Playing with Ye Xi was the most shameful money Chen Zemian had ever earned.
Though he’d inexplicably obtained plenty of assets since transmigrating—including the villa Xiao Qiwu gave him—that money could only be called unearned, not ill-gotten. No one had suffered real harm from it.
This time was different.
After shattering Ye Xi’s mentality for the 38th time, Chen Zemian heard a sob through the headset. Then his mobile bank notified:
[Remittance from another bank: 100,000.00 yuan
Sender: Ye Chen
Remarks: Continue]
Chen Zemian couldn’t take it anymore. He messaged Ye Chen: He seems to be crying.
Ye Chen replied: He cried long ago. Keep playing.
Chen Zemian: Isn’t this too cruel?
Ye Chen: Better now than later. When he logs in, play until he quits.
Chen Zemian: …I’m quitting my internet addiction.
Ye Xi was stubborn. If Chen Zemian had lost like this, he’d have quit long ago. The fact that Ye Xi kept playing proved his resilience.
But even the most stubborn person would lose enthusiasm after so many losses.
At first, Ye Xi refused to admit defeat, fighting Chen Zemian until dawn, declaring him his “lifelong enemy.” But constant losses wore him down. Soon, he began sneaking online, terrified of encountering Chen Zemian.
Yet Chen Zemian kept erratic hours—sometimes logging in at 3 AM just to crush Ye Xi again.
Ye Xi grew thin and haggard. His love for esports withered. From playing 10+ hours daily, he now just logged in mechanically. Within two weeks, he cracked.
He sought out fellow victim Liu Yuebo for weaknesses.
Liu Yuebo said, “You only got beaten in-game. I got beaten in real life.”
“Why is he so arrogant?!” Ye Xi slammed the table. “Can no one control him?”
Liu Yuebo sighed. “Master Lu.”
Ye Xi slumped. “Master Lu can’t handle him. Once, Brother Lu told him, It’s time to sleep—we played until 4 AM!”
Liu Yuebo: “…”
Ye Xi ranted, “Brother Lu doesn’t even sleep! Chen Zemian blames his papers for lagging his game! And Brother Lu replaced his phone to ‘fix’ it!”
Liu Yuebo was stunned. “Who buys phones just for games?”
Ye Xi shrugged. “Brother Lu bought two—one for himself, one for Chen Zemian.”
Liu Yuebo muttered, “No wonder he’s spoiled.”
Defeated in-game and fearing real-life violence, Ye Xi switched tactics.
“Other weaknesses?” he pressed.
Liu Yuebo recalled, “Chen Zemian dropped out of high school. Terrible at math—can’t even solve high-school problems. Once he learned I do advanced math, he became much politer.”
Ye Xi’s eyes lit up. “A high-school dropout! No wonder he worships intellectuals.”
Finally, he had Chen Zemian’s weakness.
After meeting Liu Yuebo, Ye Xi smashed his phone and returned to school.
The Ye parents were overjoyed. Even Ye Xi’s violent father praised Ye Chen. “Well done.” He insisted on hosting Lu Zhuonian and Chen Zemian to thank them.
Ye Chen said flatly, “You’d need Chen Zemian to invite Zhuonian.”
His father waved it off. “Even if Zhuonian declines, we should reward Chen Zemian.”
Ye Chen paused. “Chen Zemian is blunt. You might clash.”
His father scoffed. “I won’t fuss over rudeness.”
Ye Chen deadpanned, “I’m more worried he’ll hit you.”
*****
Chen Zemian successfully completed his task and received millions in gaming companionship fees. As the “trustee,” Liu Yuebo received a 5% commission.
“Next time you get a job like this, call me again,” Liu Yuebo said happily as he checked his transfer notification. “Earning money feels completely different from asking for an allowance.”
Chen Zemian lay on the sofa with lutein eye patches covering his closed eyes. “You think this money comes easy? I’ve got eye bags from all that gaming.”
Liu Yuebo lifted an eye patch, expecting to see dark circles and puffy bags—after all, even Ye Xi, a high schooler in his prime, had been exhausted by their marathon gaming sessions. Given Chen Zemian’s flu-prone physique, he should have looked worse.
Instead, the skin around Chen Zemian’s eyes was porcelain-smooth, his gaze bright as starlight. Far from looking haggard, his features seemed even more striking.
“…”
Liu Yuebo slapped his under-eye patch back into place. “That’s not an eye bag, bro. That’s called a wo can—beauty puff.”
Chen Zemian turned slightly, peeling off his own eye patch. “What the hell is a ‘wo can brother’ then?”
Just hearing Chen Zemian talk gave Liu Yuebo a headache. He snapped, “It’s that puffiness under your eyes—those two little ridges right under the lash line. Like silkworms lying there side by side. One’s Big Silkworm, the other’s Little Silkworm. Together, they make the Wo Can Brothers.”
Chen Zemian’s eyes lit up with sudden understanding. “So—do we decide who’s the elder and who’s the younger based on left and right, or size?”
Liu Yuebo didn’t miss a beat and made something up on the spot. “Size, obviously.”
Chen Zemian looked intrigued. “So which one of mine is the elder?”
Liu Yuebo casually pointed. “The right one’s a bit bigger.”
But Chen Zemian stared at his reflection, frowning—he couldn’t see the difference at all.
When March arrived and universities reopened, Liu Yuebo came to collect his commission during a free afternoon. By evening rush hour when Lu Zhuonian returned from classes, Liu Yuebo had already left.
Chen Zemian lay alone on the sofa, scratching at his eyes in front of a mirror.
Lu Zhuonian set down his textbooks. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
“They’re itchy. Feels like something’s stuck in them.”
After washing his hands, Lu Zhuonian examined Chen Zemian’s reddened right eye. “I’ll rinse them with saline solution.”
“I tried water. Didn’t help.”
“Saline works better. Tilt your head up.” Lu Zhuonian administered the solution. “Better?”
Chen Zemian blinked. “Much.”
Lu Zhuonian applied saline-soaked gauze. “The redness should fade soon.”
Chen Zemian leaned back but kept rubbing his eyes until Lu Zhuonian stopped him. “Don’t touch them. I’ll call the family doctor.”
The doctor diagnosed a probable allergy via video call, recommending continued saline compresses while arranging an in-person exam.
Chen Zemian recalled his allergy history. “Probably just allergies. Some antihistamines should do it.”
But Lu Zhuonian insisted on proper tests. After thorough examination, allergies were confirmed. Medication and eye drops provided relief, and the doctor took blood samples for allergen testing.
The results shocked Chen Zemian. He was allergic to strawberries—his favorite fruit.
The silver lining? Only the fruit’s tiny hairs triggered reactions, not its proteins. His earlier eye irritation came from rubbing strawberry hairs into his eyes while searching for his “eye bags.”
Chen Zemian developed a loophole theory. “If I’m only allergic to the hairs, shouldn’t I be fine eating them as long as I don’t touch the outsides?”
Though Lu Zhuonian wanted strawberries removed from their menu, he relented under Chen Zemian’s insistence.
A week later, strawberries reappeared. As Chen Zemian reached for them, Lu Zhuonian cleared his throat and handed him a fork. “Don’t touch them.”
Chen Zemian ate a bowlful—only to develop throat itchiness and coughing fits. Damn allergies.
He suppressed his symptoms until Lu Zhuonian left for class, but his condition worsened. Antihistamines failed, and soon his breathing grew wheezy—early asthma signs. He hurriedly used an inhaler.
As if things couldn’t get worse, Lu Zhuonian called just then, his own breathing labored and voice alarmingly hoarse. “Chen Zemian… I think I’m sick again. Could you… bring my medicine?”
*****
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