handle the corporate pressure alone.

He then led a sulking Zhuo away amidst Chen Jiao’s complaints.

Yuan Anqing wasn’t particularly drunk; he was slightly tipsy but could still walk in a perfectly straight line. His alcohol tolerance was quite high, though Yuan Anqing himself didn’t think a coping mechanism was something to boast about.

Feeling as if he had been scalded by hot water, Zhuo weakly clutched his own chest the entire walk home. Finally, he collapsed onto their apartment sofa, allowing Yuan Anqing to place ice packs on his uninjured chest.

“I thought I was dying,” Zhuo whimpered dramatically.

Yuan Anqing, who now felt only a faint, sticky warmth on his own chest, was quite helpless. “Stop saying such enviable things.”

“Do you envy death?” Zhuo asked quietly.

He had long known that Yuan Anqing was waiting for him to consume him, but Zhuo didn’t want to anymore. He had decided this on his own, not even daring to tell Yuan Anqing. Although ‘living’ was generally considered a great thing in universal values, Zhuo knew very well that Yuan Anqing viewed death as a perfect retirement.

Zhuo hoped that one day Yuan Anqing would spontaneously say, ‘Ah, living feels so interesting,’ and suddenly no longer wish to die.

“I don’t envy death; I envy that you’ve clearly never felt actual physical pain before,” Yuan Anqing said, patting Zhuo’s abdomen. “You’re far better suited for the Savior’s field work than I am.”

“But I don’t like those humans,” Zhuo replied, shaking his head.

Yuan Anqing went to his room, retrieved his laptop, and pulled up a stool, preparing to write his mission report on the coffee table. “I don’t like them either. I don’t know everyone in this world, and there’s no need to love every single stranger.”

At this point, Yuan Anqing felt he was being overly cold. He rubbed his temples and sighed. “How exactly is a ‘Savior’ defined here?”

They seemed to be human, yet ordinary humans didn’t possess their abilities. Saviors were all orphans, their origins untraceable. And transmigration was peculiar; how could this world, incapable of even instantaneous travel, rip people from another dimension?

What did it mean for the world to have a ‘great hole’? Was that hole concrete or merely a metaphor?

Everything was a mystery, and Yuan Anqing lacked the energy to uncover the truth. He remained comfortably shrouded in countless layers of fog.

“Saviors have always been a legend here, like in fairy tales,” Zhuo said. “This world even has many TV shows about Saviors.” As he spoke, he looked at Yuan Anqing again.

The Saviors in TV shows were either noble and righteous, or cunning masterminds. Even if they started as greenhorns, they would eventually grow into invincible, passionate warriors.

In short, they wouldn’t be anything like Yuan Anqing. Yuan Anqing, among a host of mythical Saviors, was simply too boring; he couldn’t even manage to be boisterous.

But Yuan Anqing was real.

“I’ve always known that a Savior would eventually come and defeat me,” Zhuo said with a serious expression. “Because Saviors are meant to deal with world-ending troubles like me.”

“But now you’re the only friend I’ve had in thirty-five years of life,” Yuan Anqing said sincerely, typing on his laptop. “I can’t grasp anything in this world, so I always feel safer standing by your side.”

Zhuo was powerful enough; he was the big trouble of this world. And the sense of security Yuan Anqing drew from him was exceptionally high. For Yuan Anqing, Zhuo’s trustworthiness ranked even above Bai Tian’s. Zhuo’s conscious world didn’t even have its guard up against him.

“You’re my only friend too,” Zhuo said proudly. “But I want to give you a piece of advice.”

“What is it?”

“In the future, when you have nothing to do, can you please not drink with Chen Jiao? I’m afraid you two will talk yourselves into jumping off a building together.” Zhuo had personally witnessed the extremely strange, depressive aura surrounding them when they drank.

“What we talked about wasn’t negative,” Yuan Anqing said, believing they were merely discussing their careers.

“That is negative! Extremely negative! You can’t see anything beautiful in your eyes anymore,” Zhuo lamented. “You have such beautiful eyes, you know!”

Yuan Anqing didn’t think so. “I still have an aesthetic sense.”

“Not an aesthetic sense! I mean the beautiful things in life!” Zhuo corrected him. “The bad side exists, yes, but so do some truly wonderful things.”

Yuan Anqing wholeheartedly agreed. “Like paid holidays.”

Zhuo: “…You have absolutely no intention of getting close to nature, do you?”

“Personally, I think it’s better to keep insects, rodents, and wild animals separate from humans,” Yuan Anqing nodded. Nature was dangerous. It wasn’t beautiful.

“You’re like a shut-in vampire afraid of sunlight,” Zhuo said. “The only difference between you and a vampire is that you have no interest in vibrant life.”

“No,” Yuan Anqing said, focusing on his screen. “I also dislike bats and overly damp, cold environments.”

“You’re so hard to keep,” Zhuo sighed, feeling that Yuan Anqing’s description of himself sounded like a rare, finicky houseplant that would die if anything was slightly off.

“I’ve kept myself alive quite well,” Yuan Anqing felt that surviving to thirty-five was already a great corporate victory.

“You’ve kept yourself terribly,” Zhuo countered. If he had truly kept himself well, Yuan Anqing wouldn’t have a bleeding ulcer.

Yuan Anqing casually responded, “Don’t be so harsh on someone with no experience in living.”

The two chatted idly, and soon, accompanied by the tap-tap of Yuan Anqing’s keyboard, Zhuo grew sleepy. “When you want to sleep, you can just burrow into my arms.”

“The sofa isn’t big enough for that,” Yuan Anqing reminded him.

“Then I’ll go to the bed. Are you going to work in the bedroom?”

Yuan Anqing glanced around the spacious living room, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s go to the room.”

Zhuo nodded, lumbered to the bed, and instantly fell asleep.

Yuan Anqing worked at the small desk by the window. Considering Zhuo’s sleep quality, Yuan Anqing turned off the overhead light. The only sound in the dark room was Yuan Anqing typing on his keyboard; it was very quiet.

Yuan Anqing recalled the mission, describing the Vortex’s past in detail and attaching his method for resolving the problem. The farmer’s life truly had no moments that could be called happy. After writing for a while, Yuan Anqing rubbed his forehead and sighed.

He felt like smoking, but he had nothing on him.

Yuan Anqing wasn’t inherently a sentimental person, but there were times when one simply couldn’t control oneself. Had he really chatted too much with Chen Jiao? Or was life sometimes just this capricious?

Yuan Anqing leaned toward the latter. He didn’t love beautiful, abstract things; they were like soap bubbles that burst with a touch, utterly meaningless.

A Savior…

How could he, a burnt-out corporate drone, save anyone?

Yuan Anqing couldn’t write anymore. He closed his laptop and got up to wash. Originally, he wanted to go to the balcony for a drink, but Zhuo probably wouldn’t accept him being too far away. So, Yuan Anqing abandoned that desire. He lifted Zhuo’s massive arm and nestled into his embrace.

Sometimes, one had to lament that too good a bedmate wasn’t always ideal; it could make a person lazy, wanting to escape reality.

Yuan Anqing closed his eyes tightly. He had many dreams that night, dreaming of the heavy things he had discussed with Chen Jiao. He dreamed of the funeral of the old orphanage director he cared about most—those sudden and irreversible partings.

And himself, working day after day in the sterile office, as if he could never leave that small world, opening the door countless times, only to return to the starting point countless times.

Yuan Anqing felt no anger in the dream. Each time he opened the door to his cubicle, his mind was left with only, ‘As expected.’ So tired, yet numb.

Yuan Anqing awoke the next day to Zhuo shaking his shoulder.

“Time for work,” Zhuo told him brightly.

Ah. As expected.

Yuan Anqing climbed out of bed.

“Should we take a detour today?” Zhuo asked him.

“Why a detour?” Yuan Anqing was puzzled.

“We could detour past No. 6 Middle School to buy steamed buns,” Zhuo said seriously. “I searched on my phone; the buns there are highly rated.”

“Just for breakfast?” Yuan Anqing was surprised.

“Uh, and a few crape myrtle trees planted there seem to have bloomed too,” Zhuo added innocently. “The photos people posted look really nice.”

Yuan Anqing looked at Zhuo’s energetic demeanor, reaffirming his envy for Zhuo’s simple mindset. “If we won’t be late for clock-in, then a detour is fine.”

He found Zhuo’s suggestion absurd; walking several extra kilometers just for breakfast didn’t seem worth the calories. However, considering Zhuo had been in a state of semi-house arrest his entire life, Yuan Anqing thought it normal for him to be interested in ordinary flowers and plants.

Zhuo happily washed and changed.

After his first day of work, Zhuo had refused to wear his bespoke suits again. He found them uncomfortable, and he no longer liked the astonished stares of people on the subway.

“What are you planning to teach me this afternoon?” Zhuo asked him after throwing on a simple hoodie.

“This afternoon…” Yuan Anqing thought for a moment. “I might have to write reports.” Some unexpected changes always led to disappointment.

Yuan Anqing knew Zhuo loved their solitary tutoring time together at noon, but sometimes plans were full of unforeseen corporate changes.

“You didn’t finish your report yesterday?” Zhuo was a little surprised, finding it unusual that someone as meticulous as Yuan Anqing would postpone work.

“I found it a bit hard to write,” Yuan Anqing confessed. “I wanted to avoid writing it, so I just squeezed into bed to sleep with you.”

“Eh? You procrastinate too!” Zhuo grinned, as if he had discovered a new continent. “I thought you would flawlessly complete every task.”

“I’m not a robot,” Yuan Anqing reminded him.

“You’re very much like a robot,” Zhuo said, reaching out to playfully pinch Yuan Anqing’s cheek. “But even robots need time to charge on their docks.”

“We didn’t cook yesterday, so we need to buy extra steamed buns today and heat them up for lunch,” Zhuo said, excitedly linking his arm through Yuan Anqing’s as they left the apartment.

Yuan Anqing was unaccustomed to this—not because he lacked friends, but primarily because men didn’t typically link arms, and Zhuo was twenty centimeters taller than him. Yuan Anqing had to awkwardly raise his arm to hook with Zhuo’s elbow.

“You can eat buns that have been cooled and reheated?” Yuan Anqing asked. When they first met, Zhuo had violently refused to eat takeout.

“I don’t like eating them, so tonight we must carefully prepare tomorrow’s lunch,” Zhuo reasoned. “Then we won’t have to eat leftover breakfast tomorrow.” He didn’t seem worried about roughing it today, knowing it was temporary.

Yuan Anqing pursed his lips, thinking they should be more organized in the future, but before he could speak, Zhuo interrupted him.

“Wow, wow, wow!” Zhuo exclaimed, pointing at the flowering trees by the roadside. “Are those roses?”

Yuan Anqing followed his gaze and saw that the climbing roses used in the school’s landscaping were in full bloom, with massive pink flowers. A group of junior high girls in school uniforms were gathered by the roses, taking turns photographing each other.

“You stand there. I’ll take a picture for you,” Zhuo said.

Yuan Anqing: “Huh?”

Zhuo didn’t explain, apparently finding it perfectly natural for Yuan Anqing—a thirty-five-year-old corporate drone—to pose among bright pink flowers.

Zhuo walked over to the roses in two large steps, then asked the junior high students gathered there, “How do you take aesthetic pictures? I want to take some too.”

This is on the way to work!

“I want to take a picture of my friend,” Zhuo said, pulling a stiff Yuan Anqing in front of the girls. “He looks really good with flowers.”

Yuan Anqing noticed the astonished expressions of the junior high girls, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a crushing wave of embarrassment.

But after their initial surprise, the girls began to offer Zhuo eager advice, speaking over each other.

“Then stand right here, mister! Where there are the most flowers!”

“You could hold a flower to cover one of your eyes; that looks very moody and pretty.”

“But this big brother’s eyes are so nice! It would be a shame to cover them up.”

Zhuo agreed wholeheartedly. “That’s exactly what I think too.”

Yuan Anqing: “…”

Why hadn’t I died in my dream yesterday?

“It’s not like you’re only taking one picture! You can take many.”

“That makes sense,” Zhuo nodded seriously.

“Do you want us to help take them?” one child asked. “Both big brothers can take pictures together.”

“Sure, then you help me.” Zhuo had absolutely no qualms or shyness about accepting others’ kindness.

He directly handed his phone to the junior high student, then, pulling the soul-departing Yuan Anqing by the arm, ran to the rose bush to strike a pose.

In truth, no posing was needed; Yuan Anqing just stood there expressionlessly. His facial features were excellent. Although Yuan Anqing himself felt he was out of place with fresh flowers, his stark, handsome appearance was perfectly suited for the contrast. Sometimes, superior looks were simply that illogical.

He was clearly lost in miserable thought, but on camera, he looked like he was pondering something profound, while Zhuo smiled happily beside him. Zhuo didn’t let Yuan Anqing cover his eyes with a flower, thinking it would be too much of a shame.

But right now, Yuan Anqing wanted to open his briefcase and put it over his entire head. He felt he had never done anything this humiliating in his life. He could handle deep-minded, manipulative adults, but he truly couldn’t manage enthusiastic children.

How did Zhuo seamlessly integrate into a group of teenage girls?

The students, taking their great responsibility seriously, created a nine-panel grid of aesthetic photos for Zhuo, who was clearly very satisfied. When he finally parted ways with the group of girls, his lips were curved in a massive smile.

Zhuo was thrilled with the photos. He began to skip down the road, taking a step and then a hop. Yuan Anqing, whose arm was still linked with his, was pulled so much that he forgot how to walk normally.

Zhuo posted the photos to his social media without a second thought, then set Yuan Anqing’s picture as his profile icon. He loved Yuan Anqing’s looks, and after becoming friends, he found Yuan Anqing even more pleasing to the eye.

“Do you want to skip with me?” Zhuo asked him.

“Thanks, you go ahead and skip,” Yuan Anqing declined politely.

Zhuo was already very conspicuous; almost everyone on the street was watching him as he bounded along at two meters tall. Zhuo paid no mind to those people, completely unconcerned with how others perceived him. He simply felt very happy, and he needed to express his excitement physically.

Yuan Anqing, however, paid attention to the expressions of passersby. He couldn’t help but notice them; he didn’t want anyone to mock Zhuo for his innocent behavior.

He saw a couple who were surprised by Zhuo’s actions. They smiled, said something to each other, and pointed at Zhuo. But after they passed, Yuan Anqing noticed them starting to skip down the sidewalk, mimicking Zhuo’s steps.

It wasn’t mockery; the couple was smiling happily, holding hands, seemingly finding a brief moment of childlike innocence in their daily routine.

Zhuo, with his handsome, aggressive face and towering stature, skipping along, created a strong sense of visual incongruity. His joy was genuine, but adults typically didn’t express excitement in that manner.

“You’re very excited today,” Yuan Anqing noted.

“I had a super great dream yesterday,” Zhuo explained.

Excellent. Yesterday, Yuan Anqing himself couldn’t escape the office in his own dreams. “What did you dream about? Did Zhuo finally conquer the world?”

“I dreamed that you and I went to work and came home together, went to the movies, visited food courts, and even went to an amusement park,” Zhuo enumerated brightly.

Yuan Anqing grew more and more confused. “How is that different from our current life?”

Zhuo shook his head. “It’s not, but we still haven’t been to an amusement park.” He wanted to play in haunted houses and ride carousels, but he wasn’t sure if he could fit on a carousel horse; he was afraid he’d crush the ride. Roller coasters were the same; Zhuo didn’t know if he could squeeze into the safety restraints, as he couldn’t even fit into standard bus seats.

“Then that should be a reflection of reality, not a beautiful dream,” Yuan Anqing corrected him. He then added, “If we have nothing to do on the weekend, we can go to an amusement park.”

“Yay! And of course it was a beautiful dream,” Zhuo said, refuting after his initial joy. “I was so happy in the dream!”

Yuan Anqing couldn’t understand. “You live like this every day.”

“That’s why I’ve been so happy recently,” Zhuo said matter-of-factly. “I originally thought sleeping was just ‘stopping,’ but it turns out I can continue living like this in my dreams! Isn’t that great?”

“Great?” Yuan Anqing was puzzled by the simplicity.

“Great!” Zhuo affirmed. He countered, “Don’t you think being with me is happy?”

Happy?

Yuan Anqing wasn’t sure; he just felt very relaxed. Although Zhuo often did things he didn’t know how to deal with—like forcing him to pose with roses—Yuan Anqing didn’t dislike these unexpected little surprises. “It is quite happy.”

Zhuo seemed even happier after getting his answer. He bounced with more enthusiasm, pulling Yuan Anqing so much that his glasses became askew.

Zhuo continued to attract attention, and he still paid little mind to the way people looked at him.

They had woken up very early today. At this hour, the streets were mostly populated by junior high students, elderly people exercising, and a few scattered young adults commuting.

The morning breeze was slightly cool. Zhuo took a deep breath. “The air is quite nice this morning!” There weren’t many cars on the road, and the landscaped trees brought a wonderfully fresh scent.

Was it?

Yuan Anqing’s understanding of his commute was one of haste and urgency, merely a necessary, miserable path to the office. He had almost completely overlooked the concept of ‘morning.’

Yuan Anqing imitated Zhuo, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

The gentle breeze and fragrant air were indeed refreshing. Especially with Zhuo—a giant, terrifying happiness-spreading machine—beside him.

Yuan Anqing felt that the dull ache in his chest seemed to have vanished.

“Today is definitely going to be a great day,” Zhuo said confidently.

“It’s just an ordinary workday,” Yuan Anqing reminded him.

“That’s also a great workday.” Zhuo’s calculation method was clearly different from that of normal people. If today was rather ordinary, it meant he could experience this level of happiness every single day in the future. Wouldn’t that make him blissfully happy?