Chapter 33

Everyone knows that every major app these days—no matter how fancy its algorithm—builds a user profile and feeds you content based on your habits.

The moment Xiao Youqian gave the order, Wu Yong—ex-military—didn’t hesitate: he pinned Ai Qing’s arms behind his back.

All Ai Qing could do was watch, horrified, as his beloved phone landed in Youqian’s hands.

“Who’s this character?” Youqian glanced at the case: a gorgeous anime girl.

“Kamisato Ayaka,” Ai Qing sighed, wrists still locked by Wu Yong.

“Oh, rings a bell. Some game, right?” Youqian wasn’t into games. She lit the screen, aimed it at Ai Qing’s face to unlock, then paused.

“Technically you picked dare, but we still need your okay before we peek.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Ai Qing blurted. “I like Guigui’s dare better.”

Kong Fugui sipped his cocktail and cheerfully supplied it: “Easy. Go downstairs, grab a random girl’s hand, and shout at max volume: ‘Will you be my girlfriend?’”

“See? See?” Ai Qing went limp. If he’d known the stakes, he’d never have chosen dare.

Truth wasn’t safer; Sis Qian would just drill him about Xiao Yu again. He could lie, but his conscience already had bruises.

One public death on the record? Fine—what was one more?

He shut his eyes and accepted his fate.

Youqian opened Taobao. The cart that filled the screen made her blink like a broken traffic light. Kong Fugui and Wu Yong leaned in—and their jaws dropped in perfect sync.

“Happy now? Give it back,” Ai Qing deadpanned, reaching.

Youqian spun away. “Patience. I promised to buy you three things.”

“Man, you’ve got taste,” Kong Fugui whistled. “Just... pace yourself, okay?”

He wasn’t worried about kinks; he knew Ai Qing had a very pink, very real girlfriend. These items were clearly for her—just... a lot of them. Kong Fugui privately wondered if Ai Qing was planning to bankrupt the poor girl with “gold-coin explosions.”

Wu Yong knew none of this. All he saw was cart after cart of women’s clothing—twenty or thirty dresses, camisoles, cardigans, tees, pleated JK skirts—plus shoes: white sneakers, Oxford flats, loafers, Doc-style boots—then bras, panties, even socks. If he hadn’t watched Ai Qing unlock the phone, he’d have sworn it was Youqian’s.

Finally, mercifully, masculine items appeared: Bluetooth earphones, foldable phone, ergonomic chair, height-adjustable desk, cat food, freeze-dried treats, cans of tuna, litter...

Wait—why was there an anime-themed Fleshlight and a lewd body pillow?

...

When the phone finally returned, Ai Qing was a rag-doll on the sofa, soul officially departed.

A buzz rattled him back to life.

[Alipay] Transfer from Xiao Youqian: ¥1,000

“Sis Qian?”

“Picked three things—came to about eight hundred. Keep the change for emotional damages.”

“What did you buy, exactly?!”

“Relax, everything came straight from your cart.”

That’s exactly why I’m not relaxed.

“Let me refund—”

“Nonsense.” Youqian clinked her glass against his. “Your grandma plugged my pet hospital to half the neighbourhood; I saved a fortune on ads. This is nothing.”

Ai Qing knew both she and Kong Fugui were loaded. He surrendered, drank, and let it go.

As for the dare? He’d survive. Friends who can roast you are friends you can breathe around. Public embarrassment loses its fangs after the third bite.

The next rounds favored Ai Qing; he didn’t lose again.

Youqian lost twice: she danced for them and, as forfeit, revealed her own cart—an education for the boys.

Kong Fugui eventually lost too. He marched downstairs, declared his love to a startled stranger, then sprinted back after she actually said yes, stammering apologies and leaving her with a free cocktail.

Wu Yong played flawless defense: truth only, nothing to expose.

A little past ten, Ai Qing called it a night. The others piled into Kong Fugui’s car and left the bar together.

...

“So,” Youqian asked as they rode the elevator, “all those women’s clothes in your cart—what were you thinking?”

Ai Qing had rehearsed excuses the whole way. He couldn’t mention Xiao Yu; claiming a girlfriend felt flimsy—Kong Fugui was too busy chasing girls to verify, but Youqian lived across the hall. She’d know.

And he had, after all, sworn he’d stay single forever.

He met her eyes. “Research for the novel.”

“I’m serious, Sis Qian. My book is a romance. If I’m going to write girls convincingly, I need to study the details—fabric, fit, even buy and try. Remember all those questions I asked you? Same reason.”

“Fine, what’s it called?” She was practically vibrating.

Maybe it was the alcohol; maybe it was the late hour. Ai Qing opened the Qidian app and tilted the screen.

“Promise you won’t tell.”

“Swear.” She leaned in, reading slowly: “My Childhood Friend Turns into a Cat?”

“That’s the one.”

“Aiqing.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not... secretly in love with me, are you?”

“Dream on.” He pocketed the phone and stepped out of the lift.

Before he reached his door, it swung open. A white blur shot out and leapt into his crouch.

“Meow~”

“Sorry I’m late, Xiao Yu.” He scratched her ears, smiling. “I’m home.”

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