Chapter 63: Gu Shiyan Said He Was Serious

“I'm serious.”
His eyelids were tinged with red, his lips pressed into a tight line.
Suddenly, something was pressed into Luo Xing’s hand.
A shadow of pale gray fell across her vision, dimming the light.
She hadn’t noticed when Gu Shiyan had come so close to her.
Luo Xing rubbed her fingertip against her nail, repeating the motion mechanically, trying to soothe the restlessness in her heart.
What Gu Shiyan had placed in her hand was the Patrick Star keychain she’d once given him.
The other one, SpongeBob, she had already thrown into the trash.
The Crayon Shinchan she bought later never grew on her either; she’d handed it off to Yun Cai without a thought.
Gu Shiyan had no need for keys; the metal ring on his keychain held nothing.
Unlike Luo Xing, whose keychain carried a keycard and room key—objects genuinely woven into her daily life, things she truly used.
Gu Shiyan seemed to have no need for such mundane traces of life.
His hand did not retreat; it pressed over the back of Luo Xing’s, easily covering hers. Her fingers shifted slightly beneath his palm.
Her lashes lowered, gaze falling on the faint blue veins of his hand—his knuckles were clean and slender, wrist bones broader than hers, his palm bearing thin calluses, remnants from playing ball.
Luo Xing still didn’t move.
Her fingertip traced slow circles along the key ring.
The pad of his finger gently rubbed against the back of her hand, testing.
He traced from her nail, along her knuckle, slipping between her fingers.
Their hands clasped tightly together.
Luo Xing’s palm was damp with a thin sheen of sweat, while his fingertips remained dry.
In barely a second, Luo Xing swiftly withdrew her hand.
The keychain slipped from her grasp without mercy, rolled down the bedsheet draped over her abdomen, and disappeared beneath the small table, swallowed by the shadows.
Gu Shiyan felt as if his heart were weighed down by wet earth, unable to breathe out. He looked at Luo Xing, saying, “I truly don’t understand whether casually spoken words like ‘like’ and ‘love’ can be the foundation for marriage. I can’t tell whether what I feel is a passing whim or genuine affection. I can’t bring myself to swear some undying love either...”

Luo Xing listened. Rarely had he cast aside his pride and reserve, speaking to her with such earnest, measured words.
There was a faint urgency in his voice, a trace of breathlessness. “The ‘like’ you say so easily is a barrier I can’t break through.”
Gu Liang had once told his mother he liked her, loved her. While saying those words, he’d also spoken them to every lover housed in his luxury villas.
Gu Shiyan couldn’t tell real from fake, had no faith in any theory of love. All he could do was guess and analyze based on the occasional movie he watched.
When every film’s ending curtain fell, the male and female leads running off toward happiness, what he wondered was: were they really happy?
Today you love her, tomorrow someone else. And the day after? Next month? Next year? Decades from now?
Would he become another Gu Liang?
Was everyone in this world the same as Gu Liang?
Even himself?
His interests never lasted. He saw himself as rotten, had never believed in any love that lasted till the end of time.
From the start, he simply followed his heart, indulging in the fleeting dopamine his brain produced.
If interested, he played; once bored, he left.
Luo Xing’s eyes were sharp, her voice cool and distant. “I’m not the one you like, nor the one you love. Of course you can’t say it, and you don’t understand. The ‘like’ you think you feel is just because I chose to leave, and you felt abandoned. You only want to possess the feeling of being liked.”
A thin layer of sweat already coated Luo Xing from earlier. Gu Shiyan’s words cleared her mind to an almost painful clarity. She slowly got out of bed, grabbed the bathrobe she’d prepared in the closet.
She meant to take a shower.
Gu Shiyan blocked her path. “Do you think I’m joking, or that I’m not sincere?”
“Neither. I’ve just given up.” Luo Xing pushed past him. “You’ll be fine soon. Maybe by tomorrow, you’ll be back up high, looking down at everyone with that same proud, aloof gaze.”
But she would no longer chase after him, begging for a glance.
When Luo Xing finished her shower, a new bowl of steaming seafood congee and greens awaited on the table.
The apartment was empty; Gu Shiyan was already gone.
Her phone held a message from Shen Que sent the day before—he’d be coming to the capital in mid-August for a physics competition.
Luo Xing had known this for a while. He’d started competing as a freshman, teaming up with a few juniors from third year. It not only earned extra credits but strengthened his case for a postgraduate recommendation. Even if he didn’t plan to continue with grad school, it would look good on his resume.
Shen Que had invited her in their freshman year as well.
But back then, Luo Xing’s mind was full of Gu Shiyan. She thought that, since they were already at the same university, nothing else mattered, and she’d turned Shen Que down.

An image flashed in her mind—a photo on her phone. She remembered Gu Shiyan and Wen Nuan had won their prize at a physics competition.
A surge of unwillingness rose in her chest. She’d actually sacrificed her studies for a man.
Now she hadn’t ended up with the man, and her academics were mediocre. Next term, she’d be starting her third year.
She felt no external pressure. As Yun Cai often said, even if she achieved nothing at all, with her parents behind her, she’d still live better than eighty percent of the world.
But Luo Xing realized now—she didn’t want to remain unaccomplished.
She didn’t want the label of “three-minute enthusiasm” branded on her forehead, either.
Final grades had long been posted. Luo Xing checked them on her phone; every subject scored above eighty. For a student who only aimed to pass, that was pretty good.
But as she looked at her phone, what once felt like decent grades now seemed far from enough.
The results for Level Six hadn’t been released yet; they’d likely be out when Shen Que arrived in the capital.
Luo Xing wasn’t worried about English, anyway. She’d always had a strong foundation, her father an executive in a multinational tech corporation, fluent in several languages. She’d grown up bilingual, never once troubled by English exams.
But grades were hollow. She had no competition records, hadn’t joined any clubs, had spent two years drifting through university.
She thought carefully. Two of the seniors on Shen Que’s physics team were in their final year and would be stepping down after this competition.
Shen Que would definitely need new teammates.
Feeling a spark ignite within her, Luo Xing grabbed her phone and messaged Shen Que.
No reply. She checked the time—it wasn’t even seven yet.
She set her phone down and began gathering her things. After spending the night away, it was time to head back.
She picked up her bag, stuffed the medicine from the table inside, and glanced around.
The room was all gray and white, minimalist, high-end, wealthy but sterile, with not a hint of human warmth.
‘The “like” you say so easily is a barrier I can’t break through.’
Luo Xing shook her head, refusing to be tangled up any longer. She tightened the drawstring on her bag, and without a trace of nostalgia, opened the door and left.