Chapter 27: The Pajama Predicament

No sooner had Xiao Moyuan’s issue been resolved than Su Mian, before he could fully revel in his relief, realized with a jolt that his pajamas had all fallen onto Lu Yang’s lower bunk bed. His entire being recoiled in dismay.

He was still clad in a JK uniform and black stockings. There was no conceivable way he could descend from his bunk to retrieve his clothes in front of his two roommates.

How could he possibly commit such a mortifying and shameless act?

And how would he even begin to explain his current attire?

He cautiously parted the bed curtain, creating a narrow slit. His heart hammered against his ribs, threatening to burst free at any moment.

Below, Lu Yang remained utterly engrossed in his game, headphones clamped on, his keyboard clattering with furious taps.

Every so often, he’d let out a string of rather “affectionate” greetings directed at his teammates’ gameplay.

“Bro, you couldn’t even finish off someone on low health. Can’t you land a single follow-up shot?”

“And Healer, what are you even doing? Your teammates are at full health, so why are you constantly holding up a healing orb? Do you think that makes you cute? Do you even know what a sentry is supposed to do?”

His words, indeed, carried a potent sting.

Qin Xuan, meanwhile, maintained his tranquil posture, immersed in his book.

‘Thankfully, Lu Yang’s voice was so loud; neither of them could have possibly overheard his video call with Xiao Moyuan.’

Su Mian secretly exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Yet, an even greater predicament immediately presented itself: how was he going to retrieve his clothes?

‘Should I sneak down directly? No, the risk is too great.’

‘What about asking Lu Yang to hand them up?’

‘Given Old Lu’s overly enthusiastic nature, he would undoubtedly look up. If he noticed my attire…’ Su Mian dared not complete the thought.

A frantic pressure built within Su Mian’s skull, threatening to burst.

Time ticked by, each second stretching into an agonizing eternity.

He had to resolve this dilemma before nature called, or before his roommates decided to prepare for bed.

A daring idea suddenly sparked in his mind: the retractable clothes drying pole!

A telescopic pole hung by his bed, typically used for hanging clothes or reaching items from high places.

Now, it represented his sole, precarious hope.

Su Mian held his breath, meticulously and painstakingly unhooking the clothes pole.

The metal rods scraped against each other, emitting a faint, almost imperceptible “click.” To his ears, however, it resonated like a clap of thunder.

He froze, his body rigid, nervously observing Lu Yang on the lower bunk and Qin Xuan at his desk.

Lu Yang remained oblivious, continuing his game, while Qin Xuan was deeply absorbed in his book.

Su Mian resumed his stealthy movements, quietly extending the clothes pole through the curtain’s slit, aiming it at the pile of pajamas on the bunk below.

The tip of the pole quivered slightly, betraying the intense unease churning within him.

Closer, ever closer… the hook was just about to make contact with the soft fabric…

“Damn it! Healer, you revived him in front of the enemy???” Lu Yang suddenly slammed his hand on the desk, angrily tore off his headphones, and, fueled by his excitement, leaned back abruptly!

His sudden movement struck Su Mian’s carefully lowered clothes pole!

“Clang!”

The pole slipped from Su Mian’s grasp, clattering to the floor with a soft yet undeniably clear snap.

Terror seized him. He instantly recoiled onto his bed, clamping a hand over his mouth, his breath catching in his throat.

“What fell?” Lu Yang turned his head in confusion, his gaze falling upon the clothes pole on the ground. Following the direction of its fall, he instinctively looked up at Su Mian’s bunk.

Su Mian’s heart nearly leaped from his throat.

At this critical juncture, Qin Xuan, who had been quietly engrossed in his book, suddenly closed it with a sound that was neither loud nor soft, yet perfectly drew Lu Yang’s attention.

“Lu Yang,” Qin Xuan’s voice remained utterly calm, “please keep your gaming volume down. It’s a bit distracting.”

“Hehe, my bad, really. That was the last match, I’m done for now.”

Lu Yang’s attention was successfully diverted. He then headed to the bathroom, completely forgetting to investigate the fallen clothes pole, and naturally overlooking the figure on the upper bunk, frozen in terror.

Su Mian gasped for air, as though he had narrowly escaped death, his back drenched in cold sweat.

Through the slit in his curtain, he watched Qin Xuan bend down and pick up the clothes pole for him.

Then… instead of immediately returning it, Qin Xuan held the pole, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over the conspicuous pile of pajamas on Lu Yang’s bed, before flicking a subtle glance at Su Mian’s tightly drawn bed curtain.

That gaze was calm, yet it carried a penetrating power that seemed to strip away all pretense.

Su Mian’s heart plummeted.

‘Had he… had he discovered something?’

Qin Xuan said nothing more.

He simply leaned the pole gently against Su Mian’s bed frame, making it easy for him to retrieve, then returned to his seat and picked up his book, as if his actions had been nothing more than an incidental courtesy.

Opportunity! Su Mian had no time to dissect the meaning of Qin Xuan’s gaze. Seizing the moment while Lu Yang was in the bathroom, he gathered his courage once more, extending the clothes pole with lightning speed.

He hooked a corner of his pajamas and, with a swift flick, pulled them upwards—

Success!

Like a thief, he swiftly reeled the bundle of clothing, which symbolized his “normal” identity as Su Mian, back onto his bed. He clutched it tightly, as if it were his last lifeline.

The entire process unfolded with the speed of lightning, his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

Pulling his bed curtain tight, enclosing himself once more within his small, private space, Su Mian finally dared to truly relax.

But what followed was not the ease of completing a task, but a profound, almost suffocating void, accompanied by a chilling fear.

He looked down at the exquisite JK uniform he wore, the black stockings clinging to his skin, bringing with them a strange yet familiar sense of constriction.

The figure reflected in his phone’s screen possessed delicate features, lips flushed from nervousness, and a soft wig gracefully draped over their shoulders—a vision of perfect, feminine grace.

But this perfection was a facade.

It was a carefully constructed deception, meticulously woven to exact revenge on Xiao Moyuan.

Yet why… during their video call, under the scrutiny of Xiao Moyuan’s seemingly all-seeing eyes, did he feel not only fear but also, deep within his heart, a faint, unsettling thrill?

When Xiao Moyuan had uttered, “I look forward to meeting you at the Mid-Autumn Festival,” aside from his dread of exposure, did he also harbor… a tiny sliver of expectation, one he was unwilling to admit even to himself?

‘What am I even thinking?!’ Su Mian vigorously shook his head, his nails digging deep into his palms, attempting to use the pain to dispel this grotesque notion.

‘I’m a man! I like Shen Zhixia! This is all just a ploy to get revenge on that scoundrel!’

He fumbled, frantically beginning to dismantle his “equipment.”

The wig was roughly torn off and flung into the deepest recesses of his wardrobe.

He scrubbed relentlessly at his cheeks with makeup remover wipes until his skin was red and raw, as if trying to abrade a layer of skin that wasn’t his own.

When he finally peeled off the black stockings from his legs, a peculiar pang of reluctance, like a tide, washed over him.

The subtle friction as the stockings separated from his skin… surprisingly, left him with a sense of wistful regret.

This unfamiliar, twisted emotion terrified him.

‘He seemed… to be growing increasingly accustomed to the identity of “Sweetheart Marshmallow.” In the online world, he could act coquettishly, be bold, and release emotions he tightly suppressed in reality.’

‘That identity was like a safe shell, allowing him to experience a completely different life.’

‘And this experience was insidiously eroding his self-identity, one he had steadfastly maintained for eighteen years.’

An overwhelming dread gripped him.

‘If this continued, would he… truly become irrevocably lost between his true self and this fabricated persona?’

‘Would he… never find the boy named Su Mian again?’