Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Qixi

But what did Qixi have to do with a single, overworked office drone?

But Friday—that was another story. Lin Jianyuan suddenly remembered that it was his turn to clean this week. Tomorrow, he had a full-on house cleaning ahead of him.

The thought of scrubbing every corner made Lin Jianyuan feel even more exhausted. His already weary body seemed pinned beneath a fresh boulder, pressing the breath from his chest.

Thank heavens life came with a skip button.

I’ll go home, shower, get to bed early, wake naturally tomorrow, then take care of the cleaning…

Skip.

Lin Jianyuan pulled out his key and slid it into the lock. As always, the key slipped in smooth as silk.

He had no idea why, but Lin Jianyuan suddenly remembered the first time his roommate swallowed a frog—how slick that throat had looked.

At that moment, a familiar voice rang out.

"You're back."

"Yeah, I’m back," Lin Jianyuan replied.

Just as he was about to head inside, he noticed how clean the floor was.

No, it was more than clean. A closer look revealed several tiles still damp, faint traces of water lingering.

Puzzled, Lin Jianyuan pushed open his bedroom door, and the shock hit him even harder.

It wasn’t just the living room—even his own floor was freshly mopped, damp and gleaming!

But apart from the floor, nothing else in his room had changed.

The bed remained unmade, sheets and blankets just as rumpled as when he’d left that morning. The wardrobe and drawers showed no sign of meddling.

Aside from the spotless, mirror-bright floor, nothing in the room had been touched.

Lin Jianyuan was genuinely astonished. He’d never expected his room to clean itself while he was out at work—even if it was just the floor.

He turned to find the pink digestive system floating quietly in midair, gallbladder plump, liver membrane slick, the pale pink stomach bag gently flattening and swelling as if breathing.

The intestines were glistening with moisture.

—Glistening and, at the same time, a little grimy.

The once-soft, rosy intestines had picked up quite a bit of dust along the parts closest to the floor, leaving them smeared and dingy.

Lin Jianyuan: "."

An image sprang, vivid and ridiculous, into his mind: the pink digestive system scurrying all over the house while he was gone, scrubbing the floors clean as it crawled.

—But his roommate wasn’t actually a digestive system. He was a person. A person!

So there was no way his roommate had crawled all over the place, let alone into his room, while he was out.

His roommate had just… mopped the floors!

Not only had he cleaned the shared living room, but he’d even mopped Lin Jianyuan’s room while he was at it.

What a roommate, practically sent from heaven!

Lin Jianyuan, still weary from the looming threat of tomorrow’s cleaning, felt the weight lift off his shoulders. He couldn’t help but exclaim, "Let me treat you to dinner!"

The pink digestive system: "Huh?"

Lin Jianyuan took his roommate to a little hole-in-the-wall, not far from their place.

The restaurant was tiny, but the food was good and the prices were even better.

"This place doesn’t serve pre-made food, every dish is cooked fresh," Lin Jianyuan remarked casually. "And it tastes great, too."

The kitchen was right behind the cash register, so you could watch the chef at work—woks flying, flames leaping, the noise a cheerful riot.

The smoky heat from the kitchen swept over them.

Roommate: "How does it compare to my cooking?"

Lin Jianyuan didn’t even hesitate: "This place is so good, it tastes like a home-cooked meal. Your cooking is so good, it tastes like restaurant food."

His roommate laughed, lips curling into a smile.

The slightly flat stomach and intestines rippled slowly and contentedly—an image with genuine medical-educational value.

For such a tiny eatery, tables and floors were spotless.

As soon as a table cleared, the proprietress zipped over with her rag, whisking away the leftovers.

The tabletop shone, instantly spotless once more—utterly satisfying.

"What do you want to eat?" Lin Jianyuan asked, scanning the menu on the wall.

The pink digestive system: "I’ll start with one wall, please."

Lin Jianyuan: "?"

The woman behind the register glanced up at them, bemused.

"Don’t mess around—hurry up, I’m starving!" Lin Jianyuan laughed, giving his roommate’s liver a playful thump.

"You pick," his roommate chuckled. "Anything’s fine."

"Then… stir-fried pig liver… uh, no. Braised large intestine… er, never mind."

Lin Jianyuan eyed the pink digestive system beside him, breaking out in a cold sweat.

He suddenly realized that all his favorite dishes were, well, various parts of the digestive system. Was this why his roommate looked like a digestive system to him now?

Lin Jianyuan, don’t overdo it!

It took him a good long while to settle on something that didn’t overlap with his roommate’s anatomy:

"…Tomato scrambled eggs, and shredded pork with green pepper."

"Tomato eggs, shredded pork with peppers," the proprietress intoned, tapping the register. "Anything else?"

Lin Jianyuan noticed he’d only ordered two lighter meat dishes. He was treating his roommate, after all—he should at least order a proper main dish.

And he had to avoid all digestive system parts… or it would just feel too weird…

Lin Jianyuan belatedly asked, "Anything you don’t eat?"

The pink digestive system: "Nope."

"Okay, then… two—no, four chicken drumsticks."

His roommate was, after all, a college guy in his early twenties—prime bottomless pit years. Lin Jianyuan didn’t want to risk ordering too little.

Four drumsticks—two each. Truthfully, Lin Jianyuan loved them too.

The pink digestive system: "Okay!"

They found a table. The place wasn’t crowded, and the steaming plates arrived in no time.

Lin Jianyuan stood to fetch some rice, then grabbed a bowl of soup.

They picked up their chopsticks and dug in across from each other.

He had to admit: watching his roommate wrap chopsticks in his intestines and eat bite by bite was bizarrely thrilling—pure oddity, and riveting.

No matter how many times he saw it, it never got old.

Especially the way he chewed each mouthful leisurely, then swallowed, the slender esophagus bulging visibly as a small lump slid all the way down into the stomach.

With every bite and swallow, the previously flat stomach filled out bit by bit, mucosal ridges swelling plump and glossy.

Even the gallbladder and pancreas bulged and relaxed rhythmically—strangely, almost adorably.

—Lin Jianyuan hadn’t known before why the gallbladder and pancreas pulsed during meals. He’d looked it up: they were secreting digestive juices.

How could his hallucination be this accurate?

He had no idea his subconscious possessed this much medical trivia, or how else he could imagine such precise, realistic hallucinations.

He could practically film a med-ed short right then and there.

It had to be said: watching a complete digestive system eat right in front of him was endlessly fascinating.

Like watching a dog in a mukbang video.

He could sit here gawking for hours.

Wait. In a way, wasn’t this just a human mukbang?

Except this human’s meal was… a little too explicit.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" his roommate asked suddenly.

Lin Jianyuan blurted out, flustered, "I wasn’t watching you—I’m just tired, zoning out."

"Rough day at work too?" His roommate put down his chopsticks, curling his soft intestines under his chin like a hand. "A lot happen again?"

"Yeah." Lin Jianyuan recapped the air conditioner debacle from earlier.

He’d expected his roommate to burst out laughing over the skirt incident. Instead, his roommate said, "You put those people through the wringer—shouldn’t you feel great? Why so glum?"

Lin Jianyuan scoffed at himself. "Great? This is real life, not some power-trip web novel. I still have to show up for work."

Yeah, real life was no wish-fulfillment novel.

He’d humiliated the efficiency consultant today, but who knew what petty revenge awaited in the days ahead.

He’d been a working stiff since college—he understood how these things worked.

But he couldn’t help himself.

He was, after all, a lunatic.

"Mm." His roommate nodded his "head." "I see, then."

Lin Jianyuan: "See what?"

Roommate: "You really are made for office work."

Lin Jianyuan: "What kind of nonsense is that?"

"Of course it’s not," his roommate declared, utterly self-assured—then couldn’t help but snicker.

He laughed out loud, unable to keep a straight face.

…Not to mention, his roommate’s mouth was really quite pretty. Especially when he smiled, lips curving in that soft, inviting arc.

The sensation was odd: Lin Jianyuan had always made eye contact while speaking, but as everyone knew, digestive systems didn’t come equipped with eyes.

So he had no choice but to focus on his roommate’s only facial feature—his mouth.

He found himself imagining the rest of his roommate’s face and expressions based on the movement of that mouth.

And he realized—his roommate’s lips were actually quite appealing. Pink, soft, and positively healthy.

You could tell in a glance he was a fresh-faced college boy, untouched by the poison of working life.

…Wait a second.

Staring at a college guy’s lips—did that make him look super gay or what!

A jolt ran down Lin Jianyuan’s scalp. He jerked his gaze away.

After dinner, something occurred to him. "I need to stop by the grocery store."

Roommate: "Sure!"

Lin Jianyuan blinked in surprise.

Roommate: "What’s wrong?"

"…Nothing. Let’s go." Lin Jianyuan laughed and shook his head.

He’d meant for his roommate to go home so he could shop alone. Apparently, his roommate took it as an invitation.

It was the first time Lin Jianyuan had ever hit the supermarket with a flatmate.

Before Xie Yu moved in, Lin Jianyuan’s last roommate was also a nine-to-fiver. The guy was in his twenties, hadn’t been to college, and worked full-time at a bubble tea shop.

That shop was swamped—his old roommate made so many milk teas his hands nearly fell off. In his own words, "Even jerking off feels like working overtime now."

Lin Jianyuan and his old roommate had never been close. Work kept both so busy, sometimes they’d go a week without seeing each other.

One morning, just before Lin Jianyuan left for work, his old roommate poked his head out and said, "I’m heading back to my hometown."

Lin Jianyuan was surprised, at a loss for words, and could only manage, "Oh—well, have a safe trip."

His old roommate seemed at a loss, too. He just nodded, went back to bed.

And then he moved out of the apartment for good.

Three years under the same roof, and in the end, they were just nodding acquaintances.

Nothing like now.

"No, this one’s sugar-free."

His roommate bent over, wrapped his intestines around the can of cola he’d just put in the cart, and set it back on the shelf to try again.

Lin Jianyuan followed with the cart, watching him pick and choose from item to item.

The cart was filling up with every kind of snack—chips, cookies, marshmallows. His roommate had just tossed in a twelve-pack of Coke.

For a college guy, his roommate had a surprising sweet tooth.

Lin Jianyuan felt a little helpless. He’d just wanted to run in and grab shampoo and laundry detergent, but his roommate was clearly here for the experience.

He couldn’t believe it—he was really grocery shopping with another guy.

More amazing: his roommate acted like he’d never set foot in a supermarket, marveling at every shelf, eager to pick up and examine everything.

If he had eyes, Lin Jianyuan was sure they’d be sparkling with wonder by now.

Lin Jianyuan had been drained after a full day at work, but watching his roommate’s gleeful energy as he shopped actually soothed him in an unexpected way.

Like a little kid, really—his roommate.

The more he watched, the more entertaining it became. His roommate’s excitement was like a grade-schooler gearing up for a field trip, and for once, Lin Jianyuan—half-dead soul that he was—felt alive again.

Youth—what a wonderful thing.

Lin Jianyuan had been out of college for ages. Xie Yu was only a junior? A senior?

That meant at least a five-year gap.

Youth really is wonderful!

Finally, Lin Jianyuan found what he needed. The two of them pushed the cart to checkout together.

When they got home, Lin Jianyuan tallied up the receipt. He’d covered the bill. After calculating, he told his roommate, "Seventy-eight and three."

"Mm-hmm," his roommate replied, pulling out his phone to send over the money.

But in the next second, he froze.

Lin Jianyuan: "What’s wrong?"

His roommate looked up from his phone, innocent as could be. "I’m out of money."

Lin Jianyuan: "???"

Seriously?

You don’t even have seventy-eight yuan?

Lin Jianyuan stared at him, totally speechless. "If you’re broke, just say so. Ask your parents for some money."

His roommate replied, "But I don’t have parents."

Lin Jianyuan’s pupils constricted, a thousand tragic orphan scenarios exploding through his mind in an instant.

A wave of guilt crashed over him—he’d be kicking himself awake over this for nights to come.