“Sure, we can send them to your phone later,” the photographer said. “You can pick one, and we can even print it for you.”
While Chi Zhan chatted with the server, Cen Chi had already chosen his photo.
“This one?” the photographer asked. “Alright.”
“Wait a second,” Chi Zhan said, hesitating. “Do you keep these photos on file?”
“Yes, they’ll be displayed on the event wall. But don’t worry, we won’t use them for anything else. We’ve already had hundreds of guests take part in this activity and take keepsakes,” the photographer replied with a smile. “See? The event wall to the right is already covered with pictures.”
The idea of his own photo being up there made Chi Zhan cringe. Just imagining it felt like social death. But everyone else seemed pretty nonchalant about it. Seeing Chi Zhan hesitate, Cen Chi asked, “Wanna go take a look together?”
A medium-sized screen was mounted on the wall, displaying photos in a continuous slideshow—one every second. With the sheer number of images, spotting any particular one wasn’t easy.
Plenty of people had drawn the “drinking cross-cupped wine” prompt. In just a single minute, Chi Zhan saw three or four photos of people striking that pose. Everyone looked perfectly at ease, completely unbothered.
Relieved, Chi Zhan relaxed a bit.
Maybe it was because the restaurant was extra crowded today, but dessert was taking a long time to arrive. The servers were darting between tables, clearly overwhelmed. Neither of them pressed the issue and just chatted idly.
“How’s Meow-Meow doing?” Chi Zhan asked, spearing a piece of broccoli. “I heard she suddenly vanished the other day. Luckily someone found her.”
“She’s still the same—eating, sleeping, doing her thing. She’s got guts, I’ll give her that. But I really don’t get how she disappeared in the first place.”
As soon as Chi Zhan heard about the “strange circumstances,” he immediately guessed the answer.
No doubt—it had to be some player’s item.
Sometimes, to make players interact with romance targets faster, the game would use special items to trigger forced encounters. Like getting splashed by a luxury car speeding past, forcing the aloof CEO to stop. “You’ve caught my attention.” And boom—plot initiated.
“Yeah, definitely odd,” Chi Zhan agreed. “Cats love running off, but Meow-Meow’s smart. She always finds her way home.”
“Let’s change the topic. How about another game?” Cen Chi smiled. “I need more practice with my character.”
“Of course.” Chi Zhan readily agreed.
He created a lobby and pulled Cen Chi in. Just as he did, a new notification popped up:
Your boyfriend [Song Guang] is now online and has been auto-added to your party!
What?
Chi Zhan hadn’t even processed what that meant before Song Guang had already joined the room.
“……”
“You invited a friend?” Cen Chi asked casually, unaware of the connection between him and Song Guang.
“Yeah… something like that.”
Song Guang didn’t say a word after entering, but Chi Zhan was sure he hadn’t misclicked. So how the hell did Song Guang get in?
“Start it up. Anyone else joining?”
“Nope,” Chi Zhan said, clicking to start the match. The game quickly found them a match, and the character selection screen came up. Meanwhile, Chi Zhan messaged customer support, suspecting a bug.
A moment later, they replied: Hi there! Today’s update introduces a new feature: couples will now automatically be grouped together for matchmaking—no invitation necessary!
Who even reads patch notes!?
Chi Zhan was losing his mind.
Everyone else had already locked in their picks. When Chi Zhan returned to the selection screen, he saw Song Guang had taken mage, Cen Chi had gone support, and their two other teammates had picked warrior and marksman.
That left Chi Zhan to fill in as jungler.
During the brief pre-match loading screen, Cen Chi suddenly let out a quiet “Huh?” and glanced over at him.
“Ah-Zhan, why is there a pink icon next to your name and your friend’s?”
Once player info was hidden, the only thing visible during matches were relationship icons.
And this game had plenty—yellow for “master-disciple,” orange for “besties,” blue for “bros,” silver for “ride-or-dies,” and—
Pink for couples.
Chi Zhan hadn’t expected that the fake boyfriend tag he’d set up for Zhou Yanxing never came into play back then… only to be exposed now.
“This is…”
He didn’t know how to explain. Cen Chi wasn’t Zhou Yanxing—he wouldn’t just believe any excuse. Between the system’s message and his own keen observational skills—he was trained in psychology, after all—Cen Chi might even catch on from a microexpression. The risk of getting found out was very real.
Not to mention, the internet doesn’t lie.
“Your desserts, gentlemen.” A server arrived just then, placing a small cake on the table, breaking the tense silence.
“Thank you,” Cen Chi said politely.
Chi Zhan thought that would be the end of it and was about to casually dig into his dessert, but Cen Chi wasn’t letting this go.
“So… what does it mean?” he asked, still calmly persistent.
Chi Zhan had no choice but to answer, “It’s… a couple icon.”
The moment the words left his mouth, a flicker of surprise crossed Cen Chi’s face. He looked like he couldn’t quite believe it. His gaze darkened with a subtle heaviness, lingering for a few seconds before he finally smiled and said gently, “So… not just friends, but boyfriends?”
There was no accusation in his voice—if anything, it helped Chi Zhan breathe easier.
“Yeah. We’ve been… seeing each other recently.”
“I see.” Cen Chi picked up a dinner knife and began slicing his cake, head lowered so Chi Zhan couldn’t see his expression. “You never mentioned him before.”
“Mm… It’s a recent thing,” Chi Zhan said, watching his movements. He couldn’t help but add, “Doctor Cen, you don’t really need a knife for that cake, do you?”
It was just a small dessert. The knife mashed the cream and fruit together into a mess.
Cen Chi put the knife down and smiled faintly.
“Sorry. Guess I was so surprised I forgot to use the fork.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I didn’t tell you guys because… I didn’t think it was necessary.”
Now, unexpectedly, the moment he’d been searching for had finally arrived—albeit through a twist of fate.
