Chapter 19: Provocation

Xu Yinian was hardly well-versed in messaging apps. Her friend list was sparse, consisting of only a handful of people. How could she have known about the infamous “social suicide” feature known as the “Pat”?

As the notification abruptly popped up on the screen, Xu Yinian felt the very air in the dorm room stagnate. A sense of impending doom washed over her. She didn’t dare tap the screen again, but when she retreated to the main interface, the same notification was staring back at her from the group chat.

Could they… both see that?

She didn’t even need to ask. The eerie, suffocating silence in the room told her everything she needed to know.

Xu Yinian finally realized what had happened. This feature was similar to the “@” function in group chats, triggered by double-tapping someone’s profile picture. Her fingers had indeed slipped in her haste to investigate.

Didn’t that mean… everyone now knew she was trying to snoop on someone’s profile? After all, why else would someone tap a profile picture repeatedly?

To make matters worse, the person she was “snooping” on was Shen Ruoshuang.

The thought sent a wave of intense shame crashing over her. Xu Yinian had always been thin-skinned. The embarrassment caused a deep, vivid crimson to bloom across her cheeks and even her ears, making her mortification plain for anyone to see.

On the other side of the room, Shen Ruoshuang wasn’t surprised to see the matching pinyin initials. In fact, she had known about them for a long time. She had deliberately changed her alias to create this slightly suggestive “coincidence” that Xu Yinian couldn’t possibly reject.

It was a gradual invasion of the girl’s world, a subtle crossing of boundaries—like boiling a frog in lukewarm water. She would wait until their paths converged entirely.

Xu Yinian’s profile picture was a photo she had taken herself: a small daisy by the side of the road. She used a cheap, budget phone, and when she had pressed the lens close to the flower, the focus had blurred. The resulting low-pixel haze actually gave it the intentional aesthetic of a professional “blurry” art photo.

Aside from the name and the picture, her Moments feed was completely empty. It wasn’t even a matter of being restricted to the “last three days”—Xu Yinian simply never posted anything.

She was clearly an open book, yet she remained utterly inscrutable. It perfectly matched her nature: unpretentious, yet reserved and quiet.

This minimalist profile clearly didn’t satisfy either Shen Ruoshuang or Ji Yan.

As Shen Ruoshuang’s gaze lingered on that lonely little daisy, her phone suddenly vibrated. It felt like a phantom scratch against her palm, sending a jolt of electricity through her hand. Her body stiffened as she realized what it was, and she immediately exited the profile view.

[“xyn” patted me]

Xu Yinian… is looking at me?

When that realization took hold, the world around her seemed to grind to a halt. An indescribable, breathless flutter bloomed in her chest, filling her heart until it felt heavy and tight with emotion.

Ji Yan’s eyes also swept over the notification. Her expression remained unreadable, but her dark eyes grew noticeably colder and more damp. Clearly, Xu Yinian cared about Shen Ruoshuang far more than she had anticipated.

Ji Yan didn’t have a glaring weakness like Shen Ruoshuang—who was already clearly in deep—but with her possessive and controlling personality, how could she possibly stay out of this? The irritation and gloom swirling in her eyes were proof enough of her state of mind.

Before her, both Xu Yinian and Shen Ruoshuang remained silent. Xu Yinian, in particular, was flushed bright red like a boiled shrimp. It was an eyesore.

“Xu Yinian, first you eavesdrop on me, and now it turns out you have a habit of peeping at others too. You aren’t very devoted, are you? Looking at just anyone…”

Ji Yan’s lazy, condescending voice shattered the suggestive silence. Her questioning tone was casual, almost like a joke, yet it weighed on Xu Yinian so heavily she could hardly speak.

Xu Yinian instinctively scrambled to explain herself. “I… I just wanted to click it to… to see the cat in the profile picture.”

No one noticed Shen Ruoshuang’s eyes narrow slightly, as if she were trying to prevent her true emotions from leaking out.

Was it really just because of the cat?

Ji Yan couldn’t be sure if she was telling the truth. But when those misty, doe-like eyes filled with frantic vulnerability—eyes that reflected only her—Ji Yan had to admit she was a sucker for it. It felt as though the girl’s entire world was focused solely on her.

Xu Yinian finally found a moment to steal a glance at Shen Ruoshuang to see her reaction to the awkward “pat.” However, the other girl had her eyes lowered and showed no reaction at all.

Ah… right. Shen Ruoshuang is allergic to cat dander.

During their brief time together in high school, Xu Yinian had been forced to learn quite a bit about Shen Ruoshuang. Since she was allergic, the cat in the photo definitely didn’t belong to her family; it was likely just a random picture from the internet.

After all this chaos, Xu Yinian’s impulse to verify the photo vanished. She knew better than anyone that no matter how similar the markings were, it couldn’t be the same cat.

As soon as she returned to her seat and accepted the two friend requests, she saw a message from Ji Yan pop up instantly.

[You haven’t given me your phone number yet.]

Xu Yinian nearly choked on her own saliva, breaking into a fit of coughing. When she realized the noise had drawn Shen Ruoshuang’s gaze, she was so afraid of raising the protagonist’s suspicions again that she forced herself to swallow the rest of the coughs.

[Didn’t I already add you?]

Ji Yan looked at the message. The concise, formal wording bore no resemblance to Xu Yinian’s actual stuttering, timid self.

[I never asked to add you on WeChat. You’re the one who made the group. That’s not the same as a phone number.]

Xu Yinian was speechless. Even with her back turned to Ji Yan, she could imagine the girl’s expression and tone. She could only grit her teeth and send over a string of digits.

Having one more piece of contact information than Shen Ruoshuang satisfied Ji Yan. Furthermore, having a private conversation right under Shen Ruoshuang’s nose gave the exchange a sense of clandestine intimacy.

[What did Shen Ruoshuang message you? Tell me.]

Before Xu Yinian could react, Shen Ruoshuang’s voice rang out in the room. She wasn’t speaking to Xu Yinian.

“The dorm locks at eleven. You don’t live on campus, right? You should remember to leave early.”

“And if I don’t plan on leaving?” Ji Yan asked. She knew Shen Ruoshuang wanted to be alone with Xu Yinian and had no intention of letting her have her way.

Shen Ruoshuang let out a short laugh, one that carried a strange, underlying meaning. She acted as if she didn’t care. “Then do as you please.”

Her fingertips hovered over Xu Yinian’s chat box. She typed out words and deleted them, repeating the process several times before finally exiting the screen. She knew Ji Yan was messaging Xu Yinian, but she couldn’t bring herself to do the same. Perhaps the more one cared, the harder it was to send that first message; no matter how she phrased it, it sounded forced.

Just then, a message appeared on her WeChat interface, causing her eyes to freeze. She checked it immediately.

Shen Yi: [Don’t forget the meeting with the Bai family tomorrow night. My secretary will contact you.]

The moment she saw the contact name, the spark in Shen Ruoshuang’s eyes was extinguished, replaced by a coldness that felt like falling into an ice cellar. Her lips thinned into a straight line, and she had no intention of replying.

***

Ji Yan didn’t actually stay the night, though she did purposefully stall until there were only five minutes left before the eleven o’clock curfew.

As she stepped out the door, she thought she heard a strange noise coming from Room 503. She raised an eyebrow and sent a taunting question mark to Xu Yinian on WeChat. Ever since she had brought up the “afternoon” incident, Shen Ruoshuang had been waiting for her to leave. What she intended to do required no explanation.

However, Ji Yan’s smirk didn’t last long.

When she reached the downstairs bike shed, she discovered her motorcycle—the Fireblade—was gone. The bike, which she had only managed to smuggle in through a side gate this morning thanks to Qin Jiashu’s intel and internal help, had been towed away by Campus Security.

Ji Yan had researched X University’s traffic regulations beforehand. Motorcycles could enter through the side gates, but students were prohibited from riding high-performance bikes on campus. This meant that as long as no one reported it, the school usually turned a blind eye.

In an instant, Ji Yan remembered the hidden malice behind Shen Ruoshuang’s abrupt reminder for her to leave early, as well as the detail of her stepping out to take a phone call mid-conversation.

She reported my bike?

Ji Yan stood frozen on the spot. Then, a sharp laugh escaped her throat. “Very good.”

She glanced at the time on her phone; it was past eleven, and the doors were locked. She looked up, her thick lashes casting a shadow over her eyes like dark clouds looming over a city. Her deep, cold, and lifeless gaze fixed on the balcony of Room 503 in the distance, resembling the stare of a cold-blooded predator.

In her mind’s eye, she could already see the hidden secrets unfolding behind that door—the suggestive sounds that had started the moment she stepped out.

So, we’re playing the ‘three roommates living together’ game, are we?

Since Shen Ruoshuang was acting so familiar, Ji Yan certainly didn’t mind joining in.