BTMDY Chapter 24.3

Lin Wangye’s gaze dropped to Shi Yuan’s leg. He reached out, giving the hard plaster cast a light tap. “Is it bad?”

 

Seeing the worry on Lin Wangye’s face, Shi Yuan quickly responded, “It’s just a ligament strain, nothing too serious.”

 

“Oh, that’s good. I thought it was a fracture or something,” Lin Wangye sighed in relief.

 

“The cast is just to limit movement as much as possible — helps it heal faster,” Shi Yuan explained.

 

“Ohhh, got it.” Lin Wangye nodded in understanding, then asked, “Does it hurt?”

 

With those big, concerned eyes staring at him, there was no way Shi Yuan could admit it did.

 

He didn’t nod or shake his head — just quietly said, “It’s not too bad.”

 

Lin Wangye’s lips pulled into a doubtful pout, clearly not buying it.

 

Time was precious for a senior student like Shi Yuan — if the injury wasn’t that serious, would he really need to be hospitalized?

 

But Lin Wangye didn’t push.

 

Instead, he bent down, grabbed the reddest apple from the fruit basket, and picked up the fruit knife that came with it. He stared down at the apple, figuring out how to start peeling as he continued chatting.

 

“You’ll probably be stuck here for a while, huh? Won’t this mess up your studies?” He glanced up briefly. “I can help you out! Want me to record the lessons for you?”

 

Shi Yuan watched as Lin Wangye clumsily dug the knife into the apple, slicing off a huge chunk of fruit along with the peel. The awkward way he fiddled with the knife made Shi Yuan chuckle softly.

 

“No need,” Shi Yuan said, smiling as he tried to put him at ease. “I’ve already covered everything I need to know — it’s mostly just review now. Being in the hospital won’t make much difference.”

 

Ningchang Seventh High School was a top-tier institution, with some of the best teachers in the country. Only students who ranked above average in the local school district — or exceptionally gifted students from outside the district — could even get in.

 

Most classes had been reshuffled after students chose their subjects in their second year.

 

But Class A was different.

 

Entry into Class A was reserved for the absolute best — the top scorers from the entrance exams. Every student in that class was a straight-A powerhouse, excelling in all subjects like perfect six-sided dice.

 

Even Fu Xuexue, an undeniable academic genius, hadn’t managed to squeeze her way in. That alone showed just how competitive Class A really was.

 

As a gathering place for top students, Class A’s teaching style was naturally nothing like that of the regular classes. There was no need for teachers to constantly nag or push — everyone already pushed themselves to the limit, terrified of falling behind.

 

Because of that, the pace of their lessons was much faster, too.

 

After hearing Shi Yuan’s words, Lin Wangye couldn’t help but think about his own grades — and inevitably, the name ‘Xu Suinian’ popped into his mind. That name was always sitting proudly at the top of the school’s leaderboard.

 

Trying to help Shi Yuan with his studies? Yeah… that was way out of his league. He’d just be embarrassing himself.

 

Lin Wangye slumped his head and blew his bangs out of his face. “Well… that’s good, then…”

 

“But it’s still a bit of a problem,” Shi Yuan sighed quietly, leaning back against the bed. “I have a part-time job at a pottery shop on weekends. With this injury… I probably won’t be able to go for at least a month.”

 

“Oh, right!” Lin Wangye’s eyes lit up as he remembered. “What about that? Which pottery shop is it? I know how to do that kind of stuff — it’s just playing with mud, right? I could fill in for you!”

 

Shi Yuan shook his head. “The shop isn’t short on staff. I only got that job because I asked for it. If I don’t go, someone else will just take my shifts. It’s just… I’ll lose some income.”

 

Lin Wangye blinked. “How much do you make?”

 

Faced with his genuine curiosity, Shi Yuan didn’t feel the need to hide anything. He answered honestly, “A hundred and twenty a day. Weekends are busier, so I skip school on Saturdays and work both days.”

 

Lin Wangye stared at the ceiling, quickly doing the math in his head.

 

“So… eight days a month… that’s almost a thousand bucks.” He paused, thinking. “Not a ton, but it’s not nothing either.”

 

Back in his past life, Lin Wangye wouldn’t have thought twice about spending that much on a single meal.

 

But after recently enduring the brutal training schedule of a professional esports team, he’d completely shaken off his spoiled rich kid habits. He had a whole new respect for the value of money — and for hard work.

 

His gaze drifted back to Shi Yuan, curiosity flickering in his eyes. Why did Shi Yuan have to carry such a heavy financial burden? What kind of situation forced a high school senior to squeeze part-time work into his already hectic schedule?

 

But they hadn’t known each other long. Asking too many personal questions now just didn’t feel right.

 

Shi Yuan had been quietly watching Lin Wangye the whole time. When he noticed Lin seemed distracted, lost in some tangled thoughts, he couldn’t help but worry the guy might end up cutting himself. With a sigh, Shi Yuan reached out and said, “Here, let me do it.”

 

Lin Wangye glanced down and finally noticed the poor apple he’d been working on—it looked like it had been through a shredder, absolutely mangled.

 

Of course, the young master had been pampered since childhood. He was used to neatly sliced fruit served on a plate—expecting him to peel an apple properly was asking too much.

 

Don’t take on a job you’re not cut out for.

 

Feeling awkward, Lin Wangye handed both the apple and the knife to Shi Yuan, then lowered his head and wiped his hands on his pants.

 

Shi Yuan started peeling the apple in smooth circles, his voice soft and gentle as he said, “If there’s something on your mind, just say it. It’s okay.”

 

Lin Wangye looked up at him, his eyes bright with hesitation. He couldn’t help but give a little warning first. “No matter what I say… you have to believe I mean no offense, okay?”

 

Shi Yuan’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes warm and soft.

 

“Of course, that’s the happy puppy’s privilege.”

 

Lin Wangye froze, his heart giving a sharp, unexpected jolt.

 

*

 

“Uncle Shi, you absolutely can’t tell my dad I scored 45 on my math test! Otherwise… I won’t be your happy puppy anymore!”

 

“Alright, alright. That’s the happy puppy’s privilege.”

 

“Yay!”

 

“Just make sure you pass next time.”

 

*

 

In that moment, time seemed to slam on the brakes and hurtle backward, like a clock’s hands spinning in reverse. The years folded in on themselves, and that long-buried memory played out vividly in his mind.

 

Lin Wangye almost couldn’t hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

 

He bit his lower lip, sniffled a little, and asked his first question.

 

“How come you’re in the hospital alone with an injury like this? Where are your parents? Why haven’t they come to see you?”

 

Even though Lin Wangye’s mother wasn’t around and his father was often busy, he’d still grown up surrounded by love and attention. So to him, it was only natural that family should be close — that they should be there at a time like this.

 

The empty hospital room felt… off.

 

Hearing his words, Shi Yuan’s smile didn’t change much, but there was a slight dimming in his eyes as he quietly answered, “My mom passed away a couple of years ago in a fire. My dad… he’s not home much, and I can’t always get in touch with him. I don’t really know where he is.”

 

Lin Wangye’s expression shifted in an instant. He panicked, stumbling over his words as he apologized.

 

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean…”

 

“It’s okay,” Shi Yuan said softly, his gaze warm and comforting. “I live with my grandparents now. They’re getting old, and my sister’s been sick. They worry easily and have trouble sleeping, so I didn’t tell them.”

 

“Won’t they be worried if you don’t go home?” Lin Wangye asked cautiously, his voice more careful now after unintentionally touching a sore spot. “Maybe… maybe you can tell me your address, and I’ll pretend to be one of your classmates and let them know you’re staying at my place for a while.”

 

Shi Yuan chuckled and shook his head. “No need. I already called and told them I’ve been busy with school and staying at a friend’s place near campus.”

 

“Oh… that’s good then…”

 

Lin Wangye nodded slowly, then dropped his head, nervously twisting his fingers together. He pressed his lips into a thin line, falling silent.

 

The room went quiet, save for the occasional sound of footsteps echoing from the hallway.

 

Shi Yuan finished peeling the apple, gathering the thin shavings into a tissue and tossing it in the trash. He handed Lin Wangye the now somewhat decent-looking apple.

 

Lin Wangye shook his head and pushed it back toward him — it was meant for Shi Yuan anyway.

 

So, Shi Yuan sliced the apple into two pieces — one big, one small — and handed Lin Wangye the smaller one, the piece without a core. He took a bite of the other piece himself.

 

Only then did Lin Wangye accept it, still staring down and eating quietly without saying a word.

 

All his thoughts were written plainly on his face — so easy to read, so hard to hide.

 

Shi Yuan wiped the fruit knife clean and placed it on the bedside cabinet. Then he turned to Lin Wangye and said, “Don’t worry about what happened earlier. I know you didn’t mean it.”

 

For a long while, neither of them spoke. Then, out of nowhere, something glistened and fell — a teardrop, clear and sharp in the silence.

 

Shi Yuan froze, watching in stunned silence as one tear after another spilled from Lin Wangye’s eyes. He kept swiping at them with his sleeve, but no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t stop.

 

His eyes were red, his nose was red, and he kept his head down, stubbornly wiping his face over and over. But the tears kept coming, and soon his breathing grew uneven — so fast and shaky that he had to open his mouth just to catch his breath.

 

Even then, he kept choking out words between ragged breaths, still trying to explain.

 

“I… I’m sorry… I really… I did think about it, but… I still asked… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

 

Emotions surged like an oncoming storm, crashing in before he even had a chance to stop them.

 

Lin Wangye hadn’t expected to break down like this.

 

In his last life, Shi Yuan had never talked about his family — and Lin Wangye had never asked. He’d had his suspicions but never dared to pry, afraid of exposing old wounds in someone he cared about.

 

He thought maybe things would be better this time — returning to twenty years earlier, maybe Shi Yuan’s life wouldn’t be so painful.

 

But nothing seemed better at all.

 

Even though he was still young, Lin Wangye could remember things from about ten years ago. And in all that time, he’d never once seen Shi Yuan’s grandparents, father, or even his sister.

 

That could only mean one thing — Shi Yuan must have lost all of them in a very short span of time.

 

Realizing that felt like someone had reached into his chest and crushed his heart in their fist — sharp, overwhelming pain that left him breathless.

 

Shi Yuan had long since learned to accept reality. But seeing Lin Wangye now, crying so hard he could barely get his words out, stammering apologies through broken sobs — that long-numb heart of his suddenly ached again, faint yet sharp.

 

It took a long time for Shi Yuan to steady himself. He set the apple aside, grabbed a few tissues, and gently wiped the tears from Lin Wangye’s face. His voice was impossibly soft when he spoke.

 

“I’m not mad at you… Don’t cry, okay?”

 

Anyone who’s spent time around kids knows — moments like these? Trying to comfort them often just makes things worse.

 

Lin Wangye hadn’t cried this hard in front of his own dad — but now, it felt like he’d finally found the right moment to let it all out, and there was no stopping him.

 

The more Shi Yuan tried to comfort him, the harder Lin Wangye cried, until his quiet sobs turned into full-on wailing.

 

Shi Yuan was completely at a loss.

 

By the time the pile of tissues had filled half the trash can and his head was starting to spin, Lin Wangye finally seemed to have cried himself dry.

 

But just as things started to settle down, Lin Wangye accidentally blew a snot bubble right in front of Shi Yuan. The second he realized what had happened, he completely broke down — not from sadness this time, but from sheer embarrassment.

 

He snatched the tissues from Shi Yuan’s hand, covered his face, and started laughing and crying all over again.

 

“Don’t look! This is so humiliating…”

 

His voice was thick with congestion, but the way he whined made it sound like he was half-pouting, half-playfully sulking.

 

The tension that had been weighing down on Shi Yuan for so long finally lifted. His tightly furrowed brows eased, and he couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. Playing along, he turned his head away.

 

“Go wash your face,” he said with a smile.

 

Lin Wangye shot to his feet and bolted out the door without looking back. The chair behind him clattered to the floor with a loud bang.

 

The short dash to the bathroom turned plenty of heads. His gut told him something was wrong — and sure enough, when he finally reached the restroom and looked in the mirror, his eyes were so swollen they looked like two walnuts.

 

Seeing his reflection was the final blow. He nearly lost it on the spot, wishing he could just dive headfirst out the fifth-floor window.

 

He splashed his face with cold water, then stood by the window, letting the chilly wind hit him until the puffiness finally started to ease.

 

But still… Shi Yuan had seen him at his absolute worst.

 

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