Online confidant turns out to be offline mortal enemy
Fang Chi woke up in a warm and reassuring darkness.
The heaviness from the high fever was receding, like the tide going out, leaving behind a tired but refreshing beach. His first sensation was the duct tape on the back of his hand and a faint stinging pain, followed by the familiar smell of disinfectant in his nostrils. The hospital.
Memories slowly returned, the torrential rain, the cold keyboard, his vision growing increasingly blurry, until finally, darkness completely engulfed him.
Who brought him here?
The thought had barely formed in his mind when he became aware of his surroundings. His left hand, the one not receiving the IV drip, was being loosely held by a warm, dry hand. The temperature was steady, carrying a reassuring strength.
He turned his head slightly and opened his heavy eyelids.
Morning light filtered through the gaps in the blinds, casting dappled patterns of light into the hospital room. Xing Jiayan sat on a chair beside the bed, leaning slightly forward, his arm draped over the edge of the bed, holding his hand. He seemed to be asleep, his head drooping, wisps of hair partially obscuring his forehead, faint dark circles under his eyes, and a few stubbles on his chin. He looked utterly exhausted.
Fang Chi's heart felt as if it had been gently bumped by something.
It was him. It has always been him.
He was the one who brought him back, the one who held him when he was in a daze, and the one who is here holding his hand right now.
Those images that he had deliberately ignored and forcibly suppressed resurfaced uncontrollably—the water glass silently handed to him in the seminar room, the steadfast protection on the sidelines of the basketball court, the meaningful words under the northwest starry sky, and... countless late nights, the precise and timely inspiration and affirmation from the other end of the forum.
Yan.
That name was like a bolt of lightning, shattering all the barriers he had deliberately constructed in his mind.
Why is Yan always able to give him key insights when he's stuck in a rut?
Why do Yan's knowledge base and way of thinking overlap so much with Xing Jiayan's?
Why did he utter "Yan" and "Xing Jiayan" at the same time when he was delirious with a high fever last night?
An absurd yet incredibly clear answer, carrying an undeniable power, surfaced in his mind.
Chaos and Yan.
It turns out the answer was already written in their names.
He stared blankly at Xing Jiayan's sleeping profile, at his hand tightly clasped in his own. A tremendous surge of emotion, a mixture of shock, realization, embarrassment, and... a certain indescribable tremor, swept over him like a tsunami.
So, Xing Jiayan knew all about his awkward concern, his clumsy protection, his incomprehensible attempts to get closer, and last night's disastrously misplaced confession and panicked denial...
He's been watching all along?
This realization made Fang Chi's ears burn instantly, and his heart pounded so hard it felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. He wanted to pull his hand back, to find a crack in the ground to crawl into, but his body felt like it was nailed to the bed, unable to move.
Perhaps it was his subtle movement that disturbed the light sleeper.
Xing Jiayan's eyelashes trembled, and he slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was initially somewhat hazy, but it instantly cleared when he met Fang Chi's lucid, complex gaze.
He didn't immediately let go; instead, he subconsciously tightened his grip, as if to confirm that Fang Chi was truly awake. His gaze carefully swept over Fang Chi's face, his voice low and hoarse from just waking up: "Awake? How do you feel? Still uncomfortable?"
A series of questions revealed an unmistakable concern.
Fang Chi opened his mouth, wanting to answer "Much better," or ask "What are you doing here," or even directly question "Are you Yan?" But a thousand words stuck in his throat, ultimately turning into only a dry "You..."
His gaze involuntarily fell on Xing Jiayan's phone, which was on the bedside table. The screen was dark.
Xing Jiayan followed his gaze and seemed to understand something. He paused for a moment, then picked up his phone with his free hand, unlocked it skillfully, tapped an icon, and turned the screen towards Fang Chi.
It was an extremely simple forum interface.
The username is clearly displayed as: Yan.
The last private message he sent last night before his high fever caused him to lose internet access was a fragmented message.
Yan only replied with one sentence, the time of which was early this morning, while he was asleep.
Yan: Chaos, I am Xing Jiayan.
Fang Chi's breathing completely stopped.
All the speculations and doubts were completely confirmed at this moment by this line of concise and cold text.
He suddenly looked up at Xing Jiayan, his eyes filled with disbelief and a hint of annoyance at being "fooled".
"You..." His voice trembled slightly with shock and weakness, "You've always... known?"
Do you know that Chaos is him?
Did he know about his cautious approach and dependence on others online?
Did you know about his absurd, mistaken confession and his frantic denial?
Xing Jiayan did not avoid his gaze; her eyes were open and deep, even carrying a faint, relieved smile.
"Yes." He gave a single syllable, yet a weighty affirmation.
"From when?" Fang Chi pressed, his voice tense.
"Earlier than you think." Xing Jiayan looked at him, his thumb unconsciously rubbing Fang Chi's hand, a subtle gesture carrying an indescribable intimacy. "Probably when you first refuted me on the forum with that unique 'detour' of thinking."
Fang Chi was completely speechless.
So, for all this time, he's been acting like a fool, clashing with Xing Jiayan in real life while simultaneously pouring out his troubles and seeking affirmation from the same person online? And he's been struggling with this, panicking, and denying himself for so long?
He was overwhelmed by immense shame and a sense of powerlessness, as if he had been completely exposed. He struggled violently, trying to break free from Xing Jiayan's grasp.
This time, Xing Jiayan didn't try to stop her and let go naturally.
When the warmth on the back of his hand suddenly disappeared, Fang Chi felt a strange emptiness in his heart. He turned his face away and looked out the window, not wanting the other person to see the uncontrollable heat and chaotic expression on his face.
A brief silence fell over the ward, broken only by the chirping of birds outside the window and the dripping of the IV tube.
After a long silence, Xing Jiayan's voice rang out again, deep and clear, breaking the suffocating silence.
“Fang Chi,” he said, “look at me.”
Fang Chi remained frozen in place, not moving.
"Look at me," Xing Jiayan repeated, her tone brooking no refusal.
Fang Chi took a deep breath, and finally, slowly and reluctantly, turned his head back.
Xing Jiayan's gaze was fixed on him, devoid of its usual playfulness or nonchalance, replaced by a calm, deep-sea-like seriousness.
“Now you know.” He spoke slowly, each word striking Fang Chi’s heart clearly, “Yan is me, and Xing Jiayan is also me.”
He paused, leaned forward slightly to close the distance between them, his gaze intense, carrying a kind of resolute determination that Fang Chi had never seen before, almost like burning one's boats.
"So, about that 'I like you' that was 'typed wrong' last night," he stared into Fang Chi's eyes and asked, enunciating each word clearly, "can you give me a real answer now?"
The sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating Xing Jiayan's deep eyes, as well as Fang Chi's suddenly contracted pupils and his instantly pale face.
All escape routes have been blocked.
All pretense has been torn away.
The problem was laid bare and unavoidable before him.
He looked at Xing Jiayan, a man who was both his mortal enemy in real life and a soulmate with whom he shared a deep connection online.
My heart was pounding wildly in my chest, almost bursting open.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
The real answer?
Does he... know it himself?
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com