36: Is This a Sitcom?
When Qian Kun returned to the classroom at noon, a sudden headache hit.
Shen Jin told him to go to the hospital for an MRI to find the cause, but Qian Kun knew exactly what the results would be. He already had the most thorough checkups done. Nothing was wrong.
This was the third time it had happened.
The first time was when he had been choosing which school to transfer to. Two weeks after the semester started, he met Shen Jin.
The second time was that boy from the traffic accident.
The third time was now, as if something was pointing him toward a certain place.
He had a premonition that if he didn’t go, the headache would keep going, just like it had back when he was choosing a school.
Qian Kun didn’t like being controlled, so he had to find out what was going on.
As for which direction to take, it was easy to tell. Whichever direction made his head hurt less was the right one.
Using that method, Qian Kun finally found himself across the street from the entrance to a private club.
He stood on the busy road with his arms folded, waiting. While he waited, he received a deeper, more confidential file his bodyguards had dug up about the Shen family. The earlier investigation had only covered information that was publicly obtainable.
If opened, he could know more secrets about Shen Jin.
Qian Kun hesitated for a few seconds, then hit decline.
He added a message: [Don’t investigate his privacy anymore. Destroy the original copies.]
Shen Jin wouldn’t want an outsider digging into what he kept hidden.
Night fell.
A teenager wearing a worn-out T-shirt and ripped shoes rode a bicycle up to the club entrance.
The boy turned and slipped in through the club’s back door, vanishing from Qian Kun’s sight.
There were so many people on the street. The only reason Qian Kun noticed him was because the one he escorted to the police station after that traffic accident had been this same boy, the one who looked like he was being chased down for debts.
Qian Kun called his bodyguards and told them to wait near the club entrance.
Less than an hour later, the boy stumbled out drunk, supported by a balding middle-aged man. He looked like he had been forced to drink. He cried so hard his face was soaked, shoving at the man’s touch while shouting, “No!” “I’m not going out with clients, I’m just here to work!” and things like that.
Yet pedestrians acted as if they saw nothing. Some didn’t even glance his way, like he truly didn’t exist.
That phenomenon made Qian Kun, watching all of it, feel deeply unsettled.
That tension was especially apparent when the man tried to get the boy into a car, and the boy gripped the car doorframe and refused to budge.
That Alpha uncle could’ve dragged him away with ease, so why did it turn into a ten-minute stalemate? From a physiological gap standpoint, it was a medical miracle. A drunk, weak teenager shouldn’t have been able to hold out that long.
Qian Kun watched them struggle for more than ten minutes, the back-and-forth showing no sign of ending. Only then did he lazily call the bodyguards through an internal line and give a few orders.
The bodyguards rescued the boy.
The sky, which had been moonlit just moments ago, suddenly darkened. Thick clouds rolled in and a torrential downpour crashed down, like some shrill, tragic waltz.
Qian Kun took shelter under the awning of a café. He looked toward the traffic light at the far intersection.
Over there, it was still a clear night with the moon hanging high. Even the pavement was dry.
One intersection’s distance, yet two completely different kinds of weather.
Clouds and heavy rain, only above his head.
Qian Kun’s expression didn’t change as he compared it again and again.
It wasn’t a hallucination.
“…”
Ridiculous.
Was this some kind of staged sitcom?
When the bodyguards escorted the delicate-looking boy to the hospital, the downpour above Qian Kun’s head eased.
Qian Kun tested it again. Sure enough, no matter which direction he went now, the headache didn’t return.
On the way back to the dorm, he even got a call from his mother.
She asked if he had saved someone, and if it was a male Omega. She laughed and asked if this was the classmate he had been so determined to find that he even asked for access to the school surveillance system.
How did his mother find out so fast? Those bodyguards weren’t the talkative type. It was like there was a plot arrangement pulling strings.
Qian Kun denied it coldly. “I don’t know him. Just a passerby.”
He originally wanted to say the other seemed like a scam artist latching onto him, but that youth truly hadn’t done anything, saying so wouldn’t accord with facts.
Even though he had been forced into coming and he was furious, Qian Kun didn’t want to take it out on someone else.
His mother heard his serious tone and stopped teasing.
Thinking of Shen Jin, Qian Kun finally let a sliver of a smile show. He clenched his fist, forcing the near-surging heat in his chest to retreat again.
“Mom, that classmate you mentioned… he’s really good.”
“He’s too good, and I arrived too late.”
Qian Kun rode back to the dorm. On the way, he picked up a black sugar macchiato for Shen Jin, less sugar and less ice, the way he liked it.
“I passed by Manmantang. Didn’t you say you wanted to drink—” Qian Kun’s practiced smile froze.
The dorm was swallowed in darkness. Even the clothes on the balcony hadn’t been brought in. They were still fluttering outside.
Qian Kun’s heart dropped.
Even if student council work ran late, there was no way Shen Jin wouldn’t be back by now.
He called Shen Jin. The automated prompt said the phone was powered off.
It could be that Shen Jin had forgotten to charge it. That wasn’t unheard of.
Qian Kun called Shen Xie’an on WeChat.
Shen Xie’an was in a boxing gym, sparring with an Alpha. He liked that kind of thrill that belonged exclusively to Alphas.
Yet he couldn’t tell his parents about it, and he didn’t even dare tell the big brother he respected so much.
He knew he was an oddball. The moment Qian Kun called, he immediately phoned home, but Shen Jin hadn’t gone back to the Shen family.
Shen Xie’an panicked so badly he didn’t know what to do. Qian Kun comforted him a few times and decided to go look for him first. Once he got Shen Xie’an’s answer, Qian Kun all but confirmed that Shen Jin might be in trouble.
He saw the class group chat discussing what had happened in the afternoon, when the specialty-track class had caused trouble.
They’d run into it before outside school. Back then, Qian Kun had added Zheng Zhepeng on WeChat. He asked Zheng Zhepeng what had happened, and learned that before they separated, Shen Jin had been safe. Before that, Shen Jin had clashed with Zhao Haotian.
The critical point was that after Shen Jin returned to the classroom alone, there was no trace of him.
Qian Kun called his bodyguards and told them to control Zhao Haotian first and force an answer about where Shen Jin was.
As he ran downstairs, he contacted his mother again to regain access permissions. The password for access was different every time.
Qian Kun didn’t know whether Shen Jin was still on campus, but it was the nearest location. He had to confirm this place was clear before widening the search.
He pulled up the past twenty-four hours of campus surveillance footage. It was a long stretch of time. He narrowed it down to the time Zheng Zhepeng had mentioned and checked it clip by clip.
He also asked his mother for the Ke family’s landline number so he could find Ke Minghuai. As the fiancé, he had the right to know about this.
At a time like this, Shen Jin would probably want to see that person more.
When Qian Kun dialed, his eyes were half-closed. His lashes trembled. The heart he was forcing down hurt.
“Hello. Is Ke Minghuai home?” Qian Kun asked without emotion.
“I’m his mother. Why are you looking for him?” An elegant female voice came from the other end.
“It’s about Shen Jin…” Qian Kun had meant to share the clues he had and send them to look for Shen Jin.
“Why does he always have so many issues? Tell him to handle it himself,” the woman said. She thought of how her son still wanted to win Shen Jin back, how Shen Jin might become her daughter-in-law after all. She couldn’t be too harsh, so she softened the edge of her words. “Randomly troubling other people isn’t something an excellent partner should do. I believe he can handle it on his own. If he ends up in the hospital, then notify me. Goodbye.”
Click.
The call ended.
Qian Kun stared in disbelief.
Then his anger caught like wildfire and roared up.
Regardless of what Ke Minghuai himself was like, how could his family say that about Shen Jin? Was that the attitude a fiancé’s family should have?
Those words sounded polite, yet every sentence stabbed.
How could someone say that out loud?
I feel like I’m defiling him just by getting close, and you think you’re worthy of this?
Shen Jin’s engagement had lasted nine years. Had he been living like this the whole time?
Qian Kun didn’t know how many times he’d asked, why. He could feel himself turning irrational with fury. He took several deep breaths, and from that moment on, he didn’t want to contact Ke Minghuai again.
The surveillance showed Shen Jin’s last known appearance at the stairwell on the ninth floor of Building Two.
After that, he never came out again.
Qian Kun’s face hardened. When he reached the area near Building Two, he spotted a crumpled ball of tissue on the corridor.
He unfolded it.
Inside was an unmistakable SOS. In the corner, there was also a crooked “2” and “9.”
There were many such tissue balls around here, clearly placed by someone.
Qian Kun lifted his head and looked upward.
His heart gave a violent jolt.
*
After Zhao Haotian left, Shen Jin tried calling out a few times. The top floor was the principal’s office area. Normally, no one came up here.
He observed the surroundings. Four walls, nothing he could use to call for help.
To save space for restrooms divided by six genders, all sinks were built outside the restroom stalls.
High on the wall was a row of ventilation openings. The bars were spaced only about a palm’s width apart.
Shen Jin’s gaze stayed calm. He circled around, looking for something usable. By the mop sink, there was a pot of lucky bamboo. He pulled out the wire that had been used to secure the plant.
He tried to pick the lock with the wire, but it was too thick. Even getting it into the keyhole was difficult.
He found some tissue in a stall. Looking at the rust on the wire, he hesitated. He’d originally thought to prick his finger and use blood, but if he did that and couldn’t treat it in time, it could breed anaerobic bacteria and cause tetanus.
No. Too risky and not worth it.
Also, pricking himself would hurt.
Shen Jin’s pain sensitivity was a little sharp. He could endure in front of others for the sake of appearances.
In truth, he was extremely, seriously afraid of pain.
Unless it was absolutely necessary, he shouldn’t mistreat his body like that.
It was hard to work without tools. This restroom wasn’t used often, and the trash bin was empty. Even if he wanted to save himself, he needed materials.
He walked around, took a roll of the free tissues, plucked a few leaves, tore them along the veins, and squeezed out some juice. He used it to write “SOS” on the tissue.
In the corner, he wrote 2-9, meaning Building Two, ninth floor.
The tissue was thin and easy to tear, so he finished carefully.
He blew on it. After it dried, he tossed it down through the ventilation opening.
The white ball of tissue drifted down into the school corridor.
If he was lucky, a passing student or a patrolling security guard might see it.
He made several more tissue balls and threw them down. He’d done everything he could. Now he could only wait for a miracle.
The sky darkened. Through the small window, he could see a velvet-deep blue sprinkled with stars.
When Shen Jin sat down, a sudden cramp hit. He pressed a hand to his stomach and slowly eased himself down.
He once had chronic atrophic gastritis and a duodenal ulcer. The illnesses had been cured while he was with the Xie family, but he still needed regular meals, and he couldn’t handle numbing spice or heavy heat.
He had missed just one dinner, and his stomach was already staging a protest.
It hurt a little, but he could endure it.
He just didn’t like the dark.
So he turned on the light. Where there was light, there was motivation.
When people were around, it was fine. When he was alone, the loneliness amplified, dragging up memories he didn’t want to revisit.
He should sleep.
If he slept, he wouldn’t feel hungry.
He didn’t know how much time passed. Shen Jin felt cold and tucked his head in a little more.
In a haze, he heard a loud crash.
He groggily lifted his head from his arms. In the blurred view, he still couldn’t see the newcomer’s face.
A jacket carrying a stream-and-woods scent draped over him.
So warm and damnably familiar.
A person surfaced in his mind.
The fog cleared.
It was Qian Kun’s face, unable to conceal anxiety.
Shen Jin opened his mouth, wanting to say something.
In the end, his brain moved faster than his thoughts, and one sentence slipped out.
“I’m hungry.”
Author’s Note:
Okay. I’ll take you to eat.
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