Chapter 20: Something Off About Ji Xu

Ji Xu curled up in his dorm room chair with his phone resting on the desk, picking it up to reply immediately every time the screen lit up.

The two of them chatted about ordinary, trivial matters—Rong Du asked him what he planned to eat for lunch, and Ji Xu said he wasn’t hungry yet; Rong Du mentioned he had a meeting in the afternoon and might not be able to check his phone easily, to which Ji Xu replied with a “got it” alongside a nodding emoji.

After a while, Rong Du sent over a photo of his office desk, showing a cup of coffee and a small potted pothos placed at the corner, and Ji Xu replied with “Your pothos needs watering, its leaves are all wilted,” prompting Rong Du to send back a helpless smile emoji.

Between the lines, everything was completely indistinguishable from usual—the tone, word choice, and punctuation habits were all identical to before.

They both tacitly refrained from bringing up the events of that morning.

Yet Ji Xu knew that certain things had changed.

When replying to messages, his fingertips would unconsciously slow down; after typing a line, he would read it twice more before sending it out, and he re-read every single message Rong Du sent, hoping to find a hint of something else within those straightforward, narrative sentences.

A bit of hesitation, a trace of testing the waters, or a hidden sense of anticipation.

He found nothing at all; Rong Du’s messages were no different from usual—steady and gentle, like a slow-flowing river with no visible undercurrents on its surface.

Ji Xu put his phone down and picked it back up, put it down and picked it back up again, until Rong Du finally said “I’m heading to the meeting now” and the chat box went completely quiet.

He stared at that line “I’m heading to the meeting now” for a long while before placing the phone face down on the desk.

Just as he was preparing to go downstairs to buy some snacks, his phone vibrated again.

Chu Siran’s invitation pop-up lit up at the top of the screen, with a small line of text next to his black avatar frame: “Care for a couple of matches?”

Ji Xu tapped accept.

When he entered the room, Chu Siran was already there with his position selected—his usual marksman role—so Ji Xu habitually locked in support and entered the loading screen.

As the match began, Ji Xu maneuvered his support character to follow Chu Siran’s marksman down to the bottom lane, but after taking a few steps, his positioning became somewhat erratic.

He didn’t enter the brush when he was supposed to, and when he was supposed to secure vision, he was a half-step too slow; a crowd-control skill from the enemy support landed squarely on him, fixing him in place to absorb a full set of damage, causing his health bar to drop by a chunk.

Chu Siran noticed it.

Normally when Ji Xu played games, he chattered incessantly like a little chick pecking at grain, his mouth never staying still from the start of the match until the crystal was destroyed, yet today he was abnormally quiet.

The support character in his hands seemed like an unoiled machine—sluggish and hesitant in its movements—dragging down the rhythm of the entire bottom lane along with it.

Chu Siran silently cleared the minion wave, turning on his in-game microphone while recalling to base to replenish his status.

His voice came through the headset, lower than usual, carrying a subtle, faint trace of concern: “Ji Xu, what’s wrong with you?”

Ji Xu was currently wandering through the jungle placing wards when he froze upon hearing Chu Siran’s voice.

In his memory, Chu Siran rarely turned on his mic to speak, communicating almost entirely through typing during games, at most offering a brief line or two like “fight” or “retreat” during crucial team fights.

Today, he had not only taken the initiative to turn on his mic, but he had also asked such a question.

Ji Xu’s positioning veered off again, and the enemy jungler pounced out from the brush with a full combo to take him down, leaving his character collapsing limply to the ground as the screen faded to gray.

“Nothing,” Ji Xu’s voice came through the mic, sounding a bit wilted, “first match of the day, my focus is just a bit off.”

He himself knew this explanation was superficial; a lack of focus and being a completely changed person were two entirely different things.

However, he couldn’t very well say “I was kissed by a beta this morning and my mind is still a mess,” which would sound far too strange to voice aloud.

Chu Siran remained silent.

His marksman was clearing the minion wave alone in the bottom lane, his mechanics remaining sharp and precise, but his mind was entirely occupied with Ji Xu’s absent-minded state from just now.

He had played games with Ji Xu for over a month, queuing up together as a duo almost every day, evolving from unfamiliar coordination at the start to a level of tacit understanding where they didn’t even need verbal communication to synchronize their positioning.

He understood Ji Xu’s state while gaming all too well—Ji Xu was always brimful of enthusiasm, constantly talking, laughing even after dying to say “Oh dear, Gege save me,” cheering when they won, and reviewing the match when they lost, turning every single game into a mini party.

The way he was today was something he had never seen before—wilted, sullen, like a flower scorched by the sun.

Chu Siran hesitated for a few seconds before finally speaking up.

His voice sounded tighter than usual, as if he had organized his wording several times before finding the right phrasing: “Why aren’t you calling me Gege anymore?”

Ji Xu’s fingers froze on the screen.

His character had just respawned from the fountain and stood motionless inside the base, while the in-game minions rolled forward in formation across the screen.

When that sentence drifted into his ears, his heart missed half a beat—Gege.

Normally, he uttered those two words with absolute ease, slipping out of his mouth without even a second thought: “Gege is so amazing,” “Gege save me,” “Thank you, Gege,” shouting it dozens of times a day.

Yet with Chu Siran bringing it up so straightforwardly, Ji Xu suddenly realized late in the game that those two words “Gege” seemed to carry more weight than he had thought.

It was soft, intimate, and carried a layer of sweet affection that others would find ambiguous upon hearing—the kind of thing that felt natural to say only in very close relationships.

Previously, he had never felt anything was amiss; he simply had a sweet mouth and was comfortable saying it to anyone, but with Chu Siran asking like this, he suddenly felt a bit embarrassed.

“Gege…” Ji Xu called out softly, his voice much quieter than usual, the trailing tone almost imperceptible.

However, after he uttered that call, Chu Siran’s marksman had already rushed over from the bottom lane, positioning himself precisely along the enemy jungler’s inevitable path, dumping a full set of skills to execute the person who had just killed Ji Xu on the spot.

Chu Siran’s mechanics were smooth as flowing water, resolving the fight before Ji Xu’s character could even keep up.

When the kill prompt popped up on the screen, Ji Xu’s eyes lit up, and most of those jumbled thoughts from earlier seemed to be swept away by a gust of wind.

With such an amazing gaming partner, what was wrong with having a sweet mouth?

Would calling him Gege a couple of times cause him any harm?

He wished he could shout it a few more times so Chu Siran would carry him to win every single match like this.

“Gege is so amazing!” Ji Xu’s voice grew lively once more, several pitches higher than before, “That prediction just now was insanely cool!

How did you know he was coming from over there?”

Hearing that familiar, cheerful voice ring out, the corners of Chu Siran’s lips curved upward almost imperceptibly.

He still didn’t say much, but his operational tempo noticeably became much more composed; under the cover of Ji Xu’s support, the marksman played smoother and smoother, taking down the enemy’s outer turret in the bottom lane before rotating to the middle lane to assist in a team fight, securing a triple kill and retreating unscathed.

Ji Xu restored his usual chatterbox mode, staying by his side the entire time to offer non-stop praise: “Gege’s play this wave was off the charts!” “The enemy jungler is going to cry again!” “This match is totally secured!” His volume, speaking speed, and mood were all back on track.

Listening to that chattering voice through his headset, Chu Siran felt that this was how it should be.

It was as if that wilted, sullen Ji Xu from moments ago had never existed at all.

After winning this match, the matching screen began its countdown, and it was at this moment that Chu Siran’s room door was pushed open.

A man who shared a slight facial resemblance with Chu Siran walked in.

Chu Siran had just started university this year, while his Alpha older brother, Chu Siyi, was five years older than him and was already working at the family company.

When Chu Siyi pushed the door open, he was holding a glass of water, originally intending just to ask his younger brother what he wanted for dinner.

Instead, the moment he walked in, he saw Chu Siran wearing a headset and staring at his phone screen, the corners of his lips tilted up at an angle he himself hadn’t realized, leaning back against the chair in a relaxed, comfortable posture, the light from the screen casting a soft glow over his features.

Chu Siyi had never seen his younger brother look like this before; Chu Siran had been a cold, detached Omega since childhood, disliking laughter and commotion.

When other Omegas his age were chasing stars or shopping in their teens, he would curl up in his room playing games all day long.

In all these years, this was the very first time Chu Siyi had seen that kind of relaxed expression filled with obvious joy on his face, like a cat that usually kept its tail curled up suddenly exposing its belly.

Chu Siyi’s curiosity was piqued.

He strode over, taking advantage of the moment when Chu Siran was intently staring at the screen to bend down, reaching out to take off the earphone from Chu Siran’s right ear and placing it directly onto his own.

Ji Xu’s voice happened to come through the earphone right at that moment.

The game had just ended as they destroyed the enemy crystal, and Ji Xu shouted excitedly on the other end of the screen: “Gege, we won!”

The voice was clear and crisp, carrying uncontainable delight and excitement, shouting that “Gege” in a sweet, clear tone.

Taken completely off guard by having his earphone removed, Chu Siran reacted with urgent haste, abruptly standing up to snatch the earphone back from Chu Siyi’s hand and covering his ear with it again.

The tips of his ears turned red, spreading all the way from his earlobes to his pinnae, his entire face written with the panic and embarrassment of having “been caught red-handed doing something he shouldn’t.”

“Brother, how could you do that!” His voice was at least two pitches higher than usual as he glared at Chu Siyi, his eyes full of accusation.

Amused even further by this reaction, Chu Siyi grew even more interested.

He had never seen such a large emotional fluctuation from Chu Siran before; his Omega brother had always maintained an unshakeable, cold demeanor.

During family gatherings, while relatives chatted away, he would sit quietly in the corner eating food, merely nodding or shaking his head when spoken to without even bothering to change his expression.

Now, he was actually flustered to this extent over someone calling him “Gege” in a game.

Chu Siyi raised both hands in a surrendering gesture and took two steps back toward the door, carrying a knowing, mischievous smile on his face: “I’m really sorry, I won’t disturb you playing your game.”

With that, he turned and floated out, poking half his face back inside to wink at Chu Siran right before the door closed.

Chu Siran slammed the door shut with a “bang” and leaned against the door panel, taking several deep breaths before putting his earphone back on.

Ji Xu had quieted down by now; he didn’t know what had happened over there, but judging from the tone, the two of them probably hadn’t gotten into a real argument.

He opened his mouth tentatively: “Gege… are you okay?”

“I’m fine, my brother left.” Chu Siran’s voice had returned to its usual steady tone, but Ji Xu still caught a very light sigh that sounded as if it came from his nose.

Chu Siran sat back down in his chair, “Continue?”

“Continue, continue!” Ji Xu tapped match again.

It was as though that brief interlude had been ignored by both of them by tacit agreement, and Ji Xu re-entered that state of dense, non-stop chattering.

From discussing the brilliant plays of the last match to commenting that Chu Siran’s “suddenly appearing brother” sounded pretty nice, and halfway through he drifted back into the game, beginning to analyze the team lineup for the next match.

Listening to his chattering voice, Chu Siran leaned against the back of his chair and gradually relaxed, recovering bit by bit from the embarrassment of being caught by his brother, his mood brightening once more.

He today realized that Ji Xu’s voice seemed to have become a sort of default background noise for him—without it, something just felt off.

The two of them played straight until evening.

Partway through, Chu Siran was called away by his family for dinner and returned to continue playing afterward, while Ji Xu took a half-hour break in between to go downstairs and buy a bucket of instant noodles, returning to keep climbing the ranks after finishing it.

The sun changed from white to yellow, then to orange-red, before finally sinking down; the sky turned from pale blue to grayish-blue before plunging into inkiness.

It was only when the dorm light turned on automatically that Ji Xu abruptly realized it was completely dark outside.

He lowered his head and pressed his stomach; his gut was empty, the bucket of instant noodles from the afternoon having long been digested.

Just as he said to Chu Siran, “Gege, I’m heading off first to grab dinner,” and turned off his phone, the dormitory door was pushed open.

Yuan Hanfei walked in carrying two bulging plastic bags in his hand—one was a takeaway box, while the other had bamboo skewers poking out from the opening, instantly filling the air with a rich aroma of barbecue.

Cumin and chili powder blended with the charred fragrance of charcoal grilling, accompanied by that mouth-watering aroma of rendered fat and thoroughly roasted meat.

Yuan Hanfei set the bags on his desk, tore open an opening, and turned his head to look at Ji Xu: “Have you eaten yet?”

Ji Xu shook his head.

Yuan Hanfei dragged his own chair straight over to Ji Xu’s desk, picked up his takeaway bag, and set it down in the open space between their two desks: “Let’s eat together, I bought a lot.”

Ji Xu poked his head over to look at the two bags.

It was indeed quite a lot—meat and vegetables combined came to roughly thirty or forty skewers, along with a box of tin-foil-wrapped enoki mushrooms and two grilled eggplants.

However, calculating his own appetite alongside Yuan Hanfei’s build, Ji Xu estimated that for two Alphas, this amount of food would barely fill the gaps between their teeth.

He was indeed starving today, having eaten nothing but instant noodles since noon, and the smell of barbecue was already making his stomach rumble.

He hesitated without moving, turning his phone around twice between his fingers.

Yuan Hanfei pulled out a pair of disposable gloves from the bag and handed them to him: “Eat first, we can order more if it’s not enough.”

Ji Xu looked at the plastic gloves handed to him, then looked at Yuan Hanfei’s frank face that lacked any extra expression, before finally reaching out to accept them: “Alright then.”

Putting on the gloves, he pulled a skewer of beef from the bag; when he bit into it, the sauce and meat juices exploded in his mouth while the aroma of cumin rushed straight up his nasal cavity, making him narrow his eyes in satisfaction.

Sitting beside him, Yuan Hanfei also grabbed a chicken wing to gnaw on, and after a few bites, he pulled out his phone to order more items.

Ji Xu asked him “What are you doing?”, to which Yuan Hanfei replied indistinctly while biting the chicken wing: “Ordering a bit more, it’s not enough.”

Ji Xu wanted to stop him and reached out his hand, only for Yuan Hanfei to block it back using his hand that wasn’t holding the skewer: “Just eat yours.”

After a short while, the delivery call came in.

Yuan Hanfei stood up to go downstairs and retrieve it, and before Ji Xu could finish swallowing the lamb skewer in his mouth, he stood up as well, still clutching that half-eaten bamboo skewer in his hand.

Yuan Hanfei looked back at him: “I can get it myself.”

“I’ll accompany you,” Ji Xu said indistinctly with half a piece of meat still in his mouth, following behind him out the door.

The hallway’s voice-activated light came on, and the two walked one after another toward the elevator.

Ji Xu followed half a step behind Yuan Hanfei, with the last piece of slightly golden-charred lamb still threaded on the bamboo skewer in his hand.

He chewed that piece of meat, threw the empty skewer into the trash can at the end of the hallway, and took two quick steps to catch up with Yuan Hanfei.

As the two stood inside the elevator watching the floor lights jump down notch by notch, Yuan Hanfei glanced sideways at him.

The cold light in the elevator illuminated Ji Xu’s face with crystal clarity; a bit of barbecue sauce was still smeared near his mouth, completely unbeknownst to him.

Yuan Hanfei didn’t remind him, merely curling the corners of his lips slightly before shifting his gaze back to the jumping numbers on the elevator door.

A very well-behaved little roommate, he thought to himself.