“What do you mean? You lost the game, picked truth or dare, but the one whose dark history got leaked was me, right?” Lu Yan Zhi laughed in extreme anger, his tone so cold it could drop ice shards.
He tapped open the hot section of the Game Forum. Right on the front page floated a post titled #The Number One on a Popular Server’s Rankings Is an Elementary School Fatty#. The reply count had already flipped through several pages.
Most of the onlookers were the type who loved drama and hated to see peace.
Plus, the ID “Yan” wasn’t unfamiliar to the forum regulars. Earlier that year, he’d starred in a dramatic play of charging into battle for a beauty, avenging his game couple. Most people had automatically imagined him as a rich, cool guy. But now he was exposed as an elementary school fatty—the contrast was too stark. It was impossible not to go viral.
Lu Yan Zhi skimmed the replies, his brows furrowing tightly. “My middle school photos—why are they calling them elementary school ones?”
His childhood friend felt his head swell to twice its size. If conditions allowed, he really wanted to imitate the ancient custom of offering an apology with thorns on his back. “I don’t know. I didn’t say that much.” What he regretted most now was attending that damn offline meetup. Attending was one thing, but playing truth or dare on top of it? And picking dare!
The dare was to let the others look through his photo album.
Back then, he’d honored the bet and handed over his phone without hesitation. In the end, his good bro’s dark history got dug up… He’d even forgotten those photos were still there. When they asked if they were from his childhood, he blurted out that they were Yan’s. And that was that…
He’d apologized until his mouth was blistered. “The poster seems to have taken the photos as your current state.”
Before coming over, he’d contacted everyone from the meetup one by one, sternly declaring that the poster should stop spreading others’ privacy. But as expected, no one admitted it. “I emailed the forum moderators. They should delete it soon.” But plenty of people had saved the photos by now.
Lu Yan Zhi raised a hand to press his temple.
He hadn’t been playing the game much lately, so no one would connect the leaked photos to him. In other words, the post had almost zero impact on Lu Yan Zhi’s real life. But it dragged in another aspect—Song Fu.
Just like the post said, who could accept that the game couple who called him “brother” every day was actually an elementary schooler?
“Brother Lu, can you forgive me?” His childhood friend spoke until his mouth went dry.
Lu Yan Zhi’s face was expressionless. “Come boxing tomorrow morning.”
His childhood friend: “…”
It was no different from telling him to wait for a beating. His childhood friend said, brimming with hot tears, “Okay.”
“Get going.” Lu Yan Zhi issued the order to leave, worried he’d lose control and throw a punch right then.
His childhood friend left, looking back every step, wondering if using the pearl necklace his mom had snagged at the auction as an apology gift could get him two fewer punches.
The elevator descended. At that moment, Lu Yan Zhi’s phone pinged again with a special notification from his followed contacts. He glanced down.
fufu: I saw the forum post.
fufu: Are you okay?
fufu: Judging by looks alone is too superficial. It’s fine—the important thing is inner beauty.
Lu Yan Zhi felt a vein throb twice at his temple.
Like hell he wanted to confirm the identity of a fatty elementary schooler!
Song Fu, who had just sent the messages, was back in her dorm. She couldn’t stop sighing.
She’d known this plot point was coming soon, but not this soon.
After getting out of the taxi, she’d habitually checked the Game Forum and spotted that post marked “explosive”. She didn’t even need to click in—the title alone confirmed it was about the male lead.
The original post was extremely pointed, just shy of naming names. At the end, it attached two pixelated, mosaic-level images. The photos were blurry, but you could roughly make out the subject’s chubby build and youthful, immature face. The OP kept calling him a fatty and an elementary schooler, saying their actions were just to shatter everyone’s filters and stop the obsession with online male gods.
1l: Real or fake?
2l: I’m guessing too. Who else spends that much time in-game but elementary schoolers?
3l: Upstairs, you just expelled all adult gamers from humanity? Use your brain before typing, okay?
4l: I’ve wanted to say it for ages—Yan sounds so cringey.
5l: How about not commenting on this and just telling armchair critics to get lost? Starting up again?
…
35l: Preemptively pitying the officials. An elementary schooler who’s recharged millions? If they apply for a minor’s refund, who could withstand that?
36l: Spending that much in-game?!
37l: Come on, someone who drops millions in-game—even if it’s an elementary schooler, you think they’d apply for a refund?
38l: Yan’s game couple isn’t an elementary schooler too, right?
…
178l: Calling “brother” all the time, and it’s an elementary schooler on the other end. If it were me, I’d lose all face.
179l: No matter the age, if they have the money, it’s fine. You really think there’s real feelings in games? Just mutual benefit.
On the anonymous forum, everyone said whatever they wanted, interpreting with maximum malice. The words were blunt, the hostility heavy. Song Fu quit after just the first two pages.
Back in the dorm, she got messages from her little sister Tiantian.
Tiantian: [Forum link]
Tiantian: No way?
Tiantian: That big shot’s voice didn’t sound like an elementary schooler?
These curious or gossipy questions all carried mockery and malice in the side character’s eyes.
Song Fu didn’t reply. Just like the plot required, she simply organized some words and first sent the male lead a caring message.
Then, she waited for a reply.
Yan: I’m not an elementary schooler!
Yan: The photos are from my middle school days. I was fat for one year and then slimmed down.
Yan: Whatever, you’ll know when you take the video call.
[‘You said you’d be nonchalant about it?’] The System’s mechanical voice carried a sense of utter despair, holding zero hope for the upcoming plot. [‘Host, you can’t take this video call.’]
Song Fu knew that without being told. She held her phone like it was a hot potato.
The fact that the male lead was a handsome guy couldn’t be confirmed here as the side character—otherwise, her complaints as the side character wouldn’t make any sense.
Yan: Why not take it?
Yan: Wait, let me send you a photo.
This wouldn’t do!
After seeing the male lead’s looks, how could the side character say disparaging things?
Song Fu sucked in a cold breath and frantically deleted the contact. Once the dust settled and she realized what she’d done, she went silent for two seconds. “…I’m out of options.”
Even the System, meant to provide support, couldn’t think of a better way and said helplessly, [‘We’ll see how it develops after.’]
“What are the odds the male lead, in his anger, demands I return the money?” Song Fu pondered another pressing issue.
Meanwhile, Lu Yan Zhi, who had spent ages picking photos, saw a red exclamation mark the moment he sent it.
What did that mean?
Just deleted him out of the blue?
What were those first two comforting lines? A final act of mercy?
Lu Yan Zhi found it hard to believe, followed by a surge of grievance.
Hadn’t he said he wasn’t an elementary schooler?
Was there ambiguity in his explanation, or should he have sent the photo right away? …So heartless.
For once, Lu Yan Zhi felt lost, unsure what to do next.
He stared at the chat box for a full three minutes.
He sent a period. After confirming the unmistakable red exclamation mark, he switched accounts and chose voice chat over video.
It connected instantly.
“Hello? What’s up?” The voice was as pleasant as ever, the tone gentle and soft.
Lu Yan Zhi’s thin lips parted slightly. He wanted to say he was actually Yan, not an elementary schooler, not that fat; that he hadn’t expected to meet in real life, thought it was a funny coincidence, so he hadn’t revealed it outright; that he really quite liked Song Fu…
But thinking of the red exclamation mark, he swallowed the words, letting them clog his chest, turning into a cold laugh.
Song Fu, who waited ages for a laugh: ?
She glanced at her phone screen, confirming the call was still connected, and called out in confusion, “Shiyue?”
“Mm.” Lu Yan Zhi lowered his lashes and responded lowly.
Song Fu asked, “Is something wrong?”
Lu Yan Zhi’s eyes darkened, but his tone was perfectly normal. “I just wanted to say, see you tomorrow. Anything you want to eat?”
“No need to trouble yourself.” Song Fu turned it down.
Their call ended quickly.
The sun set in the west. Lu Yan Zhi sat in the dim living room, his thick lashes casting an impenetrable shadow.
Though the somewhat baffling call had happened, it didn’t affect Song Fu much. She tapped at her keyboard, biting her lip as she sent messages to little sister Tiantian—harsh words, sharp phrasing.
Fu Guang Luo: Who cares if he’s an elementary schooler? As long as he gives me money.
Fu Guang Luo: Even if he’s a pig-headed freak, it has nothing to do with me.
Fu Guang Luo: We’re just game couples. We’re not really together.
A minute later, Tiantian sent a string of speechless ellipses.
Tiantian: No matter what, big shot Yan has actually been pretty good to you. Talking like this is a bit much.
Tiantian: Don’t you feel like an ungrateful wretch?
Yes, that was it—scold her like that.
Song Fu took a deep breath, but the stuffiness in her chest didn’t ease; it only grew worse. The messages she’d sent were ones she didn’t even want to read again. She muttered glumly, ‘I hope I get the punishment I deserve and get thoroughly taught a lesson.’
Fu Guang Luo: What do you mean by that? Aren’t you my friend?
Tiantian was probably too speechless to reply.
Song Fu shut her laptop to clear her mind.
The male lead was still too kind. For the in-game gear, he only demanded the side character dismantle what she’d gotten from him, not convert it to cash.
‘So tiring.’
Her roommate returned to the dorm and saw Song Fu wilted, like an eggplant hit by frost, completely baffled. “Fu Fu, what’s wrong? Family issues again?”
“No.” Song Fu shook her head. “It’s me… Don’t worry about it. Let me wilt for a bit.”
Luckily, it was all through a phone screen. Face-to-face, she could hardly pull it off.